Crisis and Rebellion in the Ottoman Empire: The Downfall of a Sultan in the Age of Revolution 9781350985933, 9781786731470

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Aysel Yıldız (PhD Sabancı University, 2008) is a specialist in late Ottoman history with a focus on social and political movements. Her first book was Asiler ve Gaziler: Kabakc
ı Mustafa Risalesi (2007). She is co-editor of A Military History of the Mediterranean Sea: Aspects of War, Diplomacy and Military Elites, with Georgios Theotokis (2017), and War and Conflict in the Mediterranean: A Collection of Papers, with Raffaele D’Amato, Abdu¨lmennan Altıntas¸ and Georgios Theotokis (2017). She has also contributed numerous articles to various books and journals.

“Terrific . . . This book will become required reading on the deposition of Selim III. Yıldız has done a fantastic job of considering the event in all of its possible dimensions and has researched them all meticulously. I was aware of her previous work which was focused on historiography, but here she delves deep into archival history and does not leave any leaf unturned: socio-economic history, political history, diplomatic history, prosopography and cultural history. I loved this book.” Baki Tezcan, Associate Professor of History at UC Davis and author of The Second Ottoman Empire (2012)

CRISIS AND REBELLION IN THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE The Downfall of a Sultan in the Age of Revolution

AYSEL YILDIZ

Published in 2017 by I.B.Tauris & Co. Ltd London • New York www.ibtauris.com Copyright q 2017 Aysel Yıldız The right of Aysel Yıldız to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in a review, this book, or any part thereof, may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Every attempt has been made to gain permission for the use of the images in this book. Any omissions will be rectified in future editions. References to websites were correct at the time of writing. Library of Ottoman Studies 58 ISBN: 978 1 78453 510 0 eISBN: 978 1 78672 147 1 ePDF: 978 1 78673 147 0 A full CIP record for this book is available from the British Library A full CIP record is available from the Library of Congress Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: available Typeset in Garamond Three by OKS Prepress Services, Chennai, India Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

To my dear professor, Halil Berktay, to whom I kept my promise

CONTENTS

List of Map and Tables List of Abbreviations Acknowledgements Introduction The Ottoman Empire in the Age of Revolutions 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Rebellious Routines The Breeding Ground Does Modernization Breed Revolution? Great Powers and the Ottoman Empire Elite Rivalry When the Feet Become the Head: The Limits of Obedience

ix xi xiii 1 17 44 73 102 130 162

Conclusion Glossary Appendix

193 201 203

Notes Select Bibliography Index

210 275 290

LIST OF MAP AND TABLES

Map Map 1 A Map of Istanbul

xv

Tables Table I.1 Uprisings in Istanbul

2

Table A.1 The New Elite: Career and Connections

204

Table A.2 Coalition of Outs: Career and Connections

208

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

A. AMD A. DVN A. DVN. KLB A. DVN. SMHM.d A. E. BOA C. AS. C. DH C. S. D. DRB. MH. FO HAT ¨ EF I˙U L M N PRO R Ra S¸

Bab-ı Asafi Amedi Kalemi (dos.) Divan (Beylikc
i) Kalemi Defterleri Bab-ı Asafi Kalebend Defterleri Bab-ı Asafi Mu¨himme-i Hu¨mayun Kalemi Defterleri Ali Emiri Bas¸bakanlık Osmanlı Ars¸ivi Cevdet Askeriye Cevdet Dahiliyye Cevdet Saray Darbhane-i Amire Evrakı Muhasebe Kalemi (dos.) Foreign Office Hattı Hu¨mayun ¨ niversitesi Edebiyat Faku¨ltesi I˙stanbul U S¸evval Muharrem Ramazan Public Record Office Rebiyu¨lahir Rebiyu¨levvel S¸aban

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Safer Tarih-i Osmani Encu¨meni Mecmuası Tarih Yazmaları Zilhicce Zilkade

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

A lifetime could easily be spent in the study of Ottoman uprisings; to effect a comparison with the uprisings of other regions and other times would be the work of many generations. After over a decade of research on the uprising of May 1807 I remain surrounded by unsolved puzzles, and to the extent that I have made progress I am indebted to the intellectual community in which I have been fortunate enough to participate. From among the many people who have helped me in the preparation of this study, my thanks must go first to S. Aks¸in Somel, who supported me while I was writing my thesis and developed its themes into this book. My dear professors Tu¨lay Artan, Kemal Beydilli, Edhem Eldem, Halil Berktay and Metin Kunt also helped me greatly. Special thanks go also to Mehmet Ips¸irli, Addu¨lmennan Altıntas, and Hamza Fırat, who always encouraged me. My friends Mehmet Savan, Eyu¨p S¸ims¸ek and Zehra Savan provided excellent translations of poems and certain quotations. Mehmet Mert Sunar, Sevgi Adak, Serhan Afacan, Merve C¸akır, Brigita Kukjalko and George Theotokis were always available for consultation. Ben Young of Babel Editing and York-Proofreaders Team were extremely helpful in the preparation of the manuscript. My special thanks go to Y. Hakan Erdem, Baki Tezcan and Kahraman S¸akul for their inspiring criticisms and feedback. Above all, I extend my warmest gratitude to Hocam Hu¨lya Canbakal and my dear friend and colleague I˙rfan Ko¨kdas¸ for patiently encouraging me, reading drafts and providing valuable feedback. My final thanks go to my dear family,

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my sisters, brothers and nephews, to my partner Yas¸ar, and to my sweet daughter Elif Mina and son Kemal C¸ınar; your support while I have been writing this book has left me with a deep debt of love which it will be my joy to repay.

Map 1 A Map of Istanbul: Plan de Constantinople. F. Kauffer and I.B. Lechevalier 1807. The Hebrew University of Jerusalem & The Jewish National & University Library.

INTRODUCTION THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE IN THE AGE OF REVOLUTIONS

The Empire is menaced with total dissolution; the finances are exhausted; and a rebel already threatens to place a stranger on the throne.1 From the mid-seventeenth to the mid-nineteenth century there were approximately 19 uprisings in Istanbul, six of which ended with the sultan being deposed.2 In the first half of the seventeenth century, rebellious incidents occurred at short intervals (see Table I.1), and three times the reigning sultan lost his throne. The eighteenth century began with an uprising (1703), which also brought about a change in the throne, but in general the sultans of this period seemed better able to weather the rebellious storms; out of seven uprisings in this century, only the uprisings of 1703 and 1730 deposed the ruler. After 67 years of relative stability, the nineteenth century dawned with three serious waves of unrest (1807, 1808 and 1826), with two claiming the throne. The abolition of the janissary army in 1826 put an end to this long tradition of armed dissent in the Ottoman metropole. All of the aforementioned rebellions are typical early modern Ottoman uprisings, in the sense that they were Istanbul-based, palace-centred3 and marked by the dominance of the traditional military corps (janissaries, armourers, artillerymen and cavalrymen) among the rebels. Early modern Ottoman revolts were spontaneous, parochial and unfolded in a rather standard pattern.4 They often involved open attacks on those in authority,

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Table I.1 Uprisings in Istanbul (seventeenth to mid-nineteenth century) (* ¼ sultan deposed) 17th c. 1622* 1623 1629 1632 1648* 1651 1655 1656 1687* 18th c. 1703* 1717 1718 1719 1730* 1731 1740 19th c. 1807* 1808 1826

who were perceived as culpable for some public wrong, and took place at specific sites of administrative power. By contrast, modern social protest generally avoids direct attacks on the state and instead employs the tactics of group-level persuasion, such as public meetings, barricades, strikes, electoral rallies or boycotts, while the sites of mass demonstrations are generally chosen for their national and symbolic characteristics.5 In the early modern period, however, convincing decision makers through brutal force was the most effective strategy. Since the sultan had the immediate authority to rectify grievances and eliminate those responsible, rebellious incidents took place in the capital, centred on Topkapı Palace, the administrative centre of the Ottoman Empire. Although civilians (artisans, religious groups and ordinary urbanites) were active in some of these uprisings, it was the military groups who were the overwhelming majority, whether as core revolutionary cadres or ordinary participants. The military had the necessary organizational and institutional resources, as well as the high levels of social solidarity and prestige, to execute rebellions and facilitate wider public participation in them. The military’s discipline and codes of behaviour became emblematic of Ottoman uprisings, and gradually became recognized in Ottoman society as setting the pattern rebellions would take. Similar repertoires of contention developed across the world in this period, although inflected by enduring traditions of collective action, which differed according to time and locale.6 The May 1807 uprising, the topic of this book, was the last of the typical Ottoman uprisings in which the rebellious forces were victorious against the decision makers.7 The story is simple, short and dramatic. It starts on 25 May 1807, with rebellious stirrings among the auxiliary troops (yamaks) stationed at the Bosporus fortresses, and ends on 29 May – just four days later – with a change in the throne. The immediate triggering cause was rumours that the sultan intended to impose the Nizam-ı Cedid (the New Order) army uniforms upon the

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yamaks. Following the murder of a commander at the fortresses, the rebellion rapidly grew in size as other military groups, as well as civilians, joined, and the crowd marched from the Bosporus into the city. As the crisis escalated, the sultan quickly acceded to the rebels’ demands, declaring the abolition of his new model army and allowing the rebels to kill eleven statesmen. Unsatisfied with these concessions, the rebels demanded that Sultan Selim III’s cousin, Mustafa (IV) (r. 1807–8), replace him upon the throne. Within a few days, leading ministers had been annihilated, Selim III dethroned and Mustafa IV crowned. These events were followed by over a year of chaos during which the rebels blocked the establishment of effective and stable government in the capital. Succession problems, intra-elite rivalry, political purges and executions further paralyzed the Porte, which was already at war with Russia. Selim lived in confinement while Mustafa IV reigned over an empire wrecked by turmoil and unrest. Eventually, Alemdar Mustafa Pasha (d. 1808), an ayan of Rusc uk, marched on the capital to free Selim from the royal cage and re-install him on the throne. Before he could secure the palace, however, Selim was killed by confidants of Mustafa IV; consequently, Mahmud II (r. 1808– 39) was enthroned while Mustafa IV replaced the deceased Selim in confinement. The May 1807 rebellion thus prepared the ground for the rise of an ayan, Alemdar Mustafa Pasha the grand vizierate, to the highest position. On his own initiative, he prepared the 1808 Sened-i I˙ttifak (Deed of Alliance), a document that put the Ottoman dynasty at the mercy of regional magnates. This fundamental restructuring of power relations within the empire is perhaps the most significant consequence of the May 1807 rebellion, although it is also important for having prepared the way for the eventual dissolution of the janissary corps by Mahmud II in 1826. The rebellion of May 1807 and the subsequent excesses of the rebels and janissaries were used as a pretext by Mahmud II for the dissolution of the janissary troops. In short, the traditional military corps, and particularly the janissaries, won a tactical victory in 1807, but were ultimately defeated in 1826. The importance of the May uprising does not end there: this uprising is unique in Ottoman history for having occurred during the reign of a reforming sultan. Selim III’s Nizam-ı Cedid reforms, implemented from 1792 onwards, were designed principally to reinvigorate the Ottoman

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military, establishing a new corps on a model inspired by the West, and a new treasury to finance it (the I˙rad-ı Cedid, New Fund). Since the 1807 uprising terminated the project of reform, it is perhaps understandable that the historiography of May 1807 has concentrated on the reactionary aspects of the uprising – to the exclusion of other social and political significance that this important upheaval might possess. Drawing on the accounts in the contemporary narratives, late Ottoman and early Republican historians have tried to fit the rebellion into the broader context of reactions to the modernization/Westernization process which culminated in Mustafa Kemal’s declaration of the Turkish Republic in 1923. The New Order programme occupies a pivotal space within the framework of this established historiographical discourse, and it has been adopted as the dominant historical frame through which to understand the Selimian era. This approach offers scholars a simple ready-made package with which to describe the events; however, it is unable to transmit to the reader the complexity of the events that took place and the patterns of causation which underpinned them. This complexity cannot comfortably be contained within a simple dyadic model of modernization versus reaction; or so this book shall argue. The dominant historiographic approach is especially problematic since we do not yet possess a well-established factographic or chronological account of the May uprising, let alone a satisfactory comparative analysis of rebellions in Ottoman history. In the absence of any systematic study of Ottoman uprisings, historians have exhibited a tendency to provide explanations by enumerating the peculiarities of specific incidents and then cherry-picking features thought to be in common with the rest.8 Students of the Ottoman uprisings thus lack reliable analytic tools to make sense of their geographical and historical distribution and this, unfortunately, blocks progress on global and domestic comparisons of revolutionary traditions. With this wider project in mind, this study takes particular care to begin by establishing a basic chronology of the May uprising and, on this basis, seek clues to understand the rebellious routines and rhetoric which typified Ottoman uprisings. The contention of this book is that, rather than being driven by simple class struggle, factional strife, the fractious nature of the traditional military classes or atavistic anti-modernization tendencies, the May uprising of 1807 was a popular – military uprising engendered by the socio-economic and political problems of the late eighteenth

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and early nineteenth centuries. It properly forms a part of the late eighteenth-century crisis, and its roots have much in common with other parts of the world; indeed, the Ottoman Empire’s wider problems stemmed from the global economic, environmental and political crises of the period, which were experienced in related ways in many regions. Climatic shocks and natural disasters during the late eighteenth century led to bad harvests, malnutrition and epidemics in many areas, causing decreases in populations and concomitant social unrest, and threatening the political and financial bases of established regimes worldwide. Moreover, the generalized upheaval led to a crisis of legitimacy for rulers in many regions, provoked by their apparent inability to secure the essentials of life for their increasingly restive populations. This dynamic is clearly evident in the Ottoman uprisings of the early nineteenth century. The same period also corresponds to the Age of Revolutions (1760– 1840), a worldwide series of revolutions and upheavals, including the devastating French revolutionary wars. Although in this period the revolutionary ideas of Western Europe had only limited currency in the Ottoman Empire, the aggressive expansionist policy of Napoleonic France did involve the region directly, and the Ottomans thus engaged with France more through war and diplomacy than via the sphere of ideology. Like Spain and Portugal, the Porte became the focus of contestation among the Western powers; unable to disentangle itself from this dynamic, it was forced to adapt,9 which furthered the processes of decentralization, raised the salience of “the Eastern Question”, and provoked the rise of nationalist movements in the Empire. This, then, was the fertile soil on which the seeds of the 1807 uprising were sown. Although not on the verge of total dissolution, as claimed by Olivier Guillaume-Antoine, the Ottoman Empire certainly knew hard times in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century. This was a period of fiscal crisis, economic recession, political decentralization and social discontent, as well as mounting international tension and warfare. Frequent uprisings in the Balkans, Anatolia and the Arabian provinces destabilized the empire both politically and economically. Rebellions occurred in Cairo, Istanbul, Damascus, Macedonia, western Bulgaria and northern Greece, and between the years 1787 and 1793 there were riots in Anatolia (Kastamonu, Diyarbakır, Maras¸, Adana, Ayntab, Aleppo), the Balkans (Macedonia) and the Arabian provinces (Damascus and

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Cairo). The same period saw widespread banditry in Rumelia (perpetrated chiefly by “the Mountaineers”), the revolts of semiindependent local magnates (ayans), initial outbursts of separationist nationalistic movements (the Serbian uprising in 1804), and millennial and puritanical religious and other political movements (notably Wahhabism). Moreover, the aggressive expansionist policies of the Great Powers directly impinged on the imperial domains, as manifested by the French occupation of Egypt (1789), the British Naval Expedition (1807), and frequent wars and shifting alliances between the Great Powers, all with an eye to drawing advantage from the Ottoman Empire’s difficulties. These events brought about a period of diplomatic gamesmanship and intense warfare, which in turn triggered further instability and fiscal crisis. Selim III’s military-oriented and piecemeal reforms were indeed intended as responses to the complicated problems of this period. The disruption brought about by the late eighteenth-century crisis, the Ottoman Empire’s fiscal problems and internal disorder, and the challenges of international conflicts triggered largely by the Napoleonic Wars, all necessitated the development of a reform policy designed to strengthen the Empire. Selim III’s intent was to establish a Western-style military system, increase state intervention and so boost revenue, and implement a programme of re-centralization. Yet, these reforms aggravated the problems from which the Empire was already suffering – the rising social tensions, deepening inequality and heightening competition over scarce resources, all characteristic of the “disintegrative period” (discussed below). Similar to the eighteenthcentury French efforts to finance its costly and unsuccessful wars, which resulted in “risky, but incoherent, programmes of reform, which gradually undermined the basis of the monarchy itself”,10 the reforming policy of the Porte changed the redistributive policies of the centre, creating losers and winners. In short, it was the crisis of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries which prepared the ground for the May uprising. This does not mean that the modernization paradigm has no relevance for the study of the early nineteenth century; nevertheless, the study of the uprisings in general, and the May 1807 uprising in particular, requires closer contextualization and a more sophisticated understanding of eighteenth-century realities. While Selim III was promulgating the

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New Order, the Empire had barely recovered from the global crisis of the seventeenth century, and another powerful wave of complex problems was gathering force. Jack Goldstone has combined studies on a number of different dynamics in order to model the multi-layered structures of causation at work behind the state breakdowns of the seventeenth century. According to him, since agricultural output had particular limits in the pre-industrial world, ecological crises and rapid population growth in a given polity put pressure on agricultural productivity and this, in turn, had an impact on the economy and state finances, while at the same time destabilizing social and political structures. Economically, disequilibrium in population and productivity causes price inflation, a fall in real wages and exacerbates rural poverty. The effects are observed in increased poverty, urban migration, a rapid rise in social mobility and intra-elite competition for scarce resources, as well as increased social disorder in the cities and countryside. States try to increase taxation to feed the expanded bureaucracy and army, but face resistance from different segments of society. The budget deficit persists, and in most cases leads to state bankruptcy, loss of military control and the breakdown of central authority.11 Developing Goldstone’s thesis, Peter Turchin and Sergey A. Nefedov have proposed a model of longer-term demographic, social and political oscillations, which they refer to as “secular cycles”.12 The key to these changes is the “alternating increase and decline phases, each roughly a century long.”13 While Goldstone restricted himself to examining the seventeenth-century global crisis, Turchin and Nefedov developed a synthetic model, combining several interlinked variables, which could be applied to any period in the preindustrial world. They label their two kinds of periods “integrative” and “disintegrative”.14 The former is generally a more conducive phase for polities, being characterized by centralizing tendencies, unified elites, territorial expansion and population increase. The integrative phase is further divided into stable expansion, and a period of stagnation and high inflation known as stagflation, followed by general crisis. The disintegrative phase is marked by decentralizing tendencies, intra-elite strife, internal instability and external weakness, decreases in population and civil war.15 Although Turchin and Nefedov frame their theories for the European experience, they emphasize that their cyclical theory is intended to be applicable to agrarian societies in general. Hu¨lya Canbakal, an

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Ottomanist, was the first to place a local disturbance in an Ottoman town, Ayıntab, within the context of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth-century crisis by combining the models of Goldstone, and Turchin and Nefedov. Though focusing on the struggles of two status groups (the janissary– sadat conflict) in the second half of the eighteenth century, she builds her theory on the fact that, like Russia, China or France of the same period, the Ottoman Empire was suffering serious fiscal and economic problems, as well as having to deal with heightened political activism, all of which were rooted in the global climatic crisis and revolutionary unrest. The burden of the fiscal crisis and inflation was not shared equally across society, and inequality also increased, leading to fierce socio-political competition over scarce resources and heightened faction formation.16 The years 1770 – 1820 correspond to the disintegrative phase in the Ottoman Empire. As in much of the world, a period of economic expansion had faltered by the mid-eighteenth century and a serious economic recession began in the 1760s. This was followed by rapid depopulation, migration, inflation and social unrest across the imperial domains, while the Porte suffered a loss of revenue and was forced to reconcile itself with decentralization. The reforming policies implemented, especially by Selim III and his ministers, allowed the rise of a new state-aligned elite, mostly at the expense of the existing military and provincial elites. This new elite formed the most powerful faction in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century, creating a bureaucratic quasi-oligarchy that bred nepotism. The rise of this bureaucratic elite, which began to exert control over scarce resources of wealth, power and prestige, increased competition among the elites closest to the throne – and in this regard the so-called anti-reformist group associated with the May uprising can perhaps best be described as the “faction of outs”, since it comprised a group of Ottoman statesmen who had become more or less excluded from power and decision making. Factional and personal rivalry amongst the Selimian elite further paralyzed central politics, and Istanbul became ripe for an uprising. On a local level, mass migration to big cities, and especially to the capital, disturbed the already fragile provisioning policies of the Porte, increasing popular discontent and causing riots. Growing social and economic inequalities were marked by an increase in the number of claimants of askeri status for tax exemption. The late eighteenth and

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early nineteenth century was thus a period of increased economic inequality, social unrest and political activism. Sanjay Subrahmanyam complains that the concerns of people and religious movements during periods of crisis tend to be neglected in favour of impersonal political, economic and social data. Such periods do indeed give rise to millennial or religious movements advocating the re-ordering of the world via a “renovator”.17 Apart from the expansion of puritanical Wahhabism, the Selimian era is also characterized by the rise in importance of the Naqshbandıˆ – Mujaddidıˆ religious order, founded in the sixteenth century by Sirhindıˆ, titled Mujaddid (the renewer). Born out of the crisis of the previous centuries, the late eighteenth-century crisis fueled the spread of this order and it now found a large number of advocates/disciples among the Ottoman dignitaries. The disciples of this order advocated reform of the empire for the survival of the Islamic umma in the face of internal and external threats. In addition to contributing to the eighteenth-century Islamic enlightenment, this religious order also supported the reforming policies of the Porte.18 Within this context, Selim III was also considered to be a mujaddid, a renewer of his age and empire – and the term New Order may indeed suggest a “re-ordering” of the Ottoman domains, rather than a completely new order as the term is commonly taken to imply. Rebellions or revolutions are direct manifestations of a social psychology, which is not always easy to explain or define. What is striking about the period preceding an uprising is a kind of revolutionary mood or “proto-rebelliousness”, without which the eruption of dissent would be difficult, no matter how serious the grievances. The 1800s were indeed marked by a revolutionary mood. A deep sense of betrayal, factionalism and social defeatism, and a level of conspiracy thinking that verged on neurosis were prevalent across the different strata of society. This malaise was not unfounded: resentment over the inability of the Porte to cope with the frequent foreign incursions had already aggravated popular anxieties; it also struck at Selim III’s imperial legitimacy and alienated the masses from his ministers. The sense of proto-rebelliousness eventually combined with the political activism of the traditional military corps (janissaries, armourers, and artillerymen), and the May uprising materialized.

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Sources The May 1807 rebellion occupied a central position in contemporary Ottoman writings and later historiography, and its perceived connection to the New Order still intrigues historians today. In contemporary records, two different discourses have crystallized concerning the upheaval. The first can best be described as imperial and dynastic, advocating the policies of the Porte and taking a stance close to the factions loyal to Selim III. The alternative views are more difficult to categorize. Although they are not anti-dynastic, they do not represent imperial historiography in the sense that they are fiercely opposed to the ruling elite and generally critical of the reform policies. The first discourse, sharpened and reformulated, is what emerged victorious in the later historiography, and it subsequently became the received view in Republican historiography.19 The most widely held theory of nineteenth-century history is that it essentially turned around efforts at modernization/Westernization, and Republican historiography has embellished this picture by viewing the Selimian elite as a vanguard of twentieth-century Turkish modernization. Seen against this sweeping historical background, the Selimian elite appear as patriotic heroes, and those opposed as representative of all things reactionary. In fact, far less is certain than this historiography suggests. Attempts to explain the causes and consequences of the uprising produced a large number of works already during the early nineteenth century: a considerable number of monographs are available, as well as local and foreign reports, and chronicles which devote pages to it. Thirteen monographs were produced, two of which were compiled by foreign observers.20 In addition to these, the chronicles by Ahmed Asım,21 ¨ mer Efendi,23 as well as a S¸anıˆzaˆde Mehmed Ataullah Efendi22 and Caˆbıˆ O 24 Ruznaˆme (Daily Routines of the Sultans), devote a considerable number of pages to the rebellion. The number of non-elite sources regarding the uprising are, however, very limited, comprising little more than a few janissary ballads and a memoir-like account attributed to a certain As¸ık Razi.25 Unlike the above-mentioned elite sources, these do not attempt to convey factual information; yet, they do allow us to hear fragments of the voices of the rebels and the common people themselves. It is not always easy to categorize the authors of contemporary narratives in terms of their viewpoints. Contrary to later Ottoman and

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Republican historians, few of them attempt to set out a well-formulated discourse about the rebellion. The main problem in this regard stems from the fact that we have only limited information about the identities of these historians and chroniclers, and are thus rarely in a good position to understand the motives that lie behind their comments on a given issue. It is extremely difficult to discern the nuances of their views on the rebellion from the scattered clues in their texts; it is therefore better to differentiate between them according to the simple criterion of whether or not they approve of the uprising – this yields three groups of attitudes: those who condemn, those who apologize, and those who remain ambiguous about the revolt. Kus¸maˆnıˆ’s works (especially his Fezleke),26 Mustafa Necib Efendi’s History,27 the second author of Neticetu¨’l-Vekayi,28 the Ruznaˆme of Selim III29 and Georg Og˘ulukyan’s Ruznaˆme30 fall into the category of those who condemn. We should also include in this list the accounts of two foreign observers, Juchereau de Saint-Denys and Ottokar M. von Schlechta-Wssehrd. It is easier to associate those about whom we have at least some information with a faction or clique or at least explain why they clung to a certain view. This is the case with Mustafa Necib Efendi, then a minor bureaucrat, who felt himself closer to the bureaucratic cadres of the Selimian era and displayed great respect for the ruling elite.31 Necib Efendi never accuses or blames the Selimian elite in any respect, and denies any kind of corruption on their part: according to him they were not motivated by self-interest; to the contrary, they strove hard for the well-being of the empire. It seems that he composed his booklet expressly to explain that the rebellion was not the fault of the ruling elite, and that the uprising had other causes – which means that he was aware of the accusations directed towards them. Mustafa Necib Efendi seems to have had special connections with Ibrahim Nesim Efendi (d. 1807), one of the most influential figures of the Selimian era, and always refers to him with great respect. The position of Dihkanıˆzaˆde Ubeydullah Kus¸maˆnıˆ is similar to that of Mustafa Necib Efendi: he was an ardent supporter of the Selimian reforms and a great admirer of the sultan and his statesmen. Little is known about Kus¸maˆnıˆ’s life. His real name was Said Refet32 and he describes himself as a wandering dervish travelling to various places for religious concerns; it is known that he was affiliated with the Behc etiye branch of the Naqshbandıˆ-Mujaddidıˆ religious order.33 He was encouraged to write his treatise by Kadı

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Abdurrahman Pasha, the famous commander of the New Order army, and he dedicated the work to Selim III. In fact, he had intended to present his treatise to the sultan, but the uprising deprived him of the opportunity.34 This, therefore, is a self-appointed observer’s account of the reforms, defending them by using the same arguments as the imperial centre.35 Among those who approve of the uprising are Lokmacı Matrus¸ Ebubekir Efendi (the first author of Fezleke), the authors of two anonymous short chronicles,36 Kethu¨da Said Efendi’s History37 and the History of Tu¨fengc ibas¸ı Arif Efendi.38 Though it is not always easy to determine which faction they are associated with, it is clear that most of the historians in this group favour any kind of reaction to the Selimian rule and applaud the May uprising for ending his era. Information on Lokmacı Matrus¸ Ebubekir Efendi, the first author of the Fezleke, is again limited. Actually, the Fezleke is composed of two different texts authored by two individuals, namely Ebubekir Efendi and Ubeydulah Kus¸maˆnıˆ, in the same volume. All we know about them is that Ebubekir Efendi was an intellectual of the period who was able to enter the circles of the Selimian elite, but became closer to the factions that came to power following the accession of Mustafa IV. Previously, he had entertained closer connections with the ruling elite and apparently enjoyed their patronage and took part in their meetings; however, some time before the uprising, for an unknown reason, he fell into disgrace and lost his position to Shaik Selami Efendi, a Naqshbandi shaik.39 Evidently, he was greatly disappointed, which may have led him to become an enemy not only of Selami Efendi, but also of the Selimian elite. Apparently an opportunist, he swung his support behind the opponents of Selimian rule, both for the sake of his own self-aggrandizement and also to take revenge for his exclusion. Ebubekir Efendi was in the city during the outbreak of the rebellion, and he seems to have been at the Meat Square when the murders of the statesmen took place; he describes the brutal scenes in contented tones. Would Ebubekir Efendi have rejoiced in the murders of the ruling elite if he had not lost his privileged position in that very elite to his rival Shaik Selami Efendi? Kethu¨da Said Efendi is another contemporary historian who adopts an apologetic tone regarding the uprising. As a steward (kapı kethu¨da) to Veliefendizaˆde Mehmed Emin Efendi (d. 1805), a former kadıasker and a supporter of Selimian policies, one would expect him to reproduce the

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imperial historiography. On the contrary, however, he praises the uprising and defines the rebels as “angels” sent by God to correct the religion. We do not have sufficient information about his life to allow us to decipher his unexpected position, yet two important clues might explain this oddity. Following the death of her husband, the wife of the deceased Veliefendizaˆde married Mehmed Said Halet Efendi (d. 1822), who was closer to Mustafa (IV).40 Kethu¨da Said was still serving as the steward of the same family at the time of the rebellion, so he might also have given his support based on family affiliations. More importantly, however, Veliefendizaˆde was in possession of a considerable number of janissary payroll tickets, as were most of his servants.41 This may have given Kethu¨da Said a strong incentive to sympathize with the rebels. There are also those sources that fall into neither of the above categories, and it is interesting to note that the account of the official historian Asım ¨ mer Efendi, while Yayla is one of them. The same is also true for Caˆbıˆ O ˙Imamı Risalesi can also be added to the list. Contemporary authors clearly take the New Order to have been the cause of the uprising. Most agree that the attempt to change the uniforms of the yamaks was the trigger, although a few disregard this claim as gossip (Mustafa Necib from the first, and Lokmacı Matrus¸ Ebubekir from the second group of historians). The reforms themselves are widely criticized by those authors who adopt apologetic or ambivalent tones regarding the uprising. Only once does the author of Yayla I˙mamı Risalesi aver that the reforms counted as bid’at (innovation seen as reprehensible in religious law). The anonymous writer of the abridged chronicle of the May uprising, on the other hand, considers the reforms to have been a well-intentioned attempt to defeat the Empire’s enemies, yet still holds that they were a violation of the spirit of Islam and is happy that they failed, something which he attributes to divine intervention.42 Overall, mutual recrimination and a strong polarization of views is characteristic of the early nineteenth-century sources which address the uprising.43 Mirroring the deep factionalization observable among the higher echelons of society, the authors of the Selimian era accuse each other of corruption, abuse and betraying the interests of the state and religion (din u¨ devlet) for their own benefit. Such discourse is clearly designed to demonize the other side: to represent themselves as good subjects and cast their opponents as self-seeking conspirators and

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traitors.44 Historians closer to the Selimian policies attack the janissaries and single out certain “corrupt” dignitaries, such as shaikh al-Islam Ataullah Efendi and kaimmakam (deputy to the grand vizier) Musa Pasha, for blame. They lay emphasis on the benefits of the reforms and name officials who they say conspired against the interests of the centre. On the other hand, for Asım, Lokmacı Ebubekir Efendi, the author of Yayla I˙mamı Risalesi and for an anonymous author, it is the ruling elite of the Selimian era who became the main target of criticism. These accounts concentrate on the oppression of the “corrupt” ruling elite and its repercussions, and tend to praise the rebels who were instrumental in annihilating this group. It appears to be not the New Order but rather the elite, who promulgated the reforms, coming in for attack. All contemporary accounts place strong emphasis on conspiracy; that is to say, they interpolate causality into history via the designs of certain perfidious individuals, an approach which is inherited by later historians.45 This leaves a rather strange impression that, in the absence of the conspiracies attributed to whichever group or individual they single out for criticism, the uprising would not have broken out – or, that if it had happened anyway, it would have been easily suppressed and certainly would never have led to the deaths of the dignitaries and the deposition of Selim III. This conspiracy mode of thinking and explanation was apparently not unique to the Ottoman authors; similar discourses are evident in European historiography from around the same period. Imputations of conspiracy may indeed have seemed like a plausible explanation at a time when the speed of change of political conjunctures outstripped contemporaries’ capacity to make sense of them.46 Finally, the conspiracy-based explanatory model reflected the authors’ suspicions about the “public’s inability to discern what is true or false”, an expression widely used in contemporary narratives, meaning that the authors considered the public open to manipulation by rival groups.47 Reflection on conspiracy theories is important for understanding the psychology of the contemporary observers, and also for deciphering the dynamics of discontent and division in a society, especially the factor of resentment.48 The sources, which refer to plots and conspiracies, provide clues to the concerns of the opposing parties, a point that is directly related to factionalism and power groups, and to which we return in Chapter Five.

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Review of Chapters The book has six chapters, organized thematically. Chapter One narrates the chronology and factography of the May uprising, and also provides a comparative analysis of the flow of events in Ottoman uprisings in general. Like most rebellions throughout history and across the world, Ottoman rebellions can be seen as an “extended form of negotiation” in which both the Porte and the rebels engaged in tense dialogue. Accordingly, the May uprising will be studied as a continuous exchange between the two sides, marked by several stages of negotiation and bargaining. In order to draw out comparisons with examples from other parts of the world, it is important to sketch the basic patterns of the Ottoman rebellious tradition. This is also the intent of this chapter. The next three chapters attempt to describe the domestic and international context in which the uprising broke out. At the very basic level, these chapters study the distal causes of the uprising. Chapter Two is an effort to locate the 1807 uprising within the context of the late eighteenth-century crisis. The issue of possible connections between modernization and the uprising is the topic of Chapter Three, in which the reactions to the Selimian reforms are studied. A survey of the period and the reactions to the New Order reveals that it was not solely the reactions to the so-called modernization process which led to social unrest and instability, but rather intra-elite competition, rivalry over scarce resources, challenges to the decentralized power structures and challenges to vested interests. Chapters Two and Three make special effort to evaluate these issues from the perspective of potential rebels, rather than imposing our own assumptions about Westernization or modernization. The mainstream historiography of the uprising usually dwells on the internal context, and is marginally concerned with understanding the international arena as it stood before and after the events of May 1807. Foreign relations are rarely mentioned and, when they are, it is mostly in order to furnish background information on how the Ottoman army had degenerated since the beginning of the eighteenth century. In Chapter Four, therefore, we focus on the international context not solely for the sake of background information, but in order to illustrate the role of foreign affairs at the heart of the internal politics of the Porte. The purpose is twofold: first, to show that the reforms were abused by the

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foreign powers active in the domestic arena; and second, to show that the involvement of the Great Powers in the politics of the Porte stoked resentment in society against a government seen as unable to hold its own vis-a`-vis international competition. The feelings of insecurity and betrayal which were thereby engendered were crucial for the 1807 outburst. Finally, the chapter also tries to determine whether any foreign power did indeed have a role to play in the outbreak of the rebellion. In Chapter Five, we examine the elite rivalry and elite power structures in the capital, again focusing on the possible connections to the uprising. The two initial sections are devoted to the identity, views and networks of each group, with the purpose of describing them through close reference to archival sources and other contemporary materials, rather than simply labeling them based on historiographic prejudice. It will also be argued that attitudes to the Selimian reforms were not the only denominator in the division between groups, but that this also turned on factional strife, patron –client ties, attitudes to foreign policies, personal relationships and religious affiliations – all of which will illuminate the complexity of political structures during the Selimian era. Chapter Six is devoted to an analysis of the rebels in the May uprising, in terms of their identity, motives and the ways in which they sought to legitimize their rebellious actions. As in most Ottoman uprisings, the rebels in this case were drawn mainly from military groups: the rebellion was instigated by the auxiliaries in the Bosporus forts, but these were rapidly joined by other military groups (janissaries, artillerymen, armourers) as well as some urbanites. Establishing the identity of the sub-groups among the rebels and drawing comparisons with other Ottoman examples will help us place the May uprising within the wider context of Ottoman uprisings. The abolition of the New Order and the elimination of the ruling cadres do not fully explain the rebels’ actions, for they continued to prosecute their rebellion even after these goals had been achieved. The causes which lay behind the deposition of Selim III are, thus, studied from within the theoretical framework of the “right to rebel” in the Ottoman context, supported by empirical data, in order to investigate the crisis of legitimacy which struck the Porte in the Selimian era.

CHAPTER 1 REBELLIOUS ROUTINES

He hath flown off the roof and ended up in hell. That is far enough to fly for such a scoundrel.1

Introduction The turbulent years 1807 and 1808 witnessed an uprising (25– 29 May 1807), a counter-revolution (28 July 1808), followed by the so-called Alemdar Incident (November 1808) and a short period of civil war (16– 19 November 1808). The first of these incidents, known as the May uprising, ended with the dethronement of Selim III and the elimination of the Selimian ministers. The five days of the May uprising were a period of continuous negotiation between the centre and the rebels. By contrast, the subsequent incidents saw no such negotiations: the counter-revolution was a simple coup d’e´tat led by Alemdar Mustafa Pasha (grand vizier from 28 July 1808 to 16 November 1808; d. 1808), aiming to reinstate Selim III and eliminate the cadres involved in the uprising. This precipitated a war between supporters of Alemdar and his opponents, which wrecked the city for several days. The speed and impact of the May uprising can hardly be overestimated: what began with the murder of Mahmud Raif Efendi, the superintendant of the Bosporus forts on 25 May, ended, in a week, with a change in the throne. A close study of the course of events over those five days allows us to situate the uprising within the wider history of Ottoman rebellions. In particular, it reveals the essential role of dialogue between the Porte and the rebels: for, as we will see, there were

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several stages of negotiation and bargaining, and at each stage the dialogue could have turned out differently, leading to a different outcome. In the end, however, the dialogue was broken off with the decision by the rebels to dethrone Sultan Selim III. A new process of bargaining then unfolded with the new Sultan, Mustafa IV, who in the end issued an amnesty paper, the Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye, which exempted the rebels from punishment.

Patterns in the Flow of Events Although the reasons for rebellion varied, the uprisings of the early seventeenth to early nineteenth century have a characteristic structure, which can be summarized as follows: a. Petition phase: expression of discontent, usually via petitions. b. Outburst phase: a triggering incident that precipitates the event. c. Diffusion phase: increase in the number of participants with the invitation of urbanites and the military corps. d. Bargaining phase: initial contact between the rebels and the centre. e. Congregation in meeting places: Et Meydanı (“the Meat Square”),2 the Hippodrome or in some cases in the vicinity of the palace. f. Legitimation phase: the rebels invite the ulema to participate. g. Negotiation phase: the rebels demand that the centre abolish a practice or punish culprits. h. Revenge phase: the functionaries held responsible for the fault are murdered. i. Deposition phase: [in some cases] the throne is claimed. j. Settlement phase: issue of an amnesty for the rebels. Ottoman uprisings traditionally follow this pattern, though the precise sequence and number of steps may change. The May uprising lacks the petition phase, unlike in 1632, 1651 and 1703, when the insurgents first presented petitions and requests to the centre. In 1632 and 1651, the guildsmen and the janissaries both had recourse to petitions, repeatedly presenting the grand vizier with their complaints. Having been unsuccessful, they turned to other authorities, such as the shaikh alIslam, the nakib al-es¸raf, the head of the descendants of the Prophet

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(sayyids), and finally to the sultan himself. Their frustrations with the petition process eventually led them to open revolt. In 1632, unable to make their voices heard, they began to revolt and in several instances forced Murad IV to hear their complaints.3 In his description of rebellious routines in the European context, Sidney Tarrow argues that the traditional European form of petition, valid since the seventeenth century, disappears from the routine during the course of the eighteenth century,4 and the Ottomans seem to be no exception. In the incidents after 1651, the dissidents take to the streets without first sending petitions to the relevant authorities.5 Ottoman rebellions usually started with a small group of insurgents (1651, 1703, 1730, 1807, 1808) initiating the upheaval in response to a triggering cause, then converging on the Meat Square within the janissary barracks in Aksaray. In the process, the rebels entered the bazaars, calling upon Muslims to join their cause and ordering nonMuslims to remain neutral but to close their shops. Before or after arrival at the square, they also invited other military corps to join them. In most cases, the Meat Square served as the central meeting place for the insurgents, although the true focal point was the court at the Topkapı Palace – the exception being the Edirne Incident of 1703, when Mustafa II was in residence at the Edirne court. After reaching the Meat Square, the insurgents would summon the high-ranking ulema, declare their grievances, and ask them to issue a fatwa sanctioning their demands – the execution of certain dignitaries or the deposition of the sultan. Once a rebellion was under way, state officials were no longer accepted as intermediaries, but became scapegoats and potential victims, and the bargaining then took place directly with the sultan. In 1703, a memorandum was prepared on the square, which demanded that Feyzullah Efendi, the shaikh al-Islam, be dismissed, and that the sultan return to the capital.6 Delegates were sent from Istanbul to the rebels and from the rebels to Edirne.7 In a similar manner, continuous negotiations took place between the ringleaders and the sultan during the course of the 1730 uprising.8 The rebels usually prepared a list naming certain people whom they wanted killed. This initiated a process of bargaining with the central authority, in which the centre either accepted the execution of the demands or refused to deliver them to the rebels; this was usually followed by some brutal and exemplary murders of the functionaries on the list. In some cases, the

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rule of the sultan came under direct challenge: the rebels insisted on obtaining a fatwa sanctioning his removal and the installation of a new ruler from the same dynasty, whereupon another bargaining process was instigated with the new sultan, the rebels demanding an amnesty – usually in writing – from the sultan, pledging not to punish them for their actions. In most cases, some time after the end of the crisis, the rebels would be rewarded with money or appointments. The second negotiation phase, this time with the new government, revolved around the efforts by the dissidents to minimize the negative consequences of their involvement.9 Frequent demands for “amnesty and safe conduct” suggest that cost benefit considerations were crucial in these conflicts.10 Moreover, each individual step within the overall development of the rebellion itself displayed distinct dynamics, in which the rebels frequently faced a dilemma that challenged them to reconsider their conditions and decisions. Although the dethronement of the sultan or the elimination of the chosen ministers ended the dissent, disorder usually continued for some time afterwards, like the aftershocks of an earthquake. The duration and character of violence varied according to the power of the centre and the prestige of the rebels, as well as the persistence of the cause. Since dynastic authority was relatively weak at the time of the May 1807 uprising, the turmoil in this case persisted for more than a year (the reign of Mustafa IV), including the coup d’e´tat by Alemdar Mustafa Pasha and the ensuing civil war. Viewed from this perspective, the uprisings of 1808 and even 1826 can indeed be seen as aftershocks of 1807, rooted in the challenge to the interests of the janissaries by the establishment of alternative armies by grand vizier Alemdar Mustafa Pasha (the Sekban-ı Cedid) and later by Mahmud II (r. 1808 – 39) (the Asakir-i Mansure-i Muhammediye), and the concomitant challenges to the interests of rival groups.

The May 1807 Uprising as an Extended Form of Negotiation Griesse remarks that revolts or uprisings can be seen as “moments of intensified propaganda and ‘dialogue’ between subjects and the authorities”;11 as Eunjeong Yi notes, their violence notwithstanding, rebellions can be seen as “an extended form of negotiation”.12 Rebellions or mutinies, unlike revolutions, are universally designed to force an

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authority to satisfy certain claims or eliminate certain sources of discontent. For instance, in the mutiny of the Spanish army of Flanders in the late sixteenth century, the mutineers entered into negotiations with the government following the establishment of a political organization among themselves.13 The May uprising was not an exception to this rule. The negotiation process greatly determined the policies of the political establishment towards the rebels, as well as the responses of the rebellious crowd. While the revolutionary cadres or ringleaders were emerging, especially during the first few days after the initial outburst, the rebels would enter a process of negotiation either directly or via their representatives. Far from being detached or isolated from the Porte, they would be in constant communication with the authorities they were challenging. These early stages, therefore, never led to a denial of the power of the centre or an outright attack on the palace, although in some cases the palace did come under siege (as in the Alemdar Incident of November 1808) by the rebellious crowd. The connection with the palace was never interrupted by any of the officials (ulema, high-ranking military officers or other administrators) who were acting as intermediaries, and the scale of the violence usually depended on the reciprocal attitudes between the representatives of the centre and the ringleaders. In this respect, there is a similarity between the traditional uprisings and the acts of rebellious pashas, where the negotiation process was also crucial. On a more general level, this fits into the logic of the Ottoman Empire’s “rule by negotiation”, as described by Karen Barkey in her influential An Empire of Difference.14

The May Uprising: Outburst Phase (Monday, 25 May 1807) On Monday, 25 May 1807, the authorities received alarming news from Hu¨seyin Agha, the dizdar (commander) of the Yus¸a Tabya (or Macar Tabya) battalion of the Bosporus.15 According to his report, on Sunday night (24 May), the yamaks (auxiliaries) of the Irva (Revancık), Anadolu Feneri and Garipc
e fortresses had visited their comrades in Anadolu Kavak and Yus¸a Tabya. In their meetings, they had asked whether their comrades in the battalion had heard that new uniforms had been dispatched and were being stored at the residence of the commander (Kavak Agha). According to Hu¨seyin Agha, there was no consensus

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among the yamaks about how to respond to this, and they gave contradictory and equivocal answers. It seems that the intention of the yamaks who visited the other fortresses was to warn their comrades rather than simply to make inquiries, since if their comrades yielded, the report suggested, they themselves would also be forced to wear the new Frenchinspired uniforms. Indeed, according to the same document, that night ended with the yamaks deciding to meet at Hu¨nkar I˙skelesi (in Beykoz, Istanbul) the next morning, in order to discuss the matter among themselves and to expel the Nizam-ı Cedid soldiers present around the fortresses. The next morning, the yamaks met at Umur Yeri by Hu¨nkar I˙skelesi. After a while, Halil Agha, commander of Macar Tabya, and Hu¨seyin Agha, the author of the report, visited the meeting place. Upon their commanders questioning them about their intentions, the yamaks declared that they were not willing to wear the new uniforms. In reply, Halil Agha denied that the palace had any intention to force the yamaks into wearing them, but he was unable to convince them, and they replied that if the sultan indeed did not intend to impose new uniforms upon them, then the Nizam-ı Cedid soldiers would not be stationed at the Bosporus forts. The yamaks also announced that they would meet again and would subsequently inform their commanders of their final decision on the issue. According to the same report, Halil Agha continued to try to persuade the yamaks, but was shot and killed. Hu¨seyin Agha was saved by the yamaks of his own battalion; escaping in a rowboat, he managed to send the above-mentioned report to the Porte. In retrospect, the initial outbursts seem rather simple and naive. Indeed, it is hard to believe that rumours of an attempt by the sultan to impose new uniforms on the yamaks of the Bosporus could by themselves have caused a full-fledged uprising in the capital. Yet, these rumours do seem to have been potent causes of discontent. Indeed, on the margins of the same report, Selim III notes angrily, “Who fabricates such unthinkable hearsay? You must for certain ensure that such fabricators be uncovered and affairs be set in order.” In a previous note, some time before the uprising, the sultan had accused Russian spies of deceiving the soldiers and creating disorder among them, implying that he had no intention of imposing new uniforms.16 If there was no decision by the sultan, and there was no official edict, what was the real source of this alarming gossip? It seems likely that it was the initiative of a statesman,

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Elhac Mehmed Ragıb Pasha (d. 1828), who probably wanted to increase his favour in the eyes of Selim III.17 In an imperial edict written in the first days of the rebellion, the sultan rebukes Ragıb Pasha, accusing him of causing a “revolution” (ihtilal) in the forts of the Black Sea and holding him responsible for several unacceptable acts. The pasha had formed a small military unit under his command, but some of these new recruits were either janissaries or yamaks of the Black Sea fortresses, and had objected to his statement that “I will make you into common drilled soldiers [muallem asker] and give you Nizam-ı Cedid uniforms.” Consequently, the edict declares, more than twenty yamaks of this small unit had deserted and spread the word among the soldiers of the fortresses, resulting in the murder of Halil Haseki/Agha. Moreover, it continues, Mehmed Ragıb Pasha had announced the presence of Nizam-ı Cedid soldiers among the Ottoman volunteer commando (serdengec
ti) recruits from Karaman for the Russo-Ottoman campaign, and had expressed his determination to distinguish them from the rest by imposing the new uniforms. After pointing out the danger in such acts, which could serve as a pretext for disorder and revolt, the sultan rebuked Mehmed Ragıb Pasha for his “seditious actions and statements”. It appears that Selim III was taking the utmost precautions to ensure that his functionaries avoided any actions that would create tension in his domain. While he states that measures were being taken to calm the rebellion around the fortresses, he orders Mehmed Ragıb to move immediately to Karaman.18 Thus, from the documentary evidence it does seem that there was no official attempt on the part of the sultan to force the yamaks of the Bosporus to wear the Nizam-ı Cedid uniforms; it is more likely that the rumours of such a government policy reached them through Mehmed Ragıb Pasha’s attempt to impose new dress on his own soldiers. The power of rumours should not be disregarded, especially in premodern societies where there were limited channels for the dissemination of accurate information. Rumours and misinformation played a crucial role in the instigation of many rebellious movements, and in this respect there are striking similarities between the 1622 and 1807 uprisings. In the case of 1622, there was no proven attempt to establish a new alternative army to the established corps, yet still rumours circulated to the effect that the aim of Osman II (r. 1618–22) was to establish a new army formed of soldiers recruited from Anatolia.

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In the words of Baki Tezcan, “[a]lthough there is a lack of conclusive evidence, this rumour seems to be true. Moreover, even if it was false, since the ‘rebels’ deposed Osman II by this rumour [. . .] it is necessary to understand what it meant to recruit a new army in the context of the early 17th century.”19 As may be inferred from some of the propaganda texts written before the 1807 uprising, it seems that the uniforms and musical instruments of the new army had already become targets for objections on the grounds that they were counter to Islamic custom. In one of these imaginary dialogues, the janissaries state that: For as much as they imitate the dressing of the sinner heathen, play side drums and continually occupy themselves with the acts of those wicked [men], there remained no sign of Islam on their faces and no light of it in their hearts anymore, and they all became virtually like the Franks of bad character.20 Thus, it is clear that the author wanted to give the message that dressing in a Frankish manner was symbolically reducing the barriers between the Muslim and the Christian world. This conceptualization of different civilizational zones through costumes was not peculiar to the early nineteenth century but as old as the history of the world. It was an important component of self-identification through time, and violation of it would always create dissatisfaction or reaction. As far as the Ottoman world is concerned, their co-existence and constant contact with the non-Muslim European countries had contributed to their selfidentification through clothing and appearance. Jackets, headgears (turban or hat), facial colours and pantaloons had very deep symbolic meanings signifying self-identity. In the sixteenth century, the Europeans were defined by the Ottomans as the people who wore pantaloons and hats.21 The Nizam-ı Cedid uniforms resembled those of the French, with blue berets, red breeches and jackets in the Levent Chiftlik regiment, and light blue jackets and ¨ sku¨dar regiments. Therefore, changes in the military breeches for the U uniforms, which represented standardization and centrally imposed discipline, were considered by the yamaks and the janissaries to be a challenge to their identity, and it seems that the resemblance to Western uniforms increased their resistance. Across Europe, the standardization

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of military costumes took place during the nineteenth century and to a limited extent in the eighteenth, and the Porte was not the first Muslim government to experiment with military modernization. In the eighteenth century, S¸ahin Giray, the Crimean khan, and Hyder Ali and his son Tipu Sultan of the kingdom of Mysore, had tried to establish Western-model armies, albeit with little success. It is known that S¸ahin Giray imposed Western-inspired uniforms on his new soldiers and it seems that this, as well as his employment of Russian instructors and commanders, was one of the causes of his downfall.22 Inspired by the Selimian military reform, Kavalalı Mehmed Ali Pasha, the governor of Egypt, had also tried to establish a modernized army in Egypt. Yet, his Albanian soldiers were not pleased with the drills and the “tight and disfiguring uniforms”.23 Much later, the attempt by the Ottoman government to impose new uniforms as part of military reform in Bosnia-Herzegovina in 1864–5 also met with resistance: the Bosnians refused to wear the new trousers and hats, and insisted on their traditional costume.24 The rumours, which on the face of it revolved around uniforms or disciplinization, point to the changing military substructures in the capital, notably the assignment of the Nizam-ı Cedid soldiers to the Bosporus fortresses. According to contemporary writer Ebubekir Efendi, the real cause of the May uprising was precisely the stationing of the Nizam-ı Cedid soldiers.25 There were some detachments of the Nizam-ı Cedid army around the Bosporus at the time of the rebellion,26 and in accordance with the systematic attempt to station disciplined armies at the fortresses, at least 600 Nizam-ı Cedid soldiers were moved there a few months before the rebellion, probably with the intention of improving the defences of the city against Russian aggression. The British Naval Incident of 1807 (see pp. 112–21) had also proven how vulnerable the capital was to foreign attack, and the Porte was determined to avoid another such embarrassing event. To this end, Mahmud Raif Efendi was appointed superintendent of the Bosporus to oversee the fortifications,27 and for the same reason, better-trained soldiers must have been chosen for the defence of the entrance to the capital. Anticipating a possible reaction, it seems that the Four Fortresses assigned to the Bostancı (imperial gardeners) corps were chosen for this attempt at using new soldiers. Neither the Bostancı corps nor the yamaks, however, were pleased with the policy of gradually introducing

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Nizam-ı Cedid soldiers: they considered themselves part of the janissary army, and this heightened the tensions between the old- and new-style troops.28 The systematic stationing of new soldiers was clearly making the yamaks suspicious that the sultan was attempting to replace them with the new model army. This also explains why the rebellion began among this military group rather than the janissaries, and why 17 years had passed relatively peacefully in the capital after the initial establishment of the Nizam-ı Cedid army. The yamaks were the first military group to face the real and immediate threat of replacement by or conversion to the new military system by the centre, and this was a direct challenge to their survival, prestige and identity. Returning to the sequence of events, the death of Halil Haseki/Agha was soon followed by that of superintendent Mahmud Raif Efendi. The latter had tried to escape in a rowboat after the news of Umur Yeri reached him, but he was pursued by the yamaks, captured around Bu¨yu¨kdere and killed together with one of his servants. The death of Halil Haseki/Agha had been a spontaneous violent reaction by the yamaks during the dispute between them; Raif’s murder was not accidental, but more deliberate. It changed the tenor of the events. With his death, the initial threshold of the rebellion was crossed.

Diffusion Phase: Increase in the Number of Participants (Tuesday –Wednesday, 26– 27 May) In terms of the success of a collective movement, the diffusion phase is of crucial importance. No matter the justice of the triggering event, any collective movement is doomed to failure if it lacks support from different segments of society, and if it is unable to attract an increasing numbers of participants. During the first night of the uproar of 1730, for instance, the ringleaders (around 25 people) were unable to recruit sufficient supporters, and only the initial cadre remained at the Meat Square during the night. Even the core cadres wanted to flee, fearing punishment and losing faith in the success of the rebellion. We should not forget that whether soldier or civilian, each individual caught up in a movement of incipient dissent must make rational calculations of the pros and cons of the various lines of action open to them. In this case, the rebels remained at the Square only thanks to the exhortations of Patrona

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Halil, the famous chief of the 1730 uprising. We have no idea how he persuaded his comrades, but it seems that he was convinced of the justice of their cause. With the increase in their numbers on the following day, the rebels were successful. By contrast, only a little later in the same year (6– 9 June 1730), amid a gathering of no more than 17 or 18 people, someone pulled a green flag from his bosom, fixed it to a staff, and began to cry out in the marketplace, ordering the people to close their shops. The janissary agha immediately came to the spot and killed the flagbearer. The rest were either killed or arrested, and general persecution in the city followed.29 In this case, immediate action by the Porte was decisive in putting down the rebellion but in 1730 the ministers were able to achieve this. The diffusion phase of the May uprising corresponds to the second day of the rebellion, Tuesday, which was more tranquil in comparison to Monday: there were no murders and no visible clashes. During that day the rebels organized themselves and chose their leader at the Bu¨yu¨kdere C¸ayırı, near the forts. Up to that point, the events had taken place among a limited number of yamaks around the Bosporus, but now their numbers were increasing, making them a power to be negotiated with. It is difficult to understand why the yamaks gathered at Bu¨yu¨kdere C¸ayırı for the whole of Tuesday. It is probable that they were awaiting delegates from the court with whom to negotiate, but lacking more evidence this remains speculation. Yet, the crystallization of leadership among the groups and their increasing numbers proves that they were determined not to give up until their aims were realized. There are differences in the contemporary sources as regards the identity of the other chiefs who now joined the rebels, but there is a consensus on the rise of Kabakc
ı Mustafa as their leader – although the details of how he was selected are not known.30 Indeed, the aims of the rebels are never specified unequivocally. A contemporary source claims that they had promised not to give up their cause until the Nizam-ı Cedid was abolished.31 According to Og˘ulukyan, the rebels had decided to march towards the Meat Square and to solve their problems in accordance with the sharia.32 Some accounts claim that the crowds at Bu¨yu¨kdere took certain vows regarding moral conduct, such as not to damage possessions and not to hurt anyone’s pride, to perform the daily prayers and to abstain from alcohol. The rebels, it is claimed, observed a strict code of behaviour and thus maintained discipline throughout the

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rebellion, and after these promises were made, they performed rituals of kissing the Qur’an and jumping over a sword.33 Such acts were required for the rebels’ self-legitimation; they were expressions of their own conviction that their cause was righteous, while also making claims for legitimacy directed towards the onlookers. Protests by small numbers of people have limited prospects of success in the case of rebellions. It is only with the participation of civilian and military groups that the movement can be transformed into a fullfledged rebellion. Thus, on Wednesday (27 May), the rebellious yamaks from the fortresses invited the commoners and military groups to join them in their march from Bu¨yu¨kdere to the city. The first to be invited were the civilians they encountered en route. The main body of the rebellious crowd followed the sea route to Ortako¨y and then to Bes¸iktas¸; sources give figures ranging from 300 to 1,500 people.34 Carrying their flags, the rebels also called out to the criers in the towns through which they passed, and immediately upon reaching the inner city they invited the Muslims to join them – the common pattern in early modern Ottoman uprisings. While the participation of civilians was crucial to the legitimacy of the rebels’ cause, the backing of military groups was critical in terms of increasing their power and prestige. The yamaks were not part of any established military corps in the strict sense, but served as auxiliary units to the main corps, although they often pretended to be janissaries. Their units were not greatly prestigious, and they would be in a weak position in negotiations with the centre, as well as in the eyes of civilians, if they were unable to extend their basis of support. Aware of this, they systematically invited other corps to join them. Before reaching the Meat Square, for instance, they sent delegates to invite the artillery corps, who joined them due to their own frustrations and sent their cauldrons to the Square. In convincing one of the most loyal of the sultan’s troops to join them, the rebels sealed their success. After meeting with the janissaries, invitations were sent to the armourers, who also sent their cauldrons to the square, in a sign of joining the rebellious cause.35 The enlistment of the populace via early modern communication systems took some time, and the dispatch of criers was essential. The invitation to commoners and military groups thus continued, as the rebels moved towards the inner city. On Thursday morning, the rebels passed through Galata and reached Kalafat Yeri (the Careening Ground).

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Joined by newcomers, they passed on to Unkapanı. Meanwhile, a group of them went to Uzunc
ars¸ı and entered the bazaar, while another group entered Silah Pazarı to purchase weapons – since the janissaries were usually disarmed during peacetime – and then passed on to Divanyolu. It seems that on witnessing their arrival, the shopkeepers closed their shops in great panic, while others tried to escape. The rebels ordered the non-Muslims to keep their shops open, while inviting the Muslims to close their shops and join them – suggesting that they intended the non-Muslim artisans to maintain the daily routine of the city. The fear of plunder was the most important factor in preventing commoners from sympathizing with the rebels. Seemingly aware of this, the rebels apparently took the utmost care to avoid acts of injustice or illegal transactions on their part: to be successful, they had to win the confidence of the Istanbulites. It seems that the rebels were able to pass this critical test: almost all sources provide examples of punishment meted out by the rebels to those among them who abused the common people. It is said that a rebel who tried to take a simit without paying for it was killed by his companions, while a janissary who stole a basket and another who illegally took a pair of shoes without payment were put to death on the spot.36 Kethu¨da Said and, later, Asım’s descriptions single out the May uprising as a success in terms of having ended without great disturbance or bloodshed, except as regards those on the execution list. It was thus hailed as a “miraculous event” and a “rare incident” in world history. Although at first they were feared to be bullies (zorba), their disciplined behaviour, the limited disturbance and the lack of plunder made the commoners think that “they were not human beings but a sacred group of angels sent by God to renew the religion.”37 Even the sources that are unsympathetic to the rebellion mention the smooth passage of events and underline the lack of plunder, which suggests that the rebels had indeed passed that test, and so gained the confidence of the Istanbulites.38

Bargaining Phase: Initial Contacts (Tuesday –Wednesday, 26– 27 May) The conceptualization of Ottoman rebellions as an extended form of negotiation may afford better comprehension of the relations between the sultan and the rebels during the May uprising. Though it is

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generally attributed to his passive or merciful nature, the reluctance of Sultan Selim III to employ the Nizam-ı Cedid army to suppress the disorder at the very outset was apparently due more to his desire to find out what the demands of the rebels actually were. The sultan and his ministers adopted a wait-and-see policy, sending delegates to listen to the demands of the insurgents. Some accounts adopt an apologist’s approach as regards the sultan’s lack of action, dwelling primarily on alleged conspiracies by certain corrupt dignitaries: due to their intrigues, it is said, the sultan was deceived, having been told that the disorder at the fortresses had subsided, and only becoming aware of the severity of the situation when it was already too late.39 The archival materials, however, contradict the claim that the sultan was not informed about the disorder from the very beginning. Indeed, it is clear that the Porte, Musa Pasha, the kaimmakam, and Selim III were informed about the disorder in the fortresses very quickly, thanks to the reports of Hu¨seyin Agha (the commander of the Yus¸a Tabya), a servant of Mahmud Raif Efendi and then a captain of Halil Agha.40 The first officer dispatched to the rebels was Bostancıbas¸ı (Chief Gardener), S¸akir Bey (d. 1807), but it seems that he did not dare to make contact with the rebels, and turned back either at Bebek or Bu¨yu¨kdere.41 Musa Pasha also called the ministers of the Porte to an immediate meeting, held at C¸ardak Kolluk, an outpost under the control of the 56th Janissary regiment.42 During the meeting, Musa Pasha questioned Sekbanbas¸ı Arif Agha about the disorder. In reply, the Agha remarked that he did not know the details of the events but was ready to disperse it. Apparently, they did not consider it a serious event, and believed that it could be easily resolved with a few subsequent punishments and concessions. Indeed, during the same meeting, Ibrahim Nesim Efendi, the former sadaret kethu¨da, opposed any suppressive measures, arguing that the rebels were a “crowd of ruffians” (karga derneg˘i) and that the disorder was not a matter that should bother them: it could easily be dealt with, he said, and even if it could not, it would yield to more serious measures.43 Inertia, or the wait-and-see policy of Ibrahim Nesim Efendi, seems to have been the preference of some of the other ministers in another meeting, where the main issue was whether to send the Nizam-ı Cedid soldiers or not. No major decision, however, was taken.44 The Ottoman ministers made a second attempt at communication with the rebellious crowds at Bu¨yu¨kdere after the unsuccessful

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performance of the Bostancıbas¸ı. It seems that around 30 to 40 leading figures of the janissary corps were sent to the rebels with the intention of convincing them to drop their resistance. The narrative, which mentions this, claims that the delegates from the janissary army were insincere, and that although they pretended to be advising the rebels, they secretly encouraged them not to give up their cause.45 Whatever the main reason, the first attempts by the centre to disperse the rebels by peaceful means and negotiation ended in clear failure.

Legitimation Phase: The Rebels’ Invitation to the Ulema (Thursday, 28 May) The fourth day of the uprising (Thursday) was the most decisive, with the crucial meeting taking place at the Meat Square. This was the final destination of the march of the yamaks: it was the place where the execution list was announced to the rulers, the point where decisions were taken among the ringleaders, and where negotiations continued with the centre. It also witnessed the murders of several statesmen. On that day, the main body of the crowd unfurled their flags and assembled at the aforementioned square. The cauldrons were carried from the barracks to the square, following the established custom in military protests. The rebels were received by the janissaries at the square and they took an oath at Tekke Meydanı. It is quite normal in Ottoman uprisings for the rebels to issue an invitation to the ulema to support them – just as they solicited the support of the soldiers and commoners. It was by means of such invitations that the rebels attempted to legitimize their acts, and it was the ulema who acted as a channel of communication between them and the Porte. In the present case, however, the invitation to the ulema (or their participation) should be treated separately from the invitation extended to other groups. This is due to the confusion over the nature of their involvement, especially in the case of the May uprising. The presence of the ulema at the square or in any phase of the uprising does not automatically imply their support, whether active or passive. Rather, it is related to the general pattern of the rebel tradition in Istanbul. Within the mainstream historiographical tradition, the presence of a leading ulema within these uprisings often leads students of Ottoman history to theorize an ulema– janissary coalition. In the cases of

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1622, 1703 and 1807, the nature of their involvement or collaboration is controversial among both contemporary and modern historians. As the ulema’s presence served to legitimize the movement in the eyes of the public, one of the immediate acts of the rebels was to “invite” the ulema to their congregation place – soliciting their participation either voluntarily or involuntarily.46 Yi, too, argues that the conscious use of religious rhetoric and “Islamic human elements” (i.e. the ulema), as well as the first use of the sacred banner by the rebels in 1651, were intended to increase the significance of their cause and to address a wider public.47 Since the grievances were framed within religio-legal vocabulary, the rebels needed the ulema to sanction their cause and, if necessary, to issue a fatwa mandating the death of certain culprits or the removal of the sultan. It is evident that the Ottoman rebels knew the rules of the game well: under pressure, very few of the ulema dared to decline the invitation, a point which says more about the dedication of the rebels than about the support they received from the ulema. As far as the May uprising is concerned, there are conflicting versions in the contemporary sources regarding the presence of the ulema at the square on Thursday. Some lay emphasis on the delegation of the ulema sent by the sultan to convince the rebels to end the disturbances; others, claim that they were invited by the rebels, while a final group simply notes the ulema’s presence among the rebels, but is silent on why they were there.48 The truth seems to have been a combination of the first two arguments. The ruling elite, including shaikh al-Islam Ataullah Efendi, the Anadolu and Rumeli kazaskers, the chief judge of Istanbul, and the fetva emini, were invited to a meeting at the Porte early on Thursday morning.49 There, with the other participants, they discussed the measures to be adopted against the uprising. No decision was taken and the quarrel between Ibrahim Nesim Efendi and Ahmed S¸emseddin Efendi nominally ended the meeting.50 It seems that, following the meeting, the ulema wished to go to the Palace, and it is very likely that the sultan refused to receive them, ordering them instead to await his orders at the Porte. Consequently, the ulema were still at the Porte when the rebels entered the square.51 In the meantime, some of the janissary commanders who were at the courtyard of the Su¨leymaniye Mosque decided to issue an invitation to the ulema, and upon this invitation the ulema came either to the Ag˘a Kapısı (the bureau of the janissary agha) or the Meat Square.52 Despite conflicting details regarding the arrival

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of the ulema at the square, the crucial point to be underlined here is the fact that the ulema did not spontaneously rush there, and also that their presence there does not automatically indicate their approval of the rebels.

Negotiation Phase: Demands that the Centre Abrogate Controversial Policies or Punish Culprits (Thursday, 28 May) It was the participation of the artillerymen in the rebellion that caused particular anxiety among the ruling elite and the sultan. On Wednesday, around midnight, Selim III sent orders to the kaimmakam Musa Pasha to summon several janissary officers to his presence the next morning. Why did he call the janissaries rather than the rebels themselves? It is interesting to note here that at the time when the sultan summoned the janissaries, that unit had not yet joined the rebels. In all likelihood, he did not want to have direct contact with the people of “inferior status” who were challenging his power, but it is plausible that he was aware of the prestige of the janissaries among the military corps and the rest of society, and that this was a strategy on his part to pre-empt the rebels’ invitation to them. Of course, he had first to resolve the problem of discontent, namely the rival Nizam-ı Cedid army, which the janissary corps considered to be a mortal threat to their livelihood. In the mind of the sultan, he could both secure the support of the janissaries and stop the uprising by eliminating this basic source of discontent. Plausibly, that is the ultimate reason why the sultan opened the negotiation phase on his own initiative and why he declared his decision to abolish the Nizam-ı Cedid army, without any apparent demand to that effect on the part of the rebels or the janissary elders. After receiving them, the sultan asked the representatives of the janissary army whether the real cause of the rebellion was the Nizam-ı Cedid army. We do not know their reply; probably it was affirmative, since the sultan then assured them that he would abolish it and that he had already ordered Sekbanbas¸ı Arif Ag˘a to close their barracks.53 This also indicates how the sultan perceived the rebellion. For him, the dissent was directly and solely related to the discontent with his new model army but, as we shall see in what follows, starting the negotiations by declaring the abolition of the new army was a miscalculation, since he was unaware of the other

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sources of discontent and the other causes of the uprising. Historians who lay emphasis on the importance of the discontent with the modernization paradigm have difficulty accommodating this fact because, in their view, there would have been no reason to continue the rebellion once the sultan had abolished the basic component of his reform package. Like other sultans challenged by rebels, he acceded to certain conditions; he first abolished the Nizam-ı Cedid army and then agreed to the execution of the officials as demanded by the rebels at the square.54 The hidden threat in such negotiations was the possibility of losing the throne, which obviously put sultans at a disadvantage vis-a`vis the rebels. Consequently, they tried to preserve their throne at the expense of making concessions. To my knowledge, only three sultans ever resisted the demands of rebels: one losing his life as a consequence, and the others successfully suppressing the revolt. Osman II, reminding one of Selim’s abolition of the new army, declared that he would give up his intention to make pilgrimage as demanded, but refused to agree to the execution of Su¨leyman Agha, the chief black eunuch, and one of the statesmen on the execution list. Consequently, the negotiation process broke down and the rebels began to cry in favour of Prince Mustafa.55 The rebellion ended with Mustafa I (r. 1622 – 3) ascending the throne, and Osman losing both his throne and his life. Murad IV (r. 1623 – 40) was more successful, since he followed a clever policy of creating problems among the rebels by playing them off one another, notably the cavalry corps against the janissaries.56 Centuries later, Mahmud II benefited from popular discontent against the janissaries and abolished the entire corps in 1826. In the case of Selim III, following the execution of the five officials on Thursday, criers were sent to every corner of the city to announce the abolition of the Nizam-ı Cedid army, and later imperial decrees confirming this were sent to Rumelia and Anatolia.57 The news of the abolition of the new model army was not warmly received by the rebellious crowds waiting at Ag˘a Kapısı. They claimed that they could not trust these words, maintaining that the sultan would never really abolish the Nizam-ı Cedid – Selim had resisted the abolition of the army despite the death and devastation of the Edirne Incident (pp. 86 – 91) – why then would he accede to this demand now? Note that, in referring to the alleged disloyalty of the sultan as regards a

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former promise, the crowds made it clear that they had lost their faith in his legitimacy, and the negotiations came to a halt when they declared their unwillingness to end the rebellion. This phase of negotiation, therefore, ended without success on the part of the sultan. He had acted in accordance with the established patterns, but the initial attempt was unsuccessful.

Revenge Phase: Execution of the Functionaries Held Responsible (Thursday –Friday, 28 –29 May) Another round of negotiation, this time on the initiative of the rebels, began with their request for the execution of certain statesmen. Some time after the arrival of the leading ulema at the square, the rebels had given them a list of persons to be delivered to the rebels. There is no agreement in the contemporary narratives regarding the number of the statesmen included on the list.58 Og˘ulukyan provides the highest number, arguing that these were 19.59 Fortunately, however, we have the original copy of the list sent to the sultan. On the upper margin of the document, the names of 11 functionaries are given: Bostancıbas¸ı [Hasan S¸akir Bey], Sırkatibi [Ahmed Efendi], I˙brahim Kethu¨da [I˙brahim Nesim Efendi], Mabeynci Ahmed Bey, Tersane Emini Elhac Hacı I˙brahim Efendi, Rikab Kethu¨dası Memis¸ Efendi, Rikab Reisi [Safi Efendi], I˙rad-ı Cedid defterdarı Ahmed Bey, Kapan Naibi [Abdu¨llatif Efendi], Darbhane Emini Bekir Bey, Valide Kethu¨dası [Yusuf Agha].60 The rebels demanded that the functionaries on the list be delivered immediately. On the lower part of the document there is a short note, which provides information on the demands of the rebels. The note starts by saying that the “janissaries” at the square were pleased with the sultan’s abolition of the Nizam-ı Cedid army (asakir-i cedid). This detail confirms that the new model army was abolished prior to the submission of the execution list. It reads, however, that this was not enough to persuade the rebels to end the rebellion. Therefore, the writer of the note states that unless the figures in the list were executed, the “janissaries” would not disperse. There is no way to identify the writer of the document, who copied the list of names to be executed

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and informed the sultan of the rebels’ demands. The expression taraf-ı daˆıˆyaˆnemize, however, strongly suggests that it was the shaikh alIslam.61 Though written in a very courteous manner, and not referring verbatim to a rebellion, it clearly specifies the execution of the statesmen as a crucial precondition for ending the rebellion. It further specified that these statesmen had to be executed within two hours. Like most of the previous sultans whose thrones were challenged, Selim III yielded to the pressure from the rebels and accepted their conditions. In a letter to the kaimmakam Musa Pasha he orders the execution of all the figures on the list, and requests that their severed heads be dispatched to the es¸kiya (rebels). A foreign source comments that Selim III anticipated that the rebels would calm down once these officials were dead.62 In great panic, and eager to save his throne, Selim III wrote to Musa Pasha, “Kaimmakam Pasha, execute them immediately and send their heads to the rebels, now!”63 This order initiated the process of capturing and killing the functionaries on the execution list.64 The purge continued even after the end of the rebellion and during the reign of Mustafa IV, with the new sultan pursuing those on the list who remained alive, the only difference being that the decapitated heads were now sent not to the square but to the Porte. One of the basic components of the notion of justice is the natural desire to punish and avenge wrongdoings.65 In her dissertation Justice and Revenge in the Ottoman Rebellion of 1703, Annemarike Stremmelaar dwells on the idea of revenge, using it as a framework to explain the bloodshed in the rebellion, and basing her arguments on Thompson’s idea of the moral economy.66 Beik, on the other hand, defines a “culture of retribution” as one which seeks a “deserved punishment for evil done”, this being rather different from Thompson’s idea of the moral economy which aims to restore a violated norm.67 Evidently determined to inflict exemplary punishment, the 1807 insurgents, too, attached the utmost importance to punishing the dignitaries on their execution list (for Ibrahim Nesim murder see pp. 183–6). They demanded that the functionaries be delivered alive: they were then searched carefully and dragged to the Meat Square. It is true that we can explain the brutal murders of the members of the ruling elite within the framework of “revenge”; but this does not fully explain the next step, namely the removal of the sultan himself.

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Deposition Phase: Claiming the Throne of a Sultan, 29 May 1807 There are, of course, many different versions and conflicting details about the historical and chronological steps leading to the deposition of Selim III. A short note from the Shaikh al-Islam to the sultan, however, suggests that there was already some talk about the installation of Prince Mustafa on the throne: His imperial highness, our munificent prosperous sultan. They still demand the rest of those wanted and insist on receiving them, alive and promptly. What is more, they are uttering intimidating words. I beg you to be so kind as to exert your majestic efforts in order to find a solution.68 The “intimidating words” most probably referred to the dethronement of Selim III. Indeed, the final issue to be addressed on Thursday, the fourth day of the rebellion, concerned the rebels’ insistence on ensuring the security of the princes at Topkapı. On Thursday, mid-afternoon, the rebels seem to have begun to worry about the safety of princes Mustafa (IV) and Mahmud (II), who were being held in custody at the Palace.69 They sent representatives to the Palace to provide for the security of the princes and to extend protection against possible assassinations on the part of Selim, who would thereby have become the sole legitimate claimant to the throne. Note that by this point the negotiations with Selim III had already ended. The issue of the deposition of Selim III became the most important event on the following day (Friday). Two different accounts of the steps leading to the fall of Selim III can be discerned among the narratives. According to one group of authors, this had already been decided on Thursday night, and it became evident during the following day that the opinion at the square was being manipulated – by the ulema – in favour of the removal of Selim. Consequently, the Shaikh al-Islam issued the fatwa for the dethronement of Selim III.70 The second group of narratives, on the other hand, claims that the deposition of Selim III was not a plot, but rather emerged spontaneously at the square on Friday. According to this line of explanation, shaikh al-Islam Ataullah Efendi, Sekbanbas¸ı Arif Agha, some senior ulema members and some leading janissaries held a meeting

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and argued that since there was no further reason to revolt, the rebels should be dispersed and order re-established. At this point, Ataullah Efendi seems to have intervened, saying, “Go and ask the chief and gang leaders whether they have any further wishes, and ascertain whether they are satisfied.”71 Janissary elders, and then some members of the ulema, were thus sent to the square for this purpose, and one of the chiefs, Bayburdıˆ Su¨leyman, was the first to express the wish for a change on the throne. Meeting with the support of the rest of the rebel chiefs, the insistence on the accession of Mustafa became more pronounced. We cannot be sure what transpired between the representatives sent to the square and the rebels, but in the end the Shaikh al-Islam sent word to the Porte. After this, Ataullah Efendi entered the Palace with a certain number of soldiers, crying: “We do not want the rule of Sultan Selim but of Sultan Mustafa.”72 Selim III was taken into custody, to be replaced by his cousin Mustafa, who was brought to the throne. The enthronement ceremony of Mustafa IV took place on 22 Ra 1222/29 May 1807, and the official document narrating the details of the ceremony states that Selim III, under the pressure of the soldiers, abdicated from the throne in favour of his cousin on his own will.73 The fatwa sanctioning the deposition of Selim III is not available. Yet, it appears that he had no option except to abdicate in the face of the consensus (icma) of the Shaikh al-Islam, three judges and some high-ranking ulema who had decided against him.74 Obviously something had gone wrong in the negotiations. Like earlier sultans, Selim III had yielded to pressure from the dissidents; yet, he was unable to save his throne. It is a central contention of this book that the removal of Selim III was not simply an extension of the revenge phase; rather, it was more deeply embedded in socio-political problems, the alienation of the masses and, finally, the endemic crisis which had irremediably undermined his legitimacy. This case shall be argued in the next chapters, especially Chapter Six.

