Another Mirror for Princes: The Public Image of the Ottoman Sultans and Its Reception 9781463216924

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Another Mirror for Princes

Analecta Isisiana: Ottoman and Turkish Studies

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Collections of thematic essays focused on specific themes of Ottoman and Turkish studies are brought together in Analecta Isisiana. These scholarly volumes address important issues throughout Turkish history, offering in a single volume the accumulated insights of a single author over a career of research on the subject.

Another Mirror for Princes

The Public Image of the Ottoman Sultans and Its Reception

Suraiya Faroqhi

The Isis Press

0ûr0ÎaS preSS 2009

Gorgias Press LLC, 180 Centennial Ave., Piscataway, NJ, 08854, USA www.gorgiaspress.com Copyright © 2009 by The Isis Press

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise without the prior written permission of The Isis Press. 2009

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ISBN 978-1-60724-089-1

Printed in the United States of America

Suraiya Faroqhi has taught English (1971-72) and history at Middle East Technical University, Ankara (1972-87) and served as a professor of Ottoman Studies at the Ludwig Maximilians Universität in Munich, Federal Republic of Germany (19882007). After retirement she now teaches at the Department of History, Bilgi University in Istanbul. Principal publications Der Bektaschi-Orden in Anatolien (vom späten fünfzehnten Jahrhundert bis 1826, in Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes, Sonderband II (Wien: Verlag des Institutes für Orientalistik der Universität Wien, 1981); Towns and Townsmen of Ottoman Anatolia, Trade, Crafts and Food Production in an Urban Setting (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984); Men of Modest Substance, House Owners and House Property in Seventeenth-Century Ankara and Kayseri (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987); Pilgrims and Sultans, The Haj under the Ottomans (London: I.B. Tauris, 1994); Kultur und Alltag im Osmanischen Reich, (München: C. H.Beck, 1995), English translation by Martin Bott Subjects of the Sultans, Culture and Daily Life in the Ottoman Empire (London: I.B. Tauris, 2000); Approaching Ottoman History, an Introduction to the Sources (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999); Geschichte des Osmanischen Reiches (Munich: C. H. Beck Verlag, series Beck-Wissen, 2000); The Ottoman Empire and the Outside World, 1540s to 1774 (London: I. B. Tauris, 2004). Several volumes of collected articles: Peasants, Dervishes and Traders in the Ottoman Empire (London: Variorum Reprints, 1986); Coping with the State, Political Conflict and Crime in the Ottoman Empire (Istanbul: The Isis Press, 1995); Making a Living in the Ottoman Lands, 1480-1820 (Istanbul: The Isis Press, 1995); Stories of Ottoman Men and Women, Establishing Status, Establishing Control (Istanbul: Eren, 2002). She has edited vol. 3 The Later Ottoman Empire of The Cambridge History of Turkey (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006). A note on spelling and style As the articles in this volume are for the most part reprints, the style of the footnotes in the originals has been retained and so have certain peculiarities of spelling. However in the bibliography all titles follow the same format. With rare exceptions Ottoman words have been spelled according to the rules of modern Turkish. Acknowledgements I am grateful to the publishers that have permitted me to reprint the articles in this volume and to Mrs Elif §im§ek who has prepared the index.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction 1.

"The Ottoman Empire in world history: What the Archives Can tell us" unpublished

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Legitimizing the sultan and his empire 2.

3.

"Presenting the sultans' power, glory and piety: a comparative perspective," in Prof. Dr. Miibahat Kütükoglu'na Armagan, ed. by Zeynep Tanm Ertug (Istanbul: Istanbul Üniversitesi Edebiyat Fakültesi Tarih Bölümü, 2006): 169-206 "Exotic animals at the sultans' court," unpublished

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Relating to the outside world 4.

5. 6.

7.

"Ottoman views on corsairs and piracy in the Adriatic," in The Kapudan Pasha. His Office and his Domain, ed. by Elizabeth Zachariadou (Rethymnon: University of Crete Press, 2002): 357-371 "Ottoman attitudes towards merchants from Latin Christendom before 1600," Turcica, 35 (2002): 69-104 "Ibrahim Pa§a and the marquis de Bonnac," in Essays in honour of Ekmeleddin Ihsanoglu, Volume 1: Societies, cultures, sciences: a collection of articles, compiled by Mustafa Kagar and Zeynep Durukal (Istanbul: IRCICA, 2006): 279-294 "An Ottoman ambassador in Iran: Diirri Ahmed Efendi and the collapse of the Safavid Empire in 1720-21," in Wahrnehmung des Fremden, Differenzerfahrungen von Diplomaten in Europa (1500-1648) ed. by Michael Rohrschneider and Arno Strohmeyer (Münster/Germany: Aschendorff, 2007): 375-398. Revised and translated for this volume by the author

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Outsiders on Ottoman territory and Ottomans abroad: prisoners, slaves and merchants 8.

9.

10.

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"A prisoner of war reports: The camp and household of Grand Vizier Kara Mustafa Pa§a in an eyewitness account," in Unfreie Arbeits-und Lebensverhältnisse von der Antike bis in die Gegenwart, ed. Elisabeth Herrmann-Otto (Hildesheim, Zurich, New York: Georg Olms Verlag, 2005): 206-234. Translated for this volume by the author "Trying to avoid enslavement: the adventures of an Iranian subject in eighteenth-century Anatolia," in Unfreie Arbeit, Ökonomische und kulturgeschichtliche Perspektiven ed. by M. Erdem Kabadayi and Tobias Reichardt (Hildesheim, Zürich, New York: Georg Olms Verlag, 2007): 133-146. Translated for this volume by the author "Bosnian merchants in the Adriatic," in Ottoman Bosnia. A History in Peril — has also appeared as The International Journal of Turkish Studies, 10, 1-2, ed. by Markus Koller and Kemal Karpat (Madison/Wisc.: Center of Turkish Studies, 2004): 225-239 "The Ottomans and the trade routes of the Adriatic," in a collective volume edited by Oliver Jens Schmidt (to be published in 2009) Translated for this volume by the author ...

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Bibliography

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Index

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INTRODUCTION

Legitimizing discourses and the people to whom they were addressed In recent years Ottoman historians have tried to explicate the manner in which sultanic rule was legitimized; and the debate concerning this question has branched out until it has involved many if not most areas of current history-writing. Such an emphasis is not arbitrary: to some extent at least it certainly is connected to the conservative temper of the times and the resultant tendency to stress consensus over social conflict. However political concerns do not exclude scholarly considerations: with good reason Ottomanist historians have been at pains to show that the sultans' rule was not a simple military occupation that 'enslaved peoples' were intent on throwing off at the first opportunity. After all it is remarkable that even in seemingly terminal crises such as the war with Russia (1768-74) or the rebellion that brought down Selim III (r. 1789-1807), the continued rule of the Ottoman dynasty, as opposed to that of an individual sultan was not really at issue. Biologically speaking the dynasty enjoyed exceptional good fortune as it never died out, although several times there remained only a single male representative. Even in the 1830s, when the armies of Mehmed Ali Pa§a's son ibrahim Pa§a had reached Kutahya in western Anatolia apparently the two magnates only planned to depose Mahmud II (r. 1808-39) in favour of his young son Abdiilmecid. 1 This continuity of dynastic rule is in itself remarkable: if as has sometimes been claimed the Empire had only been a product of war and started to go from crisis to crisis once these wars no longer brought in major booty, then it surely would have collapsed on one of these occasions. Yet no such thing ever happened, even though in certain situations the Ottoman soldiery proved as much a liability as an asset - as happened during the war of 1768-74 when many army corps were not fed and brutally exploited the civilian population, thereby intensifying the food crisis and causing the disaffection of previously loyal subjects. 2 Therefore it is worth paying closer attention to the mechanisms of legitimization devised by the sultan's viziers and other administrators. After all it was by means of legitimizing activities, ' Afaf Lutfi al-Sayyid Marsot, Egypt in the Reign of Muhammad Ali (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), pp. 224-25. 2 Virginia Aksan, Ottoman Wars 1700-1870 (London, New York: Longman Pearson, 2007), pp. 148, 149, 176.

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images and discourses surrounding the Ottoman ruler that numerous inhabitants of the sultans' realm, both Muslims and non-Muslims were convinced that the continued rule of the dynasty of Osman was to their benefit, and perhaps even formed part of a divine plan. Studying mechanisms of legitimization involves an analysis of the manner in which the sultan's power was projected, and how these images were received by ordinary subjects, office-holders in the capital and grandees in the provinces, but also by foreign rulers. These different audiences need to be evaluated separately: for it is surely unrealistic to assume that a villager from the province of Crete or Karaman had the same perceptions of what made a sultan a legitimate ruler as a courtier or judge depending on the goodwill of the sovereign for his career. 1 Among ordinary subjects Muslims and non-Muslims might express widely divergent views; and the same thing applied to ordinary subjects on the one hand and members of the elite on the other. Thus the seventeenth-century priest Papa Synadinos of Serres, who wrote as a contemporary about the brutal repression undertaken by Murad IV (r. 1623-40) approved of these acts of violence because 'the Turks' in other words the local Muslims with whom the writer's relations presumably were often tense, were terrified by numerous executions 'out of the blue'. 2 Evidently Papa Synadinos did not think that his own community might come under threat. On the other hand Evliya Celebi (1611after 1683), a former page of Murad IV whom we might call a politically inactive member of the Ottoman elite, did not deny or criticize the violence of some of the sultan's measures. But Evliya also wrote a lengthy account of the jokes and horseplay in which Murad IV engaged with his intimates - perhaps because he thought that he needed to show that the reign of his hero had not all been blood and gore. 3 At the same time, foreign rulers also might be the addressees of messages that legitimized the sultan as a powerful Muslim ruler whose views his neighbours disregarded at their own peril. Such messages were sent out in a variety of ways, depending on the political conjuncture of the times and the views of the sultans and viziers in question. A conquest was celebrated by sending out literary texts describing the sultan's recent achievement: these

1 The recent Ph D dissertation of Annemarike Stremmelaar, Justice and Revenge in the Ottoman Rebellion of 1703 (Leiden: n.p., 2007) deals with the question of how Mustafa II lost legitimacy in the eyes of his Istanbul and Edirne subjects. 2 [Papa Synadinos of Serres], Conseils et mémoires de Synadinos prêtre de Serrés en Macédoine (XVIIe siècle), ed., translated and commented by Paolo Odorico, with S. Asdrachas, T. Karanastassis, K. Kostis and S. Petmézas (Paris: Association "Pierre Belon", 1996), p. 95. 3 Evliya Çelebi b Derviç Mehemmed Zilli, Evliya Çelebi Seyahatnâmesi, Topkapi Sarayi Bagdat 304 Yazmasinin Transkripsyonu -Dizini, vol. 1, ed. by Orhan §aik Gökyay and Yiicel Dagli (Istanbul: Yapi Kredi Yayinlari, 1995), pp. 99-104.

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fetihnames might be literary creations to be appreciated by cognoscenti in foreign chanceries, and thus stress that the Ottoman court had fully assimilated the classical culture of Iranian-style belles lettres. But on a more down-toearth level, the fetihnames stressed the power of the sultan who was projected as a ruler supported by God in his endeavours to expand the realm of Islam. 1 Implicitly fetihnames promulgated the message that a ruler who wanted to avoid his own downfall and the destruction of his realm was well advised to yield before it came to a military confrontation. Legitimization and what may be regarded as the opposite, namely intimidation by the threat of force might thus be served by one and the same set of texts. In the realms of European rulers the printing press had a significant role in 'placing the sultan on the map by force of arms': for already in the sixteenth century, a large number of ephemeral newssheets were printed that spread more or less fictionalized accounts of Ottoman conquests, complete with real, semi-real and completely imaginary 'atrocity stories'. 2 While a denizen of central Europe would not agree with the view expounded in the fetihnames, namely that the expansion of the realm of Islam was a cause for rejoicing, he might hear in church — and take quite seriously — the argument that the triumphs of the sultans were a punishment for the sins of the Christians. Divine punishment, however unpleasant certainly was part of the manner in which God organized the affairs of humankind; and viewing Ottoman successes in this light was a legitimization of sorts. We are thus confronted with a paradox; while the ephemeral newssheets known as the 'Turcica' were meant to encourage resistance against the sultan, solidarity with his victims and subjection to local princes as the only possible 'defenders' of their subjects, they also spread abroad the notion that the advance of the Ottomans was part of God's mysterious ways. Certainly this form of legitimization had not been foreseen and much less planned by either the sultans or their opponents.

Images of Ottoman rule: sultanic munificence and charity Increasing contacts between 'straight' historians dealing with the Ottoman world and their colleagues concerned with artistic activities have made for a clearer understanding of the fact that the sultans did not just rule — 1

Claire Norton is preparing a study of these documents. Carl Göllner, Die europäischen Türkendrucke des XVI. Jahrhunderts, 3 vols. (Bucarest, Berlin, Baden-Baden: Editura Academiei et alii, 1961-71), see for example vol. 1, pp. 138-39. 2

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or in later periods, preside over a governing apparatus dominated by others. In addition it was important to present a certain image, and viziers and heads of chancery took a hand in producing it or else commissioned artists and writers to do so in their stead. In other words in spite of its exponential growth in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries 'imperial propaganda' through texts and visual means was not unknown in the early modern period; and the Ottoman sultans engaged in it as did their counterparts in other cultures. If this state of affairs has only been understood quite recently, one reason is surely that few historians of the Ottoman world have attempted to link ethnology to the study of politics. Another reason why public ceremonial has long been neglected is much more trivial: the Istanbul archives of the Prime Minister, always our principal resource, are not very rich in documents concerning sultanic receptions, festivities and parades. Presumably the relevant sources are still hidden away in the palace archives, which have been catalogued and made accessible only to a very limited extent. As a result Ottomanists have tended to concentrate on questions of imperial management, finances and most recently warfare, as well as the economic activities that underwrite state formation. By contrast they have taken a long time understanding the importance of public imagery. Even so over the last few years some relevant points have been made. Now that scholarly interest in narrative sources — long regarded as secondary in comparison to the archives — has resumed, historians have shown how chronicles, accounts of individual campaigns and also poetry could serve as vehicles for sultanic legitimization. In this enterprise the key feature was patronage. As there was no copyright, authors and poets depended on the munificence of a patron and the most desirable of all protectors was the ruler himself. One author even went so far as to say that it was the worth of the patron that determined the value of the literary work dedicated to him. 1 Thus when highly esteemed poetry was recited or collected in special volumes (divans) it was rare to not hear or read at least a couple of texts that praised the current sultan. Even if a vizier was the actual patron the latter owed his position to the sovereign and the Ottoman ruler was thus indirectly glorified. Quite a few sultans moreover wrote respectable verses and had their works inscribed on the monuments they sponsored: a fine example still extant is the fountain of Ahmed III (r. 1703-30) in front of the entrance to the Topkapi palace. 2

1 Halil inalcik, §air ile Patron. Patrimonyal Devlet ve Sanat Üzerinde bir inceleme (Istanbul: Dogu-Batj, 2003), p. 48. 2 Hatice Aynur and Hakan Karateke eds., Aç Besmeleyle iç Suyu Han Ahmed'e Eyle Dua. III. Ahmed Devri Istanbul Çeçmeleri (1703-1730) (Istanbul: Istanbul Biiyükgchir Belediyesi, 1995).

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Chronicles were another means of legitimizing the Ottoman ruler. It was a convention to begin such works with the praise of God and the Prophet Muhammad, and to conclude the introductory section with a laudation of the reigning sultan. When campaigns were described the ruler might be accorded the title of 'warrior for the faith' (gazi) although he had not necessarily participated in person, much less directed the campaign; the histories written in the reign of Murad III (r. 1574-95) may be cited as a case in point. Even if an incident was discussed that was highly detrimental to the prestige of the dynasty, such as the murder of Osman II (r. 1618-22) it was possible to focus on the evil advisors of the inexperienced ruler that could be declared responsible for this distressing event. 1 Both poets and chronicle writers were rewarded, sometimes with sums of money and sometimes with appointment to an office that might - or might not - provide the holder with a respectable livelihood. 2 It has been suggested that in the mid-sixteenth century, there was a crisis of patronage; for we find a sizeable number of complaints to the effect that literary efforts no longer obtained the accustomed rewards. However that may well have been an illusion; for while the salaries that Murad II (r. 1421-51 with some interruptions) had assigned to literary figures without public office were in fact discontinued by the grand vizier Riistem Pa§a, the ruler's 'privy purse' and surpluses in the budgets of pious foundations (vakifo) continued to be used for these purposes. 3 However there were probably more literary men awaiting preferment than even the expanding bureaucracy could accommodate and such people might be vocal in expressing their disappointment. The story of Mustafa All (1541-1600) whose strategic errors prevented him from achieving his cherished goal of becoming the head of the sultan's chancery (ni§anci) may serve as a dramatic example: his tales of 'Ottoman decline' reverberate down to the present day. 4 In the sixteenth century it was common practice to reward writers by appointing them as scribes to pious foundations, or giving them what amounted to sinecures funded by surpluses in the budgets of such foundations (zevaid-hor). A remarkable example of 'creative accounting' in the great Istanbul foundation of Sultan Siileyman the Magnificent (r. 1520-66) that has recently been brought to light and took place in the late 1500s, may well have

1 Gabriel Piterberg, An Ottoman Tragedy, History and Historiography at Play (Berkeley, Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2003) p. 121. ^ ínalcik, §air ile Patron, p. 47. 3 inalcik, §air ile Patron, p. 50. 4 Cornell^ H. Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual in the Ottoman Empire, The Historian Mustafa Ali (1541-1600) (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986), pp. 202-08 .

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been intended to cover up a deficit and thereby protect the salaries of people who were receiving grants of this type. 1 But when all was said and done, the appointments of zevaid-hor were a marginal function of pious foundations; other aspects were far more significant. Such foundations were supposed not only to facilitate the entry of a dead ruler into paradise but also during his life-time, demonstrate his virtues, especially his piety and charity; on this issue present-day historians concerned with legitimization and many members of the Ottoman elite probably were in agreement. Moreover Siileyman the Magnificent was sufficiently devoted to the spiritual welfare of his wife Hiirrem/Roxelana that he allowed her to establish major charitable foundations in her own name; in return the author of Hiirrem Sultan's foundation document lavished fulsome praise on the ruler for his munificence. 2 Nor did the practice of building mosques, schools, libraries, aqueducts and other public utilities cease in the eighteenth century, when the Empire was under pressure and disposable income became smaller. It is worth noting that after 1703, when Ahmed III had been obliged to return to Istanbul after the court mainly had resided in Edirne for about half a century, most sultans who lived long enough each built a sizeable mosque complex, and some of their viziers at least ordered the construction of libraries and theological schools. When a destructive earthquake brought down the Fatih mosque and the mausoleum of this ruler, beginning in 1767 the buildings were replaced in the style of the times. 3 The study of Ottoman legitimization by feminist scholars also has focused on vakifs. Ottoman princesses and other royal women had been responsible for such charities from the inception of the principality in the fourteenth century; but only f r o m the mid-1500s is there enough documentation available for comprehensive studies. 4 In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries apparently royal women could acquire at least symbolic visibility through pious foundations only after having passed the child-bearing stage. Even then the foundations of the mothers of princes were often known

1 Kayhan Orbay, "The Magnificent Siileymaniye Owed a Debt to the Butcher and the Grocer," unpublished manuscript. I am most grateful to the author for sharing his findings with me. 2 Amy Singer, Constructing Ottoman Beneficence: An Imperial Soup Kitchen in Jerusalem (Albany NY: SUNY Press, 2002), p. 66. Tiilay Artan, "Art and architecture," in The Cambridge History of Turkey, vol. 3, The Later Ottoman Empire ed. by Suraiya Faroqhi (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), p. 476. 4 Ülkü Bates, "Women as Patrons of Architecture in Turkey" in Women in the Muslim World, ed. by Lois Beck and Nikki Keddie (Harvard: Harvard University Press, 1978), pp. 245-260; Leslie Peirce, "Gender and Sexual Propriety in Ottoman Royal Women's Patronage," in Women, Patronage and Self-representation in Islamic Societies, ed. D. Fairchild Ruggles (Albany: SUNY Press, 2000), pp. 53-68.

INTRODUCTION

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generically as Hatuniye (belonging to 'the Lady') while the charities of those royal women whose sons actually became sultans were called 'of the Valide Sultan' or queen mother. We may therefore regard these pious foundations almost as extensions of those sponsored by the rulers themselves. Princesses by contrast usually had their charitable foundations called after their personal names and not their titles. Yet sometimes their activities in the field of charity may well have been subsumed under the names of their vizier husbands. Thus in one way or the other the charities of royal women extended the scope of the sultan's concern for the well-being of his subjects, particularly the Muslims among them.

Images of Ottoman rule: the sultans as upholders of justice and Islamic law An important element in the conglomerate of motifs that made up the royal image was that of a just ruler accessible to the complaints of his subjects, even and especially if the damage had been caused by his own officials. 1 Numerous office-holders lost their positions after accusations of having oppressed 'the poor' had been accepted as justified; admittedly other such oppressors remained in position, and there always was a certain distance between claims and reality. Perhaps the most dramatic case of a sultan assuming the role of 'protector of the poor' was that of Murad III: when complaints accumulated that local office-holders used their inspection cum taxcollecting (devir) tours to extract large sums of money from hapless villagers the sultan permitted local peasant militias to chase these officials away and summarily prohibited the devir? This measure proved such an impediment to tax collection that it was soon abrogated, although aggrieved villagers continued to invoke it for a while longer. Who knows, perhaps the sultan when issuing his command already was more or less aware of the fact that it would be difficult to enforce; if that was the case we may view his order as part of an image-making campaign, an attempt to reinforce the stay-at-home sultan's shaken legitimacy by showing him to be a just ruler who protected his subjects from the unreasonable demands of his own office-holders.

1 Mustafa Akdag, Celäli isyanlari (1550-1603) (Ankara: Ankara Üniversitesi Dil ve Tarih Cografya Fakültesi, 1963), p. 15Qff. Suraiya Faroqhi, "Political Activity among Ottoman Taxpayers and the Problem of Sultanic Legitimation (1570-1650)" Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, XXXIV (1992), 1-39.

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In a broader perspective a formula that frequently recurs in Ottoman documents fits into the same pattern: the officials receiving these communications were warned that delays due to sloth and neglect, but more particularly because of corruption would result in exemplary punishment. In certain cases however office-holders also were given notice that overzealousness would be counted against them as well, namely when supposedly executing official commands, they made innocent people suffer. We are thus once again confronted with a legitimizing discourse in which the sultan rhetorically distanced himself from his officials who were not assumed to be virtuous men but at least potentially both corrupt and unjust. Of course a sceptical contemporary observer might ask why the sultan did not find himself servitors of a higher moral calibre; and an independent mind such as Mustafa All faulted Sultan Murad III for this reason among others. 1 But then Mustafa All was an exceptional person; and in everyday practice this legitimizing stance seems to have served its purpose quite well. Justice and good government did not depend on the religion of the sovereign; and educated Ottomans knew that the wise kings of ancient Iran or the Mongol rulers of this latter country during the thirteenth century were no adherents of Islam: yet the former had become exemplars of virtue and the latter had managed to defeat the Muslim Seljuks of Anatolia and build an empire that endured for several generations. Authors writing on statecraft were thus prepared to admit that the justice of an infidel ruler might preserve his reign while an unjust Muslim sultan might lose his throne. 2 But in practical terms in the Ottoman context just rule meant the promotion of Islamic law, which gained ascendancy over sultanic commands and local customs in the long run. This development began in the 1500s but gained momentum in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Admittedly the sultans never abandoned their right to command according to the rules of expediency and the traditions of Ottoman statesmanship. Perhaps the relationship between Siileyman the Magnificent and the head of his religious cum legal establishment §eyhiilislam Ebusuud Efendi was emblematic in this respect: Siileyman ordered his foremost legal expert to ensure that Ottoman land-holding patterns conformed to Islamic religious law (§eriat) and promulgated an edict that enshrined Ebusuud's findings. Yet at the same time this pronouncement was based on notions that the sultan was the ultimate

1 2

Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual, p. 296. Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual, p. 289.

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owner of the arable lands in his realm, a view that had not been held by early Islamic jurists. 1 A similar ambiguity was apparent in the behaviour of eighteenthcentury sultans towards the religious cum legal establishment of their time. On the one hand sultans convened meetings of learned men and listened to their discussions with respect and perhaps comprehension. A historian that has studied these meetings has described them as a theological school or medrese whose sessions were held in the palace. 2 But as the same historian tells us, in the 1700s the possibilities for members of all but a few families and their hangers-on to make high-level careers as judges and teachers in theological colleges were substantially reduced; and the reason for this scaling-down of career possibilities was the concern of the sultans that jurists cum religious scholars not under direct palace control might make common cause with rebels, as had happened in 1703. 3 Furthermore in the eighteenth century the sultans seriously interfered with the revenues of pious foundations, as they had begun to do already in the 1600s, although these institutions were sacrosanct if viewed from the standpoint of Islamic law. 4 Thus the establishment of state control over vakif revenues by Mahmud II was by no means an unprecedented move, but rather part of the hunt for extra revenues begun by the highly ¿•m'ai-conscious sultans of the eighteenth century.

Images of Ottoman rule: the life cycle of the dynasty A sultan ruled only — at most — for as long as he lived; and thus the soldiers, especially the janissaries demanded to regularly be assured of the fact that their sovereign was alive and in good health. Until Siileyman the Magnificent managed to more or less abolish this custom in his later years, for a century between 1453 and the 1550s the sultan regularly dined in full view of the soldiery. At the same time by his withdrawal into the harem during his later years, Siileyman continued a tendency that had been noticeable from the times of Mehmed the Conqueror (r. 1451-81): following a tradition well known from Abbasid but also Byzantine palace life, the ruler emphasized his grandeur by retreating from his servitors and subjects and becoming all but 1

Colin Imber, Ebu's-su'ud, the Islamic Legal Tradition (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1997), pp. 122-28. 2 Madeline Zilfi, " A Medrese for the Palace: Ottoman Dynastic Legitimation in the Eighteenth Century," Journal of the American Oriental Society, CXIII, 2 (1993), 184-91. ^ Madeline Zilfi, The Politics of Piety, The Ottoman Ulema in the Classical Age (Minneapolis: Bibliotheca Islamica, 1988), p. 212. 4 Engin Akarli, "Gedik: Implements, Mastership, Shop Usufruct and Monopoly among Istanbul Artisans, 1750-1850" Wissenschaftskolleg-Jahrbuch (1985-86), 223-32.

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inaccessible. At official venues he was served in silence to a large extent, and at such occasions, he himself spoke but rarely. 1 Evidently this ritualized remoteness from everyday affairs if carried to extremes, might make effective governing difficult, so that we can view this phenomenon as the corollary of late sixteenth-century vicarious rule by palace and state officials and seventeenth-century domination of the Ottoman polity by grandee households. 2 Another issue connected with the sultans' image among subjects and foreigners, but also with the actual, practical conduct of government was the fate of Ottoman princes. It has long been known but a recent study has shown in hitherto unsuspected detail that the adoption of the seniority criterion during the 1600s, in other words the succession of the oldest member of the ruling dynasty, really changed the manner in which the Ottoman Empire was governed. 3 But real life was one thing and imagery quite another. Certainly a sultan who came to the throne by the late 1600s no longer killed his brothers as part of the 'ritual' of succession; yet long afterwards and as late as the 1720s, we find a Safavid ruler who entertained an Ottoman ambassador 'needling' his visitor by pointedly asking about the current princes. Thus even at this late date, killing off the brothers of a newly enthroned sultan was still part of the image of Ottoman rule at a major foreign Muslim court. Contrary to the practice current in Renaissance and Baroque Europe, the funerals of Ottoman sultans by the 1600s were rather sober affairs, in keeping with the view that a dead ruler's situation was the same as that of any deceased Muslim. 4 However practices had been different in the fifteenth century, when the interment of Mehmed the Conqueror was accompanied by many dramatic signs of public grief that Islamic theologians strongly disapprove of. 5 Even at the funeral of Siileyman the Magnificent, who in his later years had been known for his strict Muslim piety, there were still signs of mourning that were to disappear in later periods, including the donning of dark-coloured clothing. As a well-known miniature demonstrates, on this occasion it was for instance considered appropriate to depict the grand vizier Sokollu Mehmed Pa§a weeping in his tent at the death of his sovereign. 6 But much of the

1 Gtilru Necipoglu, Architecture, Ceremonial and Power, The Topkapi Palace in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries (Cambridge MA: The Architectural History Foundation and MIT Press, 1991), p. 102. 2 Rifa'at A. Abou-El-Haj, Formation of the Ottoman State, The Ottoman Empire Sixteenth to Eighteenth Centuries (Albany NY: SUNY Press, 1991), pp. 35-40. 3 Nicolas Vatin and Gilles Veinstein, Le sérail ébranlé (Paris: Fayard, 2003), pp. 206-07 4 Vatin and Veinstein, Le sérail ébranlé, p. 441. 5 Nicolas Vatin and Gilles Veinstein, "La mort de Mehmed II (1481)," in Les ottomans et la mort ed. by Gilles Veinstein (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1996), pp. 187-206, see p. 201. 6 Serpil Bagci, "Islam Toplumlannda Materni Simgeleyen Renkler: Mavi, Mor ve Siyah," in Cimetières et traditions funéraires dans le monde islamique, Islam Dünyasinda Mezarliklar ve Defin Gelenekleri, ed. by Jean-Louis Bacqué-Grammont and Aksel Tibet, 2 vols. (Ankara: Türk Tari h Kurumu, 1996), vol. 2, pp. 163-68.

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ceremonial in this particular instance was connected to the unusual fact that the sultan had died while far away from his capital, on campaign in Hungary; at the same time his successor Selim II (r. 1566-74) wished to have the body buried in Istanbul. This decision necessitated a long and quite exceptional funerary procession that crossed the entire Balkans and finally ended in Istanbul, where a mausoleum was constructed in the precinct of Siileyman's great mosque. Nor were the accessions of Ottoman sultans marked by a great deal of publicly visible ceremonial. At the time when princes were still being educated in the provinces and the succession at least in principle was open to all surviving sons of the deceased ruler, the heir raced to Istanbul to be enthroned and receive the allegiance of the principal office-holders; this ceremony was held in the palace court and thus not visible to the subjects. 1 Furthermore it was considered appropriate to hide the death of the previous sultan until the new one had ascended the throne, in order to prevent a rampage of the janissaries and other disorders. However once he had been recognized as the sultan, Selim II did enter his capital in state, an event that has been described in detail by the Jewish writer Moysen Almosnino who formed part of the new sultan's entourage. 2

Displaying the sultan's person: portraits, hunts and parades In the absence of the 'real' sultan, an image might fill the gap; but there were some difficulties involved. It has often been remarked that compared to the Safavid and Moghul courts the prohibition to depict people and animals was taken rather seriously in the Ottoman context. As the only major exception we might point to the arts of the book, meaning both miniatures in bound volumes and individual sheets that might be included in albums. 3 In these miniatures however showing the sultan and his principal dignitaries was fairly common practice. Even so the interest in individualized depictions of persons and animals was limited if compared for instance to the imagery produced for the contemporary Moghul palaces.

1 Zeynep Tanin Ertug, XVI. Yiizyil Osmanli Devletinde Cuius ve Cenaze Törenleri (Ankara: T. C. Kultur Bakanligi, 1999), pp. 35-78. 2 Rabi Moysen Almosnino, Extremos y grandezas de Constantinoplei, tr by Iacob Cansino (Madrid: Francisco Martinez, 1638), pp. 117-19. The original, which I cannot read was written in Ladino.

Selmin Kangal et alii eds., The Sultan's Portrait, Tiirkiye I§ Bankasi, 2000), passim.

Picturing

the House of Osman (Istanbul:

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Portraits resembling the sultans that they depicted were prized by certain patrons such as Sokollu Mehmed Pa§a, who obtained a painting of Murad III from a Venetian artist and complimented the painter on having achieved a good likeness. 1 But in Ottoman miniatures the courtiers and military men who attended the sultan at official ceremonies were differentiated only by their clothes and insignia, while in an image showing a similar event at the Moghul court, the facial features of the attendants were markedly individual. 2 In Ottoman miniatures by contrast even a person clearly of African descent such as the Chief Black Eunuch differed from his fellow officials merely by the plumpness of his face, a slightly flattened nose and the dark colour of his skin.3 Sultans' portraits have recently been studied in extenso; and interest continues. Doubtless a major reason for such a prolonged concern is the intercultural character of these works. Due to invitations issued by Sultan Mehmed II Fatih to Costanzo da Ferrara and more famously, the Venetian artist Gentile Bellini the first surviving images of a sultan were produced by foreign artists, who actually had seen the person they depicted. Most of the work that these people undertook for the Ottoman ruler has not survived, but in spite of multiple restorations that probably have much altered the quality of the image, Bellini's portrait of Mehmed II is still extant in the National Gallery (London). Moreover Bellini seems to have had followers in Istanbul who took their lead from his work although it is also possible that at least one of the paintings in question was not produced in Istanbul at all, but in western Iran. 4 While Fatih's son Bayezid II (r. 1481-1512) did not continue to sponsor Italian artists, in the sixteenth century sultans' portraits were again produced, this time by Ottoman painters. They often form series that adorn courtly verse chronicles celebrating the rulers' conquests and also universal histories with a strongly Ottoman slant. These volumes were commissioned during the reigns of Sultan Suleyman and his successors. In the preparation of the 'portrait' miniatures to be included in these works, Venetian paintings also were employed, especially copies of items from the picture gallery showing notable persons that Paolo Giovio had commissioned for the museum that 1 Julian Raby, "From Europe to Istanbul," in The Sultan's Portrait, pp. 136-63, see p. 151. Compare the Ottoman court scenes in The Sultan's Portrait, pp. 129-30 to a scene at the Moghul court depicted in the same volume p. 55. 3 Esin Atil, Levni and the Surname, The Story of an Eighteenth-century Ottoman Festival (Istanbul: Kofbank, 1999), p. 225. 4 This question was debated between Giilru Necipoglu and John Michael Rogers at a conference held in London in the spring of 2006. See also Caroline Campbell and Alan Chong, Bellini and the East (London, Boston: The National Gallery and Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, 2005). 2

INTRODUCTION

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in the mid-1500s, he had put together for his home town of Como. This collection included images of the sultans among those of other potentates that Giovio knew of, and sometimes knew in person. 1 Some of the works shown in Como, or images inspired by them, had been produced by followers of Titian and Veronese. These artists had never been in Istanbul and thus could only imagine what the people they painted might have looked like; but this situation apparently was not considered a drawback at the Ottoman court, where anyhow it was known that no contemporary portraits existed of any sultans preceding Mehmed the Conqueror. But in addition there were the portraits of Siileyman the Magnificent by the Danish artist Melchior Lorichs. Familiar with the work of Albrecht Diirer Lorich had attended the sultan's court and thus actually seen the subject whom he depicted. Certain Ottoman miniatures showing Sultan Siileyman and created in the second half of the sixteenth century seem to have been based on Lorichs' work. Another way of displaying and enhancing the image of the sultan was the hunt; and a recent study has shown the importance of this activity in palace ceremonial. 2 Of course this particular element of royal iconography was not an Ottoman invention. In ancient Iran and throughout the Near East the ruler had often been depicted as the hunter par excellence, and this tradition had been taken over by many Islamic rulers. In the Middle Ages faience and metalwork often bore images of a king on the hunt, and this emphasis was even more pronounced in the courtly context of the miniatures sponsored by rulers and high officials in Iran and India. Hunting was often justified as a preparation for war: the hunters rode for hours on end, went without food for long stretches of time, practiced marksmanship and sometimes confronted dangerous animals. These justifications needed to be developed as certain Islamic men of religion were less than enthusiastic about the practice: detractors of the hunt pointed out that in the excitement, the hours of prayer were easily forgotten, apart from the fact that it was difficult to ensure that the prey was killed in such a fashion that its consumption was permitted to a Muslim. There was however yet another aspect that must have recommended hunting parties to certain sultans: the camaraderie of the chase made it possible to relax the rigidities of palace ritual. While hunting it was not possible to always be silent in the ruler's presence, as was de rigeur in the ' Julian Raby, "From Europe to Istanbul," in The Sultan's Portrait, pp.136-63. For the beginnings of this unique institution see Price Zimmermann, Paolo Giovio (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995), pp. 158-62. 2 I thank Ttilay Artan for showing me her work on the Ottoman sultans as hunters, forthcoming in the "Festschrift Oleg Grabar."