Settlement Phase: The Issuance of the Amnesty Document (Saturday – Sunday, 30– 31 May 1807) The final phase of negotiation between the rebels and the new sultan began after the nominal end of the rebellion, this time over the issuing of an amnesty from the new sultan. It is symbolized by the promulgation of

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the document Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye (the Legal Document), which in essence was an amnesty issued by the new sultan as a result of negotiation with the rebels. Signed on 31 May 1807, the document has three parts: the main body, the signatures of the various officials and the decree of Mustafa IV annotated at the upper margin of the main text.75 The body of the text enumerates the causes of the rebellion, the Nizam-ı Cedid being at the head of the list – thus, it can be read as a general evaluation of the uprising. The second part of the main body focuses on the reaction of the janissaries to those problems – mainly their withdrawal of allegiance to Selim III – and ends with the procedures for the registration of the document. The signature section consists of the signatures of 44 of the highest religious and secular authorities, including the Shaikh al-Islam and the Kaimmakam. Thirty-seven signatories were members of military groups, the first 30 being leading janissary officers and the remainder yamaks from the fortresses. The document ends with the notification that one copy of the document was to be sent to the janissary army to be kept in their care. Finally, on the upper margin, Mustafa IV decrees that he has read the text very carefully and has approved it. The sultan underlines that, from then on, the “janissaries” should obey the stipulations mentioned in the text and should abide by their promises: they were not to interfere in any issue, minor or major, beyond their own responsibilities. In return, the sultan promises that no one from the ulema, janissaries or the leading elite would be held responsible for this matter, i.e. the uprising. It seems that the rebels had taken the initiative to call for a legal and written guarantee to exempt them from punishment for their involvement in an uprising. Since the sultan was new to the throne and had not yet established his power – indeed, he owed his throne precisely to the rebels – the rebels themselves were the stronger party in the bargaining process. For his part, Mustafa IV was eager to extract a written promise from them and restore order. This fascinating document has been the object of a number of important modern studies. According to Niyazi Berkes, the Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye violated the Ottoman religious and secular laws in the sense that the law as it stood did not allow for such a pact between the ruler and his servants – the latter being obliged simply to extend the utmost obedience to the sovereign. Beydilli, on the other hand, does not attribute such deep meaning to the Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye, describing it simply

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as an amnesty paper exchanged between the concerned parties. Both authors are right but they emphasize different aspects of the same document. It was indeed a simple amnesty paper (amanname) in its essence, but it is not possible to ignore its legal implications as a pact between the ruler and his servants (kuls). Beydilli goes as far as to assert that the issuance of an amnesty paper after an uprising was unprecedented in Ottoman history76 – yet, contrary to what he claims, this does in fact seem to have been a common practice. Indeed, similar documents were prepared after the 1632, 1703 and 1730 uprisings. The historian Abdi confirms that the insurgents of 1730 were able to secure a legal document (s¸eri hu¨ccet) on Thursday 12 October 1730, subsequent to the request of the rebels who feared that they would face punishment at the hands of Mahmud I. The document was prepared and signed by the ex-kazaskers and then presented to the sultan. He approved it with the following words: “Let it be done in accordance with the legal document delivered to them.” Thereafter, the document was delivered to the rebels, who promised to capture those who dared to create disorder and deliver them to their commanders. As in the case of 1807, they also promised not to interfere in affairs of state.77 The document of 1730 fits better into the category of amanname (amnesty paper) than does the Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye of 1807. In the former, Mahmud I made no direct promises to the rebels: rather, it was the Shaikh al-Islam and the Chief Judge of Istanbul who promised them exemption from punishment. Scrutiny of the 1807 document, on the other hand, reveals that it was more complicated than a simple amnesty document. First of all, it is an official document that binds the sultan and his officials, and the rebels with reciprocal promises. The promise was made by the sultan himself. Thus, the sovereign, who should stand above any sectional interest, had entered into negotiations and become just another party in the process that produced the document. This point is crucial, in the sense that it undermines the legal and executive power of the centre, especially the monopoly on coercion that was so vital for political authority. A later example of a similar document was the Sened-i I˙ttifak (Deed of Alliance), signed in 1808 during the reign of Mahmud II; a comparison between the Sened-i I˙ttifak and the Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye is instructive.78 The Sened-i I˙ttifak is considered to be the clearest sign of the process of decentralization in the Ottoman Empire and an attempt by the local

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magnates to gain the upper hand over the executive powers of the centre.79 It was concluded between the ayans (local magnates) and grand vizier Alemdar Mustafa Pasha, the shaikh al-Islam, and some other leading statesmen and religious elites. The Sened-i I˙ttifak can be seen as the result of a process of bargaining between the imperial centre and the local magnates (or between centre and periphery), which recognized their power and acknowledged them as a group upon whom the future of the Ottoman dynasty depended.80 The Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye does not place the janissary army in such a powerful position, but recognizes it as a pressure group that had the power to bring down an Ottoman sultan, and thus tries to curb that power. Another difference lies in the fact that the Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye was more short-sighted, since the real motive behind it was the concerns by the janissaries or rebels to avoid prosecution and the sultan’s desire to restore order to the Empire as soon as possible. The Sened-i I˙ttifak, on the other hand, seems to have contained more detailed and far-sighted stipulations, demanding the participation of the periphery in issues such as the recruitment of soldiers and taxation, and placing the sovereign right of the sultan under the protection of the ayans. As a final point of comparison, we might draw attention to two important articles of the Sened-i I˙ttifak. One stipulated that the sultan and his grand vizier were the ultimate authority in the Empire; the ayans, therefore, declared that they would oppose anyone or any group who refused to obey their orders. If the grand vizier became involved in affairs that were against the law, he too would face the opposition of the ayans.81 Thus, while in the Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye it was the ulema that was to function as a force which could correct abuses and mistakes, in the Senedi I˙ttifak this role seems to have been assumed by the magnates. Even more interestingly, the Sened-i I˙ttifak places the power of the magnates above the janissary army, and stipulates that the former is the power group that would resist the army’s mistakes. Both documents actually try to put legal limitations to the involvement of military groups in politics and limit legally their possibility to rebel. The sixth article of the Sened-i I˙ttifak, meanwhile, seems to have been inspired by the 1807 uprising. In the case of a janissary revolt in the capital, it states, the ayans would not only suppress the rebellion but would also try to abolish the army or regiment that had caused it, and their revenues (esaˆme, dirlik) would be taken from them.82 Setting aside

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the intentions of the ayans to share in the right to exercise coercion, the document declares its position as regards any possible janissary rebellion in the future. In that respect, the Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye was designed to deal with a past incident, while the Sened-i I˙ttifak was directed against possible future incidents. The Sened-i I˙ttifak, we may say, signifies the high point in the imperial decentralization process, while the Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye can be seen as a legal document that reveals the weakness of the central bureaucracy.

Conclusion Ottoman revolts in general, and the May 1807 rebellion in particular, can be seen as extended forms of negotiation.83 The process of negotiation broke off only at the phase of the deposition of the sultan, which is explicable more by reference to Selim III’s general crisis of legitimacy than the travails of the Nizam-ı Cedid. In order to secure their positions within the new regime, the rebels then entered a further phase of negotiation with the new sultan and achieved the issuing of a document of amnesty that exempted them from punishment. The Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye had also been prepared to prevent any future involvement of the military classes in the politics of the centre, underlining that the duty of correcting future mistakes belonged to the religious class. The subsequent events, the coup d’e´tat by Alemdar Mustafa Pasha84 and the Alemdar Incident,85 do not fit into the above-mentioned pattern of rebellious routines, and the communicative dynamism within those events is more limited. Rather than reconcile the expectations of the protagonists, the purpose here was to reinstate Selim III and eliminate the rebellious cadres of the May 1807 rebellion, including Mustafa IV and his ministers. Alemdar Mustafa Pasha partially achieved his goal, enthroning Mahmud II and having himself appointed as grand vizier. In the process, he broke Mustafa IV’s promise, punishing Kabakc
ı Mustafa and his comrades. His re-establishment of the Nizam-ı Cedid army under the title Sekban-ı cedid, and his policies of curbing the interests of the traditional army, brought him into direct confrontation with the opposing camps in the capital. In this case, too, the janissaries were unwilling to negotiate with the Grand Vizier. Motivated by deep hostility, they sought from the very beginning to eliminate him and his ministers. After an initial and unsuccessful attempt at assassination, the

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janissaries stormed the Sublime Porte (Bab-ı Ali, bureau of the grand viziers) and set fire to it: the elimination of the target, rather than communication, was the animating motive in both incidents. In the subsequent civil war, neither the centre nor the opposing group were open to communication and, as a consequence, death and devastation in the city was greater than in the May uprising. The communicative and rather conciliatory attitude of Selim III had been successful in saving the city from armed clashes between the opponents. It can also be considered a success in that the turmoil did not spill over into other public places or districts of the capital. On the contrary, the non-conciliatory policy of the centre related to the Alemdar Incident caused the clashes to spread to ¨ sku¨dar and Bes¸iktas¸, where the barracks of the Sekban-ı cedid were U sited, and the violence was accompanied by plunder. The uprising, the coup d’e´tat and the civil war, all within the course of one year, paralyzed the political apparatus and engendered a breakdown of the state.

CHAPTER 2 THE BREEDING GROUND

[T]he connection of anger with hunger [. . .] made the [r]evolution possible.1

Introduction According to the secular cycles model of Turchin and Nefedov, the period from the 1770s to the 1820s corresponds to the disintegrative phase, a period of decentralizing tendencies, intra-elite strife, internal instability and external weakness, decreasing population, and civil war.2 Against a backdrop of popular unrest, a serious economic recession set in during the 1760s, leading to scarcity, unemployment and a depressed handicrafts industry. The same period also corresponds to a worldwide environmental crisis, exemplified in the climate shocks and natural disasters of the mid-eighteenth century, which triggered bad harvests and in turn had a role in the decrease in populations – with, of course, likely further connections to social unrest (it is also instructive to note that the Age of Revolutions, the 1780s and 1790s, as well as the revolutions of the 1820s, came after periods of weather conditions, which saw below-normal temperatures). The result was a serious financial crisis for the Porte, further aggravated by massive migration into large cities, which peaked during the rule of Selim III. The mobility of the populations of the late eighteenth century, both horizontally and vertically, disrupted the existing social structures, especially in the centre, creating a large group of urban poor. Significantly, these conditions also increased the number of social groups – among the military, bureaucracy and religious classes – who were vulnerable to

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state policies directed at recovery from the crisis by currency devaluation, centralization of the provisioning system and efforts to increase the cash resources of the “underfinanced” empire. This chapter sets out the socio-economic background to the 1807 uprising and places it within the global context. The first section aims to explain the causes of the global crisis, and then moves on to understand its social effects (immigration, banditry, increased social mobility, rise in the numbers of the urban poor) and economic effects (poor provisioning of cities, soaring prices, increased discontent, food riots). The section that follows focuses on the effects of the crisis on the Ottoman finances (increase in budget deficit) and the governmental measures designed to mitigate them (devaluation, internal borrowing, change in the land-tenure system), which were mostly ineffective. Financial crises, mostly precipitated by agricultural crises, and the inability of governments to overcome them in a period of warfare, combined to undermine the legitimacy of the old regimes.3 Indeed, the French absolutist monarchy faced a similar financial crisis, something which is usually designated as the immediate cause of the French Revolution.4 It was hunger, and anger, which prepared the ground for the uprisings.

The Late Eighteenth-Century Crisis and the Ottoman Empire As we have noted, the Age of Revolutions was preceded by extreme weather events. The year 1791 is known to have been a very strong El Nin˜o year,5 whereby the El Nin˜o–Southern Oscillation (ENSO) phenomenon created climate anomalies and concomitant health problems in various parts of the world. This impacted Europe on a number of occasions, including 1658–88, 1789–93 and 1876–7. Indeed, the ENSO of 1788–93 had a global impact, causing droughts and producing famines in Australia, southern Africa, South Asia, China, the Atlantic, the Caribbean and Mexico.6 The Mediterranean region saw dry winters, especially between 1780 and 1793. To this, we must add the eruption of the Icelandic volcano Laki in 1783–4, which killed thousands of people in the western part of Europe owing to high amounts of sulphur dioxide released into the atmosphere. Thick clouds of dust affected the climate both in Europe and Asia, causing exceptionally cold winters in Europe and

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weakening the monsoon flow in Asia; the dust also caused severe drought in northern Africa. Further still, the period between 1790 and the 1830s corresponds to the last phase of the Little Ice Age: reduced sun spot activity caused harsh winters in various regions, accompanied by greater inter-annual climatic variability.7 These climate anomalies reduced standards of living across the globe, radically affecting agricultural production, causing malnutrition and leaving people more vulnerable to disease and epidemics. Finally, the population expansion of earlier centuries had caused deforestation and soil erosion in northern China and Europe (France and Germany), and had created the European monsoon (brief periods of violent precipitation followed by long seasons of drought).8 Few regions were immune to the combination of ecological instability and the secular cycles. In the Far East, Japan (1780s) and China (1790s) faced overcrowding, natural disasters, regional famines, disease, population unrest and revolts.9 Zhili, in northern China, faced a shocking agricultural crisis: the harvest of 1801 was only 25 per cent of a normal year’s harvest (the lowest in the past 300 years), a depletion which had been caused by major flooding in the same year.10 The comparatively better-developed (yet still dominantly agriculture-based) economies of western Europe could not escape these cycles, and like the rest of the world continued to suffer from subsistence crises. Bad harvests were observed in France (in 1787 and even worse in 1788, with harsh winters followed by storms and floods, with a severe drought in the early summer of 1788 and yet another harsh winter in 1788–9), which caused the highest bread prices in 70 years.11 Precipitation was deficient in France and the weather was dry in Britain in 1788. Consequently, wheat prices soared in London in the eighteenth century (surging in 1736, 1740, 1756–8, 1766–8, 1772–3, 1775, 1777 and 1793–9).12 As one author has commented, “late eighteenth-century England was a thoroughly appropriate country for the conception of the Malthusian nightmare.”13 In order to emphasize the global connections of environmental history, Alan Mikhail notes that “[a] volcano erupted in Iceland; people starved in Ottoman Egypt.”14 Indeed, for the Ottoman Empire, as with the globe, this was a time of epidemics, climate hardships and natural disasters. Moreover, this period of climatic instability had been preceded by a period of rapid population increase, which itself had had adverse effects on living standards, leading to high mortality,

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malnutrition, epidemics and an increase in food prices in a period of declining wages.15 In fact, demographic recovery from the seventeenthcentury crisis was very gradual, and it was an exceptionally long time before the population reached the pre-crisis level. The 25– 30 million population of the 1830s was less than that of the 1590s.16 There was, however, a modest improvement in living conditions in the early eighteenth century, until a new phase of crisis engulfed the Empire, which began to repeat the patterns of 1550–1650 after the mideighteenth century.17 William Eton, writing in the late eighteenth century, notes a “rapid” depopulation under way in the imperial domains, and mentions epidemics, disorder (especially in Anatolia) and famine as the root causes. If we follow him, the decline in population seems to have been severe in the period 1757 – 70. In contrast to a century earlier, the author notes that “the whole coast of Syria, which a few years ago was tolerably populous, is now almost a desert.”18 While Pellegrin, writing in 1715 – 19, mentions the existence of 80 villages in the Morea, an observer in the early nineteenth century, Chateaubriand, says that there were scarcely five or six.19 It seems that in this period the natural rate of population increase was not able to keep pace with high mortality rates due to disease. An example drawn from Istanbul may be interesting and helpful here. The author of a ruzname from the reign of Mustafa III records the birth dates of six infants from 1767 to 1776, either from his own family or neighbours; only one survived.20 In the late 1790s, another author notes that it was plague rather than war which was devastating Istanbul, and that the city was not able to sustain its own population.21 Most parts of the Empire followed the same trend: economic prosperity through the first half of the eighteenth century, followed by a period of economic crisis.22 There were considerable decreases in the industrial sector: examples are the Trabzon linen production, Danubian wool and cotton textiles, and dyeing and printing in Seres during the latter part of the century. In the same period, there was practically total stagnation in the customs revenues of Trabzon, Tokat and Varna, as well as Kavala, Istanbul and the Danube. A few locations did grow (like Salonika and Izmir) thanks to foreign trade,23 but in most of the imperial domains this too also stagnated, something which was not always necessarily related to the commercial supremacy of the Western powers.

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Epidemics, natural disasters and climatic changes struck the Ottoman Empire heavily. Drought became extreme between 1757 and 1758, especially in Anatolia and northern Iraq and Syria.24 Drought in Syria and Palestine (1785) and harsh winters in Iraq and Syria (1778–9) greatly reduced agricultural production and further created dynamic instability. Exceptionally cold weather devastated many regions; even the Tigris River froze in 1757. Locusts, harvest failures, food shortages and famine (in Crete, Macedonia, Aleppo, Baghdad, Cairo, Tripoli, and Diyarbakır, Syria) were observed.25 These conditions resulted in price increases in Diyarbakır, Mosul and Mardin.26 Wheat crises and food shortages became endemic in Salonika, spurring several bread riots (in 1720, 1740, 1753 and 1789). Epidemics exacerbated the suffering of the populace. Plague began to spread across the imperial domains, arriving in Macedonia, Bulgaria, Serbia, Bosnia, Tunisia, Egypt, Algeria and Syria in 1784, accelerating in 1785, and spreading to most provinces of the Empire the following year.27 Salonika fell victim to plague in several waves between 1679 and 1814, which claimed thousands of lives, wiping out 16 to 20 per cent of the population.28 Plague visited Aleppo in 1719 (with four separate attacks between 1719 and 1760), Mosul in 1800, Baghdad in 1833 and 1834, and Damascus and Bosnia in 1847.29 While Salonika lost a considerable portion of its population to the epidemic, in Alexandria it was an unparalleled demographic catastrophe.30 In Anatolia, Izmir lost most of its population in the eighteenth century. In Diyarbakır, famine was followed by epidemics, resulting in a sharp depopulation during the periods 1756–8, 1762–3 and 1799–1805. The natural disasters of 1712 (including the plague), 1757–62 and 1789– 1800 were severe enough to produce a striking degree of depopulation in Diyarbakır.31 Elias Habeschi reminds us that the rich mines of Diyarbakır were yielding only one-sixth of the production of former years owing to disturbances in the region and depopulation.32 The plague of 1799– 1800 damaged inter-regional circulation as well, causing a decrease in revenue from customs duties in the city.33 The same epidemic visited Istanbul 37 times between 1701 and 1750 and 31 times between 1751 and 1800, the last wave reducing the urban population by a devastating 20 per cent.34 The epidemic nearly put an end to economic life in Istanbul in 1778. Apart from the plague, dysentery, smallpox and rickets were also rife within the Empire.35

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At the end of the expansion phase, owing to the over-exploitation of land, poor harvests, epidemics, famine and disorder, surplus populations started migrating from rural areas and lost territories into the cities. By the late eighteenth century, cultivated land had greatly diminished, with a consequent decrease in population.36 This alone placed strains on food provision, but it was further aggravated by increasing demands from the Porte for the provisioning of the army and increases in foreign exports. Local monopolies and rivalries made the economic situation even more difficult, which in the long run also triggered decentralized tendencies.37 In 1757– 8, great poverty caused by epidemics and harvest failures caused massive migrations in Syria and southeastern Anatolia. Following the harvest failures, epidemics and the arrival of locusts (and also because of rising taxation and abuses by officials), many peasants from Diyarbakır deserted their lands.38 Eton counts plague, disorder, epidemics and the endemic maladies of Asia, including famine, avarice of the governors and the sickness that follows famine, among the causes of depopulation in the Empire in the late eighteenth century.39 In his report of 1 September 1757, the French consul of Aleppo commented that the extreme scarcity in Aleppo was observed also at Mosul, Diyarbakır and Orfa; the vast majority of the inhabitants of these towns have abandoned them, and have dispersed to one place or another. A great number of them passed by here a month ago, the mothers and fathers selling almost all their children and especially the girls at two, one, and less than half a piastre per head; such desperation has never before been seen. aussi a` Mossoul, Diarbekir et Orfa, la plus grande partie des habitants de ces villes les ont abandonne´es, et se sont disperse´s d’ une coˆte´ et d’autre. Il en passa en ic i un grand nombre il y un mois, les Pe`res et les Me`res vendirent presque tous leurs enfants et surtout les filles a` deux, une, et moins de demi-piastre par teˆte; jamais on n’a vu une telle de´solation.40 Though it was a crisis for the commoners and central authorities, this period of stagflation turned out to be a golden age for some elite groups.41 Evidently, the struggle over the rapidly decreasing surplus (the difference between total production and what was needed for subsistence) by the provincial and central elites also disturbed rural

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life in most regions. Owing to the increasing prices of agricultural products, as well as the increased value of land in the eighteenth century, there was a rush for land and a rise in speculative landholdings.42 Malikanization and the rise of large estates (chiftliks) in the eighteenth century curbed the peasant economy and the classical land tenure system.43 In both processes, state control over the lands was loosened and private initiative became more important. The sale of revenues of certain state lands to private individuals for the span of their lifetime in return for a cash payment had increased the cash state revenue but at the same time also increased the individual’s role in the provinces and the peasantry. Profit-oriented chiftliks, on the other hand, can be considered as the beginning of a kind of capitalist economy in the Ottoman Empire, mainly in the sense of a slight shift from a traditional subsistence economy to profit-oriented production in regions, again through private initiative. This spread to the Balkans and eastern Anatolia, mostly in synchrony with the Western economy, and also meant the rise of “excessive land rents” in the late eighteenth century. In the Balkans, this led further to the creation of a dependent peasantry – which immediately became the subject of oppression – if not the development of serfdom in the full sense of the term, as a response to rising agricultural prices and demographic fluctuations.44 In Bosnia, the depopulation motivated the Bosnian landholding groups – sipahis (cavalrymen), fortress commanders and ayans – to force the peasantry to cultivate their lands. In Bulgaria, fierce struggles among the ayans, as well as postwar demobilization, made conditions for the peasantry unbearable.45 In the 1800s, competition over lands created a wave of intense land usurpations (either by conversion or displacement) by landholders, which left the Serbian peasantry landless on the eve of the Serbian uprising (1804).46 It is argued that 40 per cent of the Bulgarian peasants were landless at the turn of the nineteenth century.47 In the Danubian principalities, the same struggle continued over controlling the peasant surplus, leading to increased corve´e and peasant servility. The boyars of the Principalities were encouraged to initiate a series of social reforms, especially for the abolition of serfdom (between 1746 and 1749), to mitigate the hardships experienced by the peasantry; yet, the conditions of the Romanian peasants were not relieved but indeed hardened in the early years of the nineteenth century.48 On the other hand, it seems that in order to escape oppression and the predations of

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banditry, some of the peasantry sought refuge in chiftliks, especially askeri chiftliks, both in Anatolia and the Balkans, which provided them shelter from arbitrary taxation and abuses. There was, thus, a close connection between peasant mobilization and chiftlik formation in the Ottoman Empire.49 Generally speaking, the presence of sipahis, tax-farmers, bandits and local administrators, as well as the visiting pashas who billeted troops – both legally and illegally – created further hardships for the peasantry.50 Illegal acts and increasing taxation by the provincial governors also contributed to making the countryside unbearable for the peasantry. Despite frequent adaletnames (justice decrees) issued to the different authorities in the periphery, the Porte was not able to bring order and prevent abuses in the provinces.51 A good example may be drawn from Bolu. Some residents of the city sent petitions to the divan-ı ali, complaining of the oppressions committed by Hacı Ahmedog˘lu (d. 1808), the voyvoda of Bolu, and asking for his dismissal.52 Unable to obtain his dismissal, it seems that some then fled to other cities. We will meet the immigrants from Bolu once again, in Istanbul, at the height of the May uprising. Banditry also became widespread in mid-eighteenth and nineteenthcentury Anatolia and Rumelia.53 Bandits had ravaged the Morea, Macedonia and Bulgaria from the mid-eighteenth century onwards, disrupting regional trade and local bazaars.54 Bandit chiefs in Serbia, meanwhile, tried to seize peasants’ lands and enserf them; in the long run, this disturbance to economic life, together with the excesses of the Belgrade yamaks and Pazvandog˘lu, played an important role in the Serbian uprising of 1804. The Mountaineers (Dag˘lı Es¸kiyası) also constituted a serious challenge to the central authority in the Balkans. This term, first observed in the Kırcali Mountains and used since the mid-eighteenth century to refer to the common banditry active in the region, later became a generic name for similar disturbances in the Balkans. For a long time, the Mountaineers were active around Filibe (Plovdiv), western Thrace and the northern Balkans, and became a serious problem for the central regions after 1797 –1807. Numerous governors and local magnates were delegated to suppress them, but their efforts were futile. In the 1800s, the bandits began to infiltrate as far as Edirne and C¸atalca. Balkan peasants, already under strain from overtaxation and banditry, and notwithstanding pressure from the local

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ayans, either joined the bandits or fled to the mountains and reverted to semi-pastoralism.55 The situation was no better in Anatolia. Peasants in Sivas, a city where migration was frequent, suffered from the raids of the nomadic Ris¸van and Lekvanik tribesmen, and eventually many left their homes.56 Perhaps climate changes had also eroded the incomes of nomadic tribes dependent on husbandry, causing them to resort to banditry. The nomadic raids and oppression by local authorities had similar effects in Diyarbakır.57 The security of the provinces became a basic concern of the centre. Despite various measures, such as the increase in the derbend (rural provisioning and security) system, and the employment of sekbans, local militia, and Albanians, the lack of security remained intractable.58 Owing to the disruptions of rural life in the provinces, a second “great flight” began. Mass emigration from Cyprus occurred in the same period.59 In the Balkans, the disorder due to wars, invasions and local oppression, as well as famine and epidemics, caused considerable numbers to migrate to the Habsburg Empire and Russia, or other Ottoman cities. The Bulgarians, for instance, fled to the Principalities and to Russia during the war of 1768– 74, and then to Istanbul in 1797–1800. While some Romanians and Serbs migrated to Habsburg lands, some Greeks went as far as Italy.60 In his treatise, Su¨leyman Penah Efendi (d. 1785), an eighteenth-century bureaucrat, notes that the Ottoman non-Muslim subjects were migrating to the West, due to oppression and overtaxation at the hands of local authorities. He mentions 500,000 of them fleeing to Austria.61 The loss of Crimea, on the other hand, created mass migration to Dobruca and different parts of the Empire.62 Within the confines of the Empire, migration was usually to big cities, especially Istanbul, Izmir and Bursa.63 Migration was particularly heavy from the 1710s to the 1750s, peaking from the 1740s to the 1760s, but continuing on, with strong waves of migration to the capital, throughout the reign of Selim III.64 Indeed, a contemporary observer in the 1770s confirms that there was a rapid increase in the population of the city due to immigration,65 while another observer, Tatarcık Abdullah, notes that due to the massive migration there remained no vacant field in the city, all now being full of houses.66 People moved to the capital not only from Anatolia, but also from the Balkans; Albanians and immigrants from the northern Black Sea region formed the

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majority.67 Even in the early eighteenth century they were one of the most mobile elements in the Empire. According to one estimate, around 12,000 Albanians were present in Istanbul at the time of the 1730 revolt.68 Newcomers to Istanbul were usually concentrated in the interior of the city – Galata, Eyu¨p and U¨sku¨dar – mostly because of patterns of chain immigration, mainly from the Balkans or Anatolia.69 Nearly half of the workforce in early nineteenth-century Istanbul were migrants. While only one-third of the masters were local, immigration accounted for a large per centage of employees and peddlers.70 These people usually resided in bachelor houses, inns and chambers, which the central authorities considered suspicious places of ill-repute, probably also due to increased housing prices. In 1792, there were 50 inns around the southern Golden Horn, 74 bachelor’s chambers, and 32 rooms.71 On the other hand, the influx of immigrants who began to be involved in non-structured commercial life, while infiltrating into established commercial life in the city, also exerted strong pressure on the guild structure, which became more rigid and exclusive in response.72 Urban centres gave people relative freedom by providing an escape from rural taxation and oppression. Most early modern cities, however (and Istanbul was no exception), were limited in their capacity to provide migrants with job opportunities and food. At the turn of the century, Istanbul was already a big city by early modern world standards, with a population of around 500,000.73 The provisioning of the capital was already a chronic problem for the central authorities, but it had become more acute in the mid-eighteenth century. The newcomers meant more mouths to feed, as well as increased pressure on the traditional economic and social structures of an early modern city ruled by its networks of provisioning. In the politics of provisions, when expectations rose, failure to address them triggered social discontent and food riots.74 The harsh winter in the last year of Abdulhamid I’s reign had already created serious problems for the city’s grain supplies.75 Baron de Tott, for instance, mentions a bread riot in the capital during the grand vizierate of Koca Ragıb Pasha (grand vizier: 1757–63). After examining the provisioning policies of the authorities regarding grain supply to the capital, de Tott reports that even though the loaves had diminished in weight, bread prices had soared greatly. Owing to bread scarcity in the city, bakers were being protected by guards against halffamished commoners; rice was also scarce and eagerly hoarded, which

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caused a woman leading a group of people towards the shops where rice was stored to attempt to pillage the supplies. The raiders were dispersed upon the arrival of the Grand Vizier, and rice was distributed to the crowd.76 Writing shortly afterwards, Su¨leyman Penah Efendi also underlines the problems Istanbul was facing due to excessive migration. According to the author, it led to irregular urbanization, left the city vulnerable to fires, and made the feeding of the population very difficult, increasing urban disorder, while the fields lying vacant in the countryside exacerbated the situation further.77 Similar observations were later made by Asım, who stressed the difficulty of providing livelihoods in the city. The harsh winter of 1788 caused a spike in the price of foods and led to black-marketeering.78 The problems of provisioning the city were exacerbated during the reign of Selim III. In contemplating grain shortages, the sultan once warned his Grand Vizier: “You know the size of the population in Istanbul. What would happen if, God forbid, there was no bread for one day? I cannot stop but think that riots would multiply all over.”79 Indeed, he was unable to solve the provisioning problem, and bread riots struck in the capital in 1789 and 1790. As noted by a chronicler: And again on the day in question, due to exorbitant prices, looting of bread took place in bakery shops, the fierceness of which words fall short to describe. The common bread baked in shops was not edible at all and, may God forgive, tasted like mud. So all the people, men and women, children, Muslims and infidels were groaning and clamouring in front of bakery shops.80 Bread prices also soared in France, where bread itself was the basic diet for around three-quarters of the population. A four-pound loaf of bread increased from eight sous (in the summer of 1787) to 12 sous (by October 1788) and 15 by early February 1788.81 Despite agricultural reform in 1794, revolutionary France was also troubled with the problem of provisioning; there too, inflation of bread prices caused revolts. Between 1799 and 1801, Britain also faced similar problems of scarcity and high food prices.82 The Grain Administration (Zahire Nezareti) was founded in 1793 by Selim III, but this was an ineffective measure in the face of such severe problems.83 The Administration monopolized the grain supply to the capital, purchasing at around 60 para per kilo, but

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consumers had to buy it at no less than 3 or 4.5 gurus¸. Comparing the situation before and after Nizam-ı Cedid regulations, one foreign observer notes that the Porte made a profit of 15,000 gurus¸ from this transaction, but the poor had no prospect of cheaper bread.84 The shortage was overcome to a certain extent during the last years of Selim III’s reign, but the poor quality of bread and its high price relative to weight remained the main source of complaints from the populace. Long and heavy winters, in addition to internal disturbances, prevented the smooth provisioning of cereal to the city and caused prices to soar.85 The final years of Selim III’s reign saw ongoing scarcity, and an intensification of complaints about poor-quality bread (diluted with barley and millet) and its price relative to the dirhem, especially between 1805 and 1807; these complaints were frequently accompanied by public outbursts of anger.86 During one of his incognito trips, the sultan himself had witnessed people waiting in front of a bakery, complaining about the scarcity of bread.87 In a council meeting dated 18 December 1783, the possibility of a war with Russia, with the threat of a blockade of the Straits and a consequent scarcity of basic staples, had made Su¨leyman Penah Efendi argue in favour of peace.88 His fears were to materialize a little over two decades later (1806). The war with Russia, the occupation of the Principalities, and the British and Russian blockade (pp. 110– 16) hit the provisioning of the city, both by cutting supply lines and disrupting agricultural activity, but also by increasing the need to provision the army through the end of Selim III’s reign. The British naval blockade and the Russo-Ottoman war, as well as the revolutionary wars in the continent, increased the prices of basic staples and also encouraged hoarding.89 The price of grain rose from 0.86 gurus¸ per Istanbul kile in 1800 to 2.23 gurus¸ in 1806 (then to 3.6 in 1810).90 At the same time, bread weight dropped from 80 dirhem to 60, to 65, and grain prices rose in Selim III’s final years.91 During the reign of Mahmud II, and especially in 1809 and 1812, the Russo-Ottoman war increased the problems in the provisioning of wheat due to the interruption of transportation from the Black Sea, with similar effects in the city.92 Even in the process of transportation to the capital, many “frauds” seem to have been practised – such as wetting with salt water and adding other substances to increase the quantity.93 As in most regimes, the provisioning of bread, the main diet of the poor, was among the most important “ideological” requirements of the

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Ottoman sultans. Successful and consistent provisioning of edible bread to the population proved that a sultan was able to feed his subjects, which symbolized the justice of his rule. When the sultan failed to deliver, or when there was a decrease in bread quality, his political legitimacy was quickly undermined and social unrest began to mount. Some striking examples are illustrative of the importance of bread during the course of the 1807 uprising. The most important one is a dialogue between shaikh al-Islam Ataullah Efendi and a chief leader of the uprising. The chief demanded of the Shaikh al-Islam, “For whom did God create millet?” The latter replied, “For the birds.” “And the corn?”, “For the animals.” Finally, the leader asked about wheat. Shaikh al-Islam Ataullah Efendi answered that wheat was created “for human beings”. The chief then brandished a meager loaf, and declared that the poor were forced to consume bread made “of not even corn or barley.” Indicating the fine white bread consumed by the rich, he complained that the Muslims were being forced to eat very poor-quality bread.94 The concerns of the rebels with the issue of bread is crucial in revealing popular sentiment and displaying the positioning of the rebels as representatives of the urban poor and the lower ranks of the urban middle class. At the same time, a status value was attached to highquality bread.95 Alongside the above example, the insurgents’ awareness of this chronic problem is also reflected in their willingness to entrust a statesman, Mustafa Res¸id Efendi (d. 1819), to supervise the kapan (the official port of grain exchange between merchants and bakeries), and to distribute flour to the bakeries in order to ensure that no problems occurred in the provisioning of bread at the peak of the uprising.96 With the sultan having assumed the paternalistic role of provisioning bread and maintaining its quality, his ministers were held responsible for failures. It is relevant to note that Abdu¨llatif Efendi, the director of the granaries (kapan naibi), was one of those executed at the demand of the rebels in 1807. Inflation and popular discontent did not end with the May uprising, however, but continued in subsequent years. On 19 April 1808, at supper time, a group of Turkish women with sticks and dishes in their hands descended upon the residence of the judge of Istanbul, saying: “Priest (Papaz) Efendi, while you are fed with sumptuous repasts, we are starving, with a liver costing us five paras.” It being a Friday, the women also presented petitions to the sultan on his procession to the mosque (selamlık), swaying sticks with candles and livers hanging from

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their ends and crying: “O Your Excellency, wake up and consider us. We cannot stand the high prices anymore, we are starving.”97 The late eighteenth and early nineteenth century was a period not only of the spatial movement of masses (migration), but also of vertical movement (social mobility). Social mobility during this period was not a symptom of decay or degeneration, but rather of social change. Indeed, Nefedov and Turchin consider elite expansion or elite recruitment from the commoners as one of the characteristics of the stagflation period.98 Acquiring an askeri status (in a military, bureaucratic or religious capacity) was probably the dream of most commoners, especially during periods of crisis. Regular cash wages, a rise in status and certain privileges, such as tax exemption, gave military status an enduring attraction to commoners, both among the rural population and the newcomers to the cities. Commoners had already begun to infiltrate the corps during previous periods of crisis, especially during the seventeenth century, with further increases in the eighteenth. Requiring less specialized knowledge and less training in comparison to others made recruitment into military groups more attractive. It also provided upward mobility, which made military groups, especially the privileged janissary corps, the most attractive option for the commoners, especially from the sixteenth century onwards. This was so evident that almost all of the Ottoman writers of the sixteen and seventeenth centuries were complaining about the corruption of the janissary army due to the infiltration of outsiders (ecnebıˆ) to the corps. Recruitment to the janissary corps reached a peak in the 1580s, followed by a period of decrease, to make a second peak in 1622.99 During the early nineteenth century, the numbers of those claiming askeri status increased considerably, with 23,000 new recruits joining the janissaries between 1805 and 1826.100 Together with the infiltrations, a sort of sale of offices was emerging among the janissaries through the so-called esaˆme (payroll tickets) market, whereby people with a certain capital could buy janissary titles but never attend military campaigns. The marketization of the esaˆme actually seems to have been a peculiar mechanism that was not widespread. The successful establishment of a monetarized economy, the existence of individuals with capital, and the poor soldiers in need for cash made the sale of esaˆme possible. Like the iltizam or malikane system, this market could also exist in an economy which needed flow of cash from one group to another.

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There was both a horizontal and vertical expansion of those owning these tickets. Horizontally, the spectrum of the esaˆme owners broadened to include various segments of the lower levels of society. Vertically, it reached up to dignitaries including the courtiers, the ulema and the bureaucracy. For the urban poor, being admitted into the janissary cadres was a coveted job opportunity, while for the higher social echelons it provided extra income. With their limited incomes, commoners had little chance to accumulate more than a few pay tickets, but the upper classes sometimes had immense numbers of them. A salutary example of how the wealthy were able to accumulate janissary wage tickets is provided by a contemporary source. Among the probate estate of Ahmed Nazif Efendi, a former defterdar, and his father Selim Agha, there appeared the esaˆmes of 19 soldiers worth a total of 260 akce. The total may not be very considerable, but suggests that high-ranking bureaucrats also benefited from the commercialization of the esaˆmes.101 During his grand vizierate, Alemdar Mustafa Pasha, himself originally a janissary of the 42th regiment, frequently invited his former janissary comrades for conversation. During such a meeting, he narrated an incident that had taken place 13 years ago, while he was stationed in Istanbul for a period of eight months. Janissary salaries were paid once or twice during his stay at the barracks, and he noticed that a servant of an ulema frequented the barracks during these times. The servant received 700 gurus¸ as payment from a certain regiment. After narrating this story, Alemdar Mustafa Pasha confessed that he later learnt that the attendant in question was a servant of Veliefendizaˆde Mehmed Emin Efendi.102 Though it is impossible to know how many esaˆmes he owned, one may make an educated guess that Veliefendizaˆde Mehmed Emin Efendi had at least 700 and at most 8,400 pay tickets.103 After the liquidation of the esaˆme ordered by the centre in 1808, the hoarders of tickets were revealed. Among them, a professor (mu¨derris) and Sahaflar S¸eyhi were deriving considerable income from pay tickets worth 650 akce daily salary (yevmiyye). Mehmed Ragıb Efendi, a judge and a former seal-bearer (mu¨hu¨rdar) of Yusuf Agha (steward to the Valide Sultan, the mother of the sultan) had accumulated tickets worth 6,000 akce, while S¸emseddin Molla, a powerful ulema member, had tickets worth 1,800 akce daily salary (yevmiyye). Contemporary narratives mention the names of esaˆme owners from among the ulema, though they acknowledge that similar examples might be drawn from the bureaucracy, courtiers and craftsmen.

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The spotlighting of the ulema-class might be related to the glaring fact of the proliferation of esaˆme-papers among a social class expected to remain aloof from such discreditable concerns for worldly goods. It is thus certain that a good number of the ruling class had janissary pay tickets. How should we explain their motives? We might, perhaps, account for their interest in accumulating esaˆme-papers simply by referring to individual corruption and greed, but this would be simplistic. It is more illuminating to observe the connection between the increasing purchase of esaˆme-papers and the rise in the number of dignitaries’ households, which were forced to find new sources of income to maintain their servants during a period of economic crisis. To meet increasing household expenditures during a period of declining incomes, the dignitaries might have found it easy, and indeed rational, to avail themselves of a ready income from state-sponsored pay tickets.104 It was a good means of investment without any serious obligations and very little risk. If unnoticed by the state, it would bring a regular flow of revenue. An order, issued in 1808, that ulema and bureaucrats should render up to the state treasury the janissary esaˆme-papers in the possession of their household members and attendants, confirms this picture.105 Even at the Bosporus fortresses, the servants and offspring of some commanders were paid through the pay tickets of the yamaks.106 Baki Tezcan rightly attracts our attention to a less well-known mechanism of connection between military groups and civilians: the orta sandıkları (company banks) under the control of their trustees. Each regiment had an orta sandık, which lent money to military and civilian groups, including businessmen and established craftsmen. This provided ready credit for the businessmen.107 These company banks were controlled mainly by the junior ranks of the janissary corps – a group which was notably active in the May upheaval.108 Another result of the above-mentioned process was the emergence of a group who identified themselves with the interests of the janissaries and were concerned for their welfare. Naturally enough, the owners of janissary pay tickets had a direct interest in the well-being of the army. This created a broad social group of people, extending both vertically and horizontally, who stood to be directly affected by the fate of the janissaries. In other words, it entailed a huge web of informal networks that cut across the whole of society, leading to unlikely alliances between different classes who shared janissary interests. Since we are unable to

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determine the names of esaˆme holders during the reign of Selim III, it is difficult to find out whether they really supported the janissaries during the May uprising. Yet, the above-mentioned S¸emseddin Efendi, who held esaˆme-papers worth 1,800 akces, was at the Meat Square during the rebellion and is mentioned as ranking among the supporters of the rebels. Veliefendizaˆde Mehmed Emin Efendi had died two years earlier, but it might be instructive to draw attention to the apologetic tone of his steward, Kethu¨da Said Efendi, concerning the uprising. Like the janissaries, the sadats (the descendants of the Prophet Muhammad) drastically increased in number from the seventeenth century onwards. As in the case of the janissaries, gaining membership of the sadat group brought prestige and various privileges, and although not always blanket fiscal immunity, at least immunity from some taxes.109 Due to the loss of revenue caused by the proliferation of false sadats, from the mid-sixteenth century onwards surveys were carried out by the Porte aiming to rescind the diplomas of impostors. Claimants to sadat-status continued to increase in the eighteenth century, and in the nineteenth century this became more widespread still. According to Canbakal, by that time the term had begun to lose its meaning, being transformed into a title of “polite recognition”.110 The janissaries and the sadats were politically active in Istanbul, as well as in Aleppo and Ayntab, and in the provinces in the period 1770– 1820, sometimes coming into conflict with each other over these towns’ economic resources.111 It was less risky than free enterprise and automatically afforded members a privileged position in society. As for the janissaries, admission to the ranks meant not only a ready salary, but also exemption from some types of fiscal and moral requirements to which ordinary civilians were subject; moreover, they had a chance to acquire a good retirement stipend by attaining high ranks. We still do not have a complete list of the privileges attached to the corps and it is difficult to know whether these privileges were automatically bestowed upon new recruits. Apparently, the askeri class was liable to extraordinary (avarız) taxes,112 but it seems that they were exempt, for instance, from money levied through commercial transactions and they were not taxed on imported goods.113 At the same time, they had immunity from trial and inspection from legal and market authorities, and guild regulations.114 Andre´ Raymond enumerates the privileges of soldiers in Cairo, which included immunity

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from the rules of guilds and the government, and also from the regulations of the muhtesib (market inspectors). For instance, it seems that some janissary-artisans were able to speculate on food prices, and the muhtesib had only limited power over them in 1801, which provided them with good money from speculations.115 Moreover, the estates of deceased janissaries were to be seized by the corps, and not by any other authorities.116 Even their executions and punishments differed from those received by civilians. For both minor and serious crimes, they were subject to military law in terms of imprisonment and punishment, and subject only to the authority of their commanders.117 It seems that special attention was paid to keep their punishments shielded from the public, which may be the reason why punishments were carried out at night, in a ceremonial way, within the confines of military barracks. Janissaries were punished by their own regimental elders in the presence of their own regiment. For more serious offences, the guilty janissary would be imprisoned in the Baba Cafer dungeon and then strangled, a privilege usually reserved for the askeri class.118 In short, entering the ranks of the janissaries seems to have provided a kind of shelter from arbitrary punishment, as well as more security in commercial dealings. Lower-rank urban dwellers and new immigrants to Istanbul sought these highly privileged positions. The bureaucratic cadres of the Porte also witnessed similar changes. There was an increase in the number of scribes in the eighteenth century, together with increased hierarchization and upward mobility.119 It is to be expected that, aside from the population increase and rising social mobility, the expanding bureaucracy and the increased paperwork of the Selimian era would also have increased the need for new recruits by the Porte. Yet, at least in the correspondence (mektubıˆ) office, the increase in the number of clerks was greater than the labour that would have been needed for the increased paperwork. Underlying the drastic increase in the number of scribes in the nineteenth century, Carter V. Findley observes the “mounting pressure” on the lines of promotion during the reign of Selim III. Since most of the newcomers were untrained and unqualified for membership of the bureaucratic cadres, in a regulation passed in 1797 it was announced that no new clerks would be accepted in the Divan Office.120 Christine Philliou draws our attention to another social group, which witnessed a similar expansion. The Phanariots’ bases of associations

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expanded during this period owing to the arrival of lower social orders in Istanbul. The Phanariots handed out new titles by recruiting Balkan, Aegean and Anatolian Christians into the capital, and hellenizing them through their formal and informal networks. In order to escape the capitation tax (cizye), and so as to carry out trade with foreigners unhindered by government regulations and duties, Christian subjects chose to acquire beratlı prote´ge´ status, which granted them extraterritorial rights, tax immunity and protection against abuses.121 In the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, diplomas (berat) had become an honorary gift bestowed upon prominent non-Muslims (zimmis), and were sometimes sold by the consulates for profit or given as gifts. This practice and the subsequent rise in the number of beratlis in the empire naturally reached scandalous levels, despite the efforts of the government to curb their proliferation.122 In Salonika, for instance, there were similar increases in the number of pseudo- and true interpreters (tercu¨man), and a new inspections regime was imposed in order to distinguish them.123 On 16 January 1806, the Porte sent memoranda to its embassies stipulating the conditions for the granting of a berat: henceforth, only non-Muslim subjects in the active service of the embassies and consulates were allowed to receive one.124 The rise in the level of inspection of Phanariot functionaries ran parallel to the inspection of janissary pay-books. To prevent conflicts among Phanariot families and an increase in the number of beratlıs, in 1819 the Porte issued an order, which limited the number of families that could serve as hospodars, or dragomans, to four. The expansion of the askeri class by inclusion of the non-elite segments of society no doubt resulted in an increase in the number of middle-class groups who aligned themselves with the state or who preferred to be financed directly by the state itself – in other words, were in government service. At a very practical level, this placed an extra burden on the treasury, a point which contemporary authors complained about.125 From another perspective, these factors also resulted in the creation of a social underclass that became dependent on state resources and also, therefore, vulnerable to its policies. Such policies, which are too numerous to recall in full, include the debasement of currency, arrears in payment, the creation of an alternative army, or state decisions to levy inspections to expose false sayyids or militarymen. While debasements are generally detrimental to society at large, they can have grave

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consequences for people on fixed salaries. Throughout the history of the Ottoman Empire, militarymen have been notably reactive to debasement, since it struck directly at their economic condition;126 they had, for instance, reacted strongly against the debasement of 1793, and were instrumental in the dismissal of the director of the imperial mint.127 The sensitivity of the military as regards shifting state policies is best exemplified by the relationship between esaˆme payments and the Nizam-ı Cedid. The janissaries were paid in cash every three months. The esaˆme, a sealed pay certificate, was given exclusively to them, signifying their right to receive a salary. The commercialization of the janissary pay certificates had allowed non-military segments of society to infiltrate the janissary army and receive undeserved salaries. Although the transfer of esaˆmes did not require a fee and was not illegal in the late eighteenth century, the central authorities eventually lost control over the trails of money, creating dynamics that made the army practically independent of state control: the state also lost track of the soldiers’ identities and total numbers. At the same time the Porte was facing the problem of lack of manpower during military campaigns, since few of the pseudojanissaries (non-janissary esaˆme-holders) were willing to go to war, it was also forced to pay the esaˆme-holding civilians. The vicious cycle of wars and internal revolts in the Balkans stretched the traditional military system, and necessitated the recruitment of new soldiers.128 Now, the Porte was obligated to pay the salaries of the inactive soldiers, as well as the mercenaries hired to combat the internal and external threats. The creation of a new army, the Nizam-ı Cedid, during the reign of Selim III, created a fresh opportunity for the urban poor of the city, and some of them joined the newly established army, which they saw as a good alternative to “starvation”.129 Yet, we should not see the Porte as the ultimate loser in this game: it seems that the Porte issued extra payrolls to be circulated in the market as a public security, and kept the salaries in arrears (with a delay sometimes of up to nine months) in order to ease the financial burdens of war.130 In order to reduce military expenditure and to restrict esaˆme-grants to active soldiers, the state enforced stricter surveillance of the esaˆme market and made frequent inspections. It was no coincidence that payroll inspection began during the fiscal crisis of the late eighteenth century. The inspections implemented by Halil Hamid Pasha, for instance,

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provided a reduction of 1.9 million gurus¸ annual expenditure for the treasury.131 During the reign of Selim III, these inspections were continued with the purpose of controlling the esaˆme market and preventing abuses, as well as regaining state control over the military forces. The vertical and horizontal expansion of the esaˆme system, however, had already created a vast group of people with a vested interest in the survival of the old military system, prominent among which were the members of the ruling class, the ulema and palace officials who held esaˆme-papers. The efforts by the central authorities to rein in the military, the frequent inspections and the attempts to abolish the esaˆme system, therefore, provoked discontent and frustration in many layers of society. One of the basic causes of the 1808 Alemdar Incident, for instance, was the prohibition of the esaˆme by the Porte. Up until the destruction of the janissary army in 1826, the Porte was unable to obtain clear estimates concerning the number of traditional soldiers; this, again, recalls the Porte’s ineffectiveness in preventing migration. The Ottoman rulers were well aware of the close connection between migration and the increasing number of people being fed from the state coffers. In response, they tried to control migration and put a check on newcomers, using mechanisms of social control intended not only to relieve the burden on the treasury, but also to prevent social disturbances and, thus, provide stability in urban life. Despite these efforts, migrants continued to enter the urban market, arriving without any connections, and threatening the established guilds of the city by trying to infiltrate the trade markets and guilds. Their arrival, thus, engendered conflict between guildsmen and the “outsiders”.132 The gedik system, the right of a craftsman to conduct business in a certain place, became much more frequent in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century,133 serving as an institution to protect the rights of established artisans. Despite the state’s efforts at accommodation, less fortunate newcomers (with fewer opportunities to enter the established status groups) still had little chance to be incorporated into the city, and so remained on the fringes of Ottoman society, forming a disgruntled population always viewed with suspicion by the central authorities and considered as prone to revolt. Following the revolts of 1730 and 1740, the central authorities began to see urban vagrants and bachelors as highly suspicious individuals predisposed to crime.134 Selim III responded with measures aimed at increasing social control and discipline in the capital. In addition to

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frequent edicts prohibiting migration to the big cities, especially to Istanbul,135 he instituted the practice of issuing travel certificates (mu¨rur tezkeresi). Although this practice was employed in the sixteenth century, it became more widespread in the eighteenth and nineteenth.136 As Suraiya Faroqhi observes, measures to prevent immigration were matters more of “economic and demographic conjuncture, than of principle.”137 The frequency of the orders issued under Selim III’s rule suggests that the government had indeed failed to control migration or to integrate newcomers into urban society. Three days after a failed assassination attempt (15 December 1791), Selim III ordered district inspections that effectively cleared the city of vagrants. Since the would-be assassin was an Arab, particular attention was paid to that ethnic group. Expelling the vagrants, however, was no easy process. One month after the failed assassination attempt, most of the inns, bathhouses and districts were cleared of vagrants; yet, they sometimes found ways to return. For instance, some of those expelled were Algerian, yet many of those in Galata later found employment through Cezayirli Seydi Ali Pasha (d. 1820) himself.138 Likewise, the suhtes (medrese students) of Sultan Ahmed Medrese sought protection from high religious authorities.139 In addition to the mu¨rur tezkeresi, the most effective method employed by the central authorities to deal with the migrant problem was premised on the notion of collective responsibility, which prescribed that certain communities were to be held responsible toward each other for the prevention of crime. The surety (kefalet) emerged as the most effective method of ensuring public order, making it obligatory to have a trustworthy person as a guarantor (kefil).140 These measures, however, proved unable either to control migration or to rid the city of immigrants, and so failed to staunch the consequent loss of agricultural taxes. In the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, immigrants entered the scene as new actors of upheaval. Albanians, for instance, were one of the most important contributors to social unrest in the city. Despite the central authorities’ efforts to solve the Albanian issue, they remained active in early nineteenth-century Istanbul, being instrumental, for instance, in the imperial army mutiny of 1807, and providing manpower during the Alemdar Incident in 1808.141 Immigrants from Bolu were also present during the course of the 1807 upheaval: they were at the Meat Square, where they lynched a steward of Hacı Ahmedog˘lu, the

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voyvoda of Bolu. We do not know their exact numbers, but it is evident that some had fled to the capital owing to the oppressive practices of this voyvoda. Indeed, they cried out that he was the advisor (akl-i faali) of Hacı Ahmedog˘lu, the driving force behind the establishment of the Nizam-ı Cedid army, and that he had caused the migration of the poor from Bolu.142 (Their equation of oppression by a voyvoda and the creation of the Nizam-ı Cedid army would be worthy of further examination.) It should be noted, too, that the overwhelming majority of the so-called yamaks (the instigators of the 1807 incident) were not locals but immigrants from the Ahıska and Black Sea regions.143 Charles Tilly claims that “rapid rural-to-urban migration has no particular tendency to excite protest; marginal urban populations are not the tinder of revolutions”.144 While it could indeed be argued that migration, overpopulation and the consequent social changes, especially the emergence of marginal groups, do not provide the direct causes for an uprising, they do create an atmosphere in which social discontent increases and provides manpower in case of an upheaval, whether by the migrant groups or others. It is therefore impossible to study the 1807 uprising without looking at the breeding grounds among the privileged classes. As Simon Schama remarked with regard to another revolution, “the connection of anger with hunger made the revolution possible”.145

Financial Crises and Ancien Re´gimes As in Europe, from the 1700s to the 1770s the Ottoman Empire had experienced the expansion phase of Turchin and Nefedov’s secular cycles, this being an era of improvement and development in all sectors of the economy. Growth was marked especially by increases in the revenue of the treasury, boosted by successful wars.146 This expansion phase, however, was followed in the 1770s by a period characterized by a combination of stagnation and high inflation (“stagflation”), mainly due to the inability of agrarian-based polities to cope with the late eighteenth-century crisis. Although similar problems were faced by some other European states, the Ottoman Empire, as a fiscally decentralized empire with low levels of administrative revenue, was less successful in overcoming this financial crisis.147 Lacking the financial advantages of some contemporary states and being slower to adjust itself to shifting economic conditions, it suffered from deteriorating finances.

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The Dutch and the British achieved fiscal centralization earlier than other nations and, thus, achieved sharp increases in central revenue.148 While the Ottoman central treasury had no budget deficit in the 1760s (with a revenue of 14,514,000 gurus¸ and an expenditure of 14,064,500 gurus¸), the deficit increased considerably in 1784 and 1785.149 The net income of Britain in 1784 was 13,214,053 pounds, while the total revenue of the Ottoman treasury was 2,500,000 pounds in 1789.150 In order to cover the expenses, the expenditures of 1786 were made from the revenues of the budget year of 1789. With eighteenth-century warfare growing larger in scale and also more expensive, most governments were challenged by the need to finance military expenditures. The war expenditures of Britain peaked in the 1760s and 1780s.151 The disastrous wars of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries worsened the financial condition of the Ottoman Empire. The Porte engaged in long years of warfare (1768– 74; 1786– 92; 1798– 1802; 1806– 12), not counting the Serbian uprising of 1804, the British Expedition in 1807 and continuous spending to suppress internal disorder. In the 1780s, Ottoman military expenditures comprised the bulk of the budget (69 per cent in 1784 and 66 per cent in 1785). Upon his accession to the throne, Selim III was unable even to pay the accession largesse, let alone to meet regularly the salaries of the traditional corps. According to Tomara (the Russian envoy to the Porte in 1798), by January 1793 the state treasury owed the troops half a year’s salary, but the coffers were empty.152 During his reign, Selim III was never able to overcome the boom in wartime spending. The RussoOttoman war of 1806–12 in particular had created an immense budget deficit. War debts also had disastrous effects on the already strained economy. For instance, in the post-Kaynarca (1774) period, the Porte paid 7.5 million gurus¸ (four million roubles) toward the debt within three years, which comprised half of the cash revenue of the central treasury itself.153 Selim III had also to contribute a 20,000 purse (kise/ kese) subsidy to Sweden in order to maintain its hostility toward Russia.154 Meanwhile, Napoleonic France had considerable governmental revenue to overcome its war debt, having obtained 350 million francs from Austria and 515 million francs from Russia as war indemnities. In France, the war expenses of 1807 amounted to 340 million francs and the foreign sources provided 600 million francs.155

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For the Ottomans, however, military defeats usually brought economic losses and concessions. The loss of Crimea after the 1768–74 RussoOttoman war meant the loss of one third of the grain supply for the Porte. By the treaty of 1783, the Russians had gained considerable trading rights in the Black Sea region, breaking the trading monopolies hitherto enjoyed by the Porte.156 Following the standard practice of debasement in times of financial crisis, the Porte resorted to the devaluation of coinage by decreasing its silver content by one third in 1789, followed by the great gurus¸ debasement of 1793.157 Between 1789 and 1844, Ottoman coinage lost 88 per cent of its silver content, a debasement unprecedented in Ottoman history.158 The content of silver coins was reduced by 30 per cent in 1799, and since the coins still held their former values, this led to a rise in speculation and counterfeiting. Inflation exceeded 200 per cent during the last quarter of the eighteenth century (1760– 1800), following an annual rise of 5 per cent in the 1800s.159 Between 1808 and 1844, the Ottoman currency lost 83 per cent of its value against European currencies. Debasements further increased inflationary tendencies, resulting in currency instability as well as a marked decline in the value of Ottoman coinage in Europe.160 In revolutionary France, the confiscation of nationalized church lands had provided relief to state finances.161 In the Ottoman case, the confiscation (mu¨sadere) of private wealth served a similar purpose. Although this practice had sometimes been used in the history of the Empire to build the wealth of state servants, from the 1770s onwards it became more common to extract capital from the state elite and even private civilians. There was an immense increase in confiscation, especially during the war years 1787– 92.162 According to one estimate, the government gained 1,327 purses (about 40,000,000 pounds sterling) in the 1790s.163 Revenue from confiscation comprised 8 per cent of the wartime budget in 1798– 9; the confiscation of the wealth of Konstantin Hanc erliog˘lu (d. 1799), the executed voyvoda of Wallachia, for example, provided a relief of 500,000 gurus¸. The empty treasury created a great obstacle in the preparations for the Russo-Austrian war in 1788, and the probate estate of recently deceased Esma Sultan (d. 1788) was eyed up with hopes that it would provide a relief. To the astonishment of the Palace, however, no cash appeared in her estate. In the hope of finding the money, a merchant called Sakızlı Dimitri and

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her steward were imprisoned and their properties confiscated.164 In cases when the state could not or did not intervene and confiscate wealth, it imposed high taxes on inheritance, which reached the levels of 40 to 70 per cent in 1770– 1810.165 Private wealth was thus channeled to finance state war expenses, a policy that showed itself to be increasingly hostile to private property and capital accumulation in the provinces. Most European states were dependent on three basic sources of revenue: direct taxation, loans from groups or institutions, and indirect taxation leased out to private individuals who would pay the central authorities a lump sum in return for the right of direct taxation.166 Within continental Europe, England and the United Provinces of the Netherlands shifted their tax-collecting policy by assigning importance to indirect taxation on sales, levies from exports and imports, excise tax, and fees for customs duties, rather than reliance on direct land taxation later practised by other European countries.167 Moreover, the western European powers, particularly England, had the advantage of wellestablished credit institutions and a banking system, as well as external borrowing power, whereas the Ottoman Empire did not enjoy such advantages. In France, for instance, 90 per cent of expenditures between 1793 and 1798 were covered through borrowing; only later did the French authorities resort to covering most expenses through taxation (1799– 1812).168 Domestic borrowing also provided some debt relief for the Ottoman rulers. Abdulhamid I, for example, borrowed approximately 600,000 gurus¸ from grand admiral Cezayirli Gazi Hasan Pasha. In 1799, leading statesmen contributed 800 purses, including contributions from the grand vizier, Yusuf Agha (steward of the sultan’s mother), the defterdar (chief treasurer) and Mustafa Res¸id Efendi.169 It was mostly the money lenders (sarraf) of Istanbul, however, who later came to be known as Galata bankers, who emerged as the most important lenders to the Ottoman court. From 1788 onwards, the Porte began borrowing small amounts of money directly from the money lenders, a practice that increased over time.170 Selim III had tried to borrow from Spain and the Netherlands, and some Muslim countries as well, but his efforts were to no avail.171 Following the example of British loans gained from the Habsburgs in 1796–7, the sultan applied for a loan of a million lira in March 1799, but had no positive reply.172 In order to pay the salaries of his central armies and to ward off financial crisis, Selim III ordered the surrender of gold and silver goods to the

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central authorities, including those in the palace, which were to be melted down into coin. Not all segments of society obeyed his call. Consequently, gold and silver merchandise in the bazaars of Istanbul, Bursa and Edirne was confiscated, with promises of later compensation.173 While borrowing and confiscation did not provide an institutionalized and stable stream of revenue for the government, indirect borrowing through the tax-farming system (iltizam) – and later the share system (esham) – did. In the esham system, instead of the sale of whole sources of revenue, only a certain number of the shares of the expected annual profit was sold by the state, again for life. Although lifetime tax-farming (malikane) and the tax-farm (mukataa) system had increased the cash flow into the state budget, these systems of revenue had gradually begun to lose their importance by the beginning of the eighteenth century, because the most lucrative farms had already been sold and most of the mukataas had already been converted to malikanes. Moreover, during the eighteenth century the tax-farms began to be frozen, since the central authorities had lost control over the vacant mukataas and had lost track of their exact production levels and values.174 Therefore, in order to provide revenue for the burdened state treasury and pay off the war debt to Russia, the esham (share) system was put into practice from 1775 until 1860. In 1785, it constituted 50 per cent of internal borrowing.175 On 30 October 1786, the purchase of issues of new shares was forbidden, but due to the war expenses incurred between 1787 and 1791, new eshams were issued. The esham also facilitated the entry of lesser investors into the market and created cash income for the central government. Since a state guarantee was required for esham sales, it became a more secure means of investment compared to the malikane system and, thus, there was a considerable increase in esham sales during the early nineteenth century.176 Eshams, however, could be transferred from hand to hand for a small fee; as such, if the original owner died, the central authorities could be unable to track the new owner. Later, the control of the esham was given to the New Fund, which became the only institution able to oversee their sale and purchase. Additional war expenses between 1798 and 1801, however, made the esham a policy of last resort, and esham sales increased immensely in the 1800s. In 1804, public debt stood at 53,350,000 gurus¸.177 During the period of war between 1806 and 1812, income gained from the

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interest paid by the state on these shares comprised approximately 25 per cent of state revenue.178 Over time, the malikane and esham systems were combined in such a way that the owner of the malikane shared the interest ( faiz) with the holders of the esham.179 Economic instability, and especially the frequent debasements, generated unrest among the different layers of urban society, particularly the petty bourgeoisie and soldiers with fixed income. Although these issues were not always specified by insurgents in their lists of grievances, the arrears, debasements and inflation created a ready atmosphere for revolt, and general economic concerns were prominent among the demands of the participants. With Selim III unable to pay his accession largesse and delaying the payment of salaries, and with high inflation hitting fixed military incomes, forcing soldiers to find parallel employment, it seems that the rebels composed “political demands from an economic one”;180 that is to say, they saw their strained circumstances as political in origin. With the Porte’s attempted remedies proving ineffective, it is little wonder that the dissatisfied urban masses and middle classes were behind the preponderance of upheavals in the early nineteenth century.

Conclusion In this chapter we have examined early nineteenth-century Ottoman history within the framework of the late eighteenth-century social and economic crises. Disturbances in the countryside caused by disease, bad harvests, abuses by local administrators and the rise of banditry, caused people to migrate en masse into the big cities, especially Istanbul, where the extant socio-economic structures (especially as regards food provisioning) were incapable of handling them. The “underfinanced” Ottoman Empire could not overcome these problems and faced also with a boom in war expenses, the state’s finances further deteriorated. Although the Porte established a new military system and a new treasury to pursue power internationally, rapid changes and reforms at home increased grievances and heightened tensions within many segments of society, which became instrumental in the eruption of discontent in subsequent years. What quantum of grievance was required in order to create the grounds for social revolt? Some conflict analysts, such as Mark Irving Lichbach, do not believe that such grievances alone were enough

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to foster the rise of a social movement and cause an outburst of collective dissent.181 As we have already underscored, social and economic problems and their consequent complaints do not always lead to collective violence, but such causes do indirectly create the breeding ground for an uprising or revolt. Anger, discontent and alienation tend to turn citizens against the central authorities.

CHAPTER 3 DOES MODERNIZATION BREED REVOLUTION?1

A Professor of Astronomy in London, in a view of the Constellations, has observed an insurrection among the Janissaries, and the death of the Sultan.2

Introduction Commenting on the European shift towards rationalized authority and mass political participation, Tilly observed that political modernization, although not automatically conducive of reaction,3 nevertheless produces anomie and disintegration, and leads in turn to instability. Undeniably, the Ottomans’ piecemal modernization program, mainly restricted to the military sphere, differed from full political modernization in the European sense.4 Apart from the seeds of specialization in the Selimian bureaucracy, and the experiment with a modern army, none of the steps characteristic of European modernization was visible during the Selimian era. Yet, despite the differences, Tilly’s comment on Europe seems true also of later Ottoman history. Selim III and his ministers had to develop their policies in the midst of crisis. The implementation of the Nizam-ı Cedid reform package, aimed at creating a new and better-trained army able to survive in a context of intense international rivalry, was met with discontent and suspicion by diverse segments of the population. Far from enabling the Porte to ride out the crisis, the reform programme became part of the crisis itself. The urgent need for modernization underscored the grave

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changes that had been under way in the Empire since the late eighteenth century, and reinforced the impression of the fragility of the current regime. The reform programme led to changes in the redistribution of state resources, heightening elite competition, as well as posing threats to the decentralized power, and other associated, structures of vested interest, all of which are problems integral to the disintegration phase. It was these changes, even more so than the reform programme itself, which increased unrest and polarization in society and opened the way for the uprising.

Selimian Reforms According to Baron de Tott, only one-fifth of Ottoman taxes collected in the late eighteenth century reached the centre.5 According to one estimate, 20,000,000 pounds of production passed through the hands of mediators (collectors) in the 1790s, with only a small portion going to the Treasury.6 As Salzmann notes, “When the modernizing regime of Selim III (1789– 1807) began dismantling the old regime, reformers were not aware of the actual value of tax farms and they were unable to appreciate the scale and structure of local firms.”7 Indeed, it was the missing surplus extracted from agricultural production that had precipitated the emergence of local magnates and other mediators in the eighteenth century, a problem which became endemic in the early nineteenth century. A more effective and accountable military system was needed to repossess the missing surplus in the countryside and, thus, to ensure the very survival of the Empire. Military reform then was inaugurated in order to have reliable armies to execute the centralization policies.8 With these concerns in mind, in 1792 Selim III ordered the establishment of the Nizam-ı Cedid army. The timing was not ideal, since the creation of a new army placed an extra burden on a treasury already strained by the bloated salary numbers of the traditional army, the payments to mercenaries and the need to finance ongoing wars. As a solution, the I˙rad-ı Cedid (the New Fund) was created in 1793 to provision the army and pay new soldiers. This measure was not an obvious failure; one observer notes that the New Fund regulation increased state revenues to a great extent.9 The new treasury derived part of its income from indirect taxation, namely excise tariffs imposed on cash crops like tobacco,

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wine and liquor, raw materials, and alum and dry goods.10 The revenues of taxes imposed on alcoholic beverages (wines and spirits) in the market (zecriye resmi) was converted into a share (esham) and reserved for nonMuslims.11 Apart from these taxes, obsolete feudal fiefs (tımar) were gradually liquidated with the oversight of the new treasury, which initially planned to seize the incomes of the vacant tımars and those producing less than 500 gurus¸ a year. Since it took time to determine the income of each tımar, it was decided that the tımars of those who were deceased (and heirless), as well as vacant ones, would be seized by the new treasury. In addition to vacant tımars, lifetime taxes (malikane), the miri, and haremeyn revenue sources that exceeded an interest of ten purses annually were also seized. The number of malikane contracts had already increased over time, and peaked in 1787. Under the Nizam-ı Cedid regulations, their numbers began to decrease.12 Those contracts, which had been revoked and seized by the New Fund, would not be leased again as malikane. Yavuz Cezar and Ariel Salzmann argue that these economic steps portended the gradual abolition of the malikane system and redefined the relationship between the central authorities and the periphery in favour of the centre.13 While their assessment would perhaps prove true in the long run, the Selimian government faced more immediate concerns. The re-contraction of the malikane resulted in more short-term leases and new fees that became fresh sources of revenue for the treasury. It was mainly the central state elite – the bureaucracy, high-ranking janissaries and political elites – who tried to purchase malikane contracts, acting as absentee rentiers. Indeed, the majority of the malikane owners of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century were drawn from 1,000 to 2,000 central state elites based in Istanbul who held posts as absentee landlords, ruling their lands through a coalition of sub-contractors, agents and financiers, including the ayans.14 Between 1793 and 1816, the central state elites almost completely controlled the malikane market.15 Therefore, among the ruling elite, the chief rivalry seems to have been over the big malikane and iltizams. The shifting limits for the malikanes prepared by the New Fund offer proof of the ongoing disputes over the malikane contracts. In a decree passed in 1793, malikane shares worth at least 5,000 gurus¸ were to be transferred to the New Fund following the owner’s death, but later – in 1798 – the

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minimum was increased to 15,000 gurus¸, before being decreased to 20 purses in 1799. Indeed, by 1806, many officials continued to recommend additional decreases, but again the mimimum was established at 30 purses.16 These changing quotas reflected the central authorities’ efforts to increase income and attract more customers, but they also fostered dissatisfaction among the central elite concerning the limits and new regulations. The Istanbul central elite controlled the malikanes and gained considerable income from them; the high limits on malikanes, therefore, concerned them more than other groups. The seizure of the malikanes did not represent the only proposed change in the new land tenure system. From the eighteenth century onwards, the conversion of tımar lands into miri lands had accelerated, alongside surveys that tried to pinpoint which soldiers had skipped campaigns and were therefore not entitled to hold their tımars. Since most of the tımars were small portions of land, they were usually sold as emanet or iltizam. For instance, more than half of the 6,341 tımar and zeamets were given as iltizam to seven individuals, including four local ¨ mer magnates (C¸apanzaˆde Su¨leyman, Kara Osmanzaˆde Mehmed, O Agha and Tepedelenli Ali Agha), a governor (Yusuf Ziya Pasha) and a bureaucrat (Elhac Memis¸ Efendi). Preliminary research reveals that around 304 tımars were seized by the New Treasury and farmed out by central authorities in 1804.17 For example, 284 tımars from Bozok, Kars-ı Maras¸ and Maras¸ (ber vech-i emanet) were sold to Cabbarzaˆde Su¨leyman Bey as a short-term tax (iltizam) in 1804.18 Around the same time, Tirsinikliog˘lu Ismail Agha, a famous local magnate, held around 72 tımar and zeamets in Tırnova, Nicopol and Silistria.19 In 1804, a total of 3,575 tımar and zeamets were seized, yielding an income of 22,311,035 akc
e. Cash payments from these iltizam were usually reserved either for the pensions of new soldiers or war expenses.20 In the above cases, lands which did not yield income for the state were sold for cash even if the profit was modest. It seems that even if these tımar-zeamets possessed no great value, they were still passed on to local magnates to increase their territories. Usually, local magnates did not enter the scene as malikane-owners of huge tracts, but only of smaller ones, likely because they did not prefer to invest huge cash down payments (muaccele) in relatively risky investments.21 On the other hand, a local magnate was able to get more land under his dynastic control to increase his prestige and lands.

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We have limited information as to how urban and rural centres were affected by the central authorities’ new policies. While no comprehensive study exists concerning how the central authorities applied their policies within the imperial domains, the preliminary data is suggestive of how different groups were influenced by the seizures and new taxes. Overall, of course, debasement and monetary instability created economic uncertainty, as people lost faith in the state’s policies. Some of the ayans were malikane and iltizam holders, paying fixed payments to the state at certain intervals, so debasement may not have been so disadvantageous to them. Economic stability, however, was essential to those among them who were also involved in long-distance trade.22 Interest in government work seemed to decrease among this group of local magnates, and they became more interested in money lending, contraband trade, urban real estate and military contracting.23 Yet, their main source of power and wealth still depended on the traditional land tenure system. In 1796, Tirsinikliog˘lu controlled the voyvodaship of Ruscuk (Ruse), Tırnova and Zis¸tovi, which gave him a chance to accumulate power and prestige in the region. He then obtained the mukataa of S¸ah Sultan in Tırnova (1800), one third of which went to the New Treasury in 1802–3. Tirsinikliog˘lu also obtained the Kıptiyan mukataa (1 May 1805), which was under the control of the New Fund.24 Another tax-farm which was under the control of the New Fund and tax-farmed by the same ayan was the tax from cotton, cotton yarn and cotton textiles of Ruse, which he held from 1802–4.25 It seems that Tirsinikliog˘lu I˙smail Agha was not initially against the establishment of the Nizam-ı Cedid army, and saw it as a helpful solution to the anarchy created by Pazvandog˘lu in the region, conducive to establishing the security necessary for a flourishing of the economy in the Balkans. The expansion of the new army, however, seems to have changed his mind.26 Growing control by the central authority and the direct presence of state power in the provinces were clearly detrimental to the socio-economic and political influence of these power holders. Unfortunately, little is known concerning public opinion regarding these developments, but the seizure of these lands must have created resentment among the tımar holders who had once held them. Faced with these reactions, Mustafa IV later restored the tımar system to its traditional form. Overall, the burdens brought about by the New Treasury lie at the heart of popular discontent in the period

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from 1793 to 1805. The public considered these new policies to be sources of tyranny and oppression (mezaˆlim-i kesıˆre).27 The tax on wine and liquor (ru¨sumat-ı hamr ve arak), in particular, was considered unacceptable as a source of income for a Muslim state.28 Although that particular tax was imposed on non-Muslim Ottoman subjects and shares of it were sold exclusively to non-Muslims, many still considered it a bad innovation and saw it as a “sin tax.” New taxes on tobacco, wine, coffee and cotton were among the main items of discontent, especially since the first three were so important in the social life of cities. The new tariffs amounted to two paras per oke on wine and four for spirits, and were levied on all Christian subjects.29 The income from this duty seems to have been greater than the revenue from the duties on other items of consumption;30 on one occasion, non-Muslims protested against the increased customs duties in front of the Sublime Porte.31 It is clear that it also increased dissatisfaction on Samos, where the alcohol and capitation tax was taken as a lump sum (maktu) in the late eighteenth century. In 1800, this lump sum for alcohol tax was increased to 30,000 gurus¸.32 The Muslim population also seems to have been unhappy with new taxes; apparently, some raised this indirectly with the sultan via the favourites, but the sultan dismissed their views, saying that his purpose was to restrain the excesses of the non-Muslims and there was no reason for Muslims to complain.33 Under new regulations, the tax on cotton was raised from an asper to one para for raw material and two paras for threads. Gall-nuts, used in dying, for instance, were taxed at the rate of one para; currants, meanwhile, were taxed at two paras an oke.34 In the summer of 1802, the artisans and ulema in Diyarbakır rioted against the new taxes on chemicals used in textile production, and also against the newly founded 31st Janissary regiment, stationed in the city, whose salaries they were forced to pay. They attacked cloth presses that were under the control of malikane owners, viewing these presses as illicit innovations.35 It seems that the prices of honey, wood, grain and butter soared following the establishment of the New Fund, and that later the prices of other goods also increased.36 In addition to the above-noted problems, new attempts to monopolize grain and meat production and the mining sector, in which the janissaries were actively involved, seem to have created a real threat to the traditional commercial relationship between the central authorities and the provinces.37 One of those assumed to be a conspirator

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in the May 1807 uprising was Kazgancı Laz Mustafa Agha,38 the trustee (mu¨tevelli) of the 25th Janissary regiment. As a trustee, he was in charge of use of the regimental treasury. A coppersmith by trade, he had been able to accumulate a great deal of wealth through his craft. The monopolization of the mining sector, however, seems to have disillusioned him, and the ruling elite’s intervention into mining, commerce and artisanship caused him to lose money.39 It was probably for this reason that he sided with the rebels during the rebellion.

Collective Reactions to Reforms Commenting on the Selimian reform programme, the late Stanford Shaw states that: The Janissaries’ reaction was even more violent. They rioted in the streets whenever any effort was made to reform them, they continually clashed with the modern Nizam-ı Cedid and the artillery men in the streets, and they eventually supplied the bulk of the force which overthrew Selim III and ended the reforms in 1807.40 Unfortunately, Shaw does not provide an exact date for the clashes between the members of the old and new army, and this extract gives the impression that there were street fights between these two military groups from the beginning to the end of the Nizam-ı Cedid reforms. The document to which he refers to prove his point is dated 1797, and concerns the expenditures involved in the transfer of cannons from the fortress of Varna to the imperial army, rather than a state of generalized or diffuse tension.41 There is no way to determine whether the author made a mistake in the references or, under the influence of the modernization theory, he mispresented the evidence to justify his modernization-resistant understanding of the traditional Ottoman military system.42 Modernization, or western-style training, does not always lie at the heart of the reactions. French military consultants, for instance, had been received warmly by the janissaries in 1794.43 It is true that some contemporary authors mention the janissaries’ hatred of the new soldiery, saying that it increased in proportion to the importance attached by the sultan and his ruling elite to the new army, as well as

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with its military success.44 This may also explain why 12 years had to pass for collective reactions to materialize against the new military system (1793–1805). The period from the initiation of reforms in 1793 up to 1805 was more or less peaceful in terms of collective reaction. Neither the chronicles nor archival material cite any kind of collective resistance to reforms during the period in question. As usual, rumours swirled in coffeehouses, barbershops and other public places. Though it is difficult to discern what kind of rumours were in circulation, we can imagine that the newly established military system was among the fiercely debated topics and that people were speculating over whether it endangered the survival of the janissary army. Mehmed Efendi, for instance, a former resident of Tophane, was banished to the island of Rhodes in 1793, on the grounds of his offensive (taaruzaˆne) comments about the Nizam-ı Cedid. The scene of his comments was the barbershop of Hacı Ismail in the C¸avus¸bas¸ı district of Tophane.45 The Porte tried to silence gossips by closing down some of these shops and selectively banishing the culprits. Overall, however, the period until 1805 can be considered as a time of wait-and-see, in which Istanbulites seem to have made a sincere effort to understand the meaning of Selim III’s New Order. In terms of collective reaction prior to 1807, there are one minor and three serious incidents which are usually associated with the Nizam-ı Cedid: the Selimiyye Mosque Incident (1805), the revolt of Mahmud Tayyar Pasha (1805) in Anatolia, the Pazvandog˘lu revolt (1793–8) and the Edirne Incident (1806) in the Balkans. The first event took place in the capital, while the others occurred in the provinces. All these incidents, except for the case of Pazvandog˘lu, transpired almost a decade after the initiation of the reforms and a short period before the uprising. The expansion of the new army in the capital, the increasing favour it was finding among the ruling elite and the sultan, as well as the violations of the established privileges of the established corps, created a sense of frustration among the members of the traditional army.

The Selimiyye Mosque Incident (1805) The first reaction, the Selimiyye Mosque Incident, should be evaluated ¨ sku¨dar by from this perspective. The Selimiyye Mosque was built in U Selim III. The construction started in 1801 and was completed on Friday 5 April 1805.46 Asım notes that it was a custom for the Ottoman

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sultans to perform the Friday Prayer (Cuma Selamlıg˘ı) in newly opened mosques they had commissioned, and that Selim III thus planned to visit the new mosque with his retinue. The janissaries also intended to ¨ sku¨dar and take part in the ceremony; however, when they come to U heard the news that the Nizam-ı Cedid soldiers were to take the janissaries’ customary places at the Friday Prayer, they armed themselves ¨ sku¨dar, opened fire before the ceremony on the and, on reaching U officials and other people who were present. Following a series of aggressive acts, they decided to completely annihilate the Nizam-ı Cedid soldiers who would be present at the ceremony. Some leading officials, however, divined their intentions and the visit of the sultan was postponed for two weeks. The janissaries thus ensured that they would take their accustomed places at the Friday Prayer, and the soldiers of the new corps were not allowed to leave their barracks on the day of the ceremony.47 To my knowledge, this incident is the first recorded case of any collective protest by the janissaries against the newly established corps. Although Asım sees it as a discreditable act, proving how jealous the janissaries were of the new military system, there is a crucial point to be made in defence of the janissaries’ action. Participating in certain ceremonies, like the Friday Prayer, was a privilege bestowed to this military class. Though Asım comments that it was just a rumour that they were going to be replaced, we have good reason to suspect that the rumour was true. In fact, the Selimiyye Mosque had been built within the U¨sku¨dar barracks of the new corps, and it would have been natural for the sultan to wish the new soldiers to be present at the ceremony. The janissaries must have considered their replacement in the ceremony as a degrading act. We also have evidence to suggest that they may have considered this as the manifestation of the centre’s desire to abolish the janissary army.48 As the Selimiyye Mosque Incident suggests, the reaction of the janissaries against the Nizam-ı Cedid became more intense once inroads began to be made on their prestige and privileges. Indeed, prior to mentioning the incident above, Asım records that the officers and ¨ sku¨dar regiment were entrusted with the duty of soldiers of the U ¨ sku¨dar and the Bosphorous, and the patrolling the vicinity of U janissaries were very angry about this.49 The janissaries could well have harboured feelings of being ignored and neglected. Indeed, there is

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documentary evidence that the Nizam-ı Cedid soldiers were better cared for by the centre than the janissaries. The barracks of the new corps in ¨ sku¨dar and Levent Chiftlik were frequently visited by either the sultan U or statesmen, and regular reports were sent to the sultan praising the excellence of the new soldiers in drills and citing their perfect discipline.50 The janissaries’ discomfort was entirely warranted.

The Revolt of Mahmud Tayyar Pasha What is widely assumed to be the most powerful collective reaction to the New Order arose in Anatolia. Mahmud Tayyar Pasha was a local magnate of Canik (in present-day Samsun, Anatolia), and the last representative of the Caniklizaˆde dynasty.51 Both in modern and contemporary literature he is listed as a fierce enemy of the Selimian reforms, and his revolt is considered to be the reaction of a local magnate against the expansion of the Nizam-ı Cedid corps in Anatolia.52 I will argue, however, that it is more reasonable to see this incident as a manifestation of traditional rivalries between two local magnates over a scarce economic resource – land (which, we will recall, is a central driver of conflict in the disintegrative period), which automatically also brought prestige. From another perspective, this incident appears as a case of provincial elite rivalry so prevalent during the disintegrative period of secular cycles. Threats to Tayyar’s vested interests in the region threw this provincial elite into an open struggle first against his rival, and then against the central authority who backed his rival. As we shall see, the Nizam-ı Cedid reforms only played an ideological or discursive role in this struggle. It was threat, frustration and the sense of betrayal, which played a more serious part in his reaction. The origins of the problems leading to his revolt go back to 1804, during Mahmud Tayyar’s governorship of Trebizond and Canik. The same year, the establishment of a Nizam-ı Cedid regiment was decided upon, and this project was entrusted to Cabbarzaˆde Su¨leyman Bey, another local magnate near Bozok, and the arch-enemy of Tayyar Pasha. Considering this an injustice, Tayyar intended to attack Amasya and plunder the regions under the control of the Cabbarzaˆdes, while spreading the false news that the sultan had given him the duty of executing Su¨leyman Bey. Consequently, Tayyar’s forces attacked several regions including Amasya, Turhal, Tokat and Merzifon. In order to bring peace to the region, the Porte dispatched an inspector and decided

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to appoint neither of these magnates as the mu¨tesellim of Amasya. Upon receiving the reports by the inspector, who emphasized Tayyar’s unconciliatory attitude, Tayyar was declared a rebel and a fatwa issued for his execution. In the end, he saved himself by fleeing to the Crimea (1805). As we have noted, Tayyar is described as an enemy of the Selimian reforms. One of the main sources of these assertions is a series of anonymous notes attributed to him. Although there are some reservations, it does seem likely that these notes belong to Tayyar Pasha. Indeed, the anonymous author manifests a very hostile attitude towards Selim III, Cabbarzaˆde Su¨leyman and certain state functionaries, and prays to God that he should not die in non-Muslim lands.53 Apart from this, however, there is little documentation to prove the hostility of the Pasha to the reforms. It is true that there is archival evidence accusing him of being an enemy of the New Order, but these documents were in fact produced by his enemies and it is difficult to discern his actual opinion on the issue. For instance, according to the reports sent to the Porte, Tayyar Pasha proclaimed to his soldiers that: ¨ sku¨dar regiment and enroll soldiers. I was ordered to join the U ¨ sku¨dar However, I do not find it permissible for you to join the U regiment and to wear bad [ fenaˆ ] clothes, and I did not accept. Do you want to join the aforementioned corps and to wear bad clothes? When the soldiers replied that they would not accept, he decreed ¨ sku¨dar that “from now on, I will not allow anyone to join the U regiment” and he asked the soldiers to join his cause. When they promised to collaborate with him he said: “With your help I can do whatever I want.”54 This is contained in a letter from Cabbarzaˆde Su¨leyman to the centre, and the news he reports is based on information from his spy in Canik. Looking at Tayyar’s own letters, there is little mention of the Nizam-ı Cedid, and only in one case does he remark that he was accused by Cabbarzaˆde of being an enemy of the New Order.55 Whether Tayyar Pasha was personally against the Nizam-ı Cedid reforms or not, there is another side to this story. His uprising may be considered as a final phase of a long-standing provincial rivalry between

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two Anatolian magnates over the control of lands such as Sivas and Amasya. These regions had passed into the hands of the Canikli family in the 1770s, against the protests of the Cabbarzaˆdes.56 Amasya had later become a malikane of Beyhan Sultan (d. 1821), the sister of Selim III. One particular purpose of Tayyar Pasha was, thus, to regain the former territories of his dynasty. Indeed, in 1800– 1, he wrote a petition to the centre, requesting that Amasya, Canik and Kara Hisar – and if possible also Kastamonu – be granted to him, and that in return he would send as many soldiers as demanded by the centre. During his governorship of Diyarbakır and Erzurum (1801–3), he had been instrumental in the capture of Gu¨rcu¨ Osman Pasha (d. 1804), the former governor of Rumelia, who had revolted in Anatolia. While Tayyar, however, was anticipating the grant of Sivas in return for his services, Mehmed Celalleddin Pasha, from the Cabbarzaˆde family, had been appointed as governor there (1804). The position of mu¨tesellimlik (tax-collector) of Amasya, which he considered to be part of the domains of his family, was granted to Su¨leyman Bey, and this must have increased his frustration and disappointment. Indeed, in a letter to the centre, he expressed the importance of Amasya for his dynasty: Since the sancak [district] of Amasya, for a long time, has been [governed] by my family, and inherited by me from my ancestors, the residents of the sancak and the members of the dynasty were like close relatives. Transfer of it to another individual would be a severe blow to my prestige.57 For him, it is clear that holding the malikane of the Canik sancak was a source of prestige and power for his dynasty. Moreover, the family’s chiftliks also produced considerable income, making this town an indispensible part of the family’s fortunes.58 In terms of the rivalry, Tayyar Pasha seems to have been forced to one side in his struggle over the control of these regions of Anatolia. It also seems that Ibrahim Res¸id Efendi, the director of the New Fund, played a significant role in the transfer of the Amasya tax-farm to Cabbarzaˆde Su¨leyman, which may also explain Tayyar’s hatred of Selim III and his ruling elite. It also indicates how the Nizam-ı Cedid rearrangements and the shifting alliances of the ruling elite challenged the redistributive role of the centre. Though no detailed studies are available in this regard, similar

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incidents show how the connections of favouritism between the palace and the bureaucrats allowed certain parties to benefit from the redistributive role of the Porte in the competition between the centre and the provinces. Asım, for instance, complains that the mansions of the courtiers, as well as those of high-ranking bureaucrats, were full of mu¨ltezims, mukataa-owners who wanted a favour from the elite.59 Tepedelenli Ali Pasha, the famous local magnate of Janina, is also known to have sought the favour of the centre by sending frequent presents to Queen Mother Mihris¸ah Sultan and her steward Yusuf Agha.60 Since Cabbarzaˆde had successfully presented himself as an ardent advocate of the Nizam-ı Cedid party, Tayyar had no choice but to join the opposite camp. In the case of Tayyar Pasha, therefore, it is crucial to underline how different parties used and abused the Nizam-ı Cedid reforms for their own purposes. Rather than insisting on clear-cut distinctions and displaying the provincial elite as a single block, it seems more reasonable to enumerate those who managed to take advantage of the reforms and benefit from the consequent re-allocation of scarce resources, during a period in which intra-magnate rivalry was intense.61 The main dynamic of the period was not the modernization process, but the conflict over land. Arguably, Tayyar Pasha represents the local magnates who lost out from the centre’s reform policies. His rival, on the other hand, a voyvoda in origin, was able to retain good relationships with the high-ranking ruling elite and, thus, benefit from the system. Cabbarzaˆde, Kadı Abdurrahman Pasha and Hacı Ahmedzaˆde represent members of the provincial elite who had realized what they stood to gain from the central authority’s reassertion of monopolistic control over war and finance.62

The Pazvandog˘lu Revolt (1793– 8) The revolt of Tayyar Pasha has a Balkan counterpart, again clouded by obscurity, and indirectly related to the Nizam-ı Cedid, although more secessionist in nature. The revolt of Pazvandog˘lu of Vidin predates the events associated with Tayyar Pasha and, unlike Tayyar, he was an outlaw right from the beginning. His growing control over Vidin had brought him into direct confrontation with the Porte in the 1790s, and the Nizam-ı Cedid reforms had a very limited role in the conflict.63 As in the Anatolian case, it seems that Pazvandog˘lu, too, used new government policies, especially the New Order, as a pretext to win over the janissaries

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and the Muslim population. He represented himself as the champion of the janissaries and demanded a return to the old military system, as well as the ending of the New Order.64 The issue at stake was the new monopolies and the seizure of tımars in the region, which endangered Pazvandog˘lu’s economic and political power. It seems that he was able to get some of the tax-farm of Vidin before it was opened to auction, through the mediation of Yusuf Agha. Yet, Pazvandog˘lu’s rejection of the increase in the value of some mukataas, especially the mukataa of Nig˘bolu belonging to Reisu¨lku¨ttab Ras¸id Efendi and the mukataa of Fethu¨’l-I˙slam belonging to Sırkatibi Ahmed Efendi, was one of the core reasons behind his revolt. According to Caˆbıˆ, when he did not send the payments to the Fethu¨’l-I˙slam he was represented to Selim III as an “enemy of the sultan”; the sultan then sent an expedition against him.65 He also opposed the payment of an annual amount of 500 purses on the grounds that the people of Vidin could not afford it.66 Meanwhile, the seizure of the vacant tımars in the Balkans had turned Vidin into a shelter for those who had lost their livelihoods and who opposed the policy. In response, Pazvandog˘lu became a spokesman for their complaints, and levied only one tax from the people under his control, refusing to impose any of the taxes demanded by the New Fund.67 It is clear that Pazvandog˘lu and Tayyar Pasha were trying to win over public opinion for their own benefits, using similar methods of emphazing religiosity, representing themselves as champions of the old order and blaming the sultan – and particularly his ruling elite. Yet, Pazvandog˘lu seems to have been more radical in his claims in comparison to Tayyar Pasha, since the janissaries in the Balkans lent him greater support. Pazvandog˘lu may even have considered a change in the ruling dynasty, flirting with the Giray family and the Great Powers with the purpose of restoring the golden age of Su¨leyman I or the Islamic golden age of the Four Caliphs, by eliminating Selim III and his corrupt elite.68

The Edirne Incident The real problems in Rumelia, however, were to wait until the summer of 1806. In the year following Tayyar’s revolt there was major resistance from the Rumelian magnates and commoners to the expansion of the New Order corps in Thrace. In fact, the new troops had been sent to Rumelia even before this famous incident, but tasked only with

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suppressing disorder in the region. Under the command of Kadı Abdurrahman Pasha, they fought against the Mountaineers, who had come as far as Edirne and C¸atalca in the summer of 1804. During this expedition, the forces of Kadı Pasha defeated the Mountaineers around Malkara (in Eastern Thrace). Following an imperial order, the cavalry forces of the New Order were stationed in C¸orlu, while the infantry remained in Tekfur Dag˘ı (Tekirdag˘) as a measure against the bandits. Kadı Pasha’s second expedition to the region occured in 1806. He received the order in April 1806 and came to the capital with his Nizam-ı Cedid soldiers from Anatolia. After being received by the sultan, he went on to Rumelia with 24,000 soldiers.69 The first recorded reaction occurs in Tekirdag˘ (1806), in response to the imperial order sent to local administrators stipulating the recruitment of young men to the barracks in Yapu Ag˘ac
or Karıs¸dıran. Agents were sent to districts of Tekirdag˘ to announce that these measures were only for the sake of the protection of the commoners from the Mountaineers, and were also a manifest proof of the compassion of the sultan for his subjects in the region. Apparently, the deputy judge (naib) of Tekfur Dag˘ı was unhappy with the centre’s instructions and the possible stationing of “disciplined soldiers” in the vicinity. The Porte immediately dismissed him and a more loyal judge was appointed instead. The new deputy judge did read the imperial order but his court was then stormed, an incident which ended with the murder of the deputy and his retinue. The reaction of the masses can be seen as a reaction to the new conscription strategies.70 In Europe, the establishment and subsequent expansion of domestically recruited soldiery created a great stimulus for direct rule from the seventeenth century onwards;71 in Ottoman domains, it produced a similar reaction. According to one account, since the inhabitants of Rumelia were all janissaries, they were concerned about the establishment of a new military system in the region.72 It seems that their anxieties were further aggravated by Dag˘devirenog˘lu, the local power holder in Edirne, who was provoking the janissaries and the palace gardeners by claiming that ‘this Nizam-ı Cedid issue will gradually convert you into grocer apprentices and reaya.’73 Dag˘devirenog˘lu was trying to strengthen his own party by persuading the traditional military groups that the stationing of the new model military would mean the end of their privileges, and threaten their very survival

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(note, again, the emphasis on the challenge to vested interests). It does indeed seem that the people who caused the incident in Tekfurdag˘ı/ Tekirdag˘ were mostly janissaries, and that they refused the imperial order by saying that “our fathers and grandfathers were Janissaries and we are also Janissaries. We do not accept the Nizam-ı Cedid.”74 Following this incident, the local janissary commander asked the Nizam-ı Cedid soldiers, who were temporarily stationed in the khans, to leave town in order to prevent further disorder and destruction.75 It appears that the incident in Tekirdag˘ landed the Porte with a dilemma: either to give up enrolling soldiers in the region or to employ military force to break local resistance. The centre announced that the sultan was intending to establish two barracks between Edirne and Istanbul, with the purpose of protecting local people from bandits. Spreading propaganda that the former pashas had been unsuccessful in imposing order in the region, the centre declared it time to suppress the bandits with state-paid regular soldiery.76 For the sultan, the best measure would be to send orders to other locations in Rumelia, disseminating the aims of the New Order and keeping the local populations calm.77 But calm was not easy to keep so long as the residents of Tekirdag˘ continued to oppose the central authority and refuse to deliver the culprits responsible for the murder of the deputy judge. Consequently, two corvettes were sent in July 1806 to blockade the city, and they later bombarded it. A local magnate, Kara Ahmed, was executed, and the new soldiers were finally able to enter the city. Meanwhile (May 1806), the janissaries in Edirne murdered Ahmed Agha, who had been appointed chief gardener of Edirne and secretly authorized to establish the new military corps in the city. Silivri was the first town to oppose Kadı Pasha’s forces, but it was easily pacified and the desired recruitment was implemented. From then on, however, Kadı Pasha’s forces were not welcomed in the towns through which they passed. Eschewing direct and open confrontation, the local people cut off his forces’ provisions (including water), and attacked the supply caravans; as a result, they were unable to move beyond Havsa. The sultan ordered them to retreat to C¸orlu, but even there they were able to enter the town only after besieging the city. The retreat sealed the failure of the expansion of the Nizam-ı Cedid project in the Balkans. The minutes of a meeting held in the capital sets out other reasons why the centre had to give up the project: winter was approaching, the capital was undefended and the Nizam-ı Cedid soldiers were dispirited.78 Rumours

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that the janissaries were plotting an upheaval in the capital might have played an important role in the decision to cancel the project, which would have been vulnerable in case of an uprising. Consequently, by an imperial order dated 19 September 1806, Kadı Pasha and his forces left Silivri for the capital.79 The Balkan project, formulated by Ibrahim Nesim Efendi sometime in 1806, was initially envisaged to unfold within a short period of time, with the help of new soldiers drawn from Anatolia. It was probably also intended to create a stationary army to counter the Russian threat and the Serbian uprising, both of which generated an urgent need for protection on the Balkan frontiers.80 In other words, rather than being a gradual process, his project smacked more of an “invasion” by Anatolian soldiers under the command of Kadı Abdurrahman Pasha, an Anatolian statesman and military contractor. In contrast to the Rumelian case, the expansion of the new military system in Anatolia was more gradual, and the reactions more sporadic and individual. Rather than a process of negotiation and incorporation, as was the case from the outset in Anatolia, in the Balkans the Porte resorted to negotiation only after the failure of the project. After that failure, they needed the collaboration of a local magnate, Serezli/Sirozıˆ Ismail Bey (d. 1813), for mediation, even though they suspected him of secretly supporting the resistance.81 Indeed, without the support of a local power holder such as Ismail Bey, the resistance would hardly have been so effective. The failure of the project also created a governmental crisis, leading to a change in the cabinet, from where some high-ranking state elite, mostly associated with the reforms, were dismissed and more conciliatory figures appointed. This was clearly intended to mollify the reactionary group, which had been strengthened by the Edirne Incident.82 Alongside these political consequences, the Edirne Incident increased the sense of alienation from the centre among the masses, and continued to undermine the sultan’s legitimacy. The Edirne Incident seems to have left a strong imprint on collective memory: at the height of the May 1807 rebellion, a young rebel rebuked the shaikh al-Islam of the time, Ataullah Efendi, for having issued a fatwa during the Edirne Incident.83 The rebels’ view was that innocent Muslims had been killed unjustly during the incident,84 and they demanded the execution of those who had been involved.85

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The reaction was not only directed against the conscription strategies, although this seems to have been the immediate concern of the commoners from Thrace. Although the role of higher magnates is less pronounced in the contemporary sources, they seem to have opposed the stationing of the New Order armies in their areas. According to a report by a British agent in Bucharest, 186 local power holders and janissary elders convened and signed a pact to resist the new army. More importantly, the report declares, they decided to dethrone Selim III and change the government in Istanbul.86 Were they opposed to modernization, or were they more concerned about the centralization policies that were integral to the Porte’s 1806 project? Would they have voiced opposition if a traditional army detachment had been sent to their areas? Probably not. In fact, thousands of soldiers had passed through the region to fight against the Russians and were met with no reaction, while detachments were sent there frequently under the command of various governors to combat the bandits in the region, as well as the Serbian rebels. As we have already remarked, even Nizam-ı Cedid soldiers had previously been sent there to fight against the Kırcalis. What was it about the 1806 expedition, then, that made the Balkan power holders and commoners so reactionary? The answer, perhaps, lies in the centre’s intention to station the new soldiery permanently in the region, which in the long run would have serious and detrimental consequences for the interests of the Balkan power holders. The most obvious result was a fear of the gradual elimination of the janissary army or traditional military system, a fear felt deeply in different parts of the Empire. Yet, for the Balkan ayans the most serious threat seems to have been the political, military and fiscal re-centralization that would be brought about with the help of the new soldiery: something which could ultimately end in the collapse of the system to which the ayans owed their survival. We should remember that the essence of the Nizam-ı Cedid reforms was an attempt by the state to re-centralize and re-control provisioning, recruitment, and the financial and political system, so as to increase fiscal efficiency and overcome the eighteenth-century crisis. Indirect rule was a by-product of the seventeenth-century crisis, and in the crisis of the late eighteenth century the policy was reversed.87 While for the subjects this meant more taxation, for the power holders it meant more direct control, something which ran squarely counter to their interests.

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In this respect, re-centralization started a journey towards a modern state characterized more by European-style economic, political and military integration. Contrary to the European case, however, there were no chartered cities or companies, and the local power holders formed the main obstacle to change within the imperial domains. The threat to customary rights, however, was a basic source of discontent everywhere. As in Anatolia, the Balkan ayans were engaged in constant warfare among themselves, and sometimes with central authorities, for survival and the accumulation of wealth and power. For lack of manpower they were employed by the centre in imperial campaigns, something which gave them a certain bargaining power. Yet, the Porte was notably reticent in these bargaining processes, and remained determined to eliminate them as soon as a suitable opportunity arose. The 1806 project should be seen from this perspective. The Balkan ayans, some more powerful even than their Anatolian counterparts, tried to keep the bargaining process alive. Although they did not desire the collapse of the imperial centre, they still wanted to preserve their dynasties, and were prepared to take part in a decision making process initiated by the centre while still holding out over their taxation and conscription rights. All this is acknowledged in the Deed of Alliance, a document signed as a result of an alliance between bureaucrats and the ayans, against the ulema and janissaries, who gained an upper hand in state politics after the May uprising.

Social Polarization Although a very serious failure, the events in Edirne did not escalate into a revolt against Selim III. What, then, explains the outbreak of the May upheaval? I think the answer lies in another, rather neglected, aspect of the Selimian era: social psychology and the general atmosphere prevalent at the time of the uprising. To respond to the above question, we must address the escalating levels of social polarization in the period before the uprising. Polarization can be defined as “the extent to which the population is clustered around a small number of poles.”88 The available sources do not always give clear clues about the axes of polarization in early nineteenth-century Ottoman society, but we may surmise, with considerable plausibility, that a main source of friction concerned the policies of the centre, and especially the reforms. Another axis of division

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seems to have been between heterodox and orthodox Islam, or in other words between membership of the Bektashi sect (attributed to the janissaries and lower ranks of society) and the orthodox beliefs of the central ruling elite. The contemporary sources, particularly those written the year before the uprising, permit us to follow the processes of polarization through the eyes of certain authors (as well as through the eyes of the Ottoman bureaucrats). A deep polarization, or bipolarity, seems to have formed over the necessity of reforms, fed by vested socio-economic interests, at least as far as is reflected in the number of treatises, pamphlets or books aiming at silencing anti-reformist criticism. Unfortunately, we are not able to hear the voices of the opponents of the reforms directly, but only as they are represented in certain comments by the apologists of the Nizam-ı Cedid. It is, therefore, more reasonable to consider these texts as reflecting the central elite’s visions for solving social problems. Clearly, they considered the mounting social tension as stemming from the Nizam-ı Cedid, and their focus on that issue is manifestly intended to convince the public of the necessity of reform. The treatises entitled Hu¨laˆsatu¨’l- Kelaˆm fi Reddi’l-Avam (Koca Sekbanbas¸ı Risalesi)89 (A Brief Word on Refuting the Common People, also known as the Sekbanbas¸ı Treatise) and Dihkaˆnıˆzaˆde Ubeydullah Kus¸maˆnıˆ’s Zebıˆre-i Kus¸maˆnıˆ fi Ta’rıˆf-i Nizaˆm-ı I˙lhaˆmıˆ (The Text of Kus¸maˆnıˆ on the Description of the Selimian Regime)90 were produced in the post-Edirne Incident period.91 The Sekbanbas¸ı Treatise must have been written around 1807, sometime before the deposition of Selim III. Possibly, the growing dissatisfaction with the policies of the centre inspired the sultan to commission a treatise in favour of his reforms, so as to silence anti-state rumours. The author of the first text is still unknown, and a separate literature has developed on his identity.92 Zebıˆre, on the other hand, was written in 1806 by Ubeydullah Kus¸maˆnıˆ at the time of the declaration of war against the Russians. Its author, Kus¸maˆnıˆ, was a self-appointed propagandist for Selimian policies. Both, therefore, are state-sponsored treatises, representing the views of the centre. As emphasized by Beydilli and S¸akul, these treatises represent a new line of thinking on Ottoman reform history, namely the very urgent need for implementing reforms in order to revitalize the Empire; hence they are less tolerant of opponents. One of their concerns is to refute the arguments of those who considered reforms as against the spirit of Islam.93

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For our concerns, the principal message of both treatises is the absolute necessity of revitalizing the Empire, which had long been suffering defeats and territorial losses. This was in fact a universal concern of imperial elites across the world, where they were forced to adopt a defensive posture against revolutionary Europe.94 Both authors insist that Muslims could no longer afford to despise European powers, since their armies were now superior to the Ottoman military. Therefore, it was time to borrow their military technology, and defeat them with their own methods according to the so-called mukabele-i bi’l-misil (principle of reprisal). Importing foreign military technology had never been against the spirit of Islam; on the contrary, the Qur’an commanded the Muslims to fight their enemies on the basis of this principle. Here, there are no exhortations to revive the glorious Ottoman past or the imperial Golden Age, as had been prevalent in the advice literature (nasihatname) of earlier centuries. Rather, the force of necessity was the basic concern. The aim now was simply to catch up with the Empire’s European counterparts, something which remained an enduring concern of intellectuals and statesmen both of the Ottoman Empire and the nascent Turkish Republic. The treatises do offer some examples from the past, especially from the reign of Suleiman I, but there is no explicit suggestion of a return to the past. As Virginia Aksan observes, this break occurred during the eighteenth century, with Ibrahim Mu¨teferrika (d. 1745) and Ahmed Resmi Efendi (d. 1783). In particular, it was Ahmed Resmi’s Hu¨lasatu¨’l-I˙tibar, which manifested a break from the discourse of previous Ottoman authors who had attributed a pivotal role to the Ottoman sultan in establishing order and justice. Now, intellectuals tried to explain the problems inherent in the Ottoman military system via other means, and expounded the necessity of a disciplined army.95 As is evident from these sources, the primary concern was to rationalize the military reforms, where imitation was seen as the best chance for Ottoman survival.96 Both Kus¸maˆnıˆ and Koca Sekbanbas¸ı acknowledge the idea of constant change and the universality of knowledge. It was this constant change that both rendered the military system outmoded and made it possible to borrow from the European military sciences ( fu¨nuˆn-ı askeriye). One could no longer resist these dynamics, and the attempt to resist them was the basic mistake they attributed to their opponents;

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the janissaries, they stated, were bankrupt (mu¨flis) as soldiers.97 As previously remarked, both accounts turn on imaginary dialogues. As far as is reflected in these dialogues, the antagonists, particularly the janissaries, are not convinced of the necessity of a new corps. In the texts, they argue that there was already a standing professional army ready to serve the state and religion. They, the janissaries, were the ones who had conquered new territories and glorified Islam, not the New Order soldiers, and they were still ready to fight for the Empire.98 It is not possible to determine whether these were real arguments actually espoused by the opposing party. Most probably they did indeed make certain similar claims, but these were highly exaggerated or caricatured by the authors of the two treatises. In response, these authors underline that despite frequent defeats and territorial losses, the janissaries remained oblivious to the problems inherent in their corps.99 Alongside this kind of argument, critics also seem to have leveled certain accusations directly at the new military system. The authors counter these attacks by setting out to define the Nizam-ı Cedid (ocak-ı cedid).100 For instance, Koca Sekbanbas¸ı begins with the question ‘What is the Nizam-ı Cedid?’ and defines it as a body of troops well trained and exercised.101 There was clearly a gulf between the notions of war as defended by the janissaries, and those of the authors of these treatises. For example, the janissaries were imagined as saying: Let the enemy present himself, and we will lay our hands on our sabres, and at a single charge make piece-meal of them. Only let us see the intentions of our enemy, we will storm their camp, sword in our hand, upset their Cral from his throne, trample his crown under our feet, and penetrate even to the most distant of their countries.102 While the janissaries emphasize their heroic deeds, Koca Sekbanbas¸ı tries to establish the utility of drilled soldiers and a disciplined army, in which collective action and discipline mattered more than numbers and individual heroism: Our old forces, when in the presence of the enemy, do not remain drawn up in a line, but stand confusedly and promiscuously like a crowd in a place of diversion. Some load their muskets, and fire

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once, some twice or oftener, just as they think proper, whilst others being at their wits’ end and not knowing what they are about turn from side to side like fabulous storytellers [. . .] But the new troops remain drawn up in line as though they were at prayers, the rear ranks being exactly parallel with the front, and consisting of the same number of companies, neither more nor less, when it is necessary, they turn with as much precision as a watch.103 Such action required constant drills in order to establish standard and uniform maneuvers. In fact, this new military system based on harsh and continuous discipline and training had begun to be applied in Europe only one generation earlier, notably after the victory of Prussia during the Seven Years’ War (1756 – 63). This new army was described in the Prussian military codes as an “artificial machine”. Two or three decades after the war, the new military system had spread all over Europe, and was developed by the French in 1791. With the development of the new discipline, armies in the old style began to be considered as obsolete clusters of vagrant men.104 Machine-like military discipline and standardization required the mental and physical obedience of the soldiers, and their submission to the task of creating a coherent military body.105 Discussing the formation of the modern army system in Egypt under the rule of Mehmed Ali Pasha in the 1830s, Fahmy notes that: The orders were, furthermore, directed at manipulating very specific movements and gestures of the soldiers. The bravery and strength of the soldiers are done away with, and instead a minute and very fine adjustment of the soldiers’ bodies was conducted aiming at aggregating the isolated movements of soldiers into one, massive force, that of the battalion.106 Similar points are emphasized by Koca Sekbanbas¸ı: The whole body, consisting of many thousand men, observe attentively the signals given them by the two fuglemen who explain by signs the commands of the officers, and no one dares so much as to turn his head.107

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One foreigner, Baron von Brentano, presented a reform proposal to the Porte, which suggested the need for basic military drills, “turn right, turn left.”108 As mentioned earlier, these points are set out in the accounts of proNew Order authors, who thereby attempt to give voice to certain ideas which were supposedly the object of harmful gossip and speculation. Yet, there is no indication as to whether these authors were sincere in their explanations of why the janissaries opposed the new army. They were largely content to state that the janissaries were ignorant and unconcerned with anything but their own selfish interests. It is interesting to note that the authors never talk about the low wages paid to janissaries, which forced them to engage in crafts, diverting their attention from their real duties. The nearest the treatises get to engaging with the janissaries’ economic concerns is in one imaginary dialogue, wherein a janissary confesses: I receive a salary (uluˆfe) of 25 akc
es in the Janissary corps. Should the Nizam-ı Cedid soldiers increase in number and prove to be effective, then Janissaries will fall from grace and I will not be able to receive my salary. If I were sure that no danger would befall upon my salary, I would pray God that every living soul shall be Nizam-ı Cedid soldiers.109 Why were the janissaries made the target of the pamphlet writers, given that there was a multitude of other potential opponents to the New Order, ranging from artisans to the tımar-holders whose lands were seized by the New Treasury, let alone the massive resistance of the local magnates in the Balkans? The reply turns in part on previous experiences with janissary political activism, and in part on contemporary realities. With their privileges and special tax rights, the janissary army comprised one of the most exclusive status groups in the Ottoman Empire.110 Due to the processes mentioned in the previous chapter, however, the social composition of the janissary corps was undergoing a transformation, and from the seventeenth century onwards it is difficult to draw strict lines between civilians and the military corps. The later period thus represented the transformation of an exclusive military group into a more inclusive status group. Within four centuries, a purely military corps turned

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into a traditional status group in the Weberian sense, gaining partial freedom from the sultans’ patrimonial rule. The direction of intermingling between civilians and the janissaries was not unilinear. While the janissaries established close ties with the rest of society, especially through the process of esnaf-ization and esaˆme sales, the civilians also entered into the janissary cadres. With the intrusion of local people, particularly from the middle-rank urbanites, its social structure changed significantly. The end of the devshirme system had already given rise to the entry of Muslim commoners into the corps, which also changed the ethnic structure of the janissary army. Given the prevailing economic instability, most segments of society were seeking more secure sources of livelihood, especially the lower classes which were recruited into the military forces. The increasing need for soldiers in ongoing campaigns had also necessitated new recruitment. As signalled by the sixteenth century “decline” literature, the barriers between commoners and soldiers began to be undermined, and at the turn of the eighteenth century they had become deeply intermingled with the rest of society, the corps having transformed into semi-professional paramilitary groups, with the influx of urbanites from various cities. While some urbanites became soldiers or pseudo-soldiers, the soldiers themselves were localized and became guildsmen or craftsmen. Once they became artisans, Andre´ Raymond concludes, the soldier-artisans became more integrated into society and followed similar economic behaviour.111 Kafadar argues that, due to the esnaf-ization process, the janissaries established mutual relations with the established craftsmen of Istanbul, while they themselves became petty artisans.112 In the late eighteenth century there was an expansion of soldier-artisans, while the number of urban consumers declined.113 We need not go into the details of the mechanism, since during the reign of Selim III the process had already been completed and was sufficiently mature to reproduce itself.114 For our concerns, the result of the transformation was the proletarization of the janissary corps and the militarization of the urban poor or the middle classes. At the same time, the intermingling of civilian groups with the soldiers of the capital provided them with an advantage in their struggle against the demands from above.115 Leaving aside the question of their integration with the commoners, it seems that janissaries acted both as oppressors and protectors of the commoners. Baron de Tott, for instance, presents

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them as opponents of ‘despotism’ in Salonika.116 Similar observations are repeated throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth century especially by foreigners.117 The janissaries emerged as the main source of protest whenever there was a crisis in the market, a failure in harvests or threat of starvation in the city. The commoners, on the other hand, needed the help of the janissaries to defend their rights against the oppression and abuses of local power holders and state elites. At the same time, however, the janissaries also acted as “petty despots” in the city.118 In that respect, there is a fair resemblance between the role of the janissaries and the ayans.119 No matter to what degree the janissaries lost their original functions and turned into an inclusive status group, they preserved their links of solidarity and tried to retain their privileges. Regardless of the opinions of the ruling elite and of society in general, they clung to their prestige, especially in the face of predations by the centre. The Selimiyye Mosque Incident, mentioned above, may appear to be a minor event, but provides crucial clues regarding the attitude of the janissaries. It is obvious that their replacement in the aforementioned ceremony was viewed as a violation of their privilege and as a serious act of degradation. In a similar way, the Bosnians resisted the abolition of the janissary corps in Bosnia after 1826 in order not to lose their own privileges.120 One striking example in this regard comes from 1808, during the grand vizierate of Alemdar Mustafa Pasha. After establishing his authority in the capital following the counter-revolution and coup d’e´tat, he began a series of political purges and executions. Amid the profuse criticism directed against his reign of terror, he is censured for not having treated members of the military with the respect due to their status. The most striking example in this regard is that he sentenced guilty corps members to death by decapitation, treating them like commoners, rather than having them strangled as befitted their social status.121 Even in his execution orders, Alemdar Mustafa Pasha did not respect the privileges of military groups and social hierarchies. The most scandalous execution in this regard was that of Kahveciog˘lu Mustafa Agha, an influential figure from the 25th Janissary regiment. He was executed in front of his coffeehouse in Galata in order to serve as an example for the rest. The author of the Yayla I˙mamı Risalesi sees that murder as an act of overt brutality, as well as a clear manifestation of Alemdar Mustafa Pasha’s disrespect for the janissaries, whom he treated as “commoners” (reaya).122

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Although the social structure had changed significantly, the military ethos of the janissaries and other military groups remained intact, and this underpinned their basic advantage as a status group. Since it was privilege which defined status groups in early modern polities, the rescinding of any kind of such advantage was liable to provoke discontent and even revolution.123 The janissaries’ reaction was, therefore, not a case of irrationality; on the contrary, it was a coldly rational calculation. At the heart of the problem lies the issue of rights and privileges and membership of a community. Challengers, who are denied admission to a group, tend to define themselves as being deprived of rights which are due to them on more general grounds. Members who are threatened with losing their position tend, in contrast, to lay the accent on tradition, customary usage and other particular arguments in defence of their claims. Contenders, whether entering or leaving a privilege group, have a special propensity to articulate their situations in strongly moral terms.124 Military strength and the sense of in-group solidarity were the basic points of attraction for the janissary classes, and it was this, rather than their collaboration with other groups, which made them powerful. As a rule, collective action in the early modern world had a communal and corporational nature. Special manners, costumes and speech peculiar to a group were generally preserved, but these features did not always derive from their military origins or military performances; meanwhile, military groups pauperized their glorious pasts while still boasting of their military identity, regardless of the change in their social composition. In terms of religious beliefs, too, they tended to adhere to popular and mostly unorthodox sects, such as Bektashism, which played a major part in their new identity formation. Indeed, most contemporary authors refer to the janissaries as Bektashi groups (taife-i Bektas¸iyan), in a pejorative sense. Since they mainly belonged to the lower segments of urban society and had heterodox tendencies, they were usually represented as urban riffraff, rabble or rootless social isolates. But these points still do not explain fully why the janissaries were singled out for direct criticism in these propaganda texts, and why the polarization was particularly intense between the janissaries and groups affiliated to the state. The answer, in part, lies in the rivalry between the centre and opposing groups (especially the janissaries and the Bektashis) over shaping public opinion in the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century

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Ottoman capital. While in Anatolia and the Balkans it was local ayans and their vassals who formed and shaped public opinion, the janissaries were influential in Istanbul. The coffeehouses were the main public places where janissaries and civilians had a chance to meet. In this period, there were approximately 2,500 coffeehouses in Istanbul, run mainly by janissaries, and this created a special bond between them and the immigrant networks. No great capital was needed to establish a coffeehouse, and the regional migrants made ready customers. For instance, in 1792, 83 per cent of coffeehouse proprietors had military affiliations and half were identified with the unit to which they belonged. The numbers of janissary coffeehouses had been increasing from the mid-seventeenth century onwards.125 Coffeehouses also meant social networks and the associated circulation of gossip. They provided a chance for the military class to meet outside the barracks, and prominent and influential janissaries were involved in this trade. Civilians also frequented these coffeehouses, where news was exchanged and anti-state arguments were discussed and rehearsed; thus, they came under strict surveillance by the centre.126 As we have seen previously, several shops were closed due to their circulating anti-state rumours regarding the Nizam-ı Cedid and the policies of the centre. The janissaries and Bektashis seem to have been able to form and mould public opinion, which was not always in compliance with state interests. On the contrary, as Berkes also states, the janissaries and their Bektashi-affiliated groups formed a type of “literary underground” fostering a kind of anti-statist ideology. That is the main reason why the aforementioned pamphlet writers had first and foremost to undermine the prestige of the janissaries and their affiliates, in order to reach the commoners and to disseminate a more state-affiliated public discourse.127 Winning over the janissaries on the necessity of the reforms would also have meant winning over most commoners in the capital. Yet, despite the efforts of the propagandists, the centre was never able to manipulate public opinion and convince people about the need for reform. On the contrary, commoners – not to mention the janissaries – became more and more alienated from the centre and increasingly suspicious of its intentions. As far as the commoners were concerned, there was also a kind of “Great Fear”, a sense of betrayal by the ruling elite, which would become amplified by the international policies of the centre, the topic of the next chapter.

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Conclusion Ideological, political or religious conflict not only increases social tension but also greatly increases the risk of collective violence.128 While the economic problems had prepared the breeding ground for discontent, the challenges which the new military system posed to vested interests increased the general sense of pessimism, and tensions escalated in the years prior to the uprising. The revolt of Tayyar Pasha should be considered as a manifestation of provincial elite rivalry, that of Pazvandog˘lu as related to recentralization efforts, as well as the recessionist movements of the disintegrative phase, while the Edirne Incident as a reaction to the interventionist fiscal and military policies of the Porte. The degree of decentralization and the deep vested interests of the local magnates prevented the expansion of the new military system – and its possible consequences – in the regions. The Nizam-ı Cedid reforms were used – or abused – as an ideological or political tool in these incidents, which in fact had deep roots in the economic and political structures of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. The most direct connection of reforms to the uprising was their role in exacerbating social polarization, especially between the ruling elite and higher segments of society, and the janissaries and lower segments of society.

CHAPTER 4 GREAT POWERS AND THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE

The Turks if necessary should be saved in spite of themselves.1

Introduction During the disintegrative period, the Ottoman central authorities had to deal not only with the internal fiscal crisis and rising tendencies towards decentralization, but also with intense international rivalry and increasing inter-imperial belligerence. Observing the weakness of the Porte, rival powers pressed their advantage, leading to a period of raids, invasions and loss of territory.2 This, in turn, triggered further internal instability. The problems of the Selimian era, both internal and external, are thus interlinked with the imperialist policies of the Great Powers: France, Russia and Britain. Indisputably, the main actor of the period was Napoleonic France, which was altering the existing political balance, challenging old alliances and creating new ones, and above all disseminating revolutionary ideas in different parts of the world. Although this period sees only a limited impact of revolutionary ideas in the Ottoman Empire, the aggressive expansionist policy of revolutionary France directly involved that region. The Ottoman Empire, thus, engaged with revolutionary France more through war and diplomacy than in the sphere of ideology. Like Spain and Portugal, the Porte became the focus of contestation between the Western powers; unable to detach itself from this dynamic, it was forced to adapt.3 Unlike earlier periods, however, the political contest no longer

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took place only on the frontier, but had now moved into the Empire’s heartlands.4 The Ottoman Empire implemented its policy of adaptation through diplomacy and military reforms, undertaken in an environment of political polarization and social reaction. It is no coincidence that the rise of Ottoman diplomacy in the classical sense took place in the Selimian era;5 alliances shifted rapidly, exposing the Porte to a long war which heralded the two calamitous final years of the Selimian era – all of which, I argue, were preconditions of the 1807 uprising. In previous chapters we have seen how the socio-economic conditions and rivalry over limited sources of power and income had disadvantaged certain segments of Ottoman society. This situation was exacerbated by the Selimian reforms, which increased this rivalry and intensified social polarization. All the while, like the unceasing rumble of distant artillery, the international crisis was augmenting local tensions, creating a miasma of pessimism and paranoia. The period was marked by an intense fear among the commoners that they would be betrayed by the ruling elite – this, indeed, was a constant theme, and not one which was related only to the Selimian reforms. This chapter will argue that popular anxiety was aggravated not only by the social dislocation and economic crisis, but also by resentment over the Porte’s inability to cope with the foreign interventions. When this anxiety and resentment eventually met with the political activism of the military corps, scaffolded by their capacity for mass mobilization, the uprising materialized.6

International Crisis and Social Pessimism It is striking how often uprisings or social movements are prefigured by a strong sense of betrayal and paranoia, which overwhelms society either in part or in toto – the “Great Fear” of the French Revolution being the best example. As James C. Davies rightly notes, “political stability and instability are ultimately dependent on a state of mind and mood in the society”, a mood which is not always solely related to status and wealth. This mood of discontent, which may have either social or natural reasons, he calls “proto-rebelliousness”.7 The fear of conspiracy which gripped the Ottoman Empire in the early nineteenth century mounted to paranoiac levels. The entire society, now firmly on the defensive, felt itself to be the object of constant foreign plots directed at territorial and material gain. There were particular suspicions of Russian designs, along

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with fears that the capital could one day be “contaminated by the presence and polluted by the supremacy of the emperor of Russia”, a fear which was played up by the propagandist Koca Sekbanbas¸ı; nor did the public trust the intentions of its own rulers, including the sultan. The personnel of the old-style military were alarmed at the prospect of being abolished through the intrigues of the new Selimian elite, which was widely believed to be deceiving and manipulating the sultan; meanwhile, the rulers were suspicious of their rivals and of the ignorant classes beyond the palace walls. The sultan himself was never comfortable, being suspicious that his reforming policies were being undermined by plots of the Russians, his own “corrupt statesmen”, and by the intransigence of the army and society at large. Although it is evident in the traditional accounts, modern studies pay rather little attention to the trauma of the post-Kaynarca period. By the Treaty of Ku¨c
u¨k Kaynarca (1774), the loss of the Crimea – the first Muslim land lost to Christian Russia – created a great sense of helplessness and pessimism within the Ottoman Empire.8 To this, we should also add public resentment about the centre’s inertia during the bureaucratic processes surrounding the loss of the territory. Although the recapture of the Crimea became a dream of Selim III – which the Porte consistently maintained as policy – the inability to achieve this increased the sense of frustration among the public.9 In one of his poems, prince Selim revealed that his mood was as one with the public: Though the heathen tempt Islam Behold, we stand with our glory then While they enslave each and every Tatar Shalt Crimea still remain in heathen hands Now then I send the Ottomans to battle Then I put the ungodly enemy to the cleaver Let me get to take vengeance on the infidel Shalt I otherwise pass away with open eyes10 Aksan too draws attention to the psychological impact of the shift from an ideology of the ever-expanding Islamic frontier to that of an empire on the defensive, which also struck at the source of imperial legitimacy.11 Serious military defeats, the loss of Crimea and continuous wars with the Austrians and Russians had left common people eagerly

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awaiting Selim’s enthronement, hoping that he might overcome the Empire’s problems and change its fate.12 The events that unfolded after his enthronement, however, left the subjects disappointed, and the sultan dead. As the war with the Russians and the Austrians dragged on, and the Empire’s problems remained unsolved, it became increasingly clear that Selim III would be unable to embody the ideal of a cihangir (world conqueror). He tried to push through an alliance with Prussia and Britain, which would help him to regain territories lost during the time of Abdulhamid I. In the meantime, however, military defeats in October and November 1789, at Galatz, Foskshani, Rimnik, Belgrade and finally at Bender, created severe political crises in the capital. The enthusiasm accompanying the accession of Selim III had by now mostly faded away, and people were looting, protesting and committing acts of arson in the streets of Istanbul.13 Another disappointment came as the result of an alliance with the Prussians. On 26 November 1789, Diez, the Prussian ambassador, offered that the Prussians would declare war on Russia and fight until the recovery of the Crimea. In return, the Porte would support Prussian claims to Danzig and Thorn, and back the return of Galicia to Poland. Some members of the ulema in the imperial council reacted against the Prussian alliance, on the grounds that an alliance with an infidel power was against the sharia. Despite their discontent, the alliance was signed on 31 January 1790. Further deepening of the political crisis and mounting social pessimism came with the French invasion of Egypt (1798– 1801).14 Napoleon had invaded the region with the primary goal of blocking British access to India, while also coveting control over the resources of this rich Ottoman province. After the expulsion of the French armies from Egypt, Selim III added the title of holy warrior, gazi, to his official titles. His acquisition of this title was announced across the Empire.15 It is ironic, however, that the sultan had not actually participated in the Egyptian campaign, and that it would have been impossible to expel the French forces without the help of the Russians and the British. One contemporary author attacked Selim III on precisely this point, declaring that the sultan had delivered Egypt to the “infidels” and that innocents had suffered due to the misconduct of this “shameless ruler” ( padis¸ah-ı bıˆ-aˆr).16 This outburst might be written off as the opinion of

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an individual who was already hostile to Selim III; yet, the same sentiment appears in a poem (destan) written after the invasion of Egypt: Is this a fantasy or is it a dream? Our reliever never shows up, are the roads snowbound? Wake up o Sultan Selim! Hast thou a heart of stone? All Egypt mourns, crying they long after him [. . .] March on the infidel, do not neglect thy duty No virgin bride remaineth neither any wealthy If Egypt surrendereth to the infidel French O Sultan! Abdicate thy throne then, swiftly get through here17 The French invasion of Egypt is not only important for its general effects on social psychology; it also engendered a very specific distrust of reforms, creating a link in the public mind between reform and treachery.18 In terms of international politics, the Egyptian adventure created a serious rupture between the French and the Ottomans, with the Porte establishing an alliance with Russia on 3 January 1799, and with Britain two days later. The treaty, designed to guarantee the territorial integrity of the Ottoman Empire, was to last for eight years. According to its terms, the Porte granted right of passage for Russian warships through the Straits to the Russian government during the war. Thus was the famous Triple Alliance established and, thanks to joint attacks by the allied forces, Napoleon’s first attempt to gain a stronghold in the Near East met with failure. The tensions between Russia and the Porte over their respective rights to Corfu (close to the Albanian coast) were also settled in the convention of 21 March 1800, according to which the Ionian Islands were organized as a republic with the title Septinsular Republic (Cezaˆir-i Seba-ı Mu¨ctemia Cumhuru), under the joint protection of Russia and the Porte.19 The end of the Second Coalition wars in 1802, and the consequent general pacification of Europe, provided an opportunity for Napoleon to turn again to Near Eastern affairs and reverse the setbacks of 1798. Negotiations with the Porte led to the signing of the Paris Peace Treaty (26 June 1802), in which each party pledged mutual help and a

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guarantee of territorial integrity. Restoration of peace, renewal of past treaties, and expansion of French trading rights into the Black Sea and the Straits were also granted. In this period, the French government was concerned with re-establishing the prewar relationship with the Porte, especially regarding commercial relations, with the prospect of rivalling Russian commerce in the Black Sea.20 During 1804, the Porte preserved its neutrality, studiously fending off both sides despite the pressure of the Russian and French ambassadors. The most difficult test in the relations between the Porte and the French, however, was the crisis over the formal recognition of the imperial title of Napoleon. In the diplomatic crisis precipitated by the Porte’s refusal to recognize the title, relations again deteriorated, ending with General Brune (d. 1815), the French ambassador, taking his leave of Istanbul (22 December 1804). This act meant the suspension of diplomatic relations between the two governments, and was a chance for Russia to increase her influence on the Porte. On 23 September 1805, a new Russian –Ottoman treaty was signed in which the Porte agreed to join the anti-French coalition of Russia and Britain; thus, the Triple Alliance was renewed. This involved a renewal of the defensive clauses of 1799 for a further nine years; the secret clauses were directed in particular against Napoleon’s expansionist policies.21 This alliance signified the success of Russian policy. Observing the increasing influence of its enemies at the Porte, the French government began to adopt a more conciliatory attitude. As a mollifying act, it decided to change its policy in Egypt, which had been based on playing this province off against the Porte. Talleyrand, the French minister of foreign affairs, ordered Drovetti, his agent in Egypt, not to cooperate with Kavalalı Mehmed Ali’s actions against the Porte. Instead of the recognition of Napoleon’s imperial title, he proposed that Napoleon be recognized as the sultan’s equal, with the title padis¸ah. Selim III, largely under external pressure, remained reluctant; yet, he also saw that a complete break with France would leave him completely dependent on his allies.22 When the news of Napoleon’s victories at Ulm (17 October 1805) and Austerlitz (2 December 1805 – the humiliation of the Habsburgs) reached Istanbul, Selim III felt himself freer to act and had more courage to ignore the Triple Alliance. Seizing upon the situation, Pierre Ruffin (d. 1824), France’s charge´ d’affaires, promised the Porte that his government would help them to regain the Crimea and would never isolate the Empire by making separate treaties counter

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to the interests of the Porte.23 Consequently, Selim III sent Abdu¨rrahim Muhib Efendi (d. 1821) as extraordinary ambassador to Paris, carrying the letter of the sultan recognizing the imperial title of Napoleon. It was the appointment of General Horace Franc
ois Bastien Se´bastiani (d. 1815) as the new French ambassador, however, that signalled the most remarkable shift in Ottoman – French relations and the ascendancy of French influence at the Porte. Before he left Paris for Istanbul, Napoleon gave Se´bastiani a set of instructions, which reflected the policy the Emperor wished to promote in the part of the world that came to be known as the Middle East. His first duty was to gain the confidence of the sultan and persuade him that Napoleon had no intentions other than to help create a strong Empire that would remain firm against Russia. This specific instruction was probably added to assure the Porte that the French landing in Dalmatia by the Treaty of Campo Formio (18 February 1797) did not constitute a threat to the Empire. The new ambassador was to ensure that the French presence in the region was to be seen as an advantage in case of attack, rather than as a threat. In his second instruction, Napoleon summarized his policy in the Near East: “the constant purpose of my policy is to make a triple alliance between me, the Porte and Persia, directly or indirectly against Russia.” In the fourth article, Napoleon clearly stated that he would not tolerate any kind of uprising against the Porte, whether in Egypt, Syria or Greece, and he ordered Se´bastiani to conduct an investigation of the Serbian uprising on his way to Istanbul. Se´bastiani was to gain the confidence of the Ottoman statesmen through diplomatic skill, and not by arrogance, force or threat.24 As it turned out, Se´bastiani would resort more frequently to the latter than the former in his relations with the Porte. As far as is reflected in the instructions, the French government was indeed in favour of strengthening the Ottoman Empire and preserving its territorial integrity. In this respect, the reforming efforts of the Porte, notably the establishment of a new army, were admired in Paris, and France declared itself ready to offer any kind of aid to improve the internal conditions of the Empire.25 How should we explain this change in policy by an imperialist government, which had so recently attacked Egypt? The answer revolves around Russian influence at the Porte, a reality that endangered French interests in the Near East. An internally strong Ottoman Empire, dependent on French aid, promised a means to beat back Russian influence, which in turn would render the Porte more

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confident vis-a`-vis Russia and Britain. Napoleon’s primary aim was, therefore, to establish a coalition (with the Porte and Persia) against Russia and Britain, with the prospect of creating a barrier against Russian expansion in both directions. The creation of a buffer state was also a policy of the British government, and for this purpose negotiations were also ongoing between Britain and Persia, with the particular aim of ending conflict between Persia and Russia in order to make Russia stronger against the French.26 For the Porte, the ultimate prize in this collaboration was the recovery of the Crimea.27 If Se´bastiani was able to convince the Porte to close the Straits to Russian shipping, Russia would be trapped; this, at least, seemed to be his immediate plan. The longer term plans of the French government, however, seemed rather less favourable to the Porte. For instance, while planning to improve the position of the Porte in the Principalities, Napoleon also ordered Se´bastiani to investigate the Wahhabi problem with the aim of determining whether they could be installed as a power between India and Europe.28 Furthermore, relations with Tepedelenli Ali Pasha (d. 1822) were to be improved so that one day he might protect French interests in the Adriatic.29 Se´bastiani arrived in Istanbul on 9 August 1806 and was well received. He submitted a letter to Selim III, which summarized the general policy of the French government. By the application of considerable cunning, he was quickly able to create a favourable atmosphere around him, and thereafter he exerted pressure for the removal of the present hospodars (princes) of Moldavia and Wallachia. Two weeks after his arrival, Prince Alexander Muruzi (d. 1816) and Constantine Ipsilanti (d. 1816) were deposed, and Alexander Suzzo (d. 1821) and Skarlatos Callimaci (d. 1821) appointed in their place.30 There was no doubt that this move would create a diplomatic crisis between Russia and the Porte, since, according to the RussoOttoman convention of 24 September 1802, these hospodars were to be kept in place for seven years unless proven guilty of misconduct. Moreover, the convention stated, the Russians were to be informed beforehand as regards the grounds for deposition. The Porte had previously made protestations to Russia about the actions of the hospodars, but here was a foreign government – France – pressing for their dismissal, with Se´bastiani threatening to create a diplomatic crisis by leaving the city unless he received a clear and positive reply from the Porte.31

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The dismissal of the hospodars was a great diplomatic success on the part of the French government. Se´bastiani was not only instrumental in it, but also ensured the appointment of pro-French figures as replacements. Four days afterwards, he met with Selim III who explained that he was eager to improve relations with the French government and to resist Russian pressure. Yet, he added, he could not depend on his janissaries, and asked for artillerymen and engineers from France.32 In another instance, this time in a note, the French ambassador insisted that if the Porte continued to ally itself with Russia and Britain, this would be taken as a violation of neutrality. Se´bastiani also assured the sultan that his government was ready to defend the interests of the Porte by means of its forces stationed in Dalmatia.33 These changes unleashed a series of diplomatic crises, leading finally to war with Russia. Upon the dismissal of the hospodars, Andrei Yakovlevich Italinsky (d. 1827), the Russian resident ambassador to the Porte, demanded an urgent explanation. After some evasive answers, the Porte finally replied that Ipsilanti had been dismissed for being a traitor, due to his suspicious relations with Tirsinikliog˘lu, as well as for provoking the Serbian uprising.34 In dispatches, the British and Russian ambassadors had already insisted that the deposition of the hospodars meant a declaration of war. It seems that the ambassadors, facing a diplomatic reversal, were planning to force the Porte to reconsider its actions through a naval expedition on the part of the British, and military efforts by the Russians. Under pressure from the allies, Selim III declared in a letter to Napoleon that he was now intending to restore the dismissed hospodars, on the pretext that his Empire was not ready for a new war with Russia. Now it was Se´bastiani’s turn to be alarmed, and he tried to convince the sultan that the Porte would not be alone in case of war with Russia. He remained sceptical, however, about the Porte’s defensive capacities faced with a double attack by Russia and Britain. He instructed the commander of the French troops in Dalmatia to be ready.35 In the meantime, Italinsky was boarding to leave the city, still insisting on the unconditional restoration of the hospodars. Finally, on 16 October, a declaration was produced by the Reisu¨lku¨ttab announcing the reinstatement of Ipsilanti as the hospodar of Wallachia, and the next day of Muruzi of Moldavia. The Porte had also secretly agreed to permit the passage of Russian warships through the Dardanelles and to renew the treaty stipulation concerning Moldavia and Wallachia.36

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The decree of 16 October did not reach the Russian court until November. In fact, on the same day, the commander of the Russian army General Michelson had received orders to occupy the Principalities.37 Without much difficulty, the fortress of Hotin fell to the Russians on 10 November, followed by Bender on 22 November and Kili on 4 December. News came from Moldavia that the Russians were about to enter the Principality. Meanwhile, Michelson issued a statement that the Russians had come to the region in order to save the Empire from French aggression, and he invited the Turkish population of the region to unite with the Russians to drive the French out. He also recalled that, as stipulated in the alliance with the Empire, one had to help the other in expelling its enemies. Aside from its diplomatic consequences, Michelson’s declaration was important for another reason: according to the General, Napoleon’s real aim was to destroy the janissary corps and to consolidate the Nizam-ı Cedid army. With the destruction of the janissaries, he maintained, the Empire would be more vulnerable to French aggression and “Napoleon would proclaim himself emperor of the East and the overlord of the Ottoman Empire.”38 It seems that Michelson’s real purpose was to create a “schism” between the old – and new – system armies and, hence, spread disorder and frustration among the residents (especially among the traditional military corps) in the region, so as to weaken resistance to the Russian assault.39 A civil war between the Ottoman armies would be beneficial for Russian purposes. The same point was emphasized by the British ambassador, Charles Arbuthnot (d. 1850): I shall only observe further that the court of Petersburgh has, I believe, been greatly mistaken in the expectations which seemed to be formed receiving assistance from the Janissaries. There is a passage in Michelson’s proclamation which favors the option that reliance was placed on the effects produced by the schism between the Janissaries and troops of discipline.40 As noted previously, the Nizam-ı Cedid reforms had created anxiety within the Empire and aroused suspicion among the commoners, while various parties had exploited this for their own purposes. Now, we see a similar dynamic at work in the international arena as well.

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The Russians entered Bucharest on 13 November and finally occupied it on 27 December. This development provided Se´bastiani with a chance to convince the Porte about the evil intentions of the Tsar and to encourage the Ottomans to declare war. Indeed, on 7 November he received orders from Paris that he had to work “vigorously” to bring about a war between the two countries. On 23 November 1806, he met with the Reisu¨lku¨ttab and reminded him of the availability of French troops in Dalmatia, as well as the benefits of a possible French – Ottoman– Persian alliance, which would defeat the British. Yet, the naval supremacy of the British had always left the Porte in a dilemma.41 News of the French victory at Jena reached Selim III in a letter – dated 11 November – from Napoleon. The sultan was advised to gather his energies and send his troops to recapture Bender and other fortresses lost to the Russians. In another letter – 1 December – Napoleon maintained his encouragement and insisted on the deposition of the newly reinstalled hospodars.42 After several imperial councils, two important letters were written, citing the unjust attacks of Russia and noting the obligations of all Muslims to be prepared for holy war.43 The second letter was written by Selim III to Napoleon, announcing the formal declaration of war. A reply came from Napoleon, congratulating him for his decision to fight against an enemy who was murdering innocent Muslims and demolishing their mosques. He also asked the sultan to send a trustworthy servant to his presence in order to sign the alliance between his government and the Porte.44 An official manifesto by the Porte, issued 5 January 1807, was submitted to all embassies, declaring the war and explaining it to the European audience as an act of selfdefence on the part of the Porte.45 On 22 October, London gave orders that a squadron be dispatched to the Dardanelles. On 12 November, rear admiral Thomas Louis anchored in Malta. Leaving two ships there, Louis reached the Dardanelles on the Canopus. On 27 November, two ships – Canopus and Endymion – anchored at Istanbul and Canopus took Italinsky from the city on 25 December 1806.46 From the beginning of the hospodar crisis to the declaration of war, Arbuthnot, the British ambassador, had played the role of mediator. In accord with his instructions from London, and consistent with British interests in the East, he had clearly expressed which side Great Britain would take if a war broke out between the Porte and Russia. Just as much as Russia, the British government was worried about Napoleon’s

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secret intentions in the Near East, especially concerning Persia and the Ottoman Empire. Britain was also worried about France’s nearly unrivalled influence there, the architect of which was Se´bastiani. In case of aggression against the Ottoman Empire, the British would lose the security of the route to India, not to mention their other political and economic interests in the Near East. Arbuthnot noted in one of his dispatches that “the interest of our own depends much on the preservation of the Empire”, and concluded that “we should save them in spite of themselves.” Another dispatch repeats the theme: “the Turks if necessary should be saved in spite of themselves.”47 The best way to attain this purpose was to ensure that the Porte kept its neutrality. Yet, as soon as the crisis broke, Arbuthnot noted that a rupture of relations was apparent and a war very likely between the former allies. Therefore, while still overtly playing the role of mediator, he decided to apply gunboat diplomacy with the purpose of ending hostilities between the former allies and ending the “fatal” French influence on the Porte. According to him, war between Russia and the Porte had already been decided upon by the French, who had only been waiting for the arrival of Se´bastiani in order to set the plan in motion. Arbuthnot asked his government to send a squadron to the Dardanelles.48 After an unfruitful conference with the Porte on 25 January 1807, Arbuthnot made up his mind, secretly leaving the capital on the evening of 29 January with a group of British citizens.49 Facing the difficulty of making a covert departure in a country where “spies are employed in the greatest number”, he invited British merchants for dinner on board the Endymion. There, he explained the motives for his departure. Under the cover of darkness he left the city behind, passing the Dardanelles with no obstacle.50 On 31 January, the British ambassador met the British squadron under the command of rear admiral Louis at the mouth of the Dardanelles. From there, he maintained communications with the Porte through Salih Pasha (d. 1824), the Ottoman grand admiral, and Pizani (d. 1826);51 however, this did not issue in any positive result. Early in the morning of 19 February, finding a favourable wind, vice admiral Duckworth ordered the advance of 11 three-deckers, four ships of the line and four frigates towards the Straits, while the remaining ships waited off Bozcaada. During their passage, cannons were fired from the fortress of C¸anakkale, but did not cause any serious damage. When the enemy fleet returned fire, however, great panic prevailed among the

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Ottoman soldiers. The fleet continued without meeting any great opposition, and the squadron eventually stationed itself off Princes Islands (Kızıl Adalar) on 20 February 1807.52 The next day, Arbuthnot sent a dispatch to the Porte insisting on the removal of the French ambassador, the immediate submission of the Ottoman fleet, stored with provisions for six months, permission for Russia to occupy the Principalities until peace was established, and finally the renewal of the Triple Alliance.53 News of the incident reached the Porte through a captain named To¨nbekzade on the evening of the same day. He informed the director of the imperial dockyards (tersane emini), who in turn informed the Grand Vizier. The latter decided to inform the sultan and ministers the next morning. Since, however, the next day was Friday and the second day of Kurban Bayram, Selim III, too, decided to postpone announcement of the issue until the end of Friday prayer.54 Istanbul, a city not accustomed to foreign invasion, was not well prepared for defence. Although the sultan had previously ordered Juchereau Saint-Denys to present a report on the present conditions of the Dardanelles and the defences of Istanbul, with the aim of protecting the city from a possible Russian attack, the project had been ignored by the Ottoman dignitaries.55 The sultan and Ottoman ministers had been unsuccessful in their administration of the crisis. Indeed, in a letter from Se´bastiani to Talleyrand dated 18 February 1807, the French ambassador complained that the sultan and his ministers were afraid of the expedition and would accept all of the British demands. According to him, no one was concerned with improving the city’s defences.56 Other sources confirm the French ambassador’s complaint, also commenting that under the immediate threat of bombardment, the sultan was inclined to obey the demands of the British, and that his ministers were advising the same.57 On the evening of 20 February, Selim III sent Ishak Bey to the French ambassador to convey the message that it was impossible to protect the city, that his throne was under immediate threat, and that Se´bastiani should leave the city as soon as possible.58 Se´bastiani, however, rejected the ultimatum, declaring that he would not leave the city without receiving a formal order from his own government. Thereafter, he began to encourage the Reisu¨lku¨ttab, pointing out that the limited British force was not enough to capture the capital, and advising him to erect strong gun batteries, especially around Topkapı. With only a few other

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measures, he assured them, the expedition could easily be thwarted. In his meeting with Selim III, the French ambassador repeated the same points.59 On the urgings of Se´bastiani, the sultan finally decided to defend the city, and asked the ambassador for help. Around 200 French officials volunteered to join the defensive efforts. It seems that Napoleon had anticipated such a move by the British fleet, and now offered to send 1,000 artillerymen and soldiers who were ready in Dalmatia. His offer was rejected by the sultan, with the exception of four engineers and the same number of artillerymen.60 In defence of the city, 300 cannons were placed in batteries at different strategic points, the city itself was divided into defensive regions under the supervision of various high-ranking officials, and 5,000– 7,500 soldiers were newly recruited to protect it.61 In the meantime, Se´bastiani had sent out letters to the Greek Christians, advising them to be loyal to their sultan. The patriarch too sent dispatches to all the metropolitans, giving the same advice, and nonMuslims helped in the defence of the city by carrying materials to batteries and cannons.62 During the project, the sultan himself personally visited the places where the batteries were being constructed, encouraging and honouring the soldiers, and watching the enemy. To buy the time they needed for strengthening the fortifications of the capital, the Porte adopted a policy of detaining the British by lengthy procedures and doing everything at a glacial pace. When the British rear admiral and ambassador realized there was nothing more to be achieved through their gunboat policy, they decided to retreat.63 On the morning of 1 March, under a strong northern wind, the fleet began its return, followed by an Ottoman fleet. Se´bastiani was not in favour of the latter, probably believing that the Ottoman navy would be no match for the British in battle. Driven on by strong popular opinion, however, Selim III consented to the departure of a fleet under the command of Seydi Ali Pasha. The ships embarked under the cheerful cries of crowds lining the shore. The fortifications that had been completed during the British fleet’s sojourn off the Princes Islands (Kızıl Adalar) proved to be fatal during its return. This time none of the Ottoman soldiers fled and a very effective bombardment was sustained. The ships Windsor Castle, Royal George and Ajax were damaged, with The Times reporting that 49 soldiers were killed and 137 wounded during the passage.64 On 4 March 1807, the fleet anchored off Bozcaada once more, and then moved

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towards Alexandria (17 March 1807) in a fleet of 17 battleships, carrying 5,100 soldiers, under the command of rear admiral Louis. The British soldiers captured Alexandria on 22 March 1807. From there, they reached Res¸id within two days with the purpose of capturing Cairo. Being unsuccessful, however, they prepared to leave Alexandria on 15 September 1807. Although the British fleet did not stay in Istanbul for long, its presence had a deep social and psychological impact on the populace. It caused great unrest in the city, engendering a kind of protonationalism and leading to an increase in the number of people carrying arms. More importantly, it increased social polarization and furthered the sense of betrayal among the residents. Even more so than the commoners, it seems that the members of the palace were anxious about the arrival of the foreign fleet. The palace women and eunuchs were in great panic, crying for immediate peace.65 The news of the expedition spread rapidly across the city and people rushed to the shore to witness this extraordinary event.66 Rumours swirled around the coffeehouses that the British would violate Muslim women and loot their shops, and the Istanbulites were concerned that their wooden houses would burn down under a bombardment by British guns.67 Perhaps more importantly, however, the coming of the British navy was considered as a Portent of the Hour (kıyamet alametleri) and a sign of the coming of the Mahdi.68 Yet, the initial sense of panic gave way to a popular determination to save the city. According to Saint-Denys, the enthusiasm of the people filtered up to the ruling elite, and only a few hours after the decision to comply with the British demands, Selim III – aided by Se´bastiani – had determined to use this enthusiasm for the defence of the city. Pre´vost describes it as an honourable popular sentiment compared to the passivity of the ruling elite.69 Jorga also notes that during the initial phase of the expedition, neither the Shaikh al-Islam nor the Grand Vizier and his ministers were in evidence. Most seemed to have forgotten their own duties, even while the commoners were rushing to the shore and throwing up defences. Thus, it is now possible to substantiate the plausible assertions of the French diplomat who claims that the ulema and the army constituted the healthiest elements of the Turkish society during the period. The Grand Vizier is out of sight; the Grand Admiral is

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oblivious of his duty; the S¸eyhu¨lislam never shows up to ignite the spirits. The Reis Efendi realizes that it is way too late for negotiations, and Selim III had no choice but to succumb once the Janissaries and artillerymen of the ancient regime as well as the people of Istanbul, all of whom he had looked down upon with much contempt and hate, now went, with weapons in their hands, down to the seaside with the noble intention of revolting against the fake friends who have for so long humiliated and caused much loss to the Ottoman Empire.70 In one of his dispatches, Arbuthnot makes reference to the “fanatic spirit of the populace” and describes them as “wild” and “frantic”.71 The British fleet did indeed suffer from hostile skirmishes by the janissaries and the commoners. In one instance, around 50 soldiers, responsible for the defence of the Fenerbahc
e region, passed to Kınalıada to prevent the British from taking on water and food. They hunted down and captured five British soldiers and were later honoured for their acts by Selim III. The following day, around 50 soldiers from the traditional military corps under the command of the police superintendent (subas¸ı) of Kartal district, sailing past Kınalıada for the same purpose, were spotted by the British and the admiral sent out 500 soldiers after them. In the ensuing fight, the Ottoman soldiers were overwhelmed and some sought refuge in the convent on Kınalıada. When the building was surrounded, the monks helped the Ottomans by securing their escape through a back door. Both soldiers and monks were honoured by the sultan, who declared the soldiers eager for holy war (gaza) in an imperial order,72 and issued an edict that 42 of the Christian residents of the islands of Kınalıada and Heybeliada were henceforth exempt from the poll tax.73 Yet, alongside these acts of enthusiasm, tension and polarization were mounting in Istanbul. Although it is difficult to ascertain the motive, there was a failed assassination attempt on Ibrahim Efendi, the sadaret kethu¨da.74 Even as he poured his efforts into the defence of the city, Se´bastiani seems to have taken the opportunity to spread propaganda against the pro-Russian and pro-British figures among the ruling elite. According to Asım, he provoked Pehlivan Hu¨seyin Agha, the famous agha of the janissaries, claiming that the British fleet had made the expedition upon the invitation of certain Ottoman ministers. Pehlivan

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Agha, Asım continued, had in turn spread the news in the places he visited during the expedition: “The British and Russians are among us. Our honourable padishah has vainly made panic and suffered. Probably when they deliver the city to the enemy, they will become the kings.”75 Connections between Pehlivan Hu¨seyin Agha and Se´bastiani are also mentioned in another source. According to Wilkinson, Pehlivan Agha had served previously as the guard of a French ambassador and was loyal to the French cause. Wilkinson argues that when Se´bastiani noticed that the Porte and Great Britain were about to reach an agreement, he sent the agha to encourage the sultan to oppose the British demands.76 Wilkinson’s perspective is rather different from Asım’s but the connection between the two figures, and Se´bastiani’s persuasive powers, are noted in both. Again according to Asım, when this gossip reached the ears of the British ambassador offshore, he responded by telling the janissaries that: Indeed, our arrival was due to the invitation. The Russian will come from the Black Sea. These fights are pre-plots. The ultimate aim is to meet with the Russians at the capital city, to abolish the Janissary army and finally to station the Nizam-ı Cedid soldiers in their place. However, the plan was not achieved due to the efforts of the Janissaries.77 Although we cannot establish the truth of these tales – and the latter in particular rings rather false – the historical importance of gossip does not centre on its veracity but on what it says about the fears of an illiterate populace. In this case, the intended effect of such tales seems to have been to feed the antagonism between the Nizam-ı Cedid army and the janissary corps, and feed the fear that a certain group of administrators were collaborating with the enemy for their own interests. Should we disregard these rumours as the symptoms of the panic, which prevailed in the city during the expedition? Asım does not reject such tales as mere gossip: to prove his point, he narrates an exchange between Ibrahim Nesim Efendi and his master (hoca). While the British fleet still lay off the shore, the tutor sought out Nesim, finding the latter resting in his residence. Noticing that his master was upset, Ibrahim Nesim inquired as to the cause. When his master referred to the British expedition, Nesim gave a very interesting reply:

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O Hoca Efendi, this world is temporal. So do not fall into despair. Now, if I stuck my leg out towards here, then this fleet shall get there, and likewise if I stuck it out towards the further side, so will it head thither. You have understood what I really mean. Now, let us avert your worldly despair and converse on any other subject.78 Caˆbıˆ also notes that the commoners were spreading rumours, and that they suspected the ruling elite of collaborating with the enemy.79 Another author relates that, on the eleventh night after the arrival of the British fleet, Ibrahim Nesim, Mahmud Raif and Galib Efendi held a meeting at the residence of Mahmud Raif Efendi, to which they invited General Smith, asking him that the fleet should depart. The fleet left the city the next morning.80 It is interesting that Nesim Efendi was said to be among the participants, and that the enemy subsequently left; yet, if this meeting did indeed take place, it is difficult to determine whether it was official and harder still to determine whether there really was a secret agreement between members of the ruling elite and the British. As we shall later see, most of the statesmen at this meeting were pro-British or pro-Russian. Whatever the purpose of the rumours, such reports certainly contributed to the animosity and alienation felt on the part of the residents, and especially on the part of the janissaries, towards the ruling elite, leading to a dangerous polarization and a widespread sense of betrayal in the months leading up to the uprising in May. Moreover, in the eyes of the janissaries and the populace, such rumours must have intensified their suspicion that they were being betrayed by the ruling elite for selfish interests – not even for the welfare of the Empire – by collaborating with the enemy. Needless to say, the arrival of the enemy fleet at the heart of the Empire not only aroused suspicion regarding the true intentions of the Great Powers, but must have also cast doubt over the wisdom of the policies of the Porte. Zinkeisen, for instance, underscores that there began to emerge a general dislike of the dominance of France over the Porte, and that the over-confidence of the infidel Se´bastiani irritated the Muslims.81 It seems that even after the departure of the British fleet, the janissaries and the populace were not relieved of their suspicions regarding the intentions of the Great Powers. According to some, the Russians were on the Danube and also at Bozcaada, while the British could return at any time. The French, in the

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guise of friendship, were involved in intrigues against the Porte. The Empire was in a vulnerable position and the Ottoman ministers were doing nothing to save it.82 These issues are important: they reflect public mentality on the eve of the uprising, and reveal the lethal hatred towards the ruling elite, which found its expression in May 1807. Moreover, the arming of commoners and soldiers during the incident, as well as the stationing of armed forces from different provinces to protect the city, increased militarization in the capital. In one of his orders, Selim III expressed his anxiety over this: I hear that all the people in Istanbul are getting armed and excited due to the encouragement of the criers. I hope the fight against the fleet will be again by the fleet and cannons. It is not appropriate for the commoners to wander the city in arms.83 Similar observations are repeated by a foreign observer, while implying that this mood could be turned against the government in case of need: All the Turkish inhabitants of Constantinople are under arms; companies of armed men arrive daily from the vicinity; every thing wears the aspect of war and revenge. If the government was inclined to compound, the people would oppose it, and would prefer to perish than to yield without resistance.84 It is not difficult to imagine how the armed and angered Istanbulites came to initiate a rebellion only a few months later.

A War for France? It is clear that France played a considerable role in bringing about the Russo-Ottoman war of 1806–12. According to Shupp, “Turkey had been successfully converted by Napoleon into an instrument of war against Russia and Britain.”85 The problem remains, however, why the French emperor encouraged the belligerency of the Porte. Why encourage an Empire which was in the throes of establishing a new military system to declare war against a superior military power? The Nizam-ı Cedid reforms had not yet been able to produce a strong army, and the soldiers of the old system were “no better than an undisciplined

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rabble”.86 Encouraging the Porte into war during this transitional period does not seem to be a clever policy to be pursued by an ally of the Porte. As may be recalled, Napoleon had declared that his primary concern was to preserve the territorial integrity of the Ottoman Empire, which he thought would form a bulwark against Russia. Following the traditional policy of setting a barrier in the East against the progress of Russia, he had tried to broker an alliance between the Porte, Persia and France. Weakening the power of the Porte through a war with Russia would, therefore, also damage the interests of France. Indeed, within a short period of time and without great difficulty, the Russians took control of the Principalities, a region where France had no desire to see Russian influence, let alone outright occupation. These questions are difficult to answer. In understanding the policies of Napoleon in the Near East one cannot ignore the French presence in Dalmatia, as well as the international dynamics of the revolutionary wars in Europe. The Adriatic frontier had been stabilized in the early eighteenth century by the Ottoman –Venetian peace treaty of 1716, but the Treaty of Campo Formio (17 October 1791) had given rise to a French presence in the region, covering Venetian Dalmatia and the Ionian Islands.87 After gaining Dalmatia, the French government tried to convince the Porte that, contrary to Russian claims, the presence of French troops was beneficial for Ottoman interests, since it would block the secret designs of the Russians.88 On the other hand, Russia became an ally to Austria and Great Britain – The Third Coalition – against France (1805). Therefore, distracting the attention of the Russian government from European affairs by a war with the Ottoman Empire was a good policy to weaken this coalition. Three months before the British expedition, Se´bastiani had asked for permission to send a French force to defend the Bosporus, but had been rebuffed: the idea of the presence of a foreign army around the capital had frightened the Porte.89 Russian advances in the Principalities and the British Expedition thus provided a good opportunity for Se´bastiani not only to increase his own prestige, but also to extend his influence over the Porte. Following the British Expedition, he was awarded a decoration and presented with a residence confiscated from the family possessions of Prince Ipsilanti. He himself states that no other ambassador in the Empire enjoyed such trust and confidence.90 A few days after the departure of the British fleet, Selim III declared himself a

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good friend of Napoleon and said he would henceforth collaborate with him: an alliance was to be signed between the two governments. The French ambassador was also informed that the possessions of the British merchants would be confiscated and that the Ottoman Empire would henceforth use only French textiles, which meant the end of British commerce and an augmentation of commercial relations with France. The sultan expressed his pleasure on hearing that six French ships would join the Ottoman fleet in the Black Sea. Moreover, he requested the ambassador to write to Paris in order to have artillery officers sent to train the Ottoman artillerymen. During the same meeting, it was decided that a joint army of France and the Porte would be sent to the Crimea to recover it from the Russians.91 The sultan also consented to Se´bastiani’s proposal that a French detachment would join the Ottoman army at Vidin and that a joint expedition would then be staged to save the Principalities. Of course, the basic concern was to divert the attention of Russian forces by attacking on several points.92 In order not to create unrest among the masses, this final point was to be set down in a secret convention. General Marmont, commander of the French troops in Dalmatia, confirms this information in his memoirs. In a letter from Se´bastiani, he was informed that Selim III was sceptical about his undisciplined army and, therefore, asked that the auxiliary French troops unite with the Ottoman forces.93 In a dispatch of 10 March, Se´bastiani informed his government about these points. In a reply on 21 March 1807, Napoleon said it would be his pleasure to send the French officers requested by the sultan, and declared his readiness to send soldiers, money and munitions to his ally. He claimed, however, to be upset that the sultan had not asked for a few thousand soldiers, rather than several hundred.94 The French emperor had already gained a stronghold in Dalmatia and was gathering troops in the region. At the end of May, there were estimated to be 100,000 soldiers there. It seems that Napoleon’s purpose was to use Dalmatia as a stronghold for his expansionist policy in the Balkans. Being convinced that the Porte could no longer form a strong barrier against Russian expansion in the region, he would have to create such a barrier himself. Another of Napoleon’s aims seems to have been to occupy certain strategic positions in the Balkans, under the guise of offering military assistance to the Ottomans.