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Topkapi Sarayt; and when the game had been killed, presumably the hunters found ways of feasting and enjoying themselves. Moreover riding in the woods must have been a pleasant experience even if little game was actually killed; and thus we find Sultan Murad III, not known to be an enthusiastic hunter, visiting the royal game preserves with his courtiers probably just to enjoy the open air. 1 While pleasure and relaxation could not be so easily accepted as justifications for organizing a hunt as was true of the preparation for war, we may suspect that some sultans, who after all were mostly young people, did appreciate the informal gaiety that these occasions permitted. Within his capital the sultan could present himself prominently by parading on horseback: this was done in a minor way on every Friday, when he attended prayers at one of the great mosques. But as Aya Sofya is located just outside the palace gates and the Sultan Ahmed mosque a short walk away, not many people had the chance of viewing their sovereign on such occasions. More inhabitants of the capital might see him when he visited the sanctuary of Eyiip, a few kilometres outside the city walls. However this visit became 'traditional' only in the 1600s, when princes who had been raised in an inaccessible corner of the palace needed to take possession of their city and be introduced to its inhabitants at the same time. 2 Moreover most sultans performed this rite only once, namely after their accession to the throne; and only a particularly 'image-conscious' ruler like Murad IV undertook it on other occasions as well, for instance after a successful campaign. From a greater distance the inhabitants of Istanbul might watch their sultan when he attended celebrations such as the circumcisions of his sons and the weddings of princesses. But all these events were not really frequent and therefore the rare appearances of the sultan in public must have been carefully orchestrated in advance.

Ottoman

diplomacy

Sultanic ceremonial could be interpreted by an experienced observer and provide indications of the relative standing of foreign powers in the eyes of the ruler's entourage. As a result, quite a few ceremonies taking place in the sultans' reception room (arz odasi) and on the streets of Istanbul were recorded 1 This scene was observed by Michael Heberer of Bretten, a nephew of Luther's close associate Philip Melanchton and a liberated former galley slave: Johann Michael Heberer von Bretten, Aegyptiaca Servitus, intr. by Karl Teply (Graz: Akademische Druck- und Verlagsanstalt, reprint 1967), pp. 351-52. 2 Cemal Kafadar, "Eyiip'te Kiliç Ku§anma Tôrenleri," in Tiilay Artan ed., Eyiip: Diin/ Bugiin, 11-12 Aralik 1993 (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfi Yurt Yayinlan, 1994), pp. 50-61; Nicolas Vatin, "Aux origines du pèlerinage à Eyiip des sultans ottomans," Turcica, XXVII (1995), pp. 91-100.

INTRODUCTION

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in some detail by foreign ambassadors or members of the staff accompanying the latter. Already in the sixteenth century the Ottoman capital was visited by many Venetian, French, Habsburg, Polish and other envoys, some resident for a number of years and others sent by their sovereigns for a short time and a specific purpose, such as negotiating a peace treaty or presenting congratulations on the accession of a new sultan. Much information on the public presentation of the Ottoman ruler can be derived from Venetian diplomatic accounts to the Signoria, as the latter's resident ambassadors known as the baili were expected to regularly inform their superiors both while resident and after their return to Venice. 1 In the late sixteenth century certain Habsburg ambassadors as well as their clerks also have provided glimpses of sultanic ceremonial as they observed and interpreted it.2 As for the Ottomans before the late seventeenth century their envoys to foreign courts were relatively low-level officials whose reports, if indeed they ever were presented in writing have not so far been located. But once the sultans began to send higher-level personages as ambassadors and expected them to submit written reports, the question of ceremonial again was dominant: for whether or not the envoy was treated with respect, or else kept waiting and otherwise neglected by the court to which he had been sent, directly reflected on the prestige of the sultan. Thus Ziilfikar Aga, who between 1688 and 1692 attended the Habsburg ruler in the hope of ending the war that had begun in 1683, and who was at one time even imprisoned in a fortress, had plenty of reasons to complain about the shabby treatment that he had received at the hands of the officials of Leopold I. 3 In brief ceremonial and/or its absence thus served as a means of communication between royal courts even if they belonged to different cultural environments; and if the ambassador did not have the necessary background information upon arrival, there were always plenty of officials, translators and hangers-on who could provide it. In this respect there was no great difference between Ottoman envoys visiting France or Iran and their European or Moroccan counterparts in Istanbul; and as the informational value of court

Maria Pia Pedani Fabris, In nome del Gran Signore. Inviati ottomani a Venezia dalla caduta di Costantinopoli alla guerra di Candia (Venezia: Deputacione Editrice, 1994); Maria Pia Pedani Fabris ed., Relazioni di ambasciatori veneti al Senato, vol. XIV Costantinopoli, Relazioni inedite (1512-1780) (Padua: Aldo Ausilio—Bottega di Erasmo, 1996); Eric Dursteler, Venetians in Constantinople. Nation, Identity and Coexistence in the Early Modern Mediterranean (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins Press, 2006). Stephan Gerlach, Turkiye Gunliigii, ed. Kemal Beydilli, tr. Tiirkis Noyan, 2 vols. (Istanbul. Kitap Yayinevi, 2006). [Ziilfikàr Pa§a], Ziilfikàr Pasa'nin Viyana Sefàreti ve Esàreti, Ceride-i Takriràt-i Ziilfikar Efendi [1099-1103/1688-1692], ed. by Mustafa Giiler (Istanbul: Camlica, 2007), pp. XXIXXXX; idem, Viyana 'da Osmanli Diplomasisi (Ziilfikar Pa^a'mn Mukaleme Takriri 1688-1692) ed. by Songul £olak (Istanbul: Yeditepe Yayinevi, 2007), p. 30.

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ceremonial was so well understood by all the parties concerned it often was described in great detail, much to the frustration of modern historians who would prefer to hear about other matters.

The sultan as the 'protector of the world': where merchants and exiles might find refuge In today's understanding, ambassadors have a special claim on the protection of the state to which they are accredited; in case of war or if their actions have gravely displeased the government that hosts them, they merely will be 'issued their passports' in other words sent home. However as apparent from the misfortunes of Ziilfikâr Aga/Pa§a in late-seventeenth century Vienna, this rule did not necessarily apply in the early modern period. Nor did the Ottoman authorities regard envoys as sacrosanct; thus even around 1800, when Napoleon had occupied Egypt, members of the French embassy were imprisoned in the Yedikule fortress. Closer to Ztilfikar Aga/Pa§a in time, when Grand Vizier Kara Mustafa Pa§a began his 1683 campaign against Vienna, the Emperor Leopold's Internuntius Caprara along with the 'Kayserliche Resident' Baron Kunitz was arrested and made to accompany the Ottoman army all the way from Istanbul into Lower Austria. 1 Yet one of the major titles used by the Ottoman ruler was that of 'world-protecting sovereign' (padi§ah-i alempenah), and since the granting of security was indeed a major part of the sultan's super-royal image, it is worth pausing for a moment to determine whether this title had concrete implications and who might benefit from the ruler's protection and support. Literary figures apart, Islamic men of religion were the most notable potential protégés; and this applied to specialists in law and divinity as well as to dervishes. In the sixteenth century, pilgrims to Mecca from Central Asia, who because of the enormous difficulty of reaching the Hijaz in spite of Safavid hostility were often in one way or another permanently committed to the religious life, enjoyed the patronage of the Ottoman sultans. Learned figures of renown even if they came from a fairly remote province could have the good fortune to attract the ruler's attention and make a career in the palace: the qeyhiilislam and writer of memoirs Feyzullah Efendi has left a description of how he came to Istanbul from the town of Van on the Iranian border and

[Georg Christoph] Baron Kunitz, Diarium Welches Der atn Türkischen Hoff und hernach beim Groß-Vezier in der Wienerischen Belaegerung gewesten Kayserl. Resident Herr Baron Kunitz eigenhändig beschrieben... nebst außführlicher Relation der Wienerischen Belagerung (Vienna: no publisher, no pagination, 1684).

INTRODUCTION

23

rose to become the teacher of a prince that later ascended the throne. 1 Dervishes also might gain the favour of a sultan; and among the many weaknesses that Mustafa All attributed to Murad III, he mentioned the ruler's penchant for 'holy men' of dubious spirituality.2 Moreover at least in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, Ottoman subjects of whatever religion that traded in Venice and ran into trouble with robbers and pirates could count on the support of their sovereign. Petitions in this sense were submitted to the administration, and the latter routinely sent out relatively low-level envoys who might be simple messengers (gavu§) or interpreters serving the sultan's council; occasionally the latter were of Italian background and might even take the opportunity to revisit the scenes of their youth. 3 Letters issued in the sultan's name demanded that the Signoria must make all possible efforts to recuperate the goods that had been stolen. After all with the peace of 1573 the Ottoman authorities had accepted the view, long held by the Venetians that security in the Adriatic was the responsibility of Venice alone. Sometimes these letters indicated that if the attacks on merchants and their properties did not cease, the sultan might have to send his own ships; and that was an eventuality that the Signoria wanted to avoid at all costs. Not all incidents on the road however needed to be solved through diplomatic channels. In certain cases low-level local administrators to say nothing of the merchants themselves, managed to convey the goods of Ottoman traders who had lost their lives on the road to/from Venice to the legal heirs living in the lands of the sultans. In such cases, the central government only issued a command to confirm the arrangements in question so as to make sure that nobody ran into trouble with the sultan's border guards. 4 We thus must regard the enterprise of ensuring the security of Ottoman merchants on the road to Venice as a common venture between the traders themselves, the Venetian authorities and the sultan's government. But without the machinery set up by sultans and viziers, the hundreds of traders from Bosnia, Istanbul and even Anatolia that in the late 1500s and early 1600s visited Venice every year would have found it much more difficult to secure the necessary protection.

1 Fahri Denn, "§eyhiilislam Feyzullah Efendi'nin Nesebi Hakkinda bir Risale", Tarih Dergisi, X, 14 (1959), pp. 97-103. 2 Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual, p. 296, 3 Pedani Fabris, In nome del Gran Signore, p. 82; eadem, "Between Diplomacy and Trade: Ottoman Merchants in Venice," to be published in "Merchants in the Ottoman Empire," ed. by Suraiya Faroqhi and Gilles Veinstein (Leuven: Editions Peeters, hopefully in 2008). 4 Such an incident has been discussed in my "Ottoman textiles in European markets", to be published in a volume edited by Claire Norton.

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In addition there were people who arrived in the Ottoman Empire as fugitives from religious and political conflicts. What happened to such refugees depended on the calculations of sultans and viziers, and thus was difficult to foresee; of course mutatis mutandis this statement applied - and applies — to governments of any description. Cases concerning refugees of greater or lesser prominence thus do not lend themselves to generalization and must be analyzed individually. To mention but a few examples: in the midsixteenth century the Safawid Prince Alqas/Elkas Mirza found that once he had shown himself incapable of assuring Ottoman conquests in Iran, he was given to understand that he should return home — where he soon met his death. 1 Others were more fortunate; thus people who had fallen from favour at the Moghul court of Akbar might 'graciously' be granted permission by their sovereign to undertake the pilgrimage to Mecca; they were expected to remain in the Hijaz until formally allowed to return. The Ottoman authorities, while probably less than enthusiastic, tolerated the exiles' presence. 2 Others were permitted to establish themselves closer to the seat of government. Thus the French Huguenot Aubry de La Motraye generally had very positive impressions of the Ottoman Empire where in the late 1600s and early 1700s he spent fourteen years. De La Motraye while in Istanbul befriended his Hungarian fellow Protestant Imre Thokoly who had tried - and failed — to coordinate his anti-Habsburg uprising with Kara Mustafa Pa§a's plans for conquest in Austria and Hungary. 3 The sultan refused to hand over Thokoly to the Habsburgs in spite of the insistent demands of the latter, but assigned him a residence in the little town of Izmit, spatially close to Istanbul yet far away from any place where he might have become politically involved. Aubry de La Motraye visited both Thokoly and his wife and attempted to console the refugees. A more famous exile was the Swedish King Charles XII after the battle of Poltava (1709), who managed to monumentally overstay his welcome on Ottoman territory and leave sizeable debts besides. De La Motraye had contacts with the soldier-king as well. As for the debts, their repayment was still being negotiated several decades later. 4

1

Article "Alqas Mirza" in Encyclopedia Iranica, vol. 1, by Cornell Fleischer. Nairn R. Farooqi, "Moguls, Ottomans and Pilgrims: Protecting the Routes to Mecca in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries," The International History Review, X, 2 (1988), 198-220; Suraiya Faroqhi, Pilgrims and Sultans (London: Tauris Press, 1994), p. 131. 3 As the original is hard to find I have used a recent Turkish translation: Aubry de La Motraye, La Motraye Seyahatnamesi, tr. by Nedim Demirtag, introduction by Erkan Ser?e (Istanbul: istiklal Kitabevi, 2007), pp. 129-32 and elsewhere. 4 Fatma Müge Gc>5ek, East Encounters West, France and the Ottoman Empire in the Eighteenth Century (New York, Oxford, Washington: Oxford University Press and The Institute of Turkish Studies, 1987), pp. 86-87. 2

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The fates of these personages were decided in Istanbul for a variety of political reasons: presumably the sultan's advisors felt that sending Thokoly to his death in Vienna was an additional humiliation after the series of disasters that had marked the Hungarian campaign. For a while the presence of King Charles XII was probably regarded as an asset because he was such a committed opponent of Tsar Peter I, with who the Ottomans were also at war. But after a while it became clear that the government in Istanbul wanted to end the conflict with the Russian ruler, while Charles XII by contrast was eager to prolong it. This conflict of interests resulted in a series of moves calculated to induce the Swedish king to finally leave Ottoman territory. Yet beyond all this manoeuvring the protection of refugees could also be viewed on a more general plane as a sign of the sultans' magnanimity: at the court in Istanbul the attribute of 'world protector' so often used when referring to the sultan was not a totally meaningless formula.

Here come the articles... Asserting sultanic legitimacy How do the articles in this volume relate to the research on sultanic legitimization whose principal directions we have outlined here? It is often claimed that books have their own fates once they go out into the world. But it is just as true, though less often said that they can take a hand in determining the fates of their authors. After having produced a given book, quite often the writer will be asked to contribute to various collective projects linked to the topics he/she has previously worked on. Something of the kind happened to me after The Ottoman Empire and the World around it had appeared on the market. When thinking about the shapes that my participation in these projected enterprises might take, I soon discovered that quite a few of the sources that I previously had used deserved a much more thorough treatment than was possible in a work of synthesis with a relatively strict 'word count'.1 I thus began to hunt for documents that might tell us more about the fates of people like the Austrian prisoner of war Claudio Angelo de Martelli, one of the few outsiders ever to write about the time he had spent in the household of an Ottoman grand vizier, albeit a deceased one. Or else when looking for something quite unrelated in the Istanbul archives I came across a few documents concerning the travels of an Ottoman ambassador to early 1 Suraiya Faroqhi, The Ottoman Empire and the World Around it, 1540s to 1774 (London: I. B. Tauris, 2004).

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eighteenth-century Iran, who has left a thoughtful account of his visit; definitely the journey of Diirri Ahmed Efendi to Teheran merited a closer look. As I had started out with a project that covered the mid-sixteenth to late eighteenth centuries, the present collection also focuses on this period. I am conscious of the fact that some colleagues feel that a study of relations between the Ottomans and their neighbours should begin at an earlier point in time. But it remains true that people write best - and most - about periods on which they previously have accumulated some information. Be that as it may, I have greatly enjoyed the experience of hunting down documents. I do hope that some of my colleagues and students will share the pleasures of the chase and apologize for the overlaps that are hard to avoid in a collection of articles on related topics. To a considerable extent, the present volume is based upon archival research. Thus we will begin with a bird's eye view of work that has been done in the Prime Minister's Archives of Istanbul and also in collections of original Ottoman documents located in other places. 1 Our focus is on 'world history' and therefore on researchers concerned either with former Ottoman provinces that long since have become independent, or else on historians domiciled in states whose historiographies consider that this or that neighbour to the sultans' territory was an early modern 'predecessor' of their own present-day polity. Hungarian historiography has been given pride of place because many of its representatives have developed good connections to neighbouring disciplines especially archaeology. Moreover due to the linguistic versatility of many Hungarian scholars, it is of comparatively easy access even to historians unable to read Hungarian. On the other hand Greek historiography based on Ottoman documents has been highlighted for very different reasons: it is as yet very new, and its scholars seem to focus on international rather than national traditions of history-writing. Among the 'neighbours' of the sultans we will take a closer look at historical work undertaken in Poland and Venice during the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. If this article makes a few readers aware of the possibilities of the Ottoman archives for international and inter-cultural studies, it will have served its purpose. A tout seigneur tout honneur: as the Ottomans were known for their respect for hierarchies we will follow their example and begin with the sultan himself, or to be precise, with the manner in which the sultan's image was presented through processions and public buildings. Historians of art and architecture have provided us with rather extensive discussions of the Ottoman rulers' great foundations; they have also studied the conditions under which royal women might establish their charities. However we know much less about the effects of such buildings on the spectators. A priori we can assume 1

"The Ottoman Empire in world history: what the archives can tell us."

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that mosques, schools and dervish lodges made a considerable impression on people confronted with structures that in terms of sheer scale, often were unlike anything they might ever have seen before. Yet this claim is no more than a hypothesis which needs to be tested. As for the public appearances of the sultans our knowledge of their reception is even more limited as this topic has attracted much less interest among researchers. Now the 'orientalism' debate has made us aware of the mindset with which many European observers approached Ottoman artefacts. Some historians have dwelt on the religious conflicts between Christians and Muslims, and the prejudices that the loss of the Holy Land to Saladin and later to the Mamluks generated in the consciousness of late mediaeval and early modern European travellers. 1 A mindset of this type often induced the writer to dwell not upon buildings but rather upon ruins, an effective way of delegitimizing the current Muslim regime. Other historians have shown how humanistic concern with Greek and Roman texts/artefacts often became a way of drawing boundaries between 'us the learned' and 'them the uncivilized', or to cite the title of a recent study, of "creating East and West". 2 Thus paradoxically the pious and the learned had more trouble if they tried to be fairminded observers of the Ottoman world. In this context it is interesting to compare descriptions of the same monuments and/or parades written by Ottoman Muslims, non-Muslim subjects of the sultan and outsiders from the Islamic and the Christian worlds. 3 Remarkably enough such a comparison at least if limited to texts written before and around the 1650s does not show great differences between the cultures involved; to the contrary the similarities are much more obvious. A Moroccan ambassador and his colleagues from Christian Europe offer comparable comments about the incomparable grandeur of the Aya Sofya; who knows perhaps these people have reproduced comments picked up from their tour guides, who in their turns participated in the same laudatory discourse regardless of religion. Whatever the situation, when visitors of whatever background came to early modern Istanbul, they were likely to be impressed by the public buildings and the majestic image of the Ottoman ruler; thus these means of sultanic legitimization had some effect even upon outsiders.

Stéphane Yérasimos, Les voyageurs dans l'Empire ottoman (XIVe-XVIe siècles), Bibliographie, itinéraires et inventaire des lieux habités (Ankara: Tiirk Tarih Kurumu, 1991), pp. 4, 20 and elsewhere. Nancy Bisaha, Creating East and West. Renaissance Humanists and the Ottoman Turks (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006). "Presenting the Sultans' power, glory and piety: a comparative perspective."

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Owning wild and exotic animals was yet another manner of confirming the power of the sultan in the eyes of his subjects - and thereby, of rendering his domination legitimate. By his formidable might the ruler forced wild creatures to do obeisance; but on a different level he was also so highly esteemed by remote Indian or Iranian potentates that they courted his favour by presenting him with costly gifts including elephants. Like many other rulers before and after them Ottoman sultans entertained a menagerie and permitted outsiders to view it; thus by the later 1500s the former Byzantine church where the animals were housed was so often visited by European travellers that it must be regarded as a kind of tourist site. In sixteenth-century Istanbul lions could be paraded in processions, loaded with chains and thereby generate both fear and respect for the power of the ruler who alone could keep them in check. As for the years around 1800 when this game was apparently considered too risky, the presence of securely caged lions still was considered a significant attribute of the Ottoman sultan: money was spent on housing and feeding them even at a time of extreme financial stringency. 1 Here come the articles... Relating to the outside world Questions concerning the relations of the Ottomans with their Christian neighbours were for a long time the very stuff of Ottomanist historiography in Europe and the United States. While many European and American scholars today prefer to work on Ottoman 'domestic' issues such as urban history, a certain interest in questions concerning the Empire and its neighbours recently has emerged within the Turkish scholarly community. This development is connected with what is happening in the world outside of Ottoman historiography including globalization in the economic realm, the expansion of tourism not only by foreigners in Turkey but also by Turks in Europe and the US, and on a more scholarly plane, the recent focus on empires among historians of the ancient world, India, China and Britain. Relations with the kingdoms and principalities of Christendom often involved border zones both on the Ottoman and the 'other' side of the frontier. One of these borderlands that long had remained in the shadow and has now begun to interest researchers is the Adriatic, where Ottoman Bosnia was neighbour to Venetian Dalmatia and Habsburg-ruled Croatia. 2 Research on the Adriatic and its denizens has become easier now that the Ottoman documents 1

"Exotic animals at the sultans' court". Drago Roksandic ed„ Microhistory of the Triplex Conflnium. International Project Conference Papers (Budapest, March 21-22, 1997), (Budapest: Institute on Southeastern Europe, Central European University, 1999).

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in the Venetian archives have become accessible through an excellent catalogue. 1 In this region Ottoman merchants of whatever religion often were robbed and even killed by the pirates known as the Uskok, loosely subordinated to the commanders of the Habsburg border defences but in actual fact often acting on their own initiative. 2 However for some considerable time, historians were not much interested in the attitude taken by the sultans towards the damages suffered by their subjects, perhaps because of the long outmoded but tenacious idée fixe that the problems of merchants on a remote frontier were not taken very seriously in Istanbul. However in reality in the years before and after 1600, sultans and viziers often intervened in such matters. In quite a few cases they put considerable pressure on the Signoria of Venice to ensure that the aggrieved merchants got at least part of their property back; and the present study discusses how solutions to these thorny problems were worked out 'on the ground'. 3 While Ottoman subjects and especially Muslims that did business in Venice have entered the scholarly agenda only during the last twenty years, the situation of foreign traders on Ottoman soil once again is one of the wellestablished sub-fields of Ottomanist scholarship. The bibliography is enormous, even that which has appeared since Halil Inalcik's seminal article on "Imtiyazat" (1986) in the Encyclopedia of Islam; in European historiography these grants of privilege were known as the 'capitulations'. During the last few decades, a mass of previously unknown material has been brought to light and interpreted by scholars such as Hans Theunissen who has worked on the privileges/capitulations issued to Venice and Dariusz Kolodziejczyk who has dedicated a massive work to comparable documents concerning Poland. More recently the work of Mauritz van den Boogert includes studies on the capitulations and their beneficiaries, with an emphasis on how these privileges were enforced - or sometimes ignored. 4 Differently furthermore from much of the older work whose authors focused on French, English or Dutch traders and were not much interested in Ottoman attitudes, these more recent studies have a good deal to say on problems of reciprocity. 5 1 Maria Pia Pedani Fabris, / "Documenti turchi" dell'Archivio di Stato di Venezia (Roma: Ministero per i beni culturali e ambientali, Ufficio centrale per i beni archivistici, 1994). 2 Catherine Wendy Bracewell, The Uskoks of Senj. Piracy, Banditry and Holy War in the Sixteenth-Century Adriatic (Ithaca, London: Cornell University Press, 1992). 3 "Ottoman Views on Corsairs and Piracy in the Adriatic". 4 Kate Fleet and Maurits H. van den Boogert eds., The Ottoman Capitulations. Text and context, (Naples/Cambridge: Istituto Nallino and Skilliter Centre, 2003). 5 Hans Theunissen, "Ottoman-Venetian Diplomatics: The ahidnames. The Historical Background and the Development of a Category of Political-Diplomatic Instruments together with an Annotated Edition of a Corpus of Relevant Documents," Ph D dissertation, Utrecht, 1991. (Only available on the Internet); Dariusz Kolodziejczyk, Ottoman-Polish Diplomatic Relations (15th-18th Century). An Annotated Edition of Ahdnames and Other Documents (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2000).

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Once again it seems that the time has come to 'pull together' the results of this research, at least where the seventeenth century is concerned: where do we stand and where do we go?1 In a way, projecting the image of the sultans as 'world protectors', border warfare and 'international' trade are all forms of interaction between the Ottomans and their neighbours. Any interaction presupposes that some people 'put themselves on the line' to make such contacts possible: they may undertake the attendant risks either for private profit as merchants do, or because they expect career opportunities in the service of their respective sovereigns, as is typical of diplomats. Here we will deal with two such envoys, both active at the beginning of the eighteenth century: one of them, a Frenchman posted in Istanbul and the other, an Ottoman active in Teheran. 2 The French ambassador marquis de Bonnac has left a large number of documents, both published and unpublished. 3 He was on good terms with the Grand Vizier Damad Ibrahim Pa§a and convinced that the abysmally bad relations that had prevailed under his seventeenth-century predecessors were not a necessary and inevitable outcome of the fact that during the OttomanHabsburg war of the 1660s and the long drawn-out struggle with the Venetians over Crete, the young Louis XIV had given informal support to the enemies of the sultan. To the contrary in the teeth of official disapproval, the marquis de Bonnac wrote a lengthy memorandum that must be read as an indictment of the un-diplomatic behaviour of his predecessor Monsieur de Ferriol, better known for his patronage of a large album of Ottoman costumes. At one point in his career this unfortunate diplomat apparently suffered from some form of insanity. De Bonnac gave a lengthy description not only of the behaviour of his predecessor while in the middle of a nervous crisis; he also explained why the latter had not even been received at the Ottoman court. This unfortunate state of affairs was due to De Ferriol's cavalier disregard for Ottoman court etiquette. 4 Nobody was admitted to the sultan's presence in arms, yet on the other hand, certain French gentlemen felt it to be an affront to their dignity to take off their swords even on such an occasion. In the opinion of the marquis de Bonnac, a compromise could have been patched up if the previous ambassador had appeared with a small decorative weapon; * "Ottoman Attitudes towards Merchants from Latin Christendom before 1600". "Ibrahim Pa§a and the Marquis de Bonnac" and "An Ottoman ambassador in Iran: Diirri Ahmed Efendi and the collapse of the Safavid Empire in 1720-21". 3 Jean-Louis Dusson, marquis de Bonnac, Mémoire historique sur l'Ambassade de France à Constantinople, ed. and intr. by Charles Schefer (Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1894). 4 For Ferriol's own account compare Alan Servantie éd., Le voyage à Istanbul, Byzance, Constantinople. Istanbul du Moyen Âge au XXe siècle (Brussels: Editions Complexe, 2003), pp. 313-21. 2

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presumably such an item could have been officially regarded as an ornament. But De Ferriol's appearance with an epee de bretteur, that is a weapon suitable for actual fighting, made all compromise impossible. Nor were undiplomatic diplomats the only reason for the crises of the past years: De Bonnac was highly critical of the various churchmen patronized by the king of France that in his perspective, tended to ruin relations with the Ottomans by their misplaced zeal. If in recent years the sultan had given permission for repairs to be made to the church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, this was due to De Bonnac's own efforts, and no thanks to the priests. The marquis de Bonnac thus proposed that 'diplomatic' behaviour and a degree of understanding of the Empire's difficulties would serve the interests of the French crown better than the blustering insistence on 'honour' characteristic of the recent past. He thus found a common language with the grand vizier, who also apparently believed that the sultans might recuperate some of the losses of bygone years by means of diplomacy. For this purpose Ibrahim Pa§a sent envoys not only to the French but also the Safavid court: and while the report of Diirri Ahmed Efendi has attracted less attention than Yirmisekiz Mehmed Efendi's mission to Paris and Versailles, this is mainly due to the as yet very limited number of studies on Ottoman-Iranian relations. It was Diirri Ahmed Efendi's job to persuade the Iranian court that even in the face of a visibly disintegrating Safavid Empire the Ottoman rulers had no aggressive intentions. We do not know to what extent the envoy himself believed this official stance. But as his report stressed the continuing wealth of the country, the poor condition of its military and the disaffection of the local Sunnis, we may suspect that he did not, and maybe even advised the grand vizier in favour of intervention as soon as an opportunity presented itself. Be that as it may, Diirri Ahmed with his knowledge of Iranian literature seems to have been impressed by the late Safavid court: decadent though it may have been it was still a centre of high culture.

Here come the articles... Outsiders on Ottoman territory and Ottomans abroad: prisoners, slaves and merchants While envoys placed themselves in a mediator's position more or less voluntarily, prisoners of war and other foreign slaves had no choice in the matter. Yet in some instances they might come away with unique observations. An adventure of this kind as we have seen, happened to Claudio Angelo de Martelli, a military officer in the Habsburg army, who published an account of his captivity while the war was still continuing and that should

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therefore be regarded as a piece of Habsburg propaganda. But the text also has more to offer. Captured when the Ottomans marched upon Vienna in 1683 De Martelli was assigned as prisoner to Kara Mustafa Pa§a in person. 1 However to his great dismay, the author became a slave of the sultan when the grand vizier was executed in late 1683 and his possessions confiscated: for as De Martelli soon learned, slaves of the ruler were not eligible for ransom or prisoner exchanges. However within short order the young sons of the executed dignitary were given back part of their father's property on condition that they pay back the enormous debts owed by the latter. A scramble thus ensued as the senior members of the household sold off various possessions including De Martelli who because of his physical weakness was not exactly attractive as a future slave. He was then freed by means of a diplomatic negotiation in which the ambassador of the king of England, a neutral ruler, took a hand. So did an English nobleman who was one of the ambassador's associates; and in the end, the Habsburg officer left the Ottoman lands as a tutor to the children of the English envoy. In our present perspective De Martelli's story is valuable particularly for the insider's view of the deceased grand vizier's household in Istanbul, where he spent several months while his ransom was being negotiated. Apparently Kara Mustafa Pa§a, often described as harsh and overbearing by foreign diplomats, had succeeded in gaining the devotion of his household, some of whose members even were prepared to defend him arms in hand when the order for his execution arrived in Belgrade. These men did not search for new patrons, but remained to take care of the interests of the Paga's sons; and if one of them under the nickname of Maktulzade (son of the executed person) later built a career in the sultan's service it may well have been due to the efforts that his father's household dignitaries had expended on his behalf. At the same time many of Kara Mustafa Pa§a's household servitors were of European background, and we are left to wonder whether if the conquest of Vienna had succeeded, these people would not have become the new administrators, knowledgeable in local laws and customs and at the same time completely loyal to their patron the grand vizier. Thus although De Martelli was not a very high-ranking officer, his capture, enslavement and sale all were part and parcel of 'high polities'. Our next chapter by contrast is concerned with a man who had very limited access to the higher reaches of Ottoman society, living in the provincial town of Kastamonu in northern Anatolia. He applied to the central government 1 "A prisoner of war reports: The camp and household of grand vizier Kara Mustafa Pa§a in an eyewitness account".

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because he was in danger of being sold as a slave along with his adult children. 1 Of Iranian background and perhaps at one time an 'illegal immigrant1 this man risked becoming victim to a crime about which we have frequent complaints, namely the enslavement of free persons. Unfortunately only a single document survives, and we thus have no way of determining the outcome of this case. Apart from the activities of envoys, prisoners and refugees, there were the 'inter-cultural' - to use the modern word — contacts established through commerce in Izmir, Istanbul or Venice. Important though the attitudes of Ottoman sultans and viziers to the conduct of trade may have been, what counted most were the views of the merchants 'on site'. In addition to business concerns properly speaking there were problems in relating to strangers encountered for instance in Venice. Further complications might arise from the Ottoman context from which these travelling merchants had come and to which they eventually returned. A specialist on the moneylending pious foundations that flourished in the Turkish-speaking towns of the Ottoman Empire between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries has concluded that at least in Bursa, these institutions mainly provided credit for consumption purposes. Only a few wealthy and privileged businessmen seized the opportunity of borrowing from pious foundations and then lending money at the higher rates of interest that prevailed in the Istanbul capital market. 2 However practices were different in Sarajevo where apparently it was common enough for merchants to borrow from pious foundations or else from funds belonging to orphans that were being administered by guardians. These funds were often invested in trade, even foreign trade conducted in Venice and elsewhere. But in such cases lenders and local qadis enforced special safeguards: no matter whether the merchant profited or lost, he had to return the capital in its entirety. Thus the safeguards of the mudaraba/commenda commercial contract that protected the travelling trader from the dangers he might encounter en route were not applicable when the funds belonging to orphans and pious foundations were at issue. As a result Bosnian merchants who had been robbed on the Adriatic made particular efforts to get the Signoria to help them retrieve at least part of their goods. 3 Moreover just in case a document from the qadi of Sarajevo increased their credibility the merchants might submit an official record that confirmed the amounts they would have to pay back upon returning home. 1 "Trying to avoid enslavement: the adventures of an Iranian subject in eighteenth-century Anatolia". Murat f izakcja, "Cash Waqfs of Bursa, 1555-1823," Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 38/3 (1995), 313-54. 3 "Bosnian merchants in the Adriatic".

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Help from the authorities probably was most effective if the Ottoman and Venetian governments were willing to cooperate in the protection of merchants. In the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, this was often the case. For while the Long War with the Habsburgs dragged on (until 1606), Canbuladoglu Ali Pa§a rebelled in Aleppo and certain groups of mercenaries known as the Celalis even went over to Shah c Abbas of Iran, sultans and viziers were in fact concerned about maintaining good relations with Venice. In the first quarter of the seventeenth century certain officials of the sultan even put about a story that would have shocked both their predecessors and their successors; for now the Serenissima was considered a faithful ally of the Ottoman rulers from the beginnings of the Ottoman principality. Ottoman and Venetian traders benefited from this temporary entente cordiale; and the last article in our collection shows how even serious acts of piracy by highly placed personages might be smoothed over if considerations of war and peace demanded it.1

1

"The Ottomans and the trade routes of the Adriatic".

THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE IN WORLD HISTORY: WHAT THE ARCHIVES CAN TELL US

The Ottoman Empire forms part of a select but still sizeable group of polities that claimed to govern if not the whole world, then at least that part of it which could claim right belief and/or the advantages of civilization. As such it can be classed with the Roman, Chinese, Moghul, Spanish, Russian and British empires both in their formal and informal versions - quite apart from other varieties still with us today. After a long hiatus, empires are once again a 'hot topic1, and the polity established by the sultans now is receiving some attention on the part of historians interested in comparative studies. This inclusion of Ottoman history into a broader world historical context from which traditionally it had been excluded is quite novel, and at least in part due to the large amount of archival documentation that has become accessible in recent years. Very diverse topics including the present-day Middle East, global labour migrations, the world-wide problem of censorship or the history of women and the family all can be studied more successfully if the Ottoman archives are taken into account. Given recent reorganization we must briefly explain what is meant by the term 'Ottoman archives'. The Archives of the Prime Minister (Ba§bakanlik Argivi) in Istanbul are a comprehensive organization, the basis being the Grand Vizier's archives that were separated out from the Topkapi palace archive in the late eighteenth century, and further reorganized in the nineteenth. 1 The Topkapi archives continue to be located on the grounds of the palace, now a museum. But administratively speaking they have become part of the Ba§bakanlik Ar§ivi. In addition the Administration of Pious Foundations and the General Directorate of the Cadastre, both in Ankara for our purposes will be considered part of the Ottoman archives although administratively speaking they are separate from the Archives of the Prime Minister. For the sake of convenience we will also consider major holdings of Ottoman documents abroad, particularly those in Venice as a special variety of Ottoman archive.

1 Collective work, Ba§bakanlik Osmanli Argivi Rehberi Genel Mildiirlugu, 2000), pp. XL-XLI.

(Ankara: Ba§bakanhk, Devlet Ar§ivleri

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As for the qadi registers (sicil), a major source for urban and provincial history, in the past they were kept in the district centres where they once had been compiled. They have thus wound up in libraries or archives depending on the practice of the country in question - if indeed they were not lost or destroyed during the wars of the 1900s, as seems to have happened quite often in Balkan countries and also in Anatolia. A sixteenth-century register of Sofia was published before it disappeared in the maelstrom of World War II and other items perished when the Oriental Institute in Sarajevo was bombed during the wars that accompanied the recent dissolution of Yugoslavia. 1

A major resource not only for Turkish history As the Archives of the Prime Minister are the archives of the Turkish Prime Minister, the uninitiated may assume that the content is mainly relevant to Turkey. But that is an over-simplification: after all the specification 'Ottoman archives' added on to the over-arching official title already indicates that much more is at stake. Exactly how many of today's countries can be regarded as 'successor states' to the Ottoman Empire is a matter of definition; for the sultans' rule in some cases lasted for many centuries and in others just for a few decades. In addition sometimes only part of the territory of a present-day state was once a province, sub-province or district of the Ottoman Empire; and in such cases there is room for disagreement as to whether the relevant polity should be considered a 'successor state'. To cite an example: does it make sense to claim that Poland was once 'part of the Ottoman empire' because the region of Kamieniec Podolsk today in Ukraine, was an Ottoman province for about twenty-five years in the late seventeenth century, and the territory in question before the Ottoman conquest had been part of Poland-Lithuania? 2 Or to exaggerate even more: do we really want to declare Italy as a successor state to the Ottoman Empire because after 1517, the Signoria of Venice paid tribute to the sultans for its colony of Cyprus, before the island finally was conquered by Ottoman forces in 1570-73? I think we can safely leave such discussions to those that enjoy them. But in any event we can expect the archives in Istanbul to produce documentation, more or less ample according to the circumstances, that sheds light on the history of some twenty to forty countries of the present-day 1 Herbert Duda, Galab Galabov, Die Protokollbticher des Kadiamtes Sofia (Munich: Oldenbourg, 1960). 2 Dariusz Kofodziejczyk, Ottoman-Polish Diplomatic Relations (15th-18th Century), An Annotated Edition of 'Ahdnames and Other Documents (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2000), pp. 145-57.

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world. In the first section of this paper we will discuss two examples that show how the Ottoman archives have been used — or can be used in the future — if the country in question or at least a large section of it formed part of the Ottoman Empire for an appreciable period of time. As examples we will discuss work by historians dealing with Hungary and Greece. To be more precise, we will highlight works produced by people of Hungarian and Greek descent, no matter in which countries they operate or have operated, although it is of course impossible to even dream of completeness. As for the second section, here we will discuss the resources of the Ottoman archives in terms of the information they can provide on states such as Poland or Venice that — despite the Ottoman conquest of some of their territories — basically remained outside the sultans' domains. During the last twenty years or so, we have come to understand that the Ottoman sultans were involved in European history often in rather unexpected ways, and a careful search of the archives produced by their bureaucrats confirms these observations.1 Admittedly the hunt for sources in the Ottoman archives is often arduous in spite of the help that is now given to the historian by the search facilities of the internet as instituted by the Prime Minister's Archives during the last few years. Unfortunately there are difficulties for which no easy remedy has as yet been discovered: often the internet helps us to get access to the summaries of documents that archivists have produced over time, and not to the Ottoman texts themselves. However especially for the period before the nineteenth century most information is found not in individual documents or files but in bound registers, which especially if made during the 1700s often encompass over a thousand documents apiece. No archivist could produce a satisfactory summary of these mammoth collections; the descriptions therefore usually refer to a few documents located near the beginning and end of the register in question. To deal with this kind of source it is still necessary to view the register - or a computerized copy, depending on what the archivists will let us see - and search the documents one by one. Fortunately Ottoman officials normally introduced a sultanic command by a more or less detailed account of the events and correspondences that had preceded it. Thus by reading the first lines, we will often be able to figure out quite soon whether the document is relevant or not.

1 Peter Demetz, Prague in Black and Gold (New York: Hill and Wang, 1997), p. 246 mentions a letter from the sultan to the Habsburg empress Maria Theresa, dated to the 1740s that criticized the expulsion of the Jews from Prague.

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Historians exploring a foreign archive: the Hungarian

example1

Why is the Hungarian example a good choice when we try to explicate the world historical relevance of the Ottoman archives? Scholars from some countries have been more alert in using this resource than others, and I would claim that the most assiduous work is due to our colleagues of Budapest. In fact it was the Hungarian scholar Lajos Fekete that introduced into the Ottoman archives the principle of cataloguing documents according to the bureaus that had produced them, known as 'organizing by provenience 1 . In addition the same personage also wrote a magnificent two-volume introduction to the documents written in siyakat, a highly specialized form of the Arabic script used in the Ottoman financial administration. 2 Hungarian scholars first became interested in the Ottoman archives in the late nineteenth century, at a time when they were still subjects of the A u s t r o - H u n g a r i a n m o n a r c h y . Apparently this concern was politically motivated and quite intense; there even was a short-lived Hungarian research institute in Istanbul. Many of these scholars were nationalists, as indeed were their colleagues in other European countries. In our present-day perspective therefore, some of these researchers approached the Ottoman archives with rather a peculiar agenda; namely they asked themselves whether an 'Ottoman option' such as had been sought by certain Hungarian noblemen like Imre Thokoly or Ferenc Rakoszi during the 1600s and 1700s, could have been a viable alternative to the Habsburg adherence. 3 In other words they asked themselves whether more of Hungarian identity would have been preserved if the country as whole had become a vassal kingdom of the sultans, always assuming that the latter would have been willing to forgo direct administration in spite of the menacing proximity of the Habsburg armies. Thus these nineteenth- and early twentieth-century scholars were engaged in a project of exploring 'paths that had not been taken' in Hungarian history. Sultan Abdulhamid II (r. 1876-1909) by the way was well aware of these sentiments and gained a good many sympathies among educated Hungarians by returning some books from the library of King Matthias Corvinus that had arrived in Istanbul as booty after the sixteenth-century Ottoman conquest.

Geza David and Pal Fodor, "Hungarian Studies in Ottoman History" in The Ottomans and Southeastern Europe, ed. by Fikret Adanir and Suraiya Faroqhi (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2002), pp. 205-50. As I do not read Hungarian, Greek or Polish, I have had to confine myself to publications in English, German, French, Italian and Turkish; fortunately they are available in substantial numbers. 2 Lajos Fekete, Die Siyaqatschrift in der türkischen Finanzverwaltung, 2 vols. (Budapest, 1955). 3 David and Fodor, "Hungarian Studies," p. 316.

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Denominational identities were involved as well. Catholics recognized that without Habsburg involvement, nineteenth-century Hungary would have been a largely Protestant country; therefore historians who identified with the Catholic cause tended to claim that retaining even a small strip of the country - the so-called Royal Hungary — within Christendom was so important that submission to the Habsburgs should be regarded as the lesser evil. After all in the areas of direct Ottoman domination there was no Catholic hierarchy; on the other hand Hungarian Calvinist churches were more decentralized and therefore better adapted to life under the sultans' administration.1 Especially after the First World War yet another political concern encouraged some Hungarian historians to explore the Ottoman archives. As a former participant in the Great War on the losing side, the Habsburg Empire was dismantled. Territorial losses concerned not only the 'Austrian half'; the 'Hungarian section' governed by the Magyars but inhabited partly by Southern Slavs was also affected, as the government had to cede territory to the newly formed state of Yugoslavia. As a result Hungary as it came into being after World War I was much smaller than the historical kingdom of the same name; and in part this contraction was due to the fact that under Ottoman rule there had been important migrations, with Slav soldiers and peasants settling in the southern sections of the mediaeval kingdom that had largely been abandoned by their previous inhabitants. Thus Hungarian historians now believed that they would better understand what they viewed as a historical calamity by familiarizing themselves with the Ottoman period. 2 For us who are interested in scholarship and but tangentially in nationalism, this information is important because it helps us situate the Hungarian concern with Ottoman archives. But if that had been the whole story, it would not have been worth recounting here. At least in my view what is noteworthy about many Hungarian Ottomanists is their ability to transcend their nationalist concerns. As far as I can see they have made a significant section of the educated public both in Hungary and abroad accept the notion that after the fall of the independent kingdom in the battle of Mohacz (1526), there were times and sections of the country where the Ottomans were the dominant power: yet these periods and venues did not therefore 'drop out of history'. This latter point is worth making because in Greece or Bulgaria a similar understanding for a long time was officially unacceptable and even today is probably considered somewhat avant-garde. For a brief summary of church history during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries see Istvan Bitskey, "Spiritual Life in the Early Modern Age," in A Cultural History of Hungary from the Beginnings to the Eighteenth Century, ed. by Laszlo K(5sa (Budapest: Corvina, 1999), pp. 242-49. y David and Fodor, "Hungarian Studies," pp. 317-18.

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Work in the archives of course is contingent upon physical access; and Hungarian scholars working on the Ottoman period of their national history were fortunate in the sense that when the Prime Minister's Archives became accessible to a wider circle of researchers in the 1960s and 1970s, some of them were able to take advantage of the new situation. In this sense they were better off than for instance Bulgarian researchers who by the vicissitudes of the time were obliged to limit themselves to Ottoman documents available in their own country. Moreover even though the Cold War and the uprising of 1956 resulted in a separation between those scholars who migrated to western countries and their colleagues who remained in Hungary, connections between certain individuals forming part of these two groups remained relatively close; and scholarly exchanges among Ottomanists benefited as a result. Once again this is significantly different from what occurred in other countries where 'bureaucratic socialism' was established at the time: scholars of the two Germanies for instance mostly behaved in quite a different fashion. To the Ottomanist community of the 1960s and 1970s, the great tax registers (tahrir or tapu tahrir) of the sixteenth century were a favourite source. At least for the Ottoman Balkans (Rumeli, Rumelia), most of Anatolia and parts of the Fertile Crescent, these registers list provinces (vilayet), sub-provinces (liva, sancak) and districts (kaza, nahiye), enumerating the local taxpayers according to their places of residence. Hungarian scholars set about editing and annotating those registers that were relevant to Hungary, sometimes publishing their work in Turkey. Not only Hungarians domiciled in the US or other western countries but even those living in Hungary sometimes availed themselves of this opportunity. 1 For some scholars dealing with these registers became a life's labour and almost an aim in itself: I remember the late Tibor Halasi-Kun who towards the end of his life once said that before all relevant documents had been edited and discussed, it made no sense to embark on more encompassing projects. 2 In focusing on tahrirs Hungarian scholars were in line with contemporary researchers in other countries and especially in Turkey; and Geza David's work on the sub-province of Simontornya even was translated into Turkish. 3

1 Gyula Kaldy-Nagy ed., Kanuni Devri Budin Tahrir Defterleri (1546-1562) (Ankara: Ankara Üniversitesi Dil ve Tarih-Cografya Fakiiltesi, 1971). 2 Tibor Halasi-Kun, "Haram County, and the Ottoman Modava Nahiyesi," Archivum Ottomanicum, IX (1984), pp. 27-90. Further articles on Hungarian counties have appeared in other issues of Archivum Ottomanicum. 3 Géza David, Osmanli Macaristan'inda Toplum, Ekonomi ve Yönetim. 16. Yiizyilda Çimontornya Sancagi (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfi, 1999).

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Monographs on the basis purely of tahrirs after a while get to be limited and limiting. However Hungarian scholars have been adept at finding sources that allow more broadly based work. Sometimes the supplementary sources have been located in the Ottoman archives: thus the registers of appointment to public office, the so-called ru'us defterleri have made it possible to write short but interesting biographies of various governors, particularly those who commanded the capital and fortress of Budin/Buda. Registers of the tax assignments to military men that are known as timars and zeamets are probably not the most attractive of archival sources: but even so they have been mined by Hungarian colleagues for biographical data and promotion patterns.1 But if the truth be told, what makes Hungarian historiography about the Ottoman period especially interesting is the skill with which materials from the Istanbul archives have been combined with non-Ottoman sources of information including archival documents from the Habsburg realm. Some of the latter items date to the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries when the sultans' administration was firmly in place. Others were compiled in the early 1700s, when after the peace of Karlowitz (1699), the officials of Leopold I held inquests to determine population figures as well as future taxes; much of this information was after all based on what peasants chose to remember and report about conditions in the Ottoman period. In addition the archaeology of the late mediaeval and early modern periods is more developed in Hungary than in any other former Ottoman province. 2 Thus admittedly rather scanty records from the sultans' archives concerning the major and minor fortresses dotting the frontier regions have been 'brought to life' by excavation: modest necessities of daily existence including potsherds and remnants of cooking implements have been dated and classified by origin, while elaborate installations that provided water and carried off waste also have been studied in some detail. 3 All this moreover occurred at a time when many archaeologists working for instance in Anatolia were not much concerned with Ottoman finds unless they happened to be of artistic interest.

1 Geza David, "Die Bege von Szigetvär im 16. Jahrhundert," in idem, Studies in the Demographic and Administrative History of Ottoman Hungary (Istanbul: The Isis Press, 1997), pp. 119-42. Geza David and Ipolya Gerelyes, "Ottoman Social and Economic Life Unearthed. An Assessment of Ottoman Archaeological Finds in Hungary," in Studies in Ottoman Social and Economic Life, ed. Raoul Motika, Christoph Herzog and Michael Ursinus (Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag, 1999), pp. 43-79. Ipolya Gerelyes ed., Archaeology of the Ottoman Period in Hungary (Budapest: Hungarian National Museum, 2003); Ipolya Gerelyes ed., Turkish Flowers, Studies on Ottoman Art in Hungary (Budapest: Hungarian National Museum, 2005).

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Another manner of dealing with the limits of Ottoman documents on Hungary was tried only from the 1990s onward, and then only by a few people, namely the study of topics that were relevant to the Empire as a whole, but had only a tenuous connection, or even no connection at all with events in Hungary. Thus Gabor Agoston has built his reputation through his work on warfare and armaments; certainly war-making was ubiquitous in Ottoman Hungary, but his recent book deals with border provinces only in a limited sense. 1 Similarly Pal Fodor has done a good deal of work on Istanbul politics in the late sixteenth century including naval matters, so that studies of 'the Hungarian connection' form only part of his oeuvre. 2 In my view this development is highly positive, as it means that the history of an Ottoman border province is being opened up to the wider world. To put it in a nutshell: by the late 1970s many historians of the Ottoman Empire all over the world had concluded that social and economic history, or for that matter any kind of history could not be based on tahrirs alone. But the Hungarians had a head start in coping with this problem. Given a historical establishment that considered the early modern — and thereby the Ottoman — period an integral part of national history, and furthermore an impressive inclination to devote time and money to research, Hungarian historians were able to initiate cooperation with neighbouring disciplines in a manner that other sub-fields of Ottoman history only achieved at a much later date - if at all. It was probably difficult to convince university deans and promotion committees that the Istanbul archives should be used to answer questions about Ottoman history as a whole and not just about Hungary when ruled by the sultans - but within limits, even that has been achieved. In Hungary historiography on the basis of Ottoman archival material by now has a venerable tradition stretching over a century; and new approaches are being tested exactly because some of the older ones seem to have reached the end of their useful lives.

Greek historians and their use of Ottoman

archives

For Hungarian scholars using the Ottoman archives has become more or less part of the historian's routine. But the situation is rather different in Greece where the number of people reading Ottoman Turkish is still quite 1 Gabor Agoston, Guns for the Sultan, Military Power and the Weapons Industry in the Ottoman Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005). 2 Pal Fodor, "Sultan, Imperial Council, Grand Vizier: Changes in the Ottoman Ruling Elite and the Formation of the Grand Vizieral telhis," Acta Orientalia Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae, 47, 1-2 (1994), 67-85.

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limited. Presumably the conflicts of the twentieth century are mainly to blame: the Turkish War of Independence was fought mainly between Greeks and Turks, the population exchange of 1923 disrupted the lives of many people and in addition the Cyprus conflict, which still has not been solved after more than fifty years, has left a legacy of lasting bitterness on both sides. Scholarly exchanges are now more frequent than they used to be, but much more could be done in this field. In consequence the scholars that pioneered the use of Ottoman documents in Greece are for the most part still alive today: Vassilis Dimitriadis, Elizabeth Zachariadou, John Alexander, and of a younger generation, Evangelia Balta. As for the doyenne of Ottoman studies in Greece, Elizabeth Zachariadou has concentrated on the Byzantine-Ottoman 'transition period' of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries; and this project has made it necessary for the author to study Byzantine, Venetian and Ottoman materials side by side. For the period in question however the most relevant Ottoman archival documents are usually not found in Istanbul, but rather in Greek monastic archives. Located on the Athos but also for instance in the monastery of Saint John the Theologian on the island of Patmos, Ottoman archival material of considerable antiquity is thus available to Greek scholars practically 'on their doorstep'.1 These Ottoman document hoards in Greece are especially valuable as for the most part the Prime Minister's Archives in Istanbul only become substantial in the sixteenth century. These treasures are due to the early contacts of Byzantine monks with the Ottoman sultans. For during the calamities of the 1300s the former soon came to understand that the emperors in Constantinople were no longer able and willing to protect them. As a result quite a few monastic communities submitted to the sultans and were issued documents that assured them of protection in return for the payment of certain taxes. Many of these monastic archives have now been — or are in the process of being — catalogued and edited: a significant advantage as female scholars are not admitted to the Holy Mountain. When it came to finding protection, other monasteries were not slow to discover the strategies that had benefited the Athos communities: thus the foundation known by the name of Margarid in the town of Serres/

1 Elizabeth Zachariadou, "Historical Memory in an Aegean Monastery: St John of Patmos and the Emirate of Menteshe," in The Hospitallers, the Mediterranean and Europe, Festschrift for Anthony Luttrell, ed. by Karl Borchardt, Nicholas Jaspert and Helen J. Nicholson (Aldershot/Hampshire: Ashgate, 2007), pp. 131-37. While Theoharis Stavrides and Dimitris Kastrizis, both young scholars working on the fifteenth century have so far had limited occasion to deal with the Ottoman archives, their promising work should at least be mentioned: The Sultan of Vezirs (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2001) and The Sons of Bayezid. Empire Building and Representation in the Ottoman Civil War of1402-13 (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2007).

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Serrai was issued a sultanic command already by Murad I (r. 1362-89). 1 John Alexander has concentrated on other Ottoman document holdings in Greek monastery archives including the Meteora but also less well-known places such as Voulkanou in Messenia, while Sophia Laiou has studied the archives of a monastery on the island of Lesbos/Midilli. 2 Furthermore while the Manchester dissertation of Eugenia Kermeli on the confiscation of monastic properties by Selim II (r. 1566-74) remains unpublished, she has recently studied the Ottoman archives of Patmos that have also attracted the attention of Elizabeth Zachariadou. 3 A s we are concerned with the use of Ottoman archives, a m o n g Evangelia Balta's many projects it is her work on the tahrir registers covering Greece that is most relevant; she is also one of a small number of Greek scholars to have spent long weeks and months working in Istanbul. One of her major studies concerns the island of Euboa, which before the Ottoman conquest was a Venetian possession. In line with the preoccupations of historians working on this material worldwide, she has tried to answer questions concerning the relationship between population and food supplies. 4 A later publication of hers deals with the Muslim and Christian pious foundations of Serres/Serrai — again as they appear in Ottoman records — and their role in the formation of urban quarters. 5 As for the younger generation of Greek scholars they have 'moved with the times' and given special attention to the registers compiled by the scribes of Ottoman qadis. After all work on the basis of these records, concerning urban history and including micro-historical studies of social relations have been undertaken from Cairo to Sarajevo, wherever Ottoman qadis once officiated. Due to historical vicissitudes often impossible to reconstruct, qadi registers survive in Greek deposits mainly for the island of Crete, the city of ' Evangelia Balta, Les vakifs de Serrés et de sa région (XVe et XVIe s.) (Athens: Centre de Recherches Néo-Helléniques, 1995), pp. 185-203. 2 The Ottoman Empire, the Balkans, the Greek Lands, Studies in Honour of John C. Alexander, ed. by Elias Kolovos, Phokion Kotzageorges, Sophia Laiou and Marinos Sariyannes (Istanbul: The Isis Press, 2007), pp. 9-10; Sophia Laiou, "Alliances and Disputes in the Ottoman Periphery: The Monastery of Leimon (Mytilene) and its Social Environment in the 17 th Century," XIV. Tiirk Tarih Kongresi Ankara: 9-13 Eyltil 2002 Kongreye Sunulan Bildiriler (Ankara: TUrk Tarih Kurumu, 2005), vol. 2, pp. 1391-1401 Eugenia Kermeli, "Vakifs, Consisting of Shares in Ships: hiiccets from the Saint John Theologos Monastery on Patmos," in The Kapudan Pasha. His Office and his Domain, ed. by Elizabeth Zachariadou (Rethymnon: University of Crete Press, 2002), pp. 213-20. The French historians Gilles Veinstein and Nicolas Vatin also have worked on the Patmos archive. On the policies of Selim II with respect to church possessions see: John Alexander (Alexandropoulos), "The Lord Giveth and the Lord Taketh Away: Athos and the Confiscation Affair of 1568-1569," Athonika Symmeikta, 4 Mount Athos in the 14,h-16'h Centuries (1997), 149-200. 4 Evangelia Balta, L'Eubée à la fin du XVe siècle. Économie et population. Les registres de l'année 1474 (Athens: Society of the Study of Euboa, 1989). 5 Balta, Les vakifs de Serrés.

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Salonika and the town of Verroia (Ottoman Karaferye); scattered volumes are available for a few further places in northern Greece as well. In addition a batch of registers from Crete recently have re-emerged in Istanbul and apparently are now in the hands of the Administration of Pious Foundations/Vakiflar idaresi, although there is no telling when they will be made accessible to scholars.1 A major monograph based on the qadi registers, on the lines of what has been done for Bursa, Jerusalem or Ankara has not to my knowledge been written on any town in Greece, at least not in any of the languages that I can read. Even so there is a good deal to report as the scholars who work on these court registers have published quite a bit of their work in English: Antonis Anastasopoulos has focused on local elites in northern Greece on the basis of the Verroia registers of the 1700s, while Eleni Gara has studied these same registers in their seventeenth-century incarnations, with special attention to the debt nexus and the migration of artisans.2 From her work there emerges a provincial society dominated by wealthy Muslim elite figures, quite consonant with the setup in Serrai as reflected in the unique town chronicle of Papa Synadinos; these members of the Ottoman elite were often moneylenders and local villages were indebted to them on a permanent, quasi-institutional basis. But Gara also has brought together Ottoman and Greek sources to highlight the capacity for self-organization shown by many villagers, most famously on the islands but on the mainland as well. 3 Marinos Sariyannis on the other hand has tried to find out something about the 'lower depths' of Istanbul society including the underworld and drug-addicts. Focusing on a city outside Greece but that in the past was home to a sizeable Greek population, Sariyannis' project has made it necessary to use an ingenious combination of narrative and archival documentation.4

Niikhet and Nuri Adiyeke, "Newly Discovered in Turkish Archives: Kadi Registers and Other Documents on Crete," Turcica 32 (2000), 447-63. While Elena Frangakis-Syrett does not work on Ottoman documents, her studies of trade and entrepreneurship in Izmir are so important that one of them must at least be mentioned: Elena Frangakis-Syrett, The Commerce of Smyrna in the Eighteenth Century (1700-1820) (Athens: Centre for Asia Minor Studies, 1992). 2 Antonis Anastasopoulos, "The Mixed Elite of a Balkan Town: Karaferye in the Second Half of the Eighteenth Century," in Provincial Elites in the Ottoman Empire, ed. by Antonis Anastasopoulos (Rethymnon: University of Crete Press, 2005), pp. 259-68; Eleni Gara, "Çuha for the Janissaries - Velençe for the Poor. Competition for Raw Material and Workforce between Salonica and Verria 1600-1650," in Crafts and Craftsmen of the Middle East, Fashioning the Individual in the Muslim Mediterranean, ed. by Suraiya Faroqhi and Randi Deguilhem (London: I. B. Tauris, 2005), pp. 121-52. Paolo Odorico et alii (eds. and translators), Conseils et mémoires de Synadinos prêtre de Serrés en Macedoine (XVIIe siècle) (Paris: Association Pierre Belon, 1996); Eleni Gara, "In Search of Communities in Seventeenth-century Ottoman Sources: The Case of the Kara Ferye District," Turcica, 30 (1998), 135-62. . 4 Marinos Sariyannis, '"Neglected Trades': Glimpses into the 17th Century Istanbul Underworld," Turcica, 38 (2006), pp. 155-79.

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In emphasizing social history Greek researchers working on Ottoman archival documents fit in very well with the trends of historical research current in other parts of the world. While the localities studied are mostly in Greece, there is limited interest in what might be called 'Greek peculiarities'; and as a group, scholars who work on Ottoman documents seem to distance themselves from nationalist discourse. The records used are Ottoman at least for the most part; but the methodology is international.

What a few people can achieve: the use of the Ottoman archives by Polish scholars We will now discuss some of the 'neighbours' of the Ottoman Empire whose historiography has benefited or could benefit f r o m the study of Ottoman archival documents. Compared to Hungary Ottoman studies in Poland have long been something of a poor relation; and once again political factors provide at least a partial explanation. After all the Nazi occupation was both long and extremely destructive. In addition when everything was said and done, the short-lived Ottoman province of Podolia was probably a minor preoccupation for Polish historians, and Kamieniec Podolsk a town of the second order. As a result Polish scholars perhaps did not feel as pressing a need to include Ottoman documents in their discussions of national history. However there were some people who thought otherwise: in spite of the extremely difficult conditions of the 1950s, Jan Reychman and Ananiasz Zajaczkowski came up with a comprehensive study of Ottoman diplomatics that once it had been translated into English, until the appearance of Miibahat Kiitiikoglu's work in 1994 remained the standard work on the subject. Many students preparing for their encounter with Ottoman archival documents in the 1970s and 1980s must have worked their way through it. Furthermore in recent years as Crimean documents have become accessible in sizeable numbers, this work has taken on a new lease of life, as Crimean archival material happened to be the authors' specialty. 1 During those same years, Zygmunt Abrahamowicz also published a catalogue of the Ottoman documents surviving in Polish archives; this collection is so impressive

Jan Reychman and Ananiasz Zajaczkowski, Handbook of Ottoman-Turkish Diplomatics, tr., revised, indexed and ed. by Andrew S. Ehrenkreutz, Fanny Davis and Tibor Halasi-Kun (The Hague, Paris: Mouton, 1968); Miibahat S.Kiitiikoglu, Osmanli Belgelerinin Dili (Diplomatile) (Istanbul: Kubbealti Akademisi Kultur ve Sanat Vakfi, 1994).

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because it goes back to the mid-fifteenth century, a time for which few records survive in Istanbul. 1 But at least where studies intended for an international public were concerned, the real breakthrough came with the work of Dariusz Koiodziejczyk. 2 This author wrote a detailed monograph on relations between the Ottoman Empire and Poland, which were conflictual for a variety of reasons. First of all until the mid-fifteenth century there was competition with the Ottomans over access to the Black Sea and domination over the principality of Moldavia, a struggle which the sultans won and the kings of Poland lost. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries moreover, the constant border incidents between Cossacks and Tatars often strained Ottoman-Polish relations to the breaking point. At the same time by the late 1500s the Ottoman sultans were in a position to declare which candidates for the Polish throne they would or would not accept. It is widely known that Prince Henri of Valois, brother to Charles IX of France allowed himself to be elected king of Poland and then fled the country stante pede when the news of Charles' death reached him: he was enthroned as Henri III, famous from the novels of Alexandre Dumas. Yet it is less well known that this election was due to the fact that the Ottoman side previously had declared that a candidate from the Habsburg dynasty or close to the latter would not receive the sultan's recognition.3 As the Ottoman chancery registers (Miihimme) make abundantly clear, Selim II or more likely his viziers would have preferred a local nobleman. But as they realized that none of the Polish nobles might be able to secure a majority at the Diet, they were willing to settle for a prince from the House of Valois. This is one of the classical examples of the Ottoman archives shedding light on a political conflict in a European country. Dariusz Koiodziejczyk has discussed the difficult history of PolishOttoman relations with a strong emphasis on the structure and genesis of the documents in which they have been recorded; in addition he has done detailed work on the Ottoman tax register of Podolia which was one of the few fullyfledged records of this type to be produced during the seventeenth century.4 For the most part by this period the decline of military tax assignments ( t i m o r ) and the rise of tax farming had made the preparation of elaborate taxpayer 1 Zygmunt Abrahamowicz, Katalog Dokumentów Tureckich, Dokumenti do Dziejów Polski i Krajów Osciennych w Latach 1455-1672 (Warsaw: Polska Akademia Nauk, 1959). 2 Dariusz Koiodziejczyk, Ottoman-Polish Diplomatic Relations (15th-18th Century). An Annotated Edition of 'Ahdnames and Other Documents (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2000). 3 Kemal Beydilli, Die polnischen Konigswahlen und Interregnen von 1572 und 1576 im Lichte osmanischer Archivalien. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der osmanischen Machtpolitik (Munich: Dr Dr Rudolf Trofenik, 1974). 4 Dariusz Koiodziejczyk, Defter-i Mufassal-i Eyalet-i Kamanice. The Ottoman survey register of Podolia (ca. 1681) Text, translation, and commentary 2 vols, (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 2004).

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registers in the established provinces of the Empire into an unnecessary expense. But where new conquests were involved, for example in the Ukraine such records still were being compiled, probably to provide a reliable basis for future tax-farming contracts. Ottoman officialdom thus has left us relatively abundant data on the historical geography of the province: and as Kotodziejczyk's edition includes a translation, it is not even necessary to know either Polish or Ottoman to make use of his work.

Rival empires in a common world: the Venetian stato da mar and its reflections in Ottoman documents Scholars working on Venice are normally so fascinated by the richness of the Archivio di Stato that they will rarely search for outside sources in Istanbul or elsewhere. More profound reasons may be involved as well: for twentieth-century Venetian historians, the loss of Cyprus to Sultan Selim II demonstrates the unpalatable fact that in the later 1500s, Venice definitely had become a second-rate power. Ottoman historians will sympathize: after all we are also still struggling against the use of 'Ottoman decline' as an explanatory device for whatever a given historian thinks needful of explaining. As for nonspecialists particularly in the Turkish context, one of the first questions they will ask an early modernist inevitably concerns 'the beginnings of decline in the Ottoman Empire'. Ironically as far the historiography is concerned the Ottoman polity and Venice seem to have suffered a common fate. A fascination with the 'decline theme' can be an impediment to research: at least I sometimes wonder whether historians' concern with 'the decline of Venice' has not been the reason why in spite of the rich documentation on the Ottomans that we find in the Venetian archives, Ottoman history for a long time has been such a stepchild of historians working out of Italy. At present this situation may be changing, but even now the works by Italian scholars on Ottoman themes are very limited in number. As we are here concerned with the use of archival sources prepared by the sultans' officials, some of the pioneer work done by Maria Pia Pedani Fabris unfortunately remains outside our purview: for quite often she has focused on Venetian records that shed light on Ottoman affairs. 1 Even so her work on the Ottoman documents in the Venetian archives has greatly added to our understanding of the long and complicated relationship between the two polities. 2

1 Maria Pia Pedani Fabris, In nome del Gran Signore, Inviati ottomani a Venezia dalla caduta di Costantinopoli alla guerra di Candia (Venezia: Deputacione Editrice, 1994). 2 Maria Pia Pedani Fabris, / "Documenti turchi" dell'Archivio di Stato di Venezia (Roma: Ministero per i beni culturali e ambientali, Ufficio centrale per i beni archivistici, 1994).

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Furthermore four recent studies on the conquests of Cyprus (1570-73) and Crete (1645-69) both 'crown jewels' of the Venetian colonial empire, have shown that it is a mistake to underestimate the Ottoman archives and neglect the perspectives of sultans and viziers.1 Vera Costantini's study of the Cyprus conflict is noteworthy for its attempt to coordinate the sources produced by Ottomans and Venetians. Remarkably enough, although the Venetian archives are otherwise so comprehensive, the conqueror Lala Mustafa Pa§a and his officials seem to have searched in vain for taxation-relevant documents left by their predecessors. Maybe such records had never been prepared; for the Venetians in their colonies did not produce general surveys akin for instance to the Florentine Catasto of the 1400s. Or else the relevant registers had been lost during the sieges of Nicosia and Famagusta, or even carried away by one or the other escapee. However Vera Costantini has analyzed a register of prisoners in the Ottoman archives relevant to the conquest of Nicosia and listing over ten thousand captives. 2 She also has located documents that demonstrate that the Venetians did not totally disappear from the island once the conquest was completed: certainly the governing cadres were either killed in the fighting or else fled if they had a chance. But individual merchants returned once the war was over and the sultan's administration continued to employ some of them as tax farmers and especially administrators of saltpans. Presumably these men were expected to provide some continuity in methods of taxation. Costantini's statements concerning the "vocazione marittima e commerciale" of Cyprus confirm the findings of Molly Greene's work on post-conquest Crete. Both authors have studied their respective topics from an overarching Mediterranean perspective and concluded that in spite of their conflicts, the Venetian thalassocratia and the land-based Ottoman Empire both were part of a shared early modern world. From the late 1600s onward if we follow Greene's account — and beginning in the late 1500s if we adopt Costantini's perspective — this 'ancien régime' lost ground against more 'modern' polities: the French who bought olive oil in the ports of Crete and the English who competed with the Venetians in the late sixteenth-century eastern Mediterranean, dealing in valuable cloth but also in everyday goods

1 Molly Greene, A Shared World. Christians and Muslims in the Early Modern Mediterranean (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000); Ersin Giilsoy, Girit 'in Fethi ve Osmanli ìdaresinin Kurulmasi (Istanbul: Tarih ve Tabiat Vakfi, 2004). A. Niikhet Adiyeke, Nuri Adiyeke, Fethinden Kaybina Girit (Istanbul: Babiali Kultiir Yayincihgi, 2006). Vera Costantini's study of the conquest of Cyprus is forthcoming. 2 Vera Costantini, "Destini di guerra. L'inventario ottomano dei prigionieri di Nicosia (settembre 1570)," Studi Veneziani, N.S. XLV (2003), pp. 229-41.