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These manoeuvres were also causing anxiety for Great Britain. The attempts of France to create disorder in the Empire by instigating revolts in Serbia and the Principalities were discussed in the British Parliament, steeped in suspicions that Napoleon’s real intention was to create a small state between Russia and the Ottoman Empire.95 In the words of the British ambassador, the French presence in Dalmatia purportedly offered “for the defence of the Porte, may at any time be used for its destruction.”96 Of course, with only several hundred soldiers dispatched to the sultan, these plans could now not be realized. There was then another proposal to send the French army from Dalmatia to the Danube, with associated pressure on the Porte to allow the passage of French troops through the Balkans; yet, the Porte remained reluctant to countenance the passage of the troops or even their presence in the Ottoman Balkans. Actually, this was a fear which had encouraged the Porte to make a coalition with the Russian government in 1799.97 The Ottoman ministers were particularly worried about Bosnia. One gets the sense that Selim III was also reluctant, advising his kaimmakam to detain Se´bastiani as much as possible, even if the Bosnians themselves accepted the troops’ passage. It appears that the sultan was afraid that it would not be possible to control the French troops in the imperial domains, or that once they entered the region it would not be possible to be rid of them. He emphasized that the entry of French troops would be acceptable only if there was a great threat to the Empire.98 While the sultan and the Porte were hesitant to receive French troops, the Rumelian ayans and governors, including Alemdar Mustafa Pasha, the governor of Ibrail (modern day Braila) and Tepedelenli Ali Pasha were very reluctant to permit the passage of French troops. Alemdar had even rejected a French artilleryman sent to him by Marmont. Upon hearing the news that the French troops were to pass the Danube, the same pasha had become so angry that Lamarre, a French agent in the region, had no option but to leave Ruscuk (modern day Ruse). Napoleon and Se´bastiani were well aware that the Porte did not wish to receive military help, even while belabouring the fact that the Serbians, with the aid of the Russians and Prince Ipsilanti, had captured Belgrade, and that there was a plan for the unification of the Principalities. Viewing the reluctance of the Porte as a sign of mistrust, Se´bastiani became furious, and in a meeting with the Ottoman ministers (14 April 1807) he claimed that this was contrary to the good relations

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between the two governments. He also emphasized that where there was an alliance, the passage of troops into another’s territory should not be a grave problem.99 In the meantime, reports were received from French agents in Ruscuk, Vidin and Travnik of opposition to the passage of the French detachment in Dalmatia. At one point, Se´bastiani notes that this was probably due to the fear of a possible reaction by the Bosnians, “a wild people”. Indeed, news of the approach of French artillerymen from Dalmatia seems to have caused great unrest in the region.100 Se´bastiani advised his government to give up the project, and to send only a few French officers and 600 artillerymen to Istanbul. The rest, he advised, should be decided in a special treaty. In a reply from Finkenstein (21 May), Talleyrand informed the French ambassador that no troops except for several engineers and artillerymen would be dispatched. Although the Porte asked for 300 French soldiers in Turkish attire, Marmont announced that he was preparing to send 500 French soldiers in French uniforms (29 April 1807). Accepting that this alteration was beyond the authority of Hu¨srev Pasha, the governor of Bosnia, the parties therefore waited for a reply from the centre. The Porte permitted the entrance of the artillerymen without further conditions. The French detachment passed through Travnik on 12 June, the same day that the news of the change in the throne reached the region; and Mustafa IV, the new sultan, ordered that the troops should return, proof of the general discontent regarding the French force.101

Great Powers and the May Uprising I˙lhan Bardakc
ı, a Turkish journalist, has published a translation of a letter in French by Franc
ois Gellehi, counsellor to the French embassy, dated 16 June 1835. In the passage translated by Bardakc
ı, Gellehi notes that the Greeks in Morea would certainly revolt, demanding their independence, and that the French government had made some promises in this regard. He argues that the fortifications in C¸anakkale and measures taken in Limni would have to be rendered ineffective, which in return required the elimination of the supporters of Rauf Pasha. The instigation of an uprising among the soldiers of the fortresses was being proposed by Gellehi as a plan with a view to achieve the above aims. For our purposes, the crucial part of the letter comes after this

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explanation: Gellehi informs his correspondent that the same method had previously been applied by Se´bastiani as regards the janissary army. He notes, however, the difficulty of carrying out the same plan a second time, since there was a lack of the kind of trustworthy and powerful mediators who had brought success previously.102 It is clear that the reference is to the 1807 uprising. Bardakc
ı does not provide the reader with the information on how he received the report and accessed the original. He only states that it was not found in the archives. Despite prolonged research, it was not possible for me to reach the original document. Therefore, this document cannot be evaluated as historical evidence. Moreover, how could someone talk of a potential revolt of the Greeks in the Morea in 1835 when Greece was already independent for years by then? According to this letter, it was the French ambassador who provoked the janissaries, or better to say the yamaks of the Bosporus, with the help of certain mediators. If we take the above suggestion seriously, we need to answer some important questions. Why should Se´bastiani have played a role in instigating a rebellion during a period in which he had managed to eliminate rival influences over the Porte? A more logical candidate in this regard would be Russia, already at war with the Porte, and standing to benefit more than France from chaos in the Empire. Since we do not have any original evidence for the involvement of Se´bastiani, we must be cautious regarding the arguments in the letter in question. Yet, the involvement of Se´bastiani is not something to be easily disregarded. Seeking clarification, it is helpful to turn once again to the question of Dalmatia. France needed a pretext to enter the Ottoman territories. Without friction in the Triple Alliance, and indeed without the possibility of war between Russia and Britain, France would face a strong reaction from these Great Powers and there would emerge no pretext for easy entry under the guise of military aid to the Porte. Indeed, Cevdet Pasha also comments that Se´bastiani was involved in fomenting rebellion, with the aim of putting the Porte in a position which would force it to accept military help from France.103 Puryear argues that the rebellion and the change in the throne presented France with two advantages: it was used as an excuse to abandon the Porte, and it was also an excuse to force Russia to wait for the news before entering into debates with France on the partition of the imperial domains. According to Puryear, both at Tilsit (1808) and afterwards, Napoleon gave

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Alexander I (r. 1801– 25), the Russian tsar, considerable reason to hope that a partition of the Ottoman Empire in the Balkans could be arranged.104 Indeed, the negotiations between Russia and France were indicators of a change in the policy of Napoleon concerning the territorial integrity of the Empire. It seems that when Napoleon heard of the rebellion, he was relieved and stated that he had once hoped that the Empire could be saved. In a published letter on 24 June from Napoleon to general Lemarois, the governor of Warsaw, it is stated that: A revolution took place in Constantinople. The Sultan Selim (sic) and twelve personalities of the Porte were strangled by the Janissaries. Sultan Mustafa was enthroned. The cause of this insurrection is related to the Serbians’ progress and the lack of energy for which the Janissaries reproach the government. They accused the ministers of collaborating with the Serbians and the Russians. The new sultan proclaimed that he would not conclude peace with the Russians until the old borders are re-established and the Crimea re-conquered.105 The dissatisfaction of the janissaries with the Porte’s foreign and internal policies, as well as the distrust of the Ottoman ministers, are enumerated as the main causes of the uprising. These points also support our claims that the masses, represented by the janissaries, were alienated from their own government, increasing the tensions on the eve of the uprising. Initially, the Serbians had revolted because of corrupt local administrators and agrarian problems, but this later turned into a national uprising, especially after 1805. The Serbian uprising had two distinct phases. During the early phase (1804– 6), the main purpose of the revolutionaries was the restoration of their own privileges and limited autonomy under the protection of Austria and Russia. Their demands during the second phase (late 1806– early 1807) mounted to full independence, encouraged by the presence of the Russian troops around the Danube during the course of the 1806– 12 war. Limited support from the Russians, Austrians and the French left the Serbian insurgents isolated, and the uprising was crushed by the Ottomans in 1813.106 In 1806, Peter Itchko was sent by Kara George, the Serbian leader, to the capital in order to reach an understanding with the Porte. He was instructed to make an agreement on the conditions

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that the Serbians were to pay only fixed taxes, that a muhassıl would be sent by the Porte to the region only to collect taxes, and finally that the janissaries and local bandits (kırjalis) would be dismissed from the area. Itchko and other delegates arrived in the capital in early August and were summoned to the Porte on 10 September 1806. They were informed that their demands were accepted in principle. The Serbian delegate left the city towards the end of the same month.107 It is interesting to note that Memis¸ Efendi, murdered during the rebellion for serving the interests of the Serbians, was the official who conducted the negotiations with the representatives of the Serbian rebels. Returning to the possible connections between the French and the May uprising, we have already mentioned Se´bastiani’s connections with Pehlivan Hu¨seyin Agha, the commander of the janissary corps (p. 118). Asım mentions an alternative means that he says was used by Se´bastiani to provoke the janissaries, namely via the personal guards of the embassy (yasakc
ı). If we are to believe Asım, the ambassador conversed with these soldiers and offered them presents, while at the same time trying in secret conversations to convince them that the Nizam-ı Cedid had been established in order to abolish the janissary army and to appropriate the janissaries’ salaries for themselves. He also claimed that: Our emperor knows the matter and he is so sorry for you, since he would never wish for the abolishment of the old military system of the Empire. Our soldiers are very close to the Empire, therefore they can be immediately called to Istanbul, in case of need.108 Again, we cannot be sure of the historical reality of these talks, but it is important to underline once again that the issue at stake here was providing a reason for the passage of the French troops. Indeed, Asım states that the French ambassador was consciously provoking the janissaries and struggling to deepen their hatred towards the new military system. The implications regarding the French ambassador do not end here: there is also evidence that Se´bastiani had secret connections with Kabakc
ı Mustafa, the famous ringleader of the uprising.109 Unfortunately, we cannot prove that their acquaintance dated to before the uprising, but their connection is documented in a spy report dated some time after the rebellion. It seems that the writer of the report had

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been delegated the duty of finding out the details of a meeting between the two, and it is stated that they met three times, first upon the initiative of the ambassador and then at his seashore residence. Se´bastiani sent his interpreter to Kabakc
ı three times and the final meeting was at a dinner party in Se´bastiani’s residence. It is clear that a close relationship flourished between the two figures following an initiative by Se´bastiani. Unfortunately, the writer of the report confesses that he was not able to find out what was discussed during these meetings.110

Conclusion In this chapter we have focused on the international context, not merely for the sake of background information, but to illustrate how foreign affairs lie at the heart of the internal politics of early nineteenth-century Ottoman history. We have tried to situate the uprising within the wider international context, and we have observed that increased international rivalry and warfare had struck the Ottoman Empire just as they had the rest of Europe. The decline of Ottoman power had made it a battleground for the Great Powers. With its own scope for agency declining, it was becoming Europe’s Eastern Question. Alongside these themes, our purpose was to show how the foreign powers capitalized on the unrest in Ottoman society, playing especially upon the discontent of certain military groups regarding the Nizam-ı Cedid army. It is clear that the reforms were abused both by domestic and foreign players. The heavy involvement of the Great Powers increased tension and furthered popular dissatisfaction with a government that was unable to cope in a situation of international crisis. Here, we may again note the prevalence of the conception of the idea of “rebellious crowds” among students of Ottoman history. Reminiscent of the contemporary statist and centralist outlook, historians still have a tendency to consider Ottoman citizens as a vagrant people with no concern for the realities of their own state. Yet, to the contrary, the evidence strongly suggests the existence of strong public opinions in the eighteenth century, and that these were greatly influenced by internal and foreign developments.111 The idea of being surrounded by enemies on all sides created anxiety and fear among the commoners and spread distrust for a government seen as unable to protect its own lands.

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Amid all these problems, it was the wider events of 1806– 7, which created the revolutionary atmosphere. The British Naval Expedition, the Russo-Ottoman war of 1806– 12 and the Russian blockade struck deep into the popular psyche. Social pessimism, intensified by insecurity and a sense of betrayal, was reflected in a deep hatred of the ruling elite, which flowered in the outburst of 1807.

CHAPTER 5 ELITE RIVALRY

The Porte is governed by gold and terror1

Introduction The disintegrative period is characterized by intense elite rivalry, both in the centre and the provinces, over limited sources of status, power and wealth.2 Lachmann defines an elite as a group of rulers who “control a distinct organizational apparatus and who can appropriate resources from non-elites.”3 We have already seen some aspects of elite competition within the provinces; in this chapter, we turn to elite rivalry and power structures in the capital. The beginning of the late eighteenth century and early nineteenth century saw the rise of a new, state-aligned elite, largely at the expense of the military and provincial elites. This new group formed the most powerful faction in the period, creating a bureaucratic oligarchy characterized by nepotism. Their rivals, the so-called anti-reformist group, can best be described as a “faction of outs”, since they comprised a motley group of statesmen who were more or less estranged from the sources of power and the centres of decision making. Here, we will study both groups’ identity in terms of career, patronage ties, views, religious affiliation and foreign policies. Neither of these elite camps was monolithic: within each, there was fierce strife and tension, and especially so for the new Selimian reforming elite. Factional and personal rivalry among the Selimian elite paralyzed central politics and fertilized the ground for the uprising.

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The conventional historiography makes frequent reference to a group of reformists seen as active at the time of Selim III. The appearance of an idealized reforming group on the eve of Ottoman modernization has exerted great fascination over certain authors, to the extent that rather little effort has been made to think in detail about their identity and views. The reality of intra-elite strife during the early nineteenth century was, of course, more complex than can be captured in a simple formulation. The identity of each group and the fault lines of intra-elite strife are not solely functions of the Selimian reforms. Limited attempts have been made to go beyond the received views and to offer a structural analysis of the ruling elite of the period by reference to the sources. The two initial sections of this chapter are devoted to the identity, views and networks of the new Selimian elite, with the purpose of describing rather than labelling them, and always by reference to archival sources and other contemporary materials. Eschewing idealization, the chapter attempts to illuminate their identity, views and affiliations, and to test the accuracy of the way these groups are represented in the conventional historiography.

The Selimian Elite under Scrunity At the time of the uprising, the political scene was divided into two opposing camps: the pro-Selimian group, which was invested in the reform policies, and the “coalition of outsiders”, who were more distant from the Selimian programme. As we will see below, neither camp was unified; their members combined and recombined in a complicated shifting web of patron–client relationships and changing factional alliances. The axes of tension included the new elite versus old elites, religious affiliation and political views. The reforming elite, which can also be labelled the “new elite”, had come to power due to the policies of the sultan, thereby gaining immense prestige and power, and, at the same time, limiting the access of the rest to already restricted resources – they therefore engendered a kind of “dissident elite” as a function of their own centrality.4 Elite rivalry, thus, revolved mainly around the struggle for power between “ins” and “outs”,5 or between the dissident and the new elite. As shown in Table A.1 (pp. 204–7), the new elite comprised approximately 26 statesmen. In the mainstream historiography, their names are usually borrowed from the execution list submitted to the

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Porte by the rebels (p. 35), but that list does not include all the advocates of the reform programme. The best way to assemble a roster of the new elite is to review the names provided by contemporary historians.6 The group that emerges does not form a homogeneous body in terms of profession. As Table A.1 shows, out of 26 statesmen, 14 were career bureaucrats, constituting slightly more than half of the total. The remainder was composed of courtiers, five ulema and those who had a mixed career. Bureaucrats dominate, but there is also substantial representation by the ulema. Among the bureaucrats, there is a significant presence of servants of the correspondence office of the grand vizier (mektubıˆ-i sadr-i ali), headed by the mektupc
u. The holders of this position served as assistants to the grand vizier in scribal affairs, but seem also to have been connected with the Reisu¨lku¨ttab. In the eighteenth century at least, this post offered the best chance of being promoted to Reisu¨lku¨ttab;7 indeed, four graduates of this bureau who are present in the list did become Reisu¨lku¨ttab.8 Another bureau which became important in the eighteenth century was the amedıˆ department. This had a similar function to the mektubıˆ, preparing the final drafts of the reports of the Reisu¨lku¨ttab and the steward to the grand vizier, and also the final copies of the telhis (official memoranda) sent by the grand vizier to the sultan. The amedıˆ department gradually gained in prestige during the reigns of Abdulhamid I and Selim III, eventually becoming the office from which the Reisu¨lku¨ttabs were most commonly recruited. Knowledge of foreign affairs opened the way for the servants of this office to be promoted to Reisu¨lku¨ttab: Ebubekir Ratıb Efendi (d. 1799), who served as Reisu¨lku¨ttab from 1795 to 1796, was employed in the amedıˆ department. During the reign of Selim III, however, it seems that the mektubıˆ department retained its importance as regards promotion to the post of Reisu¨lku¨ttab. The dominance of bureaucrats with a specialization in foreign affairs is no coincidence, given that foreign relations were becoming more complex than ever. This is, as we have noted, the period in which bilateral diplomacy rose to prominence in Ottoman politics.9 Foreign relations needed specialists to sustain complicated relations with other great powers in the Age of Revolutions. Mehmed Ras¸id Efendi, one of the most famous Reisu¨lku¨ttabs of the period, was a specialist in foreign affairs, while Mahmud Raif Efendi was employed as the

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confidential secretary of Yusuf Agha Efendi (d. 1824), envoy to London. Ebubekir Ratıb Efendi was sent as an envoy to the court of Vienna, both for diplomatic purposes and to observe the military and other institutions there.10 Ibrahim Ismet Beyefendi (d. 1806) participated in the peace negotiations of Svishtov (Zis¸tovi). As holders of positions directly related to foreign affairs, they had a better chance to perceive the problems of the Empire and compare its traditions with the superior institutions of the foreign powers. It affords little surprise, therefore, that they number among the advocates of reform. A survey of the biographies of the new elite also suggests a high degree of social mobility and underscores the importance of patronage ties in promotion patterns. Most of the functionaries in this group were the sons of minor figures or people from obscure origins. Ku¨c
u¨k Hu¨seyin Pasha was a former Circassian slave. Ebubekir Ratıb and Ibrahim Nesim Efendi were the sons of minor ilmiye members, while Elhac Ibrahim, Mahmud Raif and Mustafa Res¸id were descendants of minor bureaucrats. Yet, Ebubekir Bey, the director of the imperial mint, and Yusuf Agha were the most obscure, the former being the son of a farmer and the latter the son of a poor craftsman from Crete. Only Ibrahim Ismet, Bostancıbas¸ı S¸akir and Mabeynci Ahmed Efendi’s fathers had held the rank of pasha.11 Family origins and skills cannot account for the rise of this group to the highest positions; rather, existing family ties and patronage networks were the decisive factors for promotion. The intisab, or patron–client relationship – “the voluntary vertical alliances between two persons who are unequal in status” – is clearly a significant factor in promotion patterns.12 Indeed, most members of the group owed their rise either to marriage alliances or the patronage system. Ebubekir Efendi, the director of the imperial mint, secured his gradual promotion from the position of a porter to that of director not only due to his talents, but also thanks to his good relations with former directors. Elhac Ibrahim Res¸id Efendi’s entry into the bureaucracy was secured by his father; still, however, as the son of a minor bureaucrat he did not have great chances of a rapid promotion. During his employment in the mektubıˆ department, he established a familial relationship with Imamıˆzaˆde Elhac Mustafa Efendi (d. 1784), Reisu¨lku¨ttab from 1783 to 1784, through marriage to his daughter. He was also the brother-in-law of Esseyid Abdullah Birrıˆ Efendi (d. 1798), head of the mektubıˆ-i sadr-ı ali bureau of the time, whom he later replaced in the same position. These two connections explain his rapid rise.13 In a

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similar fashion, Mustafa Res¸id Efendi married the sister of Yag˘lıkc
ızaˆde Emin Mehmed Pasha (d. 1769), a former grand vizier, and this family tie was instrumental in his survival and promotion during and after the 1807 uprising. Elhac Ibrahim Efendi’s daughter married Mehmed Sadık Efendi, son of Yusuf Agha, establishing a marital alliance between two powerful families of the Selimian era. These examples strongly suggest the importance of informal relations and networks under conditions in which there were many candidates for the same offices, and only a few had any real prospect of advancing further. Under such circumstances, family ties and patronage networks were the decisive factors for promotion. Some of the bureaucrats also enjoyed the patronage of the faction of Halil Hamid Pasha (d. 1785), either directly or indirectly, through other followers of his faction. The key figure in this regard is Mehmed Ras¸id Efendi. Ras¸id’s rise starts during Ismail Raif Pasha’s (d. 1785) employment as the deputy to Reisu¨lku¨ttab (1768–9), Raif being an influential member of the Halil Hamid faction. After serving as the pursebearer of the chancery office (1774) and then president of the chancery, Ras¸id became corresponding secretary (1784) during the grand vizierate of Halil Hamid, but was dismissed after the execution of the pasha. Ismail Raif Pasha, meanwhile, secured the appointment of Ebubekir Ratıb Efendi to the post of scribe in the amedıˆ bureau. Mehmed Ras¸id Efendi, in turn, acted as patron for Ibrahim Nesim Efendi and Mahmud Raif Efendi. Halil Hamid Pasha’s faction is known for its commitment to the rejuvenation of the Empire, particularly in the military sphere. There is little mystery, therefore, that reformist bureaucrats found strong patronage from either Halil Hamid Pasha or his followers (something which also promoted continuity with the policies of earlier periods), nor, however, was the reformist bent of the Hamidian era exclusive to the bureaucratic cadres. Thanks to Ismail Raif Pasha, during the reign of Selim III this policy was also adopted within the religious class. Raif’s son, Ibrahim Ismet Beyefendi, became one of the strongest proponents of the Selimian reforms and is usually considered an exemplary figure of the reformist ulema. Other religious figures within the Selimian camp included Kapan Naibi Abdu¨llatif Efendi, shaikh al-Islam Salihzaˆde Esad ¨ mer Hulusi Efendi (d. 1812) and Efendi (d. 1815), shaikh al-Islam O ˆ Veliefendizade Mehmed Emin Efendi (d. 1805). The new elite was not composed only of bureaucrats and members of the ulema: there were important courtiers in the same category, though

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some later went on to pursue a different career. Although he later became a grand admiral, Ku¨
cu¨k Hu¨seyin Pasha (d. 1803) owed his rise to his connections within the imperial court. Initially, he was a boon companion of prince Selim, and climbed the ranks after the latter’s enthronement. His prestige and power further increased following his marriage to Esma Sultan, and until his death he played a crucial role in the politics of the Empire. Evidently, the bureaucracy was not the only source of power during this period. As an early-modern polity the Ottoman court was still a powerful dispenser of power, wealth and prestige, and many influential figures of the period were courtiers. In fact, the most successful elite members of the period were those who were able to maintain connections, in one way or another, both with the bureaucracy and the palace. Ibrahim Nesim Efendi and Yusuf Agha are the most striking examples of that double connection. Yusuf Agha was already an influential and wealthy figure, serving as the director of the imperial mint and as a steward to Esma Sultan, but it was his appointment as the steward to the Queen Mother which proved the turning point in his ¨ mer Agha, as the new career. He secured the appointment of his brother, O steward to Esma Sultan. His political power inflated to an extent that one contemporary observer commented that he had almost gained “the control of the state”.14 Ibrahim Nesim Efendi was another powerful figure, who enjoyed both the patronage of the court and the bureaucracy. In 1803, he was appointed as the steward to the grand vizier (sadaret kethu¨da), followed by employment as the steward to Beyhan Sultan. His power and prestige increased considerably after the death of the Queen Mother, Mihris¸ah Valide Sultan (d. 1805), since Selim III transferred his affiliation and trust directly to his sister and so, indirectly, to Nesim Efendi. The sultan’s confidence in him was the most significant factor in his having retained power even after his dismissal from the position of sadaret kethu¨da following the Edirne Incident.

Islamic Renewal and Reform: Islamic Enlightenment or Western Influence? So far, we have studied the identity of the pro-Selimian group based on clues found in contemporary accounts and by reference to the later historiography. It is now time to pose the question of which criteria we may use in order to determine whether someone is to be considered a

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reformist. The difficulty arises primarily due to the fact that there is scant evidence regarding the worldviews of the elite we are studying. If we look only at figures whose reforming views are known to us, our list becomes narrower. Fortunately, however, in 1792 some statesmen from among this group submitted a reform proposal upon the order of the sultan.15 As with all the other authors of reformist treatises, their starting point is the general decay of the state. Following an enumeration of problems, they move on to offer some solutions. These, as in other such documents, are fragmented and do not constitute a grand solution to “save” the Empire. The solutions offered by Mehmed Ras¸id, Salihzaˆde, Veliefendizaˆde, and Elhac Ibrahim Efendi are conventional and would mostly be ineffective. The proposals put forward by Mustafa Res¸id Efendi, however, stand out from the others, since he is the only one to acknowledge explicitly that a new order (nizam-ı cedid) was needed for the revitalization of the Empire. After arguing that it was impossible to reform the existing military system, notably because of the corruption of the janissary corps, he proposes that a new army be established on Western models and a new fund be created to finance it. The transformation should be slow, he says, and the new army should be established at some distance from the city.16 Irrespective of the solutions they put forward, the authors of reform proposals acknowledge the superiority of the Western armies and underline the urgent need to adopt their superior military technology. Armitage and Subrahmanyam argue that the most important effect of the American and French Revolutions was the creation of a sentiment among the elites in different periods of a feeling of backwardness and inferiority, as well as of degeneration within their own society.17 Most of them consider the failure of the Ottoman military system to be the fault of the janissaries; only Mustafa Res¸id Efendi and Tatarcık Abdullah Molla seem to have grasped the systemic nature of the problem and the concomitant need for real transformation. Both acknowledge the changes that had taken place internationally, and see the diffusion of military technology as core to the task of transforming themselves, particularly in the military sphere. Tatarcık Abdullah Molla does not propose the creation of an alternative force but advocates the establishment of a standing army, which would be a select body of janissaries, strictly educated under the guidance of foreign scholars. Though he is not mentioned in the reformist camp, it was Koca Yusuf

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Pasha who suggested an alternative military system based on a nationwide recruitment system. It is important to remember that he was the first to create a miniature army on Western lines and have it parade in front of the sultan. Ebubekir Ratıb Efendi and Mahmud Raif Efendi did not present reform proposals, but they left accounts in which they supported the Porte’s reforms. Mahmud Raif Efendi, nicknamed I˙ngiliz Mahmud, visited London as the secretary to Yusuf Agha Efendi and wrote a pamphlet addressing the European audience advocating the Nizam-ı Cedid reforms (p. 245n91). These statesmen were not alone in their efforts to solve the problems of the age. Ubeydullah Kus¸maˆnıˆ, the author of aforementioned propaganda texts (pp. 11, 92– 5), holds a unique place among the thinkers of his time, since his reformist views direct us towards an inner source of revival for the Empire, which also influenced the Selimian new elite. Kus¸maˆnıˆ’s treatises provide a systematic account of the reforms from the perspective of the Naqshbandıˆ-Mujaddidıˆ18 religious order, and it is helpful to study his views more closely. He seems to have forged a synthesis between the spirit of Islam (or at least one conception of it) and the drive towards modernization and the borrowing of superior technology, a point which would be the object of fierce debates during the late Ottoman and Republican eras. In subsequent periods, the modernization process would become equated with Westernization. Kus¸maˆnıˆ’s source of inspiration for reforms, however, was Islamic tradition itself, a kind of Islamic Enlightenment, as he perceived a modernizing spirit in Islam. In this respect, there seems to be a basic difference between the accounts of Koca Sekbanbas¸ı and Kus¸maˆnıˆ. While the former can be considered to continue the discourse of Ibrahim Mu¨teferrika and Ahmed Resmi Efendi, the latter was inspired by a different source, namely the Islamic revivalist movements of the period. Kus¸maˆnıˆ was a disciple of the Naqshbandıˆ-Mujaddidi religious order. This sub-order had in a sense assumed the mission of restoring the supremacy of Islam within society and bringing religious and political regeneration to the Muslim umma. Unlike other religious orders, this particular order was activist and revivalist.19 This message is also evident in Kus¸maˆnıˆ’s account. Even his definition of “dervish” implies that he was a revivalist and activist.20 S¸akul, indeed, rightly underlines that the affiliates of the Naqshandıˆ-Mujaddidıˆ order were political-religious

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missionaries, who contributed to the politicization of Islam in the long run.21 The religious element is so evident in Kus¸maˆnıˆ’s debates that he even introduces Selim III as a mu¨ceddid (innovator), Mehdi or Mesih (Messiah). In one of his poems, he describes the sultan as follows: His Majesty Selim Khan, master of customary grace Men of talent know him that he is Mahdi of the age He has so truly put the matters right He added the domain its strength, devising so many a craft Framing skies with his soldiers countless as stars He established drill-barracks for the purpose of wars The people had forgotten the science of war as a duty Which he taught, guiding the competent men duly22 The late eighteenth and early nineteenth century were periods of emotionalism, defeatism and an increase in mystical spiritualism – such movements or sentiments commonly manifesting an abrupt increase in times of crisis. The Western colonial threat and the long wars with the European powers prefigured the need for reform and a strengthening of the Islamic world, particularly in North Africa and India, as well as in the Middle East where the threat was most imminent. In the same manner, the socio-economic and consequent political crisis of the late eighteenth century caused state breakdowns in the great Islamic powers (Mughal Empire and the Ottomans), which in turn called for renewal and reform attempts in these regions. Especially in places where the political structure was weaker or absent, it seems that there were more radical movements (Wahhabism in Najd under Ottoman rule) or a surge towards state formation (the Sokoto caliphate in Nigeria). The most important revivalist movements of that period occurred in Saudi Arabia (Wahhabism), West Africa (Usman dan Fodio in Nigeria and Amir Abd al-Qadir in Algeria) and in Sumatra, Indonesia. Movements in response to Western conquests and the disruptions they brought with them occurred in south Asia, north Africa and adjacent African lands, and the Caucasus (Shaikh Shamil).23 In regions where there were relatively stronger polities (the Ottoman Empire), the revivalist movements were inclined to ally with the central authority and make it stronger through supporting reforms.24 From Algeria to the Caucasus and South East Asia, the Sufi religious orders provided a fount of religious and political

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activism in opposition to European imperialist ambitions.25 Especially in the Middle East and Africa, the decline of the Ottomans had a great influence on the rise of such revivalist movements. For the mystical orders, the umma was in a state of decay, and the weakening of the Islamic world in the face of Western aggression was an integral part of this.26 In the Ottoman case, millennialist visions seem to have been limited, though not entirely non-existent. During the French occupation of Egypt, for instance, a mahdi emerged in Egypt in order to instigate a peasant revolt in the region.27 Among the commoners of the Empire, there also seems to have been a general expectation that a mahdi would come, who would save them from the crisis.28 Increases in religiosity, religious activism and attempts to put Muslims on the right path were characteristic of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth-century period of crisis. It is difficult, of course, to discern whether the revivalist or millennial movements of the period were simply a response to the increased contacts with and threat from the West. Although the idea that they were a response to the challenges of the West is widely accepted, Reinhardt Schulze has argued that the eighteenth-century Islamic world had in fact experienced an “enlightenment” of its own, especially thanks to the mystical traditions of this period.29 His theory was not well received in academic circles, and many authors denied that such a process could have taken place in the Islamic world;30 nevertheless, the significance of the transformation of certain religious orders from preaching a retreat from worldly affairs to being more concerned with a kind of Sufi activism should be underlined. Among their various important characteristics is their will to take the necessary measures (both military and political) to defend Islam. It seems that the external threat was seen as a punishment of the degenerate Muslims; therefore, they first tried to correct the Islamic community, so that it could be stronger in the face of the enemy. These movements can, perhaps, be summarized as moral responses to foreign oppression.31 Whatever the reasons, messianic (or mahdist) and revivalist religious movements became important vehicles for reform under both internal and external pressure.32 As far as the Ottoman Empire is concerned, the reformist spirit of the Selimian era is not only Western-inspired, but had close connections with contemporary revivalist religious orders. Kahraman S¸akul was the first historian who discussed this aspect of Ottoman modernization for

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the late eighteenth and early nineteenth-century Ottoman Empire. He rightly underlined a rise of Islamic Orthodoxy during this period and asserted that it was a response to the Russian advances and pressure from the European powers.33 The most important proof of an “inner” source of nourishment for the so-called reformists from the Islamic revivalist camp is their connection with the Naqshbandıˆ-Mujaddidıˆ religious order.34 Abu-Manneh, on the other hand, was the first to draw our attention to the close connection between the Naqshbandıˆ-Mujaddidıˆs and the Ottoman ruling elite, arguing that during the eighteenth century, and particularly after the accession of Selim III, there was a growing tendency towards the strengthening of Orthodox Sunni Islam in Istanbul.35 There are indeed three important signs of the rise of the Naqshbandıˆ-Mujaddidıˆ order in Istanbul at the end of the eighteenth century: the first is the growing number of functionaries of various ranks affiliated to it; the second is the rate of establishment of tekkes in the period under study; to these two, both mentioned by Abu-Manneh, we must also add a third, the existence of treatises on the political issues of the Empire written from the perspective of the teachings of that order. Kus¸maˆnıˆ, whose views are summarized above, is a case in point. Though Abu-Manneh never made a detailed study of the Selimian era, our findings support his suggestions. There was indeed a rise in the number of tekkes established by the Naqshbandıˆ-Mujaddidıˆ, and particularly by members of the Selimian new elite,36 during the reign of Selim III, and a striking number of the Selimian new elite were affiliated with this order (see the fifth column of Table A.1, where some names within this category were Naqshbandıˆ-Mujaddidıˆ disciples).37 The affiliation of the ruling elite to the Naqshbandıˆ-Mujaddidıˆ movement cannot be easily discarded as a matter of personal choice. Although there may indeed be a personal dimension to their affiliations, just as with any other organization, membership brought with it access to certain networks and alliances. This was an urban order and drew disciples especially from among the educated classes. Unlike many other mystical religious orders, its teachings did not despise political influence or connections with the ruling elite. As a policy, they approved affiliations with the rulers, because they held the rulers responsible for the degeneration of the umma, and saw them as the first to be in need of correction: “the virtuousness of kings is the virtuousness of the subjects, their corruption is the corruption of all the subjects.”38 In this regard,

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they resemble the other intellectual movements of the period which assumed the role of “reformers of tradition”, as well as of teachers “guiding an Islamic community”,39 and like them took particular care to establish connections with the rulers, encouraging them to follow sharia. The shaikhs and their deputies supported the reforms undertaken by their states. For shaikh Khalid (d. 1827), for instance, the survival of Islam depended on the survival of the Ottoman Empire and he advised his followers to struggle for the survival of the Empire.40 In India, Shah Veli Allah Dihlawi (d. 1763) wrote letters to rulers and government officials encouraging them in their political and financial reforms.41 The primary mission for these figures was to initiate dignitaries and urban administrators, rather than ordinary people. While in Damascus, for instance, Shaik Khalid, the founder of the Naqshbandıˆ-Khaliddiyya suborder, had gained followers especially among the upper layers of the city. He had ordered one of his deputies not to initiate into the order any other but distinguished ulema.42 This initiation of people with political power was no doubt intended to give these Sufis greater opportunity to influence their decisions. Conversely, their support must have been attractive for an elite seeking to rejuvenate their “degenerate” empire through packages of reform. Shaik Burusevıˆ/Kerku¨kıˆ Mehmed Emin Efendi (d. 1813) had great influence over the ruling elite in Istanbul during the reign of Selim III. He was a deputy of Shaik Khalid and represented the third wave of Khalidi influence in Istanbul.43 A former scribe, he was also a teacher of Mesnevıˆ and Persian and was thus able to reach wider elite circles. His combination of the Mevlevi and Naqshbandıˆ traditions provided him with an advantage in being accepted among the bureaucracy. Following the Naqshbandıˆ-Mujaddidıˆ tradition of seeking influence with rulers, he gained a considerable number of followers among the upper echelons of Istanbul. On his return to Bursa from Istanbul, he was invited to the capital by the city’s ulema and dignitaries. It seems that the Shaik sought to make direct contact with Selim III; on one occasion, Emin Efendi asked his elite affiliates to introduce him to the sultan in person, but it seems that Selim III rebuffed him. Although the sultan did not have a direct connection with the Naqshbandıˆ-Mujaddidıˆs, he was surrounded by the disciples/functionaries of the order. Apart from the abovementioned figures, Lala Mahmud, his first tutor and also the first steward of the Queen Mother, Mihris¸ah Valide Sultan, was affiliated with the

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group. Sırkatibi Ahmed Efendi, Mabeynci Ahmed Efendi and probably Yusuf Agha were also disciples. The palace connections with the order seem to have continued even after the deposition of Selim III. For instance, the fourth wife (do¨rdu¨ncu¨ kadın) of Selim III visited the Naqshbandıˆ tekke in Eyu¨p and revealed to the mother of the Shaikh her intention to re-enthrone the deposed sultan.44 Our discussion so far has been concerned with reviewing the factors that contributed to the formation of a group identity among the Selimian reforming elite. In summary, most members of this camp were recruited from the bureaucratic cadres, and some enjoyed the patronage of Halil Hamid Pasha and his followers. In terms of views, they advocated a reformist policy, partly under the influence of NaqshbandıˆMujaddidıˆ teachings, and also acknowledged at least the need for military reform in order to overcome the threat from the Great Powers. Yet, it would be a mistake to imagine that the group under study formed a homogeneous body in terms of the strategies they favoured. This is best shown through surveying their views on foreign policies, to which we now turn.

Rivalry over Foreign Policies The formation of factions was not simply a function of individuals’ attitudes to the reformist policies of the state. As shall be demonstrated hereinafter, the Selimian new elite competed with each other for personal aggrandizement, and broke into sub-factions. Divided against each other in terms of their views on foreign policies and personal interests, the new elite appears as a faction-ridden and heterogeneous group, locked in battle with rivals throughout the reign of Selim III. Indeed, some sources lay emphasis on this disunity as one of the main hindrances to the success of the reforms.45 This section underlines the close and twoway relationship between foreign policy choices and the formation of internal factions in the Ottoman capital during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century. Our review will put us in a stronger position to ask whether conflict over attitudes to reform was the sole dynamic of internal politics in the period under scrutiny. It is important to underline that, though the conflict between the “reformist” and “antireformist” elites is widely seen as the main reason for the failure of the Selimian reforms, we aim here to show that the intense inter-elite rivalry

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among the new elite was at least equally important in paralyzing imperial governance and opening the way to revolt. In his study of patron –client ties, Scott underlines the long-standing vitality of clientele relations in traditional and modern South Asia. The more-or-less legitimate inequalities in power, wealth and status, the absence of impersonal guarantees of one’s physical safety, and the inability of kinship units to provide such a guarantee, all contributed to the emergence of patron– client relations as a principle for social organization. In the absence of institutionalized guarantees, the insecurity of life, wealth and position was thus mitigated by personal ties. Such conditions favoured personal connections, which in turn created clusters of patron– client relations – in other words, factions. Thus, patron –client politics becomes a characteristic of the “factionridden central institutions”.46 Ottoman society seems to be similar: here again, we see inequalities and the absence of impersonal guarantees of security, particularly for state servants. Rivalry among the new elite was already visible in the 1790s. Three important factions dominated the scene. Yusuf Agha was the leader of the first, dominating the palace cliques, as well as the officials remaining from the reign of Abdulhamid I. The second, under the leadership of Ku¨
cu¨k Hu¨seyin Pasha, represented the courtiers who had risen to power after the rise of Selim III. Although he is usually praised as a good grand admiral, Ku¨
cu¨k Hu¨seyin’s main source of power originated from Selim III’s favour, as we have noted. Thanks to his friendship and loyal service to prince Selim during his years in royal confinement, he had become a favourite, and this conferred immense political power upon him in subsequent years. As in most of the early modern monarchies, the sultan was still the ultimate patron and dispenser of power, careers and wealth. Yusuf Agha’s prestige and power came not directly from the sultan but via the Queen Mother, another important source of power and prestige for the court factions. It is not surprising that Ebubekir Ratıb Efendi and Ishak Bey, also companions of Selim III while he was in confinement, belonged to the clique of Ku¨
cu¨k Hu¨seyin Pasha. Both figures were significant in terms of establishing contact with Halil Hamid Pasha, while Ishak is also famous for being the messenger of prince Selim to Louis XVI (r. 1774–92).47 Ebubekir Ratıb, tutor to prince Selim, and Tatarcık Abdullah Molla, a famous alim, were also members of the same clique. The heads of the two rival factions tried to eliminate the power

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bases of their rivals. Ku¨
cu¨k Hu¨seyin Pasha’s promotion to the grand admiralship, for example, was a manoeuvre by the Queen Mother and Yusuf Agha to keep him away from the palace and the capital.48 Yusuf Agha’s faction remained pro-Russian until its demise, while Ku¨
cu¨k Hu¨seyin Pasha’s faction was pro-French. Mehmed Ras¸id Efendi was the leader of the third faction. Unlike the others, his clique was recruited mainly from the bureaucratic cadres, and was in a way a continuation of the Halil Hamid Pasha faction. Though he lost some power following the execution of his patron during the last years of the Hamidian era, Mehmed Ras¸id regained his influence during the reign of Selim III and benefited from the rivalry between the other factions. By collaborating with Yusuf Agha, for instance, he was able to establish unrivaled influence over the Porte from 1792 to 1794.49 His faction remained pro-British. Manipulation by Selim III destroyed the balance of power between these factions. As may be recalled, Yusuf Agha was temporarily disgraced, and Izzet Mehmed Pasha, the newly appointed grand vizier, was closer to Ku¨c
u¨k Hu¨seyin Pasha; meanwhile, the leader of the other faction, Reisu¨lku¨ttab Mehmed Ras¸id Efendi, was replaced by Du¨rri Mehmed Efendi (1794). It seems that Selim III encouraged Izzet Mehmed Pasha, together with Tatarcık Abdullah and Constantin Ipsilanti, to check Ku¨c
u¨k Hu¨seyin’s growing power.50 It was not only internal strife and imperial manipulation that impacted upon the balance between the rival factions; relations with foreign powers also had a powerful effect, as was clear in the events of the late 1790s. The sudden French attack on Egypt worked in favour of pro-Russian and proBritish figures. With their pro-Russian or pro-British stances, the factions under the leadership of Yusuf Agha and Mehmed Ras¸id Efendi increased their prestige and power.51 In an effort to respond to the Egyptian crisis, Selim III dismissed neutral Izzet Mehmed Pasha, as well as shaikh al-Islam Du¨rrizaˆde, who were reluctant to declare war against the French, and appointed Yusuf Ziya Pasha as the new grand vizier (30 August 1798).52 While Naff considers this dismissal to be a victory for Mehmed Ras¸id Efendi, Shaw argues that the deposition of Izzet Mehmed Pasha was intended to appease “conservatist” groups, especially the janissaries and ulema. Shaw also argues that the appointment of Yusuf Ziya Pasha was meant to secure the support of conservative elements, especially by curbing the rate of reform through restricting the operations of the Nizamı Cedid.53 These scholars may be pinpointing different aspects of the

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promotion of Yusuf Ziya Pasha, but it seems that the ongoing power struggle was a more determining factor than the conservatism of the janissaries or the ulema. As we have said, the French invasion of Egypt was a blow to the pro-French factions. Apparently, Yusuf Ziya was inclined towards a pro-Russian foreign policy54 and the appointment of such a figure, rather than a neutral grand vizier, was quite reasonable given the French attack. Aside from the deteriorating relations with the French after the invasion of Egypt, the death of Ku¨c
u¨k Hu¨seyin Pasha in 1803 was another blow to the pro-French faction. In a letter to Selim III, Napoleon Bonaparte himself laments the death of Hu¨seyin Pasha.55 Ibrahim Nesim Efendi assumed the leadership of the late Hu¨seyin’s clique.56 It is useful to recall that Shaw generally presents the power struggles and tensions of the period in terms of strife between conservatives and reformists, as in the case of the appointment of Yusuf Ziya Pasha.57 Yet, evaluating the power struggles of the period through the wider framework of factions and the international conjunctures offers a better and more realistic picture of the period, which has greater explanatory power and is closer to the evidence in the sources, than the reformist vs conservatist schema. As may well be noticed, the reign of Selim III did not signify the complete dominance of pro-French factions in the Empire. There was a strong pro-Russian party under the leadership of Yusuf Agha and Mahmud Raif Efendi, which apparently included Mihris¸ah Sultan herself.58 The demise of the pro-Russian faction began only in the summer of 1805, signalled by the replacement of Mahmud Raif Efendi by Ahmed Vasıf Efendi for the office of Reisu¨lku¨ttab (4 August 1805). Cevdet Pasha claims that Mahmud Raif Efendi, known for his reformist attitude, was dismissed for placating the janissaries and their supporters. Yet, there seem to be more serious causes for his dismissal than his relationship with the janissaries or his attitude to reform. Of more direct concern were the problems faced by the Porte during the negotiations with Russia (May – September 1805) for the renewal of the Triple Alliance (pp. 106 – 7). The proposals as tabled contained some deeply troubling clauses, and it seems that the other Ottoman ministers feared that Mahmud Efendi would consent to them – being a pro-Russian minister – if he were not dismissed in time. The Russians indeed considered his removal as proof of growing French influence at the Porte. Despite the efforts of the Russian ambassador and Yusuf Agha, Mahmud Raif Efendi was not reappointed as Reisu¨lku¨ttab.59

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Since Mahmud Raif Efendi was under strict surveillance, it was impossible for him to establish contacts with the Russian ambassador Italinsky, who in turn tried to gain the favour of the new Reisu¨lku¨ttab. Vasıf Efendi, the new Reisu¨lku¨ttab, followed a pro-French policy thanks to the efforts of Se´bastiani. The Russians distributed money and gifts to certain functionaries, encouraging them to block the further promotion of French interests. Not surprisingly, the primary figures here were Mahmud Raif Efendi and Yusuf Agha, and a secret pension was allocated for Mahmud Raif Efendi by the Russians for services rendered.60 Another blow to the pro-Russian faction came with the Edirne Incident (pp. 86– 91). Most of the newly appointed figures favoured a pro-French policy, which was indeed interpreted by the French ambassador as a victory for France.61 As we draw closer to the rebellious years, most of the earlier factions in the political arena are eradicated, particularly the figures affiliated with Russia. The real weakening of the pro-Russian faction came with the fall from grace of Yusuf Agha. Pressure from the French ambassador, and the death of the Queen Mother, left Yusuf Agha’s position vulnerable, with deleterious consequences for his faction. “As long as Valide Sultan lived, he governed the Empire”, commented the British ambassador.62 Yusuf Agha went on a pilgrimage some time after the death of his patron. Though his departure is usually considered as a pilgrimage for religious purposes, it was perhaps in fact a sort of “banishment” rooted in elite rivalry. It seems that Ibrahim Nesim Efendi, instrumental in the dismissal of Mahmud Raif Efendi, was the principal rival of Mustafa Res¸id Efendi in 1805. Despite the collaboration of Mustafa Res¸id and Yusuf Agha, Ibrahim Nesim Efendi acted alongside grand vizier Hafız Ismail Pasha and managed to have Yusuf Agha sent away from the capital.63 The pro-French faction under the leadership of Ibrahim Nesim Efendi still had great influence; despite his deposition after the Edirne Incident, he managed to appoint one of his prote´ge´s, Mustafa Refik Efendi, to his former post of sadaret kethu¨da. An additional factor was Nesim’s partisanship for France and his friendship with Se´bastiani, which also helped him to preserve his power. Despite having been demoted, both Mustafa Res¸id and Ibrahim Nesim Efendi continued to participate in councils, and Nesim Efendi was particularly instrumental in bringing an end to the hospodar crisis in the manner favoured by France.

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At the time of the rebellion, the balance between factions had been broken in a manner that ran parallel to the developments on the international scene. The outbreak of war with Russia, the termination of the Triple Alliance and the British Naval Expedition, all weakened the pro-Russian and pro-British factions, while the pro-French faction gained in power as the influence of France upon the Empire waxed.64

The Coalition of Outs Despite their divisions and internal strife, the Selimian new elite is easier to define than the more amorphous group of outsiders. As in the case of the Selimian new elite, it is difficult to give an exact roster of the faction of “outs.” As may be observed in Table A.2 (pp. 208–9), the most famous examples are S¸erifzaˆde Mehmed Ataullah Efendi, the shaikh al-Islam, and Ko¨se Musa Pasha, the kaimmakam of the time. Apart from these famous figures, the conventional historiography assumes collaboration between the rebels and certain members of the ilmiye, such as Mehmed Mu¨nib Efendi (d. 1823), Muradzaˆde Mehmed Murad Efendi (d. 1808), As¸ir Efendizaˆde Mehmed Hafid Efendi (d. 1811), C¸avus¸zaˆde Ahmed S¸emseddin Efendi (d. 1809), Alizaˆde Esseyyid Mehmed Efendi (d. 1815), Ahmed Muhtar Efendi (d. 1811) and Dervis¸ Mehmed Efendi (d. 1816). Therefore, they are included in our list. Among the military cadres, Pehlivan Agha and Sekbanbas¸ı Arif Agha are also enumerated within this group. While bureaucrats constitute a little over half of the new elite camp, the ulema members comprise the bulk of the rival group (eight out of 14). A contemporary historian labels these high-ranking ulema as Meydan-ı Lahm efendileri (the masters of the Meat Square), since they were present at the square during the peak of the uprising, implying that there was collaboration between the ulema and the rebels.65 As with the other camp, some members of the faction of “outs” were connected to each other either by personal or marriage ties. There are frequent references to a collaboration between Ataullah Efendi and Musa Pasha during the rebellion. Although it is always very difficult to document such secret connections, there is a document that strongly implies a possible connection between them. Some time after the uprising, as stated in the document, Musa Pasha asked permission for the marriage of his son to the daughter of Ataullah Efendi. The request was gladly approved by the sultan.66 Ataullah Efendi descended from a great

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molla family, called the S¸erifzaˆdes or the Ishakzaˆdes.67 His family was one of the most important ulema families of the eighteenth and nineteenth century, and dominated the posts of s¸eyhu¨lislamate and kazasker, closing their ranks to outsiders. Together with the Du¨rrizaˆdes and Feyzullahzaˆdes, the family produced 13 of the shaikh al-Islams of the period, three belonging to the Ishakzaˆdes.68 The great molla families seldom contracted marriages with non-ulema elites. A marriage between the children of Musa Pasha and Ataullah Efendi, therefore, stands out as uncommon. It may have been planned as a marriage alliance. Mu¨nib Efendi, on the other hand, was connected to Ataullah Efendi as his tutor; Halet Efendi was also closely connected to Ataullah Efendi, his father having been Ataullah’s tutor, and the two having been friends since childhood. Ataullah’s affection for Halet Efendi is revealed in a document written after the latter’s exile to Ku¨tahya (1808). In the letter, it is commented that Halet was unjustly banished, and the writer tried to console the Shaikh al-Islam by assuring him that Halet Efendi would return and again be promoted to official positions.69 Unfortunately, there is no reliable information concerning most of the above-mentioned figures’ views on foreign and domestic policies. According to Wilkinson, S¸erifzaˆde Ataullah Efendi and Pehlivan Agha were devoted to the French party, and stood ready to break the Triple Alliance.70 If we rely on him, then, both figures were pro-French. When we recall that Se´bastiani considered the Edirne Incident to have been a victory for France, there might be truth in Wilkinson’s claim. Further evidence, though, is needed to reach firm conclusions on this point. Halet Efendi, for instance, though in the same camp, was not a proFrench figure; on the contrary, he came into conflict with Se´bastiani and as a consequence was banished to Ku¨tahya. Moreover, his journal of his time in the Paris embassy does not suggest that he was an admirer of France and, in fact, reveals his distance from the West. Further evidence is needed, however, to make more confident claims regarding the foreign affiliations of the individuals of this group.71 Possessing very limited information concerning their views and their roles in the May outburst, it is difficult to determine whether the conspiracies attributed to them by contemporary historians are facts or defamation. We do not have convincing historical evidence proving their involvement in the uprising, and the conflicting details in the contemporary sources prevent us from drawing conclusions with any

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confidence. Yet, there is an interesting suggestion of a kind of secret agreement between Ataullah Efendi, Musa Pasha and Prince Mustafa, then still in custody. This letter, written by Mustafa IV a short time after his accession to the throne, requests help from shaikh al-Islam Ataullah Efendi to overcome a certain problem he was facing.72 Apart from evidencing the anxiety and isolation of Mustafa IV during his early days on the throne, his astonishment at the complexity of the events unfolding in the Empire and his dismay at the breakdown of the state, the letter reveals his great confidence in shaikh al-Islam S¸erifzaˆde Mehmed Ataullah Efendi and kaimmakam Musa Pasha, two figures who are claimed to be behind the May uprising, and who are widely described as clandestine and secretive. Kaimmakam Musa Pasha is usually described as a cunning, masked, conspiratorial figure, full of hatred for the reforms and the Nizam-ı Cedid ruling elite. It seems that he was particularly hostile to Hacı Ibrahim Efendi and Ibrahim Nesim Efendi; therefore, a source remarks, he was ready to use all means to eliminate them, including rebellion.73 For our purposes, however, the suggestion that high-ranking ulema and functionaries were involved in the rebellion seems rather peculiar. S¸erifzaˆde Ataullah Efendi was a shaikh al-Islam, the highest rank that the ulema could attain; Musa Pasha, the kaimmakam, did not hold the highest title, but occupied one of the most important administrative positions in the absence of the grand vizier from the capital. They stood only to lose from a change in the throne. The contemporary accounts do not provide a satisfactory explanation for their alleged involvement in the uprising, apart from personal greed and self-aggrandizement. Fortunately, however, there are other clues, which direct our attention to their being excluded from sources of power and key decision making processes, an issue which again relates to the political structure of the final years of the Selimian era. One of the most striking aspects of the Selimian era is the virtual absence of a strong grand vizier, and a related tendency towards sharing political power. Traditionally, the office of the grand vizier signified the “absolute delegate” (vekil-i mutlak), and enjoyed a degree of authority comparable to that of the sultan. During the early nineteenth century, however, the grand vizier was primarily the head of the scribal service, as well as the military establishment with the title of commander-in-chief (serdar-ı ekrem). Cevdet Pasha comments that the post of the grand vizier was thus reduced to a mere title. A foreign observer, on the other hand,

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observes a correlation between the existence of a powerful grand vizier and the achievement of reform policies.74 During the reign of Selim III, there was a tendency to share political power among the members of the bureaucracy, the palace, the ilmiye class and even with the sultan himself, rather than securing the rise of a strong grand vizier. According to Liston, the only points on which the rival factions could agree was the rejection of the arbitrary orders of the sultan, the need for restrictions of the functions of the grand vizier, and the growing tendency for the administration of the Empire to be overseen by a council of privileged people. Another observer makes similar comments, saying that a new council was established through which all projects and policies were to be discussed and decided; accordingly, there was a reduction in the political power of the grand vizier.75 Hobhouse too makes a similar observation, saying that “the great cabinet, or great council of state, was more frequently assembled than in former reigns, and diminished the labours as well as the importance of the Grand Vizier.”76 It seems that Selim III also favoured this development, and ordered that discussion of governmental affairs take place in councils (divan) rather than delegating absolute authority to the kaimmakam and the viziers.77 The decrease in the power of the grand viziers was balanced by the increase in the importance of the consultative assemblies (mes¸veret). This assembly was not an innovation of the period, but a continuation of an established practice. Previously, important issues had been discussed in the imperial council (divan-ı hu¨mayun), but in the course of the eighteenth century this council began to lose its importance, becoming a council principally in which decisions over peace and war were to be taken, whilst consultative assemblies began to be held more frequently. These were presided over by the grand vizier, and they were intended particularly to address extraordinary crises, both external and internal. Selim III made it a permanent part of the legislative and executive process.78 The most influential members of these meetings were the civilian bureaucrats, while the influence of the ulema was weakened and military officials were not allowed to interfere in the decisions.79 During the reign of Mustafa IV, the consultative assemblies preserved their importance in the decision making process.80 In the contemporary accounts there is frequent mention of an inner cabinet established during the reign of Selim III. In July 1792, for instance, the French newspaper Moniteur Universal relates that an “inner

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committee” consisting of 24 members had been established and that even the executive powers of the grand vizier were delegated to it.81 According to The Times, 12 people were chosen by the sultan to form a council under the presidency of Yusuf Agha.82 At first glance, the committee mentioned by the two newspapers seems to have been a mes¸veret. If, however, we combine these suggestions with information provided by other contemporary narratives, a more interesting picture emerges. In the chronicle Yayla I˙mamı Risalesi there is a reference to an inner committee under the leadership of Ismail Raif Pas¸azaˆde Ismet Beyefendi in the year 1792. Unfortunately, the author does not give any further reference regarding the nature of the decisions remitted to it or the identity of the participants. Fortunately, though, another local chronicle mentions their names for the year 1792: Yusuf Agha, steward of the Queen Mother; Tatarcık Abdullah Molla, an ex-sadr-ı Rum (Rumeli kazasker); C¸elebi Mustafa Res¸id Efendi; Elhac Ibrahim Efendi; Ibrahim Nesim Efendi; defterdar Feyzi Efendi; Su¨leyman Penahzaˆde Moravıˆ Osman Efendi; kethu¨da-yı sadr-ı ali, Atıf Efendi; Mahmud Raif Efendi, the Reisu¨lku¨ttab; Ibrahim Ismet Beyefendi; Mu¨nib Efendi; and, finally, the
avus c ¸ agha.83 Zinkeisen also makes reference to the presence of an “inner party” (die partei des Innern). According to him, this party was composed of the mufti, Ibrahim Nesim Efendi and Hacı Ibrahim Efendi, Sırkatibi Ahmed Bey and C¸elebi Mustafa Res¸id Efendi. He also adds the names of Alemdar Mustafa Pasha and Kadı Abdurrahman Pasha into his list.84 The above-mentioned committee does not seem to have comprised the usual members of the mes¸veret, but seems rather to have been restricted to a smaller circle. Seven names, however, overlap with those of the reformists. According to the author of Yayla I˙mamı Risalesi, in the same year (1792), the ulema and the ruling elite took certain decisions regarding the reforms to be implemented, and later declared their intention to the sultan. Following the sultan’s approval, the reform package was implemented.85 This suggests that although not all of the reformists were included in the committee, an inner group among them acted as the “brain team” and as executives of the reforms. Yayla I˙mamı notes that Ibrahim Ismet Beyefendi, the president of this council, entered the presence of the sultan to remind him that the reform programme would require a great degree of bravery, resolution, balance and good judgement. Otherwise, he warned, both the Empire and his throne

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would tumble down. The most important part comes after these initial warnings: When we discuss the memorandum among ourselves and then submit its pre´cis to his majesty the Sultan, His Highness should display no opposition to its content and he should issue the imperial edict in accordance. Furthermore, His Highness had better not confide in his grand vizier, who is His absolute representative. The grant of His Majestic authorization is naturally a prerequisite for the fundamentals of the order.86 Indicative of the decrease in the executive power of the grand vizier, he is not mentioned as a member of the committee, and the sultan is even requested to keep the correspondence from the inner committee secret from him! It seems that this committee tried to accumulate a great degree of decision making and executive power in order to conduct the reform programme, and requested the unconditional approval of the sultan in all matters. The committee also had a markedly secret nature. As Ibrahim Ismet stated to Selim III, its members promised to conduct their affairs in ultimate secrecy and never to reveal their secrets to others. If one member of the committee died, a new member would be chosen either from the ulema or the elite by the consent of all. If such an inner committee was really established, it seems very likely that its members sought to conduct their affairs in private. Yayla I˙mamı is not the only source which alludes to the existence of such an inner cabinet during the reign of Selim III. Relying on the correspondence of Sir Liston, Alan Cunningham describes the committee as a “kitchen cabinet” established for the purpose of modernization. The author comments, however, that only six or seven among them were ready to take the risks of modernization. Stanford Shaw also uses the term “kitchen cabinet” to refer to those who “influenced events from behind the scenes and were noticed neither by Ottoman nor by foreign observers.”87 Recalling the information provided by Yayla I˙mamı, he also argues that they were able to administer the Empire independently of decisions taken by the grand viziers and the imperial councils. They met informally with the sultan, and formulated the laws and regulations which were “the driving force behind the New Order”. Indeed, Olivier notes, the sultan did not give

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any orders without the consent of the committee.88 Even among the inner group, called the poletika, not all had equal access to certain decisions or information.89 One contemporary observer provides us with a concrete example, which might give us some idea about the structure of the committee. He claims that the French Egyptian expedition was known in detail by only four members of the committee, while the rest had little information on the matter. It seems, therefore, that the committee did not confine itself to matters related to the reform programme, but was also involved in wider governmental affairs.90 As might be noted, neither the shaikh al-Islam not the grand vizier of the period are mentioned as members of the inner committee. According to contemporary accounts, those two figures were rarely informed about certain matters, and the remainder of the ruling elite had limited opportunity to learn about state affairs. It seems that Ataullah Efendi did not enjoy the rights and responsibilities required by his position. One source claims that he was despised and ignored by the ruling elite to such an extent that he enjoyed less esteem than a mahalle imam. He was never informed or consulted about any matter, and usually got his news from visitors.91 According to one source, the excluded ulema were resentful that they had no access to imperial councils, and this was a matter of public shame for them.92 Findley confirms the arguments of these contemporaries in his observations that the growing importance of diplomacy in the politics of the Empire, as well as the ongoing reform programme, had marginalized the ulema in the councils of state.93 This does not mean that the ulema played no role at all in the reforms or decision making process; on the contrary, some were very active participants in these processes, Ibrahim Ismet Beyefendi being the leader of the inner committee. On the whole, however, the role of the ulema in the councils did diminish during the reign of Selim III. There are similar complaints from other members of the faction of “outs.” Despite holding the post of grand vizier, Hafız Ismail Pasha was not informed properly and could take no decision before consulting Ibrahim Nesim Efendi, who seems to have criticized Hafız Ismail Pasha on several occasions.94 It seems that weaker and more malleable figures were chosen, such who could be easily controlled or removed. Musa Pasha also seems not to have enjoyed the privileges of his post, and was particularly hostile to Hacı Ibrahim and Ibrahim Nesim Efendi due to

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the overwhelming power they enjoyed in governmental affairs.95 According to a chronicle, the promotion of Musa Pasha to the post of kaimmakam was thanks to his outward gentleness, which may have given an impression that he would be obedient.96 The tendency to appoint figures who were easier to manipulate and remove was also one of the basic reasons behind the appointment of Galib Efendi to the position of Reisu¨lku¨ttab (2 October 1806). Ibrahim Nesim Efendi himself had wished to be appointed as Reisu¨lku¨ttab following Vasıf and, therefore, sought the promotion of an individual who would be easy to remove from office. In the end, however, Galib proved to be a strong figure, rather difficult to manipulate and hard to remove.97 Another striking feature is the lack of mention of the military elite, either among the “kitchen cabinet” or even within the reformist camp. No one from a military background submitted reform proposals in 1792, nor are they cited as members of the inner committee. The janissary elders had complained about this monopoly on state affairs by a handful of people; one stated that “a few youngsters have become the confidants of the state” (birkac
og˘lan makulesi devlet-i aliyyenin mahremi ola).98 Most of the figures who are attributed a role in the rebellion can, thus, be categorized as devlet ku¨sku¨nleri (disgruntled statesmen): they seem to have had a shared hatred of the dominant ruling elite, and considered them to be the primary cause of their exclusion from state affairs. Discussing factionalism in Stuart England, Robert Shephard observes that there is a correlation between exclusion and revolt: Those who lacked or lost personal access were cut off from the mainsprings of power and had to operate through intermediaries or use means outside the Court – perhaps trying to apply pressure through Parliament [. . .] or, in more extreme cases, resorting to plotting or outright rebellion.99 When no chance of influence was in prospect, the discontented and excluded individuals or groups would become eager for a change in the throne which would furnish them with new opportunities for advance.100 It was exactly such an exclusion that played a crucial role in the involvement – whether direct or indirect – of Ataullah Efendi and certain so-called anti-reformists in the May uprising. The members

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of the so-called conservative camp in 1807 were reactive, in the sense that they were frustrated with the hegemony of the new elite, and felt excluded from enjoying effective power within the offices that they held. In a way, then, they were opposed to oligarchic nepotism: that is why I call them the “coalition of outs.” Further clues prove our point. Shaikh al-Islam Ataullah Efendi, for instance, manifested hostility towards sons and relatives of the opposing cadres who were following careers in the ilmiye. Once, while he was shaikh al-Islam, he ordered the dismissal of 19 mu¨derris. Ataullah Efendi was from an established ulema family, and one might think that he was trying zealously to preserve his privileges. Indeed, he is said to have had a particular dislike for members of the ulema from outside the capital, a process which is referred to as the Istanbulization of the ilmiye class. The ilmiye reforms of Ahmed III had initiated a process of exclusion of rival education centres, such as Bursa and Edirne, thus sealing the rise of Istanbul. According to Zilfi, an ulema aristocracy had succeeded in transforming what had been a professional status into a system of patrimony. Except for the son of Cabbarzaˆde Su¨leyman Bey and Kadı Abdurahman Pasha, however, most of the 19 names on his list were from Istanbul,101 and almost all of them were relatives of the new elite, including the son of Mahmud Raif Efendi, Ibrahim Nesim Efendi, and two sons of Yusuf Agha. It is again difficult to verify whether the dismissals were based on the principle of merit or had political motivations. The high number of relatives of the proSelimian elite, however, seems more than a coincidence.102 Apparently, their aim was to transmit their wealth by acquiring ulema status and, thus, immunity from confiscation, for their sons. This example also suggests that the provincial elite and the central elite were trying to find alternative routes for elite recruitment during the disintegrative period, in the face of limited or saturated cadres in the centre.103 Uriel Heyd, drawing on the Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye, argues that the “reactionary elements in the ulema leadership succeeded temporarily in stopping these reforms by force.”104 With our very limited information regarding the worldviews and policies of the statesmen cited as antireformists, it is not possible to decide whether they opposed these reforms through ideological conviction or simply due to the fact that their rivals were in favour. We face the same difficulty when looking at the ulema since, contrary to supposition, the ulema did not act as a unified body as regards the reformist policies of the centre, nor did they always

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react against change in the Empire. When a political issue is bilateral, someone has to take up an opposing position.105 It is true that increasing state control over pious endowments, leading to closer inspection of the salaries the ulema were receiving from these institutions, may have increased dissatisfaction with the new order.106 Yet, at least some individuals enumerated as among this group do not seem to have rejected the reforms altogether: Mehmed Mu¨nib Efendi, for instance, wrote a pamphlet arguing that playing drums was not against established religious practices.107 In fact most of the high-ranking ulema had interests which coincided with the interests of the state and, as such, they usually collaborated on reformist policies. Even if the ilmiye members in this group were conservatives who rejected the reforms, we should be wary of assuming that they were motivated solely by religious concerns. During the reign of Selim III, there are some minor but telling examples which suggest that the conflict between the factions of Halil Hamid Pasha and Cezayirli Gazi Hasan Pasha continued into the Selimian era. As we have seen, some of those seen as members of the new elite enjoyed the patronage of Halil Hamid Pasha, the arch-enemy of Cezayirli Gazi Hasan Pasha. The central purpose of the Halil Hamid faction was to ensure the accession of prince Selim to his uncle’s throne. Meanwhile, Cezayirli Hasan Pasha and his prote´ge´s, such as Koca Yusuf Pasha, were closer to Abdulhamid I.108 Traces of this rivalry were still observable during the early nineteenth century. For instance, there was deep enmity between Elhac Ibrahim Efendi and Gazi Hasan Pasha.109 Another example concerns Musa Pasha. In an undated document it is noted that he is married to an ex-wife of Hasan Pasha, a former grand vizier.110 No further detail is provided on the latter’s identity, and there are three people named Hasan Pasha in the reign of Selim III who occupied the post of grand vizier. Yet, if the Hasan Pasha in question is Cezayirli, it may indicate that this factional strife did indeed continue into the reign of Selim III. One final example is related to Mustafa Res¸id Efendi, who enjoyed the patronage of Koca Yusuf Pasha. It is interesting to note that he was one of the reformists who was able to escape death during the uprising. Therefore, the tension between the two factions may well have carried into the Selimian era and, thus, may have played a role in identity formation and the tension between the new elite and the coalition elite.

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The affiliation of the reformists to the Naqshbandıˆ-Mujaddidıˆ religious order may be another cause of tension between the camps. This order had undeniable influence in the period, and most of the reformists were affiliated with it. Conversely, in the other group, only Hafız Ismail Pasha and Halet Efendi were disciples of the Naqshbandıˆ-Mujaddidıˆ order. For the rest, it seems that the order held little appeal. Indeed, following the uprising, some of the Mujaddidıˆ shaiks were banished, and the influence of the order diminished to a great extent during the reign of Mustafa IV, with most of its bureaucrat disciples murdered during the course of the rebellion. Therefore, it is reasonable to think that the Naqshbandıˆ affiliations of the reformist camp were another source of conflict between the two groups. Overall, however, the distribution of resources by the state, including the above-mentioned cases of access to wealth and power, was the most important source of conflict between the members of both camps, either as groups or individually. Unfortunately, due to a dearth of sources and the lack of any really systematic study, it remains difficult to perceive the economic dimensions of the struggle; yet, there are some clues. The central bureaucracy, which was mostly recruited from the bureaucratic cadres, carried out the reforms but at the same time monopolized the resources of economic and political power. Elites connected to the Nizam-ı Cedid elite are usually blamed for establishing the Nizam-ı Cedid and the New Fund solely for their own financial advantage. Although one cannot reduce the complexities of the reform project simply to that purpose, some examples suggest that members of the new elite abused their positions. Feyzullah Efendi, the director of the New Treasury, was dismissed after embezzling 1,000 purses of akc
e from the mukataas of the Treasury.111 In an edict addressed to the Grand Vizier, Selim III addressed such abuses, complaining pointedly about Elhac Ibrahim Res¸id Efendi, who directed the New Treasury from 1799 until 1805; yet, it remains difficult to ascertain whether Ibrahim Efendi himself was involved in such abuses. After emphasizing that Ibrahim Efendi had failed to heed the stipulations of the Treasury, Selim III noted that commoners were making great fortunes from the already farmed-out mukataas: For such lands, the already-issued imperial fermans are now circulating in the hands of moneylenders; therefore, each person making use of those fermans usurps a certain amount of akc
es,

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which in turn creates an annual loss of 1,000 purses in the treasury of I˙rad-ı Cedid. Is this a fair and equitable practice? What is worse is that we harm the people and oppress the poor on the pretext that we collect taxes as revenue. The people are now getting through on the fortune of the state. From now on, do not allow even a single akc
e of I˙rad-ı Cedid to be usurped by anyone. In accordance with the laws, you shall inform me about which land will be leased to which mu¨ltezim, together with the amount of tax-farm. In sum, the mu¨ltezims will neither usurp even one akc
e themselves nor allow anyone else to do so with the argument that “this is a notable person” and so on, to benefit the tax-farms. I assigned one hundred purses of allowance for Irad-ı Cedid, provided that it would be thoroughly preserved. In case of such an usurpation, let me know everything in detail; otherwise, you shall be subject to punishment.112 In all probability, the related edicts concerning the mukataas had been issued one or two years before, and had been circulating between the moneylenders and pashas. Such and similar abuses created resentment among the public, but also bred frustration among the elite who were denied entry to state circles and complained of unjust competition.

Prince Mustafa and the Struggle for the Throne If there was a faction in the Ottoman court, which had a programme altogether directed against Selim III, we should certainly include Prince Mustafa and his supporters within it. During their confinement in the palace, the royal princes certainly engaged in political intrigue, and virtually the only chance for an impatient prince, who was eager to usurp the throne, was to be installed by an uprising. The basic difference between provincial military revolts and those in the capital was that the latter could easily bring down the government and dethrone the sultan. Since the alternative rulers were confined to the palace, it was not so difficult to find a replacement; this is one of the primary reasons why so many pre-1826 uprisings were palacecentred. At the time of the rebellion there were two heirs to the throne, Prince Mustafa and his brother prince Mahmud, both cousins of Selim III.

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Prince Mahmud is usually considered to have had good relations with the sultan. Selim acted as a friend and guide to Mahmud, it is argued, thanks to which Selim III was able to transmit his reformist mindset to his cousin. Mustafa, on the other hand, is presented as a rival of Selim and as always ready to usurp the throne. He was “darkness” and “ignorance”, “greediness” and “conservatism”, while Selim was “light”, “progress”, “erudition” and “noble”.113 On this view, the May uprising was a conflict between these two camps and ended with victory for the “backward” rule of Mustafa IV, at least for a year,114 before the accession of Mahmud II. It is difficult to find a satisfactory answer as to why they are represented in this opposing manner, and so to a certain extent we are required to speculate. The explanation might relate to the personalities of Mahmud and Mustafa, and be linked in particular to the fact that Prince Mustafa was the imminent heir, unlike his younger brother. Yet, on the other hand, Mustafa might have seen no possibility that he would rule in the near future and, accordingly, confessed that he would not wait until the death of his cousin.115 Eager to usurp the throne, it is clear that Mustafa used every opportunity to bring down his cousin. He seems to have supported any kind of dissatisfaction with the Nizam-ı Cedid reforms, and to have collaborated with the disgruntled statesmen. There is no clear evidence as to what Mustafa really thought about the reforms. In some of his letters, it is clear that he was aware of the existence of a group which he calls “New Orderists”, and it appears that he did not feel close to this group, being particularly hostile to Ibrahim Nesim Efendi. Whatever his personal opinion of the reforms, he was cunning enough to benefit from the strife it engendered, and for that purpose he supported Mahmud Tayyar Pasha and tried to present himself as the ally of the disaffected janissaries, a strategy familiar from both domestic and international examples. His pragmatic attitude towards the dissatisfaction with the Nizam-ı Cedid is another example of the abuse of the Selimian reforms, in addition to the examples we have cited of Mahmud Tayyar Pasha and the Russians (pp. 83 – 5, 111), who also tried to benefit from the tension for their own purposes. Aside from his servants, one of the most important members of the Prince Mustafa faction was his sister Esma Sultan. While Beyhan Sultan, Selim’s sister, took sides with her brother, Esma Sultan favoured Mustafa (IV), her brother. Indeed, Esma’s steward, also acting as the rikab kethu¨da, was banished

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after the dethronement of Mustafa IV (1808) on the grounds that Osman Efendi had close connections with the clique of Mustafa IV. It seems that Mustafa’s mother and other sister, Hibetullah, as well as the concubines, played an important role in the May uprising and the Alemdar Incident.116 Apart from the members of the imperial family, Pehlivan Hu¨seyin Agha, the janissary agha of the time, is also mentioned as belonging to the Prince Mustafa faction.

Conclusion In this chapter we have tried to provide a detailed examination of the identity of the factions of “ins” and “outs”, and the possible reasons for their involvement in the May uprising. All of these factors contributed, either directly or indirectly, to increasing the tension and shaping the patterns of identity formation among the Selimian elite. Picking out one factor – such as the reforms – and presenting it as the cause of intra-elite struggle, offers convenience in explanation at the expense of realism. Such simplification does not reflect the complex nature of intra-elite relations in the early nineteenth century, and can only illuminate one mode of connection with the May uprising. Indeed, if we explain the power struggles in terms of the actors’ diverging views on a certain reform or innovation, it becomes difficult to explain political games in periods when there was no reform or innovation in prospect at all. Selimian policy does seem to have been marked by bipolar factionalism between the so-called reformist and anti-reformist camps, and the group labelled as anti-reformists in the conventional literature does seem to have been the faction of “outs”. They do seem to have been reactionary and opposed to the hegemony of those in power; yet, they constituted a temporary coalition rather than a well-established faction. Two important developments may be observed during the period under scrutiny. The first is the increasing importance of the consultative assemblies and the corresponding decrease in the power of the grand viziers. More importantly, there seems to have been an inner cabinet that enjoyed a kind of monopoly on the decision making process and, of course, on access to power. Despite its internal divisions, the new Selimian elite envisaged that it could overcome the problems of the Empire by revivifying it through a series of reforms, especially in the military sphere. With the information available to us, though, it is

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difficult to decide whether the opposing group completely denied the need for reform, or rather objected to certain aspects of it. Indeed, Mustafa IV carried out most of the reform projects of the Selimian period and there was no clear policy of curbing them.117 What seems obvious is that he disliked the cadres that were carrying out the reforms. The bipolar nature of this struggle caused the opponents to move to one extreme and adopt an anti-reformist policy; in this, it recalls the dynamic of two-party political systems familiar to us from modern politics.

CHAPTER 6 WHEN THE FEET BECOME THE HEAD:THE LIMITS OF OBEDIENCE

Introduction Public disturbances express “dialogues about power, how it was held, how it could be challenged and how it ought to be used.”1 As a form of dialogue between rulers and subjects, social upheavals pose stark questions about patterns of legitimacy and social hierarchy.2 By exposing the reciprocal relationship between ruler and ruled, uprisings offer excellent opportunities to probe how rulership was conceived by each side: the cracks opened by disorder allow us to glimpse the realities that underlie abstract and idealized formulations. Since revolutionaries seek to challenge established legitimacy, an understanding of what is at stake in such upheavals requires a comprehensive study of the identity of the revolutionary actors themselves, including what they expected from the rulers and how they legitimated their movement. The Ottoman Empire had adopted the traditional sources of legitimation and preserved the limited and conditional right to rebel of the Islamic Sunnite tradition. In an accommodationist tradition such as this, the key questions revolve around two important themes: how do rebels justify their uprisings and, more importantly, how does the newcomer to the throne convince both himself and his subjects that he possesses a legitimate right to rule, rather than being seen as an usurper, arrived at the throne through his supporters’ illegal

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deeds. This chapter seeks to answer these questions, and offers an analysis of the May uprising in terms of the identity of the rebels, their motives and the manner in which, in their own eyes, they legitimated the rebellion. Although both contemporary and later historiography on the uprising has clung to the bipolar discourse of traditionalism and reaction to reform, our study has revealed that there were in reality four fields of tension which were instrumental in the emergence of the upheaval: changes in the redistributive role of the Porte, socioeconomic tensions, the alienation of the commoners from the ruling elite, and religious tensions centred on the Naqshbandıˆ-Mujaddidıˆs. All of these factors paved the way for a legitimacy crisis, which was the primary factor behind the fall of Selim III. The first section of this chapter is devoted to an examination of the deposition of Selim III, which can be best understood within the theoretical framework of the right to rebel in an Ottoman context, supported with empirical data pertaining to the Selimian crisis of legitimacy. As reflected in some contemporary accounts, in the eyes of the public he was seen as an unsuccessful ruler, incapable of fulfilling the expectations of his subjects or providing security in his domains, while presiding over deep social and economic inequalities, his rule marked by the oppression and abuses of his ministers. He presided over a failing empire, and was unable to preserve the traditional rights of certain status groups, both of which greatly damaged his legitimacy. The section that follows is an attempt to sketch the identities of the revolutionaries. As in most Ottoman uprisings, the rebels of 1807 were recruited mainly from the military corps. The rebellion was instigated by the auxiliaries of the Bosporus forts, but grew in number as other military groups lent their support (janissaries, artillerymen, armourers), soon to be joined also by civilians and a mixed group of janissary – artisans and janissary-affiliated urbanites. The discussion, thus, concentrates on the motives of this heterogeneous group of rebels. In passing, we also challenge the conventional representations of the insurgents as irrational, corrupt and bloodthirsty. On the contrary, it appears that they carefully selected their victims, calculated the costs and benefits of their actions, and negotiated with the centre to achieve their goals.

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The Right to Rebel in the Ottoman Context Max Weber coined the term “sultanism” to describe the Ottoman polity: an extreme case of patrimonial rule in which the entirety of the political system is organized as an extension of the sultan’s personal power. In the early period, the mutual dependency between the sultan and his janissaries had created a pre-eminent war machine. The janissaries, however, had gradually become a status group in their own right, slipping out of the sultan’s control, and frequently challenging the authority to which they were formerly expected to show unconditional obedience. For Weber, this was the natural consequence of sultanism.3 According to Ottoman intellectuals and historians, however, it was an anomaly, due not to the excessive power of the janissaries but caused rather by a weakness in the system. For them, the involvement of military groups in the frequent uprisings was related to two crucial issues: the malfunctioning of the circle of justice, and sickness in the body politic. Like many other medieval and early modern polities, Islamic tradition relied heavily on a conception of the “body politic”, and had a correlative obsession with maintaining order in society. The idea of the “body politic” depends on an analogy between the human body and the state. The subjects, the lower parts of the body, were to pay utmost obedience4 and respect to the absolute power radiating from either the head or the heart. The unilateral activity of the king and the constant passivity of his subjects characterized the relationship between the ruler and the ruled. The circle of justice, on the other hand, represented a type of hierarchical interdependence between the rulers and the ruled, within which justice played an essential role. Disturbance of the social hierarchy meant injustice, and there was a very close connection between religion and justice, and between irreligion and injustice.5 According to the Qur’anic ideal, the Islamic community should represent the principle of divine justice. The daru¨’l-Islam (land of Islam) was the daru¨’l-adl (land of justice), a territory governed in accordance with the prescriptions of Islam and ruled by a legitimate ruler; otherwise, it would be a territory of injustice. Justice, as reflected in the circle of justice, did not mean equality before law, but had to include peace, protection, good organization and a functional infrastructure, and above all stability and order. This was a Middle Eastern expression of the moral economy.6

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The basic tenet of the system was the maintenance of social order and stability by keeping every individual, order or estate to its prescribed place and proper function. The Ottoman rulers and thinkers apparently perceived epicycles within the broad circle of justice, each surrounding a particular social group, such as the peasantry, the military and others. Insofar as they did not stray beyond prescribed limits, each group had well-established rights and privileges; moving out of their sub-circles and engaging in wider issues, and especially in state affairs, was not to be tolerated. Indeed, the early nineteenth-century historian Asım argued that the state is composed of an ideal balance between the four components of society (anasır), namely the men of the pen (kalemiye), the men of the sword, craftsmen and the peasantry (ehl-i ziraat), with the sultan acting as a spirit that connects them. For Asım, disproportionate growth of one of these groups created imbalance in the whole system, and he concluded that this was the main source of disorder in his own period. More interestingly, it was, for him, an over-dominance of the men of the pen which threatened the established system.7 In the case of Ottoman rebellions, the problem was the subjects’ moving out of their sub-spheres, thus creating malfunction in the whole system. This conception of politics assigns very limited agency or rights to independent action to the Ottoman subjects, who, should they venture to take such action, can only become an “irrational destructive force comparable to children, with a propensity heedlessly to follow any demagogue, a pure force of mindless transgression, a manifestation of disorderly nature resistant to the orderly culture of kingship.”8 Consequently, rebels were considered as pathological deviants and mindless people.9 In revolution, the feet become the head (ayaklar bas¸ oldu) – the world is turned upside down, and the spectacle is ridiculous. Weber was certainly right in emphasizing the limits to independent action in an autocratic system. The Ottoman Empire had restricted the traditional sources of legitimation, and in preserving the limited and conditional right to rebel admitted by Islamic tradition, it certainly gave scant approval to actual cases in which injustice was resolved through rebellion. The Sunni tradition was especially accommodationist and quietist, with a conservative view of the costs and benefits of rebellion, although some sects occasionally endorsed radical solutions for unjust rulers.10 The Ottomans had inherited the accommodationist Sunni tradition of the Hanafis, which remained intolerant of disobedience and

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encouraged harsh treatment for dissidents.11 It recognized the right to rebel only against irreligious governments or mentally defective rulers; otherwise, rebellion was unforgivable. Consequently, in order to legitimate their acts, rebels had to declare that they were acting against an unjust and oppressive government, which was breaking the sharia. Except for such grave cases as these, subjects were expected to be obedient to the authorities. The employment of religious rhetoric and Islamic formulae can be observed in most Ottoman uprisings, which seem to have increased around the mid-seventeenth century.12 While the colour and organization of Ottoman rebellions was militaristic, thanks to the massive participation of the corps, the vocabulary of rebellion was highly religious. Haim Gerber argues that Ottoman uprisings do not usually invoke Islamic forms of legitimation, but mainly reflect secular grievances.13 Of course the rebels had many secular grievances (see below, pp. 183–8), but they rarely refer to them specifically, preferring to emphasize how the reigning sultan or his ruling elite were working against the sharia, with particular emphasis on irreligious innovations. No matter how secular the rebels’ grievances actually were, the formulation was Islamic. Secular grievances were no grounds for a revolt, but religious issues certainly were. The Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye provides a good example in this regard (pp. 38 –41). In this text, the formal statement concerning the uprising is presented in religious terms. It presents the Nizam-ı Cedid reforms as a bad innovation (bid’at) and celebrates the janissaries for putting an end to it with the help of the ulema and some functionaries. Nothing, in fact, in the establishment of a new army seems to have been anti-religious, but it must be formulated in religio-legal terms in order to constitute a legitimate cause for dissent. The invocation of bid’at masks distinctively secular grievances, such as the oppression of the people and the humiliation of the established corps. If the actions of the sultan or his ruling elite, and particularly their innovations, are presented as against the sharia, a challenge to the sovereign seems to have been more thinkable and possible. Where this is combined with the rhetoric of oppression and injustice radiating from an incompetent ruler who was not able to restrain the venal desires of his ruling elite, it may provide excellent grounds for a legitimate uprising.14 This is why overtly Islamic rhetoric was employed in most uprisings. The Ottoman sources of legitimation were not always Islamic but they were

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expressed in religious vocabulary and substantiated by reference to Islamic tradition.15 Being an official contract, the Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye provides only limited insight into how the rebels’ cause was legitimized in their own eyes and in those of the commoners. It may, however, illuminate well the limits of disobedience of the rebels, as well as how the new sultan legitimated his enthronement. At a very basic level, the document justifies the power of the newly enthroned sultan, Mustafa IV, by explaining that this was not a case of usurpation, but rather of enthronement following legitimate rebellion, itself designed to eliminate an innovation which was causing oppression and injustice. Niyazi Berkes argues that the Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye was designed to secure for the janissaries a guarantee that, henceforth, they would devote themselves to forbidding wrong and commanding right – thus conferring upon the army the right to oppose illegality.16 At the same time, however, the same document declared the involvement of the janissaries in the rebellion to have been a malfunctioning of the corps, and accused them of transgressing the limits of their responsibility. Contrary to Berkes’ suggestion, therefore, it seems most likely that the Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye was in fact prepared in order to eliminate the possibility of future involvement by the military classes in political matters. It is evident that the text seeks to brand the involvement of janissaries in non-military affairs as anomalous. Indeed, the document denies the military corps the right to fight against innovation, and underlines that such action had been acceptable only once. Note that the document does not deny the necessity of fighting against bid’at, but it restricts itself to criticizing the involvement of the military corps in such fights independent of the sultan’s orders, this being beyond their responsibilities. Who, then, was to fight against and correct mistakes if new innovations should emerge in the future? Though the Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye leaves this question open, another document provides a clear answer. The document in question makes it clear that such problems are to be dealt with by the ulema rather than the military: the ulema are the main group tasked with forbidding the wrong and commanding the right.17 Although this document, the Deed of Alliance of 1808, is usually studied independently from the Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye, it was in fact prepared as a reply to it. This time it was the local notables, represented by Alemdar Mustafa Pasha, then the grand vizier, who were trying to eliminate political error in the capital.

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It is, therefore, not surprising that the Deed also makes reference to the very same issue. The role of commanding the right, according to this document, belonged to the grand vizier rather than the ulema. The Deed thus apparently seeks to curb the power of the ulema. It confirms the hierarchical system of obedience and declares that state servants (especially the janissaries), who dealt with issues beyond their responsibility, would be punished and dismissed.18 In fact, as far as the Qur’an is concerned the principle of commanding good and forbidding evil is a joint duty of the whole Islamic community (umma) or the collectivity of the believers.19 Although it is usually held to be a collective duty, the responsibility falls principally on the rulers and officers, then upon the scholars, and finally upon the commoners.20 There does not seem to have been a consensus among Muslim scholars regarding how to correct the mistakes of the sovereigns themselves. In such cases, the Sunni tradition in particular advised a rebellion of the heart, rather than rebellious acts (fi’l), and rejected taking up arms against the ruler.21 Even scholars were for the most part advised to talk boldly to unjust rulers and remind them of their mistakes, rather than engage in outright opposition. Rebuke was considered to be better than rebellion, and there was no flirting with the idea of taking up arms against the rulers (thus, this tradition is quietist).22 It seems, then, that in the Ottoman Empire, this principle of commanding right and forbidding wrong was to be the principal responsibility of learned people and the ruling elite. Learned people, stemming mostly from the bureaucratized ulema, were expected to check the ruler’s political mistakes. The religious authorities were also given this right due to their knowledge of law and history, which made them apt judges of whether justice had been properly rendered.23 In the case of 1807, the Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye’s preference for the bureaucratized ulema reflected the centre’s reluctance to allow the participation of wider society in the affairs of state. At first glance, this general ordinance as regards correcting the sultan’s mistakes might be thought to be addressed specifically to the military corps but when we take into consideration the latter’s mixed composition, we see that it is addressed to commoners as well. Overall, however, there seems to have been strong pressure from segments outside the decision making process, probably from the middle classes, to have more of a role in state matters, or at least to make their voices heard, even if by rebellion.

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The rebels themselves were more concerned with making the centre take their own interests into consideration than with challenging dynastic rule. Later – after 1807 – they would gain such a right, albeit only temporarily. The junior officers, representing the interests of the rankand-file soldiers and most commoners, were now admitted to the state councils together with the high-ranking janissary commanders. Despite the initial reluctance of Mahmud II, they gained a temporary right in the early 1820s. In 1822, faced with the emergency of a possible war with Russia, Mahmud II created a kind of popular government by calling together junior-ranking officers of the corps, as well as a large body of urban residents.24 This, however, did not turn out to be a long-lasting example, since the new governance partners were to be “annihilated (just like the ayan who, too, had recently signed a contract), not because of some abstract opposition or ideological allergy to reforms or to Westernization, but because of centralization efforts of Mahmud II.”25 Were the initiatives voiced by rebels of the early nineteenth century part of a proto-democratization process, as has been suggested by Baki Tezcan? And should we see the late eighteenth and early nineteenthcentury uprisings as a confrontation between royal absolutism and constitutionalist soldiers/rebels? The author labels the period from the sixteenth to the early nineteenth century the “Second Empire”, seeing it as bearing the main characteristics of an early modern European state. In essence, his argument tries to place the Ottoman Empire on the same line of development as the early modern European states, which had successfully made the transition from feudalism to capitalism. The Empire in this period was politically a limited monarchy, culturally more open to “early modern sensibilities”, economically had a more unified currency, and was run as a market economy.26 Tezcan challenges the views of traditional historians that the Ottoman Empire in this period already showed symptoms of decline, manifested particularly in the deterioration of the janissary corps, and argues that in fact it was undergoing the beginnings of a process of democratization due to janissary activism.27 It is true that some military groups opposed the absolutist tendencies of the imperial court, but this does not yet reveal the unfolding of a process of “proto-democratization.” For our purposes, however, the more important issue is his emphasis on the conceptualization of this relationship within a legal framework. According to the author, the

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janissaries were evaluating the authority of the sultan from this perspective and like constitutionalists they were aware of the legal limitations of sultanic authority. Actually, Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye supports this claim by emphasizing that the sultans could also be corrupt and that they could not enjoy endless powers during their rule. Otherwise, the janissaries would enter the scene to correct it.28 Regarding the right to rebel, Barrington Moore remarks upon the existence in all traditional societies of an implicit social contract, albeit manifested in different ways in different times and places. In return for their provision of basic needs such as protection from foreign attacks, the maintenance of peace and order, and a guarantee of material security, rulers are conferred legitimacy. When a ruler violates these minimal common expectations it creates a sense to the subjects of being treated unfairly, which can lead to moral anger. The primary purpose of negotiations in dissent – a purpose shared by both leader and rebels – is therefore to re-establish the status quo, and the outcomes of rebellion may be an adjustment to the political system or, failing that, a breakdown of the political order. It is a tradition of collectivism to carry out an organized struggle against injustice.29 At first sight, Moore’s view seems contradicted by the utmost loyalty and obedience to a ruler required by Islamic law; yet, there does seem to be a tacit contractual element even in the sharia, which may thus echo Moore’s idea of a universal and implicit social contract. For instance, according to Senhuˆrıˆ, the practice of the ceremony of allegiance (biat) had implemented a de facto social contract long before Rousseau wrote about it.30 For an earlier Muslim intellectual and poet, Muslih al-Din Sa’di (1209– 91), a king was an “employee hired by the people to protect their welfare and safety”, rather than an owner of people. Using the famous king/shepherd metaphor, he presents the shepherd as serving the sheep. In his idea of an implicit social contract sanctioned by God, the ruler is not bestowed absolute authority – this runs contrary, for example, to the account in Hobbes’s Leviathian, where there was no right to rebel. The people have the right to withhold allegiance.31 Among Turkish scholars, S¸erif Mardin was the first to suggest that there was a “tacit contract” between Ottoman rulers and the ruled. According to him, a new kind of estrangement of the urban masses from the rulers started with the 1730 rebellion. In his view, the masses representing the periphery frequently came into conflict with the official

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elite, who embarked upon military and administrative reforms but also became alienated from the rest of society due to their affinity for Western values.32 In this struggle between the centre and the urban periphery, the janissaries transformed into a power group in virtue of which the periphery could resist some of the demands by the centre.33 Mardin also invites us to look at the uprisings not as sheer acts of violence, but rather as a crisis in the “tacit” social contract between rulers and ruled, wherein popular revolts served as warnings for the rulers.34 Beyat/biat or the oath of allegiance was a political act of accepting the political authority of the newly enthroned sovereign, and was a precondition for his legitimacy in accordance to Sunni law. Yet, this same practice of a promise of loyalty and obedience had central Asian roots;35 in Islamic tradition, its roots go back to the time of the Prophet Muhammad.36 During the period of the four Caliphs, biat became the practice of recognizing the political authority of the caliph and promising utmost obedience to him. Initially, it required the shaking of hands, but later a verbal oath of allegiance became more widespread.37 Though initially it meant promising loyalty and obedience to a newly elected caliph, in the subsequent Muslim states, and especially with the Umayyads, it began to acquire the symbolic meaning of declaring obedience to the ruler. During the Umayyad period, commoners did not directly take an oath of allegiance to the caliph; rather, this was established indirectly via the religious or secular authorities.38 Though not very frequent, the withdrawal of the oath of allegiance was sometimes possible, and there are indeed some historical examples of this, pertaining especially to cases in which the ruler/caliph was considered to be a sinner, his commands contrary to divine command or his acts unjust. For instance, the people of Hejaz withdrew their oath of allegiance from Yezıˆd, while the people from Iraq shifted their allegiance from Abdu¨lmelik b. Mervaˆn to Abdurrahman b. el-Es¸’as.39 In the Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye it is explicitly stated that the servants (kul) had withdrawn their allegiance (kat-i ris¸te-yi tabiyyet) from Selim III and paid homage (biat) to Mustafa IV. This may be a verbal formulation of the Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye designed to legitimate the rule of the new sultan, but it is still important. Of course, a single document does not entitle us to make bold generalizations; yet, it is still important in terms of suggesting how in practice biat was interpreted by the centre, and to some extent by the rebels.

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It would be wrong to think that people in the early nineteenth century considered sultanic authority to be monolithic. There were extremists who thought that rebelling against the quasi-sacred sultan was tantamount to becoming an infidel – for instance, a spy report labelled Kavalalı Mehmed Ali Pasha an infidel, following the logic that “if somebody rebels against a sultan, he becomes an infidel; he rebels against God too.”40 A similar attitude is displayed in certain anecdotes. During one of his incognito excursions to the city, Mahmud II reportedly came across a woman who cursed the sultan, wishing blindness upon him (go¨zu¨ ko¨r olsun), because of a long queue in front of a bakery. The sword-bearer of the sultan rounded upon her, saying that there was nothing that the padishah could do, since he was not a peasant charged with producing grain for the people, implying that the bread shortage was due to divine providence (Bunu siz Hakk’dan bilin). The author who narrates the incident says that the woman was then struck blind, and that Mahmud II was moved by the misery of his subjects, and sent a certain sum of money both to the bakery and the woman.41 This tale contains the motif of a divinely sanctioned sovereign who is not able to provide the basic staple of the commoners, which was his most important duty, yet still remains above any kind of criticism. Ironically, while it is he who is not able to feed the populace, it is the woman who receives divine punishment for her ignorance of the grace of the sultan. While such examples underline the obligation to obey the divinely sanctioned sovereign, not all people seem to have accepted this kind of reasoning. Following the Alemdar Incident, Mahmud II executed his dethroned brother, Mustafa IV, with the purpose of securing his own rule by remaining sole heir to the throne. The rebels, who had surrounded the palace, demanded the reinstatement of Mustafa, and on hearing of his death, suggested Esma Sultan, the Crimean Khan or the Mevlevi shaik in Konya as rulers instead, remarking that the Ottoman sultans were just “human beings”.42 Such a case does seem to reveal the weakened legitimacy of the Ottoman dynasty.

Selim III and his Imperial Legitimacy How it is possible that even though a sultan had yielded to all the demands of the rebellious crowds, and obeyed all the rules of negotiation, still he could not save his throne or power? Selim III is a

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good case in this respect, since he never dared to oppose the rebels’ demands, and even took pre-emptive action to abolish the Nizam-ı Cedid army, instead of employing them to disperse the rebellion. Why, then, did he lose his throne even after the elimination of the grievances? Why did Selim III’s kul turn so strongly against him, and how did his rule come to inspire such hatred and distrust? Though there is no simple answer to this question, it seems that a profound failure of sultanic legitimacy was what caused the downfall of Selim III, rather than his modernization efforts. The Selimian reforms were just one of the factors (admittedly not the least important) that undermined his royal authority in the eyes of the public. He himself may have been no worse than his predecessors, but the rapid social and political changes which marked his period on the throne, as well as the specific failures of his rule, triggered a catastrophic erosion of his legitimacy. During the rebels’ debates on whether Selim III should be dethroned, Bayburdıˆ Su¨leyman, one of the ringleaders, argued that Selim could rule over them no more, since “[n]ow seeds of enmity have been sown between the Sultan and his kul.”43 The rebel in question was a yamak and belonged to the askeri class, describing himself as a soldier (kul). The loyalty of a soldier to his sovereign is an acquired loyalty, closer to a patron–client relationship than to a slave– master one. The patron– client relationship depends more on benefits, rights and the observing of obligations, and is primarily contractual in nature.44 It seems that Bayburdıˆ meant that the traditional relationship of loyalty and submission between the sultan and his servants had given way to mutual distrust, as well as to a conflict of interests which worked against the traditional relationship. This comment by Bayburdıˆ also suggests that the members of the traditional corps thought of their relationship with the imperial authority in a contractual manner, as one of allegiances and benefits (hizmet ve nimet).45 This is contrary to the idealized representation of the relationship between a sultan and his military servants, which, in official discourse, is a one-sided “love” relationship in which the sultan is the “uninterested beloved”, while the servants are “self-sacrificing lovers”. Affection and loyalty is expected of them regardless of what the sultan may do, with any favour radiating from him perceived as a grace rather than an act of justice.46 Apparently, the 1807 insurgents saw the relation between the sultan and themselves as rather different, notably as being more contractual and mutualist.

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Hakan Karateke argues that the Ottoman Empire, like many other dynastic states, embodied “habitual legitimation”, where obedience to a sovereign or dynasty had become a generational habit. Yet, the people still had to be convinced about the legitimacy of a sovereign, especially during times of crisis and warfare.47 Indeed, dynastic and Islamic sources of legitimation did not automatically provide unlimited legitimacy to a newcomer on the throne. Each sultan had to renew his legitimacy and develop his own specific form for himself, his servants and his subjects. Legitimation is a self-referential or self-justifying act on the part of a ruler; it is not something frozen, a unilinear imposed ideology, but rather a negotiated and more meaningful discourse in which both rulers and subjects participate.48 As Weber noted, the actions of a ruler were not enough to make a sovereign legitimate. This also required the subjects’ acknowledgement of the ruler’s right to rule, and a willingness on their part to obey rather than challenge his authority.49 Selim’s loss of legitimacy was gradual, and proceeded in close step with the late eighteenth and early nineteenth-century socio-economic and international crises. Providing internal order and security, feeding the populace, remaining accessible by means of petitions, redressing grievances, dispensing justice, preventing abuses by the central and provincial elites, and, finally, observing ancient customs and traditions were the key factors for the legitimation of a sultan.50 The most important duties of a Muslim ruler were to observe and enforce sharia, administer the state and, most importantly, to provide for justice in his domains.51 Justice was one of the most important princely virtues, and Selim III is never praised as a just ruler.52 Another important task for a sultan was to protect the Muslim domains (daru¨’l-Islam) and to be victorious against the infidels. Above all, the extreme importance attached to the ideal of a victorious, world-conquering sultan evoked a powerful backlash at this time of defeats and territorial losses, calling into question first the sultan’s power, and then the legitimacy of the dynasty.53 Initially, Selim III tried to position himself as a warrior sultan destined to save his fragmenting empire; subsequently, he was forced to content himself with being the supreme head of the bureaucracy. Yet, in neither of these roles was he successful, and he remained unable to satisfy the expectations of his public.54 No exact dates can be given for the deterioration of his legitimacy, but the process can perhaps be traced from the invasion of Egypt by the

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“infidel” French in 1798 and the subsequent alliance with the Russians and the British against the French, via the Wahhabi sacking of the Holy Lands in 1803 and the consequent prevention of the haj, to the military defeats at the hands of the Russians (1806– 7), the British fleet anchoring off the shores of Princes’ Islands (1807), the sultan’s apparent inability to solve the empire’s pressing economic problems, his failure to establish stability in external and internal affairs, and finally his failure to produce an offspring. Another pillar of the Ottoman legitimation mechanism concerned the positioning of the rulers as the “servants of the Holy Lands”. In this respect, the loss of Mecca and Medina to a “heretical” sect and the disruption of the pilgrimage were particularly severe blows to his status. On the whole, however, it was the Edirne Incident (1806) which seems to have had the greatest impact on public opinion, leading to widespread popular resentment towards his rule. The blow to his legitimacy was so severe that, according to Asım, the sultan’s name was not mentioned in the mosques of the Rumelian towns during Friday prayers – a potent symbol of the rejection of his rule. The rebels even wanted to march on the capital.55 During the course of the May uprising, the insurgents asserted that they no longer trusted Selim III, since he had not kept his earlier promise to abolish the Nizam-ı Cedid.56 Indeed, the process of the deposition of the sultan was really unleashed after the question began to be asked: “Can we henceforth really rely on this person as our sultan?”57 The answer was negative. This recalls Barker’s argument that it is rulers, rather than regimes, which need to be legitimized. When confidence is lost, the subjects withdraw their allegiance from the representative of the regime, but rarely from the regime itself.58 Some time before his accession to the throne, Selim III had been warned by a follower/servant to take utmost care not to alienate his subjects, since it was crucial for a ruler to have the consent of the population for his policies. The most important thing for a ruler was to behave in accordance with and to take into consideration the mood and sensibilities of his own subjects. Otherwise, he would lose his throne.59 Selim III was unable to follow this advice. Far from confidence, it was mutual fear and talk of conspiracy that shaped his relations with most segments of society, particularly the military groups. According to a contemporary observer, a sovereign was to be omnipotent, charismatic and able to use coercive power to punish or threaten punishment; yet,

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Selim lacked this ability to enforce siyaset. A weak ruler would not bring order to his state and society, and injustice would prevail in the imperial domains. This observer singles out the sultan for having been insufficiently despotic or powerful in his dealings with his subjects and administrators. Selim III had undermined the authority of the state and the public had ceased to fear him; meanwhile, brazen state servants considered the weakened imperial authority as an opportunity to oppress the people.60 As we have already remarked, it would be wrong to focus solely on Selim III’s character and charisma without taking heed of the context. The crisis of legitimacy was not unique to the Ottoman Empire. As Bayly notes, rulers around the world were facing crises, similar to the Ottoman uprisings of the early nineteenth century, characterized by financial and military difficulties and a rise in revivalist movements.61

On the Identity of the Rebels Catching this man, who was in the wine bar at the basement and under disguise with an Ahmediyye turban on his head and olive drab-colored, worn-out galleon sailor’s baggy pants (s¸alvar) on his legs, they took him out, barefooted and bareheaded, with his head busted open and bloodied up. In the afternoon of the very same day they brought him to the square, and within the great gate tore him into thousands of pieces together with his chief military bandsman, then hanging their swords upon the sky. Bursting with rage and grudge, they licked the blood on their swords and blades. There were countless others who, unable to batter and wound him due to overcrowding, cried “O brother, please let me lick a drop of blood on your sword.” Furthermore, some others who, with greatest difficulty, were able to obtain a few dirhems of his wicked flesh, even plucked his flesh with their mouths like hounds pulling at goatskin stuffed with cheese. What is more, just then, I myself, along with many of those present at the Meat Square, even eyewitnessed that one of the warriors dug a piece of oak into his buttocks and made its edge turn ghastly yellow due to the color of faeces.62

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This is a vivid description of the murder of Ibrahim Nesim Efendi, the ex-sadaret kethu¨da, during the May uprising. The hatred is evident – hatred both of him, as an individual, and of the ruling elite which he symbolized. Neither the audience nor the perpetrators of the lynching and dismemberment of Ibrahim Nesim Efendi, however, are specified by the author. The impression is of general confusion, amid which the murder was carried out by the entire crowd. Gustave Le Bon classes rebellious crowds as either homogeneous (crowds consisting of political and religious sects, military and working castes, and social classes) or heterogeneous (anonymous crowds composed of different social groups).63 In this case, it was a heterogeneous crowd consisting of Istanbul-based military corps – namely the yamaks, janissaries, armourers and artillerymen – as well as some urbanites. The soldiers were the most active, acting as ringleaders or activists throughout the rebellion and serving as the spokesmen of the urban masses and the carriers of their voice.64 Yet, on the whole, the rebellious crowd seems to have been heterogeneous. In 1807, the anonymous crowd in our case included some late-arriving participants, as well as bystanders. The former (latecomers) were mainly sympathizers who rushed to the square in search of support, adventure or plunder. These groups belonged mainly to the urban poor and were the most difficult group to keep under control. The bystanders included both sympathizers and curious Istanbulites. Military groups are well organized and have a strong sense of solidarity; thus, they are quicker to mobilize than “lowsolidarity” groups.65 Specifically, they are better able to overcome collective action problems and indeed to facilitate greater recruitment. Given that the distinction between the military classes and the civilians had become blurred in the period in question, it is risky to insist on a clear-cut distinction between the military and civilian groups in general; but this very blurring may have contributed to the speed and scale of mobilization among the general public. The paramilitary and semi-civilian groups are a good starting point for probing into the identities of the 1807 participants. Actually, it was these groups which provided the ringleaders throughout the uprising. The term yamaks refers to locally recruited garrison troops, and in the eighteenth century they were more commonly employed as auxiliaries. In our case, the yamaks were stationed in various forts on either side of

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the Bosporus and there is scanty evidence on their socio-economic identity. It seems that, at least during the early nineteenth-century, they were mostly from the southern Caucasus (especially from Ahıska/ Akhaltshike), and the Black Sea and Marmara regions. It is clear that this group was fed by migrations to Istanbul, due to the reasons we have discussed in previous chapters. The migrants from Ahıska also bring into light another issue that we have so far not touched upon: migration due to territorial losses. The Russian advance in the southern Caucasus and the annexation of the Georgian kingdom in 1801, followed by attacks on Ahıska (especially in 1807), caused waves of migrations until its capture in 1828 by the Russians. Therefore, the younger of these migrants must have sheltered in the capital and become soldiers in the fortresses. Whatever their causes for migration were, it is clear that they were not integrated into urban society in the capital. It seems that most of them were extremely poor, their salaries were very low and that some of them were even unable to cover the burial expenses of deceased friends. Upon the initiative of Selim III, a cash waqf was founded in 1793–4 for this purpose. Like the fortresses they were stationed in, they lived in the outskirts of Ottoman society and were considered to be untrustworthy, troublesome, tough and mostly aggressive.66 They were a marginal group to the Istanbulites and resentful of the policies of the centre, which endangered their identity and threatened the existence of the janissary army they associated themselves with. Another group that participated in the uprising is the janissaries. Yet, the crucial issue is the undue emphasis placed upon the janissaries in Ottoman uprisings in general and in the May upheaval in particular. The role of the janissaries is clearly overemphasized in the available literature, and they were used as a generic instigator for almost all uprisings from the seventeenth to the mid-nineteenth century. A survey of the revolutionaries and the military groups involved, however, suggests that other military groups were also active and that the revolutionary cadres were not exclusively constituted by janissaries. The cavalrymen (sipahis), for instance, were as active as the janissary dissidents of the seventeenth century. Cavalry troops were the independent instigators of two uprisings (1623, 1629), joint instigators (with the acemis) in 1648, and acted in unison with the janissaries in 1622 and 1655. The janissaries did not join the rebellions of 1623 and 1632, and in that of 1632 they supported the Porte, sometimes even clashing with the

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cavalrymen. The janissaries emerged victorious in their rivalry with the cavalrymen in 1648, and the rulers lost further chances to play these groups off against each other.67 Precisely due to that rivalry, the janissaries and the cavalrymen no longer acted jointly. Apart from the joint rebellions (1622, 1655), the janissaries were the independent instigators of those in 1656 and 1687. In the eighteenth and early nineteenth-century rebellions, the janissaries were still instrumental and present in most incidents, but they were usually latecomers, as in 1703, 1730 and 1807. In the dissent of 1740, the janissaries declared their loyalty to the sultan and did not become involved in the rebellion. The janissaries were the instigators of the 1808 Alemdar Incident, as well as that of 1826. The revolutionary cadres were usually recruited from non-janissary military groups (1730, 1807), such as the armourers (1703) or the yamaks (1807). The most outstanding example in terms of the participation of the military corps in a rebellion is that of 1703. Apart from the janissaries, it also attracted the participation of the armourers, imperial gardeners, cavalrymen, artillerymen, wagoners and cannon-wagon carriers (top arabacı). Unrest broke out among the armourers due to arrears in their wages, but there was no such problem for the rest.68 Apart from the armourers, also active during 1807, it was the participation of the artillerymen, rather than the janissaries or other military groups, that was decisive in the May uprising, and which most alarmed the Porte. The janissaries of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century were not in fact a homogeneous body, but rather an amalgam of soldiers of different income groups and backgrounds. A recent study of wealth distributions in Ottoman cities reveals a tendency among the military groups towards polarization in terms of wealth.69 It appears that the lower ranks of the military class formed an important component of the labour force of Istanbul at the turn of the nineteenth century. While the junior ranks constituted the economic middle class, making them more vulnerable to the policies of the centre, the senior officers were engaged in more lucrative activities. For instance, some of them travelled in south Serbia, Bosnia and Herzegovina and obligated the peasants to accept loans, while they also acquired numerous peasant property leases in the Balkans.70 They counted among them very wealthy figures, such as Kazgancı Mustafa Agha, the trustee (mu¨tevelli) of the 25th Janissary regiment who was involved in the coppersmith

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business and was later appointed as the director of the Keban imperial mines. Though not “pure” janissaries, the case of the yamaks of the Bosporus is also instructive for our understanding of the economic conditions of the military groups in the capital. Some of them “extracted root-woods and burnt coal in the pasturage of the Fener village”, while most of them were involved in pottery and jar-making. Some of the yamaks did not leave enough money to cover their burial expenses. Some worked as seasonal labourers in the vineyards, while other militarymen earned their livelihoods as enfranchised artisans or itinerants.71 It seems that the lower ranks of the janissaries were more activist in comparison to their commanders. They generally joined with the rebels, with the junior ranks either supporting or being sympathetic to the rebellious cause and the higher ranks acting mostly as state-aligned elites. For instance, in 1622 the janissary agha was wounded, while in 1632, 1703 and 1808 high-ranking janissaries were murdered by the rebels due to their reluctance to lend them their support. In 1703, highranking janissaries preferred to stay out of the revolt, while some commanders seem to have worked against it.72 Meanwhile, the junior rank-and-file officers often played a major role in the uprisings. In 1651 and 1688, for instance, the lower ranks of the janissary corps joined the urbanites, guildsmen, some seyyids, ulema and statesmen to fight against their commanders, i.e. the janissary officers.73 Apart from the members of the military corps, some civilian elements also joined the uprisings. The civilians can be categorized under three headings: men of religion, guildsmen and residents of the city. The first group is most frequently mentioned as a collaborator with the rebels, and their frequent appearance in connection with these uprisings has led students of Ottoman history to posit a long-standing ulema– janissary coalition.74 With the introduction of Western ideas in some sections of society, the ulema and janissaries are thought to have been recruited to the anti-Westernization forces in 1730 and 1807. As in the case of the military groups, the lower ranks of the religious groups evidently were relatively quick to join the dissidents, with the higher ranks being more conservative.75 The available literature indicates that lowranking ulema joined the revolutionaries of 1622, while the rebellious guildsmen of 1688 were helped by religious figures (seyyids, suhtes), with the exception of the established religious bureaucracy.76 In 1703, too, there is strong indication of support by the lower ulema for the rebellious

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cadres. In this incident, the seyyids and some medrese students were also active participants in the rebellion.77 There is no mention of the participation of seyyids or suhtes in the May 1807 uprising, an astonishing fact in an uprising presented as being a reaction to the modernization/ Westernization reforms of Selim III. The rest of the civilian participants were usually recruited from the established or enfranchised artisans or guildsmen of the city. In the cases of 1651, 1656 and 1688, the initiative came from the guildsmen who acted independently, while at other times they collaborated with the military groups. The rebellion of 1651 is credited as being the first major guildsmen uprising, presaging future involvements by this group;78 it was triggered by excessive levies on the marketplace, imposed primarily to finance the Cretan campaign.79 Guildsmen were also present in the turmoil of 1622.80 Artisans and merchants of Ottoman Cairo seem to have been less active in the popular uprisings of the eighteenth century.81 The uprisings of 1703 and 1730 incorporated wider segments of the civilian population, including some craftsmen and guildsmen of the city, but in the incident of 1731 they paid greater allegiance to the reigning sultan. Indeed, collaboration between the established artisans and the rebels (i.e. military groups) seems to have ended abruptly following the 1730 rebellion. Before 1730, the artisans (petty bourgeoisie) and merchants were among the opponents of the policies of Mahmud I, but the post-uprising instability and disorder caused them to shift their allegiance to the sultan in 1731.82 In the May uprising, the participation of the established craftsmen is almost non-existent compared to cases from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Indeed, no support from this group is mentioned in the incidents either of 1807 or 1808, and they finally came to collaborate with the Porte, something which would also be instrumental in the destruction of the janissaries in 1826. This change in allegiance was probably due to the developments of the post-1730 era, in which collaboration between the established artisans of Istanbul and the rebels ended rather abruptly. The excesses of the rebels and the frequent plundering during the 1730 uprising evidently played a role in the alienation of society from the rebels.83 The memory of 1730 was still alive among the populace early in the new century. Indeed, the Istanbulites were very frightened by the outburst of the May uprising, thinking that it would follow the

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same course as 1730.84 It was clearly in order not to alienate the urbanites further that the rebels of 1807 took the utmost care to prevent plunder by the rebellious crowd. During the 1808 Alemdar Incident, the revolutionaries’ great concern to win over the public had the same root.85 The presence of the rank-and-file soldiers allowed both for more disciplined action during the rebellion and more access to essential military resources. Keeping order and preventing pillage remained one of the rebellious cadres’ major concerns. The military hierarchy was preserved to a certain extent during May 1807 precisely in order to enforce this. In view of the continuous flow of membership between civilians and military forces, and especially from and to the janissary corps, it is not surprising to find a transfer of habits and attitudes from one to the other, which can be regarded as an inherited pattern of actions.86 More effective control of the military corps meant more recruitment into the revolutionary cadres not only from militias but from laymen too. In 1807, the third group of participants was the residents of the city, who can be labelled as bystanders. Rather than being active and willing to pay the costs of a potential failed challenge, this group preferred to act the part of free-rider. Apart from vague references in some contemporary narratives, this group remains completely anonymous. The only group identifiable within the crowd are the immigrants from Bolu, who egregiously lynched a certain figure on the pretext that he was steward to Hacı Ahmedog˘lu, the magnate of Bolu (p. 66). The attitude of the remaining bystanders is ambiguous. It is highly probable that individuals with lower thresholds to taking action joined the uprising at some stage, while the rest preferred to remain inactive. With the exception of the curious and adventurous, they seemed initially to have been afraid of the disturbances, and most likely withheld their support until it was clear that the rebel company was going to be victorious. Particularly after the joining of the artillerymen, “porters, Albanians, youngsters, vagrants and riff-raff” ¨ sku¨dar to the Meat Square;87 the rest of the rushed from Galata and U city went to the square to witness this extraordinary incident. The sight of a group challenging the invincible power of the state was attractive to commoners, even if they were indifferent to the rebellious cause. Such people remained spectators in the Meat Square, as if at a “promenade in Kag˘ıdhane”.88 The impression is that the only

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difference between an uprising and a festival was the spectacles which would unfold in the meeting place.89 Consequently, the square became crowded not only with men, but also with women, children and prostitutes. Itinerant traders were also present, never willing to lose an opportunity to sell their products.90

Aims and Targets of the Rebels Reviewing a variety of cases of disorder in seventeenth-century France, Beik notes that “the most obvious indicator of a crowd’s intentions was its choice of targets.”91 As exemplified by the aforementioned murder of Ibrahim Nesim Efendi, the crowd during the May rebellion was clearly animated by a profound hatred of the ruling elite and its courtiers. Following the gathering at the Meat Square, the centre of the uprising, the rebels prepared an execution list and demanded that the Porte deliver the dignitaries listed therein (see list on p. 35). With only three exceptions, these people were captured, dragged to the square and lynched by the crowd. The selective nature of these murders runs strongly counter to any effort to portray the rebels as bloodthirsty people randomly killing the innocent.92 A conventional narrative of the May uprising assumes the existence of a determinate reformist group locked in hostilities with anti-reformist factions, with the rivalry simultaneously played out among the elites and the lower classes. Yet, reprisals against the Nizam-ı Cedid reforms were not the only concern evident in the composition of the execution list. Although most of the names on the list were indeed generally associated with reform, only Elhac Ibrahim Res¸id Efendi was entrusted with duties directly connected with the Nizam-ı Cedid programme. Indeed, one contemporary source claims that he was included in the execution list exactly for that reason.93 Apart from Elhac Ibrahim Efendi, the victims’ connections to the Nizam-ı Cedid are more indirect or unclear. Bostancıbas¸ı Hasan S¸akir, for instance, is said to have been executed due to his promise to make the janissaries wear hats, though no reliable evidence proves the claim.94 Sources are divided as to the role of Yusuf Agha. According to Shaw, he was neutral towards reform, though Cevdet Pasha lists him as among its advocates.95 In one copy of the note (yafte) attached to the corpse of Yusuf Agha, he is indeed accused of implementing the programme.96 Another source asserts that he was a

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figure open to “improvements” and, encouraged by the Queen Mother, proposed the establishment of new troops that would oppose the janissaries. Thereafter, the source continues, Selim III appointed him as the president of the Imperial Council.97 A more common accusation levelled at the condemned, however, seems to be their responsibility for the death of innocents during the Edirne Incident of 1806.98 Interestingly enough, some of those murdered during the course of the uprising were not employed in any capacity in posts connected to the Nizam-ı Cedid. Conversely, two directors of the I˙rad-ı Cedid not only survived the rebellion but continued their careers under Mustafa IV.99 Mustafa Res¸id Efendi and Ahmed Bey had been employed as the directors of the I˙rad-ı Cedid, with the latter still holding this position at the time of the rebellion. Significantly, Mustafa Res¸id was entrusted with new duties even before the rebellion had come to an end. The ringleaders of the uprising sent him to open the kapan (grain) and distribute flour to the bakeries; on 30 May he was appointed as tersane emini (director of the naval arsenal), and he was favoured by the janissaries as a candidate for this directorship. Mustafa IV does not seem to have been hostile to him either. On the contrary, evidence suggests that he trusted him so much as to suggest that he was suitable for the post of sultan kethu¨da (probably meaning steward to the Queen Mother). Ahmed Bey, the I˙rad-ı Cedid defterdar, was captured and then released by the janissaries during the course of the uprising. One would expect that such a figure, though saved from execution, would either be exiled or demoted. In fact, Mustafa IV later appointed him as nu¨zu¨l emini (commissary officer) of the Rumelian side of the Straits, though he was unable to perform the associated duties due to poor health. Reaction to Nizam-ı Cedid reforms, therefore, does not fully explain why certain statesmen became the targets of the revolutionaries. A more plausible explanation is related to the alienation of the commoners and military corps from the ruling elite, and in this process the Nizam-ı Cedid was only one factor. The Selimian new elite is usually perceived as having close relations with “infidels”, and as being oppressive, arrogant and superstitious. Asım even criticizes them for considering the Qur’an and sunnah as the products of reason.100 According to him, the elites attached great importance to renovation (teceddu¨d) and followed the “politika-yı Efrenciye”, imitating Western

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models in politics, attitudes, residences and modes of dress. Indeed, one foreign source reports that during the murder of Mahmud Raif Efendi one of the rebels exclaimed: “‘In the name of God and through God, I do not kill a Musulman, but Mahmud the Englishman’ and immediately fired at his feet.”101 Unfortunately, the scanty evidence available to us is not sufficient to hear the voices of the rebellious crowd; at best, we can discern that their grievances reflected economic hardships which can be traced to the late eighteenth-century crisis. For instance, while Ibrahim Efendi was being dragged to the square, he was mocked by people who cried “Stand up, Hacı Ibrahim Efendi is passing”; they then gave him a piece of paper, saying “I beg you Sire! Please display your grace and take my petition into consideration.” Both instances can be taken as an allusion to the inaccessibility of the ruling elite. The rebels accompanying Ibrahim Efendi cut off one of his fingers, saying “with this finger of his, he had destroyed the homes of the poor”, and threw it into the janissary cauldron.102 Following his death, an onlooker cut out his liver, saying that “he destroyed my family and made my liver suffer anguish. So I shall bake and eat his liver!”103 Ibrahim Nesim Efendi is also criticized for ruining the poor and harming innocent people with the help of his servants. One author rejoices, depicting his brutal death as a consequence of the curses which the poor had heaped upon him; for this author, the rebels’ victims were meeting divine punishment.104 The murdered officials were also accused of neglecting state affairs and indulging in luxuries of dress and retinue.105 Socio-economic oppression from above had fostered hatred towards the ruling elite. Across the world, the latter part of the eighteenth century is one of the two most “inegalitarian eras” of the early modern period, marked also by the rise of collective violence and political turmoil.106 Increased economic inequality became observable at each layer of society, in peasants and middle-class groups as well as magnates, leading not only to rising social mobility but also social discontent.107 Some recent studies on wealth inequalities in the Ottoman Empire suggest that it fits into the same pattern.108 Overall, standards of living seem to have lagged behind those of earlier centuries. Around 1800, the urban wages were 10 to 20 per cent lower than the wages of the 1500s.109 Food prices rose fourfold between 1808 and 1844, and tenfold from 1789 to 1844;110 in a similar period, 1795– 6, France also suffered from

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hyperinflation.111 This inflation fell most heavily on the segments of society with a limited income, a fact acknowledged by the sultan himself. In a decree, he notes angrily that the prices of basic goods had reached a level at which it was impossible for commoners to subsist. The merchants were hoarding their goods – even during Ramadan – to sell at much higher prices later.112 Only a short time before the uprising, the Istanbulites were under great strain: inflation had created a black market in grain, honey, oil and wood, using as a pretext the Nizam-ı Cedid which had further increased the prices.113 Based on a detailed analysis of probate estates, Hu¨lya Canbakal suggests that the economic burden was not shared equally, and that in Ayıntab, in the period 1780– 1800, the burden fell particularly on the janissaries and sadat. The introduction of debased coinage into the market created further inflation, which hit the purchasing power of many low-income groups.114 Suraiya Faroqhi makes a comparison between the accounts of Ubeydullah Kus¸maˆnıˆ and Lokmacı Matrus¸ Ebubekir Efendi, remarking that even the alternative contemporary historians do not deal with the social and economic problems of the period, but focus almost exclusively on the Nizam-ı Cedid – and this despite the fact that the economic problems of the period are well known. She goes on to say that “at first glance Ebubekir’s emphasis on well-deserved punishment meted out to worthless officials seems to have contradicted my emphasis on food crisis and low real wages.”115 She then argues, however, that the ruling elite were considered scapegoats at a time of general economic crisis, and that the crowd was seeking revenge for the ruling elite’s failure to solve their problems.116 Indeed, as many early modern examples indicate, in times of crisis the populace scapegoated the individuals whom they held guilty for their suffering, and whose actions were directly related to their economic grievances.117 As for Faroqhi’s assertion, it is true that economic inequalities are not always spelled out in the Ottoman chronicles; yet, there remains some scanty evidence of them. Caˆbıˆ, for instance, provides some striking examples. In order to explain the resentment towards the ruling elite, the author says that a janissary, promoted as chief master of the barracks (odabas¸ı), automatically incurred a debt of 250 akces to pay his fee (caize). Yet, a janissary’s 25 akces salary was not sufficient for the basic needs of livelihood, let alone paying his debts. Therefore, the author notes, they resorted to other occupations such as itinerant jobs (tablekarlık) or selling beverages like

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boza or salep.118 To capture the attention of his readers, Caˆbıˆ compares this economic situation with that of the members of the Selimian new elite. While a janissary was not able to buy a house, rent a room or find the means to execute repairs, the Queen Mother’s Steward Yusuf Agha had a huge and magnificent residence built in I˙stinye, and, finding it not to his taste, had it demolished. Much the same held true for Ibrahim Nesim Efendi. He owned more than 60 horses, yet considered his stables so small that he would not loan or give a horse to any person.119 From the probate estate of Yusuf Agha, who was among the richest of the ruling elite, there emerged 60,000 purses of cash. Mabeynci Ahmed, Sırkatibi Ahmed and Ebubekir Bey, the director of the mint, were also famously rich. The extravagant expenses of the ruling elite seem to have elicited the animosity of the public, especially in 1730 and 1807, which is suggestive of a kind of “class” conflict further aggravated by nepotism. Alongside increased awareness of social problems, inequality also boosts the probability of the rise of social movements. Caˆbıˆ argues that the rebels referred to socio-economic inequalities as a way of convincing the shaikh al-Islam to issue a fatwa for the punishment of the state functionaries they held responsible.120 In an exchange, previously mentioned, between the shaikh al-Islam and an insurgent regarding the low quality of bread (p. 56), the insurgent blames the shaikh al-Islam and the ulema for not protecting the rights of the poor, and instead issuing fatwas in compliance with the rulers’ instructions, “because they are the efendis.” He concludes by exclaiming that the “poor people were dying.”121 There are some hints in the chronicles that the masses considered the May actions to be a justified revolt, since the corrupt statesmen were oppressing the poor and attacking the privileges of groups such as the janissaries. It would have been seen as the duty of the rebels (or military groups) to correct this mistake and restore the order, and the latter, thus, considered themselves to be representatives of the commoners, protecting them from oppression from above.122 Indeed, a foreign observer claimed that the janissary army was the heart of the Ottoman people and the nationalmiliz.123 On one occasion, Kabakc ı Mustafa took out a watch and said that “[o]ur sultan is like this watch. Once its mainspring turned properly; but dirt and grit from outside have penetrated in, thus obstructing its function.” According to Cevdet Pasha, Kabakc ı may have been

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implying that it was not the sultan but rather his statesmen who were guilty, and that the purpose of the rebels was to eliminate them – the dirt and grit in a well-crafted mechanism. According to this view, the rebels were trying to mend the system rather than overturn it.124 The theatre of rebellion is lit not only by the hatred stemming from inequality, but also by competing religious discourses. Abu-Manneh offers an alternative model for the May uprising in which the struggle was not between reformists and conservatives, but was rather a socioreligious conflict between the upholders of Islamic orthodoxy and heteredoxy. The plausibility of this claim rests on the fact that, besides the factor of the Nizam-ı Cedid reforms curbing the interests of the traditional military forces, the conflict was intensified by rivalry between the Bektashis and the Naqshbandıˆ-Mujaddidıˆs, representing the spiritual guidance of the janissaries and the reformists respectively. It, therefore, turned into a conflict between the higher echelons of society who had Naqshbandıˆ affiliations, and the lower classes who were Bektashi. For Abu-Manneh, the main targets of the rebels were the disciples of shaikh Mehmed Emin Efendi (pp. 141 – 2), and indeed nine of them were killed during the course of the uprising and many of the shaikhs later banished. According to Abu-Manneh this fact also explains why the uprising continued after the abolition of the Nizam-ı Cedid army: the rebellion did not end, because the ultimate goal of the Bektashis was the elimination of the Mujaddıˆdıˆ-affiliated Selimian elite.125 The Naqshbandıˆ-Mujaddidıˆ shaikhs and their disciples had a negative image. They were accused of irrationality, having power over the sultan, and engaging in occult practices. On the Thursday of the rebellion, the rebels brought a strange object to shaikh al-Islam Ataullah Efendi at the Square, saying that it was a Christian object. The rebels had found it around the neck of Ibrahim Nesim Efendi. It was a pure gold charm (tılsım) in the shape of scissors (mıkras) with the names “Selim” and “Ibrahim” carved over the two wings, together with other “magical” words and figures. Ataullah Efendi took great pains to convince the rebels that it was not a cross.126 The discovery of such strange objects was the cause of gossip during the rebellion. Interestingly, there were also rumours of occult practices among some of the Selimian elite. Following the murder of Yusuf Agha, it is said that three chests were

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discovered among his possessions: one contained a copper ball engraved with the Arabic letter vav; another was full of grave sand; and there was a copper box in which a picture of a girl was placed. It was believed that Yusuf Agha had murdered a fourteen-year-old girl, burned her corpse, and so cast a charm on Selim III. Moreover, Emin Efendi had given out talismans for protection against blades (mutalsam kılıc kesmez nu¨shası) and bullets (kurs¸un gecmez vefki), which were found on some of the victims.127 Similar accusations were directed towards shaikh Selami Efendi, another Naqshbandıˆ shaikh. According to Ebubekir Efendi, it was shaikh Selami Efendi who had prepared the idols (heyakil) found on Ibrahim Kethu¨da after his murder.128 The fact that such rumours were circulating illustrates the emotional state of the populace, the alienation of the commoners from the ruling elite, and the deep mistrust of the Naqshbandıˆ shaikhs. Conversely, the Naqshbandıˆ-Mujaddidıˆs’ view of the commoners and the military was not positive either. The lower classes, especially the janissaries and Bektashi-affiliates, were considered to be ignorant marginals. According to the Naqshbandıˆ-Mujaddidıˆs, the ignorant masses had to be educated and converted to the right belief. Especially during times of crisis, the principle of emr-i maruf nehy-i ani’l-mu¨nkir (commanding right and forbidding wrong) seems to have been accentuated, along with ideas of social engineering. Birgivıˆ Mehmed Efendi (d. 1572) and his followers, with imperial support, considered the duty of forbidding wrong as tantamount to holy war and were even from time to time involved in armed clashes with their opponents. Ubeydullah Kus¸maˆnıˆ, for instance, clearly says that he was also motivated by the principle of emr-i maruf and his several sermons at the mosques on this theme greatly annoyed the janissaries.129 Siding with the Ottoman ruling elite, Kus¸maˆnıˆ averred that the janissaries were ignorant people affiliated with heteredox Bektashi beliefs, who intermingled with the ignorant commoners and were unconcerned about the welfare of the Empire. Yet, the principle of correcting mistakes seems to have become so firmly connected with the bureaucratized ulema that even Kus¸maˆnıˆ’s friends were surprised at his zeal in this respect, reminding him that he was a simple dervish rather than a member of the ruling elite. In reply, Kus¸maˆnıˆ remarked that the duty of commanding right and forbidding wrong fell upon all believers and, again like the Kadızadelis, he equated this principle with holy

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war.130 Contrary to the Kadızadelis, however, he was concerned with correcting the mistakes of the janissaries, rather than those of the mystical religious orders. This concern is also evident in the efforts of the centre (especially by Selim III and Mahmud II), probably with the encouragement of the Naqshbandıˆs, to teach the treatise Birgivıˆ Risale to the imperial corps.131 This initiative did not please the janissaries, and they seem to have been annoyed that the Porte should have been so concerned with teaching them the right religion, as if they were infidels. Esad Efendi gives a very interesting early example in this regard. According to this author, the rebels of 1703 – whom he refers to as Yezidıˆs – had criticized Feyzullah Efendi for dispatching copies of the Birgivıˆ Risale to their barracks. When Feyzullah asked whether it was a sin (ku¨fr) to send them the Risale, the rebels replied that sending it implied that the janissaries did not know Islam.132 S¸akul provides a very reasonable explanation for the negative perceptions on both sides. According to the author, as exemplified in the treatise of Kus¸maˆnıˆ, the ideal society and absolute state model in the minds of the Naqshbandıˆ order did not match the expectations of society and actually it further alienated them.133 If we follow his logic, the top-down social engineering on the part of the Naqshandıˆs – and the new ruling elite – was not well-received by the commoners. With the knowledge available to us we must be cautious about asserting that there was a direct connection between these facts and the May uprising, but it is clear that the highly elitist nature of the Naqshbandıˆ-Mujaddidıˆ order had increased the alienation between the disciples among the ruling elite and the rest of society. The records of the uprising also contain some clues concerning Abu-Manneh and S¸akul’s proposal that the conflict was essentially one of socio-religious rivalry between the upper and lower layers of society. The first clue is the story of a certain Haydar Baba, belonging to the Rufais/Rıfais of Persia.134 He was in Istanbul during the May uprising, residing at the barracks of the 99th regiment, but later was banished to his home country, dying on the way. The documentary evidence does not contain claims that he incited the janissaries to rebel against the sultan or his elite, yet his presence at the barracks is underscored by the opponents of the janissaries, and presented as legitimizing the destruction of the janissary army and the associated persecution of the Bektashis.135 One should be hesitant about taking these claims on trust; yet, even though

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there is no explicit anti-Mujaddidıˆ mood reflected among the revolutionaries, the janissary ballads of the period do contain some general indications of the Bektashis’ motives during the uprising. For instance, the poet Nigarıˆ expresses his wish that Kabakc ı Mustafa should be in heaven, and says that the janissary army “unfolded the green standards of the invisible world” during the course of the uprising: With the battle cry “Allah Allah”; so marched the soldiery Thus hath ordained the Greatest Majesty Then arrived thither the Three and Seven Saints And so joined too the Forty saints of delivery136 It was thus a holy war ordained by God and sanctioned by Hacı Bektash, the founder of the order. Apart from these clues, there is unfortunately no evidence to establish that the May uprising was a socio-economic struggle between the upper and lower classes. Future studies, however, might offer fascinating results in this regard.

Conclusion Although other groups such as the ulema, guildsmen or urbanites were variously present in the rebellions from the seventeenth to the early nineteenth century, the involvement of one or more military groups remained a constant theme.137 As in most uprisings, that of 1807 saw the rebels being recruited mainly from military groups, while the established craftsmen remained neutral. The seyyids and suhtes and lowerrank ulema are never mentioned, while the role of the high-ranking ulema is more controversial. The backbone of the uprisings was the military groups. As high-solidarity groups with a hierarchical structure, the military units had a better chance to activate the rest of the population and ensure the smooth running of the uprising. They were usually reacting to a feeling of frustration with the policies of the existing sultan and his ministers, as well as socio-economic inequalities. Some clues in the chronicles suggest that the insurgents considered the May rebellion to have been a justified revolt, since the corrupt statesmen were oppressing the poor and attacking the privileges of certain groups, including the janissaries. Under such circumstances, it was the duty of the rebels (or the military groups) to correct this mistake and restore

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the order. They considered themselves as the representatives of the commoners and as their protectors from top-down oppression. Such uprisings also call into question the legitimacy of the sultan, in the case where he is unable to safeguard the conditions for security and piety. The religio-legal discourse in which secular grievances were wrapped reflected the accommodationist and quietist teachings of Sunni Islam. The limitations of the accommodationist Sunni tradition regarding the right to rebel are evident in the May uprising. Thus, we should accept that the Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye is designed to provide official recognition of the rectification of bid‘at; however, we must also note that the same document claims that the rebellion of 1807 was an extraordinary case, and prohibits similar uprisings in future, especially such initiated by the military class. The limited right to rebel does not at all mean that both rulers and subjects in a patrimonial Islamic state were not deeply concerned with legitimacy. On the contrary, the most important component of legitimacy for a ruler, imam, caliph or sultan was that he should be a just ruler.138 It is clear in 1807 that a gap had emerged between the expectations of the populace and the scope of the rule of the sultan. By exactly the same token, there is a discrepancy between the claims made by the Ottoman rulers that they exercised “uncontested sovereignty”, and the practical reality of frequent rebellions and depositions.

CONCLUSION

David Armitage and Sanjay Subrahmanyam, celebrated historians of connected histories, make only brief reference to the Ottoman Empire in their discussion of the world crisis in the Age of Revolutions. Although acknowledging certain internal and external problems which the Empire faced, they nevertheless see it as curiously insulated from the global crisis of the period: “how did the Ottomans as a dynasty and a broad political regime survive the difficult years [. . .] which laid low so many of their contemporary dynasties and ruling dispensations?”1 The authors, indeed, make a special effort to challenge Eurocentric definitions of the Age of Revolutions, and try to broaden our understanding of that period by taking note of regional divergences – notably, they expand it by including not only the democratic political revolutions (the French Revolution of 1789) and secessionist independence revolutions (the American Revolution of 1775–83), but also anti-slavery movements (the Haitian Revolution of 1804), as well as the upsurge of nationalist tendencies. They strive admirably to reveal the heterogeneous nature of the world crisis in this period; yet, they exclude the Ottoman Empire from this picture, treating it as an exceptional case of stability in a period of turmoil. C.A. Bayly, another world historian, argues that the destruction of the janissary army by Mahmud II in 1826 was revolutionary in nature, but makes no allusions to the earlier disorders in the Empire.2 In a rather similar manner, his idea of “converging revolutions” ignores the early nineteenth-century uprisings in the Ottoman Empire, though it makes limited reference to certain economic and political problems as well as some secessionist revolutions, Wahhabism and the Serbian Revolution included.3

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Armitage and Subrahmanyam argue that Ottoman dynastic rule survived into the twentieth century thanks to the flexibility of the Ottoman Empire;4 and it is true that the Empire experienced neither an existential change of regime nor total collapse during the Age of Revolutions. For the Ottomans, in fact, the Age of Revolutions and the late eighteenth-century crisis strengthened their efforts to ensure that the Empire survived. Such a reaction was not uncommon. As Adelman remarks, revolution did not always bring about immediate change in regime, and in some cases it revitalized the idea of empire while in the long run opening the path towards modern state formation within an imperial context.5 Indeed, the late eighteenth-century crisis forced the Porte to strengthen its position through centralization, more state intervention and social engineering, all the while laying plans for the revitalization of the Empire.6 The period of state breakdown due to the May uprising was followed by a period of consolidation of power under Mahmud II, marked by loss of local autonomy, increasing efficiency on the part of the central authorities, and a rise in government and economic regulation. This also fits the world pattern.7 The May uprising was also caused by imperial transformation, albeit indirectly, but it was precisely because of the lessons drawn from the experience of that rebellion that the Empire eventually moved into a phase of rapid centralization, institutionalization, and constitutionalization. It was this, which provided for its survival in later periods, and made possible the rise of a republican regime and nation state in 1923. When did the crisis of the Age of Revolutions – the disintegrative phase of the secular cycles – come to an end for the Ottoman Empire? The answer depends upon the perspective we adopt. From a military, economic and political perspective, it seems never to have ended. Mahmud II was able to establish more effective control, but never solved the deep-rooted problems of the Empire: the fiscal crisis, secessionist agitation and the increasingly urgent Eastern Question. Although he was able to centralize power and modernize the army, by the time of his death the Ottoman armies had been defeated by the forces of governor Kavalalı Mehmed Ali Pasha, first in Konya (1832) and then in Nizip (1839). The financial problems of his reign retained the contours of the disintegrative period. An underfinanced empire, struggling with reforms and embroiled in wars, became the model for subsequent years. As we have observed, following the currency

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debasements of 1789 and 1793, the trade deficit peaked in the 1820s and 1830s due to ongoing wars and the concurrent reforms in various spheres, including experiments with the new military system. The silver currency became stabilized in 1844 and remained unchanged until World War I; indeed, following the 1840s there was a relative improvement in the monetary value of the Ottoman currency.8 The Tanzimat and the Constitutional eras continued the policies of Mahmud II but were unable to solve the Empire’s chronic problems. The first external borrowing started in 1856 and then increased due to wars and loss of population and land. After the declaration of a moratorium in 1876, the Ottoman Public Debt Administration (Duyun-ı Umumiye) was established in 1881, not unrelated to the world economic depression of 1873 – 96.9 The complex domestic and international problems of the period, as well as the Selimian and Mahmudian reforms aimed at overcoming them, had lifted to power a group of reformist bureaucrats, who were striving to ensure the survival of the Empire. This group would grow in strength under the reforms of Mahmud II, and come to dominate during the Tanzimat Era (1839– 76), a period of intense bureaucratic reform and serious efforts at modern state-formation, characterized by professionalization, standardization, growing centralization and codification. In an exchange with Mustafa Res¸id Efendi, an influential bureaucrat under Selim III, Mahmud II asked him how he had managed to survive the May uprising. Mustafa Res¸id replied: “Sir, they left me as a seed to breed servants (kul) that would befit your imperial reign.”10 His brief remark encapsulates the most important legacy of the Selimian era. As exemplified by the case of Mustafa Res¸id Efendi, a new generation of bureaucrats emerged in the late eighteenth century, bringing with them new visions for the survival of the Empire. Stabilizing themselves under the rule of Selim III, with his support they began to colonize the bureaucratic departments which needed to be convinced to adopt the military technology of the Great Powers, in order to defeat the Empire’s enemies with their own weapons. Intellectually, this ruling elite gradually became more open to Western influence or reformist ideas and readier to make concessions to the foreign powers. As Salzmann rightly puts it, the Ottoman bureaucrats shared a “disdain for past practices [and] a determination to build up centralized administrative capacity”, like their counterparts elsewhere in the world.11

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“Pragmatism, flexibility and negotiation enabled the central bureaucracy to co-opt and incorporate into the state the social groups that rebelled against it”, argues S¸evket Pamuk.12 Although the picture is not always so clear as the author maintains, it is true that some politically active groups (the ulema, for instance, and for a while the military class) were either pacified or shunted aside in later periods. Despite the serious setback in May 1807, in subsequent years the new elite was able to reconsolidate its former power, and it forged alliances with Mahmud II at the expense of the military elite and the ulema.13 The new elite now undertook projects of centralization, professionalization and institutionalization, replacing the military and bureaucratic cadres both in the metropole and in the provinces.14 In all this, however, we cannot easily pass over the curious silence on the part of the military elite. The late eighteenth and early nineteenth century was a period of intense warfare for the Empire, which at the same time was wrestling with the problems of military reforms; yet, it was the bureaucracy which undertook the reforms in the military sphere, and there is little evidence that military commanders were even consulted. During the eighteenth century, the bureaucratic cadres emerged as victorious over the military cadres and, thus, the bureaucrats came to dominate the structures of governance at the expense of the military aristocracy. This is what Baki Tezcan characterizes as the demilitarization of the upper classes,15 and it is consistent with the pacification of the warrior class manifest in other early modern absolutist states, such as France.16 As may be recalled, the rebels of 1807 successfully negotiated the publication of the Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye, an official document promulgated by the new Sultan, Mustafa IV, which, apart from its function as an amnesty paper, was intended to block any future involvement by the military classes – and the urban masses – in political affairs. It underscored that, in future, the duty of correcting mistakes would pertain solely to the religious class. In the Deed of Alliance (1808), the surviving Selimian bureaucrats, in alliance with local magnates, gained the ascendancy and denied that right both to the military corps and the religious class. Mahmud II, in his turn, put an end to both the local magnates and the janissary corps in the 1820s, while further limiting the role of the ulema in politics. The military classes would not become involved in politics and revolution for an entire century after the May uprising;17 and the Young Turk Revolution of 1908 has little in common with the early

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modern uprisings – no direct attacks, no summary punishments and no Istanbul-based uprising. This was a real revolution, a constitutional one, and now it was the military elite from the periphery who forced Abdulhamid II (r. 1876–1908) to reinstate the constitutional regime which had been in suspension since 1877. The revolutionaries sought constitutional change and, in response to their protests in Macedonia, the sultan conceded. The army had been modernized by the reforms carried out especially between 1826 and 1908, and was now both more accepting of new regimes and more opposed to patrimonial/ traditional bureaucratic rule. Under these circumstances, it was open to collaboration with certain discontented bureaucrats.18 In a manner reminiscent of the coalition between local magnates and the surviving members of the Selimian elite in 1808 (the Comrades of Ruse), in 1908 the Action Army from Salonika (Hareket Ordusu) marched to the capital, this time to save the regime after the counter-revolution known as the 31 March Incident. It was, thus, only from the early twentieth century onwards that the military elite – now modernized thanks to the latenineteenth-century reforms – became again an important actor within the political dynamic of the Empire. It would carry this reinvigorated stance on into the Republican period. The ulema, on the other hand, never regained its former power. Indeed, the late-Ottoman alim Mustafa Sabri Efendi (d. 1954) lamented that even though it was the duty of the ulema to oppose the wrong perpetrated during the despotism of Abdulhamid II, the duty had in fact been usurped by the military classes and the ruling elite.19 Indeed, the establishment of a centralized and secular Republican regime eliminated the role of the religious classes in formal politics, while the secular bureaucracy and the state-founding military class distanced themselves completely from the Ottoman past while striving to stabilize the regime. The destruction of the janissaries ended not only the tradition of typical early modern uprisings, but also the immense role they played in shaping public opinion. The May uprising had already revealed the importance of public opinion and the rising power of the urban middle and lower classes. The Bektashi and janissary-affiliated groups seem to have been especially important in shaping public opinion in opposition to the projects of social engineering and social disciplining conducted by the Porte in alliance with the Naqshbandıˆ-Mujaddidıˆs. In the absence of mass media, public spaces (especially coffeehouses, bathhouses,

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mosques20 and also military barracks) served as the centres of political debate and as hubs for the exchange of information. The fact that a considerable number of coffeehouses were run by janissaries suggests an explanation for why this group was so influential in shaping public opinion; and it may also explain why the members of the traditional corps came under such attack in the state-sponsored books and pamphlets which defended the policies of the centre, the numbers of which increased immensely after the Edirne Incident. In later periods, mass media would become the most important determinant of public opinion and opposition. In an accommodationist political tradition such as Sunni Islam, in which there is only a very limited and conditional right to rebel, it can be exceedingly difficult to evaluate the course of events through the eyes of the rebels themselves. In studying the May 1807 incident, there is an overwhelming dominance of voices from the ruling elite, whether directly from their own pens, or as transmitted by their supporters. These voices are mainly of bureaucrats who were hostile a priori to any kind of disobedience and had a definite bias against the janissaries and rebels, denouncing them as riff-raff, ignorant bloodthirsty types who were unable to differentiate right from wrong. No doubt, such language reflects the views of learned men as regards the urban masses. The scarce clues available to us, however, do suggest that the rebels were aware of the social, economic and political problems of the age, as well as the necessity of legitimizing their dissent in the eyes of the masses. Strategically, the rebels employed religio-legal vocabulary and religious symbols (green flags, taking oaths), and made good use of religious scholars (invitations to the ulema, obtaining a fatwa) in order to render their cause more acceptable to the public. In this, they were successful. The grievances of the rebels may have been entirely secular but they were formulated in Islamic terms, framed in religious vocabulary, and adorned with symbols that had currency in their specific cultural context. This exercise in legitimation was crucial also for the new sultan, since the legitimacy of his rise was inextricable from that of the rebellion which elevated him. We have reason to believe that the rebels of 1807 considered their acts to have been a justified revolt against corrupt state functionaries, who were oppressing the poor and infringing upon the privileges of established groups, including the janissaries. As far as the rebels were concerned, they were indeed correcting a mistake and

CONCLUSION

199

restoring the order. They considered themselves representatives of the commoners, protecting them from state oppression. In the absence of an institutionalized platform to make their voices heard, rebellious acts were the sole alternative available to them. S¸erif Mardin evaluates the Patrona Halil rebellion of 1730 as an “urban form of a new kind of estrangement of the Ottoman periphery from the center”, which continued in subsequent years.21 In his view, the 1730 rebellion was a symptom of the cultural alienation of the urban masses from the rulers. The peripheral masses frequently came into conflict with the official elite, who embarked upon military and administrative reforms while also becoming alienated from the rest of society due to their affinity for the West. In this struggle, the janissaries emerged as a power group thanks to which the periphery could resist some of the demands from the centre. And so it was in 1807. In terms of conflict between rulers and ruled, May 1807 was clearly a revolt by the “urban” periphery against the centre, and posed an obstacle to the Selimian absolutist, reforming and centralizing policies. The Edirne Incident, the prelude to the May rebellion, provides a clear example of conflict between the centre and the rural periphery, and was a manifest setback to the plans for centralization. The struggle between the Balkan magnates and the centre, exacerbated by the Selimian reforms, was mainly over the control of provincial lands. Once we take into consideration the issue of the alienation of the urban masses from the ruling elite, discussed by Mardin, then May 1807 may also be seen as a manifestation of the decentralizing trend and as an open conflict between the urban periphery and the Porte. The military nature of the rebellion does not mean that it had no social aspects. In fact, as we have observed, the janissaries of the period intermingled with the commoners and formed a paramilitary urban population, which likely had interests and concerns similar to those of the other residents of the city. From this perspective, the rebellion can be seen as a reaction by the urban masses to top-down efforts at social engineering prosecuted by a small ruling elite which desired to transform society in spite of the people – a motivation which would be characteristic of late Ottoman and Turkish modernization, particularly from the reign of Mahmud II onwards. This attitude intensified in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, during which popular demands were often disregarded. The May uprising ended with a victory of the urban periphery, but it was short-

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OTTOMAN EMPIRE

lived. Ironically, it was a strong figure from the rural periphery, Alemdar Mustafa Pasha, who ended this period, and was murdered in turn by the peripheral forces of the capital. The reign of Mahmud II then signified a struggle both against the urban and the rural periphery. He not only undermined the local magnates but also destroyed the backbone of the urban periphery along with the janissary army. The swinging of the pendulum between centre and periphery, however, did not end with the Auspicious Incident. The late Ottoman rulers continued where Mahmud II had left off, incorporating the rural periphery through administrative and fiscal reform. All the reform and modernizing attempts, however, from the late eighteenth century to the dissolution of the Empire, never achieved the primary purpose of providing survival for the Ottomans. In terms of reforming policies, the legacy of the Selimian era continued, namely the conflictual and top-down nature of late Ottoman and Republican modernization. In neither period did modernization depend on consensus, although in later times it was framed through appeal to nationalist ideology proclaiming the need to catch up with the West and strengthen the state. In order to achieve their goals, elites in both periods were ready to ignore individual or social concerns and sacrifice citizens for the benefit of the state, an approach well exemplified by the motto of the Turkish Republican Party (CHP): “for the people in spite of the people”.

GLOSSARY

Akce Ayan Bas¸ defterdar Berat Bidat/Bida Bog˘az nazırı Cebeci Cebehane Cizye Darbhane-i Amire Defter Defterdar Dizdar Esaˆme Ferman Gurus¸ Hububat nezareti Ilmiye I˙rad-ı Cedid defterdarı Janissary ag˘a Kadı Kahya Bey

asper, Ottoman silver coin local magnates, notables chief financial officer, chief treasurer an official diploma or certificate, letter of patent innovations viewed reprehensive in religious law Bosporous superintendent armourer armoury poll tax the imperial mint register of accounts, logbook finance director, head of the finance department commander, warden of a castle, fortress pay tickets imperial order, edict large silver coins grain ministry religious learned establishment, the educational and judicial organization of ulema director of I˙rad-ı Cedid general of the janissary corps judge originally domestic servant of the grand vizier’s household but later the agent of the grand vizier in military and political issues

202

CRISIS

AND REBELLION IN THE

Kapan naibi Kapdan-ı derya Kapı ukadarı c Kapı kethu¨da Kapıcıbas¸ı Kazasker Kese Kethu¨da Mektubıˆ/Mektupcu/ Mektubi-i sadr-ı ali Mukataa Nakib al-es¸raf Nizam-ı Cedid Odabas¸ı Reisu¨lku¨ttab/ Reis efendi Rikab-ı hu¨mayun Reisi/ Reis vekili Ruzname-i evvel Sekbanbas¸ı Valide Sultan Valide Sultan kethu¨dası Yevmiyye Yoklama Zahire nazırı Zahire Nezareti

OTTOMAN EMPIRE

grain superintendent’s assistant grand admiral chief orderly official representative of a governor in Istanbul a high palace official one of the chief judges in Anatolia or Rumelia purse containing approximately 500 gurus¸ warden with various functions, a man dealing with the affairs of a high dignitary correspondence secretary of the grand vizier a source of state revenue farmed out to individuals for a specified number of years the chief of the Descendants of the Prophet Muhammad New Order, the new army established during the reign of Selim III chief master of the barracks chief of the clerks and head of the Ottoman chancery. From the eighteenth century onwards they were responsible for foreign affairs deputy to Reisu¨lku¨ttab the clerk in charge of financial affairs the highest military officer at the disposal of the janissary ag˘a for a campaign mother of a reigning sultan, queen mother steward to the queen mother daily wage or stipend review of the soldiers grain superintendent Grain Administration

APPENDIX

Table A.1

The New Elite: Career and Connections

Name

Career

Position1

Foreign Policy

MEHMED RAS¸ID EFENDI IBRAHIM RES¸ID EFENDI IBRAHIM NESIM EFENDI MUSTAFA RES¸ID EFENDI AHMET SAFI BEY

Bureaucrat

Mektubıˆ; Reisu¨lku¨ttab Mektubıˆ; Minister of navy Mektubıˆ; deputy to grand vizier. hacegan; director of naval arsenal Beylikc i; deputy to Reisu¨lku¨ttab Mektubıˆ, Reisu¨lku¨ttab Amedıˆ, Reisu¨lku¨ttab Mektubıˆ, Reisu¨lku¨ttab

Pro-British

MEHMED GALIB EFENDI (PASHA) EBUBEKIR RATIB EFENDI MAHMUT RAIF EFENDI

Bureaucrat Bureaucrat Bureaucrat Bureaucrat Bureaucrat Bureaucrat Bureaucrat

Pro-British Pro-French

Religious Affiliation

NaqsbandıˆMujaddidıˆ? NaqshandıˆMujaddidıˆ

Pro-British?

Pro-British and Russian Pro-French Pro-Russian

NaqshandıˆMujaddidıˆ5 NaqshandıˆMujaddidıˆ

Faction/patron Halil Hamid Pasha, Ismail Raif Pasha Halil Hamid Pasha2 Ku¨cu¨k Hu¨seyin Pasha3 Mehmed Ras¸id Efendi 4

Mehmed Ras¸id Efendi; Ibrahim Nesim Efendi

AHMED BEY

Bureaucrat

MUSTAFA REFIK EFENDI MEHMET TAHSIN EFENDI MEHMED EMIN BEHIC¸ EFENDI HASAN S¸AKIR BEY

Bureaucrat

MEHMED MEMIS¸ EFENDI YUSUF AG˘A

EBUBEKIR EFENDI

Bureaucrat Bureaucrat Courtiermilitary officer Bureaucrat Courtierbureaucrat Bureaucrat

SIRKATIBI AHMED Courtier EFENDI MABEYNCI AHMED Courtier BEY

Master of ceremonies, director of the New Fund Mektubıˆ Reisu¨lku¨ttab cavus¸bas¸ı

Defterdar-ı s¸ıkk-ı evvel

NaqshandıˆMujaddidıˆ NaqshandıˆMujaddidıˆ

Hacegan; armysupply master Bostancıbas¸ı

Hacegan; kethu¨da rikab hu¨mayun Steward to queen mother; director of imperial mint Director of imperial mint Court historian Court chamberlain

Pro-Russian

NaqshbandıˆMujaddidıˆ?

Queen mother, faction leader Protege´ of Hafız Efendi, director of imperial mint

NaqshandıˆMujaddidıˆ NaqshandıˆMujaddidıˆ

Table A.1

Continued

Name

Career

Position1

Foreign Policy

¨ K HU¨SEYI˙N KU¨C¸U PASHA VELIEFENDIZADE MEHMED EMIN EFENDI IBRAHIM ISMET BEYEFENDI TATARCIK ABDULLAH MOLLA SAMANIZADE O¨MER HULUSI EFENDI AHMED ESAD EFENDI˙ ABDULLAH RAMIZ EFENDI (PASHA)

Courtierbureaucrat Ulema

Bas¸ cukadar; Grand admiral Kazasker

Pro-French

Ulema

Kazasker; nakibu¨’l-es¸raf Kazasker

Pro-French

Ulema

Ulema

Kazasker; s¸eyhu¨lislam

Ulema

Kazasker; shaik al-Islam Chief-treasurer; Grand admiral

Ulemabureaucrat

Religious Affiliation

Faction/patron Faction leader

NaqshandıˆMujaddidıˆ6 Ku¨cu¨k Hu¨seyin Pasha

Pro-French

NaqshandıˆMujaddidıˆ

ABDULLATIF EFENDI

Ulemabureaucrat

Mu¨derris; Superintendent of grain and provision

Protege´ of Kec ecizaˆde Salih Efendi7

Sources: B.O.A. HAT 53675 (undated); Asım, Tarih; Cevdet Pas¸a, Tarih; Ahmed Rıfat, Devhatu¨’n-Nu¨kaba: Osmanlı Toplumunda Sadat-ı Kiram ve Nakibu¨’l-Es¸raflar, Hasan Yu¨ksel and Fatih Ko¨ksal (eds.), (Sivas: 1998), Yes¸il, Ratıb Efendi, Asiler ve Gaziler; Yayla I˙mamı Risalesi, p. 259; Uzunc ars¸ılı, “Kadı Abdurrahman Pas¸a”; M. Y. Hu¨r, Osmanlı Toplumunda Tasavvuf (19. Yu¨zyıl), (I˙stanbul: I˙nsan Yayınları, 2004).

Table A.2

Coalition of Outs: Career and Connections

Name

Career

Position

S¸erifzaˆde Mehmed Ataullah Efendi Mehmed Mu¨nib Efendi

Ulema

Kazasker; shaik al-Islam Kazasker of Anatolia

Muradzaˆde Mehmed Murad Efendi As¸ir Efendizaˆde Mehmed Hafid Efendi C¸avus¸zaˆde Ahmed S¸emseddin Efendi Alizaˆde Mehmed Efendi

Ulema

Judge

Ulema

Kazasker

Ulema

Kazasker

Ulema

Ahmed Muhtar Efendi Dervis¸ Mehmed Efendi

Ulema Ulema

Musa Pasha

Bureaucrat

Mu¨derris; Kazasker Kazasker Preacher; Kazasker Governor; kaimmakam

Ulema

Foreign Policy

Religious Affiliation

Patron

Pro-French? Shaik al-Islam Mehmed Ataullah Efendi

Hafız Ismail Pasha Prince Mustafa Pehlivan Ag˘a Sekbanbas¸ı Arif Ag˘a Mehmed Said Halet Efendi

Courtier; administrator Royal prince Military Military Bureaucrat

Bostancıbas¸ı grand vizier Janissary ag˘a Sekbanbas¸ı Beylikc i; rikab-ı hu¨mayun kethu¨da

Pro-French? NaqsbandıˆMujaddidıˆ/ mevlevi

Shaik-al Islam Ataullah Efendi

Sources: B.O.A. HAT 53675 (undated); Asım, Tarih; Cevdet Pas¸a, Tarih; Ahmed Rıfat, Devhatu¨’n-Nu¨kaba: Osmanlı Toplumunda Sadat-ı Kiram ve Nakibu¨’l-Es¸raflar, Hasan Yu¨ksel and Fatih Ko¨ksal (eds.), (Sivas: 1998), Yes¸il, Ratıb Efendi, Asiler ve Gaziler; Yayla I˙mamı Risalesi, p. 259; Uzunc ars¸ılı, “Kadı Abdurrahman Pas¸a”; M. Y. Hu¨r, Osmanlı Toplumunda Tasavvuf (19. Yu¨zyıl), (I˙stanbul: I˙nsan Yayınları, 2004).

NOTES

Introduction The Ottoman Empire in the Age of Revolutions 1. Guillaume A. Olivier, Travels in the Ottoman Empire, Egypt and Persia Undertaken by Order of the Government of France during the First Six Years of the Republic, 2 vols (London: Longman, 1801), I, p. 210. 2. The 1622 uprising culminated in the dethronement of Osman II, followed by a regicide. The 1632 uprising took place during the reign of Murad IV (r. 1623– 40). It was suppressed, but the grand vizier Hafız Ahmed Pasha was murdered by the rebels. The 1648 uprising was caused by the janissary officers and ended with the deposition of Ibrahim (r. 1640– 8) and the accession of Mehmed IV (r. 1648– 87). The case of 1651 was a rebellion against the agha of the janissaries, and that of 1655 against the grand vizier Ips¸ir Mustafa Pasha (d. 1655). In 1648, Ibrahim was dethroned. Another uprising took place in 1687 and caused the fall of Mehmed IV. In the eighteenth century, there were two major janissary uprisings, the so-called Edirne Incident (1703), which resulted in the end of the rule of Mustafa II (r. 1695 –1703) and the murder of shaik al-Islam Feyzullah Efendi. The second was the so-called Patrona Halil Rebellion (1730), which resulted in the deposition of Ahmed III (r. 1703– 30) and the murder of the grand vizier Nevs¸ehirli Damad Ibrahim Pasha. The last major uprising took place in 1807, and ended with the deposition of Selim III. For a general study of these uprisings, see Cemal Kafadar, “Yenic
eri-Esnaf Relations: Solidarity and Conflict”, unpublished M.A. thesis (McGill University, 1981) and Cemal Kafadar, “Janissaries and other riffraff of Ottoman Istanbul: rebels without a cause”, International Journal of Turkish Studies, 13/1– 2 (2007), pp. 113– 34. For 1622, see Baki Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire: Political and Social Transformation in the Early Modern World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010); Baki Tezcan, “The 1622 military rebellion in Istanbul: a historiographical journey”, International

NOTES

3.

4.

5. 6.

TO PAGES

1–2

211

Journal of Turkish Studies, 8/1 – 2 (Spring 2002), pp. 25 –43; Gabriel Pieterberg, An Ottoman Tragedy: History and Historiography at Play (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003). For 1632, see I˙smail Gu¨l, “Osmanlı Devletinde Sultan IV. Murad Do¨nemi Yenic
eri I˙syanları, 1623– 1640”, unpublished M.A. thesis (Sakarya University, 2006). For the case of 1651, see Eunjeong Yi, Guild Dynamics in Seventeenth-Century Istanbul: Fluidity and Leverage (Leiden: Brill, 2004), pp. 213–35. For 1688, see Eunjeong Yi, “Artisans’ networks and revolt in late seventeenth-century Istanbul: an examination of the Istanbul artisans’ rebellion of 1688”, in E. Gara, M.E. Kabadayı and C. Neumann (eds), Popular Protests and Political Participation in the Ottoman Empire: Studies in Honor of Suraiya Faroqhi (Istanbul: Bilgi U¨niversitesi Yayınları, 2011), pp. 105 – 26. A general evaluation of seventeenth-century Istanbul-based uprisings is provided by Gu¨lay Yılmaz, “The Economic and Social Roles of Janissaries in a 17th Century Ottoman City: The Case of Istanbul”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (McGill University, 2011), pp. 148– 74 and also Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire, pp. 214– 22. For the 1703 incident, see Rıfat Ali Abou-el-Haj, The 1703 Rebellion and the Structure of Ottoman Politics (Istanbul: Nederlands Historisch – Archaeologisch Institute, 1984), Annemarike Stremmelaar, “Justice and Revenge in the Ottoman Rebellion of 1703”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (Leiden, 2007). For 1730, see Mu¨nir Aktepe, Patrona I˙syanı (1730) (Istanbul: Edebiyat Faku¨ltesi Basımevi, 1958); Robert W. Olson, “The esnaf and Patrona Halil rebellion of 1730: a realignment in Ottoman politics?”, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, 17 (September 1974), pp. 329– 44. For 1740, see Robert W. Olson, “Jews, janissaries, esnaf and the revolt of 1740 in Istanbul: social upheaval and political realignment in the Ottoman Empire”, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, 20/2 (May 1977), pp. 185– 207. For the 1808 Alemdar Incident, see Aysel Yıldız, “A city under fire: urban violence in Istanbul during the Alemdar Incident”, in U. Freitag and N. Nafi (eds), Urban Governance under the Ottomans: Cosmopolitanism and Conflict (London: Routledge, 2013), pp. 37 – 57. In his thesis, Onaran labels the pre-1826 rebellions as “palace revolutions” and I borrowed the term from his thesis. Burak Onaran, “A´ Bas le Sultan: La Conjuration de Kuleli (1859) et l’organisation de Meslek (1867): Les Premie´re´s Tentatives de de´troˆnement apre`s l’abolition des janissaries”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (E´cole des Hautes E´tudes en Sciences Sociales, 2009), p. 71. Charles Tilly, Regimes and Repertoires (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006), pp. 51 – 2; Sidney Tarrow, Power in Movement: Social Movements and Contentious Politics, updated and revised 3rd edn (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), pp. 41 – 7. Tarrow, Power in Movement, pp. 37 – 53; Mark Traugott (ed.), Repertoires and Cycles of Collective Action (Durham: Duke University Press, 1995), p. 45. Ibid.

212

NOTES

TO PAGES

2 –8

7. The 1808 Alemdar Incident was not a typical uprising in the sense that it was intended to remove the grand vizier, Alemdar Mustafa Pasha, and later turned into a kind of civil war between the rebel forces and the royalists. The 1826 revolt also started as a traditional uprising but soon turned into a lynching of the rebels – especially the janissaries – by a coalition comprising Mahmud II, the religious class, artisans and the urban masses. 8. The principal exception is Kafadar’s M.A. thesis, “Yenic
eri-Esnaf Relations”, which both in terms of methodology and arguments, still serves as the best source. We should also include the aforementioned Ph.D. thesis by Onaran, in which he compares the pre- and post-1826 forms of social conflicts. Sunar, on the other hand, tries to reach a general explanation for janissary uprisings in the Selimian and Mahmudian era. M. Mert Sunar, “Cauldron of Dissent: A Study of the Janissary Corps, 1807– 1826”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (Binghamton University, 2006). 9. For a study of the Iberian countries during the Age of Revolutions, see Jeremy Adelman, “Iberian passages: continuity and change in the South Atlantic”, in D. Armitage and S. Subrahmanyam (eds), The Age of Revolutions in Global Context c.1760– 1840 (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010), pp. 59 – 83. 10. Christopher A. Bayly, The Birth of the Modern World, 1780– 1914: Global Connections and Comparisons (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2004), p. 95, also cited in Lynn Hunt, “The French Revolution in global context”, in D. Armitage and S. Subrahmanyam (eds) The Age of Revolutions in Global Context c.1760– 1840 (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010), p. 30. 11. Jack Goldstone, “East and West in the seventeenth century: political crises in Stuart England, Ottoman Turkey and Ming China”, Comparative Studies in Society and History, 30/1 (January 1988), pp. 108– 10. 12. Peter Turchin and Sergey A. Nefedov, Secular Cycles (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009), p. 5. See also Leonid Grinin, “State and socio-political crises in the process of modernization”, Cliodynamics: The Journal of Theoretical and Mathematical History, 3 (2012), pp. 124– 57, especially pp. 127– 34. 13. Peter Turchin, “Long-term population cycles in human societies”, in R.S. Ostfeld and W.H. Schlesinger (eds), The Year in Ecology and Conservation Biology, 1162 (2009), p. 13. 14. The same period is coined as “B phase” in the Kondratieff model, which corresponds to the years 1762– 90 again marked as a period of economic crisis and recession. 15. Turchin and Nefedov, Secular Cycles, pp. 19 – 20. 16. Hu¨lya Canbakal, “Preliminary observations on political unrest in eighteenth century Ayntab: popular protest and faction”, in A. Anastasopoulos (ed.), Political Initiatives “From the Bottom Up” in the Ottoman Empire (Rethymno: Crete University Press, 2012), p. 48. See also her “The Age of Revolutions in the Ottoman Empire: a provincial perspective”, in Well-Connected Domains: Intersections of Asia and Europe in the Ottoman Empire, conference at the Ruprecht-Karls-Universita¨t Heidelberg, 2011.