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such as raisins, of major importance as a sweetener at a time when sugar was still very expensive. 1 For Ersin Gulsoy by contrast the Ottomans are the major topic: his work is concerned with the events and logistics of the Cretan campaigns and the manner in which the island was governed once the rule of the sultan had been established; the Adiyekes in addition have paid special attention to the psychological impact of this 'late' conquest upon the self-image of the Ottoman elite. Interestingly 'campaign studies' are not very common in Turkish historiography in spite of the popular interest in the Ottomans as conquerors. In addition both Gulsoy and his Greek colleague Elias Kolovos from the University of Crete have studied the Cretan tahrir of 1670-71. This enterprise took the place of an earlier registration dated to the year 1650, which had been much closer to the 'classical' Ottoman practice of estimating the productivity of peasants who held — or often did not hold — a full or half f a r m s t e a d . 2 By contrast the tahrir of 1670-71 was concerned with the productivity of individual pieces of land and no longer with its cultivators; it was moreover based on the assumption that local peasants and other private persons - but not the Ottoman state - were the owners of the island's arable. This novel departure was justified by the argument that the new arrangement conformed more closely to the tenets of Islamic jurists. All these matters are of course 'purely domestic' to the Ottoman Empire and the element of contact with the outside world — Venetian or other — is completely absent here. However Ottoman-Venetian relationships and more particularly, the conditions under which subjects of the Signoria could do business on Ottoman territory are once again in focus when we study the ahidnames (in European parlance: capitulations) issued by Ottoman sultans. In the same way interempire relations are fore-grounded in the ecnebi defterleri\ these registers consist of the responses that the sultans' officials made to requests by the Venetian ambassador or balyoz as he was often called in Ottoman documents. 3 The ecnebi defterleri survive for the 1600s; whether earlier examples were ever compiled remains unknown. For the historian concerned with the position of Venice on the 'international' scene the latter registers are particularly precious: for as Costantini has noted Ottoman documents addressed to the Doge or the resident ambassador closely reflected the political 1 Maria Fusaro, Uva passa, una guerra commerciale tra Venezia e I'Inghilterra (1540-1640) (Venice: II Cardo, 1996). Elias Kolovos, "Beyond 'Classical' Ottoman Defterology: A Preliminary Assessment of the Tahrir Registers of 1670-71 concerning Crete and the Aegean Islands," in The Ottoman Empire, the Balkans, the Greek Lands, pp. 201-236. 3 Hans Theunissen, "Ottoman-Venetian Diplomatics: The ahidnames. The Historical Background and the Development of a Category of Political-Diplomatic Instruments together with an Annotated Edition of a Corpus of Relevant Documents," Ph D dissertation, Utrecht, 1991. (Only available on the Internet); compare also Daniel Goffman, The Ottoman Empire and Early Modern Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002).

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'climate' of the time. Depending upon circumstances the Venetians might be described as 'perfidious' or alternatively as faithful allies of the sultans. 1 If we keep in mind how central the relationship with the Ottoman sultan was for Venetian trade and indeed for the survival of the Republic, it does not make sense to limit ourselves to what the Signoria had to say on the matter. Even if the Ottoman documentation often is silent on issues that most interest the present-day historian, what it does say is frequently remarkable and must be taken into account.

In conclusion What has this discussion shown us? To begin with a few obvious points: at least where the early modern period is concerned, the Ottoman archives do not reflect relations with China, Japan or Moghul India, to say nothing of the Americas. However they do have a great deal to tell us on Ottoman provinces that later became independent states, and in this paper we have only given a very rough sketch of the studies undertaken in this domain and by implication the possibilities that can be explored in the future. Moreover where Venice, Poland, Portugal and other empires of the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries are involved, Ottoman archival records also make a substantive contribution to historical knowledge; most of this material is located in Istanbul, but rich deposits of Ottoman documents in Venetian, Habsburg, French or Polish archives and sometimes libraries also have a good deal to offer. Whether historians have made use of these sources, and if so to what extent certainly always has depended on political conjunctures; even physical access to the archives often was only possible when the relevant states maintained reasonably good relations. But now that nationalism and the national state are regarded with a degree of scepticism at least among intellectuals, and students can learn to read Ottoman documents at major American universities, there is some reason for guarded optimism. In this paper we have argued that researchers whose focus is not Turkey should take cognizance of the Ottoman archives. However this statement does not stand on its own but is part of a broader discourse: Salih Ózbaran the major connoisseur of Portuguese archives in Turkey has recently made a forceful point that Turkish scholars need to get interested in the history of Basra, today in located in Iraq, but also should follow developments in early

Vera Costantini "Contemptible unbelievers" or "loyal friends"? Notes on the many ways the Ottomans named Venetians in the 16th century," in Matthias Kappler ed., "In and around Turkic Literatures," forthcoming.

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modern Yemen and India. Of course in the case of Turkish researchers, such an interest will be sparked by the Ottoman-Portuguese rivalry in the Indian Ocean during the early sixteenth century. Yet it is Ozbaran's main point that this cannot be the whole story. After all, the world is wider than even the Ottoman Empire at the time of its greatest expansion; and this fact should be taken into account by Ottomanist historians as well. 1 Historical work always is connected to present concerns and doubtless current trends in the world, such as the presence of Turkish firms on Russian or German markets form the backdrop against which this re-orientation of historical research on the Ottomans is taking place. As Turkish firms become players in the world market, the horizons of Ottomanist historians have also expanded. But just as religious scholars of the past were warned to keep their distances from sultans and viziers lest they be corrupted by the temptations of power, we also need to tread warily when asked to draw connections of Ottoman situations with present-day problems — although publishers like us to do just that when they try to sell our books. An examination of eighteenthcentury documents in Istanbul archives on Mosul, Baghdad or Basra has a great deal to offer historians, but in most cases it is doubtful whether these records can shed much light on the present-day problems of that ancient and unfortunate country. Ottomanists now are invited to discover the wider world, with special emphasis on non-western countries, while historians dealing with Russia or Greece will be well advised to consult the Ottoman archives. All this needs to be done calmly, deliberately and not in haste, and with respect for the peculiarities of each type of document - yet without falling into the trap of 'document fetichism'. 2 Rather a tall order...

1 2

Salih Ozbaran, Yemen 'den Basra 'ya Sinirdaki Osmanh (Istanbul: Kitap Yayinevi, 2003). This term has been coined by Halil Berktay, of Sabanci University, Istanbul.

PRESENTING THE SULTANS' POWER, GLORY AND PIETY: A COMPARATIVE PERSPECTIVE

In the Ottoman context, certain personages, buildings and events may be regarded as emblematic of sultanic power and legitimacy, and the manner in which these were viewed by contemporaries will occupy us in the present paper. We will discuss, in a comparative perspective, a number of accounts that Ottoman Muslims and non-Muslims, but also non-Ottoman authors have given of these people, structures and ceremonies. The period to be covered begins in the mid-sixteenth century, when the mature Sultan Siileyman was on the throne, and ends with the deposition of Ahmed III in 1730. By means of comparison we hope to bring out those features of sultanic self-assertion and legitimization that authors from different political and cultural environments have regarded in divergent ways, but also those personages and manifestations that were viewed by otherwise very different authors in rather a similar light. We will thus be concerned with the divides instituted by religion, and also by the struggles of rival empires and kingdoms. But that is by no means the whole story: we will also try to understand how across these barriers, the Ottoman ruling elites managed to establish certain lines of communication. At least indirectly such a comparative approach will permit us to determine whether, and if applicable to what extent, the image that the sultans projected, largely with their own officials and — perhaps — their subjects in mind, managed to cross the Ottoman borders. To what extent was it diffused, in France and elsewhere, and what features were most amenable to 'exportation'? In the long run we will have to ask ourselves to what extent contrary types of discourse, current in the European context or perhaps also among Ottoman non-Muslims, impeded the reception of the 'signals' that the sultans and their entourages sent out to convey to the world at large the message of sultanic power, glory and piety. But the study of these impediments will have to be part of a future project. Our undertaking is beset with quite a few complications. A major difficulty is connected to the fact that we need to pose the question, which frequently remains unanswered, to what extent the writings we wish to analyze represent the reasoned opinions of their authors. Both among Ottoman and among non-Ottoman writers of the early modern period, it was acceptable practice to take over passages written by one's predecessors, and it was not

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always considered necessary to acknowledge this fact. 1 Convenience apart, there were several reasons for doing so: as change of all kinds was often valued negatively, associated with 'corruption' of one sort or another, certain authors might decide to highlight what they considered the most permanent and enduring features of any given empire or province. As these would have been noted already by their predecessors, it would have acceptable to copy the writings of the latter. 2 In addition there was the prestige attached to the 'great names' of the past; thus we may assume that a Moroccan traveller visiting Istanbul thought that such quotations added lustre to his own account. 3 Unfortunately the motivations that in the Ottoman world induced a given author to copy from his predecessors in one instance and to refrain from doing so in another have rarely been studied. Even worse, as there are relatively few critical editions available, the unwary reader may be unable to recognize the 'borrowings' in the text that he/she is studying. When it comes to the reasons that prompted European writers to copy from their respective predecessors our information is not much better. Once again very few among the travellers and embassy personnel who have written about the early modern Middle East are accessible in critical editions, and we are often hard put to figure out which texts have been copied from where. 4 Sometimes quotations f r o m the Bible, ancient authors and scholarly predecessors were added to a manuscript during the final editing process in order to establish the author's credentials and help him steer his work through the bureaus of mistrustful censors. In other cases it may have been quite difficult for people with a humanistic training to admit that a famed author of antiquity might be wrong. They might thus copy from their predecessors not because they were totally convinced, but simply because they could not bring themselves to make a statement that, empirically true though it might be, yet

1 On Evliya Qelebi's practices in this respect see Megkure Eren, Evliya Qelebi Seyahatnamesi Birinci Cildinin Kaynaklari Uzerinde bir Ara§ttrma (Istanbul: no publisher, 1960), passim. 2 Gottfried Hagen, "Uberzeitlichkeit und Geschichte in Katib Celebis Gihanniima," Archivum Ottomanicum, 14 (1995-96), 133-60. 3 Abou-l-Hasan Ali ben Mohammed Et-Tamgrouti, [Al-Tanxghrflti], En-najhat el-miskiya fi-ssifarat et-Tourkiya, Relation d'une ambassade marocaine en Turquie 1589-1591, tr. and notes by Henry de Castries (Paris: Paul Geuthner, 1929), p. VIII. 4 Where such editions are lacking an article or monograph may be helpful. Compare Annemieke Versteeg, "'Zich te bedienen van den arbeid van anderen'. Bronnen voor de beschrijving van Turkije," in "Ik hadde de nieusgierigheid", De reizen door het Nabije Oosten van Cornelis de Bruijn (ca. 1652-1727) (Leiden, Leeuwen: Ex Oriente Lux and Peeters, 1997), pp. 71-82. Versteeg has established that the well-known artist Cornelis de Bruyn is only original when it comes to his imagery and the data taken from his diary. Without acknowledgment of any kind the artist had copied all other information from his predecessors.

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might lower their own credibility among their fellow scholars. 1 Moreover then as now, copying must have been the easiest manner of producing a text, and one must never underestimate the force of sheer laziness. Given these difficulties it is our only consolation that sorting out the unacknowledged quotations may not really be all that indispensable to our project: in a good many though certainly not in all cases, the authors who did the copying will have agreed with the statements that they copied. So much for the intentions of the writers, but how were these embassy reports, travel accounts and chronicles received by their respective reading publics? After all since we are here concerned with the effects of written texts upon communication among sultanic and royal courts, the problem of reception is key. However in several of the cases studied, our knowledge about readers and listeners is non-existent or at the least, decidedly unsatisfactory. We know for instance that Evliya £elebi was little read before the Tanzimat period, when all at once, the interest and originality of his work was recognized, and with time he even became something of a culture hero. As to the other Ottoman authors used here, observations concerning their readership are for the most part completely lacking. Nor is the situation a great deal better with respect to the European sources we are planning to investigate. But at least we can say that the relazioni to be discussed were not among the best-known of their kind, as in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, they were not diffused by copying into manuscripts and distribution to libraries. In consequence they were inaccessible to the scholars who during the second half of the nineteenth century, published only those texts that survived in book form. 2 However in their time all relazioni were read before the highest Venetian authorities, so that they had an impact collectively even if not much can be said about the readership of a particular report. In the present context, it is not possible to discuss the reception even of key sources; but it is still worth keeping in mind that we will need to deal with this issue in the future. Yet in spite of this and other problems there is a good reason for undertaking the present project none the less. For anybody who has read embassy reports surely has noted that in spite of religious, linguistic and cultural differences, Ottoman courtiers and European diplomats in most instances were quite capable of mutually understanding the meaning of

Frédéric Tinguely, L'écriture du Levant à la Renaissance (Geneva: Droz, 2000), pp. 73-88 shows how Pierre Belon du Mans went through all sorts of intellectual and stylistic contortions when he found himself in this position. 2 On the manner in which these texts were composed and distributed, compare Donald E. Queller, "The Development of Ambassadorial Relazioni", in Renaissance Venice, ed. by J. R. Hale (London: Faber & Faber, 1973), pp. 174-96.

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diplomatic gestures. 1 In these matters, comprehension seems to have been the norm and misunderstanding the exception: and quite often, what was declared a misunderstanding in reality was nothing but a diplomatic ploy. It is therefore necessary to figure out whether there existed common assumptions that made it possible to communicate across political, religious and linguistic dividing lines. Our study will proceed in three stages. In the first, we will compare the characterizations of Sultans Siileyman the Magnificent, Murad IV and Ahmed III by some of their Ottoman, Venetian and French contemporaries. Among the Ottomans, Evliya (,'elebi, Abdi and §em'dani-zade Siileyman Efendi will be accorded pride of place: they have been chosen mainly because they are relatively prolix when it comes to personal comments, which is not necessarily true of all Ottoman authors. 2 As to the Europeans, we will concentrate on some of the less well-known relazioni by Venetian ambassadors and for Ahmed III, focus on the extensive comments by the French ambassador the marquis de Bonnac. 3 In the second section we will be concerned with a building that has attracted much attention among Muslims and non-Muslims alike, and that under the name 'the Blue Mosque' is still a favourite with tourists, namely the great complex constructed by Sultan Ahmed I. Here we will discuss an account by Ca'fer Efendi, a member of the household of the Chief Architect who designed this complex, and also a description by Evliya. For the testimony of a scholarly Ottoman non-Muslim concerning this last example of the 'classical' sultans' foundations, we will include the late eighteenthcentury text by P. Gugas (or Gugios) Inciciyan. As a seventeenth-century

1 For some good examples compare Christian Windier, "Diplomatic History as a Field for Cultural Analysis: Muslim-Christian Relations in Tunis, 1700-1840," The Historical Journal, 44,1 (2001), 79-106. 2 For a general discussion of Evliya's life and work, that includes the evidence found after Cavit Baysun's pioneering work, compare Evliya (Jelebi, Evliya Qelebi in Diyarbekir, ed. and tr. by Martin van Bruinessen et alii (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1988), pp. 3-12. Evliya had not encountered Siileyman in person, even though he claimed that his father had attended the last campaign of this ruler (died in Szigetvar in 1566) and was respectfully listened to by Murad IV: Evliya £elebi b Dervi§ Mehemmed Zilli, Evliya f e l e b i Seyahatnamesi, Topkapi Sarayi Bagdat 304 Yazmasinin Transkripsyonu -Dizini, vol. 1, ed. by Orhan §aik Gòkyay and Yiicel Dagli (Istanbul: Yapi Kredi Yayinlari, 1995), p. 98. See also Abdi, 1730 Patrona Halil ihtilàli hakkinda bir Eser. Abdi Tarihi, ed. by Faik Re§at Unat (Ankara: Tiirk Tarih Kurumu, 1943) and §em'danl-zade Findikhli Siileyman Efendi, §em'dànt:zàde Findikldi Siileyman Efendi Tarihi MUr'i't-tevàrih ed. Miinir Aktepe, 2 vols. (Istanbul: Istanbul Ùniversitesi Edebiyat Fakiiltesi, 1976, 1978), vol. I. 3

Maria Pia Pedani Fabris, ed., Relazioni di ambasciatori veneti al Senato, vol. XIV Costantinopoli, Relazioni inedite (1512-1780) (Padua: Aldo Ausilio—Bottega di Erasmo, 1996). This book being rather difficult to find, I am very grateful to Professor Pedani Fabris for letting me have a copy. See also Jean-Louis Dusson, marquis de Bonnac, Mémoire historique sur l'Ambassade de France à Constantinople, ed. and introduced, by Charles Schefer (Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1894).

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European author who has commented on the very same building, we will highlight the description by the French traveller Jean Thevenot. 1 In the third section of our study, we will discuss the processions that formed part of Ottoman court life, be they the visits of sultans to the mosque on Fridays, or parades on the occasion of other, less frequent ceremonies such as the circumcisions of princes. Of course these solemn progresses were only a small part of the entire circumcision festivities, as the latter involved rejoicings both on specially chosen festival sites and, away from the public gaze, within the palace itself. Yet we will focus on processions as opposed to other events, as they have been described by many people, local Muslims and non-Muslims as well as foreigners. 2 As a result our sources on these ceremonies are truly multifarious: as a particularly well-studied example, there is the text in which a writer known only by his pen-name of Intizami has described the parade celebrating the circumcision of Prince Mehmed, later Mehmed III. 3 Among eighteenth-century chroniclers, Mehmed Ra§id has included an account of an equally elaborate and luxurious event, namely one of the processions celebrating the simultaneous circumcisions of the four sons of Ahmed III. 4 Among non-Muslim writers on Ottoman processions Rabi Moysen Almosnino, who apparently was close to the court of Selim II, has authored a most interesting text, describing the entry of this ruler into his capital. 5 From a slightly later period, namely the reign of Murad III, the diary of the Königsberg (today: Kaliningrad) apothecary Reinhold Lubenau is full of

See [Ca'fer Efendi], annotation and tr. by Howard Crane, Risâle-i mVmâriyye, an Earlyseventeenth-century Ottoman Treatise on Architecture (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1987) and Jean Thévenot, Voyage du Levant, ed. and introduced by Stéphane Yérasimos (Paris: Maspéro, 1980), pp. 6-9. It is rather a pity that the seventeenth-century Armenian writer Eremya Çelebi Komùrciiyan, who also wrote a description of Istanbul, barely mentions the Sultan Ahmed mosque: Eremya Çelebi Komùrciiyan, Istanbul Tarihi, XVII. Asirda Istanbul, tr. and commentary by Hrand Andreasyan (Istanbul: Istanbul Ùniversitesi Edebiyat Fakiiltesi, 1952), p. 4. Thus we have to resort to a much later text: P. G[ugas| înciciyan, XVIII. Asirda Istanbul, tr. and commentary by Hrand Andreasyan (Istanbul: Istanbul Fethi Dernegi istanbul Enstitiisii, 1956), p. 39. 9 For the processions connected with the accessions and funerals of rulers, the major study is now Nicolas Vatin and Gilles Veinstein, Le sérail ébranlé (Paris: Fayard, 2003), passim. On the processions of gift-bearing ambassadors to congratulate a sultan upon his accession see Zeynep Tanm Ertug, XVI. Yiizyil Osmanh Devleti'nde Cuius ve Cenaze Torenleri (Ankara: T. C. Kiiltiir Bakanligi, 1999), pp. 86-87. 3 Several versions survive, one of which, today in Vienna, has been published by Gisela Prohazka-Eisl, ed., Das Surname-i Humayun, Die Wiener Handschrift in Transkription, mit Kommentar und Indices versehen (Istanbul: The Isis Press, 1995). 4 Mehmed Ra§id, Tarih-i Ra$id, 5 vols. (Istanbul: Matba'a-yi amire, 1282/1865-66) vol. 5, pp. 214-72; vol. 6 is by Çelebizade Efendi. For relevant Ottoman miniatures see Esin Atil, Ijivrii and the Surname, The Story of an Eighteenth-century Ottoman Festival (Istanbul: Koçbank, 1999). 5 Rabi Moysen Almosnino, Extremos y grandezas de Constantinopla, tr by Iacob Cansino (Madrid: Francisco Martinez, 1638), pp. 55-64. Not knowing Ladino, I am dependent on this partial translation into Spanish.

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worthwhile details; the author evidently had the leisure to enjoy the sights of Istanbul, including festivities of all kinds. 1 As a seventeenth-century example, we will discuss the impressions of sultanic processions recorded in his diary by Antoine Galland, the first translator of the mediaeval tales which became known to later generations as the Arabian nights. 2 From the eighteenth century moreover there survives an account by a Venetian ambassador in Istanbul, who witnessed a procession of the court of Ahmed III in honour of the Prophet's birthday and another parade forming part of the wedding festivities of three princesses (1724). 3 At the end of our analysis we will examine how the perception of emblematic rulers, buildings and events might give rise to a common language of gestures, and how, admittedly within limits, lines of communication between courts and elites were kept open across religious, linguistic and political boundaries.

Heroic or sedentary: SUleyman the Magnificent, Murad IV and Ahmed III in Ottoman testimonies In Ottoman bureaucratic tradition, the figure that most vividly symbolized Ottoman rule was doubtless Stileyman the Magnificent. Conditions prevailing under this ruler were regarded as standing for all that was best in the Ottoman state only a short time after his death in 1566, and to some extent, even within SUleyman's lifetime. During the early years of his reign, after the conquest of Rhodes and then of the kingdom of Hungary within the span of a few years, some authors close to the Ottoman court voiced the belief that Stileyman might well be the eschatological ruler destined to conquer the whole world for Islam. 4 Even to those who did not totally share these high hopes, it probably seemed that at least the addition of Vienna and/or parts of Italy to the Ottoman lands could be expected in the near future. Into this context also belongs the well-known golden helmet that the Grand [Reinhold Lubenau,], Beschreibung der Reisen des Reinhold Lubenau, ed. and introduced by W. Sahm (Königsberg/ Kaliningrad: Ferdinand Beyers Buchhandlung, 1912 and 1915). Further interesting details can be derived from the description sent to Venice by the special ambassador who came to express the Signoria's congratulations at the 1582 circumcision of Prince Mehmed, later Mehmed III: Pedani Fabris ed., Relazioni, pp. 266-68. 2

Antoine Galland, Voyage à Constantinople (1672-1673), ed. by Charles Schefer, new preface by Frédéric Bauden (Paris: Maisonneuve and Larose, reprint 2002), pp. 117-20. 3 Pedani Fabris ed., Relazioni, pp. 864-70. 4 On the writings of Mevlana Isa, an important source for such views, see Barbara Flemming, "Sahib-kiran und Mahdi: Türkische Endzeiterwartungen im ersten Jahrzehnt der Regierung Siileymans," in György Kara ed., Between the Danube and the Caucasus (Budapest: The Academy of Sciences, 1987), pp. 43-62 and Cornell H. Fleischer, "The Lawgiver as Messiah: The Making of the Imperial Image in the Reign of Siileyman", in Gilles Veinstein ed., Soliman le Magnifique et son temps, Actes du Colloque de Paris, Galeries Nationales du Grand Palais, 710 mars 1990 (Paris: La Documentation Française, 1992), pp. 159-78.

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Vizier Pargali Ibrahim Pa§a ordered for his ruler in Venice, and which was paraded on sultanic campaigns. After all, the resemblance to the papal tiara is too close to be entirely fortuitous. 1 But as Suleyman the Magnificent grew older, and no further conquests in central Europe had materialized, the notion of the 'Lawgiver as Messiah' was given up. Now there emerged the more sober view of the sultan as the protector of Sunni 'right belief' against Shiite 'heretics'. 2 Moreover in spite of the veneration accorded to Sultan Suleyman, Ottoman authors even of the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries were by no means uncritical of certain goings-on at his court, including the prominent role allotted to his wife Hurrem Sultan. 3 If there is any basis to Evliya's claim that his father, the court goldsmith Dervi§ Mehmed Zilli, had known the Suleymanic age, it would have been this set of images, mainly laudatory but not entirely uncritical, to which Evliya was introduced in his youth. Murad IV was so important to Evliya because of his success in war. In recent years there have been acrimonious disputes about the extent to which Ottoman rulers of the fourteenth century and their soldiers viewed themselves as gazis, that is, as warriors doing battle for the expansion of the Muslim faith. 4 Whatever the outcome of this discussion, there is no doubt at all that from the later fifteenth century onwards, the quality of gazi was an essential ingredient of the image that Ottoman writers projected. Moreover almost two centuries later, Evliya £elebi cordially agreed with them. Thus Sultan Murad is depicted as having gained major victories over the 'heretic' Kizilba§, although from Evliya's account, it is clear that by the seventeenth century the religious differences between Sunnis and Shiites were less important than the political rivalry between the two rulers involved. In this respect, Evliya's stories thus reflect the ideals, rather than the realities, of his time. However our author does seem to have had some qualms over the absence of any visible commitment on the part of Murad IV to war against the 'infidels'. This explains why he has added a chapter on a projected campaign against Malta, for which the author claims a mighty armada had already been

Otto Kurz, "A Gold Helmet Made in Venice for Sulayman the Magnificent," in idem, The Decorative Arts of Europe and the Middle East (London: The Dorian Press, 1977), pp. 249-58; see also Giilru Necipoglu, "Siileyman the Magnificent and the Representation of Power in the Context of Ottoman-Habsburg-Papal Rivalry," The Art Bulletin, LXXI, 3 (1989), 401-27. 2

The expression 'The Lawgiver as Messiah' comes from Fleischer, "The Lawgiver as Messiah"; on the Siileymaniye mosque as a monument to victory over Shiite 'heretics', see Giilru Necipoglu-Kafadar, "The Siileymaniye Complex in Istanbul: an Interpretation," Muqarnas, III (1986), 92-117. 3 Leslie Peirce, The Imperial Harem, Women and Sovereignty in the Ottoman Empire (New York, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), pp. 84-86. 4 Cemal Kafadar, Between Two Worlds, The Construction of the Ottoman State (Berkeley, Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1995), pp. 10-11 and elsewhere.

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constructed. In all probability a parallel was here to be established with Sultan Siileyman, one of whose last undertakings was a campaign against the Knights of St John that had come quite close to succeeding. 1 On this supposed project of Murad IV's, there seems to be little other evidence, but according to Evliya, the Spanish and the Maltese, with fear in their hearts, had already offered important concessions. However as the author himself put it, the sultan's death preventing the campaign, by God's inscrutable will there was not much to show for the enormous amount of money and effort spent on a great campaign of shipbuilding. But as our traveller had the opportunity to observe Murad IV at close quarters, he also stressed some less political features that marked this ruler out as a special personage. One of them was the sultan's skill as a marksman. Even more unusual was the young padigah's extraordinary physical strength, which he demonstrated by his prowess in various sports including wrestling. In this context of royal self-assertion and without any transition, Evliya also mentioned the fact that Murad IV had a large number of people executed. 2 But although the sultan was probably long dead by the time of writing, Evliya refrained from any adverse comments on what he himself called the ruler's being 'thirsty for blood' (hunhar). Although he did not explain the reasons for his attitude, it may well be that after the disorders of the previous decades, the re-establishment of the ruler's authority was paramount in his eyes, and the means employed to this end a secondary issue. 3 In addition Evliya has also left us a description of Murad IV in the circle of his courtiers, including, apart from the former Safavid commander Emirgune-oglu Yusuf Pa§a, the author himself as a young man. Here we encounter the otherwise fearsome ruler not only listening to jokes and witticisms, in which even personal innuendo was not taboo. 4 All this was taken in good part by the sultan, who according to Evliya once smiled at an obvious allusion to his bloodthirstiness. 5 If these stories have even a slight basis in fact, it would seem that the aloofness and immobility of the sultan during his public appearances were not necessarily observed on less formal occasions. According to the article 'Malta' in the Encyclopedia of Islam (EI), 2nd edition, there was a second siege in 1614 and several plans to repeat the attempt in the second half of the seventeenth century. However Ettore Rossi, the author of this article, makes no mention of a rejected siege in the late 1630s. Evliya Çelebi, Evliya Çelebi Seyahatnâmesi, vol. 1, ed. Gôkyay, 1995, p. 105. 3 This positive opinion was shared by at least one Christian subject of the sultan. Compare [Papa Synadinos of Serres], Conseils et mémoires de Synadinos prêtre de Serrés en Macédoine (XVIIe siècle), ed. tr. and commented by Paolo Odorico, with S. Àsdrachas, T. Karanastassis, K. Kostis and S. Petmézas (Paris: Association "Pierre Belon", 1996), pp. 94-95. 4 Evliya Çelebi, Evliya Çelebi Seyahatnâmesi, vol. 1, ed. Gôkyay, p. 103. ^ Evliya Çelebi, Evliya Çelebi Seyahatnâmesi, vol. 1, ed. Gôkyay, 1995, p. 105.

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Stileyman and Murad IV were both active politicians and military commanders; the same was not however true of Ahmed III (r. 1703-1730), who is remembered rather because of changes in palace culture due to an increased interest in the decorative arts of France and Italy.1 Therefore we will here concentrate not on the ruler by himself, but rather upon the interaction between him and his grand vizier Nev§ehirli Damad Ibrahim Pa§a, who held the grand vizierate for over a decade and dominated the political and diplomatic life of the 1720s. In 1730 however, this association between sultan and vizier came to an end. A band of soldiers rebelled, found support among certain men of religion and also among a large part of the Istanbul populace, exasperated by the costly festivals of the court and the non-occurrence of a long-projected campaign against Iran, prepared at great cost to the local artisans. 2 Ibrahim Pa§a along with his two sons-in-law was executed when the sultan, ultimately in vain, attempted to protect his throne; Ahmed III himself was forced to abdicate a short while later. One of the texts to concern us here is a speech in which the ruler before retiring to a remote part of the palace, supposedly gave topical advice to his successor Mahmud I (r. 1730-1754). Whether such a speech was ever pronounced or not is a minor issue in the present context. Recorded in two primary sources, one of them authored by a person who was probably an eyewitness to at least some of the confused events of 1730, it was not a more or less timeless piece of advice of the kind so often found in Ottoman political writing. To the contrary, Abdi listed the mistakes which in his way of thinking, had brought the sultan to his present predicament. 3 A further evaluation of the merits and demerits of Sultan Ahmed and Ibrahim Pa§a can be found in the chronicle of §em'dani-zade Siileyman Efendi from the Istanbul quarter of Findikh, whose father was, in a minor way, involved in the events of 1730.4 The first piece of advice given to Sultan Mahmud according to Abdi concerned the necessity that the ruler retain firm control of his grand vizier. For this reason he was to avoid keeping one and the same person in office for ten or fifteen years. Of course this was being wise after the event, as Ibrahim Pa§a, recently killed under more than usually distressing circumstances, had been maintained in office for more than a decade. §em'dani-zade concurred with this assessment; as he put it, Mehmed the Conqueror and Siileyman the Magnificent had both been served by grand viziers whom they kept in office ' For a monograph on the troubles marking the end of Ahmed Ill's reign, see Miinir Aktepe, Patrona isyam (Istanbul: Istanbul Universitesi Edebiyat Fakiiltesi, 1958). 2 Aktepe, Patrona isyaru, pp. 95-102. ^ Abdi, 1730, p. 42; compare also Aktepe, Patrona isyaru, p. 156. 4

§em'dfini-zade, §em'dani-zade

Findiklih Siileyman Efendi Tarihi, vol. 1, pp. 11-13,44.

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for lengthy periods of time, but both had ended up executing their former favourites. Never at a loss for a telling phrase the author reminded his readers that even water, the source of all life, rapidly spoiled if not kept flowing. 1 The new sultan was urged to take the reins of government into his own hands, and "not trust other people". 2 However this did not mean that he should not accept advice; to the contrary, he was to consort with old and experienced men, always praying to God for protection from unworthy servitors. In what may have been a bit of self-promotion on the part of the author, Sultan Mahmud was also told to keep in mind that the historians of former reigns could teach him useful lessons. Both Abdi and §em'dani-zade had things to say on the right balance between generosity and severity. Generosity and the related act of amply supplying the markets with commodities were considered major virtues. Although §em'dani-zade was highly critical of Ibrahim Pa§a, particularly on account of the 'immorality' the grand vizier had supposedly permitted, he did concede that the deceased's pious foundations were a significant point in his favour. Moreover when attempting an overall evaluation of Ahmed Ill's reign on the occasion of the latter's death, several years after his deposition, the same author commented on the low prices that had prevailed in the reign of the deceased sultan, whose place was hopefully now in paradise: "in the time of his caliphate, the people did not see the face of scarcity". 3 Ahmed I l l ' s parting advice to Mahmud I also included a recommendation to be munificent. In the same breath however, the incoming sultan was admonished to keep the treasury well filled; this advice may well have been actually rendered, as the historical Ahmed III was very much concerned with the accumulation of treasure. However when at the beginning of the new regime, cash was urgently needed to pacify the troops, it was not the state treasury but rather the stocks of gold and silver in the storehouses of Ibrahim Pa§a's sons-in-law that supplied the wherewithall. The former grand vizier's own funds were limited, due to the generosity that in this context, was depicted as wastefulness. 4 §em'dani-zade also felt that Ibrahim Pa§a, and by implication the sultan, had not been strict enough: the vizier was supposed to hold "gold in one hand, and

1 §errv dani-zade, ¡¡em 'dani-zade Findtklili Siileyman Efendi Tarihi, vol. I, pp. 13-14. The author has pointed out why long tenures of grand viziers could be dangerous: as this dignitary normally promoted his own followers, his prolonged retention of office would entice candidates who could not expect preferment under the current regime to plot a rebellion. Of the latter Siileyman Efendi very much disapproved, even though he felt that the sultan and his grand vizier bore a share of responsibility for the events of 1730. 2 Abdi, 1730, p. 42. 3 §em'dani-zade, §em'daru-zade Findtklili Siileyman Efendi Tarihi, vol. I, p. 44. 4 §em'dani-zade, §em'dani-zdde Findikhh Siileyman Efendi Tarihi, vol. I, p. 13.

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a sword in the other". 1 In the perspective of both §em'dani-zade and Abdi, the reign of Ahmed III thus had come to a bad end because the proper balances had not been established: on the personal level, this applied to the relationship between the ruler and his grand vizier, and on the level of policy, to the balance between generosity and the need to fill the treasury. Finally Ahmed III and Ibrahim Pa§a had made the mistake of not listening to the complaints of soldiers and artisans in good time. From a different perspective, they also had neglected to use the power at their disposal in order to nip rebellion in the bud.

Sultans Suleyman, ambassadors

Murad IV and Ahmed III in

the eyes of

foreign

Many Venetian, French, Habsburg, English and Dutch envoys have left impressions of their receptions in the Topkapi palace. However an ambassador would encounter the sultan only at the solemn audience accorded upon arrival, and once more when about to depart. Moreover, from the later sixteenth century onwards, it was customary for the sultan to remain in all but immobile majesty during these receptions. In spite of the presence of a dragoman, it was thus all but impossible to gain a personal impression of the ruler's character. 2 In consequence the descriptions of the different sultans' personalities as relayed by European ambassadors to their sovereigns were of necessity based on hearsay. Quite often the sources of these tales were Venetian, as the baili had long been established in Istanbul and were considered especially well versed in Ottoman affairs. But as the baili had no personal contacts to the rulers either, their descriptions were based on the relationships with Ottoman courtiers that they had built up over the years. 3 Accuracy must have been a frequent casuality.

§em'dànf-zàde, §em'dànì-zàde Fmdiklili Suleyman Efendi Tàrihi, vol. I, p. 13. However the author does not tell us how this policy was to be combined with the necessity of "listening to the words of the people" (p. 7). Giilru Necipoglu, Architecture, Ceremonial and Power, The Topkapi Palace in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries (Cambridge MA: The Architectural History Foundation and MIT Press, 1991), pp. 96-110. Especially at the end of the sixteenth century, there were a few dignitaries of Italian background active in the palace, compare Maria Pia Pedani Fabris, "Safiye's Household and Venetian Diplomacy," Turcica, 32 (2000), 9-32. On the numerous gavu$ that showed up in Venice during this period, not all of them genuine, see Benjamin Arbel, "Nur Bànu (C. 15301583): A Venetian Sultana?" Turcica, 24 (1992). 241-59 and Maria Pia Pedani Fabris, In nome del Gran Signore, Inviati ottomani a Venezia dalla caduta di Costantinopoli alla guerra di Candia (Venezia: Deputacione Editrice, 1994).