NOTES

TO PAGES

9 –10

213

17. Sanjay Subrahmanyam, “Connected histories: towards a reconfiguration of early modern Eurasia”, Modern Asian Studies, Special Issue: The Eurasian Context of the Early Modern History of Mainland South East Asia, 1400– 1800, 31/3 (1997), pp. 747– 8. 18. Butrus Abu-Manneh, “Introduction: the Ottoman upper classes and Islam: the nineteenth century”, Studies on Islam and the Ottoman Empire in the 19th Century (1826 – 1876) (Istanbul: ISIS, 2001), p. 8. 19. For more details on the approaches of the late Ottoman and Republican historians on the May 1807 uprising, see Aysel Yıldız, “Vaka-yı Selimiyye or the Selimiyye Incident: A Study of the May 1807 Uprising”, Ph.D. thesis (Sabancı University, 2008), pp. 60 – 108. For a critical reading of late Ottoman and early Republican historiography, see Christoph Neumann, Arac
Tarih Amac
Tanzimat: Tarih-i Cevdet’in Siyasal Anlamı (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfı Yurt Yayınları, 2000; Baki Tezcan, “The New Order and the fate of the Old: the historiographical construction of an Ottoman Ancien Re´gime in the nineteenth century”, in P.F. Bang and C.A. Bayly (eds), Tributary Empires in Global History (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), pp. 74 – 95; Baki Tezcan, “Lost in historiography: an essay on the reasons for the absence of a limited government in the early modern Ottoman Empire”, Middle Eastern Studies, 45/3 (2009), pp. 477– 505. 20. The native monographs are: Mustafa Necib Efendi, Sultan Selim-i Salis Asrı Vekayine ve Mu¨teferriatına Dair Mezkur Ricalden ve Ashab-I Dikkatden Mustafa Necib Efendi’nin Kaleme Almıs¸ Oldug˘u Tarihdir (Istanbul: Matbaa-yı Amire, 1280/1863); Georg Og˘ulukyan, Georg Og˘ulukyan’ın Ruznamesi 1806– 1810 I˙syanları: III. Selim, IV. Mustafa, II. Mahmud ve Alemdar Mustafa Pas¸a, translated from Armenian by H.D. Andreasyan (Istanbul: Edebiyat Faku¨ltesi Basımevi, 1972); Fahri C¸etin Derin (ed.), “Kabakc
ı Mustafa Ayaklanmasına Dair Bir Tarihc
e”, Tarih Dergisi, 27 (1973), pp. 99 – 110; I˙smail H. Uzunc
ars¸ılı (ed.), “Kabakc
ı I˙syanına Dair Yazılmıs¸ Bir Tarihc
e”, Belleten, VI/23 – 24 (1942), pp. 253– 61; Fahri C¸etin Derin (ed.), “Tu¨fengc
ibas¸ı Arif Efendi Tarihc
esi”, Belleten, XXXVIII/151 (1974), pp. 379– 443; Kethu¨da Said Efendi, Tarih-i Vaka-yı Selim-i Salis, Bayezid Devlet Ku¨tu¨phanesi, Veliyu¨ddin Efendi koleksiyonu, 3367 (hereafter cited as Kethu¨da Said, Tarih); Kethu¨da Said Efendi, “A short history of the secret motives which induced the deceased Alemdar Mustafa Pasha and the leaders of the imperial camp, to march from the city of Adrianople to Constantinople, with the stratagems they employed in order to depose Sultan Mustafa, and restore to the throne sultan Selim the Martyr, in the year of the Hijra 1222” (AD 1807), translated from Turkish by T. Gordon, Miscellaneous Translations from the Oriental Languages, vol. I (London: J.L. Cox & Son, 1831). [British Library, no. 14003.d.5]; Neticetu¨’l-Vekayi, ¨ niversitesi Yazma Eserler, no. 2785; Ebubekir Efendi, Vaka-yı Cedid I˙stanbul U (Istanbul: Kader Matbaası, 1330/1914); two additional accounts include one by Ubeydullah Kus¸maˆnıˆ and the other by Lokmacı Matrus¸ Ebubekir Efendi, Asiler ve Gaziler: Kabakc
ı Mustafa Risalesi, Aysel Danacı Yıldız (ed.) (Istanbul:

214

21.

22.

23.

24.

25.

26.

NOTES

TO PAGES

10 –11

Kitapyayınevi, 2007); Fahri C¸etin Derin (ed.), “Yayla I˙mamı Risalesi”, Tarih Enstitu¨su¨ Dergisi, 3 (1973), pp. 213– 72. The foreign monographs include Antoine de Juchereau de Saint-Denys, Re´volutions de Constantinople en 1807 et 1808, 2 vols (Paris: Brissot-Thivars, 1819). This work is the main account of a foreign scholar writing on the revolt. The other one is Ottokar M. von Schlechta-Wssehrd’s Die Revolutionen in Konstantinopel in den Jahren 1807 und 1808 (Vienna: Gerold in Komm., 1882). Ahmed Asım Efendi, Asım Tarihi, 2 vols (Istanbul: Ceride-i Havadis Matbaası, 1867). Asım (d. 1819) was appointed as the official historian in 1807 and later he was employed as the mu¨derris of Su¨leymaniye mosque. S¸aˆnıˆzaˆde Mehmed Ataˆ’ullah Efendi, S¸aˆnıˆzaˆde Taˆrıˆhi [Osmanlı Tarihi (1223 – 1237/1808 – 1821)], Ziya Yılmazer (ed.), 2 vols (Istanbul: C¸amlıca, 2008). S¸aˆnıˆzaˆde (d. 1826) is one of the most important intellectuals of the early nineteenth century. He followed a religious career and was also educated in medical sciences. After serving as the judge of Eyu¨p and inspector of pious endownments, he was appointed as official historian (1819). He was later granted the rank of Mecca. He was also a member of Bes¸iktas¸ I˙lmiye Cemiyeti, an intellectual club trying to create a synthesis of Islam and Western culture, favouring the importation of Western technology. ¨ mer Efendi, Caˆbıˆ Taˆrihi (Taˆrıˆh-i Sultaˆn Selıˆm-i Saˆlis ve Mahmuˆd-ı Saˆni): Caˆbıˆ O Tahlıˆl ve Tenkidli Metin, Mehmet Ali Beyhan (ed.), 2 vols (Ankara: TTK, 2003). The author is known to have served as the tax collector (caˆbıˆ) of Ayasofya-ı Kebir Mosque. He was exiled to Chios for an unknown reason in 1810 and returned to the capital within the same year. Mehmet A. Beyhan (ed.), Saray Gu¨nlu¨g˘u¨ (Istanbul: Dog˘u Ku¨tu¨phanesi, 2007). Ruznaˆmes are the records of the deeds and daily routines of the Ottoman sultans, kept by confidential scribes. The ruznaˆmes edited by Beyhan include the reign of Selim III, kept by Sırkatibi Ahmed Efendi, and covers the years 1802– 6, the ruznaˆme (1808) kept by Arif Muhit Efendi, and the final one related to the reign of Mahmud II, covering the years 1808– 9, is authored by Feyzullah Efendi. Unfortunately, no copies of this account are available, but it is mentioned by Res¸ad Ekrem Koc
u in his monograph on the May uprising: Res¸at Ekrem Koc
u, Kabakc
ı Mustafa: Bir Serserinin Romanlas¸tırılmıs¸ Hayatı, 2nd edn (Istanbul: Dog˘an Kitapc
ılık, 2001), pp. 57, 173. The janissary ballads are compiled by Cahit O¨ztelli, Uyan Padis¸ahım (Istanbul: Milliyet Yayınları, 1976). Even though the manuscript is catalogued under the title Fezleke-i Kus¸maˆnıˆ, it is a collection of two essays rather than an independent book. It contains two different approaches to the rebellion. There are no reliable clues as to why and by whom they were compiled together. The original manuscript is available in the Bayezid State Library, Veliyu¨ddin Efendi catalogue no. 3372– 5. The seal over the book signifies that it was endowed by shaik al-Islam Arif Hikmet Bey b. I˙smetullah el-Hu¨seynıˆ to a library in the city of Medina. Throughout the

NOTES

27. 28. 29. 30.

31.

32.

33. 34. 35. 36.

37. 38. 39. 40.

TO PAGES

11 –13

215

book, in order to differentiate between the sections written by Ubeydullah Kus¸maˆnıˆ and Ebubekir Efendi, those written by Kus¸maˆnıˆ will be hereinafter referred to as Kus¸maˆnıˆ, Asiler ve Gaziler, while those written by the second author will be referred to as Ebubekir Efendi, Asiler ve Gaziler. For more information about the work and the authors, see Ubeydullah Kus¸maˆnıˆ and Ebubekir Efendi, Asiler ve Gaziler: Kabakc
ı Mustafa Risalesi, Aysel Danacı Yıldız (ed.) (Istanbul: Kitapyayınevi, 2007). Mustafa Necib Efendi, Sultan Selim-i Salis Asrı Vekayi (Istanbul: Matbaa-yı Amire, 1280/1863). Neticetu¨’l-Vekayi, I˙stanbul U¨niversitesi Yazma Eserler, 2785. This work also has two authors and is again a collection of essays. Beyhan, Saray Gu¨nlu¨g˘u¨. Og˘ulukyan, Georg Og˘ulukyan’ın Ruznamesi. George Og˘ulukyan was an Armenian Orthodox Christian Ottoman subject who served as the secretary to the Du¨zog˘lu family in the imperial mint. His account covers the years 1806–10 and concentrates particularly on the May uprising. Mustafa Necib (d. 1831– 2) was a bureaucrat serving as a clerk in the office of the corresponding secretary (mektubıˆ sadaret halifesi). He became a chief scribe (bas¸ halife) and, in 1805, he was appointed as the purchasing agent of Ruscuk (Ruse, modern Bulgaria). He then served as the controller of the stores and payments bureau (mevkufatıˆ), tax-farmer of state bonds (esham mukataacı) and chief accountant. His final post was the ruzname-i evvel (the clerk in charge of financial affairs). Kemal Beydilli, “Joseph von Hammer-Purgstall (1774–1856) ve Fundgruben des Orients (S¸ark’ın Hazineleri) Dergisi”, Kitaplara Vakfedilen Bir O¨mre Tuhfe: I˙smail Eru¨nsal’a Armag˘an, vol. I (Istanbul: U¨lke Armag˘an, 2014), p. 183n31. Asiler ve Gaziler, pp. 16, 20; Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, p. 18. Ubeydullah Kus¸maˆnıˆ, Nizam-ı Cedid’e Dair Bir Risale: Zebıˆre-i Kus¸maˆnıˆ Fi ¨ mer I˙s¸bilir (ed.) (Ankara: TTK, 2006), p. xviii. Tarif-i Nizam-ı I˙lhami, O He authored two other books/treatises: Mevaiz (Sermons) and the aforementioned Fezleke-i Kus¸maˆnıˆ. Fahri C¸etin Derin (ed.), “Kabakc
ı Mustafa Ayaklanmasına Dair Bir Tarihc
e”, Tarih Dergisi 27 (1973), pp. 99–110; I˙smail Hakkı Uzunc
ars¸ılı (ed.), “Kabakc
ı I˙syanına Dair Yazılmıs¸ Bir Tarihc
e”, Belleten, VI/23–24 (1942), pp. 253–61. Kethu¨da Said Efendi, Tarih-i Vaka-yı Selim-i Salis, Bayezid Devlet Ku¨tu¨phanesi, Veliyu¨ddin Efendi koleksiyonu, 3367. He is moderate compared to the others. Fahri C¸etin Derin (ed.), “Tu¨fengc
ibas¸ı Arif Efendi Tarihc
esi”, Belleten, XXXVIII/151 (1974), pp. 379–443. Asiler ve Gaziler, p. 20. Caˆbıˆ, I, p. 553. Halet Efendi initially followed a religious career but later pursued a bureaucratic one. He served as an ambassador to Paris (1802 –6), and then deputy to the minister of foreign affairs (reis vekili) in 1807. He became a very influential statesman in the reign of Mahmud II until his execution in 1822.

216

NOTES TO PAGES 13 –18

41. Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, p. 188. Janissaries were paid their salaries on a 90-day basis and they had tickets certifying their right to get the salary of an active soldier. 42. Derin, “Kabakc
ı Mustafa”, p. 109. 43. Mutually exclusive discourses are not unique to the Ottoman/Turkish history. For an example during the reign of Elizabeth I (r. 1741– 62), see Peter Lake, “The monarchical republic of Elizabeth I revisited (by its victims) as a conspiracy”, in B. Coward and J. Swann (eds), Conspiracies and Conspiracy Theory in the Early Modern World: From the Waldensians to the French Revolution (Farnham: Ashgate, 2004), pp. 88 – 102. The reforms of Peter I also seem to have divided society into hostile camps in a period of rapid change. For more details, see Vasily O. Klyuchevsky, A History of Russia, 4 vols (London: J.M. Dent, 1911), p. 224. 44. Lake, “The monarchical republic of Elizabeth”, p. 104. 45. For conspiracy mentality and models of explanation in history, see Serge Moscovici, “The conspiracy mentality”, in C.F. Graumann and S. Moscovici (eds), Changing Conceptions of Mentality (New York: Springer, 1987), pp. 151–69. In the same volume, the role of conspiracy in escalating conflict is discussed by Dean F. Pruitt, “Conspiracy theory in conflict escalation”, pp. 191–202. For its rise and importance in the eighteenth century, see Gordon S. Wood, “Conspiracy and the paranoid style: causality and deceit in the eighteenth century”, The William and Mary Quarterly, Third Series 39/3 (July 1982), pp. 401–41. 46. Mark Knights, “Faults on both sides: conspiracies of party politics in the later Stuarts”, in B. Coward and J. Swann (eds), Conspiracies and Conspiracy Theory in the Early Modern World: From the Waldensians to the French Revolution (Farnham: Ashgate, 2004), p. 154. 47. Knights, “Faults on both sides”, p. 156. 48. Moscovici, “Conspiracy”, pp. 160– 5.

Chapter 1 Rebellious Routines 1. “Uc
du damdan etdi taˆmuˆyu makarr; Bu ko¨peg˘e bu kadar uc
mak yeter.” Recited for the death of Sırkatibi Ahmed Efendi. Kethu¨da Said, Tarih, fl. 103; Neticetu¨’l-Vekayi, fl.16. 2. Et Meydanı is often confused with At Meydanı (The Hippodrome or Square of Horses), though both served as congregation places in some instances (1622). Et Meydanı is a square in Aksaray where the janissary barracks were situated. After the conquest of Istanbul, the janissary barracks were built in the area that is now across from the S¸ehzade Mosque; later, new ones were built in Aksaray. The older barracks were called Eski Odalar and the new ones, Yeni Odalar. In the new barracks, there were seven Gates and at the centre was a square called the Tekke Meydanı and the Orta Cami. As it was the centre of distribution for meat for the consumption of the janissaries, the square was

NOTES

3.

4.

5. 6.

7. 8.

9.

10. 11.

12. 13.

14.

TO PAGES

18 –21

217

called Meat Square. See I˙smail H. Uzunc
ars¸ılı, Osmanlı Devlet Tes¸kilatından Kapikulu Ocakları I: Acemi Ocag˘ı ve Yenic
eriler (Ankara: TTK, 1988), pp. 238– 41, 248– 9; M. Mert Sunar, “XVIII. ve XIX. Yu¨zyıl Bas¸ları Yenic
eri Kıs¸laları U¨zerine Bir Deg˘erlendirme”, in K. S¸akul (ed.), Yeni Bir Askeri Tarih O¨zlemi: Savas¸, Teknoloji ve Deneysel C¸alıs¸malar (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfı Yurt Yayınları, 2013), pp. 252– 76. Naima, Tarih-i Na’ıˆmaˆ, Mehmet I˙ps¸irli (ed.) (Ankara TTK, 2007), 4 vols, II, pp. 480, 699– 709. Although some ulema were used for mediation, direct negotiation with Murad IV is a unique aspect of the 1632 uprising. Sidney Tarrow, “Modular collective action and the rise of the social movement: why the French Revolution was not enough”, Politics and Society, 21/69 (1993), p. 79. Yi, Guild Dynamics, pp. 225, 231. Even though Stremmelaar describes the note as a petition, I believe that it was not an ordinary petition, but rather the demands of a negotiator that were to be fulfilled before ending a revolt. It was signed by members of the ulema, preachers, military officers and guild wardens. Stremmelaar, Rebellion of 1703, pp. 58 – 60. For a similar confusion in the cases of 1622 and 1632, see Yılmaz, Janissaries, p. 159; Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire, pp. 167– 9. Stremmelaar, Rebellion of 1703, pp. 60 – 6. The negotiation phase is very evident for 1730. Robert W. Olson, The Siege of Mosul and Ottoman – Persian Relations, 1718– 1743 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1975), p. 77: “The rebels were not in the least intimidated by the sultan’s threats and they, in turn, submitted their demands to him.” For a good, though complicated, study of cost-maximization and -minimization in collective action from a conflict analysis perspective, see Mark Irving Lichbach, The Rebel’s Dilemma (Ann Arbor: Michigan University Press, 1998), pp. 35–50. Anthony Oberschall, “Theories of social conflict”, Annual Review of Sociology, 4 (1978), p. 314. Malte Griesse, “Revolts as communicative events in early-modern Europe: circulation of knowledge and the development of political grammars” (MS, University of Konstanz), 5. Available at: https://exzellenzcluster.uni-konstanz. de/fileadmin/all/downloads/stellen-stipendien/Circulation-of-KnowledgeEarly-Modern-Revolts.pdf Yi, Guild Dynamics, p. 213. The elector and his advisors conducted the negotiation for payment of services rendered, food at a reasonable price, basic medical treatment and no punishment without trial. For further details, see Geoffrey Parker, “Mutiny and discontent in the Spanish army of Flanders, 1572 –1607”, Past and Present, 58 (February 1973), pp. 41 – 4. According to Barkey, flexibility, pragmatism and openness to negotiation was the key to the longevity of the Ottoman Empire. Karen Barkey, An Empire of Difference: The Ottomans in a Comparative Perspective (Cambridge: Cambridge

218

15.

16. 17.

18.

19.

20. 21.

22.

23.

24.

NOTES

TO PAGES

21 – 25

University Press, 2008). For a similar argument in the financial system, see S¸evket Pamuk, “Institutional change and the longevity of the Ottoman Empire, 1500– 1800”, The Journal of Interdisciplinary History, 35/2 (Autumn 2004), pp. 225– 47. BOA, HAT 123/5064 (17 Ra 1222/25 May 1807). A report from Hu¨seyin Agha to Kaimmakam Musa Pasha. Hu¨seyin Agha was later appointed as the commander of Anadolu and Rumeli Kavak, Yus¸a,Telli Tabya and Kirec
burnu, upon the request of the officers and yamaks of these fortresses. He later retired [BOA, HAT 53271 (15 Ca 1222/21 July 1807)]. BOA, HAT 7522 (undated). Elhac Mehmed Ragıb Pasha served as the rikab kethu¨da/kethu¨da-yı rikab-ı hu¨mayun (minister of internal affairs, literally translated as the steward of the imperial court). He was appointed to this post on 28 March 1807 and dismissed on 24 April 1807 to be appointed governor of Karaman. BOA, A. DVN. MHM.d, 225, fls. 38 – 9, order no. 95 (evasıt-ı Ra 1222/19 – 28 May 1807). The role of Ragıb Pasha is also mentioned by Necib, Sultan Selim, p. 29. Baki Tezcan, “Searching For Osman: A Reassessment of the Deposition of the Ottoman Sultan Osman II (1618– 1622)”, Ph.D. thesis (Princeton University, 2001), p. 204. See also Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire, pp. 141, 157, 174, 204; for rumours and unrest in Istanbul immediately before the uprising, see especially pp. 159, 164, and for a rumour costing Osman’s life, see p. 171. Kus¸maˆnıˆ, Zebıˆre, p. 24. For interesting and recent papers on costumes and identity, see Virginia H. Aksan, “Who was an Ottoman? Reflections on ‘Wearing Hats’ and ‘Turning Turk’”, in B. Schmidt-Haberkamp (ed.), Europa und die Tu¨rkei im 18. Jahrhundert/Europe and Turkey in the 18th Century (Bonn: Bonn University Press, 2011), pp. 305– 18; Baki Tezcan, “The ‘Frank’ in the Ottoman eye of 1583”, in J.G. Harper (ed.), The Turk and Islam in the Western Eye, 1450– 1750: Visual Imagery Before Orientalism (Burlington: Ashgate, 2011), pp. 272– 86. S¸ahin Giray had been criticized by Abdu¨lhamid I for wearing infidel costumes. Kahraman S¸akul, “Ottoman perceptions of the military reforms of Tipu Sultan and S¸ahin Giray”, in M. Sariyannis et al., New Trends in Ottoman Studies, papers presented at the 20th CIE´PO Symposium, 27 June – 1 July 2012 (Rethymno: Institute for Mediterranean Studies, 2014), pp. 655– 62. Feridun Emecen, “Son Kırım Hanı S¸ahin Giray’ın I˙damı Meselesi ve Buna Dair Vesikalar”, Tarih Dergisi, XXXIV (1984), p. 325. Abd al-Rahman Al-Jabarti, Abd al-Rahman al-Jabarti’s History of Egypt, T. Philip (ed.) and M. Perlman (trans.), vol. 6 (Stutgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1994), p. 311 as cited in John P. Dunn, “Clothes to kill for: uniforms and politics in Ottoman armies”, Journal of the Middle East and Africa, 2 (2011), p. 89. Odile Mourau, “Bosnian resistance against conscription in the nineteenth century”, in E.J. Zu¨rcher (ed.), Arming the State: Military Consciption in the Middle East and Central Asia, 1775– 1925 (London: I.B.Tauris, 1999), p. 131.

NOTES TO PAGES 25 –30

219

25. Ebubekir Efendi, Asiler ve Gaziler, p. 112. 26. BOA, HAT 123/5064 (17 Ra 1222/25 May 1807); HAT 211/48419 (undated); HAT 121/4901 (undated); from Isaac Morier, Malta, 18 July 1807 (PRO, FO, 78 – 61). For more details on the presence of the Nizam-ı Cedid soldiers, see Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, pp. 348– 51. 27. Despite some confusion in some of the contemporary narratives, Mahmud Raif Efendi was appointed as the Bosporus superintendent (Nazır-ı Bog˘az) in February 1807, a few months before the Rebellion. See BOA, C. AS. 5927 (5 S 1222/13 April 1807). No doubt, the appointment of a leading figure of the Nizam-ı Cedid had increased the anxiety of the yamaks. 28. Ebubekir Efendi, Asiler ve Gaziler, p. 112. 29. Olson, “Jews, janissaries”, pp. 204– 7. 30. For the election of a leader and a council within a strict military hierarchy, and discipline among the mutineers of the Spanish army, see Parker, “Mutiny and discontent”, p. 40. 31. Derin, “Tu¨fengc
ibas¸ı”, p. 389. Cf. Ahmed Cevdet Pas¸a, Tarih-i Cevdet, 12 vols (Dersaadet: Matbaa-ı Osmaniye, 1309/1891), VIII, p. 157. 32. Og˘ulukyan, Ruznaˆme, p. 3. 33. Ebubekir Efendi, Asiler ve Gaziler, p. 114. Og˘ulukyan argues that similar oaths of moral conduct were also exchanged at Tophane; Og˘ulukyan, Ruznaˆme, p. 3. The rebels of 1703 took a similar oath on bread, salt, sword and the Qur’an; Stremmelaar, Rebellion of 1703, p. 61. 34. Aysel Yıldız, “Anatomy of a rebellious social group: the yamaks of the Bosporus at the margins of the Ottoman society”, in A. Anastasopoulos (ed.), Political Initiatives “From the Bottom Up” in the Ottoman Empire (Rethymno: Crete University Press, 2012), p. 297n31. 35. Derin, “Tu¨fengc
ibas¸ı”, p. 393; Necib, Sultan Selim, p. 34. 36. Og˘ulukyan, Ruznaˆme, p. 5; The Times, Monday, 3 August 1808 (issue 7115). 37. Kethu¨da Said, Tarih, fl. 107 and Neticetu¨’l-Vekayi, fl. 20a. Cf. Asım, II, p. 60. 38. Og˘ulukyan, Ruznaˆme, p. 14: “kimsenin burnu bile kanamadı ve bir pul bile ziyan olmadı. Olur s¸ey deg˘il.” For similar observations regarding the Spanish mutineers of the late sixteenth century, see Parker, “Mutiny and discontent”, pp. 44 – 5. Despite some specific differences, such a strict code of behaviour and high degree of self-control seem to have characterized many civilian and military uprisings in seventeenth-century England, France and Italy (p. 51). 39. Necib, Sultan Selim, p. 33; Ebubekir Efendi, Vaka-yı Cedid, p. 21; Saint-Denys, Re´volutions de Constantinople, II, pp. 111, 113– 14. 40. The first report briefly mentions how the events began and then informs of the murder of Halil Agha. The second one informs that the Nizam-ı Cedid soldiers on the Rumelian side of the Bosporus were immediately sent to Sarıyer, while those on the Anatolian side were sent to Beykoz. The final report, written by the captain, states that the disorder in the fortresses had calmed down, and that the soldiers of the fortresses under the supervision of I˙nce Mehmed Pasha, commander of the forts, were on their way there. Unfortunately, except for the

220

41.

42. 43. 44. 45.

46.

47.

48. 49.

50.

NOTES

TO PAGES

30 –32

report of Hu¨seyin Agha, these reports were summarized by Musa Pasha, the official who is represented as misinforming the sultan. The original reports sent to the Porte by these functionaries are not available for examination. Under these circumstances, it is extremely difficult to conclude whether the reports really existed or whether they were distorted by Musa Pasha. Contrary to expectation, however, Musa Pasha was apparently not satisfied with reports of the rebellious soldiers” return to the fortresses, and he asserted to the sultan that he had immediately dispatched an order to the Bostancıbas¸ı (Gardener-inChief) to supress the gathering of the has¸erat (ruffians) and to investigate the incident as soon as possible. If he was not deceiving the sultan, he seems to have paid much more attention to the disorder in the fortresses than claimed in contemporary accounts. TSMA, E. 8704 (undated); BOA, HAT 123/5064 (17 Ra 1222/25 May 1807). Their reports were sent to the Porte before the murder of Mahmud Raif Efendi by the rebellious yamaks. The Bostancıbas¸ı’s delegation and return is also mentioned in Derin, “Tu¨fengc
ibas¸ı”, p. 387; Og˘ulukyan, Ruznaˆme, p. 3; Ebubekir Efendi, Vaka-yı Cedid, p. 21; Derin, “Yayla I˙mamı Risalesi”, p. 223; Saint-Denys, Re´volutions de Constantinople, II, p. 112. C¸ardak Kolluk is the name of the police station at C¸ardak, the shore extending from Yemis¸ I˙skelesi to Keresteciler. Asım, II, p. 22; Uzunc
ars¸ılı, “Kabakc
ı I˙syanı”, p. 255. Derin, “Tu¨fengc
ibas¸ı”, p. 387. See also, Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, pp. 366–7. Some participants had suggested the strenghtening of the city. Derin, “Tu¨fengc
ibas¸ı”, p. 388. These included the elders, presiders over the treasury of the regiments (orta mu¨tevellileri), the cooks and scribes. For further details and different versions, see Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, pp. 368– 71. Yi, Guild Dynamics, p. 228. In 1703, the rebellious armourer Seyyid Mahmud Efendi was brought to the Et Meydanı (The Meat Square). Stremmelaar, Rebellion of 1703, pp. 55, 137– 9. For 1622, see Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire, p. 167. For a similar observation on the role of the ulema during the eighteenth-century uprisings in Cairo, see Gabriel Baer, “Popular revolt in Ottoman Cairo”, Der Islam 2/54 (1977), pp. 228– 42. Yi, “Rebellion of 1688”, p. 105. The employment of the sacred banner as a religious symbol used in a political context is also observable in the cases of 1651, 1688 and 1703. For a survey of contemporary sources in this regard, see Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, pp. 386–92. The fetva emini is the chief of the office dealing with the issuance of fatwas. For the details and organization of the meeting, see Derin, “Tu¨fengc
ibas¸ı”, p. 391, Kethu¨da Said, Tarih, fls. 100a –100, Neticetu¨’l-Vekayi, fl. 14a; Ebubekir Efendi, Asiler ve Gaziler, p. 116; Asım, II, p. 27. For a list of all participants in the meeting, see Derin, “Kabakc
ı Mustafa”, p. 103. As usual, conflicting details do not allow us to discern what actually transpired during the meeting and why it was so ineffective. It seems that upon Ibrahim

NOTES

51. 52.

53.

54.

55.

56.

57.

58. 59.

TO PAGES

32 –35

221

Nesim Efendi’s harsh words calling on military force to disperse the rebels – “I’ve heard the news that a few Laz scoundrels from the fortresses have arrived. Let us send word to our imperial troops, so that they will get to crush them like dogs” – S¸emseddin exploded with fury: “You pig, bitch!! So you create this conspiracy and then escalate it so as to wash your white beards in blood? You infidel dog.” For further details, see Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, pp. 382–4. Kethu¨da Said, Tarih, fl. 100a; Neticetu¨’l-Vekayi, fl. 14a, Ebubekir Efendi, Asiler ve Gaziler, p. 116. Unfortunately, the available sources do not allow further clarification as to whether they went to the Square or to Ag˘a Kapısı. Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, pp. 385–90. Derin, “Tu¨fengc
ibas¸ı”, pp. 390, 393. Kethu¨da Said Efendi also confirms that the Nizam-ı Cedid army was abolished on Thursday morning. Kethu¨da Said, Tarih, fl. 100a; Neticetu¨’l-Vekayi, fls. 14a – 14. In 1703, Mustafa II conceded to demands concerning the dismissal of Feyzullah Efendi, but contrary to the expectations of the rebels he exiled him instead of sending him to Istanbul. Moreover, despite his promises to pay their salaries, the sultan’s reluctance to return to the capital caused the rebels to continue the revolt; thereafter, they armed themselves and marched to Edirne. Stremmelaar, Rebellion of 1703, pp. 68 – 9, 72. Tezcan, “1622 military rebellion”, p. 27; Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire, pp. 167, 170. The rebels initially demanded the execution of Dilaver Pasha, the grand vizier, yet instead of having him killed, the sultan dismissed him. It was only after the crowd signalled their intentions to enthrone Mustafa I that Osman II delivered Su¨leyman Agha and Dilaver Pasha to the rebels to be killed. Kafadar, Yenic
eri-Esnaf Relations, p. 62; Kafadar, “Rebels without a cause”, p. 125. For an earlier but unsuccessful tactic of Osman II, see Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire, p. 172. The official decree announcing the abolition of the Nizam-ı Cedid military system in different parts of the Empire is from the time of Mustafa IV. For a copy of this document, see BOA, A. DVN. SMHM.d 225, fl. 51, order no. 187 (19 B 1222/22 September 1807). For further details, see Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, pp. 394–5. Og˘ulukyan provides the highest number, arguing for nineteen. This is not the end of his list. He claims that while the list was being prepared, some of the rebels suggested the inclusion of four non-Muslim Ottoman subjects, namely S¸apc
ı Musi, C¸elebi Todoraki, Nizam ustası Ekmekc
i Artin and Du¨zog˘lu Ohannes C¸elebi. As we learn from his account, their execution was demanded on the grounds of serving the interests of the centre and abusing their positions for their own interests. One of the ringleaders, however, rejected their inclusion on the execution list, saying that the murder of these reaya (non-Muslims) would not be appopriate since they were innocent, in the sense that they had no other choice but to serve their masters, namely the ruling

222

60.

61.

62. 63. 64. 65.

66. 67. 68.

NOTES

TO PAGES

35 –37

elite. Og˘ulukyan, Ruznaˆme, pp. 7– 8. As for the historical accuracy of the assertion of Og˘ulukyan on the issue of non-Muslims, it is not possible to find any documentary evidence. Yet, a supporting detail is provided by Tu¨fengc
ibas¸ı. The author narrates a scene similar to that of Og˘ulukyan. A man whose head was covered with a shawl brings a list to the ringleaders. It includes the names of ten money changers (sarraf), including S¸amanto, Gu¨llabiog˘lu, S¸abcı. After submitting the list to Kabakc
ı Mustafa, the mysterious figure asks him to bring these people to the Square for execution. Kabakc
ı gives the paper to Ali Efendi, the scribe of the 72nd regiment, and asks his opinion. The latter objects to their execution on similar grounds to those mentioned by Og˘ulukyan, but with the added detail that Ali Efendi advises the mysterious man to solve his problem with the sarrafs by applying to the judicial courts, rather than demanding their murder. After these exclamations, he tears up the list and sends the mysterious man away (p. 412). BOA, HAT 7537 (undated). For another copy, see Hatt-ı Hu¨mayun ve Tahrirat Suretleri, I˙stanbul Universitesi Tarih Yazmaları TY 6975, fl. 37a. Only the official titles or posts of these people are recorded. For instance, the bostancıbas¸ı of the period was Hasan S¸akir Bey, the sırkatibi was Ahmed Bey, rikab reisi (the reisu¨lku¨ttab’s deputy) was one Ahmed Safi Bey; kapan naibi (the director of grains) was Abdu¨llatif Efendi and valide sultan kethu¨das (steward of the Queen Mother) was Yusuf Agha. Seyyid Ahmed Bey (d. 1811) became the master of ceremonies (tes¸rifatc
ı) in 1795– 6. Some clues in the same document suggest that Ataullah Efendi was not present at Et Meydanı while the list was being prepared. It seems more likely that he learned about the demands of the rebels via sekbanbas¸ı, the fetva emini and the official who kept the records of the events (vekayi katibi). These three functionaries were sent to the Square to inform the rebels of the abolition of the Nizam-ı Cedid army; thereafter, they learned the conditions of the rebels for ending the rebellion. From Hubsch, 3 June 1807 (PRO, FO, 78– 58). This also challenges the claims of some contemporary authors who state that the sultan tried to save some of these people. For further details of the murder and later purges, see Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, pp. 429–50. John Stuart Mill, “On the connection between justice and utility”, in A. Ryan (ed.), Justice: Oxford Readings in Politics and Government (Oxford: Oxford University Press), p. 61. Stremmelaar, Rebellion of 1703, pp. 146– 51. William Beik, Urban Protest in Seventeenth-Century France: The Culture of Retribution (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), p. 51. BOA, HAT 174/7533 (undated): “Atıfetlu¨ sultanım hazretleri, matlubların bakiyye kalanlarını yine hayyen talebde ısrar edu¨p azim tacil ediyorlar. Ve muvahhis¸ kelimat tahaddu¨s ediyor. Lu¨tf edu¨p
caresine ikdam ve gayret buyurasız.” The italics are mine.

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69. The rebels of 1632 had a similar demand from Murad IV. The rebels also demanded a surety (kefil) for their survival. 70. Unfortunately, no copy of the fatwa leading to the deposition of Selim III is available. For a copy of a fatwa issued in 1703, see Stremmelaar, Rebellion of 1703, pp. 132– 3. The emphasis is on injustice. 71. Derin, “Tu¨fengc
ibas¸ı”, p. 400. 72. Kethu¨da Said, Tarih, fl. 102; Asım, II, p. 37. 73. For the details of the ceremony, see BOA, Sadaret Defterleri, no. 350, fls. 61a – 60: “ber-muktezaˆ-ı vakt u¨ haˆl Sultan Selim zuhuˆr eden asaˆkirin iltimaˆs u ittifaˆkları ve kendu¨ hu¨sn-i rızaˆsıyla caˆlis oldug˘u tahttan ammizaˆdesi olub saray-ı amirede olan S¸ehzaˆde Mustafa’ya kifaˆyed o da tahta cu¨lus.” 74. TSMA, E. 12028 – 2 (undated). The document makes a comparison of the case of Caliph Osman with the case of Selim III, emphasizing that, unlike the former, the sultan had no option other than leaving the throne following the above-mentioned consensus of the ulema. 75. For the original copies of the document, see BOA, HAT 19418 (23 Ra 1222/31 May 1807) and BOA, HAT 53323 (23 Ra 1222/31 May 1807). For a transcribed version, see Kemal Beydilli, “Kabakc
ı I˙syanı Akabinde Hazırlanan Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye”, Tu¨rk Ku¨ltu¨r I˙ncelemeleri Dergisi, 4 (2001), pp. 42 – 8. 76. Beydilli, “Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye”, p. 36. 77. Abdi, Faik R. Unat (ed.), Abdi Tarihi: 1730 Patrona I˙htilali Hakkında Bir Eser (Ankara: TTK, 1943), p. 48; Aktepe, Patrona I˙syanı, pp. 169– 81. There is a document prepared following the 1632 incident. Yet, in the document signed between the bureaucrats and the representatives of the rebels, the representatives promised not to protect but to punish the culprits among their comrades. Naima, Tarih, I, pp. 722– 3. 78. The Sened-i I˙ttifak was produced after a meeting of the ayans of Anatolia and Rumelia under the initiative of Alemdar Mustafa Pasha and signed on 7 October 1808. For a copy of the Sened-i I˙ttifak, see S¸aˆnizaˆde, I, pp. 75 – 82; Cevdet Pas¸a, Tarih, IX, pp. 282– 7. For an evaluation of the Sened-i I˙ttifak, see Halil I˙nalcık, “Sened-i I˙ttifak ve Gu¨lhane Hatt-ı Hu¨mayunu”, Halil I˙nalcık, Osmanlı I˙mparatorlug˘u: Toplum ve Ekonomi (Istanbul: Eren, 1993), pp. 343– 59; Ali Akyıldız, “Sened-i I˙ttifak’ın I˙lk Tam Metni”, I˙slam Aras¸tırmaları Dergisi, 2 (1998), pp. 209– 22; Ali Yaycıog˘lu, Partners of the Empire: The Crisis of the Ottoman Order in the Age of Revolutions (Stanford: California: Stanford University Press, 2016), pp. 203– 39; Ali Yaycıog˘lu, “Sened-i I˙ttifak (1808): Bir Entegrasyon Denemesi”, in S. Kenan (ed.), Nizam-ı Kadimden Nizam-ı Cedid’e III. Selim ve Do¨nemi (Istanbul: I˙SAM, 2010), pp. 667– 711. 79. I˙nalcık, “Sened-i I˙ttifak”, p. 343. 80. Barkey, rightly, considers it a “negotiated pact”. Barkey, An Empire of Difference, p. 205. 81. See articles nos I, II and IV. 82. The sixth article is as follows: “Aˆsitaˆne’de ocaklardan ve saˆireden bir guˆne fitne ve fesaˆd haˆdis olur ise bilaˆ-istizaˆn cu¨mle haˆnedaˆnlar Aˆsitaˆne’ye vuruˆda s¸itaˆb

224

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edu¨p mu¨tecaˆsir olanların ve ol ocakın kaldırılmasına ya‘ni o makule fitne ve fesaˆda baˆdıˆ olan sınıf veyahud s¸ahıs tahkıˆk olunub eg˘er sınıf ise bu def‘a baˆ‘is-i fiten olan Bog˘az Kal‘ası neferaˆtının kaldırıldıg˘ı misu¨llu¨ kendu¨leri kahr ve tenkıˆl ve dirlik ve esaˆmileri ref‘ olunmak ve es¸haˆsdan ise her ne tabakadan olur ise olsun bi’t-tahkıˆk i‘daˆm olunmak hususuna cu¨mle hanedaˆnaˆn ve vu¨cuˆh-i memaˆlik mu¨te‘ahhid olup ve cu¨mle[si] Aˆsitaˆne’nin emniyetine ve istihsaˆl-i aˆsaˆyis¸ine kefıˆl olmag˘la bu rabıtaˆ-i kaviyye ne makule esbaˆba tevakkuf eyler ise istihsaˆline bi’l-ittifaˆk ve ale’d-devaˆm ikdaˆm ve gayret oluna.” See Akyıldız, “Sened-i I˙ttifak”, pp. 219– 20. 83. In 1688, for instance, Atpazarıˆ Seyyid Osman Efendi, a preacher of Sultan Selim Mosque and a Celvetıˆ Sufi, served this function upon the request of the rebels. Yi, “Rebellion of 1688”, pp. 121– 2. 84. The coup d’e´tat of Alemdar Mustafa Pasha refers to a series of events leading to the installation of Mahmud II to the Ottoman throne with the help of Alemdar Mustafa Pasha. The latter, then the serasker of the Danubian frontier and the ayan of Ruscuk, in collaboration with several pro-Selimian bureaucrats, marched to the capital with the purpose of re-installing Selim III to the Ottoman throne. Yet, while he was trying to reach the inner parts of the Topkapı Palace, Mustafa IV ordered the murder of Selim III and Prince Mahmud (II) in order to eliminate alternative candidates. Alemdar Mustafa Pasha saved Mahmud and installed him to the throne, while Mustafa IV was placed under surveillance in the palace. For further details, see Aysel Yıldız, “III. Selim’in Katilleri”, Osmanlı Aras¸tırmaları, XXXI (2008), pp. 55 – 92. 85. During his grand vizierate, Alemdar Mustafa had started a policy of purging the advocates of Mustafa IV and executing the culprits involved in the deposition and death of Selim III. He also tried to curb the economic power and social prestige of the janissaries. A complicated series of tensions led to a janissary upheaval in the capital (15 November 1808), ending with the death of the Grand Vizier and his supporters. For further details, see Yildiz, “A city under fire”.

Chapter 2

The Breeding Ground

1. Simon Schama, The Citizens: A Chronicle of the French Revolution (New York: Random House, 1989), p. 307. 2. Turchin and Nefedov, Secular Cycles, p. 20. 3. Bayly, The Birth of the Modern World, pp. 86 – 7. 4. Thomas J. Sargent and Franc
ois R. Velde, “Macroeconomic features of the French Revolution”, Journal of Political Economy, 103/3 (1995), pp. 474–518; David R. Weir, “Les Crises e´conomiques et les origines de la Re´volution franc
aise”, Annales, E´conomies, Socie´te´s, Civilisations, 46/4 (1991), pp. 917–47; E. Nelson White, “Was there a solution to the Ancien Re´gime’s financial dilemma?”, The Journal of Economic History, 49/3 (September 1989), pp. 545–68.

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225

5. Michael E. Mann, R.S. Bradley and M.K. Hughes, “Global scale temperature patterns and climate forcing over the past six centuries”, Nature, 392 (1998), pp. 779 –87. 6. Richard Grove, Ecology, Climate and Empire: Colonialism and Global Environmentalism (Cambridge: The White Horse Press, 1997), pp. 124, 126, 133, 142; Richard Grove, “Global impact of the 1789–93 El Nin˜o”, Nature, 393 (1998), pp. 318– 19; XiuQi Fang, L. Xiao and Z. Wei, “Social impacts of the climatic shift around the turn of the 19th century on the North China Plain”, Science China Earth Sciences, 6/56 (2013), pp. 1044– 58. 7. The years between 1805 and 1826 were the coldest of the Little Ice Age for Europeans. For China, especially in the north, the cold 1780s – 1810s corresponded to a period of generally rapid cooling. Fang et al., “Social impacts”, pp. 1050 – 2. For an excellent study on the Laki eruption, its global effects, as well as its special impact on Ottoman Egypt, see Alan Mikhail, “Ottoman Iceland: a climate history”, Environmental History, 20 (2015), pp. 262 – 84. 8. Kenneth Pomeranz, The Great Divergence: China, Europe and the Making of the Modern World Economy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000), pp. 56 – 7, 224– 34. According to Pomeranz, it was potato cultivation, increased ecological knowledge and coal that helped to overcome the crisis (pp. 57 – 68). China was better off with regard to ecological pressures and the agricultural crisis (p. 241). 9. Leonard Blusse´, Visible Cities: Canton, Nagasaki and Batavia and the Coming of the Americans (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2008), p. 6; Philip A. Kuhn, Origins of the Modern Chinese State (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2002), pp. 4– 7. 10. Fang et al., “Social impacts”, p. 1051. 11. A hailstorm and a severe drought succeeded by a harsh winter, followed by floods in the same year (1788), resulted in a dearth of bread the following year. Schama, The Citizens, pp. 303– 4. 12. George Rude´, “The London mob of the eighteenth century”, The Historical Journal, 2/1 (1959), pp. 12, 16 – 17. 13. Roger Wells, Wretched Faces: Famine in Wartime England 1793– 1801 (London: Breviary Stuff Publications, 2011), p. 12. 14. Mikhail, “Ottoman Iceland”, p. 262. 15. For further details, see Turchin and Nefedov, Secular Cycles, p. 7. 16. For the gradual repopulation of Ottoman Balkans in 1595– 1718, see Traian Stoianovich, “The conquering Balkan Orthodox merchant”, The Journal of Economic History, 20/2 (1960), pp. 249– 51; Traian Stoianovich, “Land tenure and related sectors of the Balkan economy, 1600– 1800”, The Journal of Economic History, 13/4 (1953), p. 399. The author enumerates that long wars, diseases and the sexual practices of the Muslim population were important factors in declining reproductive powers, while the Orthodox subjects enjoyed a slight recovery in 1700– 1800.

226

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17. Jack A. Goldstone, “Cultural orthodoxy, risk and innovation: the divergence of East and West in the early modern world”, Sociological Theory, 5/2 (1987), p. 125. 18. William Eton, A Survey of the Turkish Empire (London: T. Cadell and W. Davies, 1798), pp. 263, 276. 19. Franc
ois A. de Chateaubriand, Travels in Greece, Palestine, Egypt and Barbary during the Years 1806 and 1807, 2 vols, translated from French by F. Shoberi (London: Henry Colburn, 1812), I, p. 105. 20. As the cause, he states only petite ve´role for one of the deaths, while others are not specified. Osmanlı-Harbi Esnasında Bir S¸ahidin Kaleminden I˙stanbul, 1769– 1774, Su¨leyman Go¨ksu (ed.) (Istanbul: C¸amlıca, 2007), pp. 86 – 7. 21. Olivier, Travels, I, p. 157. 22. For similar trends, as well as the negative impact of European expansion in Egypt, see Daniel Crecelius, “Egypt in the eighteenth century”, in M.W. Daly (ed.), The Cambridge History of Egypt, II, pp. 60 – 82. 23. Daniel Panzac, “International and domestic trade in the Ottoman Empire during the 18th century”, International Journal of Middle East Studies, 24/2 (May 1992), p. 192; Mehmet Genc
, “A study of the feasability of using eighteenth-century Ottoman financial records as an indicator of economic activity”, in H. I˙slamog˘lu-I˙nan (ed.), The Ottoman Empire and the WorldEconomy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), pp. 345– 73; Mehmet Genc
, “18. Yu¨zyılda Savas¸ ve Ekonomi”, Osmanlı I˙mparatorlug˘u’da Devlet ve Ekonomi (Istanbul: O¨tu¨ken, 2000), p. 212; Mehmet Genc
, “17 – 19. Yu¨zyıllarda Sanayi ve Ticaret Merkezi Olarak Tokat”, Devlet ve Ekonomi, pp. 272–92. Salonika is marked by an increase in population and expanding trade even in the 1810s. The main problem in Salonika seems to have been related to overtaxation, the provisioning of the army and speculation on grain. Mark Mazower, Salonika: City of Ghosts: Christians, Muslims and Jews 1430– 1950 (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2005), pp. 114– 15. For the internal and external dynamics of change in Salonika, see I˙rfan Ko¨kdas¸, “When The Countryside is Free: Urban Politics, Local Autonomy and the Changing Internal Social Structure in Ottoman Salonica, 1740– 1820”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (State University of New York at Binghamton, 2013). For international trade in Izmir, see Elena Frangakis-Syrett, “The economic activities of Ottoman and Western communities in eighteenth century Izmir”, Oriento Moderno, Nuova Serie, 18, 79/1 (1999), pp. 11 – 22. 24. Daniel Panzac, La Peste dans l’empire ottoman (1700– 1850) (Leuven: E. Peeters, 1985), pp. 41 – 3. All were accompanied by diseases and migrations from the region. 25. Canbakal, “Political unrest in the 18th century”, p. 48. A total of 35 waves of plague were identified in Izmir. For different waves of droughts and locusts in different cities of the Empire during the nineteenth century in Ottoman Anatolia, see Mehmet Yavuz Erler, Osmanlı Devleti’nde Kuraklık ve Kıtlık Olayları (1800 – 1880) (Istanbul: Libra, 2010), pp. 89 – 92.

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26. Guillaume A. Olivier, Voyage dans l’empire othoman, L’E´gypte et la Perse (Paris: Agasse, 1807), vol. 4, pp. 436– 7, as cited in Charles Issawi, The Fertile Crescent 1800– 1914: A Documentary Economic History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), p. 96. Panzac adds to these disasters the earthquake of 1759 and the plague of 1760– 2 (La Peste, p. 43); Mesut Aydıner, “Ku¨resel Isınma Tartıs¸malarına Tarihten Bir Katkı: Ars¸iv Belgeleri Is¸ıg˘ında XVIII. Yu¨zyılın I˙kinci Yarısında Diyarbakır ve C¸evresinde Meydana Gelen Bu¨yu¨k Kıtlık ve Tedbirler/Diyarbakır as reflected in archival documents in the latter half of the 18th century: the case of the Great Famine”, Ankara U¨niversitesi Osmanlı Tarihi Aras¸tırmaları Merkezi, 19 (2007), pp. 123– 38. 27. Panzac, La Peste, pp. 66 – 77. 28. Mazower, City of Ghosts, pp. 108–10. See also Panzac, La Peste, p. 359. 29. Issawi, The Fertile Crescent, p. 99; Roger Owen, The Middle East in the World Economy 1800– 1914 (London: I.B.Tauris, 2002), p. 7. 30. Daniel Panzac, Population et sante´ dans l’empire ottoman (XVIIIe – XXe sie`cles) (Istanbul: ISIS, 1996), p. 35: “L’ensemble des pertes en vies humaines de Smyrne au XVIIIe sie`cle dues a` la surmortalite´ cause´e par la peste e´quivaut au moins a` la population de la ville tout entie`re.” See also p. 54. 31. Ariel Salzmann, “Measures of Empire: Tax-Farmers and the Ottoman Ancien Re´gime, 1695– 1807”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (Columbia University, 1995), pp. 294, 306; Issawi, The Fertile Crescent, p. 99. In the case of 1712, since most of the guardians of the fortress had died, the governor of the city asked for new soldiers. It seems that around 50,000 people died in the second wave of the plague. Hu¨seyin Yılmazc
elik, XIX. Yu¨zyılın I˙lk Yarısında Diyarbakır (1790 – 1840) (Ankara: TTK, 1995), p. 110. 32. Elias Habesci, The Present State of the Ottoman Empire (London: R. Baldwin, 1774), pp. 215– 16. 33. Yılmazc
elik, Diyarbakır, p. 110; Salzmann, Measures of Empire, p. 307. 34. Panzac, La Peste, pp. 198, 359. Baron de Tott remarks that, following a famine, the re-use of clothing in the Bit Bazarı (flea market) accelerated the spread of the disease and caused the deaths of 150,000 people. Franc
ois de Tott, Memoirs of Baron de Tott, Containing the State of the Turkish Empire and the Crimea During the Late War with Russia, 2 vols, 2nd edn (London: G.G.J. & J. Robinson, 1786), I, pp. 36 – 44. 35. For detailed descriptions of these diseases around 1800, see William Wittman, Travels in Turkey, Asia Minor, Syria and Across the Desert into Egypt During the Years 1799, 1800 and 1801 (London: Richard Philips, 1803). 36. Charles Issawi (ed.), The Economic History of the Middle East 1800– 1914: A Book of Readings (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1966), p. 3. 37. Basil C. Gounaris, “Reassessing wheat crises in eighteenth-century Thessaloniki”, The Historical Review, 5 (2008), pp. 41 – 65; Mazower, City of Ghosts, pp. 96 – 100. For the excessive demands of a vizier in Diyarbakır and the prevalent imperial order, see BOA, MD, Order no. 159, 303/2, as cited in Aydıner, “Bu¨yu¨k Kıtlık”, p. 132. Mikhail also notes that the rivalry over

228

38.

39.

40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45.

46.

47.

48.

49. 50.

NOTES

TO PAGES

49 –51

scarce resources led the local elite to seize and consolidate their power over the rural lands in mid-1789 in the midst of social confusion and disorder, Mikhail, “Ottoman Iceland”, pp. 273– 5. For further details, see Salzmann, Measures of Empire, pp. 293– 303. Petitions sent to Istanbul by some of the peasants complained of overtaxation and disputes, unwarranted demands for avarız (extraordinary levies) over malikane (lifetime leases), contracts and salyane (upkeep payments). For how the Porte attempted to overcome problems in the region, see Aydıner, “Bu¨yu¨k Kıtlık”, pp. 127 –37. Eton, A Survey of the Turkish Empire, pp. 263 – 4. For his estimates of depopulation in Cairo, Mosul, Diyarbakır, Mardin, Baghdad, Ankara, Smyrna and Istanbul, see pp. 275 – 92. For the effect of diseases on depopulation and migration, and their effects on the economy, see Panzac, La Peste, pp. 380 – 407. Panzac, La Peste, p. 43. Turchin and Nefedov, Secular Cycles, p. 10. Kenneth M. Cuno, “The origins of private ownership of land in Egypt: a reappraisal”, International Journal of Middle East Studies, 12 (1980), pp. 248–9. Sam White, The Climate of Rebellion in the Early Modern Ottoman Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), p. 280. Stoianovich, “Land tenure”, pp. 402, 407, 410. Bruce McGowan, “The age of the ayans”, in S. Faroqhi, B. McGowan, D. Quataert and S¸. Pamuk (eds), An Economic and Social History of the Ottoman Empire 1300 – 1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), II, pp. 665 – 6. Bruce McGowan, Economic Life in Ottoman Europe: Taxation, Trade and the Struggle for Land, 1600 –1800 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), p. 61. For general details of the techniques of land usurpation, see pp. 60 – 6. For the connection between chiftlik formation and the conditions of the peasantry in Manastır, see pp. 135– 41. B’lgarska Akademia na Naukite, Istoria na B’lgaria, 2 vols (Sofia: Izdatelstvo na B’lgarska Akademia na Naukite, 1954– 5), I, p. 362, as cited in McGowan, Economic Life, p. 72. Panayotis A. Papachristou, “The Three Faces of the Phanariots: An Inquiry into the Role and Motivations of the Greek Nobility under Ottoman Rule 1683– 1821”, unpublished M.A. thesis (Simon Fraser University, 1992), pp. 16 – 17. In 1805, the peasants again found themselves under oppression (Papachristou, p. 28). McGowan, Economic Life, p. 73. See also Stoianovich, “Land tenure”, p. 407. Ko¨kdas¸, Salonica, pp. 83 – 90. Yu¨cel O¨zkaya, “XVIII. Yu¨zyılda C¸ıkarılan Adaletnamelere Go¨re Tu¨rkiye’nin I˙
c Durumu”, Belleten, 38/149–152 (1974), pp. 446–92; Cengiz S¸eker, “I˙stanbul Ahkam ve Atik S¸ikayet Defterlerine Go¨re 18. Yu¨zyılda I˙stanbul’a Yo¨nelik Go¨
clerin Tasvir ve Tahlili”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (Marmara University,

NOTES

51. 52.

53.

54. 55.

56.

57. 58. 59. 60.

TO PAGES

51 –52

229

2007), pp. 61–70; Cengiz S¸eker, “The causes of rural migrations in 18th century Ottoman society”, Osmanlı Aras¸tırmaları, XLII (2013), pp. 207–33. For the abuses of local power holders and officials, and the consequent migration in Trabzon, see Abdullah Bay, “XVIII: ve XIX. Yu¨zyıllarda Trabzon Eyaletinde Tımar ve Zeametlerin Durumu”, Karadeniz Aras¸tırmaları, 18 (2008), pp. 46– 53; A. Osman C¸ınar, “Mehmed Emin Edib Efendi’nin Hayatı ve Tarihi”, Ph.D. thesis (Marmara University, 1999), pp. 135–8. ¨ zkaya, “Osmanlıg˘ı I˙mparatorlug˘unda XVIII. Yu¨zyılda Go¨
c Sorunu”, Yu¨cel O Tarih Aras¸tırmaları Dergisi, 14/25 (1982), pp. 171– 203. BOA, HAT 189/9015 (undated). Hacı Ahmedzade was not dismissed from the voyvodalık at that time, but rather immediately after the rise of Mustafa IV to power. In the relevant document, it is noted that “due to the complaints of the people during the accession to the throne, Hacı Ahmedzaˆde Seyyid I˙brahim Ag˘a has been dismissed.” BOA, HAT 1355/52963 (undated). Melek O¨ksu¨z, “XVIII. Yu¨zyılın I˙kinci Yarısında Trabzon’da Ayan, Es¸kıya ve Go¨
c Sorunu”, Ana Sayfa, 5/1 (2005). Available at e-dergi.atauni.edu.tr; S¸eker, ¨ zkaya, Osmanlı I˙mparatorlug˘u’nda Dag˘lı Es¸kiyaları: Ahkam, pp. 69 – 70; Yu¨cel O 1791– 1808 (Ankara: DTCF, 1983); Vera Moutafchie´va, L’Anarchie dans les Balkans a` la fin du XVIIIe sie`cle (Istanbul: ISIS, 2005). For an excellent study of banditry in the Balkans and the figure of Kara Feyzi, see Tolga Esmer, “A Culture of Rebellion: Networks of Violence and Competing Discourses of Justice in the Ottoman Empire, 1790– 1808”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (University of Chicago, 2009); Tolga Esmer, “Economies of violence, banditry and governance in the Ottoman Empire around 1800”, Past and Present, 224 (2014), pp. 163– 99. Stoianovich, “The Balkan Orthodox merchant”, p. 253. Deena R. Sadat, “Rumeli Ayanları: the eighteenth century”, The Journal of Modern History, 44/3 (September 1972), p. 354; Michael R. Palairet, The Balkan Economies c.1800– 1914: Evolution without Development (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), pp. 37 – 9; Stoianovich, “The Balkan Orthodox merchant”, p. 253. While no comprehensive study of eighteenth-century banditry exists, some regional studies are as follows: Faruk So¨ylemez, “XVIII. Yu¨zyıl Bas¸larından XIX. Yu¨zyıl Ortalarına kadar Maras¸ ve C¸evresinde Es¸kiyalık Hareketleri”, Sosyal Bilimler Enstitu¨su¨ Dergisi, 22 (2007), pp. 69–85; S¸eker, Ahkam, pp. 70–2; S¸eker, “Causes of migration”, pp. 223–6; C¸ag˘atay Uluc
ay, 18. ve 19. Yu¨zyıllarda Saruhan’da Eskiyalık ve Halk Hareketleri (Istanbul: Berksoy Basimevi, 1955). Yılmazc
elik, Diyarbakır, pp. 112– 13. For the problem of insecurity and measures in Salonika, see Ko¨kdas¸, Salonica, especially Chapter III. Halil I˙nalcık, “A note on the population of Cyprus”, Kıbrıs Aras¸tırmaları Dergisi, 3/1 (1997), p. 4. McGowan, “The age of the ayans”, pp. 649– 50. In his reform proposal, Tatarcık Abdullah Molla also complains that the Ottoman reaya were

230

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62. 63.

64.

65. 66. 67.

68. 69.

70. 71.

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52 –53

migrating to Christian countries or at least were becoming sympathetic to the Russians due to oppression at home. Tatarcık Abdullah Molla “Sultan III. Selim-i Salis Devrinde Nizam-ı Devlet Hakkında Mu¨talaat”, Tarih-i Osmani Encu¨meni Mecmuası, VII/41 (1332/1913– 14) p. 20, VII/42, p. 322. Yavuz Cezar, “Osmanlı Aydını Su¨leyman Penah Efendi’nin Sosyal, Ekonomik ve Mali Konularla I˙lgili Go¨ru¨s¸ ve O¨nerileri”, Toplum ve Bilim, 42 (1988), pp. 117, 122. For the solutions he offers, see pp. 122– 6. McGowan, “The age of the ayans”, pp. 649– 50. The Great Flight (Bu¨yu¨k Kac
gun) is a name derived to explain the mass migration of Anatolian peasants during the course of the seventeenth-century crisis. William J. Griswold, The Great Anatolian Rebellion 1000– 1020/1591 – 1611 (Berlin: Klaus Schwarz Veralg, 1983); Mustafa Akdag˘, “Celali I˙syanlarından Bu¨yu¨k Kac
gunluk”, Istanbul U¨niveristesi Enstitu¨su¨ Dergisi, 11/2 – 3 (1964), pp. 1– 50. Tatarcık Abdullah Molla also observes that peasants were migrating to the capital to seek shelter from oppression in the countryside, “Nizam-ı Devlet Hakkında Mu¨talaat”, p. 322. For the wave between 1683 and 1718, see Olson, The Siege of Mosul, p. 66. For later waves, see S¸eker, Ahkam, pp. 33–4. As reflected in the eighteenth-century Ahkam and S¸ikayet registers, almost half of the migrants were from central Anatolia; others were from regions closer to Istanbul, while still others were from Rumelia. S¸eker, Ahkam, pp. 48–60. Cezar, “Su¨leyman Penah”, p. 119. “Nizam-ı Devlet Hakkında Mu¨talaat”, p. 322. The Albanians, in fact, had migrated to the capital during the early eighteenth century and were very instrumental in the revolts of this period. Migrating to the capital in the eighteenth century, it seems that they were involved in the lime-burning trade. For a study of the link between migrants and their place in Istanbul’s public baths, see Nina Ergin, “The Albanian Tellaˆk connection: labor migration to the hamams of eighteenth-century Istanbul, based on the 1752 I˙stanbul Hamaˆmları Defteri”, Turcica, 43 (2011), pp. 231– 56. Aktepe, Patrona, p. 170. Cengiz Kırlı, “The Struggle Over Space: Coffeehouses of Ottoman Istanbul, 1780– 1845”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (State University of New York at Binghamton, 2000), pp. 103– 5; Cengiz Kırlı, “A profile of the labor force in early nineteenth-century Istanbul”, International Labor and Working-Class History, 60 (Fall 2001), pp. 135– 8; Cengiz Kırlı, “Devlet ve I˙statistik: Esnaf Kefalet Defterleri Is¸ıg˘ında III. Selim I˙ktidarı”, in S. Kenan (ed.), Nizam-ı Kadim’den Nizam-ı Cedid’e III. Selim ve Do¨nemi (Istanbul: I˙SAM, 2010), pp. 203 –4. Kırlı, “Labor force”, p. 134; Kırlı, “Kefalet Defterleri”, pp. 205–12. There was a total of 872 rooms in these inns but 129 of them were vacant. BOA, A. DVN. 899-L; Betu¨l Bas¸aran, Selim III, Social Control and Policing in Istanbul at the End of the Eighteenth Century: Between Crisis and Order (Leiden: Brill, 2014), p. 137.

NOTES

TO PAGES

53 –54

231

72. For similar conditions in Salonika, the placement of restrictions on membership and occupational mobility, and the movement of crafts into the countryside, see Ko¨kdas¸, Salonica, pp. 50 – 2. 73. 300,000 (Kırlı, “Labor force”, p. 125; 426,000 (Kemal H. Karpat, Ottoman Population (1830 – 1914): Demographic and Social Characteristics (Madison: Wisconsin University Press, 1985). According to Dallaway, it was around 400,000 in the 1790s. James Dallaway, Constantinople Ancient and Modern: with Excursions to the Shores and Islands of the Archipelago and to the Troad (London: T. Bensley, 1797), p. 15. 74. Food and bread riots, a complex form of popular reaction to soaring prices, abuses and hunger, were a common phenomenon in Europe of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. While this issue is well covered in studies of early modern Europe, it is less so in the Ottoman context. It is usually studied within the framework of a state’s inability to offer sufficient provisions at fixed prices, and also through the wider context of the rise of absolutist states and capitalism. For the connection between increases in food prices and urban unrest in eighteenth century Cairo, as intensified by heavy taxation on imports, see Baer, “Popular protest”, pp. 220–4. For an analysis of riots in Damascus, especially on local judges becoming scapegoats of street violence in the eighteenth century, see James Grehan, “Street violence and social imagination in late-Mamluk and Ottoman Damascus (ca. 1500–1800)”, International Journal of Middle East Studies, 35/2 (May 2003), pp. 215–36. For a general literature review, consult Edward P. Thompson, “The moral economy of the English crowd in the eighteenth century”, Past and Present, 50 (1972), pp. 76–132; Louis A. Tilly, “The food riot as a form of political conflict in France”, The Journal of Interdisciplinary History, 2/1 (1971), pp. 23–57; George Rude´, “The London mob of the eighteenth century”, The Historical Journal, 2/1 (1959), 1–18; John Bohstedt, The Politics of Provisions: Food Riots, Moral Economy and Market in Transition in England (c.1550–1850) (Farnham: Ashgate, 2010). 75. Lynne M. Thornton S¸as¸mazer, “Provisioning Istanbul: Bread Production, Power, and Political Ideology in the Ottoman Empire, 1789–1807”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (Indiana University, 2000), pp. 99–100. Therefore, the central authorities had diluted the bread with barley, millet and other kinds of grain, a practice that continued in the 1790s because of bad harvests and the provisioning to the army (pp. 115–16). For similar observations and further details, see “Nizam-ı Devlet Hakkında Mu¨talaat”, p. 323. 76. Baron de Tott, Memoirs, I, pp. 33 – 6. For the role of women in the late seventeenth-century London riots, see Robert B. Shoemaker, “The London ‘Mob’ in the early eighteenth century”, Journal of British Studies, 3 (November 1973), p. 285. 77. As a solution to frequent fires, the author offers a better supervisioning of construction in the city and limits to regions open to new buildings. Under such restrictions, fewer people would prefer to come to the city and, thus, the producers would be relieved from monopolies on grain. Cezar, “Su¨leyman

232

78.

79.

80.

81. 82. 83.

84.

85. 86. 87. 88. 89.

NOTES

TO PAGES

54 –55

Penah Efendi”, pp. 119–20. For similar observations by Tatarcık Abdullah, see “Nizam-ı Devlet Hakkında Mu¨talaat”, p. 322. Edib Efendi notes that both the quality and quantity of bread dropped while prices remained the same. At the same time the price of the chickpea doubled from five akc
e to ten para and that of cowpea (bo¨ru¨lce) from 3 para to 12 para. Following the classical method of scapegoating, the kapan naibi and chief baker (ekmekc
ibas¸ı) were dismissed and exiled. Edib Tarihi, p. 91. The difficulties suffered by the imperial army on campaign around Mehadiye due to the harsh winter and the lack of sufficient provisioning are also mentioned, pp. 93–4. BOA, HAT 54451 (undated). Italics are mine. On the Porte’s concern to prevent hoarding and price increases in 1742, see Olson, “Jews, janissaries”, pp. 198– 9. For the functions of millers and bakers from the mid-eighteenth to the mid-nineteenth century, see Salih Aynural, “The millers and bakers of Istanbul, 1750– 1840”, in S. Faroqhi and R. Deguilhem (eds), Crafts and Craftsmen of the Middle East: Fashioning the Individual in the Muslim Mediterranean (London: I.B.Tauris, 2005), pp. 153–95. Taylesanizaˆde Hafız Abdullah Efendi, Taylesanizaˆde Hafız Abdullah Efendi Tarihi: I˙stanbul’un Uzun Do¨rt Yılı (1785 – 1789), F. Emecen (ed.) (Istanbul: Tarih ve Tabiat Vakfı, 2003), p. 408: “ve yine yevm-i mezburda gala sebebiyle bir mertebe fırında ekmek yag˘ması olub vasfa gelmez ve tabh olunan nan-ı aziz mekul olmayup, mazallahu Teala balc
ık gibi cu¨mle fırınlarda rical ve nisa, sıbyan ve kefere ve reaya ve beraya feryad u¨ figan u¨zere olub.” For the looting event in 1790, which originally started among the Albanian bakers over poor bread quality, see ibid. p. 408. Bas¸aran, Policing Istanbul, p. 102; S¸as¸mazer, Provisioning Istanbul, p. 91. Interestingly enough, many of these bakers were later discovered to have been recruited as janissaries. Schama, Citizens, p. 305. Wells, Wretched Faces, p. 5. Fatih Yes¸il, “I˙stanbul’un I˙as¸esinde Nizam-ı Cedid: Zahire Nezareti’nin Kurulus¸u ve I˙s¸leyis¸i (1793 – 1839)”, Tu¨rklu¨k Aras¸tırmaları Dergisi, 15 (2004), pp. 113 –42. Robert Walpole, Travels in Various Countries of the East, Being a Continuation of Memoirs Relating to European and Asiatic Turkey (London: Longman, 1820), p. 152. BOA, HAT 115/4646 (1218/1803 –1804). This document provides a table of increases in the price of wheat per dirhem. For more details, see S¸as¸mazer, Provisioning Istanbul, pp. 192– 3. BOA, HAT 174/7558 (29 Z 1215/13 May 1801). Ahmed Vasıf Efendi, Mehaˆsinu¨’l-Aˆsaˆr ve Haka¯iku¨’l-Ahbaˆr, Mu¨cteba I˙lgu¨rel (ed.) (Ankara: TTK, 1994), p. 92. For comments of Selim III on the poverty of people, his complaints regarding hoarding and the punishment of hoarding shopkeepers, see BOA, HAT 174/7554 (29 Z 1215/13 May 1801). The sultan advises instant and heavy punishments to set an example against such illicit practices.

NOTES

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55 –60

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90. Salzmann, Measures of Empire, p. 433. 91. Salih Aynural, “Selim III Do¨neminde I˙stanbul’da I˙ktisadi Hayat 1789– 1807”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (Istanbul University, 1989), pp. 140– 6. Between 1777 and 1846, wheat prices increased by 96 per cent, while those of barley increased by 81.76 per cent. 92. Mehmet Ali Beyhan, “Some records on price controls in Istanbul at the beginning of the 19th century”, in V. Constantini and M. Koller (eds), Living in the Ottoman Ecumenical Community (Leiden: Brill, 2008), pp. 134– 5. For the shortage of fruit and firewood, and the scarcity in meat due to the loss of livestock because of harsh winters, see ibid. pp. 138– 40, 142– 3. 93. Walpole, Travels, p. 152. 94. Og˘ulukyan, Ruznaˆme, p. 7; S¸as¸mazer, Provisioning Istanbul, p. 193. 95. Thompson, “Moral economy”, p. 80. 96. Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, p. 637. 97. Og˘ulukyan, Ruznaˆme, p. 22. 98. Turchin and Nefedov, Secular Cycles, p. 10. 99. Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire, pp. 201– 4. The related increase in the numbers was in parallel with the increased importance of the infantries in the seventeenth-century wars. 100. By 1805, 112,000 janissaries were receiving salary, and the number increased to around 135,000 in the esame (payroll registers). Howard Reed, “The Destruction of the Janissaries by Mahmud II in June, 1826”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (Princeton University, 1951), p. 183. 101. Mustafa Kesbi, I˙bretnu¨ma-yı Devlet: Tahlil ve Tenkitli Metin, Ahmet O¨g˘reten (ed.) (Ankara: TTK, 2002), pp. 207– 8. It is also interesting that his confiscated estate was sold and sent to the imperial army for urgent payments, BOA, HAT 1779/7990 (undated). 102. Caˆbıˆ, I, pp. 21 – 42, 221. 103. The salary of a dalkılıc
was around 10 akc
es, while that of a retired janissary was 120 akc
es (1 gurus¸ ¼ 120 akc
es). 104. For similar observations, see M. Mert Sunar, “Ocak-ı Amire’den Ocak-ı Mu¨lgaˆ’ya Dog˘ru: Nizaˆm-ı Cedid Reformları Kars¸ısında Yenic
eriler”, in S. Kenan (ed.), Nizam-ı Kadim’den Nizam-ı Cedid’e III. Selim ve Do¨nemi (Istanbul: I˙SAM, 2010), pp. 508–10. 105. Caˆbıˆ, I, p. 230. 106. Yıldız, “Anatomy of a rebellious social group”, p. 304. 107. Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire, p. 206. See also Uzunc
ars¸ılı, Kapıkulu Ocakları, pp. 311– 12. 108. Sunar, “Nizam-ı Cedid Reformları Kars¸ısında Yenic
eriler”, pp. 519– 21. 109. Hu¨lya Canbakal, Society and Politics in an Ottoman Town: Ayntab in the 17th Century (Leiden: Brill, 2007), p. 67; Charles L. Wilkins, Forging Urban Solidarities: Ottoman Aleppo, 1640 – 1700 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), pp. 83 – 90. 110. Canbakal, Ayntab, pp. 77 –9.

234

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60 – 61

111. For a useful study on the sadats of the seventeenth century, see Hu¨lya Canbakal, “The Ottoman state and descendants of the Prophet in Anatolia and the Balkans”, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, 52 (2009), pp. 542 –78. 112. Wilkins, Forging Urban Solidarities, pp. 30 –1, 70 – 84. 113. James Porter, Turkey: Its History and Progress, from the Journals and Correspondence of Sir James Porter, Fifteen Years Ambassador at Constantinople, 2 vols (London: Hurst and Blackett, 1854), I, p. 337. The author asserts that they were granted this privilege during the reign of Mahmud I (r. 1730 –54), and that most janissaries were involved in trade along the shores of Egypt and Syria. He also remarks that this group began to preserve peace and was less concerned with revolts. See also, Johann Wilhem Zinkeisen, Osmanlı I˙mparatorlug˘u Tarihi, translated into Turkish by N. Epc
eli, 7 vols (Istanbul: Yeditepe, 2011), V, p. 591. 114. Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire, pp. 207– 9. 115. Andre´ Raymond, “Soldiers in trade: the case of Ottoman Cairo”, British Journal of Middle Eastern Societies, 18/1 (1991), p. 29. 116. This rule is clearly specified in a dispute over the estate of deceased Mehmed Efendi, a janissary from the 71st regiment, between a trustee of a vakıf and a trustee belonging to the same regiment. It is stated that if the person is a “real” janissary, his goods cannot be seized by the branch of the mukataa; if not, they can be. BOA, HAT 35/1765 (undated). 117. BOA, C. AS 1518 (24 Ca 1210/6 December 1797). 118. Upon the writ of the relevant odabas¸ı (lieutenant) to the
orbacı c (colonel), the culprit would be allowed to be punished, and particular attention would be given for the punishment to occur at night and away from the eyes of the public. After dinner, janissaries would be called to the Square and the guilty would be beaten in a ceremonial and hierarchical way. No punishment would be carried out on religious days or Fridays. For further details, see Eyyubıˆ Efendi Kanunnaˆmesi, A. O¨zcan (ed.) (Istanbul: Eren, 1994), pp. 47 – 8; Uzunc
ars¸ılı, Kapıkulu Ocakları, pp. 355– 62. 119. Carter V. Findley, “Political culture and the great households”, in S. Faroqhi (ed.), The Cambridge History of Turkey, v. III: The Latter Ottoman Empire 1603– ¨ zkaya, 1839 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), pp. 71 –4; O “Adaletnameler”, p. 446. 120. Carter V. Findley, “The foundation of the Ottoman foreign ministry: the beginnings of bureaucratic reform under Selim III and Mahmud II”, International Journal of Middle East Studies, 3 (1972), pp. 389– 92; Carter V. Findley, Bureaucratic Reform in the Ottoman Empire: The Sublime Porte, 1789– 1922 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980), pp. 65 – 8. See also Christine M. Philliou, Biography of an Empire: Governing the Ottomans in an Age of Revolution (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011), p. 34. For the overstaffing of the bureucracy, see Findley, Bureaucratic Reform, p. 121 and Christine M. Philliou, “Breaking the tetrarchia and saving the kaymakam: to

NOTES

121.

122.

123.

124. 125.

126.

TO PAGES

61 – 63

235

be an ambitious Ottoman Christian in 1821”, in A. Anastasopoulos and E. Kolovos (eds), Ottoman Rule and the Balkans, 1760– 1850 (Rethymno: Crete University Press, 2007), p. 190, especially the quotation from Dionysios Photeinos. The berats of protection removed the non-Muslim subjects from the jurisdiction of the Ottoman laws. By the establishment of regular diplomatic representation in the Empire, the Porte began to allow protection to nonMuslim subjects. Through the articles of various treaties, the prote´ge´ system became very widespread and also open to abuse. Thomas Naff, “Ottoman Diplomacy and the Great European Powers, 1797– 1802”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (University of London, 1960), p. 68. Christine M. Philliou, “Mischief in the Old Regime: provincial dragomans and social change at the turn of the nineteenth century”, New Perspectives on Turkey, 25 (Fall 2001), pp. 107, 111, 115–20. Ko¨kdas¸, Salonica, p. 38 notes that most of the pseudo-interpreters rushed to the city and participated in flourishing trade networks and money lending, not to mention the fierce struggle among the non-Muslim Salonican traders to obtain the title. Salahi R. Sonyel, “The prote´ge´ system in the Ottoman Empire”, Journal of Islamic Studies, 2/1 (1991), pp. 56 – 66. Neticetu¨’l-Vekayi, fls. 42b– 43. The authors of reform proposals also concentrate on this issue and try to offer measures to curb the number of the askerıˆ class. Engin C¸ag˘man (ed.), III. Selim’e Sunulan Islahat Layihaları (Istanbul: Kitabevi, 2010); Ahmet O¨g˘reten (ed.), Nizam-ı Cedid’e Dair Askeri Layihalar (Istanbul: TTK, 2014). Tugıˆ, writing on the 1622 uprising, states that the heads of six men were demanded, and at least two of them were included into the execution list due to problems in the payment of janissary salaries. Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire, pp. 167– 9. For instance, the execution of the chief treasurer (defterdar) was demanded by the rebels of 1622, for the payment of salaries in debased coinage and the arrears in the payment of retired soldiers. Arrears in payments and debased coinage caused further uprisings in 1623 and 1629. The debasement of coinage alone caused another rebellion in 1655. Abdi, Tarih, p. 87. Arrears were the cause for yet another uprising in 1657 again by the cavalrymen. The rebellion of 1687, which ended with the deposition of Mehmed IV, was a mutiny by the soldiers due to the delay in promised payment and the dismissal of some active soldiers from the payrolls. The delay in the payment of three cavalrymen’s salaries was the excuse for their revolt. Further, the guildsmen revolted in 1651 insisting that they would not disperse until the excessive taxes were cancelled. Yi, Guild Dynamics, pp. 213, 216. Minor rebellions in 1717, 1718 and 1719 were also due to arrears in salaries. Olson, “Jews, janissaries”, p. 187. Economic issues also lie at the heart of the 1730 uprising. For the 1730 arrears, see Olson, The Siege of Mosul, p. 67. For the connection between military revolts and debasements, see Cemal Kafadar,

236

127.

128.

129.

130. 131.

132. 133.

134. 135.

136. 137.

NOTES

TO PAGES

63 –65

“When Coins Turned into Drops of Dew and Bankers Became Robbers of Shadows: The Boundaries of Ottoman Economic Imagination at the End of the Sixteenth Century”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (McGill University, 1986); Baki Tezcan, “The monetary crisis of 1585 revisited”, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, 52 (2009), esp. pp. 497– 8. I˙smail H. Uzunc
ars¸ılı, “III. Sultan Selim Zamanında Yazılmıs¸ Dıs¸ Ruzname’sinden 1206/1791 ve 1207/1792 Senelerine Ait Vekayi”, Belleten, 148/XXXVIII (1973), p. 656. For an overview of Ottoman recruitment strategies, see Virginia H. Aksan, “Ottoman military recruitment strategies in the late eighteenth century”, in E.J Zu¨rcher, Arming the State: Military Conscription in the Middle East and Central Asia (London: I.B.Tauris, 1999), pp. 21 – 39. Stanford J. Shaw, Between Old and New: The Ottoman Empire Under Sultan Selim III, 1789– 1807 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1971), p. 133; Fatih Yes¸il, I˙htilaller C¸ag˘ında Osmanlı Ordusu: Osmanlı I˙mparatorlug˘u’nda ¨ zerine Bir I˙nceleme (1793 – 1826) Sosyoekonomik ve Sosyopolitik Deg˘is¸im U (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfı Yurt Yayınları, 2016), pp. 87 – 94. For an illustrative and enjoyable story of Ibrahim, a migrant from Tosya, see ibid. pp. 7 – 10. McGowan, “The age of the ayans”, p. 716. Yavuz Cezar, Osmanlı Maliyesinde Bunalım ve Deg˘is¸im Do¨nemi (XVIII. Yu¨zyıldan Tanzimat’a Mali Tarih) (Istanbul: Alan Yayıncılık, 1986), pp. 78–9. For further details on the inspections, see Vasıf, Mehasinu¨’l-Ahbar, pp. 155–60. Further inspections were prevented because of the reaction of the janissaries. Naff frames the consequent dismissal of Halil Hamid Pasha as Abdulhamid I’s effort to appease the janissaries, but the Grand Vizier’s dismissal was apparently related to the plot of the Pasha to dethrone the sultan in favour of prince Selim. Naff, Ottoman Diplomacy, p. 25; Uzunc
ars¸ılı, Kapıkulu Ocakları, pp. 494–5. Olson, “Jews, janissaries”, p. 188. For an examination of such cases in judicial courts, see Bas¸aran, Policing Istanbul, pp. 145–8. Suraiya Faroqhi, “Ottoman craftsmen: problematic and sources with special emphasis on the eighteenth century”, in S. Faroqhi and R. Deguilhem (eds), Crafts and Craftsmen of the Middle East: Fashioning the Individual in the Muslim Mediterranean (London: I.B.Tauris, 2005), p. 87. Fariba Zarinebaf, Crime and Punishment in Istanbul 1700– 1800 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010), p. 48; Bas¸aran, Policing Istanbul, p. 23. O¨zkaya, “Go¨
c Sorunu”, pp. 174– 8, 185– 93. On the central authorities’ efforts to prevent migration to Izmir, see Vehbi Gu¨nay, “Yerel Kayıtların Is¸ıg˘ında XVIII. Yu¨zyıl Sonlarında I˙zmir”, Tarih I˙ncemeleri Dergisi, XXV/1 (July 2010), p. 263. Bas¸aran, Policing Istanbul, p. 38. Suraiya Faroqhi, “Migration into eighteenth-century ‘Greater Istanbul’ as reflected in the Kadı registers of Eyu¨p”, Turcica, 30 (1998), p. 165. This source is also very important for its inclusion of a case study of migration and migrant profiles around eighteenth-century Eyu¨p.