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The baili wrote their accounts of the Ottoman governmental apparatus according to established literary formats, but the latter were flexible enough to permit the incorporation of practically useful details. In the present context, we will begin with the character sketch of Sultan Siileyman (r. 1520-66) provided by the bailo Alvise Renier and dated 1550. This diplomat described a personage of about sixty-five years, tall, of pleasant countenance, active and in good physical condition, who sat his horse well. 1 Renier pointed out that for the reasons outlined above, he could not make an assessment of Suleyman's personality through direct experience. But from the answers to his petitions he had received through the grand vizier, he felt that the sultan's reputation for justice was well merited: giustissimo is the term that he did not hesitate to employ, and in the same breath, he also spoke of Suleyman's "goodness" and "worthiness to rule". When in council, the sultan was however considered somewhat headstrong. Thus when the Persian prince Elkas Mirza, in rebellion against his brother the reigning shah, had been recommended to him, Siileyman immediately decided to de-stabilize the state of Iran through the agency of this prince, although all his advisers suggested that the war against the Habsburg emperor, or further expansion in Hungary, should have priority. At the time Renier wrote, the sultan had four living sons of adult or adolescent age, and the bailo thought that this could not but lead to a major succession crisis in the near future. He also commented on the attachment of Sultan Siileyman to la rossa, meaning Hiirrem Sultan; as the ambassador knew, the Ottoman ruler had made her his legitimate wife. The Venetian thought that this affection of the sultan for his consort would jeopardize the chances of Prince Mustafa, at the time governor in Amasya and at age thirtysix, in the prime of life. The bailo had heard reports, which he must have considered credible, of the military prowess of this handsome prince, who presided over a grand court and was open-handed especially with the janissaries, among whom he was very popular. Among the sons of Hiirrem Sultan, Renier had only negative things to say about Selim, later Selim II. But he felt that exactly because of the weakness of this prince, the grand vizier Riistem Pa§a favoured him, for the pasha hoped to increase his political influence under an indolent sultan. Bayezid was barely mentioned, probably because the bailo had not been able to procure any information on him. On the other hand, Cihangir was present in Istanbul, where Renier probably had occasion to see him: in spite of a physical handicap, this youngest among the princes was regarded as very intelligent and a favourite of his father's, who kept him in his company on account of Cihangir's conversational gifts.

1

Pedani Fabris,

Relazioni, pp.

75-77.

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Renier thus seems to have shared the positive impressions which members of the Ottoman ruling group had of Suleyman, after a thirty-year successful reign. Moreover in 1550, the sultan had not yet forfeited many of these sympathies by his part in the elimination of Princes Mustafa and Bayezid, and was not yet considered responsible for placing his least competent son on the throne. 1 This positive and even enthusiastic evaluation is worth noting, given the fact that only ten years previously, in 1539-40, Venice had fought a full-scale war against Sultan Suleyman. Moreover the Ottoman ruler was highlighted as active in family politics, particularly as the current grand vizier was the husband of Suleyman's and Hiirrem Sultan's only daughter. This perspective has recently been emphasized in historical scholarship as well, so that one might say that from a present-day perspective, Renier had developed a not unrealistic assessment of Istanbul court politics in the later Siileymanic age. 2 As the second example we will analyze a character sketch of the young Sultan Murad IV (r. 1623-40). Bailo Giorgio Giustinian's relazione is dated to 1627, when the young ruler was not as yet the autocrat he was to become in later times. 3 Giustinian considered that Murad IV had learned from the failures of his two predecessors: the fall of Osman II had taught him to not try to concentrate power in his own hands exclusively, while the equally dismal fate of Mustafa I had made it clear that leaving too much power in the hands of others would also lead to disaster. Throughout the young ruler had limited the various financial gratifications that under his predecessors, the various grandi (powerful men) had been able to obtain. This policy of moderation was all the more necessary as in the opinion of Giustinian, the entire economy and society of the Ottoman Empire was at the time constrained by a great lack of cash. While Murad IV was accustomed to decide matters according to the recommendations of his grand viziers, the latter still attended audiences with the ruler in fear and trepidation. For it was always possible that among the petitions the latter had received, there might be some which presented the current grand vizier in an unfavourable light, and the ruler might react by punishing him severely. 4 In Giustinian's perspective, this was part of a conscious policy: for the young ruler did not want to be completely dependent on his grand viziers, but wished to give weight to the opinions of other members of his council as well.5 It is also of interest that in the late 1620s, 1 On these events, compare §erafettin Turan, Kanuni'nin Oglu §ehzàde Bayezid (Ankara: Ankara Universitesi Dil ve Tarih-Cografya Fakiiltesi, 1961). Compare Peirce, The Imperial Harem. 3 Pedani Fabris ed., Relazioni, pp. 538-41. 4 Pedani Fabris ed., Relazioni, pp. 544-45. 5 Pedani Fabris ed., Relazioni, p. 563.

Vak'asi

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the bonhomie that Evliya ascribed to his favourite sultan was recorded by an experienced Venetian diplomat as well. For Guistinian was positively enthusiastic when it came to the personality of the young ruler. Sultan Murad was described as very handsome and of affable countenance, especially when compared with the grimness of Osman II. It is worth noting that the expeditions incognito into the capital, with the aim of repressing the use of alcohol and tobacco, that were to become a hallmark of Murad IV's later years, here are attributed to his predecessor.1 By contrast Murad IV was depicted as inclined more to mildness than to severity, and where he had used the latter, it was more on account of the recommendations of his mother (that Guistinian incidentally described as 'wise') than by his own inclination. 2 The bailo considered especially praiseworthy the young ruler's modesty, so far removed from the "pride" of Osman II. Obviously Giustinian's account reflected the hopes that his informants placed in what promised would be a regime of moderation and financial recovery. As our third example, we will use the character sketch of Sultan Ahmed III (r. 1703-1730), written by the French ambassador Jean-Louis Dusson, marquis de Bonnac (1672-1738). The latter being on fairly easy terms with the grand vizier Nevgehirli Damad Ibrahim Pa§a, we can assume that some of the information relayed came from this very source. The marquis de Bonnac was especially interested in the relationship between the sultan and his grand vizier; presumably he sometimes stressed the latter's qualities and merits at the expense of the former. Ibrahim Pa§a appeared as a man capable of exercising a moderating influence, even when Ahmed Ill's preoccupation with the accumulation of treasure was at issue, an activity that De Bonnac depicted as the dominant passion of this sultan. Moreover the grand vizier felt that the Ottoman Empire needed a period of recuperation from war; therefore he had been instrumental in concluding the treaty of Passarowitz/ Pasarof§a in 1718, in spite of the losses it entailed. 3 While normally French diplomacy aimed at keeping the Habsburgs occupied on their eastern front by Ottoman wars, in this case, De Bonnac felt obliged to agree with Ibrahim Pa§a's assessment. 4 Pedani Fabris ed., Relazioni, p. 551. Papa Synadinos, Conseils et mémoires, pp. 94-95 discusses at some length the expeditions of Murad IV into Istanbul as well as the punishments meted out to drinkers and smokers. Pedani Fabris ed., Relazioni, p. 563. 3 For a biography of Ibrahim Pa§a compare the relevant entries in the EI, 2 n d ed. and the Islam Ansiklopedisi published by the Ministry of Education; both are by Miinir Aktepe. 4 See Monsieur de Chateauneuf's comments who felt that after the defeat of Zenta, the Ottomans were no longer enthusiastic about war against the Habsburgs, even though he himself was in favour of continuing: De Bonnac, Mémoire historique, p. 91. On the contrary views of De Bonnac, see Mémoire historique, p. 139; here he describes the peace of Pasarofça as "shameful but necessary".

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The French ambassador, who incidentally was praised by the contemporary chronicler £elebizade for his skilful mediation between the Ottoman sultan and Tsar Peter I, was no longer in Istanbul by the time of Ibrahim Pa§a's fall in 1730. Therefore his papers contain no overall assessment of the cooperation between Ahmed III and his long-time grand vizier. 1 However similarly to the Ottoman authors writing on this issue, the Marquis also dwelt upon the need to practice generosity as a royal attribute, a consideration that in his opinion, Ahmed III was liable to forget. We have seen that De Bonnac was a partisan of Ibrahim Pa§a's, while Abdi and §em'dani-zade tended to sympathize more with the sultan. We do not know anything about the reasons for this difference in assessment. It is possible that the Ottoman authors wished to uphold the legitimacy of the dynasty by placing whatever blame was due squarely upon the shoulders of the grand vizier. As to De Bonnac he also had a personal axe to grind: among other things, he was out to prove to the French foreign ministry that he had a better grasp of Istanbul politics than his less successful predecessors. Yet it is worth noting that the right balance between generosity and filling the treasury was central to Ottoman and non-Ottoman authors.

Public construction and sultanic legitimacy Apparently Evliya £elebi did not disapprove of Murad IV's omitting to build a great mosque complex, while almost all of the latter's ancestors had done so. By contrast in the sixteenth century Mustafa 'Ali had emphasized construction projects as being of major significance when it came to establishing the status of a ruler. 2 Not that construction projects and repairs to public buildings, especially in the Holy Cities of the Hijaz, were insignificant in Evliya's eyes. In the case of his favourite ruler Murad IV, the restoration of the Giil Camii in Istanbul was therefore made to stand in for the missing complex of pious foundations. 3 Moreover when Evliya visited the Hijaz as a pilgrim in 1671, he went out of his way to mention a couple of inscriptions in the name of the current sultan Mehmed IV (r. 1648-87) that commemorated the latter's — probably not very important — repair projects. 4 1

£elebizade Efendi, published as vol. 6 of the Tarih-i Ra$id, pp. 223-24. For a synoptic overview over the contents of 'All's chronicle see Jan Schmidt, Pure Water for Thirsty Muslims, A Study of Mustafa J Ali of Gallipoli's Ktinhii l-ahbar (Leiden: no publisher, n. d., probably 1992), pp. 284-362. 'Ali devoted considerable attention to the Ottoman rulers' 'charities', the category in which Schmidt places sultanic pious foundations; this shows the value of such activities in the legitimization of a sixteenth-century ruler. I am grateful to Jan Schmidt for providing me with a copy of his thesis. 2

3

Evliya £elebi, Evliya f e l e b i Seyahatnamesi, vol. 1, ed. Gokyay, p. 91. Evliya £elebi, Seyahatnamesi, 10 vols. (Istanbul, Ankara: Ikdam and others); vol. 9 was published in 1935: vol. 9, p. 752.

4

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Evliya's notions about appropriate sultanic practice seem to have conformed quite closely to what was really the custom in his own time. In the mid-seventeenth century great public foundation complexes were rarely built, even though smaller charities were still being established. Mustafa 'All had certainly been very critical of Murad III under whose rule he had lived for twenty years; yet among Ottoman authors of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, he was rather exceptional in this respect. Open criticism of the persons and politics of sultans both living and deceased was usually avoided. Evliya £elebi, otherwise outspoken in his criticisms, also conformed to this custom. 1 When he found nothing to praise, he usually preferred to remain silent, and this applied to charities and public construction as well as to other matters. Yet earlier on, when Evliya was a child at the beginning of the seventeenth century, an important sultanic mosque had in fact been built, and its praises were even sung in literature. In the twentieth century, it became fashionable to joke about the 'elephant's feet', in other words the great piers holding up the dome of the Sultan Ahmed mosque. Yet at the time of construction, this building was hailed as being of superb beauty, a veritable foretaste of the garden of paradise, and also as a monument of victory over the Shiites of Iran. A certain Ca'fer Efendi, a member of the household of the chief architect Mimar Mehmed Aga, wrote an entire book designed to publicize, in addition to the other merits and achievements of his patron, the sublime qualities of this building. 2 Another extensive description of the Sultan Ahmed mosque was authored by Evliya (Jclebi. Once again this account picked up the paradise motif - however what was referred to here was not a symbol but 'the real thing', namely a garden located in the outer courtyard of the mosque, whose pleasant smells wafted into the building on a fine summer's day. 3 More pertinent to our purpose of assessing the trans-cultural impact of this building is Evliya's repeated claim, which does not feature in Ca'fer Efendi's work, that numerous foreign kings sent gifts to the mosque, presumably as a form of 1

On Mustafa 'All's criticism of Murad III, compare Cornell H; Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual in the Ottoman Empire, The Historian Mustafa 'Ali (1541-1600) (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986), pp. 294-307. 2 [Ca'fer Efendi], Risale-i mi'mariyye, an Early-seventeenth-century Ottoman Treatise on Architecture, tr. and annotated by Howard Crane, (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1987), pp. 64-76. 3 Evliya £elebi, Evliya £elebi Seyahatnamesi, vol. 1, ed. Gokyay, pp. 86-88. Evliya claims that the dome was held up "without columns", a description difficult to accept given the notable presence of the 'elephants' feet'. He seems to have used this phrase as a cliche. Therefore I am not sure whether on the strength of his description, we should accept that the original mosque of Eyiip, before its rebuilding in the late eighteenth century, really had a dome resting directly on the walls. For a contrary opinion, see Aptullah Kuran, "Eyiip Kiilliyesi," in Tiilay Artan ed., Eyiip: Dun/ Bugiin, 11-12 Aralik 1993 (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfi Yurt Yayinlan, 1994), pp. 129-35.

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congratulation. Evliya himself had trouble documenting his statement, the only concrete example concerning a vizier and governor of Habe§ (Abyssinia). This dignitary supposedly sent highly decorated candlesticks that were linked together with chains and hung up to form a chandelier, in Evliya's eyes one of the most spectacular aspects of the building. How did the Sultan Ahmed mosque appear to an educated non-Muslim inhabitant of Istanbul? For this purpose, we can analyze the description given by P. Gugas (or Gugios) inciciyan (1758-1833) that was apparently written towards the end of the eighteenth century. 1 Born in Istanbul, inciciyan had trained with the Mechitarists in Venice, and later become a priest in this order of Catholic monks. As a polyglot scholar, who mostly divided his time between Istanbul and Venice, Inciciyan was conversant with the 'modern-style' sciences current in Europe during this period. Among numerous works he coauthored an eleven-volume survey of world geography. The description of the Ottoman capital, in which the Sultan Ahmed mosque figures along with other sultanic foundations, formed part of this work. After giving the dates of construction (1018/1609 to 1026/1617) inciciyan recorded the measurements of the great columns, which thus differently from Evliya, he regarded as a major feature of the building. He then went on to discuss the minarets, referring to an unnamed Ottoman source, which claimed that the sixteen balconies adorning the minarets contained an allusion to the fact that Sultan Ahmed I was the sixteenth Ottoman ruler. 2 inciciyan went on to describe the architectural features of the courtyard and provided a list of all the ancillary institutions forming part of the foundation complex. He also recorded that this institution possessed a revenue of about 300 purses (of akge), the administrator ( v o y v o d a ) of Galata being in charge of running the different charities. When discussing the appearance of the mosque, inciciyan referred to the admiring comments of foreign travellers, unfortunately without telling us whose reports he had read. According to this scholarly geographer, the Sultan Ahmed mosque was often used by the sultan and his court, with the denizens of the palace wearing their costliest robes for the occasion. Thus this particular mosque appeared as a place where the sultan could be viewed by his 1 Inciciyan, XVIII. Asirda istanbul, p. 39. As I do not read Armenian, I have to limit myself to the information given by Andreasyan and Pamukciyan, who do not tell us when exactly Inciciyan's description was composed (article 'Inciciyan' in Dtinden Bugiine istanbul Ansiklopedisi by Kevork Pamukciyan). But as an earthquake which took place in 1766 is mentioned by inciciyan (p. 9), this date can serve as a terminus post quem, while the terminus ante quem is 1804. 2 In his commentary, Andreasyan noted that this result was arrived at by counting Princes Siileyman and Musa, sons of Bayezid I, as fully fledged Ottoman rulers. For a similar statement compare Ca'fer Efendi, Risale-i mi'mariyye, 1987, p. 74. Perhaps this was the Ottoman source inciciyan had read?

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subjects, and in Inciciyan's eyes, it must have supplanted the Aya Sofya in this role. For while the author included an extensive description of the latter sanctuary as well, in this case there was no mention of the courtiers in their colourful array, whose regular gatherings made the Sultan Ahmed mosque so special. With the foreign travellers he had read inciciyan concurred in a final superlative: "nowhere in the world has there occurred a ceremony of similar brilliance and magnificence". 1

Sultanic foundations and the reports of foreign

visitors

Descriptions of Ottoman buildings by Ottoman observers, whether Muslim or non-Muslim, do not survive in large numbers, but the writings of non-Ottoman Muslim visitors and their perceptions of sultanic public buildings before the nineteenth century are even scantier. Certainly some Indian and Iranian princesses and princes visited Mecca and Medina, and sometimes even went to live there. 2 Moreover in 1547-48, the rebel Safavid prince Alkas Mirza, brother to the current shah Tahmasp I, visited Istanbul, to say nothing of the relatively numerous Iranian embassies appearing in the Ottoman capital during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Arriving from the borderlands of the Empire certain Kurdish princes also resided in the capital, and even held office at the Ottoman court. 3 But very few of these visitors seem to have left any account of their experiences, and even fewer were those who commented on the sultans' mosques and medreses. However we do possess a description of Istanbul by the Moroccan ambassador Abu '1-Hasan 'All al-Tamghrult. who arrived in Istanbul in November 1589. Like other distinguished visitors, Al-Tamghruti toured the sights of the city, including the Eyiib Sultan, Aya Sofya and Suleymaniye mosques; regrettably for our purposes, the Sultan Ahmed mosque had not as yet been built. 4 The ambassador admired all three structures; he felt that the Aya Sofya was more "massive and grandiose", while the Suleymaniye was 1

Inciciyan, XVIII. Asirda Istanbul, p. 39. Nairn R. Farooqi, "Moguls, Ottomans and Pilgrims: Protecting the Routes to Mecca in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries," The International History Review, X, 2 (1988), 198-220 ^ Ismet Parmaksizoglu, "Kuzey Irak'ta Osmanli Hâkimiyetinin Kurulugu ve Memun Beyin Hatiralari," Belleten XXXVII, 146 (1973), 191-230; Memun Bey was a contemporary of Siileyman the Magnificent. His dominant interest lay in showing how, by their loyalty to the Ottoman ruler his father and he himself had gained the right to the governorship of §ehrizor. The beauties of Istanbul were not his concern, which is all the more regrettable as the author was fully in command of Ottoman and must have known his way around the capital. 4 Al-Tamghruti, En-nafhat, pp. 47-61. For a discussion in recent secondary literature, see Xavier de Planhol, L'Islam et la mer, La mosquée et le matelot, VlIe-XXe siècle (Paris: Perrin, 2000), pp. 231-246. For the period from 1550 to 1730, I have not been able to find any descriptions of the Sultan Ahmed mosque by non-Ottoman Muslims. 2

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more "elegant, agreeable and spacious". Al-TamghrutT noted that the plan of the latter had been inspired by the former, yet almost in the same breath, he exclaimed that even though there had been numerous attempts to imitate the Aya Sofya, these had all been in vain. 1 Coming from an educated Muslim observer, this is an interesting testimony to the supreme prestige of the older building. 2 Otherwise Al-Tamghruti simply relayed the story of the four columns that Stileyman the Magnificent supposedly had shipped from Alexandria, of which two were lost in a shipwreck. 3 More interesting is his discussion of the mosque of Eytib, which was assiduously visited by the sultan as well as by ordinary folk. Al-Tamghruti mentioned the small but luxurious boats that Sultan Murad III (r. 1574-1595) used for his frequent visits to this shrine, the richness of the pious foundations supporting it, the numerous Korans stocked in a special shelf for the use of visitors, and the fact that many people, especially prominent Ottomans, made considerable financial sacrifices in order to be buried in this place. Piety, a strong sense of hierarchy and decorum in addition to an abundance of material goods were the qualities the Moroccan ambassador most appreciated about Istanbul upper-class culture. As less positive features, he noted a strong concern with money-making. Where European authors are concerned, the description of Istanbul's major mosques, which might or might not include discussions of the aesthetic merits of these structures, has formed a standard part of travel accounts ever since the sixteenth century. The study of these texts has become a major concern of Anglophone and especially Francophone researchers, who have shown how texts from Greco-Roman antiquity, to say nothing of the Bible, have been used in shaping travellers' accounts, even when it was the authors' avowed aim to produce an 'eyewitness account'. 4 By contrast, reports by Venetian diplomats were meant for presentation to the Signoria only, so that literary conceits should have been less in evidence. This however is far from clear, as some of these reports were soon copied and their authors may well have anticipated this type of diffusion and given a 'literary' form to their writings. Quite a few relazioni contain relatively standardized descriptions of Istanbul as 'background information', and thus the borders between these texts ' Al-Tamghruti, En-nafhat, p. 54. While the author did pick up some Turkish words and elements of grammar, he probably did not know this language very well, and his information must have come from people with whom he could converse in classical Arabic. 3 For other accounts of the provenance of these columns, see Ômer Liitfi Barkan, Siileymaniye Cami ve imareti inçaati, 2 vols. (Ankara: Tiirk Tarih Kurumu, 1972, 1979), vol. 1, pp. 336-44. 4 As examples compare Stephane Yérasimos, Les voyageurs dans l'Empire ottoman (XIVe XVIe siècles). Bibliographie, itinéraires et inventaire des lieux habités (Ankara: Tiirk Tarih Kurumu, 1991) and Tinguely, L'écriture du Levant. 2

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and ordinary published travelogues are less marked than appears at first glance. However these diplomats are important to us as they were concerned with the political effects of sultanic building projects, and exactly these effects, in other words the 'politics of piety', are our main concern here. W e will therefore begin with an evaluation of sultanic charities by a Venetian envoy. 1 Giacomo Soranzo had represented the Signoria at the circumcision of Mehmed III in 1582; but due to prolonged illness en route it was only in 1584 that he returned to Venice and presented his report. His text included a discussion of the Valide mosque in Uskiidar, recently built by Nurbanu Sultan the mother of Murad III, who according to rumours current in Istanbul, was born a member of a Venetian noble family. 2 Nurbanu Sultan had chosen a site on the Anatolian shore. Her complex was thus somewhat remote from the city centre, but located in full view of the Topkapi palace across the sea. 3 Soranzo surmised that this site was chosen because she wanted her son to be constantly aware of her pious generosity. As Soranzo described the mosque as bellisima, her project seems to have been a full success in worldly terms. After stressing, in the manner that had become customary, that the valide sultan was very money-minded and could only be won over by rich presents, Soranzo conceded that here was one project on which the sultana had spent lavishly. He emphasized that she had taken care of the future as well, by assigning sufficient productive revenue sources to guarantee the smooth functioning of the mosque complex. While some of the shops and khans assigned to the foundation had been purchased 'ready-made', others had been built expressly to serve the mosque and its dependencies. Moreover the founder spent additional large sums in order to construct ordinary dwellings in the vicinity of the mosque, so that she might feel the satisfaction of having founded an entire town. Apparently Soranzo himself did not disagree with this opinion. When discussing Ottoman accounts of sultanic building projects, we have focused on descriptions of the Sultan Ahmed mosque. Therefore it would be inexcusable if we were to miss the opportunity of comparing these Ottoman Turkish and Armenian texts with a description of the same building by a seventeenth-century European traveller. Jean Thevenot (1633-67) was a 1 The expression 'the politics of piety' has been coined by Madeline Zilfi, The Politics of Piety, The Ottoman Ulema in the Classical Age (Minneapolis: Bibliotheca Islamica, 1988). 2 Pedani Fabris, Relazioni, p. 271. The entry 'Nur Banu' in the El, 2 n d edition makes her an illegitimate daughter of Violante Baffo and Nicolo Venier, the one-but-last ruler of Paros. However Arbel, "Nur Banu" has shown that this conjecture is not based on reliable sources. Other sources of the time make her into a member of a well-to-do Greek family from Venetian-held Corfu, but this is also doubtful. 3

Whether and if applicable how the locations of mosques founded by different members of the Ottoman dynasty reflected internal hierarchies has often been discussed by modern scholars, compare Peirce, The Imperial Harem, pp. 198-212.

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younger contemporary of Evliya's, and visited the city in 1655-56, when the Sultan Ahmed mosque had been part of the Istanbul skyline for about forty years. Thévenot has been described as the epitome of the 'average' traveller, cautious, prudent, inclined to copy his predecessors whenever he found something appropriate, but at the same time, a well-informed and conscientious observer of everyday life. 1 Our French visitor agreed with his Ottoman contemporaries that the Sultan Ahmed mosque was one of the most handsome in the city, and then described the sequence of outer courtyard, portico and rectangular inner courtyard with its domes supported by marble columns. The garden praised by Evliya £elebi did not figure in his account, either because it had disappeared or because Thévenot had visited the mosque during the cold season. Our author admired the fine fountain and also the central dome. But what most struck him were the ornaments of glass and other materials hung up throughout the interior - were these perhaps the items that Evliya considered the gifts of foreign kings? Among other pieces, Thévenot mentioned the wooden model of a galley fully outfitted and another such item showing the mosque itself. We are left to wonder whether these decorations were attached to the chandeliers that Evliya had so admired. Unfortunately neither Ottoman nor foreign observers inform us who had decided to hang the models of these particular items and what purposes they were meant to serve.2 As we have seen, Evliya £elebi and Ca'fer Efendi highlighted the religious motivations for building the Sultan Ahmed mosque, even though at least in Ca'fer's account, the political feature of victory over the 'heretical' Safawids was an important concern as well. Soranzo stressed the political considerations that had prompted Nurbanu Sultan to found a whole new town, or town quarter to be more exact, of Üsküdar. But he also made his readers aware of the religious moment, at least in an oblique fashion: after all, the prominent location of the complex was to constantly remind the sultan of his mother's generous piety. On the other hand, P. Gugas Inciciyan was not at all concerned with religious aspects, but the political meaning of the mosque was very much in the forefront of his thinking. As evidence there is his comment on the number of balconies corresponding to the number of sultans who had ruled down to 1617, and his emphasis upon the brilliant, unique ceremony on the occasion of the sultan's Friday prayers.

1 Thevenot, Voyage, pp. 6-9. I do not know whether in describing the 'Blue Mosque' Thevenot had found himself a model to copy. As in the mid-17 th century this building was not as yet very old (Thevenot explicitly calls it the 'new mosque') possibilities for copying should have been more limited than in the case of old standbys like the Aya Sofya. The mosque model mentioned here forms part of a small number of known three-dimensional models of major public buildings; compare Giilru Necipoglu-Kafadar, "Plans and Models in 15th and 16th Century Ottoman Architectural Practice", Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, XLX, 3 (1986), 224-43. Models of ships were often hung as votive gifts in Orthodox churches, for instance if the ship had escaped a major accident, but we do not not know whether the models in the Sultan Ahmed mosque, if indeed they were present in Thevenot's time, served a similar purpose. Compare Angelos Delivorrias, A Guide to the Benaki Museum (Athens: Benaki Museum, 2000), pp. 162-66.

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By contrast, neither imperial self-assertion nor piety played a major role in Thevenot's description of the Sultan Ahmed mosque, apart from a brief reference to the man who prayed for the dead ruler's soul in the adjacent mausoleum. Considerations of piety did however figure more prominently in the same author's immediately preceding description of the Siileymaniye, where Korans as well as mementoes of Mecca and Medina were prominently displayed near the sultan's sarcophagus. If Thevenot thus showed a tendency to link religious motifs to the mausoleums rather than to the m o s q u e s themselves, this may be due to the occasions at which he visited the buildings in question: he probably saw the mosque at a time when no religious services were in progress, while prayers for the soul of the deceased ruler were a permanent feature. Thus it appears that on the whole Muslims were more aware of the religious aspects of sultanic mosques, while non-Muslims emphasized political and aesthetic considerations, but the opposition was by no means absolute.

Processions

with and without the sultans

Pious foundations apart, public ceremonies were another means of making the glory of the sultans visible to their own subjects as well as to foreigners. Much of Evliya's famous first volume, dedicated to Istanbul, is taken up by a procession of artisans and state officials that marked Sultan Murad IV's departure on one of his campaigns. For Evliya this parade was the occasion, or perhaps rather the pretext, for a commented enumeration of the office-holders and guildsmen present in Istanbul in the mid-seventeenth century. 1 Such processions had been common enough already in the 1500s, and thus enumerating the participants had become an accepted part of the 'festival books' ( s u r n a m e ) that were being composed with increasing frequency at this time. 2 Ottoman sultans did not in most cases participate in these events in person, but watched them f r o m a tent, loggia or pavilion. Whether the grand vizier was granted a similar distinction depended on circumstances; in the f a m o u s miniatures depicting the circumcision festivities of 1720, we see Nevgehirli Ibrahim Pa§a observing the proceedings from his own tent. There

1 For a discussion of Evliya's description compare Robert Mantran, Istanbul dans la seconde moitié du XVIIe siècle, Essai d'histoire institutionelle, économique et sociale (Paris, Istanbul: Institut Français d'Archéologie d'Istanbul and Adrien Maisonneuve, 1962), pp. 352-57. 2 For rhymed festival books and their place in Ottoman literature, see Mehmet Arslan, Surnameler (Osmanli Saray Dügünleri ve §enlikleri) (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1999). The same author has announced a companion volume on festival books in prose.

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were some cases however, when the sultan also took part in the parade. As an example we might mention the solemn entry into Istanbul that Selim II celebrated after succeeding to the throne of his father Siileyman the Magnificent (1566).1 Selim II's son Mehmed III repeated the performance after his victorious return from the battle of Hacova (Mesôkeresztes).2 Following the same tradition, Murad IV also performed a solemn entry into his capital, namely after the conquest of Revan. 3 Among the people of Istanbul, the turnout was numerous, in Evliya's opinion partly due to the fact that the inhabitants of the capital had reason to complain of the vizier Bayram Pa§a's rule during the sultan's absence and in this festive atmosphere, hoped to find the ruler responsive to their grievances. Entering the city amidst martial music, the ships in the harbour firing in salute, Murad IV wore the iron accoutrements of battle and so did his horse. Almost reminiscent of the triumphal marches celebrated in the Near East of antiquity, the most prominent Iranian captives were marched in front of the sultan; this included Emirgune-oglu, who had surrendered voluntarily and was later to become one of the sultan's favourites. Valuable fabrics were stretched between poles to mark the processional way; they were later handed over to the soldiery. A day later, this basically military and political celebration was completed by a religious procession, when the sultan paid a solemn visit to the mausoleum of Eyiib Ansari. Moreover from the seventeenth century onwards, it became customary to 'introduce' the newly enthroned ruler to his capital, and vice versa, by a formal pilgrimage to the shrine of Hyiib, where he was girded with a sword deemed to have belonged a variety of ancient heroes, including his ancestor Osman I. 4 It has been suggested that parades in which the sultan took centre stage were instituted after Ottoman princes stopped going to the provinces as governors, and spent their youths and adolescences in the seclusion of a Topkapi palace apartment. For under these circumstances, ascending the throne meant 'appearing in public' for the first time, and this event was marked by a major procession. 5 As the prominence that Evliya gave to a single such event amply demonstrates, these parades impressed Ottoman subjects. ' Almosnino, Grandezas, pp. 55-64; for comments see Vatin and Veinstein, Le sérail ébranlé, p. 308. 2 Nicolas Vatin, "Aux origines du pèlerinage à Eyiip des sultans ottomans," Turcica, XXVII (1995), 91-100. Evliya Çelebi, Evliya Çelebi Seyahatnâmesi, vol. 1, ed. Gôkyay, p. 98. 4 For an interesting discussion, compare Cemal Kafadar, "Eytip'te Kiliç Kuçanma Tôrenleri," in Tiilay Artan éd., Eyiip: Diinl Bugiin, 11-12 Aralik ¡993 (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfi Yurt Yayinlari, 1994), pp. 50-61; thanks to Christoph Neumann for pointing out this article. 5 Vatin, "Aux origines". According to Evliya Çelebi, Murad IV girded not one but two swords, namely that of Selim I and that of the Prophet himself (Evliya Çelebi, Evliya Çelebi Seyahatnâmesi, vol. 1, ed. Gôkyay, p. 92).

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But at the same time, these festive events were carefully observed by foreigners as well. As Frenchmen, Englishmen or subjects of the Habsburgs and the various Italian and German principalities, these people were familiar with the procession as a singularly effective means of depicting social hierarchy and also of keeping the royal image present in the minds especially of town-dwelling subjects. 1 Moreover such foreign observers would also have known that parades usually had some religious significance. In Catholic countries, priests and bishops, often carrying the Eucharist and thus making the presence of the divinity apparent to the viewers, participated in many processions. Beyond confessional boundaries this imagery must have awakened powerful resonances. After all, even in post-Reformation England, where we would expect references to the old church to have been taboo, certain saints continued to figure throughout the reign of Elizabeth I. 2 Moreover while seventeenth- or eighteenth-century European courtiers certainly did not believe in the gods of the Greco-Roman pantheon in any religious sense of the word, it is still remarkable how closely the apotheoses of rulers in the antique style that decorated so many palaces of the time, resembled the imagery which in a rococo church, was used to render visible the ascension of Christ or the assumption of the Virgin Mary. Even for the most Voltairean viewers of the 1770s, visualizing the glory of the ruler in a courtly assembly or procession thus must have evoked strong religious reminiscences. Of course Islam knows neither priests nor symbols of the divine comparable to the Eucharist in the Catholic Church. Yet Evliya knew very well that a religious component was present in many Ottoman processions. As an indicator, we may take his consistent references to the heavenly protectors of the different craft guilds participating in Murad IV's precampaign parade. 3 In the case of an army marching out to do battle with the infidel, the banner of the Prophet was often carried along, and dervishes participated in order to encourage the soldiery. Thus the artisans who paraded before Murad IV before they accompanied the Ottoman army they were to serve on campaign, must have shared in the religious aura that surrounded such an undertaking.

The literature on processions undertaken in European Renaissance states is too extensive for even a brief review; but as examples, see Frances Yates, Astraea: The Imperial Theme in the Sixteenth Century (London: Ark Paperbacks, 1975) and Roy Strong, Art and Power (Woodbridge/Suffolk: Boydell and Brewer, 2nd ed. 1984). Roy Strong, "Queen and City: The Elizabethan Lord Mayor's Pageant" in idem. The Tudor and Stuart Monarchy. Pageantry, Painting, Iconography, 2 vols. (Woodbridge, Suffolk: The Boydell Press, reprint 1995), vol. 2: 17-32. 3 On Evliya's sources compare Mantran, Istanbul, pp. 352-353.

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Last but not least, religious references were especially prominent in the processions linked to the Mecca pilgrimage, which were celebrated with particular elaboration in Cairo, but existed also in Istanbul, Damascus and of course the two Holy Cities themselves. Among the most famous items invested with religious significance and guarded in the Topkapi palace, there were the locks, usually of gilt bronze, that closed the doors of the Kaaba, along with their attendant keys. These were exchanged with some frequency, and the items no longer in use conveyed to Istanbul. 1 In addition every year the Kaaba was covered with a precious fabric, bordered with inscriptions from the Koran that was manufactured in Cairo and formed one of the visual foci of the Egyptian pilgrimage caravan. Some European travellers wrote about having to be discreet and unobtrusive when they wished to view these processions; this obviously was linked to the aura of sanctity that they possessed in the eyes of Ottoman Muslims. 2 Ottoman sultans made relatively moderate claims to linkages with the sphere of the divine. Yet sacred deposits such as the banner of the Prophet were in their special care, while their armies were depicted as doing battle against 'unbelievers' and 'heretics'. Furthermore, the rulers were surrounded by religious scholars and holy men whom they patronized, and who with their characteristic headgear, also were prominent participants in public parades. Thus the religious elements in Ottoman processions must, in the eyes of Muslim viewers, have conveyed the idea that as long as he occupied the throne, the sultan was not a purely secular personage. 3 Here was a meeting point between Ottoman and European notions of rule.