NOTES TO PAGES 65 –68

237

138. Cezayirli Seydi Ali Pasha served as grand admiral from 24 February 1807 until 23 August 1808, and from 22 November 1808 until 21 March 1809. 139. Uzunc
ars¸ılı, “Dıs¸ Ruzname”, p. 618. 140. For more on this system, see Bas¸aran, Policing Istanbul, pp. 106– 17. For earlier examples, see Zarinebaf, Crime and Punishment, pp. 49, 128– 40. 141. For their role during the Alemdar Incident, see Yildiz “A city under fire”. On the role of Albanians as bayrak askerleri (company forces) mercenaries in the mutiny of 18 July 1807 (which ended with the death of Pehlivan Agha, the janissary Agha), see Yildiz, The Selimiyye Incident, pp. 487– 8. In the Balkans, such company forces usually comprised Albanians and Bosnians. See Aksan, “Ottoman military recruitment strategies”, pp. 21 – 39. 142. Ebubekir Efendi, Asiler ve Gaziler, p. 117. 143. Yıldız, “Anatomy of a rebellious social group”, pp. 291– 327. 144. Charles Tilly, “Does modernization breed revolution?”, Comparative Politics, Special Issue on Revolution and Social Change, 5/3 (1973), p. 433. 145. Schama, Citizens, p. 307. 146. Genc
, “Osmanlı Ekonomisi ve Savas¸”, p. 211. 147. Pamuk, “Ottoman state finances”, p. 608. 148. See the table in Pamuk, “Ottoman state finances”, p. 606. 149. The approximately one million deficit of 1784 increased fourfold only a year later. Genc
, “Osmanlı Ekonomisi ve Savas¸”, p. 222; Cezar, Osmanlı Maliyesi, p. 78. 150. Allan Cunningham, “The sick men and the British physician”, in E. Ingram (ed.) Eastern Questions in the 19th Century: Collected Essays, 2 vols (Portland: Frank Cass, 1993), I, p. 104n37. 151. For a very comprehensive account on this regard, see John Brewer, The Sinews of Power: War, Money, and the English State, 1688– 1783 (London: Unwin Hyman, 1989), especially pp. 30 – 51. 152. Valeriy Morkva, “Russia’s Policy of Rapprochement with the Ottoman Empire in the Era of the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars 1792– 1806”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (Bilkent University, 2010), p. 263. 153. Cezar, Osmanlı Maliyesi, p. 76; Mehmet Genc
, “Esham: I˙
c Borc
lanma”, Devlet ve Ekonomi, p. 188. 154. Cezar, Osmanlı Maliyesi, p. 127. Between 1793 and 1815, Britain paid 10 per cent (65.8 million pounds sterling) of its total revenue to its allies. Kahraman S¸akul, “An Ottoman Global Moment: War of Second Coalition in the Levant”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (Georgetown University, 2009), p. 213. One purse contained 500 gurus¸, but by the end of the eighteenth century it contained 416 gurus¸. 155. E. Nelson White, “The French Revolution and the politics of government finance, 1770 – 1815”, The Journal of Economic History, 55/2 (June 1995), p. 251. 156. By the treaty, the Russians gained rights to sell their goods to the Ottomans, to buy silk, rice, coffee and olive oil, except from Istanbul. They were no

238

157.

158. 159. 160.

161. 162.

163. 164. 165. 166. 167.

168.

169. 170.

NOTES

TO PAGES

68 – 69

longer subject to transit duties, while export duties were lowered. They were also freed from any exceptional import and export duties. Similar rights were granted to Austria (1784), Britain (1799), France (1802) and Prussia (1806). While the treaty was detrimental to the interests of the Porte, the Ottoman Greek merhants benefited from it as carrying/producing merchants. Stoianovich, “The Balkan Orthodox merchant”, pp. 288– 9. S¸evket Pamuk, A Monetary History of the Ottoman Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), p. 171. From 1789 until 1808, the standard gurus¸ contained 5.90 grams of silver. S¸evket Pamuk, “The recovery of the Ottoman monetary system in the eighteenth century”, in K. Karpat (ed.), Ottoman Past and Today’s Turkey (Leiden: Brill, 2000), pp. 196– 7. Pamuk, Monetary History, p. 193. Genc
, “Osmanlı Ekonomisi ve Savas¸”, p. 215. The author notes that the cost of war provisioning increased by 200 per cent. Res¸at Kasaba, The Ottoman Empire and the World Economy: The Nineteenth Century (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1988), p. 23; Genc
, “Osmanlı Ekonomisi ve Savas¸”, p. 220. White, “The French Revolution”, p. 240. Cezar, Osmanlı Maliyesi, p. 135; Genc
, “Osmanlı Ekonomisi ve Savas¸”, p. 220; Nilu¨fer Alkan Gu¨nay, “Mu¨saderenin Sosyal ve Ekonomik Bir Analizi: Onsekizinci Yu¨zyıl Sonunda Bursa’da Yapılan Mu¨sadereler”, Belleten, 277/ LXXVI (2012), pp. 793– 815. Thomas Thornton, The Present State of Turkey, 2 vols (London: Joseph Mawman, 1809), II, p. 11. Edib Tarihi, pp. 51 – 3. Mehmet Genc
, “18. Yu¨zyılda Osmanlı Sanayisinde Deg˘is¸meler ve Devletin Rolu¨”, Devlet ve Ekonomi, p. 263. Schama, The Citizens, p. 70. James B. Collins and Karen L. Taylor (eds), Early Modern Europe: Issues and Interpretations (Oxford: Blackwell, 2006), p. 301; Brewer, The Sinews of Power, pp. 76 – 82. Michael D. Bordo and Eugene N. White, “A tale of two currencies: British and French finance during the Napoleonic Wars”, The Journal of Economic History, 51/2 (1991), pp. 310, 314– 15. The Grand Vizier and Yusuf Agha each lent 250 purses, while the defterlar and Mustafa Res¸id lent 150. Morkva, Russia, p. 263. In 1800, 67,000 gurus¸ were borrowed to meet expenses in Salonika (with an interest rate of 20 per cent); in 1804 and 1805, 500 purses were borrowed to cover the expenses associated to uprisings in Rumelia with a rate of 12 per cent. From 1807 to 1812, certain expenditures related to the military arsenal were covered by loans from money lenders. In the year 1807, two sarrafs (S¸apc
ı and Konurto) lent 75,000 gurus¸ and 54,000 gurus¸ respectively. Araks S¸ahiner, “The Sarrafs of Istanbul: The Financiers of the Empire”, unpublished M.A. thesis (Bog˘azic
i University, 1995), pp. 42–3.

NOTES

TO PAGES

69 –74

239

171. In September 1784, a general meeting was held during which the budget deficit and the delicate conditions of the economy were discussed and it was decided that the statesmen should write reports concerning solutions to the economic problems, which had proven insufficient even to pay the salaries of the soldiers. Among these reports, Su¨leyman Fevzi’s solution on external borrowing from Muslim countries, such as Morocco, was the most important one. Vasıf, Mehasinu¨’l-Asar, pp. 188– 93. See also Cevdet Pas¸a, Tarih, III, pp. 99 – 103; Cezar, Osmanlı Maliyesi, pp. 137– 8. 172. S¸akul, Global Moment, pp. 211– 13. 173. BOA, HAT 1411/57448 (1203/1789). 174. Cezar, Osmanlı Maliyesi, pp. 104– 5; Mehmet Genc
, “Osmanlı Maliyesinde Malikane Sistemi”, Devlet ve Ekonomi, pp. 118– 19. According to Cezar, the malikane system accelerated the pace of change in eighteenth-century Ottoman finance structures. Yavuz Cezar, “From financial crisis to the structural change: the case of the Ottoman Empire in the eighteenth century”, Oriento Moderno, Nuova Serie 18/79 – 1 (1999), p. 49. 175. Genc
, “Esham”, p. 190. 176. Ibid., p. 191. 177. Peuchet, Campaigns, III, p. 101. 178. Genc
, “Esham”, pp. 191 –3. 179. Cezar, Osmanlı Maliyesi, p. 106. For a list of the esham-mukataa from 1775 until 1793, see ibid. p. 109. 180. Yi, Guild Dynamics, p. 226. 181. Lichbach, The Rebel’s Dilemma, p. 283.

Chapter 3 Does Modernization Breed Revolution? 1. I adapted the expression from Charles Tilly’s famous article, “Does modernization breed revolution?”, Comparative Politics, 5/3, Special Issue on Revolution and Social Change (1973), pp. 425– 47. 2. The Times, 7115, col. C, Monday 3 August 1807, p. 3 (from The Hamburg Papers, Milan, 24 July 1807). 3. Tilly, “Does modernization breed revolution?”, p. 447. 4. Samuel Huntington, Political Order in Changing Societies (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006), pp. 34, 40 – 6. 5. Baron de Tott, as cited in McGowan, “The age of the ayans”, p. 714. 6. Owen, The Middle East, p. 60. 7. Salzmann, Measures of Empire, p. 65. 8. I borrowed the idea of military reform as a tool of centralization from Tezcan, “The New Order and the fate of the Old”, p. 78. 9. The author says that before the Nizam-ı Cedid, the total revenue of the Porte was 46,000,000 gurus¸, which increased to 90,000,000 gurus¸ after the regulations. Walpole, Travels, p. 152.

240

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75 –76

10. Zecriye Resmi, pamuk (penbe) resmi, yapag˘ı resmi, istefidye resmi, ko¨kboya, mazı ve tiftik resmi. 11. For example, 30 esham revenue of the zecriye with a six years’ income (229,000 gurus¸) was sold to a certain Jewish community. An Armenian community bought an esham worth 150,000 gurus¸, while the children of Hanc
erliog˘lu bought a single share (sehm) at a price of 16,000 gurus¸ in 1799. S¸akul, Global Moment, p. 216. 12. Salzmann, Measures of Empire, p. 287. 13. Cezar, Osmanlı Maliyesi, pp. 165– 6. See also Ariel Salzmann, “An Ancien Re´gime revisited: ‘privatization’ and political economy in the eighteenthcentury Ottoman Empire”, Politics and Society, 21 (1993), p. 407. Central authorities were never able to abolish the esham system even after the New Treasury gained oversight of it. In 1213 (1798/1799) and 1215 (1800 – 1), the trade of eshams was prohibited. Owing to the financial crisis, however, the New Treasury had to open new malikane/mukataa as esham. Cezar, Osmanlı Maliyesi, p. 173. 14. Mehmet Genc
, “Osmanlı Maliyesinde Malikane Sistemi”, Devlet ve Ekonomi, pp. 111, 119. Over 65 per cent of malikanes were controlled by the elite in 1734; this number increased to 87 per cent in 1789. Pamuk, “Longevity of the Ottoman Empire”, p. 241. 15. Salzmann, “Ancien Re´gime revisited”, pp. 409– 10; Salzmann, Measures of Empire, pp. 176–85. 16. Cezar, Osmanlı Maliyesi, p. 168. 17. It included 37 tımars from Bozok (present-day Yozgat), 13 from U¨sku¨b and Salonika, 273 from Hu¨davendigar and 81 from Kars-ı Maras¸. BOA, A. E. (III. Selim) 19114 (7 M 1218/29 April 1803). Thirty of these were reserved as a pension for the Levent Chiftlik, 18 had no owners, and the tımars of the 39 tımar-holders who did not attend the Anapa campaign as soldiers were also ¨ sku¨dar yoklama, and five from seized. Twenty-seven were not present in the U the office handling the affairs of the province of Archipelago (derya kalemi) were transfered to the I˙rad-ı Cedid and given to Elhac Ali Agha for one year, with a down payment of 9,000 gurus¸. 18. Hacı Emin (the voyvoda of Diyarbakır), Kadı Abdurrahman Pasha and Cabbarzaˆde’s rival Tayyar bought 1,233 tımars at the nominal cost of 7,512,045 akc
es in 1804. The following year, 2,935 tımars were seized. Ve´ra P. Moutafchie´va and Str. A. Dimitrov, Sur l’E´tat du syste`me des tımars des XVIIe – XVIIIe SS (Sofia: E´ditions de l’Acade´mie Bulgare des Sciences, 1968), pp. 49 – 53. See also Yaycıog˘lu, Partners of the Empire, pp. 53 – 4. 19. Moutafchie´va and Dimitrov, “Syste`me des tımars”, p. 38. 20. BOA, A. E. (III. Selim) 19119 (11 Za 1805), nine vacant tımars from Salonika were sold to Numan Agha along with 1,310 muaccele, the income of which was spent for the pensions of soldiers of the Levent Chiftlik. For further details, see Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, p. 198. 21. Genc
, “Malikane”, p. 133.

NOTES

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77 – 78

241

22. S¸evket Pamuk, “The great Ottoman debasement: a political economy framework”, in I. Gershoni, H. Erdem and U. Woko¨k (eds), Histories of the Modern Middle East: New Dimensions (Colorado: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2002), p. 24. 23. Salzmann, “Ancien Re´gime”, p. 406; Yes¸il, I˙htilaller C¸ag˘ında Osmanlı Ordusu, pp. 20 – 8. 24. M. Kac
an Erdog˘an, M. Bayrak Ferlibas¸ and K. C¸olak, Tirsiniklizaˆde I˙smail Ag˘a ve Do¨nemi (1796 – 1806): Ruscuk Ayanı (Istanbul: Yeditepe, 2009), pp. 153 – 4. 25. Tax-farms of cotton mukataa were also under the control of the New Treasury. According to an imperial edict, dated 2 February 1803, fees specified for one kilogram of cotton amounted to 1 para, for cotton yarn 2 paras, for raw cotton 1 para, for cotton-silk mixtures 2 akc
e and for cotton loincloth 1 akc
e. Ruscuk Ayanı, p. 154. 26. Anatolii F. Miller, Mustapha Pacha Bairaktar (Bucharest: Association Internationale d’E´tudes du Sud-Est Europe´en, 1975), p. 105. He is considered to be the leading figure behind the Edirne Incident, even though he had sent his steward, Ko¨se Ahmed Efendi, to supress the uprising. I˙smail H. Uzunc
ars¸ılı, Mes¸hur Rumeli Ayanlarından Tirsinikli I˙smail, Yılık Og˘lu Su¨leyman Ag˘alar ve Alemdar Mustafa Pas¸a, (Ankara: TTK, 1942), pp. 26–9. Ironically, the Porte still needed the military help and prestige of these local magnates to deal with a local problem. 27. BOA, HAT 19418 (23 Ra 1223/31 May 1807). 28. Necib Asım, “U¨c
u¨ncu¨ Selim Devrine Aid Vesikalar”, p. 399. This issue was in fact hotly debated among the religious authorities, and that is why this tax was not imposed on a regular basis. According to the Hanefite school, taxes from hamr were sanctioned. For more details, see Fethi Gedikli, “Osmanlı Devletinde S¸araptan Alınan Vergiler”, Tu¨rk Hukuk Tarihi Aras¸tırmaları, 7 (2009), pp. 7 – 21. 29. John R. Hobhouse, A Journey Through Albania and Other Provinces of Turkey in Europe and Asia to Constantinople, During the Years of 1809 and 1810, 2 vols (Philadelphia: M. Carey & Son, 1817), II, p. 387. 30. Walpole, Travels, p. 152. The author states that in 1801 the duty was 4 paras per oke. 31. Yes¸il, I˙htilaller C¸ag˘ında Osmanlı Ordusu, pp. 224– 5. 32. Sophia Laiou, “Political processes on the island of Samos prior to the Greek War of Independence and the reaction of the Sublime Porte: The Karmanioloi– Kallikantzaroi conflict”, in A. Anastasopoulos (ed.), Political Initiatives “From Bottom Up” in the Ottoman Empire (Rethymno: Crete University Press, 2012), p. 96. It is also important to note that the residents of the same island were expected, in 1806, to send sailors to the imperial navy to be employed in the Russo-Ottoman war. 33. Dallaway, Constantinople Ancient and Modern, p. 41. 34. Hobhouse, Journey, II, p. 387.

242

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78 – 81

35. Because of the riot, the 31st regiment was abolished in the city in 1803. Salzmann, Measures of Empire, pp. 435– 8; Hu¨seyin Yılmazc
elik, XIX. Yu¨zyılın I˙lk Yarısında Diyarbakır, 1790– 1840 (Ankara: TTK, 1995), p. 289. 36. Asım, II, p. 15. 37. Yes¸il, I˙htilaller C¸ag˘ında Osmanlı Ordusu, pp. 226– 7. 38. He was promoted to the rank of kapıcıbas¸ı and appointed as the director of the Gu¨mu¨s¸hane Mines. On 3 Z 1222/1 February 1808, Kazgancı Mustafa Agha was appointed as the director of the Gu¨mu¨s¸hane Mines. (BOA, Sadaret Defterleri, no. 357, fl. 85 (3 Z 1222/1 February 1808). During the grand vizierate of Alemdar Mustafa Pasha, he was dismissed from his position around 10 B 1223/1 September 1808. (Caˆbıˆ, I, p. 217). 39. Mustafa Agha was from the Black Sea region and seems to have carried great influence there. Asım, II, p. 24. Unfortunately, Asım does not provide any further details. 40. Stanford J. Shaw, “The established Ottoman army corps under Selim III (1789 – 1807)”, Der Islam, 40 (1965), p. 153. cf. Asım, I, pp. 359– 60; Derin, “Tu¨fengc
ibas¸ı”, p. 381. 41. BOA, C. AS. 17908 (26 C 1212/15 December 1797). 42. For a critical analysis of Shaw’s works, see Sunar, Cauldron of Dissent, pp. 12 – 13. 43. Tezcan, “The New Order and the fate of the Old”, p. 79. 44. Asım, I, pp. 359– 60; Derin, “Tu¨fengc
ibas¸ı”, p. 381. 45. BOA, C. DH. 7763 (22 L 1207/2 June 1793). 46. Hafız Hu¨seyin Ayvansarayıˆ, Hadıˆkatu¨’l-Cevaˆmi, 2 vols (Istanbul: Matbaa-yı Amire, 1281/1864), II, p. 189; Beyhan Kıran, “1220 Senesi Vekayi Adlı Eserin Transkripsiyonu ve Deg˘erlendirilmesi”, unpublished M.A. thesis ¨ niversitesi, 1993), p. 1. The latter is a chronicle written by an (Marmara U anonymous author and narrates the events of 1220/1805. Hereafter it is cited as “1220 Senesi Vekayi”. 47. Asım, I, pp. 360 – 1. Cevdet Pas¸a explains the same event with almost the same words. See Cevdet Pas¸a, Tarih, VIII, pp. 68 – 9. The author of Ceride also confirms that the ceremony was delayed for one week due to tension (niza) between the janissaries and the Nizam-ı Cedid soldiers, but does not give further details. Kemal Beydilli, Osmanlı Do¨neminde I˙mamlar ve Bir I˙mamın Gu¨nlu¨g˘u¨ (Istanbul: Tarih ve Tabiat Vakfı, 2001), p. 211. According to the author, Selim III visited the Mosque on 15 M 1220/15 April 1805. Another contemporary author mentions the delay in the visit of the sultan, but claims that it was postponed due to unfavourable weather conditions. “1220 Senesi Vekayi”, p. 7. According to the author, the sultan went to the Friday prayer on 15 S 1220/14 May 1805, which means a delay of more than one month. 48. Veli S¸irin, Asakir-i Mansure ve Seraskerlik (Istanbul: Tarih ve Tabiat Vakfı, 2002), p. 36. 49. Asım, I, p. 360.

NOTES

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82 –85

243

50. For some examples, see TSMA, E. 3759– 3 (undated); TSMA. E. 3759 –2 (undated); TSMA. E. 2757 (undated); TSMA. E. 3786 (undated); BOA, HAT 13403 (undated); BOA, HAT 14762 (undated); BOA, HAT 56924 (undated); BOA, HAT 55034 (undated); BOA, HAT 4830 (undated). 51. On this local family, see Canay S¸ahin, “The economic power of the Anatolian Ayans in the late 18th century: the case of the Caniklizaˆdes”, International Journal of Turkish Studies, 11 (2005), pp. 29–48; Canay S¸ahin, “The Rise and Fall of an Ayaˆn Family in Eighteenth Century Anatolia: The Caniklizaˆdes (1737–1808)”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (Bilkent University, 2003). For more details of his revolt, see I˙brahim Serbestog˘lu, “Trabzon Valisi Canikli Tayyar Pas¸a I˙syanı”, unpublished M.A. thesis (Ondokuz Mayıs University, 2003), I˙brahim Serbestog˘lu, “Trabzon Valisi Canikli Tayyar Mahmud Pas¸a I˙syanı ve Caniklizaˆdelerin Sonu (1805–1808)”, Uluslararası Karadeniz I˙ncelemeleri Dergisi, 1 (2006), pp. 89–105; Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, pp. 123–36. 52. Enver Z. Karal, Osmanlı Tarihi, vol. V: Nizam-ı Cedid ve Tanzimat Devirleri (Ankara: TTK, 1999), p. 79; Enver Z. Karal, Selim III’u¨n Hatt-ı Hu¨mayunları: Nizam-ı Cedit (1789 – 1807), 2nd edn (Ankara: TTK, 1998), p. 55; S¸ahin, Caniklizaˆdes, p. 72; Adil S¸en, Osmanlı’da Do¨nu¨m Noktası: III. Selim’in Hayatı ve Islahatları (Ankara: Fecr, 2003), p. 87; Shaw, Between Old and New, p. 284; ¨ zkaya, “Nizam-ı Cedid’in Anadolu’da Kars¸ılas¸tıg˘ı Gu¨
clu¨kler”, Tarih Yu¨cel O Aras¸tırmaları Dergisi, I/1 (1963), p. 147; Serbestog˘lu “Caniklizaˆdelerin Sonu”, pp. 92 – 3. ¨
cu¨ncu¨ Selim Devrine Aid Vesikalar”, Tarih-i Osmani Encu¨meni 53. Necib Asım, “U Mecmuası, 11/88 (Eylu¨l 1341/September 1912), pp. 395– 401. See also, Karal, Osmanlı Tarihi, V, p. 79; Cevdet Pas¸a, Tarih, VIII, pp. 30 – 1. 54. BOA, HAT 4048.G (3 R 1220/30 June 1805). 55. BOA, HAT 4051 (undated). 56. For this local dynasty, see O¨zcan Mert, XVIII. ve XIX. Yu¨zyıllarda C¸apanog˘ulları (Ankara: Ku¨ltu¨r Bakanlıg˘ı, 1980). 57. BOA, HAT 3100– K (9 L 1215/23 February 1801). 58. S¸ahin, “The Caniklizaˆdes”, p. 42. 59. Asım, II, pp. 5 – 6. 60. William Martin Leake, Travels in Northern Greece, 4 vols (London: J. Rodwell, 1835), I, p. 40. 61. In Egypt too, intra-Mamluk rivalries became intense during the eighteenth century, Owen, The Middle East, p. 15. 62. Cabbarzaˆde, for instance, was able to cover the expenses of his military forces from the I˙rad-ı Cedid treasury. Yes¸il, I˙htilaller C¸ag˘ında Osmanlı Ordusu, p. 83; Salzmann, Measures of Empire, p. 363. 63. Robert Zens, “Pazvantog˘lu Osman Pasha and the Pashalık of Belgrade 1791– 1807”, International Journal of Turkish Studies, 8/1– 2 (Spring 2002), pp. 89 – 105; Rossitsa Gradeva, “Pazvantog˘lu of Vidin between old and new”, in F. Anscombe (ed.) The Ottoman Balkans (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006), pp. 129– 31.

244

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TO PAGES

86 –89

64. Gradeva, “Pazvantog˘lu of Vidin between old and new”, pp. 129– 31. 65. Caˆbıˆ, I, pp. 55 –6. Niyazi Berkes, Tu¨rkiye’de C¸ag˘das¸las¸ma (Istanbul: Dog˘uBatı, 1978), p. 571n31 and 35. 66. Cevdet Pas¸a, Tarih, VI, p. 244. 67. Yes¸il, I˙htilaller C¸ag˘ında Osmanlı Ordusu, pp. 210– 11. 68. For an analysis of various diplomatic reports concerning Pazvandog˘lu’s opposition to the New Order, presenting himself as the champion of the old militia and the religiosity of his arguments, see Gradeva, “Pazvantog˘lu of Vidin between old and new”, pp. 128– 32. As for a possible connection between the two figures, see Rossitsa Gradeva, “Secession and revolution in the Ottoman Empire at the end of the eighteenth century: Osman Pazvantog˘lu and Rhigas Velestinlis”, in A. Anastasopoulos and E. Kolovos (eds), Ottoman Rule and the Balkans (Rethymno: Crete University Press, 2007), pp. 73 –94. 69. BOA, HAT 77/3181 (undated); BOA, HAT 119/4812 (undated); BOA, Sadaret Defterleri, no. 357, fl. 3; I˙smail H. Uzunc
ars¸ılı, “Nizam-ı Cedid Ricalinden Kadı Abdurrahman Pas¸a”, Belleten, 138– 139/XXV (1971), p. 263; Saray Gu¨nlu¨g˘u¨, p. 199. 70. For a comparative analysis of conscription and conscription strategies, see Eric J. Zu¨rcher (ed.), Arming the State: Military Conscription in the Middle East and Central Asia 1775 –1925 (London: I.B.Tauris, 1999). 71. Tilly considers the Ottoman presence in the Balkans as a classic example of indirect rule. Charles Tilly, Coercion, Capital and European States, AD 900– 1992 (Cambridge: Blackwell, 1992), p. 105. 72. Derin, “Yayla I˙mamı Risalesi”, p. 217. 73. Caˆbıˆ, I, p. 62. For Dag˘devirenog˘lu, see Cemal Go¨kc
e, “Edirne Ayanı Dag˘devirenog˘lu Mehmed Ag˘a”, I˙stanbul U¨niversitesi Edebiyat Faku¨ltesi Tarih Dergisi, XVII/22 (1968), pp. 97 – 110. 74. BOA, HAT 77/3181 (undated); Derin, “Yayla I˙mamı Risalesi”, pp. 217– 18. 75. BOA, HAT 77/3181 (undated). 76. Ibid. 77. Ibid.; Uzunc
ars¸ılı, “Kadı Abdurrahman Pas¸a”, p. 280. 78. BOA, A. AMD 53/38 (undated). 79. BOA, HAT 77/3176– A, B (undated). 80. Indeed, some contemporary narratives underline this aspect: Asım and the author of Neticetu¨’l-Vekayi present the project to create a ready force in the Balkans against potential agression from Russia, Austria and France. 81. BOA, A. AMD. 53/38 (undated): “I˙smail Bey’in fesaˆdı olsa olsa zıˆr-i perde-i hu¨faˆdandır. Yoksa atına binu¨b ol dahi s¸ekaˆvet ile meydana
cıkmaz. Binaenaleyh esdikaˆ-yı devlet-i aliyyeden gibi tutmak usuˆl-ı haliyadandır. Kezaˆllik Tirsiniklizaˆde dahi bo¨yledir.” 82. Salihzaˆde Ahmed Esad Efendi, the shaikh al-Islam, had been replaced by S¸erifzaˆde Mehmed Ataullah Efendi (14 September 1806). Replacement of the grand vizier Hafız Ismail Pasha by Ibrahim Hilmi Pasha, a janissary in origin, was also a gesture to appease the janissaries, who were a part of the reactionary

NOTES

83. 84. 85. 86.

87. 88.

89.

90. 91.

92.

TO PAGES

89 –92

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elements in Edirne, and in preparation of a revolt in the capital. In the mainstream historiography, the cabinet change a short time after the incident is usually connected with the failure of the Edirne project, and in order to appease the reactionary groups. Derin, “Tu¨fengcibas¸ı”, p. 395. Unfortunately, I was not able to determine the nature of the fatwa. Derin, “Kabakc
ı Mustafa”, p. 104; Derin, “Tu¨fengcibas¸ı”, p. 395. Derin, “Kabakc
ı Mustafa”, p. 104. Yaycıog˘lu, Partners of the Empire, pp. 163– 4; PRO (FO 78/50) fl. 239, as cited in Fatih Yes¸il, “I˙stanbul O¨nlerinde Bir I˙ngiliz Filosu: Uluslararası Bir Krizin Siyasi ve Askeri Anatomisi”, in S. Kenan (ed.), Nizam-ı Kadim’den Nizam-ı Cedid’e III. Selim ve Do¨nemi (Istanbul: I˙SAM, 2010), p. 395. Salzmann, “Ancien Re´gime”, pp. 399– 408. Joan Esteban and Gerald Schneider, “Polarization and conflict: theoretical and empirical issues”, Journal of Peace Research, 45/2, Special Issue on Polarization and Conflict (2008), p. 133. Koca Sekbanbas¸ı Risalesi, Abdullah Uc
man (ed.) (Istanbul: Tercu¨man, 1976). For an English translation, see William Wilkinson, An Account of the Principalities of Wallachia and Moldavia: Including Various Political Observations Relating to Them (London: Longman & Co., 1820), pp. 216– 94. Nizaˆm-ı Cedıˆd’e Daˆir Bir Risaˆle: Zebıˆre-i Kus¸maˆnıˆ fi Ta’rıˆf-i Nizaˆm-ı I˙lhaˆmıˆ, O¨mer I˙s¸bilir (ed.) (Ankara: TTK, 2006). Since the above sources deal with the controversial issues, I preferred to concentrate particularly on them. There were other treatises written during the reign of Selim III: for the introduction of the reforms to the European audiences, see Kemal Beydilli and I˙lhan S¸ahin, Mahmud Raif Efendi ve Nizam-ı Cedid’e Dair Eseri (TTK: Ankara, 2001). It was first published in 1798 or 1799. Also, Kemal Beydilli, “Seyyid Mustafa, I˙lk Mu¨hendislerimizden Seyyid Mustafa ve Nizam-ı Cedid’e Dair Risalesi”, Tarih Enstitu¨su¨ Dergisi, XIII, (1983–7). It was first published in 1803. For comments on the problems encountered during the implementation of the reforms, see O¨mer Faik Efendi, Nizaˆm-ı Atik fi Bahr-i ¨ mer Faik Efendi, Nizamu¨’l-Atik”, unpublished M.A. Amıˆk; Ahmed Sarıkaya, “O thesis (Istanbul University, 1979). For a discussion of what should be done regarding the reforms, see Mehmed Emin Behic
Efendi, Sevaˆnihu¨’l-Levayih; Ali Osman C¸ınar, “Es-Seyyid Mehmed Emin Behic Efendi’nin Sevanihu¨’l-Levayih’i ve Deg˘erlendirmesi”, unpublished M.A. thesis (Marmara University, 1992). For a general evaluation of these treatises, see Kemal Beydilli, “Ku¨c
u¨k Kaynarca’dan Tanzimat’a Islahat Du¨s¸u¨nceleri”, I˙lmi Aras¸tırmalar Dergisi, 8 (1999), pp. 25–64; and Kahraman S¸akul “Nizam-ı Cedid Du¨s¸u¨ncesinde Batılılas¸ma ve I˙slami Modernles¸me”, Dıˆvaˆn: I˙lmıˆ Aras¸tırmalar, 19/2 (2005), pp. 117–50. See also Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, pp. 164–81. Y. Hakan Erdem asserts that it is Mustafa Res¸id Efendi, “The wise old man, propagandist and ideologist: Koca Sekbanbas¸ı on the janissaries, 1807”, in K. Virtanen (ed.), Individual, Ideologies and Society: Tracing the Mosaic of

246

93. 94. 95.

96.

97. 98. 99. 100. 101. 102. 103. 104. 105.

106. 107. 108.

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TO PAGES

92 –96

Mediterranean History (Tampere: Tampere Peace Research Institute, 2001), pp. 154– 77. Ali Birinci holds that the author is Tokadlı Mustafa Agha; Ali Birinci, “Koca Sekbanbas¸ı Risalesinin Mu¨ellifi Tokadlı Mustafa Ag˘a (1131 – 1239)” (I˙zmir: I˙smail Aka Armag˘anı, 1999), pp. 105– 20. On the other hand, Kemal Beydilli claims that Koca Sekbanbas¸ı was Vasıf, an official historian and statesman; Kemal Beydilli, “Evreka, Evreka ve Errate Humanum Est”, I˙lmıˆ Aras¸tırmalar, 9 (2000), pp. 45 – 66; ibid. “Sekbanbas¸ı Risalesinin Mu¨ellifi Hakkında”, Tu¨rk Ku¨ltu¨ru¨ I˙ncelemeleri Dergisi, 12 (2005), pp. 221– 4. For a good summary of the debate, see Ethan L. Menchinger, “An Ottoman Historian in an Age of Reform: Ahmed Vaˆsıf Efendi (ca. 1730– 1806)”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (Michigan University, 2014), pp. 96 – 100. Beydilli, “Ku¨c
u¨k Kaynarca’dan Tanzimat’a”, pp. 29 – 30, 35 – 6; S¸akul, “Batılılas¸ma ve I˙slami Modernles¸me”, pp. 131– 40. Adelman, “Iberian passages”, pp. 59 – 100, esp. 71 – 2. Virginia H. Aksan, An Ottoman Statesman in War and Peace: Ahmed Resmi Efendi, 1700– 1783 (Leiden: Brill, 1995), p. 195; Beydilli, “Ku¨
cu¨k Kaynarca’dan Tanzimat’a”, pp. 29 –30. For a comprehensive analysis of the rationale of the Ottoman military reforms, see Christopher Tuck, “All innovation leads to hellfire: military reform and the Ottoman Empire in the eighteenth century”, The Journal of Strategic Studies, 31/3 (2008), pp. 467– 502. Zebıˆre, p. 46 Koca Sekbanbas¸ı, p. 44. Zebıˆre, p. 46. Ibid., pp. 31, 34; Koca Sekbanbas¸ı, pp. 48, 66 –70. Wilkinson, Wallachia and Moldavia, p. 222; Koca Sekbanbas¸ı, p. 33. Wilkinson, Wallachia and Moldavia, p. 238, Koca Sekbanbas¸ı, p. 44. Koca Sekbanbas¸ı, p. 67; Wilkinson, Wallachia and Moldavia, pp. 267– 8. Timothy Mitchell, Colonising Egypt (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), pp. 37 – 8. ¨ retiminin Sosyolojisi ve Tarihi, Ulrich Bro¨ckling, Disiplin: Askeri I˙taat U translated from German by V. Atayman (Istanbul: Ayrıntı, 2001), p. 96. See also Khaled Fahmy, All the Pasha’s Men: Mehmed Ali, his Army and the Making of Modern Egypt (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), p. 153; and David Fahri, “Nizam-ı Cedid: military reform in Egypt under Mehmed Ali”, Asian and African Studies, 8/2 (1972), pp. 151– 83. Fahmy, All the Pasha’s Men, p. 153. Wilkinson, Wallachia and Moldavia, p. 268. Beydilli, “Ku¨
cu¨k Kaynarca’dan Tanzimat’a”, p. 33. For a copy of Brentano’s ¨ g˘reten, Islahat Layihaları, pp. 95 – 9. For more information on treatise, see O George Joseph Friedrich Baron von Brentano (1746 – 98), see Kemal Beydilli, “I˙gnatius Mouradgea D’Ohsson (Muradcan Tosunyan) Ailesi Hakkında Kayıtlar, Nizam-ı Cedid’e Dair Layihası ve Osmanlı I˙mparatorlug˘u’ndaki ¨ .E.F. Tarih Dergisi, 34 (1984), pp. 264–5. Siyasi Hayatı”, I˙.U

NOTES

TO PAGES

96 –100

247

109. Koca Sekbanbas¸ı, p. 52. 110. For a definition of a traditional status-group, see Max Weber, Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretative Sociology, G. Roth and C. Wittich (eds) (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), pp. 306– 7. See also Halil I˙nalcık, “Comments on ‘Sultanism’: Max Weber’s typification of the Ottoman polity”, Princeton Papers in Near Eastern Studies, I, pp. 50, 52. 111. Raymond, “Soldiers in trade”, p. 26. Some guild masters of Cairo were also janissaries, mostly odabas¸ısı. 112. Kafadar, “Rebels without a cause”, pp. 118–22. 113. Staionovich, “Land tenure”, p. 400. 114. Various aspects of the transformation have been studied previously. For a revisionist study of the myth of non-engagement (thus, purity) of the janissaries, see Cemal Kafadar, “On the purity and corruption of the janissaries”, Turkish Studies Association Bulletin, 15 (1991), pp. 273– 9. 115. According to Lichbach, the formal pre-existing organizations – the church and the army – were the most important sources of collective dissent. The army had several advantages, such as solidarity, esprit de corps, hierarchy and discipline, communication networks and self-sufficiency. Lichbach, The Rebel’s Dilemma, p. 145. 116. Baron de Tott, Memoirs, II, p. 147. 117. Tezcan, “The New Order and the fate of the Old”, pp. 74 – 6. 118. Mazower, City of Ghosts, pp. 96 – 9. In the late eighteenth century, janissaries and their families constituted almost half (28,000– 30,000 individuals) of the total population of the city. Staionovich, “Land tenure”, p. 400. 119. The ayans seem to have protected the peasantry from the abuses of the centre, denounced unpopular appointments and protected their rights in judicial courts and money lending in times of need. For the relations between ayans and the commoners, see Robert Zens, “Provincial powers: the rise of Ottoman local notables (ayans)”, History Studies, 3/3 (2011), pp. 445– 6. 120. Mourau, “Bosnian Resistance”, pp. 129– 37. 121. “[S]trangle any corps members (ocaklı) whether be janissaries or naval soldiers (kalyoncu), but instead executed them before the eyes of all, as was done to simple bakers.” (“Gerek yenic
eri ve gerek kalyoncu hangi ocaklı olsa bog˘mak bilmeyu¨b hemen ekmekc
i gibi ala-melain-nas katl ederdi.”) Derin, “Yayla I˙mamı Risalesi”, p. 253. 122. Derin, “Yayla I˙mamı Risalesi”, p. 253. See also Caˆbıˆ, I, pp. 249– 50; Kıran, “1220 Senesi”, p. 16. 123. Yves-Marie Berce´, Revolt and Revolution in Early Modern Europe: An Essay on the History of Political Violence, translated from French by J. Bergin (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1987), p. 127. For a good summary of deprivation theory in conflict analysis, see Lichbach, The Rebel’s Dilemma, pp. 4–5. 124. Tilly, “Does modernization breed revolution?”, p. 438. 125. Bas¸aran, Policing Istanbul, p. 215. Coffeehouse owners with military affiliations formed 83 per cent of the total.

248

NOTES

TO PAGES

100 –104

126. For various functions of the janissary coffeehouses, see Ali C¸aksu, “Janissary coffee houses in late eighteenth century Istanbul”, in D. Sajdi (ed.), Ottoman Tulips, Ottoman Coffee: Leisure and Lifestyle in the Eighteenth Century (London: I.B. Tauris, 2007), pp. 117– 32; Cengiz Kırlı, “Coffeehouses: public opinion in the nineteenth century Ottoman Empire”, in A. Salvatore and D.F. Eickelman (eds), Public Islam and the Common Good (Leiden: Brill, 2004), pp. 75 – 97. 127. Niyazi Berkes, The Development of Secularism in Turkey (London: Hurst & Company, 1998), p. 62. 128. Esteban and Schneider, “Polarization and conflict”, p. 131. See also Delia Baldassarri and Peter Bearman, “Dynamics of political polarization”, American Sociological Review, 72/5 (October 2007), pp. 784– 811.

Chapter 4 Great Powers and the Ottoman Empire 1. Arbuthnot to rear admiral Louis, Pera, 25 November 1806 (PRO, FO 78 – 55, doc. no. 5). 2. Turchin and Nefedov, Secular Cycles, p. 20. 3. For a study of the Iberian countries during the Age of Revolutions, see Adelman, “Iberian passages”, pp. 59 – 100. 4. Carter V. Findley, Turkey, Islam, Nationalism and Modernity: A History, 1789– 2007 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2010), p. 23. 5. For more comprehensive studies on the changes of imperial diplomacy during the reign of Selim III, see Thomas Naff, “Reform and the conduct of Ottoman diplomacy in the reign of Selim III, 1789 –1807”, Journal of the American Oriental Society, 83/3 (1963), pp. 295– 315; Nuri Yurdusev (ed.), Ottoman Diplomacy: Conventional or Unconventional (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004), pp. 5 – 36. 6. In discussing the Iranian Revolution of 1979, Bayat considers the link between social mobilization and revolution as the key factor. Asef Bayat, “Revolution without movement, movement without revolution: comparing Islamic activism in Iran and Egypt”, Comparative Studies in Society and History, 40/1 (1998), p. 138. 7. James C. Davies, “Toward a theory of revolution”, American Sociological Review, 27/1 (1962), p. 7. 8. A similar public mood in the 1830s is detected by Cengiz Kırlı in his study of spy reports, regarding the manifest weakness of the Ottomans against Kavalalı Mehmed Ali Pasha. Kırlı, “Coffeehouses”, pp. 80 – 1. 9. Even among the reform proposals presented to Selim III, it is possible to see the economic and physcological benefits of the recapture of the Crimea by the contemporary statesmen. Tatarcık Abdullah Efendi, “Sultan III. Selim-i Salis Devrinde Nizam-ı Devlet Hakkında Mu¨talaat” (the proposal of Defterdar Mehmed Efendi), Tarih-i Osmani Encu¨meni Mecmuası, VII/38 (H. 1332), p. 75. 10. Karal, Selim III’u¨n Hatt-ı Hu¨mayunları, p. 24. Translation by Mehmet Savan, a friend of mine.

NOTES TO PAGES 104 –108

249

11. Virginia H. Aksan, “Locating the Ottomans among the early modern empires”, Journal of Early Modern History, 3/3 (1999), pp. 110– 11. 12. Necib Asım, “III. Selim Devrine Ait Vesikalar”, p. 397. 13. Shaw, Between Old and New, p. 42. Even though the author argues that “the anger of the crowd focused on the ministers rather than on the Sultan himself”, we should not forget that it was customary for the public to direct their discontent not directly to the sultan. 14. Peter Gran draws attention to the connection between the failure of French agriculture to feed the rising population, especially in the South (making her dependent on food imports) and the invasion of this rich Ottoman province to break the Mamluk monopoly held on grain trade. Peter Gran, Islamic Roots of Capitalism: Egypt: 1760– 1840 (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1998), pp. 7 – 11, see also pp. 28 – 32. 15. BOA, C. S. 3886 (5 M 1217/7 May 1802); BOA, C. S. 5675 (4 Za 1216/9 March 1802). The documents are about the reception of the order in various districts (kaza) in Rumelia. Forty eight judges of the kazas informed the centre that the order was received. 16. Necib Asım, “III. Selim Devrine Ait Vesikalar”, p. 397. The date of the entry is 1221/1806. These are the notes attributed to Mahmud Tayyar Pasha. 17. O¨ztelli, Uyan Padis¸ahım, pp. 519– 37. Translation by Mehmet Savan, a friend of mine. 18. Berkes, Development of Secularism, p. 85. 19. For a detailed account of the Russo-Ottoman Expedition in Corfu and the establishment of the Republic through Russian and Ottoman intervention, see Kahraman S¸akul, “Ottoman attempts to control the Adriatic frontier in the Napoleonic Wars”, in A. Peacock (ed.), The Frontiers of the Ottoman World: The Proceedings of the British Academy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), pp. 253– 71; S¸akul, Global Moment. The new status of the islands was recognized by the Amiens Treaty (27 March 1802). Ibid. ch. 2 for an inspiring analysis of international diplomacy in the same period. See also Shaw, Between Old and New, p. 280. 20. S¸akul, A Global Moment, pp. 456– 60. Vernon J. Puryear, Napoleon and the Dardanelles (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1951), pp. 10– 13. 21. For more details on the articles of the Treaty, see Armand Gos¸u, “The Third Anti-Napoleonic Coalition and the Sublime Porte”, International Journal of Turkish Studies, 1 – 2/9 (Summer 2003), pp. 199 – 200; Boris Mouravieff, L’Alliance Russo-Turque au milieu des guerres Napole´oniennes (Neuchatel: E´ditions de la Baconnie`re, 1954), pp. 197 – 9; Puryear, Napoleon and the Dardanelles, p. 65. 22. BOA, HAT 1417/57933 (undated). 23. Shaw, Between Old and New, p. 335. 24. Pierre Coquelle, “Se´bastiani: ambassadeur a` Constantinople 1806– 1808, d’apre`s des documents ine´dits”, Revue d’Histoire Diplomatique, XVII (1904), pp. 576– 7; Jean T. de Mesmay, Horace Se´bastiani: soldat, diplomate, home d’e´tat,

250

25.

26.

27.

28. 29. 30.

31. 32. 33.

34. 35.

NOTES

TO PAGES

108 –110

mare´chal de France, 1772– 1851 (Paris: H. Champion, 1948), p. 54; E´douard Driault, Napolyon’un S¸ark Siyaseti, Selim-i Salis ve Napolyon, Se´bastiani ve Gardan, translated by Ko¨pru¨lu¨zade Mehmed Fuad (Ankara: Kanaat Kitabhanesi, 1329/1911), pp. 67 – 8. Turkish translation of some parts of the instruction is available in BOA, HAT 5737 (undated). For a general evaluation of the issue, see Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, pp. 239–43. Puryear, Napoleon and the Dardanelles, p. 81. In BOA, HAT 5737, it is also stated that the modernizing ideas of Selim III were well known by Napoleon and, thus, the Porte deserves to be considered as a part of Europe. Edward Ingram, “An aspiring buffer state: Anglo– Persian relations in the Third Coalition, 1804– 1807”, The Historical Journal, XVI, 3 (1973), pp. 510– 11. Of course, another purpose was to prevent Persia to ally with France (pp. 515– 16). The Porte never gave up on the idea of regaining this region. BOA, HAT 149/6256 (undated); from Arbuthnot to Howick, Pera, 1 December 1806 (PRO, FO 78 – 52, doc. 85). I am currently working on this important report of the French ambassador on Wahhabism. Paul F. Shupp, The European Powers and The Near Eastern Question (1806 – 1807) (New York: Columbia University Press, 1931), p. 75. From Hammer to Stadion, Iassy (3 October 1806), doc. no. 96 (from Austrian Consular Reports); Nicolae Jorga, Documentele Familiei Callimachi (Bucharest: Minerva, 1902). For a general policy and the activities of the French agents in the Principalities from 1789 to 1815, see Deme´tre J. Ghika, “La France et les principaute´s danubiennes de 1789 a` 1815”, Annales de l’E´cole Libre des Sciences Politiques, 11 (1896), pp. 208– 29. In reference to the Danubian region Stefania Costache rightly states that between the 1750s and 1850s, the Principalities became “the setting where local officials and representatives of rival empires tested various imperial projects, creating precedents for irreversible European intervention in the Ottoman Empire”. Stefania Costache, “At the End of Empire: Imperial Governance, Inter-Imperial Rivalry and “Autonomy” in Wallachia and Moldavia, 1780s – 1850s”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (University of Illinois, 2013), p. 3. BOA, HAT 34/1743 (undated). For minutes of the debates in the imperial council on the issue see, BOA, HAT 166/6956 (undated). Shupp, European Powers, p. 150. From Se´bastiani to the Sublime Porte, 18 September 1806, in Baron Ignace de Testa, Recueil des traite´s de la Porte Ottomane avec les puissances e´trange`res, 11 vols (Paris: Amyot, E´diteur des Archives Diplomatiques, 1864– 1911), II, pp. 280–97; BOA, HAT 32/1506 (undated). For the difficulties faced by the Porte regarding the closure of the Straits to the Russian ships and the pressure by both sides, see BOA, HAT 32/1505 (undated). Shupp, European Powers, p. 146. Ibid., p. 162.

NOTES

TO PAGES

110 –113

251

36. Muruzi was not very willing to be reinstated, upon the pretext that he had been unjustly deposed and now reappointed under Russian pressure. For further details, see BOA, HAT 1742 (undated), BOA, HAT 1757 (undated). 37. Coquelle, “Se´bastiani”, p. 584; Shupp, European Powers, p. 203. 38. From Arbuthnot to Howick, Pera, 22 December 1806 (FO 78 – 52, doc. 53). For a French copy of the proclamation, see Franc
ois C.H. la Pouqueville, Histoire de la re´ge´ne´ration de la Gre`ce comprenant le pre´cis des ´eve´nements depuis 1740 jusqu’en 1824, 4 vols (Bruxelles: Nabu Press, 1843), II, pp. 175–6. 39. Asım, I, p. 204. 40. Arbuthnot to Howick, Pera, 15 January 1808 (PRO, FO, 78 – 55). 41. BOA, HAT 166/6956 (undated). 42. Napoleon to Selim III, Berlin, 11 November 1806, in Testa, Recueil des traite´s, II, pp. 281– 2, 284– 5. 43. BOA, A. AMD. 51/18 (25 L 1221/14 January 1806); BOA, A. AMD. 52/17 (undated). For a summary of the debates passed during the war council whereby a fatwa was received, see BOA, HAT 91/3715 (undated). 44. BOA, HAT 6090 (undated); Testa, Recueil des traite´s, II, pp. 289– 90 (French copy). 45. BOA, A. AMD. 51/18 (25 L 1221/4 January 1806); BOA, A. AMD. 52/17 (undated). 46. Arbuthnot to Howick, Pera, 26 December 1806 (PRO, FO 78 – 52, doc. no. 85). 47. Arbuthnot to rear admiral Louis, Pera, 26 November 1806 (PRO, FO, 78 – 52, doc. no. 52); Arbuthnot to Howick, Pera, 26 December 1806 (PRO, FO, 78 – 52, doc. no. 95). 48. Arbuthnot to a senior officer of His Majesty’s ships of war at the Dardanelles, Bu¨yu¨kdere, 20 October 1806 (PRO, FO, 78 – 52). 49. For requests of the ambassador from the Porte and some further details, see Arbuthnot to Howick, Pera, 27 January 1807 (PRO, FO, 78 – 52, doc. no. 3); Arbuthnot to Galib Efendi, 26 January 1807 (PRO, FO, 78 – 55); BOA, HAT 166/6971 (16 Za 1221/25 January 1807); BOA, HAT 177/7754 (undated). 50. Driault, Selim-i Salis ve Napolyon, p. 94. For a discussion of motives for secretly leaving the city, see Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, pp. 273– 5. 51. Bartholomew Pizani was the second in rank of Great Britain’s dragomans. The Pizani family served 11 British ambassadors without a break. Alexander H. de Groot, “‘Dragomans’ careers: change of status in some families connected with British and Dutch embassies at Istanbul, 1785–1829”, in A. Hamilton, A.H. de Groot and M.H. van den Boogert (eds), Friends and Rivals in the East: Studies in Anglo–Dutch Relations in the Levant from the Seventeenth to the Early Nineteenth Century (Leiden: Brill, 2000), pp. 223–46. Pizani had accompanied the British ambassador in his flight, but returned from the Dardanelles in order to inform the Ottoman grand admiral that the ambassador had escaped due to his fear of being imprisoned in Yedi Kule (Seven Towers) dungeons. BOA, HAT 168/7094 (23 Za 1221/1 February 1807); Ebubekir Efendi, Asiler ve Gaziler, p. 99.

252

NOTES

TO PAGES

114 –116

52. For details of the passage, see Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, pp. 279– 81. 53. The Times, Saturday, 18 April 1807, 7925, p. 2, col. A; Shupp, The European Powers, p. 382; Michel Pre´vost, “Constantinople en 1806 et 1807”, Revue Contemporaine, XIV (1854), p. 172; William James, The Naval History of Great Britain: From the Declaration of War by France in February 1793, to the Accession of George IV in January 1820, 6 vols (London: Baldwin, Cradock & Joy, 1826), IV, p. 437. 54. Translation of the note from the French consular at C¸anakkale (Dardanelles) to Se´bastiani. BOA, HAT 159/6639 (undated). 55. Saint-Denys, Re´volutions de Constantinople, II, pp. 57, 64. 56. Driault, Selim-i Salis ve Napolyon, p. 103. 57. The Times, Wednesday, 25 March 1807, 7006, p. 2, col. F; Saint-Denys, Re´volutions de Constantinople, II, p. 71; Cevdet Pas¸a, Tarih, VIII, p. 113. 58. Pre´vost, “Constantinople en 1806”, pp. 172–3; Saint-Denys, Re´volutions de Constantinople, II, p. 72; Armand Lefebvre, Histoire des cabinets de l’Europe, pendant le Consulat et l’Empire, ´ecrite avec les documents re´unis aux archives des affaires E´trange`res, 1800–1845 (Bruxelles: Meline, Cans et Compaigne, 1847), p. 58. 59. BOA, HAT 169/7178 (undated). See also Lefebvre, Histoire des cabinets de l’Europe, p. 59. 60. The Times, Saturday, 18 April 1807, 7025, p. 2, col. A. Jacques Peuchet, Campaigns of the Armies of France in Prussia, Saxony and Poland under the Command of the Emperor and King in MDCCVI and VII, 4 vols, translated from French into English by S. Mackay (Boston: Farrand, Mallory and Co., 1808), IV, p. 227. According to Se´bastiani, three officers sent by Marmont arrived at the capital on 22 February. E´douard Driault, “Correspondance du ge´ne´ral Se´bastiani, ambassadeur a` Constantinople, du 24 de´cembre 1806 au 10 mars 1807, Revue des E´tudes Napole´oniennes, 2/4 (1913), p. 413. 61. Asım, I, pp. 232– 3; Necib, Sultan Selim, pp. 18 – 20. For a list of batteries, see Saint-Denys, Re´volutions de Constantinople, II, pp. 261– 2; Peuchet, Campaigns, III, pp. 232– 3. For the defensive regions, see Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, pp. 86 – 7. 62. Driault, “Correspondance du ge´ne´ral Se´bastiani”, p. 422; Driault, Selim-i Salis ve Napolyon, p. 108. 63. From Arbuthnot to Howick, Royal George off the Dardannelles, 6 March 1807 (PRO, FO 78 – 55, doc. no. 16). 64. The Times, Friday, 17 April 1807, 7024, p. 4, col. C. Driault, depending on the data from Le Moniteur Universel, states that 137 British soldiers were killed and 416 wounded. The actual number may be somewhere in between. Driault, Selim-i Salis ve Napolyon, p. 114. 65. Driault, “Correspondance du ge´ne´ral Se´bastiani’, p. 413; Driault, Selim-i Salis ve Napolyon, p. 103; Lefebvre, Histoire des cabinets de l’Europe, p. 58. 66. Asım, I, pp. 225– 7; Beydilli, Bir I˙mamın Gu¨nlu¨g˘u¨, p. 103. Since it was a religious festival, the number of people gathering should have increased considerably.

NOTES

TO PAGES

116 –121

253

67. Edward Raczynski, 1814’te I˙stanbul ve C¸anakkale’ye Seyahat, translated into Turkish by Kemal Turan (Istanbul: Tercu¨man, 1980), p. 58. 68. Yes¸il, “I˙ngiliz Filosu”, p. 462. 69. Saint-Denys, Re´volutions du Constantinople, II, p. 87; Prevost, “Constantinople en 1806”, p. 175; Driault, “Correspondance du ge´ne´ral Se´bastiani”, p. 403. 70. Nicolae Jorga, Osmanlı I˙mparatorlug˘u Tarihi, 5 vols, V, translated into Turkish by Nilu¨fer Epc
eli (Istanbul: Yeditepe, 2009), p. 149. 71. From Arbuthnot to Howick, Royal George off the Dardanelles, 6 March 1807 (PRO, FO, 78 – 55, doc. no. 16). 72. HHSA Tu¨rkei VI/1 as cited in Yes¸il, “I˙ngiliz Filosu”, 460n216. 73. BOA, C. AS. 8490 (22 Z 1224/28 January 1810). The record is an imperial edict confirming the tax exemption of a certain Yorgi, son of Yani, who was among the 42 Christians granted the above-mentioned exemption. 74. Ebubekir Efendi, Asiler ve Gaziler, pp. 103– 4. Ebubekir Efendi does not provide the name of the assassin but praises/describes him as “diyanet ashabından bir kavıˆ-himmet sıdk-ı inayetin.” 75. Asım, I, p. 236, II, p. 18: “I˙ngilizlu¨ ve Moskovlu bizim ic
imizde imis¸. S¸evketlu¨ padis¸ahımız beyhude telas¸ u ıztıraˆba du¨s¸tu¨. Acaba bunlar I˙stanbul’u du¨s¸mana verdikde zaˆhir kendu¨leri kral olacaklardır.” 76. Wilkinson, Wallachia and Moldavia, pp. 107– 8. 77. Asım, I, pp. 236– 7. Italics are mine. The British were also expecting an upheaval in the city, especially by bombarding the state buildings. Yes¸il, “I˙ngiliz Filosu”, p. 481. 78. Asım, I, p. 237. 79. Caˆbıˆ, I, p. 110: “I˙ngilize gel dediler geldi ve git dediler gitti bunda bir maˆdde vardır.” 80. Ebubekir Efendi, Vaka-yı Cedid, p. 16. 81. Zinkeisen, Osmanlı, VII, p. 322. 82. The same mood finds echoes in a document dating from the reign of Mahmud II. BOA, HAT 17078 (undated). Immediately after its departure from Istanbul, the British fleet met a Russian fleet off Bozca Ada under the command of Admiral Seniavin. The admiral had suggested that they should stage a joint expedition against the Ottoman capital. Duckworth, however, refrained from a second attempt. The Russian admiral attempted to capture the Fortress of Bozca Ada with seven or eight ships. On 15 May, he demanded the commander of the fortress to surrender. Upon being refused, he attacked and gained the control of the fortress. After that, the Russian general transported the Turkish families and soldiers to the Asian coast. The ultimate aim of Seniavin was to march directly against Istanbul, but he lacked the means to achieve this goal. 83. BOA, HAT 1437, as cited in Yes¸il, “I˙ngiliz Filosu”, p. 465. 84. Peuchet, Campaigns, IV, p. 228. 85. Shupp, European Powers, p. 537. 86. From Arbuthnot to Howick, Pera, 26 December 1806 (PRO, FO, 78 – 52).

254

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121 –126

87. S¸akul, A Global Moment, p. 51. 88. BOA, HAT 5737 (undated); BOA, HAT 166/6956 (undated); from Napoleon to Selim III, cited in Testa, Recueil des traite´s, II, pp. 277– 8. 89. Peuchet, Campaigns, IV, p. 228. 90. Driault, “Correspondance du ge´ne´ral Se´bastiani”, p. 419. For the discontent among the public not only for his immense prestige but also for a grant of decoration to a non-Muslim, see Bielfeld, letter dated 24 March 1807, as cited in Zinkeisen, Osmanlı, VII, p. 322. 91. Lefebvre, Histoire des cabinets de l’Europe, p. 68; Driault, Selim-i Salis ve Napolyon, pp. 115–16. 92. Lefebvre, Histoire des cabinets de l’Europe, p. 68. 93. Driault, Selim-i Salis ve Napolyon, pp. 115– 16. 94. BOA, HAT 139/5734.A (11 M 1222/21 March 1807): “Birkac
Fransa ofc
iyalleri taleb buyurmus¸ olmalarıyla taraf-ı hu¨maˆyuˆnlarına irsaˆl ederim. Birkac
bin nefer talep buyurmadıklarına teessu¨f ve tahazzu¨n etdim. Yalnız 500 nefer taleb buyurdukları anda hareket etmeleri u¨zere tenbıˆh ederim.” In the same letter, it is also stated that a certain amount of artillery and artillerymen were already sent. 95. BOA, A. AMD. 53/3 (17 M 1222/27 March 1807). A translation of the minutes of a debate in the British parliament. 96. From Arbuthnot to Spencer, 30 October 1806 (PRO, FO, 78 – 52, doc. no. 72). 97. S¸akul, A Global Moment, p. 94. 98. BOA, 131/5426.A (undated). 99. BOA, HAT 6101 (Minutes of the council held on 6 S 1222/14 April 1807): “Bir devlet bir devlet ile ittifaˆk eyledikde asker imraˆr eylemek muktezaˆ-ı ittifaˆkdandır. I˙raˆe eyledim. Asker kabul olunmamakla bu ittifaˆkdan ne semer hasıl olur?” 100. BOA, HAT 131/5426 (undated); BOA, HAT 6101 (Minutes of the council held on 6 S 1222/14 April 1807); BOA, HAT 143/5929 (undated); Cevdet Pas¸a, Tarih, VIII, pp. 138– 9. 101. Lefebvre, Histoire des cabinets de l’Europe, p. 112; Shupp, European Powers, pp. 476 –7. 102. I˙lhan Bardakc
ı, “Buna ne Buyrulur”, I˙mparatorlug˘a Veda, 4th edn (Istanbul: Aliog˘lou, 2002), pp. 219 – 20: “I˙ki o¨nceki hu¨ku¨mdar Selim’n devrilmesinde bu¨yu¨k payı olan Yenic
eri ocag˘ı u¨zerinde o zamanki selefimiz Se´bastiani’nin kullandıg˘ı usul, s¸imdi bu gu¨nlerde ne derece uygulanabilir? Ancak Se´bastiani Horacel’in c
ok muhkem ve emin aracılarla kendisini hissettiren bas¸arı kazandıg˘ı gu¨nlerin s¸ansına bugu¨n pek sahib deg˘iliz. Mora’daki isyan I˙stanbul’da Se´bastiani’nin ordu merkezindeki faydalı c
alıs¸maları gibi sonuc
lanabilirse, mu¨teveffa Napolyon tarafından du¨s¸u¨nu¨len Akdeniz hakimiyetindeki yerimizi almamız bakımından bize sadece sevinmek du¨s¸er.” 103. Cevdet Pas¸a, Tarih, VIII, p. 151. 104. Puryear, Napoleon and the Dardannelles, pp. 189– 90.

NOTES

TO PAGES

126 –130

255

105. “Une re´volution a eu lieu a` Constantinople. Le sultan Se´lim et douze des principaux de la Porte ont e´te´ e´gorge´s par les janissaries. Le sultan Moustafa a e´te´ mise sur le troˆne. La cause de cette insurrection du peuple vient du progre`s des Serviens et du peu d’e´nergie dont les janissaries se plaignent de la part du gouvernement. Ils accusaient les ministers de s’entendre avec les Serviens et les Russes. La nouveau sultan a proclame´ qu’il ne ferait point la paix avec les Russes que les anciennes frontie`res ne soient re´tablies et la Crime´e reconquise.” E´douard Driault, Napole´on et l’Europe: Tilsit, France et Russie sous le premier empire: la question de Pologne, 1806– 1809 (Paris: Fe´lix Alcan, 1917), p. 168. 106. Dusan T. Batakovich, “A Balkan style French Revolution: the 1804 Serbian uprising in a European perspective”, Balcanica, XXXVI (2006), pp. 123– 5. 107. C¸etin Bo¨rekc
i, Osmanlı I˙mparatorlug˘u’nda Sırp Meselesi (Istanbul: Kutup Yıldızı, 2001), p. 80. See also Shupp, European Powers, pp. 177–82; Shaw, Between Old and New, pp. 343, 350; Stanford J. Shaw, “The Ottoman Empire and the Serbian uprising”, Studies in Ottoman and Turkish History: Life with the Ottomans (Istanbul: ISIS, 2000), p. 85. 108. Asım, II, pp. 16 – 17. For a chain of borrowings, see Cevdet Pas¸a, Tarih, VIII, p. 152. 109. “References” in PRO, FO, 78 – 60; Saint-Denys, Re´volutions de Constantinople, II, pp. 149– 50. Both sources argue that Se´bastiani met with the chief after noticing his influence in the aftermath of the uprising and to exert pressure on the Porte through this friendship. Miller notes that it was Alexander Sutzo who provided the connection. Miller, Mustapha Pacha Bairakdar, p. 204. 110. TSMA, E. 1756 (undated). The document seems to have belonged to the reign of Mustafa IV, since it is declared that Kabakc
ı Mustafa IV granted 1,000 gurus¸ sign-up bonus (bahs¸is¸) to the retinue of the ambassador during the dinner party. Spending such amounts of money would have been a luxury for a rebel chief before the uprising. 111. In a similar manner, Yi also comments for the rebellious guildsmen of 1651: “Given that their political opinion already formed before the rebellion, one cannot assume that guildsmens” daily lives were devoid of politics. While this is a little known aspect of their lives, they must have observed with keen eyes the tumultuous political developments in the first half of the seventeenth century. Though it remains questionable whether guildsmen could acquire correct and detailed information about current political events, they were by no means isolated from the rest of the society.” Yi, Guild Dynamics, p. 227.

Chapter 5

Elite Rivalry

1. A comment by Se´bastiani, as cited in Shupp, European Powers, p. 234. 2. Nefedov and Turchin, Secular Cycles, p. 10; Goldstone, “East and West”, p. 120. 3. For his model of elite conflict, see his “Greed and contingency: state fiscal crises and imperial failure in early modern Europe”, American Journal of Sociology, 115/1 (July 2009), p. 56.

256

NOTES TO PAGES 131 –133

4. Turchin and Nefedov, Secular Cycles, p. 13. 5. For a suggestive reading of the French Revolution from this perspective, see John R. Gillis, “Political decay and the European Revolutions, 1789– 1848”, World Politics, 22/3 (1970), pp. 344– 70. 6. A tentative list, drawing on some contemporary sources and modern studies, includes: Ibrahim Res¸id Efendi, Ibrahim Nesim Efendi, Mustafa Res¸id Efendi, Sırkatibi Ahmed Efendi, Mehmed Ras¸id Efendi, Tatarcık Abdullah Efendi, Mabeynci Ahmed Bey, Ebubekir Ratıb Efendi, Ku¨
cu¨k Hu¨seyin Pasha, Ibrahim Ismet Beyefendi, Mahmud Raif Efendi. Though less mentioned, our list may be extented to include: Abdu¨llatif Efendi (Pasha), Kadı Abdurrahman Pasha, Abdullah Ramiz Efendi (Pasha); Ahmed Esad Efendi, Ahmed Safi Efendi, Darbhane Emini Ebubekir Bey, Mehmed Said Galib Efendi, Hasan S¸akir Bey, Veliefendizaˆde Mehmed Emin Efendi, Mehmed Emin Behic
Efendi, Mehmed Memis¸ Efendi, Mustafa Refik Efendi, Mehmed Tahsin Efendi, Samanıˆzaˆde O¨mer Hulusi Efendi, Yusuf Agha, Cabbarzaˆde Su¨leyman Bey and Mustafa Rasih Efendi. 7. Norman Itzkowitz, “Eighteenth century Ottoman realities,” Studia Islamica, 16 (1962), pp. 88 – 9. 8. Mehmed Ras¸id Efendi (reisu¨lku¨ttab 1792– 4; 1797– 8); Mehmed Galib Efendi (Pasha) (reisu¨lku¨ttab: 1806–7; 1808– 11; 1812); Mahmud Raif Efendi (reisu¨lku¨ttab: 1800– 5); Mustafa Refik Efendi (1807– 8). 9. For the diplomatic history of the period, see Naff, “Reform and the conduct of Ottoman diplomacy”; Jacob C. Hurewitz, “The europeanization of Ottoman diplomacy: the conversion from unilateralism to reciprocity in the nineteenth century”, Belleten, XXV (1961), pp. 455–66; Mehmet A. Yalc
ınkaya, “Mahmud Raif Efendi as the Chief Secretary to Yusuf Agha Efendi, the First Permanent Ottoman–Turkish Ambassador to London (1793–1797)”, Journal of the Center for Ottoman Studies (OTAM), 5 (1994), pp. 385–434; Faik R. Unat, Osmanlı Sefirleri ve Sefaretnameleri, Bekir S. Baykal (ed.) (Ankara: Tu¨rk Tarih Kurumu Basimevi, 1987); Ercu¨mend Kuran, Avrupa’da Osmanlı I˙kamet Elc
ilerinin Kurulus¸u I˙lk Elc
ilerin Siyasi Faaliyetleri (Ankara: TAEK Yayınları, 1968); A. Nuri Yurdusev (ed.), Ottoman Diplomacy: Conventional or Unconventional? (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004). For a general list of the literature on the diplomatic history of the Porte, see Mehmet A. Yalc
ınkaya, “Kurulus¸tan Tanzimat’a Osmanlı Diplomasi Tarihi Literatu¨ru¨”, Tu¨rkiye I˙lmi Aras¸tırmaları Literatu¨r Dergisi, I/2 (2003), pp. 423–89. 10. For his life and works, see I˙smail H. Uzunc
ars¸ılı, “Tosyalı Ebubekir Ratıb Efendi”, Belleten, XXXIX/153 (1975), pp. 49– 76; Fatih Yes¸il, Aydınlanma C¸ag˘ında Bir Osmanlı Katibi: Ebubekir Ratıb Efendi (1750 – 1799) (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfı Yurt Yayınları, 2011); Fatih Bayram, “Ebubekir Ratıb Efendi as an Envoy of Knowledge Between East and West”, unpublished M.A. thesis (Bilkent University, 2000); Sema Arıkan, “Ebubekir Ratıb Efendi”, DI˙A (Istanbul: I˙SAM, 1994), Sema Arıkan, “Nizam-ı Cedit’in Kaynaklarından Ebubekir Ratıb Efendi’nin Bu¨yu¨k Layihası”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis

NOTES

11.

12.

13.

14. 15.

16.

TO PAGES

133 –136

257

¨ g˘u¨tler: Ebubekir (Istanbul University, 1996); Aysel Yıldız, “S¸ehzade’ye O Ratıb Efendi’nin S¸ehzade Selim’e (III) Bir Mektubu”, Osmanlı Aras¸tırmaları, XLII (2013), pp. 233– 74. Es-seyyid Ibrahim Ismet Beyefendi’s father was Raif Ismail Pasha. Bostancıbas¸ı S¸akir Bey was the son of Ahmed Pasha, and Mabeynci Ahmed Bey was son of Halil Pasha. Sharon Kettering, “Clientage during the French wars of religion”, The Sixteenth Century Journal, 20/2 (Summer, 1989), p. 223. For some works on political clientelism, see Samuel N. Eisenstadt and Louis Roniger, “Patron-client relations as a model of structuring social exchanges”, Comparative Studies in Society and History, XXII (1980), pp. 42 – 78; Steffen Schmidt, James C. Sharon Kettering, “Clientage during the French wars of religion”, The Sixteenth Century Journal, 20/2 (Summer, 1989), p. 223. For some works on political clientelism, see Samuel N. Eisenstadt and Louis Roniger, “Patronclient relations as a model of structuring social exchanges”, Comparative Studies in Society and History, XXII (1980), pp. 42–78; Steffen Schmidt, James C. Scott, Carl Lande and Laura Guasti (eds), Friends, Followers and Factions: A Reader in Political Clientelism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1977); Sharon, Kettering, “The historical development of political clientelism”, Journal of Interdisciplinary History, 18/3 (Winter 1988), pp. 419–47; Ernest Gellner and John Waterbury (eds), Patrons and Clients in Mediterranean Societies (London: Duckworth, 1977); Rene´ Lemarchand and Keith Legg, “Political clientelism and development: a preliminary analysis”, Comparative Politics, IV (1972), pp. 149–78; Sharon Kettering, “Patronage in early modern France”, French Historical Studies, 17/4 (Autumn, 1992), pp. 839–62, Carl Lande and Laura Guasti (eds), Friends, Followers and Factions: A Reader in Political Clientelism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1977); Sharon, Kettering, “The historical development of political clientelism”, Journal of Interdisciplinary History, 18/3 (Winter 1988), pp. 419–47; Ernest Gellner and John Waterbury (eds), Patrons and Clients in Mediterranean Societies (London: Duckworth, 1977); Rene´ Lemarchand and Keith Legg, “Political clientelism and development: a preliminary analysis”, Comparative Politics, IV (1972), pp. 149–78; Sharon Kettering, “Patronage in early modern France”, French Historical Studies, 17/4 (Autumn, 1992), pp. 839–62. He rapidly rose in this department, and became serhalife, mektubcu, silahdar katibi and again mektubcu. On 4 B 1201/22 April 1787, he was appointed as the mektubi-i sadr-ali in the army, together with the serdar-ı ekrem at Mehadiye. Necib, Sultan Selim, p. 66. His other brother, Mustafa Agha, was employed as the steward to Yusuf Ziya Pasha. Namely Elhac Ibrahim Efendi, Mustafa Res¸id Efendi, Tatarcık Abdullah Molla, Mehmed Ras¸id Efendi, Veliefendizaˆde Mehmed Emin Efendi and Salihzaˆde Ahmed Esad Efendi. For further details on reform proposals, see Enver Z. Karal, “Nizam-ı Cedid’e Dair Layihalar, 1792”, Tarih Vesikaları, I/6 (1942), pp. 414– 25, II/8 (1942),

258

17. 18.

19.

20. 21. 22.

23.

24.

25.

26.

NOTES

TO PAGES

136 –139

pp. 104– 11, II/11 (1943), pp. 342– 51, II/12 (1943), pp. 424– 33; Ergin C¸ag˘man, III. Selim’e Sunulan Islahat Laˆyihaları (Istanbul: Kitabevi, 2010); Ahmet O¨g˘reten, Nizam-ı Cedid’e Dair Islahat Layihaları (Ankara: TTK, 2014). For the general place of these proposals in the tradition of Ottoman reforms, see Beydilli, “Ku¨c
u¨k Kaynarca’dan Tanzimat’a”, pp. 30 – 4, S¸akul, “Batılılas¸ma ve I˙slami Modernles¸me”, pp. 121– 4. Armitage and Subrahmanyam, “Introduction”, The Age of Revolutions, p. xxiii. The eponym “mujaddid” (renewer) comes from the identification of Ahmad Sirhindıˆ (d. 1624), the founder of the branch, as the “renewer of the Second Millenium”. His strong emphasis on sunna and sharia and concern with avoiding innovation (bid’ad) are well known. Itzchak Weismann, The Naqshbandiyya: Orthodoxy and Activism in a Worldwide Sufi Tradition (London, New York: Routledge, 2007), pp. 49 – 50, 56 – 61. Butrus Abu-Manneh, “Introduction: the Ottoman upper classes and Islam: the nineteenth century”, Studies on Islam and the Ottoman Empire in the 19th Century (1826 – 1876) (Istanbul: ISIS, 2001), p. 8. For a study of early Ottoman Naqshbandıˆs (fifteenth to eighteenth century), see Dina LeGall “Forgotten Naqshbandıˆs and the culture of pre-modern Sufi brotherhoods”, Studia Islamica, 97 (2003), pp. 87 –119. Zebıˆre, pp. 14 – 15. S¸akul, “Batılılas¸ma ve I˙slami Modernles¸me”, pp. 139–40. Zebıˆre, p. 5. Shaikh Galib (d. 1799), the famous Mawlawi mystic, also presented Selim III as a renovator of the Empire through his military reforms, as well as the Mahdi of the age: “It is that Padis¸ah who gives the goodness of order to important matters of state / Just like the Mehdi who is the Possessor of the Appointed Time (sahib-i zaman).” As cited in George W. Gawrych, “S¸eyh Galib and Selim III: Mevlevism and the Nizam-ı Cedid”, International Journal of Turkish Studies, 4/1 (Summer 1987), pp. 107– 8. Nikki R. Keddie, “The revolt of Islam, 1700 to 1993: comparative considerations and relations to imperialism”, Comparative Studies in History and Society, 36/3 (July 1994), pp. 468– 9. Keddie, “The revolt of Islam”, pp. 469– 70. Nehemia Levtzion and John O. Voll, Eighteenth-Century Renewal and Reform in Islam (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1987); Levtzion and Voll, “Introduction”, pp. 5 – 6. Neo-sufism, as defined by Voll, is a term used by scholars, including Nehemia Levtzion, to describe “a set of movements of Islamic revival”. For debates on neo-sufism, see O’Fahey and Radtke, “Neo-Sufism reconsidered”, pp. 56 – 61; John O. Voll, “Neo-Sufism: reconsidered again”, Canadian Journal of African Studies, 42/2 – 3 (2008), pp. 314– 30. Alexander Kynsh, “Sufism as an explanatory paradigm: the issue of the motivations of Sufi resistance movements in Western and Russian scholarship”, Die Welt des Islams, New Series 42/2 (2002), pp. 139– 73. Peter Gran, while not outrightly rejecting the socio-economic influence of Europe, connects the religious revival in Egyptian society to the commercial

NOTES

27.

28.

29.

30.

31.

32. 33. 34.

TO PAGES

139 –140

259

revolution in Egypt in the mid-eighteenth century, which in turn stimulated an intellectual revival, and finds that modern Egyptian society is a product of indigenous developments of this period. The increased interest in the hadith tradition and the rise of a critical consciousness among scholars were among the most important symptoms of this revival (1760 –90), alongside a revival in literature, history and the language sciences. Hadith studies were later replaced by kelam and fıqh. Gran, Islamic Roots of Capitalism, chapters three and four. Juan Cole, “Playing the Muslim: Bonaparte’s army of the Orient and Euro – Muslim creolization”, in D. Armitage and S. Subrahmanyam (eds), The Age of Revolutions, pp. 137– 8. O¨zhan Kapıcı, “Bir Osmanlı Mollasının Fikir Du¨nyasından Fragmanlar: Kec
ecizaˆde I˙zzet Molla ve II. Mahmud Do¨nemi Osmanlı Siyaset Du¨s¸u¨ncesi”, Osmanlı Aras¸tırmaları, XLII (2013), p. 286. For Schulze, the rise of subjectivity and self-consciousness, anthropocentrism rather than theocentrism, originality and the emancipation of the social middle class from those who ruled the state, were the main features. Reinhard Schulze, “Das islamische achtzehnte Jahrhundert: Versuch einer historiographischen Kritik”, Die Welt des Islams, 30 (1990), pp. 140– 59. Rudolp Peters, “Reinhard Schulze’s quest for an Islamic Enlightentment”, Die Welt des Islams, 30 (1990), pp. 160– 2; Bern Radtke, “Sufism in the eighteenth century: an attempt at a provisional appraisal”, Die Welt des Islams, New Series 36/3, Islamic Enlightenment in the Eighteenth Century? (November 1996), pp. 326 – 64. O’Fahey and Radtke reject a reformed neo-sufism by emphasizing the continuities in the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century mystical movements. O’Fahey and Radtke, “Neo-Sufism reconsidered”, Der Islam, 70/1 (1993), pp. 52 – 87. According to Voll, the Islamic Enlightenment was a long process which had deeper roots in the earlier centuries, and the eighteenth century is marked by a fundamentalist spirit. See also Basheer M. Nafi, “Tasawwuf and reform in pre-Islamic culture”, Die Welt des Islams, 42/3 (2002), pp. 307– 35. Some authors also argue that the origins of today’s Islamic fundamentalism are rooted in eighteenth-century revivalist movements, such as Wahhabism. For a criticism of the continuity of a single “fundamentalist mode of Islam”, see Ahmad Dallal, “The origins and objectives of Islamic revivalist thought, 1750– 1850”, Journal of the American Society, 113/3 (1993), pp. 341– 59. Enver F. Kisriev and Robert Bruce Ware, “Political hegemony and Islamic resistance: ideology and political organization in Dagestan 1800– 1930”, Middle Eastern Studies, 42/3 (2006), pp. 493– 504. Levtzion and Voll, “Introduction”, pp. 10 – 11. S¸akul, “Batılılas¸ma ve I˙slami Modernles¸me”, pp. 140, 149. The history of the Naqshbandıˆ religious order goes back to fourteenth-century Buhara. It played a considerable role in the conversion of Central Asia, and spread into Anatolia and India around the seventeenth century. The Mujaddidıˆ

260

35. 36.

37.

38. 39.

40.