European observers of Ottoman

processions

This rather lengthy discussion will hopefully make it easier to explain how Ottoman processions could be understood by outsiders. Descriptions of parades and processions abound in European travel accounts of the time; indeed due to their great numbers, only a tiny selection can be discussed here. Janine Sourdel-Thomime, Clefs et serrures de la Ka'ba, Notes d'épigraphie arabe (Paris: Revue des Etudes Islamiques, hors série 3, Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1971). Remarkably enough, a sizeable number of Kaaba keys in the Topkapi Museum go back to the Mamluk and even Abbasid periods. 2 For a late 17 th -century testimony compare Henry Maundrell, A Journey from Aleppo to Jerusalem in 1697, introduced by David Howell (Beirut: Khayats, reprint 1963), p. 171. 3 This special status of the sultan is also apparent from the fact that while at official parades, the solemn religious element was balanced by all kinds of jokes and buffooneries, the sultan himself was never the butt of such amusements. Of course this is merely the image conveyed by written sources; what people said on such occasions may have been a different matter. Compare Derin Terzioglu, "The Imperial Circumcision Festival of 1582: An Interpretation", Muqarnas, 12(1995), 84-100.

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Reinhold Lubenau visited Istanbul as the sixteenth-century equivalent of a tourist; that is, he accepted employment as a pharmacist to the embassy of Bartholomaus Pezzen, the Habsburg ambassador, because he wanted to see something of the world before settling down to the life of a local notable in a Baltic town (1587-89). His diary was later ornamented with citations from classical authors in the approved style of the times. But even so, some of the writer's personal predilections shine through. As we have seen, he thoroughly enjoyed festivities of all kinds, and as an unofficial visitor, there was nothing to prevent him from attending whatever games and processions took his fancy. Lubenau is thus one of the very few writers to describe in detail the equestrian games through which Ottoman cavalrymen trained for 'serious' warfare, or else the entertainments on Istanbul fairgrounds, which had quite a few features in common with the amusements accompanying official processions. 1 He has also produced one of the most detailed descriptions of the 1582 circumcision celebrations available today; it is however at second hand, as Lubenau only arrived in Istanbul five years after the event. The Baltic traveller was not greatly impressed by Ottoman war games. After all, they were by definition lost by the party representing the Christians, and he wryly commented on the lot of certain poor men who had lost their lives in the commotion of the festival. Yet all in all he seems to have had a good bit of fun. 2 While in Edirne, Antoine Galland observed the parade that in May 1672 marked the departure of an Ottoman army. Remarkably enough, not only martial virtues were highlighted in this brilliant event, but with at least equal force, the basic fact that no campaign is possible unless the soldiers are properly fed. Thus the show involved a peasant producer of grain, along with his oxen and plough, followed by bakers showing off cakes and bread, and dressed up in semi-martial, highly decorated costumes. Next in line were the butchers, whose apprentices were armed with muskets; they guarded highly decorated sheep and cows with gilt horns. Galland was particularly impressed by the manufacturers of fruit preserves, who were represented by a man dressed in a toga made of strings of fruit candy, and by the makers of mats who showed off a man with an enormous turban made out of this refractory material. 3 Even though Galland was an outsider to Ottoman society, he quite readily understood that this latter image was a burlesque, and that participants and spectators were enjoying a joke at the expense of officials to whom they normally owed respect. Particularly this was a day of festive licence for the 1 2 3

Lubenau, Beschreibung der Reisen, vol. 1, pp. 181-85. Lubenau, Beschreibung der Reisen, vol. 2, pp. 49-57. However, he thought that the soldiers were badly trained in using their muskets.

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local non-Muslims, who were free to dress in whatever way they pleased, and especially the Armenians seem to have used the occasion for a bit of boisterous amusement. The Venetian envoy Girolamo Vignola, who visited Istanbul in 1724, has left short accounts of the most remarkable ceremonies witnessed during his stay. These included a parade of the ruler and his four sons to solemn prayers in the mosque of Sultan Ahmed, in which janissaries featured as well as palace officials. Vignola recorded that the sultan was watched not only by the male population of the capital, but also by Turkish, Greek and Armenian women. In the Venetian diplomat's understanding, the populace regarded the young princes with special admiration, and he noted the affectionate concern of their father as well. Vignola interpreted the event as a demonstration that the succession, and therefore the future of the dynasty, was assured. This consideration was all the more important as Ahmed III seemed about fifty-five years old, a respectable age for that time. 1

Gifts, tributes and the sultans' honour In major public processions, gifts given by the participants to the sultan were sometimes displayed, and occasionally the relevant lists have come down to us. Evliya even claimed that the presents submitted to Murad IV at his triumphal entry made it possible to refill the treasury, which must have been much depleted during years of warfare. 2 Foreign ambassadors arriving at the court also bore gifts. Moreover not only the sultan, but also the grand viziers and other high-ranking dignitaries expected presents. Riistem Pa§a, grand vizier to Sulcyman the Magnificent was known for his demands in this respect, as attested not only by the snide remarks of the Habsburg ambassador Ogier Ghislin de Busbecq (Busbecquius), but also by the complaint of the Kurdish prince Memun Bey of §ehrizor, a subject of Sultan Siileyman. 3 Particularly impressive were the gifts brought by Iranian ambassadors; these might include valuable manuscripts, which have survived relatively well because differently from objects made of gold and silver, they could not be melted down. More exotic were the elephants that the Safavids occasionally 1

Pedani Fabris ed., Relazioni, pp. 825-81, especially p. 859ff. Evliya felebi, Evliya Qelebi Seyahatnamesi, vol. 1, ed. Gokyay, p. 99. 3 Augerius Gislenius Busbequius, [Ogier Ghislin de Busbecq], Legationis turcicae epistolae quatuor, ed. by Zweder von Martels, tr. into Dutch by Michel Goldsteen (Hilversum: Verloren, 1994), p. 51. Parmaksizoglu, "Memun Beyin Hatiralari," p. 222. For Mustafa 'All's comments about Riistem Pa§a's profit-mindedness, and the advantages of this quality to the sultan's treasury, compare Schmidt, Pure Water, p. 322. 2

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acquired from India and passed on to the Ottoman court. 1 To these gifts the sultans responded by means of the tayin, that is the food and firewood granted to any foreign embassy once it had crossed the Ottoman frontier. Ambassadors sent to foreign courts also carried presents to be handed over on behalf of the sultan, and semi-independent princes such as Memun Bey, when formally appointed to office, received gifts in the ruler's name as well. 2 The bey reported that the messenger who brought the joyful news of his appointment and the attendant presents was honoured by various festivities. 3 These ritual exchanges were the subject of much negotiation, as it was not always easy to draw the line between gifts and tribute. Thus the Austrian Habsburgs during the later sixteenth century preserved their self-respect by calling the tribute that they paid for their Hungarian possessions 'Tiirckenverehrung', or gift to the Turks. In the early seventeenth century, the situation remained unclear. According to the Habsburg understanding at the conclusion of the peace of Zsitva Torok (1606), a substantial lump sum paid over on this occasion was to form a kind of 'capitalization' of future annual tributes. In consequence after 1606 there were to be merely gift exchanges between sovereign rulers. 4 But this claim did not find favour at the Ottoman court: however, both sides were exhausted by the fighting; and therefore two versions of the peace treaty were made out, which contained contrary statements on this contentious issue. Whether payment was in money or in goods seems to have been negotiable. Thus it was customary in the sixteenth century, when the silversmiths of Augsburg and Nuremberg enjoyed a good reputation all over Europe, to pay part of the 'Tiirckenverehrung' in the shape of silver tableware and the decorative items, sometimes powered by clockwork, that were then popular in wealthy European families. We hear of Ferdinand I's envoy Busbecq presenting a silver elephant, which was well received by Siileyman the Magnificent. 5 In the long run, most of these valuables were sent to the mint, but at the time of receiving them, the Ottoman court seems to have been interested in at least some of these objects in and by themselves, and not

1 Ivan Stchoukine, La peinture turque d'après les manuscrits illustrés, 2 vols. (Paris: Paul Geuthner, 1966, 1971), vol. 1, 1966, plate CXI. 2 Parmaksizoglu, "Memun Beyin Hatiralari," p. 221. 3 Parmaksizoglu, "Memun Beyin Hatiralari," p. 221. 4 Karl Nehring, Adam Freiherr zu Herbersteins Gesandtschaftsreise nach Konstantinopel, Ein Beitrag zum Frieden von Zsitvatorok (1606) (Munich: Oldenbourg, 1983), p. 27. On the gifts themselves, see Gottfried Mraz, "Die Rolle der Uhrwerke in der kaiserlichen Türkenverehrung im 16. Jahrhundert," in Die Welt als Uhr, deutsche Uhren und Automaten 1550-1650, ed. by Klaus Maurice and Otto Mayr (München: Deutscher Kunstverlag, 1980), pp. 39-54. 5 Busbecquius, Legationis turcicae epistolae quatuor, p. 51. Compare also Otto Kurz, European Clocks and Watches in the Near East (London, Leiden: The Warburg Institute, University of London and E. J. Brill, 1975), pp. 27-41.

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merely in their monetary value. In the case of Venice, better known to Ottoman dignitaries than any other city of Europe, specific wishes were often expressed that the Signoria fulfilled within the limits set by the money allotted for such occasions.1 In other cases, the ruler making the present would select items that hopefully would conform to Ottoman taste. Thus in the 1590s, the then Grand Vizier Sinan Pa§a was to have received a suit of armour with precious metal inlays in a design inspired by Ottoman motifs. 2 European ambassadors often claimed to regard Ottoman complaints concerning insufficiently costly presents as indicative of an avarice peculiar to the sultan's court. But this evaluation is one-sided: doubtless officials in the Ottoman state apparatus expected presents, but in this they acted no differently from their colleagues in most other states, France included, where the purchase of office was an accepted form of promotion. 3 Certainly it would be unrealistic to rule out a concern with monetary values, but this was by no means the whole story. Ambassadorial gifts that were not valuable enough seem to have been regarded as an insult to the majesty of the Ottoman ruler, and mutatis mutandis this consideration applied also to presents given to state dignitaries. The dynamics of this situation were well analyzed by Ottaviano Bon, Venetian ambassador at the court of Ahmed I, who pointed out that rich Ottoman dignitaries expected gifts appropriate to their high rank and abundant resources. 4 If viewed from the ambassador's angle, different concerns were at issue. By negotiating the gifts to be given (or not given) at a specific occasion, the diplomat in question tried not only to keep the expenses of his embassy as low as possible, but also to avoid the impression that the ruler he represented was in any way especially beholden — or even subordinate — to the Ottoman sultan. By the eighteenth century, the gifts to be submitted on the accession of a new sultan by the various ambassadors established in Istanbul had become more or less fixed by tradition. Occasions calling for negotiation were less routine events, for example a particularly brilliant celebration of a princely circumcision, such as the famous feast of 1720. On this occasion, evidence survives of the negotiations conducted by the French ambassador the marquis de Bonnac with the grand vizier Ibrahim Pa§a. Discussion revolved around the question whether the circumcision was a state occasion or rather a domestic festivity, the French position being that gifts were only called for in the former and not in the latter instance. Ibrahim Pa§a by contrast does not seem 1

2 Pedani

Fabris, Relazioni, p. 93.

This item was never sent due to the beginning of the 'Long War' in 1593 and today is part of the collections of the Kunsthistorische Museum in Vienna.

a

4

Pedani Fabris ed., Relazioni, p. 510. Pedani Fabris ed., Relazioni, p. 510.

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to have regarded this distinction between 'state' and 'domestic' as particularly relevant to his concerns. Rather, he offered an inducement on a different, honorific level. If the French ambassador was willing to make the expected gifts, he would be invited on particularly honourable terms, while the great respect in which 'tradition' was held at the Ottoman court would ensure that De Bonnac's successors would enjoy the same distinction. On the other hand, the marquis de Bonnac felt that it was imperative to enhance the status of the French embassy, for he himself had written extensively on the discredit into which some of his predecessors had fallen. 1 It thus made sense to accept a financial sacrifice that would wipe the slate clean. After all it was not only the status of the ambassador vis à vis the sultan's court that was at stake. The humiliations that certain of De Bonnac's predecessors had suffered had been noted by other European envoys as well, and must have resulted in a 'loss of face'. In fact, this competition among European ambassadors was of interest also to Ottoman diplomacy. 2 With these considerations in mind, De Bonnac therefore suggested to his government that Ibrahim Pa§a's demands be accepted, and contrary to other ambassadors who preferred to stay away, the French king, along with the Russian emperor Peter the Great, was prominently represented at the festivities of 1720.3

In conclusion: buildings, parades, receptions and gift-giving as elements of a mutually intelligible 'sign language ' To sum it all up: when analyzing the effects of the major sultanic pious foundations it emerges that Giacomo Soranzo's understanding of the complex founded by the Valide Sultan in Usklidar was not so very much at variance with what we learn from Ottoman descriptions of the Sultan Ahmed mosque. According to Soranzo, the Valide Nurbanu experienced the satisfaction of having founded an entire town, while Sultan Ahmed I was praised by Ca'fer Efendi because he had founded his mosque in a place that did not need to be emptied of its occupants because hi therto it had been but 1 This opinion did not exactly please De Bonnac's superiors in Paris, who would have preferred him not to write the history of French diplomatic representation in Istanbul found among his papers and ultimately published by Charles Schefer: De Bonnac, Mémoire historique, 1894, pp. 1-65. De Bonnac, Mémoire historique, 1894, p. 102. 3 Atil, Levni and the Surname, p. 95 identifies one of the ambassadors watching the 1720 procession as Russian. The relevant miniature shows several European dignitaries in somewhat old-fashioned formal attire which is not specific to any particular place; this makes sense, as Tsar Peter had just forced the Russian nobility to shave their beards and adopt western European court dress.

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sparsely inhabited. 1 While Thevenot's understanding seems to have been less politically astute than that of the Venetian envoys, the architectural beauty of the Sultan Ahmed mosque played a prominent role in his description, and this was also a major feature of Ca'fer Efendi's account. Thus the legitimizing function of major sultanic foundations could be effective even across religious and cultural divides. Muslims, Jews and Christians, subjects of the sultan and foreigners, all could concur in regarding these foundations as emblematic of sultanic good taste, piety and power. Something rather similar applies to the accounts of public processions. The Ottoman courtier and traveller Evliya £elebi, a pharmacist from the Baltic such as Lubenau, a French bibliophile and philologist such as Galland, as well as the Venetian diplomat Soranzo, all came up with interpretations of Ottoman public processions that were not all that remote from one another. Moreover these observations all accord quite well with our own work on Ottoman sources. That artisans' processions contained an element of carnival and provided an opportunity for relaxation from everyday constraints has been highlighted by Lubenau and is also recognized by present-day historical scholarship. 2 That the sultan could be viewed as a source of nourishment by his soldiers and subjects was well understood by Galland, and has recently been taken up in a number of novel studies on palace gift-giving. 3 Dynastic continuity as a major motif of festivals, and as a reason for organizing them at all, has also been well studied. 4 As to the religious features of Ottoman public processions, they have not as yet attracted the attention they deserve, but hopefully that will change in the future. In connection with these commonalities we can approach the manner in which communication with foreigners was rendered possible at the Ottoman court. Evidently linguistic communication with diplomats was gravely impeded by language barriers. Only with Iranian envoys and the rare visitor from India or Central Asia could Ottoman dignitaries converse face-to-face, as Persian was studied by every Istanbul schoolboy with hopes of one day being considered a gentleman. But sultanic pious foundations and particularly courtly ceremonial including public parades played a much more effective role in enabling royal courts of different cultural backgrounds to communicate with one another than has been understood so far. To return once more to the 1

[Ca'fer Efendi], Risâle-i mVmâriyye, p. 66. Terzioglu, "The Imperial Circumcision." 3 Necipoglu, Architecture, Ceremonial and Power, p. 72; Hedda Reindl-Kiel, "The Chickens of Paradise, Official Meals in the mid-Seventeenth-century Ottoman Palace," in The Illuminated Table, the Prosperous House, Food and Shelter in Ottoman Material Culture, ed. by Suraiya Faroqhi and Christoph Neumann (Istanbul: Orient-Institut, 2003), pp. 59-88. 4 Vatin and Veinstein, Le sérail ébranlé, passim. Whether this congruence means that our findings are reasonably realistic of course remains for future scholarship to decide. 2

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negotiations between Damad Ibrahim Pa§a and the French ambassador: although on the face of it, hard cash was being exchanged against a purely ceremonial advantage, the marquis de Bonnac regarded the offer made to him as a welcome opportunity to repair the diplomatic disasters of the past decades. Without a common understanding of the meaning of ceremonial gestures, such a transaction would not have made any sense. Another example of communication through the sign language of ceremonial is linked to the thorny problem of who got to sit at the most 'honourable' place - if indeed, the visitor was permitted to sit at all. Similarly to the practice of European absolutist courts, seating at public festivities and ceremonies was an effective means for the sultan's officials to express the relative esteem, or lack of it, that they felt should be shown towards a given foreign ruler. In principle, the representatives of non-Muslim potentates were expected to defer to those of Muslims. Diplomatic exchanges between Indian rulers and the Ottoman court not being very frequent, the ambassador of the shah of Iran was likely to claim precedence due to his quality as a Muslim. To what extent this claim was honoured depended on the political conjuncture of the times. 1 When the representative of the French ruler attended a ceremony in which he demanded a particularly honourable place in competition with the ambassador of an Indian prince, a shrewd compromise was found by the Ottoman court. For its officials had been informed that in India the left hand side was considered especially respectable, so that both ambassadors' claims might be satisfied at the same time. 2 All this might lead to a lot of petty bickering; at least much of the manoeuvring for precedence appears as such to an observer of the early twentieth-first century. But for the purposes of this study, the main point is that most of the time, foreign envoys and high Ottoman officials disputed such matters because both sides understood very well what was at stake, namely the 'reputation' of the relevant ruler within a group of other

1 However, at least in the sixteenth century, the Ottoman court had at least as much trouble in accepting the shahs of Iran as Muslims as the kings of Spain had in admitting that Queen Elizabeth I of England or William of Orange were indeed Christians. Thus at the great circumcision feast of 1582, the Iranian representative was publicly insulted by having to watch the conversion, with all the pomp and ceremony imaginable, of a Shiite to Sunni Islam. He was thus in no better case than the European ambassadors who on such occasions, were expected to attend the war games in which the Ottomans bested their fellow Christians. Compare Nurhan Atasoy, 1582 Surname-i Humayun, An Imperial Celebration (Istanbul: Koçbank, 1997), pp. I l l and 123. 2

This story was relayed by the marquis de Bonnac in one of his unpublished papers: Archives diplomatiques de Nantes, Ambassade de France à Constantinople, Série A, Fonds St Priest, Correspondance politique 9, Mémoires et pièces divers du marquis de Bonnac 1716-1724, fol. 83a (new pagination). I do not know whether such a case ever occurred, or whether it was invented by the author for his own purposes.

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potentates. All this has long been known to students of European history. 1 But the point to be made here is that the 'sign language' of diplomatic gestures was just as well understood and 'spoken' at the Ottoman court. In part, this was certainly due to the fact that certain elements of ceremonial as current in the seventeenth century ultimately were derived from late antique models, that had been reworked by Umayyads, Abbasids, Byzantines and mediaeval western princes alike. 2 But in addition, mutual understanding was enhanced due to the activities of mediators, for example the much maligned dragomans; but long-resident and experienced diplomats, including for instance De Bonnac, might also play this role. Thus Ottoman and European court societies possessed a range of gestures designed to express honour, rank or else the lack of these two qualities. The sign language of protocol was either common to both sides, or at the very least, mutually intelligible.

1 William Roosen, "Early Modern Diplomatic Ceremonial: A Systems Approach," The Journal of Modern History, 52,3 (1980), 452-476, see p. 459ff. Oleg Grabar, The Formation of Islamic Art (New Haven, London: Yale University Press, 1973), pp. 141-78 discusses the links between Romano-Byzantine and Sasanian building practices and ceremonial on the one hand, and Umayyad palace architecture on the other.

EXOTIC ANIMALS AT THE SULTANS' COURT

Throughout the Eurasian continent, power over wild animals since ancient times has been considered a major attribute of the ruler. This issue has been well studied for many cultures, including ancient Mesopotamia, or, closer to the Ottomans in time, Moghul India. 1 A variety of meanings have been suggested for this inclination to exhibit wild animals at the king's or emperor's court: thus in the early seventeenth century, Moghul rulers apparently borrowed the biblical motif of the lion lying next to the lamb/cow as a symbol of the ruler's power, who could command even lions to do his will. 2 However while in the Ottoman case, issues such as palace architecture, pious foundations or the display of precious cloths and furs have been intensively studied with an eye towards elucidating their respective roles in sultanic legitimization, the power of the ruler to control wild animals has not attracted much attention. This is all the more surprising as recent work on seventeenth-century French gardens should have alerted us to the possibilities of making imperial claims visible by the display of exotica. 3 As is well known, the region of Istanbul even in the seventeenth century was not exactly full of wild and dangerous beasts. The Ottoman sultans were thus in the same position as the majority of European potentates, that is, they had to procure most of the animals they wished to display from far a-field, as it was usually impossible to have these creatures caught by their own subjects or servitors. But then, the trouble and expense necessary to bring a wild beast to Istanbul could in itself be considered a source of prestige, as this meant that the Ottoman ruler either possessed vassals in remote places whom he could command to do his bidding, or else he was rich enough to foot the bill himself.

1 Due to the attention paid to animals in Moghul texts and miniatures, the topic is certainly easier to study in the northern Indian context. 2 Ebba Koch, Shah Jahan and Orpheus: The Pietre Dure Decoration and the Programme of Shah Jahan's Throne in the Hall of Public Audiences at the Red Fort of Delhi (Graz: Akademische Druck- und Verlagsanstalt, 1988). •i Chandra Mukerji, Territorial Ambitions and the Gardens of Versailles (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997). It is noteworthy that the author is much concerned with the trade in plants, but gives only the most cursory attention to the animals that also had some role to play in the self-assertion of Louis XIV (see pp. 177-78).

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A prologue: Ottoman sultans and the hunt Hunting is the royal sport par excellence, and in this respect, the Ottoman sultans followed the precedents established in Near Eastern empires both pre-Islamic and Islamic. Sasanid art had highlighted the rulers' enjoyment of the chase, and this example was imitated in early Islamic art. 1 Thus it became a widespread pictorial topos to depict the king hunting. In real life as well, rulers could claim special privileges connected with the hunt: the wilder and rarer a given animal, the greater was the tendency to reserve its ritualized killing for the prince or sultan. Thus in seventeenth century northern India, lions could still be found, although the numbers were doubtless limited. As a result, lion-hunting was reserved for the Moghul emperor and his sons, unless a less highly placed mortal enjoying the royal favor had been granted special permission. 2 Presumably the meaning of this privilege was to emphasize both the ruler's physical prowess and his power to control the rare, strange and exotic. But it was not necessary to kill rare and fierce animals for hunting to feature as a sport suitable for a sultan. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the Ottoman court frequently visited Edirne, where the supply of game was supposed to be especially good, and occasionally the rulers hunted on the Ke§i§dagi near Bursa, the present-day Uludag. Here presumably hares, deer and perhaps foxes, wild boars or wolves were available, but no exotic game. 3 Hunting trips also might be undertaken in the immediate vicinity of the Ottoman capital. In 1588, the former galley slave Michael Heberer was able to watch Sultan Murad III while hunting in Hasbahgc, on the shores of the B o s p o r u s . 4 This trip seems to have been undertaken more as a demonstration of the ruler's power and magnificence, than for actually killing animals. For Heberer describes the display of silks and brocades as well as the fine horse trimmings paraded on this occasion, while he also notes that the booty amounted to no more than 'one to six' hares. Apparently a large pile of dead creatures at the end of the day was not what Murad III expected as the outcome of a sultanic hunt. See Oleg Grabar, The Formation of Islamic Art (New Haven, London: Yale University Press, 1973), pp. 156-157, where hunting is mentioned among the pleasures that the ruler might enjoy in a rather demonstrative fashion. . 2 Thus Jahangir reported that while participating in a hunt, one of his courtiers was attacked by a lion, and he himself fell down in the fray and was even trodden upon by his terrified servitors. Ultimately the courtier was saved by his companions. Compare Jahangir, The Jahangirnama, Memoirs of Jahangir, Emperor of India, tr. by Wheeler M. Thackston (Washington, New York and Oxford...: Freer Art Gallery, Arthur M. Sackler Gallery and Oxford University Press, 1999), pp. 117-18. 3 For a miniature of Sultan Siileyman hunting deer, see Ivan Stchoukine, La peinture turque d'après les manuscripts illustrés, 2 parts (Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1966 and 1971), part I, 111. XXII (from the "Siileyman-name"); 111. LXVI shows the same ruler killing a wild buffalo and 111. LXIX, hunting a bear (both from Lokman's "Hiiner-name"). 4 Johann Michael Heberer von Bretten, Aegyptiaca Servitus, intr. by Karl Teply (Graz: Akademische Druck- und Verlagsanstalt, reprint 1967), pp. 352-53.

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However this paper is not about hunting, but about wild animals caught alive that were transported to Istanbul and kept at the sultans' court. Thus we have introduced the hunt only because certain wild beasts might be captured, tamed and used to track down whatever creatures were to be the final objects of the sultanic chase. In this context, we will focus on wild cats, namely the leopards (pars) acquired by the court to be used in hunting, similarly to dogs or falcons. But in addition, we will also deal with felines kept purely for display, such as lions. Outside the hunt, we will discuss the elephants that probably produced the most dramatic effect in the sultan's processions, as they were highly exotic, large enough to be seen from afar and tame enough to not require a cage.1

Ottoman sources on lions and leopards Ottoman sources on wild animals in a courtly context are not very abundant. After a good deal of searching, I have been able to track down a few official documents from the eighteenth and very early nineteenth centuries. For the most part, these texts deal with matters only partially relevant to the animals themselves. Thus we are informed about the pay and food assigned to the guardians, and only in passing, the texts may also make brief references to the nourishment assigned to the beasts. More relevant to our purposes, other documents will discuss the conditions under which the sultan's lions were to be kept, special emphasis being placed on solid carts suitable for transporting the dangerous creatures.2 Further information on the keeping of lions survives from 1231/181516; the document in question was written out during the early years of Mahmud II's reign (r. 1808-39). At this time, the administration was expecting a gift lion from Algiers, a province which but a few years later was to be lost to the French. In preparation for the arrival of this animal, the ancient lion house in the former palace of Fazli Pa§a, near the Atmeydani, was thoroughly overhauled, and there survives a detailed budget of the work to be done and the expected costs (ke§ij). 3 All these matters are very mundane. No Ottoman ruler unfortunately has written memoirs resembling those of the Moghul emperors Babur and Jahangir, in which the authors expressed their interest in exotic animals and

Apart from lions and leopards, the Ottoman palace owned hunting dogs and falcons, and also gazelles or deer, at least if an illustration of the second court of the Topkapi Sarayi, dating from 992/1584, is at all realistic. Compare Stchoukine, La peinture turque, part I, 111. LXIII. This miniature forms part of the "Huner-nâme" of Seyyid Lokman. 2 See for example Bagbakanlik Ar§ivi-Osmanh Ar§ivi, section Cevdet Saray 4301 (1159/1746) and 6460 (1217/1802-03). 3 Cevdet Saray 6712 (1231/1815-16).

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their reactions when a particularly rare creature arrived in Delhi or Agra. 1 No official source hitherto has been found that explains why the presence of captive wild creatures was considered so desirable at the Ottoman court. But as so often, the gaps in our documentation have partly been filled by Evliya Celebi's travelogue, in this particular instance the first volume, devoted to mid-seventeenth-century Istanbul. 2 For in the context of a great parade that marked the beginning of a campaign undertaken by Sultan Murad IV, Evliya has a good deal to say about the exhibitors of trained animals, including those in the service of the ruler, and also about the wild creatures that they paraded before the Istanbul populace.

Two European

diarists3

However many more details concerning the sultans' menagerie can be gleaned from the accounts of European travelers. On these writings in general, quite a few critical studies have been undertaken during the thirty years that have passed since the appearance of Edward Said's Orientalism.4 Frédéric Tinguely has pointed out that in the sixteenth century, the sultans' menagerie formed part of the 'tourist itinerary' of European gentlemen visiting Istanbul.5 Thus the accounts that we find in many travelogues of the time may not be based on personal observation at all, but on the remarks found in the writings of the relevant author's predecessors.6

[Zahiruddin Muhammad Babur], The Baburnama, Memoirs ofBabur, Prince and Emperor, tr., annotated and edited by Wheeler M. Thackston (Washington, New York and Oxford: Freer Art Gallery, Arthur M. Sackler Gallery and Oxford University Press, 1996), pp. 334-42 contains a veritable description of the fauna of India, including elephants and the different uses to which they were put. On the less systematic observations of Jahangir, see The Jahangirnama, pp. 13334. 2 Evliya Çelebi Seyahatnamesi, 1. Kitap Istanbul, Topkapi Sarayi Bagdat 30 Yazmasimn Transkripsyonu-Dizini, ed. by Orhan §aik Gökyay (Istanbul: Yapi ve Kredi Bankasi, 1995). ^ Antoine Galland, Voyage à Constantinople (1672-1673), ed. by Charles Schefer, preface by Frédéric Baudin (Paris: Maisonneuve and Larose, coll. Dédale, 2002). This is a reprint of the 1881 edition. Reinhold Lubenau, Beschreibung der Reisen des Reinhold Lubenau, ed. by W. Sahm, 2. vols. (Königsberg/Kaliningrad: Ferd. Beyers Buchhandlung, 1912, 1915). 4 Edward W. Said, Orientalism (New York: Vintage Books, 1978). 5 Frédéric Tinguely, L'écriture du Levant à la Renaissance (Geneva: Droz, 2000), pp. 73-88 and elsewhere. 6 Lubenau made some cutting remarks about gentlemen who visited Istanbul, but were quite incapable of relating to the locals or making sense of what they saw. He also mentions little lists of 'sights to be seen' ( e x e m p l a r i a ) that he copied and sold to some gentlemen of his acquaintance. If he had not done so, was L u b e n a u ' s conclusion, after their return to Christendom these people would have been quite incapable of saying anything coherent about their visit. The existence of such leaflets, which probably did not survive because of their insubstantial character, helps to explain some of the similarities between the sixteenth-century travelers' accounts as commented upon by Tinguely, passim. For comparable observations concerning pilgrimage accounts, see Stephane Yérasimos, Les voyageurs dans l'Empire ottoman (XIVe-XVIe siècles). Bibliographie, itinéraires et inventaire des lieux habités (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1991), pp. 17-18.

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However the lively and curious young pharmacist Reinhold Lubenau, who spent a year in Istanbul in 1588 in the service of the Habsburg ambassador Bartholomäus Pezzen, was interested in animals as a result of his professional training. Thus he has left a much more detailed account than other travelers of his visits to the main sultanic menagerie near the Atmeydam and its secondary branch, which has only been documented for the sixteenth century. The latter was located near a Byzantine palace that at the time was known as that of Constantine, out on the road to Eyiip.1 In addition, an instructive description of the leopard keepers who participated in a sultanic procession has been authored by Antoine Galland. Galland spent about a year in Istanbul in 1672-73, and was greatly impressed by the splendor of Ottoman state ceremonial. His account thus forms a welcome complement to Evliya's description of a festive parade that must have been happened about a generation earlier, but appears to have been of rather a similar type. Both Lubenau and Galland have left diaries covering their stays in the Ottoman capital that were not published during their own life-times. In the case of Lubenau, the author did however presumably rework his diary to conform to the standards of contemporary scholarly writing. This must have happened long after the author's return to his native city of Königsberg, today Kaliningrad. It is probably due to this latter-day revision that the manuscript contains numerous references, especially to authors of antiquity; these were after all considered essential in any work claiming scholarly merit. 2 However, for reasons that remain unknown the diary was published only several centuries later, namely in 1912-15. Lubenau liked a good story and even though he knew no Ottoman, apparently had no trouble mixing with people. But he was not very critical in outlook, and as a result, he has relayed a good bit of folklore which he himself took for gospel truth. Thus he gives us figures and descriptions reminiscent of Evliya £elebi at his most exuberant, not only about the many hundreds of thousands of dead counted in Istanbul during a recent plague epidemic, but also about the anatomical and physiological characteristics of some of the animals he had seen.

Petrus Gyllius, who was in Istanbul for most of the time between 1544 and 1550, also mentions that the sultan's elephants were kept in a ruin called the palace of Constantine, on the 'seventh hill' and close to the suburb he calls the Hebdomum; compare Pierre Gilles, The Antiquities of Constantinople, tr. by John Ball and ed. by Ronald G. Musto (New York: Italica Press, 1988), p. 190.

o

In an as yet unpublished paper read at a symposium on the Safavids (London 2002), Sonia Brentjes has demonstrated that Pietro della Valle, the famous seventeenth-century visitor to Iraq and Iran, proceeded in exactly the same fashion. He first wrote a fairly informal diary which after his return to Italy he interlaced with classical quotations, with the specific aim of proving the scholarly quality of his work and establishing his credentials, above all with the Roman Inquisition.

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By contrast, Antoine Galland (1646-1715) a student of Near Eastern languages was a more sophisticated personage. Apparently he never meant to publish his diary, but used it in order to compose the more formal writings that he submitted to his patrons. For the most part, these latter 'official' accounts of Galland's travels were not published and do not seem to have survived. But we have the good fortune to possess a rather informal text, in which the author 'spoke to himself and possibly was less concerned about being 'politically correct' than he would have been in the case of a manuscript meant to be printed: over many pages, Galland waxes enthusiastic about the visual qualities of Ottoman sultanic parades. By contrast, his contemporary the French ambassador De Nointel, who witnessed much the same scenes, was much cooler in his report. After all for a diplomat reporting to Versailles, it would not have been appropriate to belittle, if only tacitly and by comparison, the brilliance of the court festivals organized on behalf of Louis XIV.

Of lions, leopards and — less gloriously — hyenas Leopards, or other wild cats closely resembling them, were quite frequently used in the sultan's hunt. These creatures that Galland describes as 'une espèce de tigre' were apparently very tame and could be taken along on horseback by their keepers. 1 Galland says that the onlookers felt both astonishment and fear when seeing the leopards: astonishment because of their peaceful attitude, and the rich cloths with which they were covered, and fear because of their ferocious looks. Yet we are left to wonder whether Galland was really a good judge of the feelings of his Ottoman fellow viewers; for Evliya, who also listed the parsçis in his well-known procession account, cites a ditty which seems to consist of the excuses made by a leopard keeper when the animal in his charge had failed to catch anything at all. 2 However at least in Lubenau's view, the leopards took second place to the lions, of which the Arslanhane housed eight at the time of his visit. These were also extremely tame, for Lubenau reported that not only did the keepers play with them 'as if they were large dogs', but they were also sometimes led through the city so that members of the public could amuse themselves with them, 'as with a sheep'. Unfortunately there is no information on the trainers, nor do we find any information on the methods they used in domesticating their charges.

1 2

Galland, Voyage, p. 135. Evliya Çelebi Seyahatnamesi, 1. Kitap, p. 283.

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This is all the more regrettable as Lubenau seems to have found means of communicating with the men in charge of the Arslanhane, and to my knowledge, he is the only author to relay stories derived from this source. However the author was much less interested in the leopards and lions than in a hyena 'czirtlan' (Turkish: sirtlan), which he considered to be extremely ferocious and courageous. Lubenau gave a detailed description of the creature, only marred by the tall tale that the hyena had no teeth, and instead did its biting with a solid bone. In addition to the factual description, the author also included a good bit of folklore: apart from a belief in the aphrodisiac qualities of hyena's meat, the author also relayed some stories about the creature's supposed ability to understand human language. As later accounts do not mention the presence of hyenas among the animals displayed in the sultan's menagerie, it is possible that its very rarity gave rise to these fantastic inventions.1 Or maybe the keepers and/or the translators were just having a bit of fun at the expense of a curious stranger? If so, they succeeded brilliantly, because even after more than four hundred years, we are still left guessing.

The Arslanhane: from Byzantine church to Fazli Pa§a Sarayi When Lubenau visited Istanbul, the leopards were housed in the main building of the sultanic menagerie, which the young pharmacist described as a former Byzantine church. 2 Art historians have identified this building with the church of Christ constructed, in the tenth century, over the Chalke gate of the original palace of the Byzantine emperors. 3 Twenty years after Lubenau, the Arslanhane was once again described by the Polish Armenian Simeon, who in 1608-09 visited Istanbul on his pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Simeon saw a variety of felines including lions, and noted that in the fairly high-rise building, images of saints could still be recognized; these must have been remnants of frescoes or mosaics. 4 In the late eighteenth or early nineteenth century, the building was once again described by the Armenian Mecharist 1 According to the Encyclopedia Britannica of 1963, the species of hyena found in Iran and Anatolia is striped, while the spotted variety lives in Africa, "from Abyssinia to the Cape." Lubenau describes a spotted animal, although his comparison to a tiger casts some doubts on the accuracy of his description. If the hyena he saw was in fact of the African variety, its rarity might explain why the keepers of the Arslanhane were willing to feed it. o Lubenau, Beschreibung, vol. 1, p. 152-53. Cyril Mango, The Brazen House, A Study of the Vestibule of the Imperial Palace of Constantinople (Kopenhagen: Munksgaard, 1959) and the article "Arslanhane" in Diinden Bugiine Istanbul Ansiklopedisi, 8 vols. (Istanbul: Ktiltiir Bakanhgi and Tarih Vakfi, 1993-1995) by Semavi Eyice, who has discovered the most dramatic engraving depicting the Arslanhane, an illustration that forms part of the multi-volume geographic work of G. Inciciyan. 4 Hrand Andreasyan tr., Polonyali Simeon'un Seyahatnamesi 1608-1619 (Istanbul: Istanbul Universitesi, 1964), p. 7.

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monk and highly productive geographer G. inciciyan. This author reported that the Arslanhane, which in an upper floor also contained a workshop of draftsmen and designers (nakka§hane) was destroyed in a fire and shortly afterwards torn down in order to make room for the extension of the sultan's armory (cebehane).1

Now the nakka§ hane was not the only workshop in this neighborhood; quite to the contrary, the Fazli Pasa Sarayi, as the location where the sultan's lions were kept in the eighteenth century was often called, was filled with a variety of workplaces, including a dye-house whose revenues helped to finance the library that Ahmed III had founded in the Palace. 2 Concrete information is hard to come by, but it is quite possible that a disused palace had been turned into a set of utilitarian buildings, as had also happened in the Byzantine structure known as the Tekfur Sarayi, where in the eighteenth century a manufacture of fine faience had established itself. 3 But it seems that the fire mentioned by inciciyan did not mean that the sultan's menagerie disappeared from the area. For from the ke§if report of 1231/1815-16, we learn that the sultan had personally ordered the refurbishing of an old stone or brick construction close to the Hippodrome, inside the compound known as Fazli Pa§a ("At meydaninda kain Fazli Pa§a derununda mevcud kargirler derununa"). 4 This included renewal of the iron bars, which were to close off the arches (kemerler) under which the lions had previously been kept. Thus while the building of Mahmud II's time is not called Arslanhane, it does seem to have had some past history as a place where the ruler's lions had been housed. The arches mentioned in our text must either correspond to those of the former church that Lubenau had visited and described in some detail, or to some other similar structure, possibly the former St John's church on the Dihippion. 5 In addition to iron grates and bars, the repair project included a refurbishing of the eaves, insertion of window glass, new floors and also a new door. Total expenses amounted to 3330.5

' See the article "Arslanhane" in Dünden Bugiine Istanbul Ansiklopedisi by Semavi Eyice. 2 This dye-house later was transferred to Bursa. Compare Suraiya Faroqhi, "Ortak i§liklerle Özel Evier Arasinda XVIII. Yiizyil Bursa'sinda fçyerleri" translated by Rita Urgan in Bir Masaldi Bursa... ed. Engin Yenal (Istanbul: Yapi ve Kredi Bankasi, 1996), pp. 97-104. 3

Wolfgang Müller-Wiener, Bildlexikon zur Topographie Istanbuls, Byzantion - Konstantinopolis - Istanbul (Tübingen: Ernst Wasmuth, 1977), pp. 244-47. 4 Cevdet Saray 6712 (1231/1815-16). Müller-Wiener, Bildlexikon, p. 81; however on p. 441 the same author surmises that this church was torn down already before or around 1512 to make room for the Firuz Aga mosque. La question reste ouverte.

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Thus the sultanic menagerie survived the fire of 1802 and at the present state of our information, we cannot tell when it finally disappeared.2 Apparently the lion expected from Algiers was not a tame creature of the type that had thrilled sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Istanbullus; as a result, it was necessary to make arrangements to get him safely off the ship and through the city. Around 1800, the Palace apparently kept about six carts solid enough for this purpose, and when these were no longer serviceable, the parlous state of the Ottoman finances during those years did not prevent the administration from assigning money for replacement and repair. Admittedly, these carts were not very expensive; and a new one could be had for the relatively modest sum of 300 guru§. guru§}

As to the men in charge of lions and other felines, they were grouped into two corps. Evliya Qelebi briefly mentions the parsgis or leopard keepers. In Murad IV's parade as described by this author, the men, supposedly fiftyfive in number, carried valuable leopard skins and staffs with which they controlled the sultan's hunting leopards, which were covered in costly fabrics. As an organized body, the leopard keepers seem to have existed until the very end of the seventeenth century. Then, in 1098/1686-87, the corps was abolished, probably to save money during the disastrous war with Austria and possibly also as a measure designed to reestablish the dynasty's prestige: after all in 1687, Mehmed IV was deposed as unfit to rule exactly because he had spent so much time and energy on the hunt. In the early eighteenth century, there was an effort to once again found such a corps, but we do not know whether this attempt was at all successful. 3 However Evliya's most valuable information involves the Arslanhane as a going concern, supposedly with one hundred employees. These men venerated as their patron the Imam Ali, son-in-law of the Prophet Muhammad, one of whose titles is that of 'lion of God'. 4 It appears that differently from the leopard-keepers, this institution survived all seventeenth- and eighteenthcentury attempts to save money by streamlining the sultans' court. In fact, throughout the later eighteenth century, there existed regular positions to be filled whenever the current incumbent died or retired. Thus in 1171/1757-58, when Mustafa III had just ascended the throne, a certain Ismail asked and received confirmation of his appointment as arslanci, which he had already 1 Cevdet Saray 6712. Identification is made difficult by the fact that there were many former Byzantine churches in the area. 2 There is apparently no link to the present-day Istanbul zoo, which for a few decades was situated in Gulhane Park, adjacent to the Topkapi Palace. The zoo was only founded in the middle 1950s when a previous animal refuge on the site was reorganized; compare the article "Hayvanat bahfesi" in Dtinden Bugiine Istanbul Ansiklopedisi. 3 Cevdet Saray 6151 (1113/1701-02). 4 Evliya £elebi Seyahatnamesi, 1. Kitap, p. 245.

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held under Osman III (1754-57) and Mahmud I (1730-54). Admittedly the position carried the purely symbolic pay of just 2 akge a day. 1 Moreover the corps of lion-keepers still existed at the beginning of the nineteenth century. From this period there survives a petition, in fairly colloquial Turkish, signed by the chief lion keeper (arslanciba§i)? Thus while other personnel in charge of wild animals were apparently hired and fired according to need, this was not true of the lion-keepers. Rather, the latter seem to have shown considerable institutional permanence. I wonder whether this meant that above all other creatures, lions were considered an important vehicle of sultanic representation, almost a kind of necessity.

Elephants in pictorial

sources

Lions could be procured from North Africa, and certain felines probably came from the mountain forests of the Balkans. However elephants were in a different category as they had to be imported from India or tropical Africa (probably the former in most instances) and thus must have been even rarer and more precious. 3 Their existence at the court of the sultans is documented in writing mainly for the second half of the eighteenth century. 4 For the older period, miniatures form almost our only source: thus an elephant figures among the gifts brought to the Ottoman court by a Safawid embassy depicted in the early seventeenth century; the animal had probably transited through Iran on its way from India. 5 A set of miniatures by the painter Levni, commemorating the famous circumcision festival organized in 1720 for the sons of Ahmed III, shows several elephants with highly decorated howdahs participating in the processions that were organized in this context. 6 However the miniatures by themselves do not allow us to determine whether the elephants in question were authentic, or else imitations propelled by men 1

Bagbakanlik Ar§ivi-Osmanh Ar§ivi, section Maliyeden miidevver 9989 (1171/1757-58), p. 45. Cevdet Saray 6460 (1217/1802-03). 3 Almost nothing is known about the political context in which certain Indian or Safawid rulers decided to dispatch elephants to the Ottoman court; particularly, we have no idea whether Istanbul officials had previously expressed a desire to receive these animals. However the supply lines from India to the Portuguese, Papal and Habsburg courts have been studied in some detail: Michael Gorgas, "Animal Trading between India and Western Eurasia in the Sixteenth Indo-Portuguese Century — the RoJe of the Fuggers in Animal Trading," in K. S. Mathew, Trade and the Fuggers of Germany, Sixteenth Century (Delhi: Manohar, 1997), pp. 195-225 and Silvio A. Bedini, The Pope's Elephant (Nashville: J. S. Sanders and Company, 1998). 2

4

Evliya has nothing to say about elephants, so presumably in the middle of the seventeenth century, the Palace did not own any. 5 Stchoukine, La peinture turque, part I, 111. CXI. This is an illustration of a "Shah-name" executed for Sultan Osman II. 6 Esin Atil, Levni and the Surname. The Story of an Eighteenth-century Ottoman Festival (Istanbul: Kofbank, 1999)

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hidden in their wide legs. We may assume that some if not all of these elephants were creatures of art rather than of nature as one miniature shows an elephant spouting fireworks from his nostrils, and real animals do not take kindly to that sort of treatment. 1 In fact the artificers from the corps of the cannoniers and armorers {topgu, cebeci) did construct an elephant in order to set off their mock fortress to better advantage, so that quite possibly in 1720, there were no real elephants present at all. 2 On the other hand, Indian miniatures show that life-size threedimensional statues of elephants did figure in certain palace contexts, and the idea of displaying such artwork may thus have come to Istanbul from the Moghul empire, along with the living elephants that both Indian rulers and Ottoman sultans were proud to display. For throughout their existence, Moghul rulers continued to favor the elephant, for festive as for warlike pursuits. From the very last years of the dynasty (1815) there survives a sketch of an elephant image decked out with fireworks, meant to be paraded through the streets at some public festival. 3 As an alternative source of inspiration, the Ottoman palace often must have received the table-sized silver elephants that were popular in Europe during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, first as part of the Habsburg tribute and later as diplomatic gifts. 4 A late example of this type of decoration still survives in the treasury of the Topkapi palace. These pieces may well have contributed towards familiarizing Palace artists with the decorative potential of the elephant. Reproducing these creatures in different sizes thus formed part of what may be considered a common Eurasian festive culture.

Sultans and elephants in official records Less ambiguous are the official documents surviving from the middle of the eighteenth century onwards, reflecting the physical presence of an 1

Atil, Levni and the Surname, p. 164. Atil, Levni and the Surname, p. 204. 3 Compare I (?) 4596, fol. 15, belonging to the Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Museum für Islamische Kunst, Berlin. In the foreground of this miniature, we see a live elephant, while in the background, a statue of the same animal guards the entrance to the Palace. On the combination of elephants and fireworks in a Moghul context see Georg Köhler with Alice Villon-Lechner eds., Die schöne Kunst der Verschwendung. Fest und Feuerwerk in der europäischen Geschichte (Zurich: Munich: Artemis, 1988), p. 207. 4 The standard work on this subject is Otto Kurz, European Clocks and Watches in the Near East (London, Leiden: The Warburg Institute, University of London and E. I. Brill, 1975). For the reference to Busbecq, see pp. 28-29. As to Busbecq's own text, an edition of the original, along with a translation into Dutch, is found in Ogier Ghiselin van Boesbeck, Vier brieven over het gezantschap naar Turkije, Legationis Turcicae epistulae quatuor tr. by Michel Goldsteen and annotated by Zweder von Martels (Hilversum: Verloren, 1994), see pp. 268-69. 2

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elephant in the sultanic menagerie. In a sequence of documents dated 1152/1739-40, we are told that expenditure on both the elephant(s) and its/their keepers amounted to 510 akge (4 guru§ and 30 akge) per day and 121.5 guru§ per month. 1 In a further petition dated Rebi' II 1154/June-July 1741, Haci Isa, bearing the title of ser-filiyan-i hassa (chief elephant keeper) confirmed having received the monthly allowance assigned to the animal; it amounted to 15,300 akge or slightly over 127 guru§. There is no explanation for the discrepancy between the two figures, which may have been due to higher food prices or else special needs of the animal and its keepers. This money was taken out of the customs accounts (probably of Istanbul) and was spent among other things, on 1 kiyye (1.2828 kg) of sugar, the same quantity of butterfat and 14 kiyye of bread, which the elephant consumed every single day. 2 Some time during the mid-forties, the Palace moreover acquired a second animal; but nothing is known about the circumstances of its arrival. Haci Isa, who was paid 7.5 guru§ per month, in 1155/1742 had 13 helpers at his disposal, each of whom received no more than four guru§. It does not seem that there were any specific guidelines concerning the number of men needed to care for an elephant; for in the occasional 'orders of payment' that are all we possess as evidence, varying numbers of people are mentioned even when there was apparently no change in the animals kept. But in all likelihood, the real attraction of the job consisted of the 'perks': for the men received a variety of everyday necessities in kind. In certain accounts, salt, chickpeas, onions and wax were mentioned. 3 In another instance, we hear of firewood, bread, meat, butterfat and half a kiyye of rice a day, delivered by the storeroom of the sultanic kitchen. Paying the elephant keepers' money wages was part of the responsibility of the Palace marshal (mirahor aga). There is no indication where the elephant keepers had learned how to take care of the animal; but quite possibly at least the senior man had accompanied the elephant from its homeland, and undertaken the pilgrimage en route. While visitors to India often have referred to the close relationship the keeper (mahout) established with his animal, there is no indication in our sources that anything of the kind was attempted in Istanbul. Thus it seems that at the Ottoman court, the art of elephant riding was not really mastered: the animals, or at times their mechanical images, simply were made to pull wagons. Or else in a miniature from the earlier surviving illustrated festival book, that of 1582, two men are awkwardly perched on top of the animal with 1 Cevdet Saray 7256 (1152/1739-40). In the documents of the time, the guru$ is considered equivalent to 120 akge. Compare Cevdet Saray 6852 (1155/1742-43). 2 Cevdet Saray 430 (1159/1746). The foodstuffs were delivered from the stores of the sultan's kitchen. 3 Cevdet Saray 2274 (1155/1742-43), 3635 (1158/1745) and 6410 (1154/1741-42).

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a lance to goad it. 1 With due allowance for error, miniatures showing Ottoman elephant riders in their howdah with the mahout up front do not seem to occur in the surviving manuscripts. 2 Our next piece of evidence comes from the later eighteenth century, when the ruler of the Indian principality of Djalbar had sent a single elephant. A document dated 1197/1782-83 tells us that the sultan had ordered the transfer of the animal to Edirne; this may indicate that Abdiilhamid I, who spent most of his time in Istanbul, considered the elephant of only marginal significance. This impression is confirmed by the fact that a minor local official, the ki§lak emini, was expected to find 'a suitable place' for the animal and see to its food and drink. Apparently the sultan did not think that either he or any members of his household would ever enjoy seeing the elephant paraded in the streets of the capital. 3 A further bit of evidence survives from the early nineteenth century, those difficult years when the young sultan Mahmud II was still consolidating his position. In 1233/1815-16, the year in which, as we have seen, the lion cages were repaired in the expectation of new inmates, the Palace also had acquired an unspecified number of elephants by way of Iran, for which keepers were hired at 30 guru§ per month. 4 Quite possibly this regain of activity in the sultanic menagerie had something to do with the fact that Mahmud II was still quite young, and thus interested in matters of display that had seemed irrelevant to Abdiilhamid I, who was already middle-aged when he ascended the throne. Once again, we do not know when the Palace received elephants for the last time.

And what did it all mean? Interested foreign observers have provided many details unavailable in the Ottoman sources, but precisely because of their position as foreigners, they have not been able to say much about the meaning of the events they had witnessed. Given the silence of Ottoman official sources, so far I have only found a single clue concerning the role of wild animals in sultanic ceremonial; once again we owe it to Evliya £elebi. When describing the famous parade of artisans and officials held in honor of Murad IV's campaign, Evliya claims

1 Metin And, Osmanli §enliklerinde Turk Sanation (Ankara: Kiiltiir ve Turizm Bakanligi, 1982), 111. No 61. 2 However members of the Iranian embassy shown in a miniature of the Shâh-nâme of Sultan Osman II ride a richly caparisoned elephant in exactly this fashion: Stchoukine, La peinture turque, part I, 111. CXI. 3 Cevdet Saray 6016 (1192/ 1782-83). 4 Cevdet Saray 6778 (1233/1815-16).

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that ten lions, five leopards and twelve tigers, in addition to foxes, wolves, jackals and hyenas were marched in the procession by attendants.1 Particularly the lions were loaded with chains; but just in case one of them broke loose, their keepers carried gazelle meat which had been treated with opium and other somniferous drugs. In case of an accident, the lion, so it was hoped, could be pacified by this food. That the lions were not kept in cages mounted on carts, as seems to have been the case in the early nineteenth century, may be taken to indicate that the sight was intended to strike terror in the hearts of the populace. The viewers were not meant to feel a moderate and vicarious titillation, but the grip of real fear. Moreover even if Evliya had invented this detail, the story would still be of interest, for he was a well-informed observer familiar with Ottoman court practice, and should have known very well what effects the designers of the procession had intended with their display. However this was a time of festivity, and the feeling of terror should not have been allowed to get out of hand. Thus Evliya also told us that the furriers participating in the parade dressed up as wild animals, and scared the spectators 'for the mere fun of it.' 2 Thus there was a gentle transition between the 'real' and the 'theatrical', and the real fear aroused by the chained lions should have been dissipated by the tame bears and other creatures which amused the spectators at this and other sultanic processions. 3 Apparently it was an essential part of Ottoman festivals to highlight people on the point of coming to grievous bodily harm, but stopping just short of this eventuality. 4 If a bit of speculation is permitted: this mixture of fear of the lion or other wild beast, and trust in the joyous outcome of the festive encounter with such a creature, may well have enhanced popular trust in the protective powers of the padi$ah-i alempenah, 'the refuge of the world' to whom even wild beasts did obeisance. Matters are somewhat different in the case of the elephants. If their depiction in eighteenth-century miniatures is any guide, they were shown not as wild beasts, denizens of the jungle, but as animals specially trained to serve their owners, similarly to the horses that formed the principal responsibility of the mirahor. While the Ottomans never took elephants along to war, they emulated this widespread Indian practice, often depicted in Moghul miniatures, 1

Evliya Qelebi Seyahatnamesi, 1. Kitap, p. 245. Evliya Qelebi Seyahatnamesi, 1. Kitap, p. 282. 3 Atil, Levni and the Surname, p. 186 shows a scene from the Surname of 1720: here the spectators are entertained by a mock attack on the part of tame bears. 4 Thus certain people were in the habit of sticking knives into their bodies and thus showing off their endurance at parades. But when one of them died, the festival organizers, on behalf of Sultan Murad III, prohibited this practice on pain of death. Compare Lubenau, Beschreibung, vol.2, p. 51. 2

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by the accoutrements the (artificial) elephants were made to pull in their processions. For in Levni's artwork depicting the celebrations of 1720, we see these animals carrying turrets equipped with mock cannons, to say nothing of the images of armed men ornamenting the turrets and the living soldiers manning the mock fortifications. 1 At least in the make-believe world of the festival, the Ottoman sultan had thus augmented his army by the formidable force of a few war elephants. Moreover India with its numerous wonders both man-made and natural enjoyed a certain prestige in the Ottoman world while on the other hand at least around 1600 there was more or less explicit competition between the Moghul rulers and the Ottoman sultans. Given this state of affairs, we can surmise that elephants demonstrated sultanic power and access to exotic creatures. Perhaps the latter were paraded in the streets of Istanbul to show that the sultans could rival their Indian counterparts in every conceivable way. 2 If we carry speculation yet a step further, we can also suppose that considerations of this kind motivated the Ottoman officials who designed the 1720 procession. By showing to the Istanbul populace an image of an elephant pulling a symbol of massed firepower, namely towers and castles manned by gunners, they were out to show that the sultan was not merely the equal of any Indian ruler but in fact the most powerful figure in the Islamic world. After all in India the Ottomans, here known as Rumis had long enjoyed the reputation of being superior fighters due to their employment of guns and now at least for the duration of a procession, the sultan's soldiers possessed elephants as well. 3 Perhaps the idea was to say that the elephant served to bring the fortress into position, and thus ceded first place to the skill and strength of Ottoman soldiers. Or else the organizers may have thought that really superior power could be obtained by combining the martial virtues of Ottomans and Moghul Indians. This question, and others like it, will need further investigation. 1 Atil, Levni and the Surname, p. 204. A different version of the same arrangement is found in And, Osmanli §enliklerinde Turk Sanatlari, 111. No 60. 2 Possibly the elephants also were meant to refer to the war elephants of King Porus, Alexander/Iskender's defeated Indian rival; but to date I have not been able to substantiate this hypothesis. There is no doubt that the Moghul ruler Jahangir did see the Ottoman sultan as a rival to be disparaged. In The Jahangirnama, p. 95 he discussed the visit of a Transoxanian who described himself as an Ottoman ambassador; only the Moghul court did not believe this claim. In this context Jahangir explained that (his ancestor) Timur had acted magnanimously towards the defeated Bayezid Yildirim, and implied that the Ottoman sultans had been amiss in never sending any envoys to the Moghuls who should have been honored as descendants of Timur. 3 Seyyidf 'All Re'fs, Le miroir des pays, Une anabase ottomane a travers I'Inde et I'Asie centrale, tr. and comments by Jean-Louis Bacqui-Grammont ([Aix-e-Provence]: SindbadActes Sud, 1999), pp. 66-67 referred to the many job offers his men received from Indian potentates. Although the reasons were not made explicit the soldiers and sailors were probably considered expert in the use of firearms.

OTTOMAN VIEWS ON CORSAIRS AND PIRACY IN THE ADRIATIC

The political setting It has long been known that between 1500 and 1800 the Mediterranean was filled with officially licensed corsairs whenever the area was a theatre of war, quite apart from the freebooters who, sit venia verbo, used the occasion to fish in troubled waters. 1 Moreover, when there was no major war, unlicensed pirates were not lacking, and some of them might be commercial competitors of the people they attacked. This applied, to cite only the bestknown case, to the English merchants of the late 16th century who, by dint of piracy, tried to eliminate Venetian shippers by driving up the insurance rates which the latter had to pay. 2 In a grey zone between corsairs and pirates moved those captains who considered themselves to be perpetually at war with the 'other side', regardless of truces and even peace treaties between Venice and the Ottomans, or the Habsburg King of Spain and the Ottoman sultan. In their own understanding, such captains were corsairs and not pirates, even though the government whom they allegedly served might take a different view. According to a story from the 17th century, an Ottoman freebooter and his crew were at least as wary of the Sultan's provincial governor as they were of unidentified sails suddenly appearing on the horizon.3 But then of course all this activity was rendered possible by the fact that the major states were ambiguous about captains claiming allegiance to themselves who robbed and enslaved people considered as the 'infidel', whoever that might be in a particular case. The Venetian Signoria quite often found itself in the position of sheltering freebooters. Usually it was only fear of a major war with the Ottoman sultan which induced the courts of the Serenissima to punish captured pirates who had attacked traders from Istanbul or Sarajevo, and sometimes Ottoman pashas — or indeed, to catch the robbers

1 Fernand Braudel, La Méditerranée et le monde méditerranéen à l'époque de Philippe II, 2 vols. (Paris Librarie Armand Colin, 1966). v. II, p. 190-212. 2 Alberto Tenenti, Piracy and the Decline of Venice (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967). T A. Tietze, Die Geschichte vom Kerkermeister-Kapitän, Ein türkischer Seeräuberroman aus dem 17. Jahrhundert, Acta Orientalia, 19 (1942) 152-210.

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at all. 1 In 1645 the war which, twenty-five years later, led to the Ottoman conquest of Crete, began with a case of piracy. 2 Moreover, we have to distinguish between the Signoria itself and its local governors in Dalmatia and elsewhere, who might condone acts of piracy the authorities in Venice considered highly undesirable. Questions of material gain were much to the forefront. While apart from a few major port towns, the Dalmatian coasts did not produce a great deal of revenue, to accord protection to a pirate or selfstyled corsair might entail a share of the booty, a tempting opportunity for an impecunious Venetian commander. Something rather similar applies to the Ottoman side. To begin with, there were the North African provinces of Algiers, Tunis and Tripolis, whose militias and sea captains, even though they recognised the Sultan as overlord, did not regard themselves as bound by the treaties which a European state might conclude with the Ottoman central government. 3 But even in the eastern Mediterranean, there were frequent complaints about provincial governors who accorded marauders the protection of their fortifications, despite numerous sultanic commands to the contrary. Apparently day-to-day relations with foreign merchants were not the province of the central government at all, but constituted the responsibility of local authorities, often rather junior ones. Some of these officials felt inspired by the ghazi ethos, and therefore protected raiders against the infidel even if it meant violating the terms of a privilege granted by their own Sultan. 4 Moreover, material gain was of course no less important in the Ottoman case than in the Venetian. Certain governors, expecting a share of the loot, provided Algerian or Tunisian corsairs with protection, victuals and a place to market their captives. Other office-holders, for the very same reason, might react in the opposite fashion. This was the case particularly if the Ottoman governors or fortress commanders in question had established mutually profitable relations with Venetian or other foreign merchants active in the area they happened to govern. How the central Ottoman authorities would react to a raid undertaken by captains owing allegiance to the Sultan thus was determined by ever-shifting political considerations. Not merely the central administration, but also

A. Fabris, Un caso di pirateria veneziana: la cattura della galea del bey di Gerba (21 ottobre 1584), Quaderni di Studi Arabi, 8 (1990) 91-112. This article discusses a well documented attack by a Venetian pirate on an Ottoman galley carrying the young son of the governor of Tripolis/Africa, along with his mother. Both these personages were murdered with great brutality and much further loss of life. Under significant pressure from Istanbul, the Signoria finally executed the pirate captain. 2

F.G. Lane, Venice, a Maritime Republic, (Baltimore 1973) p. 408. According to Lane, Venice, p. 408, Venice long refused to negotiate with the three 'Regencies' directly, and Venetian ships accordingly were regarded as legitimate prizes. By contrast, France and especially Holland were pragmatic in these matters ; cf. D. Panzac, Les corsaires barbaresques. La fin d'une épopée 1800-1820 (Paris 1999). 4 Suraiya Faroqhi, The Venetian Presence in the Ottoman Empire, The Journal of European Economic History (Rome), 15 (1986) 345-384. 3

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local governors and tax collectors were guided by the interests of the fisc on the one hand, but often enough, by more particularistic concerns on the other. A further complication arose from the presence of Austrian Habsburgs close to the northern edge of the Adriatic Sea. Admittedly in the years around 1600, this dynasty was not yet in the business of encouraging trade through Trieste. This was to happen only from the 18th century onwards, when the Habsburgs encouraged immigration into this port town, which, as a result, became a serious competitor of Venice for the regional trade of northern Italy. But in the context of Habsburg-Ottoman rivalry, refugees from the Ottoman Balkans and sometimes also from Venetian territories were made welcome at the impregnable coastal fortress of Senj/Segna. 1 Known as Uskoks, these men commanded almost no resources except piracy and/or corsair activity, two ways of life which, however distinct they might be in theory, often were difficult to distinguish in practice. The Uskoks' depredations were directed not only against Muslim merchants; quite to the contrary, Uskok captains attacked Ottoman Christians with equal relish. If a justification was needed, their spokesmen often claimed that by recognising the overlordship of the Sultan, Greek, Anatolian or Syrian merchants had placed themselves outside the pale of Christianity, to say nothing of the fact that they were Orthodox 'schismatics'. 2 Venetian merchants frequently risked becoming the victims of the Uskoks as well, since they owed allegiance to a hostile state. Considerable research has been done on the bind in which the Uskoks' depredations placed the Signoria 3 . According to the agreement with the Ottoman Sultans, the Venetians had the right and duty to attack and pursue pirates active in the Adriatic. Where Christians were involved, this posed no problems from the Sultans' point of view — proceedings against Muslims, however, could lead to complications if they were on a large enough scale. Whenever the Venetians did not act speedily or decisively enough, the Ottoman side indicated that the Sultan's naval commanders might take the matter into their own hands, and this was something the Signoria tried to avoid at all costs. For quite apart from the danger that the presence of the Sultan's men-of-war might entail for Venetian possessions in Dalmatia, Venice's standing within Christendom was also at issue. In the troubled years around 1600, an admission that the Signoria was unable to police the Adriatic could easily lead to an intervention on the part of Spanish governors based in Milan or Naples, with serious dangers for Venetian sovereignty.

^Catherine Wendy Bracewell, The Uskoks of Sen], Piracy, Sixteenth-century Adriatic, (Ithaca, London 1992). 2 Bracewell, Uskoks, p. 155-174. ^Bracewell, Uskoks, p. 257.

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As to the Uskoks, more difficult to discuss because they have left fewer records, the political climate of our times has been more favourable to small non-state communities than that prevailing down to about 19701. Within this trend, a recent monograph on the Uskoks attempts, as far as the sources permit, to show them 'from the inside', allotting much space to the arguments with which these notorious raiders justified their activities. However, while this book is built upon a wide range of Venetian and Habsburg documents, the extant Ottoman materials have been completely ignored. This omission is worth noting, as the relevant materials are, for the most part, to be found within the very Venetian archives whose other sections have been so competently exploited.

Approaching the Ottoman point of view: the negotiating process In the present paper, we will attempt to fill this gap, at least by a few modest case studies. Our entreprise is based upon some official Ottoman documents from the late 16th and early 17th centuries. These permit us to reconstruct, at least to some extent, what policy-makers in Istanbul thought about pirates and corsairs active in the Adriatic, how the latter's activities should be repressed, and the damage caused by these freebooters compensated for. Addressed to the doges and their advisors, these letters have recently been made accessible through often quite extensive summaries in Italian. Even so, the originals are still worth consulting, as a good deal of important information remains unpublished. 2 Most of these texts were issued in the name of the Ottoman Sultan. According to a familiar format, they are authenticated by the characteristic tugra which contains the name of the ruler along with that of his father. Appended to some of these rescripts are contemporary Italian translations; in the case of the late 16th century, quite a few were prepared by Michele Membre, an experienced interpreter. 3 This Venetian set of original sultanic letters (name) is of particular interest, for it is rare to find such an extensive 1 For a study of the Cossacks in a similar perspective, compare Linda Gordon, Rebellions, Social Turmoil in the Sixteenth-century Ukraine, (Albany 1983).

Cossack

2 Maria Pia Pedani-Fabris, I "Documenti turchi" dell'Archivio di Stato di Venezia, (Roma 1994). One of the most interesting aspects of the Venetian collection is the large amount of archival material going back to the late 15th century. While the Prime Minister's archives in Istanbul, the principal repository of Ottoman documents, also contain some material from this period, their real riches date from the years following 1550. 3 In some instances, the Venetian archives also contain copies of Ottoman texts written by manifestly non-Ottoman scribes. On Michele Membre, of Circassian background but with links to Venetian Cyprus and time spent in Iran, see Maria Pia Pedani-Fabris, In nome del Gran Signore, inviati ottomani a Venezia dall caduta di Constantinopoli alia guerra di Candia, (Venezia 1994) p. 29 and 44.

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correspondence still in situ. While special registers of sultanic names exist in the Istanbul archives, they only begin in the closing years of the 17th century. 1 Moreover, register copies have preserved only the abridged form and lack the titles and polite phrases which, even though formulaic, often indicate the current state of relations between the Ottoman Empire and the Serenissima. Additionally, the Venetian archives contain sources which do not survive in Istanbul at all. Sultanic rescripts were often accompanied by letters written in the Grand Vizier's name, which to my knowledge are not to be found in any of the correspondance registers surviving in Istanbul today, at least not for the 16th or 17th century. Presumably they went into a special archive which no longer exists, or so far has escaped the attention of the cataloguers. This gap is all the more regrettable as the Grand Vizier's letters allow us a glimpse of the actual course of negotiations between the Ottoman and Venetian governments. In many cases, the language is quite informal: thus a Grand Vizier may point out that a given course of action would be in the best interests of the Signoria, or he may make less than respectful remarks about third parties. In a negotiation concerning a dispute between Venice and Dubrovnik, the Grand Vizier thus urged the Signoria to make peace. 2 After all, so he informed his Venetian interlocutor, what was Dubrovnik but an infertile bit of rocky coast, which the Sultan had not deigned to conquer because it did not seem worth the trouble. Moreover, given the fact that Dubrovnik was under the Sultans' protection, a continuation of hostilities might give certain Albanians 'devoid of understanding' or soldiers garrisoning Ottoman border forts the wrong idea, namely that the Sultan and Venice were at war — the iron fist is palpable within the velvet glove of negotiation among 'serious states'. 3 Interchanges of this kind must have formed part of any negotiating process; but it is gratifying to see Ottoman documents in which such political bargaining is actually reflected.

Approaching the Ottoman point of view: victimised merchants Of course it cannot be ruled out that somewhere in the vast territories of the former Ottoman Empire, a cache of petitions written by 16th-century ^Compare Ismet Binark et al., Ba§bakanhk Osmanh Ar$ivi Rehberi, (Ankara 1992) p. 96. For earlier times, some names, not many of them dealing with Venice, have found their way into the 'registers of important affairs', the main chancery records located today in the Istanbul Prime Minister's archives. In addition, the ecnebi defterleri are also of value, but where Venice is concerned, they all date from the 17th and 18th centuries (Binark et al., op. cit., p. 144). Pedani-Fabris, Documenti turchi, p. 320, Busta 11, no 1218. Pedani-Fabris, Documenti turchi, p. 320-321, Busta 11, no 1218.