NOTES

TO PAGES

140 –141

branch developed in India and the Khalidiyya branch in Syria. Both branches were local revivalist – and puritanist – Islamic religious orders, which held the ideals of the improvement of the umma and the revival of Islam from degeneration. Manneh, “Introduction: the Ottoman upper classes and Islam”, pp. 7 – 8. The first was built by grand vizier Izzet Mehmed Pasha in November 1795 for O¨mer Rızaıˆ Darendevıˆ (d. 1824), a deputy of shaikh Bursavıˆ Mehmed Emin Efendi. Izzet Mehmed Pasha and Darendevıˆ were close and the former had also married off one of his concubines to the latter. Another Naqshbandıˆ tekke was built by Samanıˆzaˆde O¨mer Hulusi Efendi – a former shaikh al-Islam and a name mentioned among the reformist camp – in 1800 at Fatih Otlukc
ular Yokus¸u. Ibrahim Nesim Efendi also built a tekke for shaikh Selami Efendi, from Izmir. Selami Efendi’s father belonged to the Kadiriye religious order and he himself had travelled to a variety of places and countries, such as Persia, Buhara, Belh, India, Egypt and Baghdad. He arrived in Istanbul after eight or ten years of travel. His arch enemy, Ebubekir Efendi, argues that during his long journey, Selami Efendi learnt only “tricks” and “devices” and “tough talks” sufficient to deceive ignorant people. Yet, it seems that his travels were for more serious religious purposes, because these places were important centres of the Naqshbandıˆ circles. Indeed, Selami Efendi got a Naqshbandıˆ diploma (icazet) in Buhara. In Istanbul, he was fortunate enough to enter the upper echelons of urban society and enjoy the patronage of Ibrahim Nesim Efendi, who built him a tekke in Eyu¨p in 1798. This is exactly the reason why Ebubekir Efendi, the second author of Fezleke, blames Nesim Efendi for believing in serving such ignorant shaikhs. Among the bureaucrats, Ebubekir Ratıb Efendi (a disciple of shaikh Ataullah Efendi), Ibrahim Nesim Efendi, Mehmed Tahsin Efendi, Mustafa Refik Efendi, Mahmud Raif Efendi and Ras¸idzaˆde Cafer Bey were all members of the same order. Among the ilmiye members of the reformists, Ibrahim Ismet Beyefendi had affiliations with the order and was a disciple of Nimetullah Efendi, one of the shaikhs of the Selimiyye Naqshbandıˆ tekke. Kadı Abdurrahman Pasha, one of the powerful magnates of Anatolia, who also acted as commander of the Nizam-ı Cedid army, had some type of connections with this order. As stated previously, he had encouraged the Naqshbandıˆ dervish Ubeydullah Kus¸maˆnıˆ to write a treatise propagating the Nizam-ı Cedid reforms. A saying by Sirhindıˆ, as cited in Abu-Manneh, “The rise and expansion of the Naqshbandi-Khalidi suborder in early 19th century”, Studies on Islam, p. 24. Ahmad S. Dallal, “The origins and early development of Islamic reform”, in R.W. Hefner (ed.) The New Cambridge History of Islam – Muslims and Modernity: Culture and Society since 1800, vol. 6 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), p. 110. Dallal does not specifically talk about the Naqshbandıˆ, but I think this observation is also relevant to this religious order. Abu-Manneh, “The rise and expansion”, p. 14.

NOTES

TO PAGES

141 –145

261

41. O’Fahey and Radtke, “Neo-Sufism reconsidered”, pp. 53 –87. 42. Abu-Manneh, “Introduction”, Studies on Islam, p. 7. 43. The first was represented by Muhammed Masum, Sihrindi’s son, in the seventeenth century, and the second by Ahmed Joryani Yekdest (d. 1707– 8) in the eighteenth century. Mehmed Emin Efendi was a continuation of the Yekdest chain. Some deputies of this chain kept ties with the Mevlevi order, and Emin Efendi also followed the same tradition. For more details, see AbuManneh, “The rise and expansion”, p. 18. 44. TSMA, E. 4227– 48 (undated). Unfortunately, the name of the shaikh is not mentioned in the relevant document. Apparently, there were four NaqshbandıˆMujaddidıˆ tekkes around Eyu¨p during this period: Eyu¨p Murad Buharıˆ (S¸eyh Murad) tekke, Kas¸garıˆ tekke, Olukbayır tekke and S¸eyh Selami Efendi tekke. 45. Olivier, Travels, I, p. 210 notes that: “This council, unfortunately composed of members enemies among themselves, jealous of each other, more taken up with themselves than with the happiness of the State, is far from having accomplished the intentions of Selim.” See also Mehmet A. Yalc
ınkaya, “Sir Robert Liston’un I˙stanbul Bu¨yu¨kelc
ilig˘i (1794– 1795) ve Osmanlı Devleti Hakkında Du¨s¸u¨nceleri”, Osmanlı Aras¸tırmaları, VIII (1998), p. 203. 46. James C. Scott, “Patron-client politics and political change in Southeast Asia”, The American Political Science Review, 66/1 (March 1972), pp. 101, 103. 47. Kemal Beydilli, “S¸ehzaˆde Elc
isi Safiyesultanzaˆde I˙shak Bey”, I˙slam Aras¸tırmaları Dergisi, 3 (1999), pp. 73 – 81. 48. Shaw, Between Old and New, pp. 369– 70; Uzunc
ars¸ılı, “Dıs¸ Ruzname”, p. 656. 49. Asım, I, p. 256; Vasıf, Mehaˆsinu¨’l-Aˆsaˆr, XXXI, XXXII. Available clues suggest that he was especially hostile to Tatarcık Abdullah Molla and Ahmed Vasıf Efendi, causing their banishment by presenting a visit of theirs to S¸emseddin Molla, the judge of Istanbul, as a plot against the sultan – to be released after the dismissal of Mehmed Ras¸id. According to Naff, the basic problem with Tatarcık Abdullah and Mehmed Ras¸id was that the latter received a considerable bribe from a foreign power (probably the French) and the former’s criticism of this corrupt practice. For more details, see Naff, Ottoman Diplomacy, pp. 48 – 52. 50. Shaw, Between Old and New, p. 371. 51. Mehmet A. Yalc
ınkaya, “Tu¨rk Diplomasisinin Modernles¸mesinde Reisu¨lku¨ttab Mehmed Ras¸id Efendi’nin Rolu¨”, Osmanlı Aras¸tırmaları, XXI (2001), p. 132. 52. Shaw, Between Old and New, p. 372. Du¨rrizaˆde, who under the influence of Izzet Mehmed Pasha was reluctant to issue a fatwa sanctioning war against the French, was also dismissed. 53. Ibid. 54. The foreign policy of Yusuf Ziya Pasha is not so clear. Yet, in a conversation, Rackzynski observed that the Pasha was praising the Russian victories against the French. Rackzynski, 1814”te I˙stanbul, p. 155. Gos¸u confirms this, La Troisie`me Coalition, p. 76.

262

NOTES TO PAGES 145 –149

55. BOA, HAT 5425.A (undated). In the same letter, he complained of proRussian Mahmud Raif Efendi and accused him of treason. See also Gos¸u, La Troisie`me Coalition, p. 96. 56. Shaw, Between Old and New, p. 373. For reflections of struggle between proRussian and pro-French figures on a local level, on the island of Samos, and the imperial policy to curb the protection system in 1805– 8, see Laiou, “Political processes on the island of Samos”, pp. 100– 3. 57. Shaw, Between Old and New, p. 372. 58. http://www.sovsekretno.ru/articles/id/3331. 59. Gos¸u, La Troisie`me Coalition, pp. 79 – 81. Mahmud Raif Efendi seems to have been under the influence of pro-Russian Dimitrius Muruzi. Morkva, Russia, p. 323. 60. Gos¸u, La Troisie`me Coalition, pp. 84 – 5; Gos¸u, “The third anti-Napoleonic coalition”, p. 228. 61. Shupp, European Powers, p. 155. 62. From Arbuthnot to Spencer (PRO, FO, 78 – 52, doc. no. 77). 63. Shaw, Between Old and New, pp. 374– 5. 64. Lefebvre, Histoire des cabinets de l’Europe, p. 67. 65. Asım, II, pp. 199. 66. BOA, HAT 53341 (undated). See also Necib, Sultan Selim, p. 118. 67. For a biography of S¸erifzaˆde and his connection to the uprising, see Aysel Yıldız, “S¸eyhu¨lislam S¸erifzaˆde Mehmed Ataullah Efendi, III. Selim ve Vaka-yı Selimiyye”, in S. Kenan (ed.), Nizam-ı Kadim’den Nizam-ı Cedid’e III. Selim ve Do¨nemi (Istanbul: I˙SAM, 2010), pp. 529– 65. 68. Madeline Zilfi, “Elite circulation in the Ottoman Empire: great mollas of the eighteenth century”, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, XXVI/III (1983), p. 320. 69. BOA, Kamil Kepeci Sadaret Mektupc
ulug˘u Defterleri, no. 18, fl. 1010 (21 M 1223/19 March 1808). 70. Wilkinson, Wallachia and Moldavia, p. 107. 71. Halet Efendi served as Ottoman ambassador to Paris (1802 –6) and left an account of it. Enver Z. Karal (ed.), Halet Efendi’nin Paris Bu¨yu¨kelc
ilig˘i (Ankara: TTK, 1940). 72. TSMA, E. 3446/26 (undated): “Munificent shaik al-Islam efendi, the reason for my present imperial rescript is that you have longstandingly been my wellwisher and my loyal subject, of whom loyalty of all sorts is expected. Since my imperial accession, I have never been at ease any single moment. You have not been assisting me in certain matters and have left me all alone. You are supposed to caution me at certain points. I am like a bird that has just got out of the cage, and I strive as far as my capacity allows. However, you have not been helping me at all. Even Gabriel taught amen to the Prophet. Yet, I have been completely isolated. I do not have [. . .] for anything. There are so many false rumors and news circulating around. Whatever their source, it is incumbent upon you and the kaimmakam pasha to [. . .] I have already credited you with all sorts of

NOTES

73. 74. 75. 76. 77.

78.

79. 80.

81.

82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91. 92. 93. 94.

95.

TO PAGES

149 –154

263

powers. So, do what is favorable to my state and religion as well as my greatness and glory. Do prohibit what is evil. May Allah succeed you in your task.” Saint-Denys, Re´volutions, II, pp. 107– 8. Cevdet Pas¸a, Tarih, VIII, pp. 62, 114; Olivier; Travels, I, p. 211. Yalc
ınkaya, “Sir Robert Liston’un I˙stanbul Bu¨yu¨kelc
ilig˘i”, p. 199. Hobhouse, Journey, II, pp. 377– 8. Saint-Denys, Re´volutions, II, p. 107. The author also argues that Selim III ordered the discussion of governmental affairs in the councils, rather than delegating absolute authority to the kaimmakams or viziers. Fehmi Ismail, “The Diplomatic Relations of the Ottoman Empire and the Great Powers from 1806 to 1821”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (University of London, 1975), pp. 29 – 35. Miller, relying on the observations of Tamara and Hanc
erliog˘lu, also argues that the sultan revived the old institution of consultative assemblies and made it perpetual. Miller, Mustapha Pacha Bairakdar, p. 105. Sadaret kethu¨da, the
avus c ¸bas¸ı, reisu¨lku¨ttab and the defterdar. Shaw, Between Old and New, pp. 72 – 3; Ali Akyıldız, Osmanlı Bu¨rokrasisi ve Modernles¸me (Istanbul: I˙letis¸im, 2004), p. 32; Muzaffer Dog˘an, “Sadaret Kethu¨dalıg˘ı (1730 – 1836)”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (Marmara U¨niversitesi, 1995), p. 128; Findley, Bureaucratic Reform, pp. 72– 88. Taner Timur, “Moniteur Universel, III. Selim ve I˙htilal Fransası”, Osmanlı C¸alıs¸maları: I˙lkel Feodalizmden Yarı So¨mu¨rge Ekonomisine (Ankara: Verso, 1989), p. 107. The Times, 3 August 1807, issue: 7115, p. 3 Caˆbıˆ, I, p. 50. Zinkeisen, Osmanlı, VII, p. 323. Derin, “Yayla I˙mamı Risalesi”, p. 216. Ibid. Shaw, Between Old and New, p. 87. Olivier, Travels, p. 210. Caˆbıˆ, I, p. 42. Ibid. Asım, I, p. 337. Caˆbıˆ, I, pp. 127– 8 Findley, “Great Households”, p. 70. This point is underlined by both Mustafa Necib, advocating the cause of the reformists, and Asım, more tolerant of the anti-reformists. Both authors leave no doubt that Ibrahim Nesim Efendi was dominant, but while Mustafa Necib attributes the tension to the envy of Hafız Ismail Pasha for Nesim Efendi, Asım argues that Hafız Ismail Pasha turned against the other because he was deprived of power, Asım, I, p. 123; Necib, Sultan Selim, p. 43. Saint-Denys, Re´volutions, II, p. 107. See also Zinkeisen, Osmanlı, VII, p. 324. According to Saint-Denys, this situation annoyed the Pasha, since he was not able to enjoy the power of the former kaimmakams.

264

NOTES

TO PAGES

154 –159

96. Asım, I, p. 260. 97. From Arbuthnot to Spencer, Bu¨yu¨kdere, 30 October 1806 (PRO, FO, 78 – 52, doc. no. 77). There were additional – but related – reasons for hostility between these two functionaries. Galib favoured the British, criticized the overwelming French influence at the Porte, and accused Se´bastiani as “being the minister of the Sultan”. The tension was aggravated since Galib was suspecting that Se´bastiani would replace him with Ibrahim Nesim Efendi. 98. Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire, p. 197. 99. Robert Shephard, “Court Factions in Early Modern England”, The Journal of Modern History, 64/4 (December 1992), p. 723. 100. Kevin Sharpe, “Faction at the Early Stuart Court”, History Today (October 1983), p. 40. 101. Madelin Zilfi, The Politics of Piety: The Ottoman Ulema in the Postclassical Age (1600 – 1800) (Minneapolis: Bibliotheca Islamica, 1988), pp. 46, 48. Talking about the 1770s, Zinkeisen argues that the purpose of the ulema was to create an ulema aristocracy, Osmanlı, VI, p. 14. For a similar development in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, see Baki Tezcan, “The Ottoman mevali as the ‘Lords of Law’”, Journal of Islamic Studies, 20/3 (2009), pp. 383 – 407. 102. Yıldız, “S¸erifzaˆde Mehmed Ataullah Efendi”, pp. 551–4. 103. Goldstone, “East and West”, p. 120. 104. Uriel Heyd, “The Ottoman ulema and Westernization in the time of Selim III and Mahmud II”, in U. Heyd (ed.), Studies in Islamic History and Civilization (Jerusalem: The Hebrew University, 1961), p. 69. 105. Shephard, “Court Faction”, p. 736. 106. Yes¸il, I˙htilaller C¸ag˘ında Osmanlı Kara Ordusu, p. 231. 107. A copy of Mu¨nib Efendi’s treatise, known as tranpete risalesi, is available in Ahmet Vasıf Efendi, Tarih-i Sultan Selim (Istanbul: Istanbul Archaeological Museum, 1219/1804), pp. 82 – 7. 108. For further details, see I˙smail H. Uzunc
ars¸ılı, “Sadrazam Halil Hamid Pas¸a”, Tu¨rkiyat Mecmuası, V (1935 – 6), pp. 213 – 64; I˙smail H. Uzunc
ars¸ılı, “Cezayirli Gazi Hasan Pas¸a’ya Dair,” Tu¨rkiyat Mecmuası, V – VII (1940 – 2), pp. 17 – 41; Christoph Neumann, “Decision-making without decisionmakers: Ottoman foreign policy circa 1790”, in C.E. Farah (ed.) Decision Making and Change in the Ottoman Empire (Missouri: Thomas Jefferson University Press, 1993), pp. 29 – 34; Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, pp. 618 – 20. 109. Necib, Sultan Selim, p. 57; Cevdet Pas¸a, Tarih, VIII, p. 176. 110. BOA, D. DRB. MH. 63/62 (4 M 1224/14 February 1809). 111. Ebubekir Efendi, Asiler ve Gaziler, p. 98. 112. BOA, HAT 7532 (undated). 113. For a comparison of the images of Selim III and Mustafa IV in the available literature, see Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, pp. 83 – 4. 114. For further details, see Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, pp. 71– 2, 84.

NOTES

TO PAGES

159 –165

265

115. TSMA, E. 2650 (undated). 116. Uluc
ay, Padis¸ahın Anaları ve Kızları (Ankara: TTK, 1992), p. 119. 117. Kemal Beydilli, Tu¨rk Bilim ve Matbaacılık Tarihinde Mu¨hendishane (Istanbul: Eren, 1995), pp. 82 – 2.

Chapter 6

When the Feet Become the Head: The Limits of Obedience

1. Beik, Urban Protest, p. 1. 2. Malte Griesse, “Revolts as communicative events in early-modern Europe: circulation of knowledge and the development of political grammars” (MS, University of Konstanz), 5. Available at: https://exzellenzcluster.uni-konstanz. de/fileadmin/all/downloads/stellen-stipendien/Circulation-of-KnowledgeEarly-Modern-Revolts.pdf 3. Weber, Economy and Society, pp. 231– 2, 1020; I˙nalcık, “Comments on Sultanism”, pp. 48 – 72. 4. In Islamic tradition, the religious and Qur’anic roots of obedience can never be disregarded. The utmost obedience was to God, then his Prophet and, finally, to ulu’l-emr (those in authority), and the limits of disobedience depended on whether it was against God, the Prophet or the ulu’l-emr. For a good study of obedience and disobedience in Islamic tradition, see Nevin A. Mustafa, I˙slam Siyasi Du¨s¸u¨ncesinde Muhalefet, translated from Arabic into Turkish by V. Akyu¨z (Istanbul: Iz Yayıncılık, 1990). 5. Aziz al-Azmeh, Muslim Kingship: Power and the Sacred in Muslim, Christian and Pagan Polities (New York: I.B.Tauris, 2001), p. 129; Ann K. Lambton, “Changing concepts of justice and injustice from the 5th/11th century to the 8th/14th century in Persia: The Saljuq Empire and the Ilkhanate”, Studia Islamica, 68 (1988), pp. 31, 34. 6. Linda T. Darling, “Medieval Egyptian society and justice”, Mamluk Studies Review, 10/2 (2006), p. 1; “Social cohesion (‘Asabiyya’) and justice in the late medieval Middle East,” Comparative Studies in Society and History, 49/2 (April 2007), p. 331. See also, Linda T. Darling, “Political change and political discourse in the early modern Mediterranean world”, Journal of Interdisciplinary History, 38/4 (2008), pp. 505– 31; Hu¨seyin Gu¨ndog˘du, The Circle of Justice: Theory and Practice in the Ottoman Politics (Saarbru¨cken: Lambert Academic Publishing, 2011). 7. Asım, II, pp. 8 – 9. 8. al-Azmeh, Muslim Kingship, p. 121. 9. Ibid. 10. In comparison to the Hanafis, other schools such as the Shafis, and more activist Kharijites, Zaydis and Ibadis were radical in fighting the unjust rulers. Michael Cook, Commanding Right and Forbidding Wrong in Islamic Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), pp. 477– 8; Michael Cook,

266

11.

12. 13.

14.

15. 16. 17. 18. 19.

20.

21.

22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27.

NOTES

TO PAGES

165 –169

Forbidding Wrong in Islam: An Introduction (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), p. 80. Cook, Commanding and Forbidding, pp. 316– 39. Even Muhammed Ibn Abd-al Wahhab, the founder of Wahhabism, preached according to an accommodationist line. Dallal, “Islamic revivalist thought,” p. 349. For the use of Islamic rhetoric in the case of 1651 and the idea of injustice in the case of 1651, see Yi, Guild Dynamics, pp. 228–9. Haim Gerber, “The public sphere and civil society in the Ottoman Empire”, in M. Hoexter, S.N. Eisenstadt and N. Levtzion (eds), The Public Sphere in Muslim Societies (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2002), p. 78. Unfortunately, most of the fatwas approving the dethronement of the reigning sultans are missing. Yet, the available scanty ones confirm our observation. For three fatwas dating from the 1703 uprising, see Stremmelaar, The Rebellion of 1703, pp. 132– 3. Carter V. Findley, “The advent of ideology in the Islamic Middle East (Part I)”, Studia Islamica, 56 (1982), pp. 152– 3. Berkes, Tu¨rkiye’de C¸ag˘das¸las¸ma, p. 129. TSMA, E. 9198 (17 Ca 1222/23 July 1807). Akyıldız, “Sened-i I˙ttifak”, p. 218. The principle of forbidding the wrong does not cover only the stately issues, but almost every kind of fault, both in the public and private spheres of Muslims. Both rulers and ruled were held responsible for commanding right and forbidding wrong. Cook, Commanding and Forbidding, pp. 17 – 22. Ali b. Muhammad bin Walid, a Yemeni missionary of the Ismailite tradition, explicitly states that it was only the duty of the ulema. Similarly, Abu Abdullah al-Halim al-Jurjani (d. 1012), a Shafite scholar and diplomat, accords the duty to the righteous community of scholars. Cook, Commanding and Forbidding, pp. 304, 341 Even the Zaydıˆs, who gave more right to take arms against unjust rulers became more traditionalist with the penetration of Sunni tradition. Cook, Commanding and Forbidding, pp. 248– 50. Cook, Commanding and Forbidding, especially pp. 470– 500; Cook, Forbidding Wrong, pp. 13 – 21, 74 – 9. Hagen, “World order”, p. 82. Sunar, Cauldron of Dissent, p. 112; Sunar, “Nizam-ı Cedid Reformları Kars¸ısında Yenic
eriler”, pp. 519–20; Kafadar, “Rebels without a cause”, p. 131. Kafadar, “Rebels without a cause”, p. 131. Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire, p. 10. By “proto-democratization”, he means “the process through which a much larger segment of the imperial administration came to consist of men whose social origins were among the commoners, the very people who used to be known as outsiders to the previous ruling elite whose leadership was dominated by the slaves of the emperor.” Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire, pp. 9 – 10. See also ibid., “The New Order and the fate of the Old”, pp. 74 – 95.

NOTES

TO PAGES

170 –171

267

28. Baldwin rightly asserts that this kind of relationship is also reflected in the relationship between the janissaries and the agents of the sultans. Through the case of the conflict between Defterdar Ahmed Pasha, the governor of Egypt (1675 – 6) and the janissaries, the author argues that, rather, the janissaries believed that the governor exceeded his legal limits of authority. James E. Baldwin, “The deposition of defterdar Ahmed Pas¸a and the rule of law in seventeenth-century Egypt”, Osmanlı Aras¸tırmaları, 46 (2015), pp. 135– 61. 29. Moore defines implicit social contract as “an unverbalized set of mutual understandings”, Barrington Moore, Injustice: The Social Bases of Obedience and Revolt (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 1978), pp. 10, 18 – 30, 36. See also, Reginald E. Zelnik, “Passivity and protest in Germany and Russia: Barrington Moore’s conception of working-class responses to injustice”, Journal of Social History, (1982), p. 482; Gerber, “The public sphere”, p. 79. 30. Bas¸og˘lu, “Hilafet”, p. 103. 31. Alireza Shomali and Mehrzad Boroujerdi, “On Sa’di’s treatise on advice to the kings”, in M. Boroujerdi (ed.), Mirror for the Muslim Prince: Islam and the Theory of Statecraft (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2013), pp. 47, 50 – 2, 55. As the authors themselves claim, he did not develop a systematic and consistent analysis of political theory. 32. S¸erif Mardin, “Tu¨rk Siyasasını Ac
ıklayabilecek Bir Anahtar: Merkez-C¸evre I˙lis¸kileri”, Tu¨rkiye’de Toplum ve Siyaset: Makaleler, 1, p. 39. 33. S¸erif Mardin, “Freedom in Ottoman perspective”, in M. Heper and A. Evin (eds), State, Democracy and the Military: Turkey in the 1980s (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1988), pp. 23 –35. 34. Mardin, “Freedom in an Ottoman perspective”, pp. 26 –30. 35. Biat or beyat comes from the Arabic word, bay’a (oath of allegiance). Its Arabic root be’y means “sale” and, hence, commercial contract. In political language it refers to a contract or covenant between rulers and the ruled, both parties accepting responsibilities and rights. Bernard Lewis, The Political Language of Islam (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988), p. 58; Cengiz Kallek, “Biat”, DI˙A, pp. 120– 4; Tuncay Bas¸og˘lu, “Hilafetin Su¨but S¸artı Olarak Bey’at”, I˙LAM Aras¸tırma Dergisi, I/1 (1996), p. 101; Roy, P. Mottahedeh, Loyalty and Leadeship in an Early Islamic Society (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980), pp. 42 – 72; Ella Landau-Tasseron, The Religious Foundations of Political Allegiance: A Study of Bay’a in Pre-Modern Islam (Washington DC: Hudson Institute, 2010). For Turkic tradition, see Joseph Fletcher, “Turco– Mongolian monarchic tradition in the Ottoman Empire”, Harvard Ukranian Studies, 34 (1979 –80), p. 239. 36. Hakan Karateke, Padis¸ahım C¸ok Yas¸a: Osmanlı Devletinin Son Yu¨zyılında Merasimler (Istanbul: Kitap Yayınevi, 2004), pp. 28 – 9. 37. For the practice, significance and history of biat, see Kallek, “‘Biat’, Bas¸og˘lu, ‘Bey’at’”, pp. 81 – 111; Mehmet A. Kapar, “I˙slam’da Bey’at Sec
im Usulu¨”, Selc
uk U¨niversitesi I˙lahiyat Faku¨ltesi Dergisi, 4 (1991), pp. 73 – 83; Mustafa O¨zkan, “Emevi I˙ktidarının I˙s¸leyis¸inde Biat Kavramına Yu¨klenen Anlam ve

268

38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43.

44. 45. 46.

47.

48.

49. 50.

51.

52.

53.

NOTES

TO PAGES

171 –174

¨ niversitesi I˙lahiyat Faku¨ltesi Dergisi, 7/13 (2008/1), Biatın Fonksiyonu”, Hitit U pp. 113 –28. O¨zkan, “Emevi”, p. 120. Ibid., pp. 125– 6; Bas¸og˘lu, “Hilafet”, p. 99. BOA; ID 1210 (13 November 1840) as cited in Kırlı, “Coffeehouses”, p. 81, see also p. 85. Caˆbıˆ, I, pp. 604– 5. Feridun Emecen, “Osmanlı Hanedanına Alternatif Arayıs¸lar U¨zerine Bazı O¨rnekler ve Mu¨lahazalar”, I˙slam Aras¸tırmaları Dergisi, 6 (2001), pp. 63 – 76. Derin, “Tu¨fengc
ibas¸ı”, p. 400: “gelsinler, maslahat kalmadı, hi’latlarını telebbu¨s eylesinler, cemiyyeti bertaraf edelim, dahi bir so¨zleri ve so¨yleyecekleri var mıdır?”; “s¸imden sonra padis¸ah ile kul beynine nefsaˆniyyet girdi.” Mottahedeh, Loyalty and Leadeship, pp. 40 – 96. Kafadar, “Rebels without a cause”, pp. 117, 130. This metaphor is employed by Walter Andrews, Poetry’s Voice, Society’s Song: Ottoman Lyric Poetry (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1985), as cited in Ergene, “On Ottoman Justice”, pp. 64– 5. Hakan T. Karateke, “Legitimizing the Ottoman Sultanate: a framework for historical analysis”, in H.T. Karateke and M. Reinkowski (eds), Legitimizing the Order, The Ottoman Rhetoric of State Power (Leiden: Brill, 2005), pp. 17 – 18. Rıfa’at Abou-el-Haj, “Aspects of the legitimation of Ottoman rule as reflected in the preambles of two early Liva Kanunnameleri”, Turcica, 21 – 23 (1991), pp. 373 –84; Hagen, “World order”, p. 56. Weber, Society and Economy, as cited in Barkey, Empire of Difference, p. 98. Suraiya Faroqhi, “Political activity among Ottoman taxpayers and the problem of sultanic legitimation, 1570– 1650”, Journal of Social and Economic History of the Orient, 35/1 (1992), pp. 2– 5; Lewis, The Political Language of Islam, pp. 68 –70. The inaccessibility of the rulers is diagnosed as a symptom of decline by the Ottoman intellectuals from the sixteenth century onwards. It sometimes seems to have been more important than religious performances. In order to convince Osman II to give up his intention of pilgrimage, the Shaikh al-Islam argued that it was better for the sultan to rule his empire with justice than going on a pilgrimage. Naima, Tarih, II, p. 476. Marios Sariyannis, in his survey of the princely virtues of Ottoman rulers in the narratives, observes a shift in the emphasis of earlier Ottoman writers from princely to more ministerial virtues, starting in the sixteenth century, by Lu¨tfi Pasha (grand vizier 1539– 41). This shift indeed corresponds to the bureaucratization of the Ottoman Empire. Marios Sariyannis, “The princely virtues as presented in Ottoman political and moral literature”, Turcica, 43 (2011), pp. 121– 44. This meant a shift from a legitimacy of personal traits to collective rule. Tu¨lay Artan, “From charismatic rulership to collective rule”, Du¨nu¨ ve Bugu¨nu¨yle Toplum ve Tarih, 4 (Nisan 1993), pp. 53 – 95. Karateke, “Legitimizing the Ottoman Sultanate”, p. 43; Marlene Kurz, “Gracious Sultan, grateful subjects: spreading imperial ideology throughout

NOTES

54.

55. 56.

57.

58. 59. 60. 61. 62.

63.

64. 65. 66. 67. 68.

TO PAGES

174 –179

269

the Empire”, Studia Islamica, New Series, 3 (2012), p. 126. For the methods of the Ottomans to overcome this problem, see Colin Imber, “Frozen legitimacy”, in H.T. Karateke and M. Reinowski (eds), Legitimizing the Order: Ottoman Rhetoric of State Power (Leiden: Brill, 2005), pp. 99 – 111; Emecen, “Osmanlı Hanedanına Alternatif Arayıs¸lar”, pp. 63 – 76. For a more detailed analysis of the imperial images of Selim III, see Aysel Yıldız, “The ‘Louis XVI of the Turks’: the character of an Ottoman sultan”, Middle Eastern Studies, 50/2 (2014), pp. 272– 90. Asım, I, p. 110. Cyril E. Black, “Sorbier’s mission to Constantinople”, The Journal of Modern History, 16/1 (March 1944), p. 24; The Times, Wednesday, 23 September 1807, 7160, p. 2, col. A; Jorga, Documentele, II, pp. 423– 4. Asım, II, p. 36: “min ba’ad bu padis¸ahın tarafından emniyet mutassavver midir?” The question was posed by Mu¨nib Efendi. After talking with the leaders for a while, he returned to the place of the ulema, followed by the leaders in the room. The leaders came to shaikh al-Islam Ataullah Efendi and informed him about their decision on the dethronement of the sultan and exerted pressure on Ataullah Efendi to accept that Selim III’s rule was not appropriate any longer. Ataullah Efendi and the ulema, seeing that they had no other choice, informed the Porte about the demand of the rebels. Then, all members of the ulema, together with the Sekbanbas¸ı, were called to the Square, and then marched towards the Palace behind the two flags of the rebels. Rodney Barker, Legitimating Identities: Self-Representations of Rulers and Subjects (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), pp. 34, 67 – 8. A letter from Ebubekir Ratıb Efendi to prince Selim. TSMA, E. 2031– 16 (undated). See also Yıldız, “S¸ehzade’ye O¨g˘u¨tler”, pp. 233– 74. Asım, II, p. 209. Bayly, The Birth of the Modern World, p. 87 Ebubekir Efendi, Asiler ve Gaziler, p. 117. Another contemporary narrative that depicts his murder in great detail is Og˘ulukyan. See Og˘ulukyan, Ruznaˆme, p. 9. Gustave Le Bon, The Crowd: A Study of the Popular Mind (New York: Macmillan, 1896), pp. 165– 71. See also Mark Harrison, Crowds and History: Mass Phenomena in English Towns, 1790– 1835 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), p. 7. For the participants of the eighteenth-century London riots, see Shoemaker, “The London ‘mob’”, pp. 281– 2, 284 and Rude´, “The London ‘mob’”, pp. 5 – 6. For further details on the ringleaders of 1807, especially the yamaks, see Yıldız, “Anatomy of a rebellious social group”, pp. 314– 18. Oberschall, “Theories of social conflict”, p. 309. Yıldız, “Anatomy of a rebellious social group”, pp. 291– 327. Kafadar, Esnaf-Yenic
eri Relations, p. 95. For an analysis of the participants of 1703, see Stremmelaar, Rebellion of 1703, pp. 90 – 114.

270

NOTES

TO PAGES

179 –183

69. Hu¨lya Canbakal, “The Age of Revolutions in an Ottoman town: Ayntab 178893”, paper presented at Sabancı University, 3 May 2011. 70. Stoianovich, “Land tenure”, p. 400. 71. Yıldız, “Anatomy of a rebellious social group”, pp. 303– 10. 72. Stremmelaar, Rebellion of 1703, pp. 93 – 7. 73. The janissary officers were powerful and influential during this period, and they were considering themselves as king makers. Yi, Guild Dynamics, pp. 216, 224; Yi, “Rebellion of 1688”, p. 123. 74. Heyd, “The Ottoman ulema”, pp. 70 – 1; Shaw, Between Old and New, pp. 71 – 2. For a more general evaluation of ulema opposition in late Ottoman history, see I˙smail Kara, “Ulema-Siyaset I˙lis¸kilerine Dair O¨nemli Bir Metin: Muhalefet Yapmak/Muhalefete Katılmak”, Divan, I (1998), pp. 1 – 25. 75. For an analysis of treshold models in collective actions, see Mark Granovetter, “Treshold models of collective behavior”, American Journal of Sociology, 83/6 (March 1978), pp. 1420 – 43; Michael S.Y. Chwe, “Structure and strategy in collective action”, American Journal of Sociology, 105/1 (July 1999), pp. 128 – 56. 76. Yi, “Rebellion of 1688”, p. 120. 77. Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire, p. 166. 78. Yi, Guild Dynamics, pp. 213–14. She notes that there was another one in 1688, whereby guildsmen opposed pillaging by the kapıkulu corps, pp. 230–1. 79. Yi, Guild Dynamics, pp. 216– 18. 80. Ibid., p. 215. 81. Baer, “Popular revolt”, pp. 218– 19. The al-Azhar students were also active but the most active ones were the urban poor. 82. Olson, “Patrona Halil rebellion”, pp. 329– 44; Olson, “Jews, janissaries”, p. 192. 83. For a comparison of excesses during 1730 and 1807, see Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, pp. 734– 6. For plunder during the course of 1703, see Stremmelaar, Rebellion of 1703, pp. 78 – 9. 84. Derin, “Kabakc
ı Mustafa”, p. 102: “ahali-i Aˆsitaˆne’ye o¨yle bir gulguˆle du¨s¸du¨ ki dekaˆkıˆnler sedd u¨ bend, kac
an kac
ana olup mukaddemaˆ vuku‘ bulan Kırk U¨
c Vakası zannıyla cu¨mle ahaˆlıˆ lerzeyaˆb ve her birleri kendi ahvaˆli netıˆcesine mes¸guˆl oldular.” 85. Yıldız, “A city under fire”, pp. 44 – 6. 86. Parker, “Mutiny and discontent”, pp. 51 – 2. 87. Asım, II, p. 28. 88. Ibid. 89. For similiarities between a festival and an uprising, see Beik, Urban Protest, p. 159. 90. Caˆbıˆ, I, p. 130; Derin, “Tu¨fengc
ibas¸ı”, p. 396. 91. Beik, Urban Protest, p. 51 92. Selected targets were also a common feature of the eighteenth-century London riots. George Rude´, “The London ‘mob’”, pp. 1 – 18.

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183 –186

271

93. He served as the director of the New Fund from 13 April 1799 to 11 June 1805. At the time of the uprising he was employed as the minister of the navy. According to Ebubekir Efendi, he was executed as being the founder of the New Fund. Ebubekir Efendi, Asiler ve Gaziler, p. 113. 94. Derin, “Kabakc
ı Mustafa”, p. 104. 95. Shaw, Between Old and New, p. 88; Cevdet Pas¸a, Tarih, VIII, p. 31. 96. Ebubekir Efendi, Asiler ve Gaziler, p. 129. 97. The Times, Monday, August 3 1807, 7115, p. 3, col. C (from the Hamburg Papers, Milan, 8 July). 98. Derin, “Kabakc
ı Mustafa”, p. 104. 99. For further details on their survival and later career, see Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, pp. 634–40. 100. Asım, II, p. 9: “kitab ve su¨nnetde mansuˆs ve mu¨sbet olan evaˆmir ve nevaˆhi-i ilahi haˆs¸aˆ nizaˆm-ı aklıˆden ibaˆret yahud efsane-i I˙srailiyaˆt kabıˆlinden emr ve vahiy”. 101. The Times, Monday, 3 August 1808, 7115, p. 3 (from the Hamburg Papers, Milan, 8 July). 102. Og˘ulukyan, Ruznaˆme, p. 13. This is strikingly similar to the tyranny of the pen mentioned by Tarih-i S¸ahi. He complains that “the evil, corruption, tyranny and injustice which flow towards the people of Kirman from the pens of evil scribes in Kirman at this time are worse than the swords of the Mongols which have made the earth a sea of blood.” Cited in Lambton, “Changing concepts of justice”, p. 56. 103. Derin, “Yayla I˙mamı Risalesi”, p. 228. 104. Derin, “Kabakc
ı Mustafa”, p. 109. 105. Ebubekir Efendi, Asiler ve Gaziler, pp. 97– 8; Asım, II, pp. 8 – 10. I am currently studying the wealth of the Selimian elite according to their probate estates. 106. Hu¨lya Canbakal, “The Age of Revolutions in the Ottoman Empire: a provincial perspective”, Well-Protected Domains: Intersections of Asia and Europe in the Ottoman Empire, conference at the Ruprecht-Karls-Universita¨t Heidelberg, 10 – 12 November 2011. 107. Turchin and Nefedov, Secular Cycles, p. 11. 108. Canbakal’s study, for instance, on wealth distribution data for Manisa, Kayseri and Manastır proves that these cities were following the same trend with Europe. Canbakal, “The Age of Revolutions in the Ottoman Empire”. 109. Pamuk, “Longevity of the Ottoman Empire”, p. 244. See also Pamuk, “Ottoman State Finances”, pp. 606– 9. For a comparison of the annual revenue per capita daily wages, see ibid. Fig. 6, p. 615 and Fig. 9 (annual revenue per capita) from the 1780s to 1914, p. 623. 110. Pamuk, “The great Ottoman debasement”, p. 26. 111. Sargent and Velde, “French Revolution”, pp. 507– 8. 112. BOA, HAT 174/7554 (1797 –8). 113. Asım, II, p. 15.

272

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186 –190

114. Canbakal, “The Age of Revolutions in an Ottoman town”. 115. Suraiya Faroqhi, “In quest of their daily bread: artisans of Istanbul under Selim III”, in S. Kenan (ed.) Nizam-ı Kadim’den Nizam-ı Cedid’e III. Selim ve Do¨nemi, (Istanbul: ISAM, 2010), p. 181. 116. Faroqhi, “Daily bread”, p. 181. 117. Tarrow, “Modular collective action”, pp. 76 – 7. 118. Caˆbıˆ, I, pp. 72, 131. 119. For more examples, see Caˆbıˆ, I, p. 72. 120. Yet, this time he also adds the disparity and unjustice between the salaries and the great attention paid by the ruling elite to the Nizam-ı Cedid soldiers. Caˆbıˆ, I, pp. 130– 1. 121. Og˘ulukyan, Ruznaˆme, p. 7. 122. For a similar interpretation of mutual expectations between ruler and ruled in Ottoman Bosnia, see Michael R. Hickok, “Homicide in Ottoman Bosnia”, in F. Anscombe, The Ottoman Balkans (Princeton: Markus Weiner Publishers, 2006), p. 40. In this case, the state’s inability to prevent disorder in the region provides impetus for disorder. 123. Yaycıog˘lu, Partners of the Empire, p. 200. 124. Yıldız, “Anatomy of a rebellious social group”, pp. 319– 20. 125. Abu-Manneh, “Introduction”, Studies on Islam, p. 9. 126. Ebubekir Efendi, Asiler ve Gaziler, pp. 133–4; Og˘ulukyan, Ruznaˆme, p. 9. 127. S¸aˆnizaˆde, I, p. 41. Similar details are repeated by Cevdet Pas¸a, Tarih, VIII, p. 201. 128. Ebubekir Efendi, Asiler ve Gaziler, pp. 133–4. 129. Kethu¨da Said, Tarih, fls. 133a – 134a. 130. Zebıˆre, 14–16: “sultaˆnım sizler “askeri deg˘il ve hızaˆne-i s¸aˆhaˆneden raˆtıfa-haˆr deg˘il, heman bir dervıˆs¸-i reh-gu¨zar iken bu misu¨llu¨ vazıˆfeniz ve laˆzime-i zimmetiniz olmayan mu¨baˆhase-i pu¨r ekdar sizin nenize der-kaˆr?”; “ve cihaˆd emr-i ma’ruˆf ve nehy-i mu¨nkirden ibaret olmag˘la”. According to him, the main reason why the “ulema ve fudala” did not involve the correction of mistakes, but the fact that they were not behaving in accordance with the religious sciences they were acquainted with, and accuses them of divine punishment since they did not enlighten the commoners with their knowledge, pp. 16–18. 131. Heyd, “The Ottoman Ulema”, pp. 93 – 4. 132. ”haˆy haˆy o risaˆleyi go¨ndermek, siz s¸eraˆ’it-i islaˆmiyeyi bilmez kafirsiniz ¨ ss-i Zafer (Yenic
erilig˘in Kaldırılmasına Dair), demektir.” Esad Efendi, U Mehmet Arslan (ed.) (Istanbul: Kitabevi, 2005), p. 129. 133. S¸akul, “Batılılas¸ma ve I˙slami Modernles¸me”, p. 139. 134. It is a Muslim religious order founded by Ahmed al-Rıfai (d. 1182) in the 12th century. The Rıfai order had established branches in different parts of the Middle East and southeastern Europe becoming one of the most widespread orders of the fifteenth century. 135. BOA, HAT 17078 (1230/1814– 15). See also, Yıldız, The Selimiyye Incident, pp. 715 –17.

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191 –196

273

136. O¨ztelli, Uyan Padis¸ahım, pp. 100– 3. Translation by Mehmet Savan, a friend of mine. 137. The only exceptions are 1651, 1688, and 1730, 1740 where the guildsmen or the Albanians were more active. 138. el-Fadl, Rebellion and Violence, p. 12.

Conclusion 1. David Armitage and Sanjay Subrahmanyam, “Introduction”, in D. Armitage and S. Subrahmanyam (eds), The Age of Revolutions, p. xxxviii. 2. Christopher A. Bayly, “The Age of Revolutions in Global Context: An Afterword”, in D. Armitage and S. Subrahmanyam (eds), The Age of Revolutions, p. 211. 3. Bayly, The Birth of the Modern World, pp. 86 – 120. 4. Armitage and Subrahmanyam, “Introduction”, p. xxxvii. 5. For the problematics of imperial revolutions, the demise of empires and the nation state formation, see Jeremy Adelman, “An Age of Imperial Revolutions”, The American Historical Review, 113/2 (2008), pp. 319– 40. ¨ stu¨n defines the struggle of the period as part of the crisis of modern 6. Kadir U state formation, expressed through fiscal rationalization, the creation of a Western-type army and regaining the monopoly of violence, as well as the consequent break of the traditional ancie´n re´gime. Yet, I think the pragmatic Ottomans did not in fact mind the creation of a modern state, and the points specified by the author are mostly the side-effects of the military reforms. ¨ stu¨n, “The New Order and Its Enemies: Opposition to Military Kadir U Reform in the Ottoman Empire, 1789– 1807”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (University of Columbia, 2013). 7. Bayly, Birth of the Modern World, p. 89. Among the rest, the Javanese Empire of Mataram, the Mughal, Ottoman and Safavid Empires, and Russia can be counted. 8. Pamuk, Monetary History, pp. 188, 193– 202. See in particular the table on p. 181. 9. For the impact of the Great Depression on Ottoman foreign trade and the economy, see S¸evket Pamuk, “The Ottoman Empire in the Great Depression of 1873– 1896”, The Journal of Economic History, 44/1 (1984), pp. 107– 18. 10. “Efendim, asrı hu¨mayununuza layık bende yetis¸tirmek ic
in beni kulunuzu damızlık olarak bıraktılar.” Balıkhane Nazırı Ali Rıza Bey, Eski Zamanlarda I˙stanbul Hayatı (Istanbul: Kitabevi, 2001), p. 380. 11. Salzmann, Measures of Empire, p. 364. 12. Pamuk, “Institutional Change”, p. 228. 13. For similar observations, see Tezcan, “The New Order and the Fate of the Old”, pp. 79 – 81. 14. Findley, Turkey, Islam, Nationalism, p. 42. 15. Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire, p. 197.

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16. Alan Marshall, The Age of Faction: Court Politics 1660– 1702 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1999), p. 8. 17. For the list of Istanbul-based incidents related to the Palace, see Onaran, A´ Bas le Sultan, p. 2. 18. Nadir Sohrabi, “Historicizing Revolutions: Constitutional Revolutions in the Ottoman Empire, Iran and Russia, 1905– 1908”, American Journal of Sociology, 100/6 (1995), pp. 1391– 2. ¨ zdinc
, “II. Mes¸rutiyet’in I˙lanında Hu¨rriyet ile Dini Mu¨nabatsızlık 19. Rıdvan O Arasında Osmanlı Uleması: ‘Birader! Biz ne Ebussuud Efendi’yiz ne de Birgivi’”, Uluslararası Sosyal Aras¸tırmalar Dergisi, 5/22 (Summer 2012), p. 293. 20. As far as the role of mosques is concerned, there is a very illuminating example narrated in Kethu¨da Said’s History. According to the story, in one of Ubeydullah Kus¸maˆnıˆ’s sermons at the Fatih mosque during the Ramazan of 1808, he encouraged people to enlist in the newly established Sekban-ı Cedid corps and never hesitated to criticize and insult the janissaries. An odabas¸ı of the 7th regiment felt himself outraged and pulled him down. Kethu¨da Said, Tarih, fls. 133b– 134a. 21. Mardin, “Merkez-C¸evre I˙lis¸kileri”, p. 39; Mardin, “Freedom in an Ottoman Perspective”, pp. 25 – 35.

Appendix 1. First one is initial position and the last one is the final position in their life. 2. Res¸id Efendi enjoyed the patronage of Imamizaˆde Mustafa Efendi, the reisu¨lku¨ttab from 1783 to 1784. He was son-in-law of brother-in-law of Esseyid Abdullah Birrıˆ Efendi. 3. Ibrahim Nesim Efendi also enjoyed the patronage of Mehmed Ras¸id Efendi and Izzet Mehmed Pasha as well as Beyhan Sultan. 4. Son-in-law of Yag˘lıkc
ızaˆde Mehmed Emin Pasha who also acted as his protector. 5. A disciple of Sheik Ataullah Efendi, one of the infuential NaqshandıˆMujaddidıˆ sheiks. Yes¸il, Ratıb Efendi, pp. 4, 28 – 9. 6. A disciple of Nimetullah Efendi, one of the shaiks of the Selimiyye tekke. Asım, Tarih, I, 291; Cevdet Pas¸a, Tarih, VIII, 134; Ahmed Rıfat, Devhatu¨’nNu¨kaba: Osmanlı Toplumunda Sadat-ı Kiram ve Nakibu¨’l-Es¸raflar, Hasan Yu¨ksel and Fatih Ko¨ksal (eds.), (Sivas, 1998), 110. 7. He is son of of Kec
ecizaˆde Salih Efendi.

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INDEX

Abdi, historian, 40 Abdulhamid I, Sultan, 143, 156 Abdulhamid II, Sultan, 197 Abdullah Molla, Tatarcık, 52, 136, 143– 4, 151, 206, 261n49 Abdullatif Efendi, kapan naibi, 35, 56, 207, 222n609 Abdurrahim Muhib Efendi, 108 Abdurrahman Pasha, Kadı (Kadı Pasha), 12, 85, 87–9, 151, 155, 240n18, 260n37 Abu-Manneh, Butrus, 140, 188, 190 Ag˘a Kapısı (bureau of the janissary agha), 32, 34, 221n52 agriculture, 46, 249n14 Ahmed Asım (historian), 10, 13 –14, 29, 54, 80 – 1, 85, 117– 18, 127, 165, 175, 184, 214n21 Ahmed Bey, director of I˙rad-ı Cedid, 35, 184 Ahmed Bey, Mabeynci, 35, 133, 142, 187, 205, 257n11 Ahmed Cevdet Pasha, 125, 145, 149, 183, 187– 8 Ahmed Efendi, Sırkatibi, 35, 86, 142, 151, 187, 205, 214n24 Ahmed Nazif Efendi, former defterdar, 58 Ahmed Resmi Efendi (statesman, intellectual), 93, 137

Ahmed Safi Bey, rikab reisi, 35, 204 Ahmed S¸emseddin Efendi, C¸avus¸zaˆde, 32, 60, 147 Ahmed Vasıf Efendi (historian), 145– 6, 154, 246n92, 261n49 Aksan, Virginia, 93, 104 Aksaray, 19, 216n2 Alemdar Incident, 21, 42 –3, 64, 66, 160, 172, 179, 182 Aleppo, 5, 48 – 9, 60 Ali Pasha, Cezayirli Seydi, 65, 115 Ali Pasha, Tepedelenli, 85, 109, 123 alliances Deed of Alliance (Sened-i I˙ttifak), 3, 40, 91, 167, 196 French – Ottoman – Persian alliance, 112 Prussian alliance, 105 Triple Alliance, 106– 7, 108, 114, 125, 145, 147 –8 Amasya, 82 – 4 amedıˆ, 132, 134, 204 amnesty, 18, 20, 38 – 9, 42 paper (amanname), 18, 40, 42, 196 Anatolia, 5, 23, 34, 47 – 8, 51 – 3, 80, 82, 87, 89, 91, 100, 202, 230n64, 234n111, 259n34 ayans of, 223n78 kazasker of, 208

INDEX magnates of, 260n37 Ottoman, 226n25 Arbuthnot, Charles, 111– 14, 117 Arif Agha, Sekbanbas¸ı, 30, 33, 37, 147, 209 Arif Efendi, Tu¨fengc ibas¸ı, 12 Armenian community, 240n11 language, 213n20 Orthodox Christian, 215n30 Armitage, David, 136, 193– 4 armourers, 1, 9, 16, 28, 163, 177, 179, 220n46 army Asakir-i Mansure-i Muhammediye, 20 imperial, 65, 79, 232n78, 233n101 janissary, 1, 26, 31, 33, 39, 41, 57, 63 –4, 80– 1, 90, 96 – 7, 118, 125, 127, 178, 187, 190– 1, 193, 200 Nizam-ı Cedid (New Order, new model), 2 – 3, 12, 24 – 6, 30, 33 –5, 42, 63, 66, 74, 77, 79 – 80, 84, 87 –8, 90, 95 –6, 108, 111, 118, 128, 136, 157, 166, 173, 188, 221n53, 222n61, 260n37 Ottoman, 15, 122 Sekban-ı cedid, 20, 42 – 3 Spanish, 21, 219n30 artillerymen, 1, 9, 16, 33, 110, 115, 117, 122, 124, 163, 177, 179, 182, 254n94 As¸ık Razi (poet), 10 askeri status (askeri class), 8, 57, 60 – 2, 173, 235n125 At Meydanı (The Hippodrome or Square of Horses), 18, 216n2 Austria, 52, 67, 121, 126, 238n156, 244n80 Austrian Consular Reports, 250n30 Austrians, 104– 5, 126 ayans see magnates Ayıntab, 8, 186

291

Balkans, 5, 50 – 3, 63, 77, 80, 86, 88– 9, 96, 100, 122– 3, 126, 179, 229n53, 237n141, 244n71, 244n80 northern, 51 Ottoman, 123, 225n16 banditry, 6, 45, 51 – 2, 71, 229n53, 229n56 Bardakc ı, I˙lhan (journalist), 124– 5 Barkey, Karen, 21 Baron de Tott, 53, 74, 97 Bayburdıˆ Su¨leyman, rebel chief, 38, 173 Bayly, C.A., 176, 193 Beik, William 36, 183 Bekir Bey (Ebubekir Bey), Darbhane Emini, 35, 133, 187, 205, 256n6 Bektashi, 99, 100, 188, 190–1 Bektashi-affiliated groups (Bektashi-affiliates), 100, 189, 197 beliefs, 189 groups, 99 sect (Bektashism), 92, 99 beratlı prote´ge´ status, 62 Berkes, Niyazi, 39, 100, 167 Bes¸iktas¸, 28, 43 Beydilli, Kemal, 39 – 40, 92, 246n92, 252n66, 258n16 Beyhan Sultan, sister of Selim III, 84, 135, 159 bid’at, 13, 166– 7 Birgivıˆ Risale, 190 blockade, 55, 88, 129 Bolu, city, 51, 66 immigrants from, 51, 65, 182 magnate of, 182 voyvoda of, 51, 66 Bosnia, 48, 50, 98, 123 –4, 179, 272n122 Bosnia-Herzegovina, 25 Bosporus, 3, 21, 25, 27, 121, 178 fortresses see fortresses (forts) superintendent of, 25, 219n27 yamaks of, 22 – 3, 125, 180, 219n34

292

CRISIS

AND REBELLION IN THE

British Naval Expedition (Incident of 1807), 6, 25, 67, 118, 121, 129, 147 Brune, General, French ambassador, 107 bureaucracy, 7, 42, 44, 58, 61, 73, 75, 133, 135, 141, 150, 157, 174, 180, 196– 7 Bu¨yu¨kdere, 26 – 8, 30, 251n48 Cairo, 5– 6, 48, 60, 116, 220n46, 228n39, 231n74, 247n111 Ottoman, 181 Canbakal, Hu¨lya, 7, 60, 186, 271n108 C¸ardak Kolluk, 30, 220n42 C¸atalca, 51, 87 cavalrymen (sipahis), 1, 50 –1, 178– 9, 235n126 Cezaˆir-i Seba-ı Mu¨ctemia Cumhuru see Septinsular Republic Cezar, Yavuz, 75, 239n174 chiftliks see large estates (chiftliks) Christians, 62, 105, 253n73 circle of justice, 164– 5 civilians, 2 – 3, 28, 59 – 61, 63, 68, 96 – 7, 100, 163, 177, 180, 182 climate (climatic), 5, 8, 45 – 6 coffeehouses, 80, 98, 100, 116, 197– 8 company banks (orta sandıkları), 59 confiscation (mu¨sadere), 68 – 70, 121– 2, 155, 233n101 consultative assemblies (mes¸veret), 150– 1, 160, 263n78 C¸orlu, 87 – 8 corps artillery, 28 Bostancı, 25 cavalry, 34 imperial, 190 Istanbul-based military, 177 janissary, 3, 31, 33, 57, 59, 96 – 8, 111, 118, 127, 136, 169, 180, 182, 196

OTTOMAN EMPIRE

Nizam-ı Cedid (New Order corps), 4, 81 – 2, 86, 88, 94, 95, 184 Sekban-ı Cedid, 274n20 traditional military, 1, 3, 9, 18 – 19, 28, 33, 96, 103, 111, 117, 163, 167– 8, 177, 179, 180, 182, 184, 196 correspondence office of the grand vizier (mektubıˆ-i sadr-i ali), 132– 3, 257n13 coup d’e´tat, 17, 20, 42 – 3, 98, 224n84 Crimea, 52, 68, 83, 104– 5, 107, 109, 122, 126, 248n9 currency, 5, 45, 62, 68, 169, 194–5, 198 European, 68 Ottoman, 68, 195 Dag˘devirenog˘lu, local power holder in Edirne, 87 Dag˘lı Es¸kiyası see Mountaineers Davies, James C., 103 debasements, 62 –3, 68, 71, 77, 195, 235n126 Diez, Prussian ambassador, 105 Dihkanıˆzaˆde Ubeydullah Kus¸maˆnıˆ, 11– 12, 92 – 3, 137– 8, 140, 186, 189–90, 213n20, 215n26, 260n37, 274n20 Diyarbakır, 5, 48 –9, 52, 78, 84 Ebubekir Efendi, Lokmacı Matrus¸, 12– 14, 25, 186, 189, 214–15n26 Ebubekir Ratıb Efendi, 132 –4, 137, 143, 204 Edirne, 19, 51, 70 court, 19 Incident of 1703, 19, 210n2 Incident of 1806, 34, 80, 89, 101, 135, 146, 148, 175, 184, 198– 9, 241n26 post-Edirne Incident period, 92

INDEX Egypt, 25, 48, 95, 105– 6, 139, 144, 226n22, 234n113, 243n61, 258– 9n26, 260n36, 267n28 French invasion of Egypt (1789– 1801), 6, 105– 8, 145, 174– 5 French occupation of Egypt (1789), 6, 105– 8, 139, 145, 174– 5 Ottoman, 46, 225n7 esham see share system esnaf-ization, 97 Et Meydanı see Meat Square, The Eton, William, 47, 49 Europe, 24, 45 – 6, 66, 68 – 9, 73, 87, 95, 106, 109, 121, 128 revolutionary, 93 Western, 5, 46 Europeans, 24, 225n7 expeditions 1806 expedition, 90 British Naval Expedition (1807), 6, 67, 118, 121, 129, 147 French Egyptian, 153 Russo-Ottoman, 249n19 factions anti-reformist, 183 of Cezayirli Gazi Hasan Pasha, 156 of Halil Hamid Pasha, 134, 156 of “ins” and “outs”, 160 of Ku¨cu¨k Hu¨seyin Pasha, 144 of outs, 8, 130, 147, 153, 160 of Prince Mustafa, 159– 60 pro-British, 147 pro-French, 145– 7 pro-Russian, 145– 6 of Yusuf Agha, 144 Faroqhi, Suraiya, 65, 186 Feyzullah Efendi, Director of New Treasury, 157 Feyzullah Efendi, shaikh al-Islam, 19, 190, 221n54 Feyzullahzaˆdes, ulema family, 148

293

Fezleke (Ebubekir and Kus¸maˆnıˆ), 11– 12, 214– 15n26 fiefs (tımar), 75 – 7, 86, 96, 240n17 –18 204n20 Findley, Carter V., 61, 153 fortresses (forts) Anadolu Feneri and Garipc e, 21 Black Sea, 23 Bosporus, 2, 16 – 17, 22, 25, 59, 163 Bozca Ada, 253n82 C¸anakkale, 113 commander at, 3, 50 Four, the, 25 Hotin, 111 Varna, 79 France, 5, 8, 46, 54, 67, 69, 102, 107–10, 113, 119– 23, 125– 6, 146–8, 183, 185, 219n38, 237–8n156, 244n80, 250n26 Napoleonic, 5, 67, 102 Frankish manner, 24 Franks, 24 French consul of Aleppo, 49 French detachment, 122, 124 Galata, 28, 53, 65, 69, 98, 182 Golden Horn, 53 Goldstone, Jack, 7 – 8 Grain Administration see Zahire Nezareti Griesse, Malte, 20 Guillaume-Antoine, Olivier, 5, 152 Habeschi, Elias, 48 Hacı Ahmedog˘lu, the voyvoda of Bolu, 51, 65, 85, 182 Hacı Bektash, 191 Halet Efendi, Mehmed Said, 13, 148, 157, 209, 215n40 Halil Agha (Halil Haseki), commander, 22– 3, 26, 30 Halil Hamid Pasha, 63, 134, 142–4, 156, 204 Hasan Pasha, Cezayirli Gazi, 69, 156 Heyd, Uriel, 155

294

CRISIS

AND REBELLION IN THE

hospodars (princes), 62, 109– 10, 112 crisis, 112, 146 Moldavia and Wallachia, 109 Wallachia, 110 Hu¨ccet-i S¸eriyye (Legal Document, 1807), 18, 39 – 42, 155, 166– 71, 192, 196 Hu¨nkar I˙skelesi, 22 Hu¨seyin Agha, Pehlivan (Ag˘a Pasha), 117– 18, 147– 8, 160 Hu¨seyin Pasha, Ku¨cu¨k, 133, 135, 143– 5, 206 Ibrahim Ismet Beyefendi (I˙smail Raif Pas¸azaˆde), 133– 4, 151– 3, 206 Ibrahim Mu¨teferrika, 93, 137 Ibrahim Nesim Efendi (Ibrahim Kethu¨da), 11, 30, 32, 89, 117– 19, 133– 5, 145– 6, 149, 151, 153– 5, 159, 177, 183, 185, 187– 9, 204 Ibrahim Res¸id Efendi, Hacı (Elhac Ibrahim Efendi), 84, 133– 4, 136, 149, 153, 156– 7, 183, 185, 206 iltizam see tax (overtaxation) insurgents 1730, 40 1807, 36, 173 group of (1651, 1703, 1730, 1807, 1808), 19 Serbian, 126 intisab (patron – client relationship), 133 Islam, 13, 24, 93 – 4, 104, 137– 9, 141, 164, 190, 214n22, 259– 60n34 orthodox (Islamic Orthodoxy), 92, 140 Orthodox Sunni, 140, 192, 198 Islamic enlightenment, 9, 137, 259n30 Islamic forms of legitimation, 166 Ismail Agha, Tirsinikliog˘lu, 76 – 7, 110 Ismail Bey, Serezli (Sirozıˆ), 89 Ismail Pasha, Hafız, 146, 153, 157, 209, 263n94 Ismail Raif Pasha, 134, 151, 204

OTTOMAN EMPIRE

Istanbul (Ottoman capital), 1– 3, 5, 8, 16, 19, 22, 25 – 6, 31 – 2, 40– 3, 47– 8, 51 – 8, 60 – 2, 64 – 6, 68– 70, 71, 75– 6, 80, 87– 90, 97– 8, 100, 104–5, 107– 9, 112–18, 120, 122, 124, 126– 7, 130, 140– 2, 144, 146, 149, 155, 158, 167, 175, 178-80, 190, 197, 200, 214n23, 218n19, 221n54, 224n84, 228n38– 9, 230n64, 230n67, 237– 8n156, 253n82, 260n36, 274n17 artisans of, 181 conquest of, 216– 17n2 craftsmen of, 97 judge of see judge Ottoman, 210–11n2 Istanbulites, 29, 80, 116, 120, 177– 8, 181, 186 Istanbulization, 155 Italinsky, Andrei Yakovlevich, 110, 146 Izzet Mehmed Pasha, grand vizier, 144, 260n36, 261n52, 274n3 janissary agha, 27, 32 army see army barracks, 81 – 2, 87 commander, 32, 88 corps see corps elders, 33, 38, 90 officers, 33, 39 pay tickets (esaˆme), 13, 57 – 9, 62 – 3, 216n41, 233n100, 235n126 prestige of, 33, 100, 224n85 revolt (rebellion), 41 – 2 troops, 3 judge, 38, 58, 87, 168, 208, 231n74, 249n15 deputy (naib), 87 – 8 of Eyu¨p, 214n22 of Istanbul, 32, 40, 56, 261n49

INDEX Kabakc ı Mustafa, 27, 127, 187, 191, 222n59, 255n110 kadıasker see kazaskers Kadızadeli, 189– 90 Kafadar, Cemal, 97, 212n8 kaimmakam (deputy to the grand vizier), 14, 30, 33, 36, 39, 123, 147, 149– 50, 154, 208, 262n72, 263n77 Karıs¸dıran, 87 kazaskers (kadıasker), 12, 32, 208 ex-kazaskers, 40 Kethu¨da Said Efendi (Said Efendi) (historian), 12 – 13, 29, 60, 213n20 History, 12, 274n20 steward to Veliefendizaˆde, 60 Koca Sekbanbas¸ı (author), 93 – 5, 104, 137, 245n92 kul, 171, 195 Risalesi (Sekbanbas¸ı Treatise), 92 large estates (chiftliks), 50 – 1, 84, 228n46 askeri chiftliks, 51 Levent, 24, 240n17 legal document (s¸eri hu¨ccet), 40 Levent Chiftlik, 82, 240n17, 240n20 Little Ice Age, 46, 225n7 magnates (ayans), 3, 6, 41, 51 – 2, 74, 76 – 7, 83 – 6, 88 – 91, 96, 101, 185, 196– 7, 199, 241n26, 260n37 mahdi (mehdi), 116, 138– 9, 258n22 mahdist, 139 Mahmud I, Sultan, 40, 181 Mahmud II, Sultan, 3, 20, 34, 42, 55, 159, 169, 172, 190, 193– 6, 199– 200, 212n7 Prince, 37, 159 Mahmud Raif Efendi, 17, 25– 6, 30, 119, 132– 4, 137, 145– 6, 151, 185, 204

295

Mahmud Tayyar Pasha, Caniklizaˆde, 82– 6, 159, 240n18 malikane see tax (overtaxation) malikane-owners, 75 – 6, 78 malikanization, 50 Mardin, S¸erif, 170, 199 Marmont, French General, 122– 4 Meat Square, The (Et Meydanı), 12, 18– 19, 26 – 8, 31 – 2, 36, 60, 65, 176, 182– 3, 216–17n2, 220n46, 222n61 masters of (Meydan-ı Lahm Efendileri), 147 Mehmed Ali Pasha, Kavalalı, 25, 95, 107, 172, 194 Mehmed Ataullah Efendi, Es-Seyyid, S¸erifzaˆde, the shaik al-Islam, 14, 32, 37–8, 56, 89, 147–9, 153–5, 188, 208, 222n61, 244n82, 269n57 Mehmed Ataullah Efendi, S¸aˆnıˆzaˆde, 10, 214n22 Mehmed Efendi, Birgivıˆ, 189 Mehmed Emin Efendi, Shaik Burusevıˆ (Kerku¨kıˆ), 141, 188, 260n36 Mehmed Emin Efendi, Veliefendizaˆde, 12, 58, 60, 134, 136, 206, 256n6, 257n15 Mehmed, Kara Osmanzaˆde, 76 Mehmed Memis¸ Efendi, rikab kethu¨da, 35, 127, 205, 256n6 Mehmed Mu¨nib Efendi, 147– 8, 151, 156, 208, 264n107, 269n57 Mehmed Ragıb Efendi, Judge, 58 Mehmed Ragıb Pasha, Elhac (Ragıb Pasha, Mehmed Ragıb), 23, 218n17– 18 Mehmed Ras¸id Efendi, Reisu¨lku¨ttab, 86, 132, 134, 144 – 5, 204 mektubıˆ-i sadr-i ali see correspondence office of the grand vizier Memis¸ Efendi, Elhac, 76 mes¸veret see consultative assemblies Michelson, General, 111

296

CRISIS

AND REBELLION IN THE

migration, 7, 44, 49, 52, 54, 57, 64 –6, 178, 226n24, 228n39, 229n50, 230n63, 230n67, 236n135, 236n137 Mihris¸ah, Valide Sultan (Queen Mother), 85, 135, 141, 143– 6, 151, 187, 205 Mikhail, Alan, 46 modernization (Westernization), 4, 10, 15, 25, 73, 79, 85, 90, 137, 152, 173, 181, 200 Ottoman and Republican, 200 Ottoman and Turkish, 131, 139, 199 paradigm, 6, 34 Turkish, 10, 199 moral economy, 36, 164 Mountaineers, 6, 51, 87 mukabele-i bi’l-misil (principle of reprisal), 93 mukataa see tax (overtaxation) mukataa-owners, 85 mu¨ltezims see tax (overtaxation) Murad IV, Sultan, 19, 34, 210n2, 217n3, 223n69 mu¨rur tezkeresi see travel certificates Musa Pasha, Ko¨se, kaimmakam, 14, 30, 33, 36, 147– 9, 153– 4, 156, 208, 220n40 Muslims, 19, 28 – 9, 54, 56, 78, 89, 93, 112, 119, 139, 266n19 Mustafa I, Sultan, 34 Mustafa II, Sultan, 210n2, 221n54 Mustafa III, Sultan, 47 Mustafa IV, Sultan, 3, 12 – 13, 20, 18 – 19, 36, 38 – 9, 42, 77, 124, 126, 149– 50, 157– 61, 167, 171– 2, 184, 196 Prince, 34, 37, 149, 209 Mustafa Agha, Kahveciog˘lu, 98 Mustafa Agha, Kazgancı Laz, 79, 179, 242n38– 9 Mustafa Necib Efendi, 11, 13, 215n31, 263n94

OTTOMAN EMPIRE

Mustafa Pasha, Alemdar, 3, 41 – 2, 58, 98, 123, 151, 167, 200, 212n7, 224n84– 5 Mustafa Refik Efendi, 146, 205, 256n8, 260n37 Mustafa Res¸id Efendi, 56, 69, 133– 4, 136, 146, 151, 156, 184, 195, 204, 257n15, 238n169, 245n92 mu¨tesellim see tax (overtaxation) mutiny Spanish army of Flanders, 21 Nakib al-es¸raf, 18, 206 Napoleon, 105– 12, 115, 120– 3, 125–6, 145 Naqshbandıˆ, a religious order, 141, 188–90, 197, 259n34 Naqshbandıˆ tekkes, 142, 260n36– 7, 261n44 Naqshbandıˆ-Khallidiya, 141, 259–60n34 Naqshbandıˆ-Mujaddidıˆ, 9, 11, 137, 140–2, 157, 163, 188– 9, 190, 197, 204– 6, 209 disciples, 140 shaiks, 12, 188– 9 teachings, 142 nepotism, 8, 130, 155 Neticetu¨’l-Vekayi, 11 New Fund (I˙rad-ı Cedid, New Treasury), 4, 70, 74 –8, 86, 96, 157– 8, 240n13, 241n25 director of (I˙rad-ı Cedid defterdarı), 35, 84, 157, 184, 205, 271n93 establishment of, 78 “New Orderists”, 159 Nizam-ı Cedid (New Order), 6 – 7, 9– 10, 13 – 15, 16, 26 – 7, 34, 39, 42, 55, 63, 71, 75, 79, 80 – 3, 85– 8, 89, 92, 94 –5, 96, 100–1, 120, 127, 136, 152, 156– 7, 159, 175, 195, 183– 4, 186, 219n27, 221n57, 244n68, 239n9 army see army cavalry forces of, 87

INDEX corps see corps elite (new Selimian reforming elite), 8, 104, 130– 4, 137, 140, 142–3, 147, 155, 156– 7, 160, 184, 187, 190, 196 pro-New Order authors, 96 reforms, 3 – 4, 73, 79, 82 – 3, 85, 90, 101, 111, 120, 137, 159, 166, 183– 4, 188, 260n37 uniforms, 2, 23– 4 non-Muslims, 19, 29, 62, 75, 78, 115, 221– 2n59 Og˘ulukyan, Georg, 11, 27, 35, 215n30, 222n59 Ruznaˆme, 11 ¨ mer Agha (steward to Esma Sultan, O brother of Yusuf Aga), 76, 135 ¨ mer Efendi, Caˆbıˆ, 10, 13, 86, 119, O 186– 7, 214n23 ¨ mer Hulusi Efendi, shaikh al-Islam, O 134, 206, 260n36 orta sandıkları (company banks), 59 Ortako¨y, 28 Osman II, Sultan, 23 – 4, 34, 210n2 Osman Pasha, Gu¨rcu¨, 84 Ottoman volunteer commando (serdengecti), 23 Pamuk, S¸evket, 196 Patrona Halil, chief of the 1730 uprising, 26 –7, 199 Pazvandog˘lu, 51, 77, 80, 86 Phanariots, 61 – 2 Philliou, Christine, 61 Pizani, Bartholomew, 113, 251n51 plague, 47–9, 226n25, 227n26, 227n31 propaganda texts, 24, 99, 137 Raymond, Andre´, 60, 97 Rebellion of 1623 and 1632, 178 of 1651, 181

297

of 1655, 235n126 of 1687, 235n126 of 1688, 210– 11n2 of 1717, 1718 and 1719, 235n126 janissary, 42 joint rebellions (1622, 1655), 179 of May 1807, 3, 10, 42, 89, 183, 191– 2, 199 Ottoman, 15, 17, 19, 29, 36, 165– 6 of Patrona Halil 1730, 170, 181, 199, 210– 11n2 rebels of 1622, 235n126 of 1632, 223n69 in 1651, 32 of 1703, 190, 219n33 of 1807, 163, 182, 196, 198 Ottoman, 32 self-legitimation, 28 Serbian, 90, 127 regiment Levent Chiftlik, 24 Nizam-ı Cedid, 82 U¨sku¨dar, 24, 81, 83 revenge, 12, 18, 36, 38, 120, 186 idea of, 36 revolts, 11, 19 – 20, 23, 34, 38, 46, 54, 63 –4, 71 – 2, 82, 84, 86, 123–5, 154, 158, 166, 171, 180, 187, 191, 198– 9, 213–14n20, 217n6, 221n54, 230n67, 234n113, 235n126, 243n51, 244– 5n82 of 1730 and 1740, 64 1730, 53 1826, 212n7 against Selim III, 91 janissary, 41 of Mahmud Tayyar Pasha (1805), 80, 85 – 6, 101 Ottoman, 1, 42 of Pazvandog˘lu, 80, 85 peasant, 139

298

CRISIS

AND REBELLION IN THE

of semi-independent local magnates (ayans), 6 revolutions (ihtilal) Age of Revolutions (1760 –1840), 5, 44 – 5, 132, 193– 4, 212n9, 248n3 American Revolution (1775–83), 193 counter-revolution (31 March Incident), 197 counter-revolution (28 July 1808), 17, 98 French Revolution (1789), 45, 103, 136, 193, 256n5 Haitian Revolution (1804), 193 Iranian Revolution (1979), 248n6 Serbian Revolution (1804), 193 Young Turk Revolution (1908), 196 ringleaders, 19, 21, 26, 31, 173, 177, 184, 221– 2n59 of 1807, 269n64 riots, 5, 8, 54, 231n74, 242n35, 269n63, 270n92 in Anatolia, 5 bread, 48, 53 – 4 food, 45, 53 risale see treatise Ruscuk, 77, 123– 4, 215n31, 224n84 Russia, 8, 22, 52, 55, 67, 70, 102, 104– 10, 112, 114, 120– 3, 125– 6, 145– 7, 244n80 Russians, 68, 90, 92, 104– 5, 109– 12, 118– 19, 121– 3, 126, 145– 6, 159, 175, 178, 229–30n60 237n156 ruzname (belonging to the reign of Mustafa III), 47 Ruznaˆme (Daily Routines of the Sultans), 10 – 11, 214n24 sadats (descendants of the Prophet Muhammad), 8, 60, 186 S¸ahin Giray, the Crimean khan, 25, 218n22

OTTOMAN EMPIRE

Saint-Denys, Juchereau de, 11, 114, 116 S¸akir Bey (Hasan S¸akir Bey), bostancıbas¸ı, 35, 183, 205, 222n60, 256n6 S¸akul, Kahraman, 92, 137, 139, 190 Salonika, 47 –8, 62, 98, 197, 226n23, 235n123, 240n20 Salzmann, Ariel, 74, 75, 195 Schama, Simon, 66 Schlechta-Wssehrd Ottokar M. von, 11 Schulze, Reinhardt, 139, 259n29 Se´bastiani, Horace F. B., 108– 10, 112–19, 121 –5, 127– 8, 146, 148, 254n102, 255n109, 264n97 Sekban-ı cedid see army sekbans (local militia), 52 Selami Efendi, Naqshbandi shaik, 12, 189, 260n36 tekke, 261n44 Selim III, Sultan, 2–3, 6, 9, 10, 12, 16, 18, 22–3, 30, 33–4, 36, 37–9, 42–3, 52, 54–5, 58, 60–1, 63–5, 67, 69, 71, 73–4, 79–84, 86, 90–2, 97, 103–10, 112, 114–17, 120–3, 126, 131–2, 134–5, 138, 140–2, 143–5, 150, 152–3, 156–9, 163, 171, 173–4, 175–6, 178, 181, 184, 187, 189–90, 195 prince, 104, 135 Selimiyye Mosque, 80 – 1 Incident, 80 – 1, 98 Selimiyye Naqshbandıˆ tekke, 260n37 Sened-i I˙ttifak see alliances: Deed of Alliance Septinsular Republic (Cezaˆir-i Seba-ı Mu¨ctemia Cumhuru), 106 Serbia, 48, 51, 123, 179 Serbians, 123, 126– 7 Sergey, A. Nefedov, 7 – 8, 44, 57, 66 s¸eri hu¨ccet see legal document Sened-i I˙ttifak see alliances shaikh al-Islam, 14, 18 – 19, 32, 36 – 41, 56, 89, 116, 134, 144, 147– 9, 153, 155, 187– 8, 244– 5n82, 260n36, 268n51, 269n57

INDEX share system (esham), 70 – 1, 75, 240n11, 240n13 Shaw, Stanford, 79, 144– 5, 152, 183 Shupp, P.F., 120 sipahis see cavalrymen Stremmelaar, Annemarike, 36, 217n6 Subrahmanyam, Sanjay, 9, 136, 193 Su¨leyman Agha, the chief black eunuch, 34, 221n55 Su¨leyman Bey, C¸apanzaˆde,Cabbarzaˆde, 76, 82 – 4, 240n18, 243n62 Su¨leyman Penah Efendi, 52, 54 – 5 sultanism, 164 Sunni tradition (Islamic Sunnite tradition), 162, 165, 168, 192, 266n21 Tarrow, Sidney, 19 tax (overtaxation) on alcoholic beverages (zecriye resmi), 75, 240n10 capitation (cizye), 62, 78, 117 lifetime tax-farming (malikane), 57, 70 –1, 75– 8, 84, 228n38, 239n174, 240n13– 14 tax-collector (mu¨tesellim), 69, 83 – 4, 214n23 tax-farm (mukataa, tax-farm system), 70, 77, 84, 86, 157– 8, 215n31, 241n25, 234n116, 240n13, 241n25 tax-farmers (mu¨ltezims), 51, 85, 158 tax-farming system (iltizam, short-term tax), 57, 70, 75 – 7 on wine and liquor (ru¨sumat-ı hamr ve arak), 78 Tekfur Dag˘ı (Tekirdag˘), 87 – 8 Tezcan, Baki, 24, 59, 169, 196 Thompson, Edward P., 36 Thrace, 51, 86 – 7, 90 Tilly, Charles, 66, 73, 244n71 tımar see fiefs Topkapı Palace, 2, 19, 224n84 tranpete risalesi, 264n107

299

travel certificates (mu¨rur tezkeresi), 65 treatise, 11 – 12, 52, 92 – 3, 94, 96, 136–7, 140, 245n91 treaty of 1783, 68 Amiens Treaty (27 March 1802), 249n19 of Campo Formio (17 October 1791), 121 of Campo Formio (18 February 1797), 108 of Ku¨cu¨k Kaynarca (1774), 104 Ottoman – Venetian peace treaty (1716), 121 Paris Peace Treaty, 106 Russian – Ottoman, 107 Triple Alliance, 106– 8 renewal of the, 114, 145 Turchin, Peter, 7, 44, 57, 66 ulema, 18 – 19, 21, 31 – 3, 35, 37 – 9, 41, 58– 9, 64, 78, 91, 105, 116, 132, 134, 141, 144– 5, 147– 53, 155–6, 166– 8, 180, 187, 189, 191, 196– 8, 217n3, 220n46, 223n74, 264n101, 266n20, 269n57, 270n74 umma (Islamic community), 9, 137, 139–40, 168, 259– 60n34 uprisings 1622, 23, 210 –11n2, 235n126 1623 and 1629, 179, 235n126 1632, 40, 217n3 1648, 210– 11n2 1657, 235n126 1703, 1, 40, 181, 266n14 1808 and 1826, 20 in the Balkans, 5 in Cairo, 220n46 in Istanbul (Istanbul-based), 1 – 2, 197, 210– 11n2 janissary, 210– 11n2, 212n8 May 1807 (25– 29 May), 2 –6, 8– 9, 12 – 13, 15 – 18, 20 – 1, 23 – 5, 27,

300

CRISIS

AND REBELLION IN THE

29, 31 – 2, 41, 43, 45, 51, 56, 60, 66, 79, 91, 103, 119, 125, 127, 134, 149, 154, 159– 60, 163, 175, 177, 179, 181, 183, 188, 190–2, 194– 7, 199, 213n19, 214n25, 215n30 Ottoman, 1 – 2, 4 – 5, 15 – 16, 18, 28, 31, 163, 166, 176, 178 pre-1826, 158 Serbian uprising of 1804, 50 – 1, 67, 89, 108, 110, 126, 255n106 uproar of 1730, 1, 20, 26– 7, 40, 181, 235– 6n126 ¨ sku¨dar and Levent, 82 U Wahhabism, 6, 9, 138, 193, 250n28, 259n30, 266n11 wars, 5–7, 17, 20, 43–4, 47, 52, 55, 63, 66–7, 69–71, 74, 76, 85, 94–5, 102–6, 110–13, 117, 120–1, 138, 150, 164, 169, 189–91, 195, 212n7, 225n16, 233n99, 238n159, 251n43, 251n48, against the French, 144, 261n52 against Russia and Britain, 120 against the Russians, 3, 55, 68, 92, 105, 110, 113, 121– 2, 147, 169, 241n32, 267n29 Napoleonic, 6 Russo-Austrian war (1788), 68 Russo-Ottoman war (1768 – 74), 52, 68

OTTOMAN EMPIRE

Russo-Ottoman war (1806 –12), 67, 120, 126, 129 Seven Years’ War (1756 – 63), 95 World War I, 195 Weber, Max, 164–5, 174 West, 4, 52, 139, 148, 199, 200 Western-model armies, 25 Westernization see modernization Wilkinson, William, 118, 148 world Christian, 24 Islamic, 138– 9 Ottoman, 24 yamaks (auxiliary troops), 13, 22 –3, 51, 180 Yayla I˙mamı Risalesi (Yayla I˙mamı), 13– 14, 98, 151–2 Yi, Eunjeong, 20, 32 Yusuf Agha Efendi, 133 Yusuf Agha, Valide Sultan kethu¨dası, 35, 58, 69, 85 – 6, 133, 134–5, 142– 4, 146, 151, 155, 183, 187– 9, 205, 238n169, 257n14 Yusuf Pasha, Koca, 136, 156 Yusuf Ziya Pasha, Grand Vizier, 76, 144–5, 261n54 Zahire Nezareti, 54, 202 see also Grain Administration Zebıˆre, Zebıˆre-i Kus¸maˆnıˆ, 92 zecriye resmi see tax