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Ottoman subjects will be located some day. But as things stand at present, very few such records survive, at least from the 16th century. Moreover, we cannot expect the Istanbul archives to yield the actual petitions of individual Ottoman subjects whose goods had been plundered and whose relatives or servants captured. For in many cases, these petitions, would have been addressed to the Signoria, without any reference to Istanbul. In consequence, the Ottoman documents extant in Venice constitute a most valuable complement to the archives kept by the Ottomans themselves. On the basis of this material, we can reconstruct the manner in which subjects of the Sultan who had become victims of pirate/corsair attacks mobilised political support in their attempts to obtain even partial restitution. Moreover, when dealing with Istanbul archival material we normally have to reconstruct the 'voice' of the petitioners, as the only surviving text is the rescript responding to their complaints. Mercifully for us, Ottoman officials recounted the salient points of the petitions received, but we cannot tell to what degree they manipulated the texts in order to bring them in line with their own notions of stylistically pleasing, or else 'political correct' petitioning. 1 Obviously the materials surviving in the Venetian archives cannot be regarded as spontaneous accounts by Ottoman subjects either. Presumably there were rules of decorum to be adhered to when addressing the Venetian authorities, albeit in the Ottoman-Turkish language, and translators were available to guide the steps of the novice petitioner. But at least the texts with which we are concerned here do constitute original petitions. 2 As such, they are one step closer to the 'voice' of aggrieved Ottoman merchants than the more or less extensive petition summaries on which we normally must depend.

The facts of the case(s) Of the three cases we will subject to closer analysis, the first is documented only by a single petition, submitted by the merchant Seyyid Abdi, and dated Safer 994/January-February 1586.3 However, the incident at issue must have occurred about two and a half years earlier, as Seyyid Abdi's servant Piyale spent this period in Segna/Senj, as a prisoner of the Uskoks. ' Suraiya Faroqhi, Political Activity among Ottoman Taxpayers and the Problem of Sultanic Legitimation (1570)-1650), Jourmal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, 34 (1992) 1-39; G. Veinstein, L'oralité dans les documents d'archives ottomans: paroles rapportées ou imaginées ? Oral et écrit dans le monde turco-ottoman, ed. N. Vatin, Revue du Monde Musulman et de la Méditerranée, 75-76 (1996) 133-142. C. Kafadar, A death in Venice (1575): Anatolian Muslim merchants trading in the Serenissima, Raiyyet Riisumu, Essays Presented to Halil Inalcik, eds B. Lewis et al., Journal of Turkish Studies, 10 (1980) 191-218. a Pedani-Fabris, Documenti turchi, p. 246, Busta 8, no 963.

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Seyyid Ali's thirty-six loads of mohair — thus the merchant either must have been from Ankara himself, or else traded with this city — were travelling on the ship owned by the mohair broker 'Djoyta Fonta', a Venetian subject. One of Seyyid Ali's two servitors perished; the other, who was captured, must have been the same Piyale who had spent time in Senj. According to the plaintiff, the captain and his crew actually made common cause with the pirates, and took their share of the plunder. To these occurrences, Seyyid Abdi could invoke a large number of witnesses. To begin with, his servants had been travelling with a company of Christians; judging from their names, some of the latter were Armenians, and the others possibly belonged to the Turkish-speaking Orthodox of central Anatolia known as the Karamanlis. 1 These men had travelled to Istanbul, where they had made their depositions; although Seyyid Abdi does not tell us so, presumably the witnesses also had been despoiled by the Uskoks. In addition there were some Christians, subjects of Venice in this instance, who had been in Gabela at the time of the attacks. Last but not least, there were the captain and crew of the Venetian ship, who would have been relatively easy to locate for the Signoria. However, if these men really were accomplices, it is not likely that they would have been very eager to talk about their roles in the affair. Unfortunately, Seyyid Abdi tells us very little about his station in life; but we do gain the impression of a man with considerable self-confidence and material resources. For unlike the other petitioners, he does not attempt to arouse pity. On the contrary, his petition emphasises the responsibility of the Doge in recovering the stolen property. After all, the plaintiff claims to have assiduously frequented the Dogana, and by implication, losing his business will not be to the advantage of the Venetian authorities. Moreover, Seyyid Abdi takes the high moral ground: if the Doge wishes to be 'tranquil at heart', he had better see to it that justice is done to the petitioner. Our second case concerns four Bosnian merchants named Miiriivvet, Ibrahim, Haci §ahman and Ali, whose goods similarly had been stolen by the Uskoks, probably in 1589.2 Presumably pressure from Istanbul started off an examination in Venice; the Venetian authorities declared that the captain had done battle with the Uskoks and had recovered the ship and part of the stolen ^ Remarkably enough, none of these individuals is referred to by his first name, but only by that of his father, possibly the scribe writing the petition was trying to invent family names. The sons of Haci Kirkor — or Kirkor pilgrim to Jerusalem — and Hacatur Dursun were definitely Armenians. On the other hand, the 'son of Hizir Bali Beg' calls to mind a Muslim, except that our text specifies that all the four witnesses were Christians. Probably this man as well as his fellow merchants 'the son of the priest/monk Karagoz' and 'the son of Aydin Arslan' were turcophone Orthodox, well attested for this period in Ankara; but turcophone Armenians also are a possibility. ^Pedani-Fabris, Documenti turchi, p. 253-254, Busta 8, no 996.

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property. In response, the Bosnian merchants and a number of other Muslims as witnesses (§uhud ul-hal) confirmed that they had received the retrieved goods and had no more claims against the Venetians, since the capitulations did not require the latter to retrieve captives and property from foreign territory. As to the third incident, one among numerous others occurring during those troubled years, it took place before July 1617, the date of the first document covering the affair. It involves a group of Ottoman merchants on their way to Venice from the Dalmatian coast. 1 Given the insecure conditions of the time, they had been accorded a Venetian convoy, whose captains in Ottoman terminology were known as kapudanlar. Warnings had been received concerning the presence of Spanish ships in the area. In consequence, the merchants asked the Venetian captains responsible for their security to get out of the danger area as soon as possible, and not put in at a spot which had been designated as especially dangerous. However, the captains would not listen to their passengers. At night the merchants were in fact attacked, and lost all their property. As they hoped for help from the Venetian authorities, they wasted several months in a port belonging to the Serenissima, without obtaining any concrete results. This was all the more aggravating as originally the merchants had resolved to cancel their trip to Venice when they heard that the Spanish fleet was cruising off Curzola. However, the Venetian governor of Spalato/Split had assured them that no risk was involved, and that they should proceed as planned. Evidently this move was linked to the Venetian attempt, initiated by the Jewish merchant Daniele Rodriga, to develop Spalato as a major port and rival of Dubrovnik. 2 When their expectations of speedy redress had thus been disappointed, the traders decided to take their grievance to Istanbul, where they must have interested a high official in their complaint, for a certain Mumin £avu§ was appointed to deal with the affair; the latter's signature appears at the end of one of the relevant documents heading a long chain of signatories, larger in size so as to indicate his prominence. Moreover, this was not enough, for the Grand Vizier Mehmed Pasha wrote to the Doge confirming the merchants' story. This was apparently just part of a round of negotiations, for in a second letter referring to the damage suffered by the Bosnians, the Grand Vizier affirmed that he would take into positive consideration Venetian proposals presented to him by the current bailo. 3

' Pedani-Fabris, Documenti turchi, p. 317-318, Busta 11, no 1210. The original is undated, the date having been established by the archivists. Tadic, Le commerce en Dalmatie et à Raguse et la decadence économique de Venise au X V I I e siècle", Aspetti e cause della decadencia economica veneziana nel seculo XVII, (Venice, Rome 1961) p. 237-274. Pedani-Fabris, Documenti turchi, p. 322, Busta II, no 1222. The Grand Vizier in question was Kara Mehmed Paga, who in 1024/1615 led a campaign against Iran; his siege of Revan/Erivan was unsuccessful, and he was deposed in Zilka'de 1025/December 1616; cf. Ismail Hami Daniçmend, Izahli Osmanli Tarihi Kronolojisi, 4 vols. (Istanbul: Tiirkiye Yaymevi, 1947) v. Ill, p. 262-264.

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On 16 March 1618, the Senate responded to the Bosnian merchants' complaints by disclaiming all responsibility. 1 Nobody, not even the Sultan, so the reply ran, could guarantee absolute security at sea — this was seemingly meant as an allusion to some incident which recently had happened in Ottoman waters. No Venetian official was allowed to give the guarantees the governor of Spalato had allegedly given, apart from the fact that he would not have had the means to enforce them. Implicit, but not spelled out, is the difference between pirates or corsairs on the one hand, and a fully fledged enemy fleet on the other. Quite obviously the Venetians did not want to get embroiled with the powerful Spanish governors in Italy. If the Signoria had hoped that the newly enthroned Sultan Osman II would not take up the matter, its members were soon to be disappointed. In Ramazan 1027/September 1618, the young Ottoman ruler assured the Signoria that he was concerned about maintaining good relations, but something would have to be done about satisfying the merchants who had lost their goods. 2 It would just not do merely to claim that a governor had overstepped the boundaries of his powers; the government of Venice needed to take responsibility for the acts of its officials. Moreover, the Venetians' own interests equally were invoked; if merchants were to find the sea routes too insecure, they would cease visiting Venice and go somewhere else. This would hurt Venetian customs revenues, but would not benefit those of the Ottomans either. 3 Moreover, the Sultan's letter pointed out that the Signoria should consider the difficult position of its own appointees in Spalato, who now were constantly confronted with the insistent demands of Ottoman merchants, and who would be left in peace once this matter was settled. A further rescript informed the Venetians that the Chief Jurisconsult, whose opinion (fetva) had been demanded by the aggrieved merchants, had decided that the Venetian count of Spalato was responsible for the damage the traders had suffered. Now the governor of the sub-provice of Clissa had been made personally responsible for the execution of this decision. 4 It seems, however, that the whole affair was finally solved, in a manner acceptable to the Venetians, by the ambassador Francesco Contarini. In the winter of 1618-1619, the latter came to Istanbul in order to congratulate

Pedani-Fabris, Documenti turchi, p. 324, Busta 11, no 1227. This text survives in Italian, but carries a note in Ottoman that the response was 'worthless' because Sultan Mustafa had died in the meantime. Had the text been sent to Istanbul and then returned, with the comments of a dragoman in the service of the bailo? ^Pedani-Fabris, Documenti turchi, p. 325, Busta 11, no 1231. •'This argument would have appealed to Fernand Braudel, who has postulated the increasing popularity of land routes due to the insecurity of the late 16th-century Mediterranean; see Braudel, Mediterranée, v. 1, p. 260-262. ^Pedani-Fabris, Documenti turchi, p. 326, Busta 11, no 1235.

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Osman II upon his accession, obtain a renewal of the capitulations and solve disputed matters still pending. 1 In the rescript granted to the ambassador upon his return, Osman II promised to uphold the privileges granted by his father to Venetians trading in Bosnia. The new Sultan also stated that — contrary to previous claims, but that was not dwelt upon — he did not accept the demands of Ottoman traders who held the bailo, and thereby the Signoria, responsible for their losses. However, Osman II still recommended that the Venetians retrieve the goods in question and return them to their rightful owners.

Seeking redress: complicities and

responsibilities

One of the questions at issue in all three cases was the degree of responsibility to be assigned to Venetians, particularly the captains and crews acting as official escorts to Ottoman merchants. When the latter abandoned their charges, this might have been due to cowardice or misjudgement, but also to force majeure, namely, if the opposing men-of-war were too strong for the Venetian galleys. Frequently, and apparently not without some reason, the Ottoman victims of spoliation believed that the defecting captains were in league with the pirates. When in 1589/90, the Ottoman administration insisted on having this matter cleared up, the captains in question were in fact tried in Venice. 2 Predictably, the court decided that there was no evidence of collusion with the pirates — was this an attempt at damage control? More remarkable is the declaration of the Ottoman merchants after some of their property had been recuperated and returned to them : they appeared before the emin who represented Ottoman interests in Dubrovnik, stating that the Venetians had killed the Uskok robbers and returned the stolen goods. 3 Possibly an agreement had been reached: when getting (part of) their goods back, the merchants exonerated the Venetian galley commander so as to eliminate a pretext for future Ottoman intervention. As to the traders, their main concern must have been with their own goods; after all, the Ottoman administration was not likely to pay them even if they persisted in their ' Pedani-Fabris, Documenti turchi, p. 328, Busta 11, no 1243. The success of this mission is, albeit indirectly, also reflected in a sultanic rescript, a copy of which is to be found in Istanbul's Ba§bakanlik Ar§ivi-Osmanli Ar§ivi, section Maliyeden Miidevver no 6004, (in fact a miscatalogued ecnebi defteri pertaining to both Venice and Dubrovnik). Dated Receb 1028/June-July 1619 and addressed to the beg of Bosnia, it forbids a local powerholder to demand a tribute (pi§ke§) of his own from Venetian subjects trading on Ottoman territories. In all probability, this rescript was granted to the ambassador because some kind of solution had been found in the case of the Ottoman merchants' goods carried off by the Spanish fleet. ^Pedani-Fabris, Documenti turchi, p. 253-254, Busta 8, no 996. 3 Fedani-Fabris, Documenti turchi, p. 253, Busta 8, no 994.

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accusations against the Venetian commanders. So the merchants probably took what they could get, and in February 1589 Bali Silahdar, who had been sent from Istanbul to deal with the affair, remitted a letter to the Grand Vizier Sinan Pasha reporting the incident closed. 1 Possibly the petition of the 'assiduous visitor to the Dogana' Seyyid Abdi, whose outcome unfortunately remains unknown, constitutes an early step in a comparable negotiation. Linked to the question of responsibility was the problem of obtaining redress. According to the ahidnames, Venetian governments were obliged to punish pirates active in the Adriatic and recuperate the stolen goods. As we have seen, this occasionally happened, though probably in only a minority of cases; many Uskoks doubtless rapidly carried their booty to Senj and other places, where the Venetian warships could not follow them. At the same time, the Venetians were not obliged to hand over their own subjects for punishment. That remained an internal matter, for the Signoria to handle, although, as we have seen, political pressure from Istanbul was often a condition for positive results.

Seeking common ground: rulers' responsibilities, fiscal advantages safeguarding the goods of orphans and pious foundations

and

In every negotiation, it is customary to legitimise one's own claims by referring to people, moral concerns or institutions, whom or which one's interlocutors hopefully will also consider as worthy of respect and/or protection. Moreover, reference to such persons or institutions will appeal to the sympathy of outsiders who may come to hear of the affair. In part, this procedure can be described as a search for common ground, which should facilitate the negotiation. But in part this reference to a supposedly common ground also intends to put the interlocutor in a bad position if the negotiations do not produce the desired results. For he has then failed to adhere to principle which 'all human beings' should accept. In our present-day world, the Helsinki agreements and the protection of human rights enshrined in them often will provide such a frame of reference. Or when the issue in question concerns present and future European Community members, the future of the common 'European house' may serve the same purpose.

' Pedani-Fabris, Documenti turchi, p. 255, Busta 8, no 1002. The Sinan Pa§a referred to here was Grand Vizier five times in the second half of the 16th century; cf. F. Babinger and G. Dávid EI2, s.v. "Sinan Pasha". Sinan Paga earned the undying enmity of the historian and literary man Mustafa Ali, who painted a very black picture of his character.

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When Ottomans and Venetians negotiated, the search for common ground was not easy, because so many legitimising discourses, on both the Christian and the Muslim side, were based on religion. One could of course try to circumvent this barrier by referring to the common Abrahamic tradition. But this was rarely attempted, apart from occasional Protestants highlighting the pure monotheism which they themselves and the Muslims supposedly shared, in contrast with the idolatrous Catholics.1 More common were references to peace and amity, and the ahidnames which Venice had enjoyed almost throughout Ottoman history; this motif would crop up both in Ottoman and in Venetian diplomatic parlance. Ottoman official negotiators also sometimes referred to the protection of tax-paying subjects, who should not be exposed to the ravages of war and piracy without good cause. This was probably what Seyyid Abdi was thinking of when he claimed that the Doge could only achieve tranquillity of mind if the latter saw to it that the petitioner obtained redress. Such statements made sense in the context of Middle Eastern 'mirrors of princes', which enjoined the ruler to protect his subjects. 2 It was probably assumed that the Venetian Doge and his begler would see matters in the same light. In addition there was the fiscal-economic argument, related to the previous one and yet distinct. We have seen that the Venetians were to compensate merchants who had been robbed so that Ottoman traders would continue to frequent Venice, and thus augment the Signoria's revenues. Moreover, the Ottoman interlocutors pointed out that these revenues were important to their own state as well, thus confessing to the 'fiscalism' which has been described as a major feature of 'Ottoman economic policy'. 3 If we are not 'overinterpreting' our texts, it seems that around 1600, the authors of Ottoman sultanic rescripts were aware of the fact that both states depended on commerce-based revenues. Moreover, the Ottoman sovereign, in whose name they wrote, apparently had no 'lordly' scruples in spelling out this fact of life. At least in peacetime, Ottomans and Venetians shared a concern with the protection of trade routes and the security of customs revenues. When aggrieved Ottoman merchants appealed to the Doge directly, their argumentation obviously was somewhat different from that of state officials. Some of them chose to appeal to the charity and compassion of the Signoria,

'This was a minor theme in English Renaissance and 17th-century writing: for the claim of one author that fighting Catholics might win the support and ultimately even the conversion of the 'Moors' to Christianity cf. Nabil Matar, Turks, Moors and Englishmen in the Age of Discovery, (New York 1999) p. 155. H. Inalcik, Capital Formation in the Ottoman Empire, The Journal of Economic History, 29/1 (1969) 97-103. M. Gen?, Ottoman Industry in the Eighteenth Century: General Framework, Characteristics and Main Trends, Manufacturing in the Ottoman Empire and Turkey 1500-1950, ed. D. Quataert, (Albany 1994) p. 59-86.

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styling themselves the 'poor merchants' rather as if they had been addressing their own ruler. "If you ask how we are doing, nobody but God knows our condition". "What can we do? This is what God has written on our heads. Obviously, what can we do [about it]?" 1 Or else, if important enough, Ottoman traders could take a leaf from the Sultan's book and emphasise that their business was large enough to make a difference to the revenues of the Venetian state. More unexpected is the frequent claim in Ottoman documents of the 16th and 17th centuries that the merchants who had been robbed, and whom the Signoria should aid in recovering their goods, had borrowed money from funds belonging to orphans and pious foundations. Even if their goods had been lost, so the argument runs, the traders in question would be obliged to pay back the money. So it was presumably an act of elementary fairness to help the merchants recover their property. Possibly the Venetians' Ottoman interlocutors also assumed that the former were aware of the inviolability of pious foundations; thus the Signoria presumably would appreciate that for religious reasons, the Ottoman side had no option but to press the claims of the merchants. Albeit obliquely, these statements refer to the fact, by now well known, that Ottoman pious foundations lent out money at interest. 2 It is unlikely that commercial partnership, for instance a mudaraba, was involved, in which an investor provided capital to a travelling merchant and expected a large share of the profits. For the mudaraba contract stipulated that a loss for which the travelling merchant as the active partner bore no responsibility, as was true in the case of most spoliations by pirates or robbers, was not reimbursed to the investor. 3 Thus a pious foundation as a tacit mudaraba partner would have to accept the loss of its capital in such case. By contrast, Ottoman merchants borrowing money from pious foundations were apparendy

'These phrases occur at the beginning and the end of the petition of 1617; see Pedani-Fabris, Documenti turchi, p. 317, Busta 11, no. 1210. 2 O n the debate among Ottoman religious figures concerning this practice compare Jon E. Mandaville, Usurious Piety: The Cash waqf Controversy in the Ottoman Empire, International Journal of Middle East Studies, 10/3 (1979) 289-308. 3 M . Qi/.akqa, A Comparative Evolution of Business Partnerships, The Islamic World and Europe, with Specific Reference to the Ottoman Archives, (Leiden, New York 1996) p. 4.

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required to pay back their loans no matter what had happened to their ventures.1

Conclusion These negotiations, with their twists and turns, demonstrate that the old story about the Ottoman government's lack of interest in the foreign trade of its Muslim subjects is just not tenable. As we have seen, Ottoman Muslim merchants were able to obtain the intervention of an official messenger (gavu§). If we keep in mind that gavu§ in this period were quite often sent out as ambassadors of a sort, it is readily apparent that the Ottoman central government did not regard the problems of its subjects trading abroad as minor. 2 Through the work of Benjamin Arbel and others, we have learned that the Ottoman central government of the 16th and 17th centuries was at times willing to support its Jewish subjects in their Adriatic commercial ventures, presumably with fiscal concerns in mind. 3 Obviously something similar was

While we here are concerned with references to loans as a legitimising device, and thus with policy-making, the point in question is also of interest to the historian of commerce. M. f i z a k 9 a , Cash Waqfs of Bursa, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, 38/3 (1995) 351, has found that in 18th century, the numerous funds held by Bursa pious foundations did not often provide commercial credit, but rather consumer loans. However, references to the debts of merchants victimised by pirate attacks would have lost their legitimising quality if such debts were in fact a rarity. In consequence, we can assume that contrary to what happened in 18th century Bursa, in the 16th and 17th-century Balkans, pious foundations were a known source of commercial credit. Individual loans were often modest, but since merchants typically borrowed from more than one foundation, might add up to substantial sums in the hands of a particular partnership. Thus in 1589 a certain Haci Uruc had borrowed 13,156 akge from the Hiisrev Beg foundation, and about the same amount fom the lesser-known foundation of Haci Mustafa both of Sarajevo. But sometimes real fortunes were involved: thus Mürüvvet b. Timur, along with his partners Mehmed, the latter's wife, Korkud and Oruc had borrowed over a quater million akge f r o m eight different foundations; almost 200,000 akge came from the mosque of Haci Turhan. Such cumulation did not often occur in 18th-century Bursa (Qizak?a, Cash Waqfs, p. 337). Thus it is all the more remarkable that this practice was common enough among Bosnian traders around 1600. Among the merchants concerned, several are described as tanners, who must have been exporting leather to Venice, even though this item often enough figured among the goods whose exportation was prohibited: Suraiya Faroqhi, Die osmanische Handelspolitik des frühen 17. Jahrhunderts zwischen Dobrovnik und Venedig, Wiener Beiträge für die Geschichte der Neuzeit, 10 (1983) 207-222. Pedani-Fabris, In nome, p. 36-40. B. Arbel, Trading Nations, Jews and Venetians in the Early Modern Eastern Mediterranean, (Leiden 1995) p. 164-165, has interesting information on David Passi, who apart from other activities, traded between the Ottoman Empire and Venice in the 16th century. See also P. Fodor, An Anti-Semite Grand Vizier? The Crisis in Ottoman-Jewish Relations in 1589-1591 and its Consequences, in Idem, In Quest of the Golden Apple, Imperial Ideology, Politics and Military Administration in the Ottoman Empire, (Istanbul 2000) p. 191-206.

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involved in the case of the Muslims ; Osman II claimed that it was at the insistence of his merchant subjects that he wrote to the Doge on their behalf. 1 Practically no document has been found in which an Ottoman official advised Muslim Bosnians or Istanbullus to say at home and let unbelievers take care of any commercial concerns they might possess in Venice. Less clear are the Ottoman authorities' motivations in the noncommercial realm. It is by no means certain that in the latters' pespective, only fiscal concerns were at issue. Quite possibly, it was also a question of the Sultan's prestige in Venice and elsewhere. One might surmise that Ottoman officials considered it a disrespectful gesture towards their revered ruler if the interests of Ottoman subjects, even when active abroad, were treated in a cavalier fashion. Moreover, as an Islamic ruler, it was also incumbent upon the Sultan to promote the interests of pious foundations, in Sarajevo and elsewhere. After all, official pressure well might be exerted on merchants in order to make them pay back their debts, no matter whether their investments had been profitable or not. But in real life, not much could be obtained from a bankrupt trader. Moreover, the very status of piracy and robbery in Islamic law and sultanic kanun also must have induced the Ottoman authorities to take such attacks on their subjects very seriously indeed. For highway robbery was a crime whose punishment was incumbent on the ruler, while in the case of other types of homicide, the victim's family had a decisive role to play, and state intervention remained secondary.2 Any perusal of the Ottoman chancery registers, however casual, shows that robbery exercised the Ottoman authorities almost to the exclusion of any other crime. 3 It is also worth noting that the term e§kiya could denote both robbers and rebels; thus other considerations apart, the spoliation of travellers was also an act of defiance vis-à-vis the Sultan. 4 And a crime that demanded a strong response when it happened on Ottoman territory, must have been equally if not more reprehensible when it occurred abroad.

Ipedani-Fabris, Documenti turchi, p. 325, Busta 11, no 1213. "[T]he Koran, and after it Islamic law, punishes the crime of highway robbery..."; see J. Schacht, An Introduction to Islamic Law, (Oxford 1964) p. 9. 3On these problems, see Suraiya Faroqhi, Coping with the State, Political Conflict and Crime in the Ottoman Empire, (Istanbul 1995) passim. «This ambiguity has caused (J. Ulu?ay to link 'robbery' and 'popular movements' in two wellknown editions of documents from the Manisa kadi registers: XVII. Asirda Saruhan'da E^kiyalik ve Halk Hareketleri, (Istanbul 1944) and Idem, 18. ve 19. Yiizyillarda Saruhan'da E§kiyalik ve Halk Hareketleri, (Istanbul 1955). 2

BEFORE 1600: OTTOMAN ATTITUDES MERCHANTS FROM LATIN CHRISTENDOM

TOWARDS

Ottoman trade has long been a favourite among historians, so that even following the monumental recent synthesis by Halil Inalcik, first published in 1994 our field has been enriched by quite a few text editions and secondary studies. 1 Yet for the most part, stress has been laid on what we might call 'objective trends', even though we are probably less convinced of the virtues of quantification on the basis of often insufficient evidence, than was true twenty or twenty-five years ago. However in the present historiography of Europe but also of India, a strong emphasis generally is placed on the 'subjective' factor. 2 For the sake of dialogue between different historical subfields, if for no other reason, it thus would seem useful to summarize what we know about Ottoman official attitudes at least where the Turkish-speaking provinces are concerned; the ideas and perceptions of ordinary merchants largely continue to remain a closed book. 3 This study is intended as part of the effort at communication with other historical subfields which I consider to be a major task of Ottomanists in the present and foreseeable future. 4 Concentrating on the period before 1600 was originally imposed by the organizers of a congress which brought together literary scholars and historians of what Europeanists would call the medieval and Renaissance periods. 5 But this time limit makes sense at least to me, beyond the practical necessity which originally dictated it. Present research certainly has placed the late sixteenth-century 'price revolution' in its historical context, so that it appears as less of a crucial turning point than it did to scholars working twenty to thirty years ago. However the subjective ' Halil Inalcik, "The Ottoman State: Economy and Society, 1300-1600," in An Economic and Social History of the Ottoman Empire, 1300-1914 ed. by Halil Inalcik with Donald Quataert (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994) (paperback version published in 1997; here Inalcik's work appears as vol. I). The most recent contribution: Suraiya Faroqhi and Gilles Veinstein eds., "Merchants in the Ottoman Empire" (Leuven: Peeters, scheduled for 2008). 2 Thus Muzaffar Alam and Sanjay Subrahmanyam are currently engaged in studying the manner in which early modern visitors from the Iranian world perceived India, and Indian travellers reacted to Iran. 'X

In a superb monograph, Nelly Hanna recently has shown that things were rather different in Cairo: Making Big Money in 1600, the Life and Times of Isma'il Abu Taqiyya, Egyptian Merchant (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1998). 4 Here I would like to pay tribute to the work of Rifa'at A. Abou-El-Haj, who has made me aware of this necessity: Formation of the Modern State, The Ottoman Empire, Sixteenth to Eighteenth Centuries (Albany NY: SUNY Press, 1991). ^'Between Empires: Orientalism before 1600', organized by Alfred Hiatt, Ananya Kabir and John Serjeantson (Trinity College, Cambridge Engl., July 2001).

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importance of this 'time of troubles' for the consciousness of the Ottoman ruling group should not be underestimated, and 1600 therefore seems a valid 'period limit' for studies concerned with economic and social life. 1

Primary sources, both surviving and missing The Ottoman Empire began its existence in the first half of the fourteenth century, and by the 1390s, was already a formidable force both in South-eastern Europe and in western and central Anatolia. However the archives of that early period have not been preserved. Presumably they were destroyed during or after the battle of Ankara (1402), when Timur defeated Sultan Bayezid I, nicknamed Yildirim ('lightning'). 2 Nor can the early fifteenth-century succession wars between Bayezid's four sons, which continued for about a decade, have been conducive to the preservation of official documents. 3 In addition, at least compared to the highly developed bureaucratic apparatus of the sixteenth and a fortiori the eighteenth century, the early Ottoman state probably possessed but a skeleton administration, whose members had generated a limited number of files, or rather bags of documents, to begin with. Historical writings also were not a high priority until the last quarter of the fifteenth century. 4 While it is always dangerous to argue ex negativo, particularly when dealing with a period of frequent wars, a limited amount of activity on the part of the earliest Ottoman chanceries still seems a probable assumption. After all, high-level Ottoman officials and religious cum legal scholars (ulema), who beginning in the years around 1500 and continuing throughout the sixteenth century, attempted to collect information

' Ömcr Liitfi Barkan, "The Price Revolution of the Sixteenth Century: A Turning Point in the Economic History of the Near East," International Journal of Middle East Studies, VI (1975): 328. Barkan's findings recently have been placed in perspective by §evket Pamuk, "The Price Revolution in the Ottoman Empire Reconsidered," International Journal of Middle East Studies, 33 (2001): 69-89. On the 'subjective' aspects see Cemal Kafadar, "Les troubles monétaires de la Sociétés fin du XVIe siècle et la prise de conscience ottomane du déclin," Annales Économies Civilisations (1986): 381-400. 2 O n this campaign compare Marie Mathilde Alexandrescu-Dersca, La campagne de Timur en Anatolie (1402), 2nd ed. (London: Variorum Reprints, 1977). 3 Dimitris J., Kastritsis, The Sons of Bayezid. Empire Building and Representation in the Ottoman Civil War of 1402-13 (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2007). 4 Colin Imber, The Ottoman Empire 1300-1481 (Istanbul: The Isis Press, 1990) has insisted most forcefully on the gaps in our knowledge due to these circumstances. Compare Cemal Kafadar, Between Two Worlds, The Construction of the Ottoman State (Berkeley, Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1995) for a recent sophisticated discussion of the history and historiography of the early Ottoman Empire.

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on early Ottoman history, were not markedly successful. 1 One of them was so embarrassed about being unable to locate any documents written in the reigns of Sultans Osman and Orhan, that he proceeded to fake them. This has marred his credibility, ever since he was 'found out' a century ago. 2 Moreover economic/commercial history was even less a concern of early Ottoman officials than the conquests and derring-do of warrior sultans. It is not by chance that the two classical studies by Halil Inalcik, which between them, have introduced Ottoman commercial and economic history to Englishspeaking readers, discuss merchants and commerce mainly for the period beginning with the mid-fifteenth century. 3 In consequence, I will focus on the period between 1450 and 1600, the years which we associate with the Ottoman Empire's apogee in politics, but also in poetry and courtly art. 4 To some extent this period also was characterized by economic florescence; certainly the period before the great devaluations of 1585-86 was less difficult for urban producers than the decades that followed.5 As we are dealing with foreign merchants, sources produced by these people or the ambassadors of their rulers back home occasionally can be useful for our purposes. However since our concern is with the attitudes of the Ottoman governing classes, non-Ottoman sources must be regarded with a good deal of scepticism. For after all, the late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries were a period in which the Ottoman sultans viewed themselves as expanding the realm of Islam against the 'unbelievers'. On the other hand, in the eyes of western Europeans, Ottomans were 'infidels', which many of the less informed authors were still unable to distinguish from the pagans of antiquity. 6 Given This is apparent, for instance, from the collection of ulema biographies put together by the scholar Ta§kopriiluzade in the early sixteenth century. While for his own time and the immediate past, Tagkopruliizade carefully differentiates between 'solid data' and legendary material, this is not true for the fourteenth century: Essaqâ'iq en-No'mânijje von Taskopriizade..., tr and with commentary by O. Rescher (Istanbul: n.p., 1927), passim. ^Compare the article 'Feridun Beg' in The Encyclopedia of Islam, 2nd ed. (from now onwards EI) by J.H. Mordtmann, updated by Victor Ménage. Feridun Beg's fake was discovered by Mukrimin Halil Yinanç, "Feridun Beg Miin§eàti," Târlh-i 'OsmànîEnciïmeni Mecmû'âsi, 77: 161-168; 78: 37-46; 79: 95-104; 81: 216-26. -3 Halil Inalcik, The Ottoman Empire, The Classical Age, 1300-1600 (London: Weidenfeld & Nicholson, 1973), idem, "The Ottoman State: Economy and Society, 1300-1600." 4 For a general overview compare Esin Atil, The Age of Sultan Siïleyman the Magnificent (Washington DC, New York: The National Gallery and Harry N. Abrams Ine, 1987). Pamuk, "The Price Revolution". 6 Well-informed people had known better ever since the high middle ages, but might repeat such blatantly false opinions even against their own better judgment. Compare Norman Daniel, Islam and the West. The Making of an Image, 2nd revised ed. (Oxford: Oneworld Publications, 1993): 338-43. The question of how information, misinformation and disinformation about the Islamic world were produced in Renaissance Europe has been extensively studied during the last twenty years. For an interesting overview over the French scene, see Frédéric Tinguely, L'écriture du Levant à la Renaissance, Enquête sur les voyageurs français dans l'empire de Soliman le Magnifique (Geneva: Droz, 2000).

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this state of confrontation, in the realm of 'ideology' and often enough on the battlefield as well, distortions of the adversary's motivations are a likely possibility. Therefore apart from some very exceptional situations, only Ottoman sources should be used as a basis for describing Ottoman attitudes. Of course the situation is different when we are concerned with bilateral interstate relations, but that topic, for our purposes, is no more than a sideline. Thus our most important sources consist on the one hand, of the treaties and privileges granted by Ottoman sultans to foreign rulers on behalf of the latters1 subjects (ahidname). On the other hand, these texts are completed by a sizeable number of sultanic commands which, in one way or another, regulated the activities of foreign merchants on Ottoman territory. These edicts, copied out into large volumes known as the 'Registers of Important Affairs' were normally addressed to the governors and kadis of the localities in which the foreigners traded, and some of the relevant registers have been published. 1 Sometimes the sultanic commands in question responded to queries and complaints originally relayed by kadis, governors or tax farmers. In other instances, a consul or ambassador of a foreign power might have solicited the sultanic rescript on behalf of the latter's subjects. 2 While for the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, we sometimes possess more or less extensive fragments of the Ottoman correspondences which preceded the actual sultanic edicts, this is quite rare for the period before 1600. Occasionally foreign merchants also will crop up in the registers of local kadis.3 But cases of this kind unfortunately are not too frequent. 4

Compare the series of Miihimme Defterleri, located in Istanbul's Ba§bakanhk Argivi-Osmanh Argivi (Registers of Important Affairs, from now onwards: MD) published in facsimile with transcriptions in modern Turkish: Ismet Binark et alii (eds.) 3 Numarali Miihimme Defteri 973/1565, 3 vols. (Ankara: Ba§bakanlik Devlet Argivleri Genel Miidtirlügü, 1993) and idem et alii (eds.) 5 Numarali Miihimme Defieri (973/1565-66), 2 vols (Ankara: same publisher, 1994); idem et alii (eds.), 6 Numarali Miihimme Defteri (972/1564-1565), 3 vols (Ankara: same publisher, 1995); idem et alii (eds.), 7 Numarali Miihimme Defteri (975-976/1567-1569), 5 vols (Ankara: same publisher, 1997-1998), idem et alii (eds.), 12 Numarali Miihimme Defteri, 3 vols (Ankara: same publisher, 1996); Mehmet Ali Ünal (ed), Miihimme Defteri 44 (Izmir: Akademi Kitabevi, 1995); Mertol Tulum et alii, Miihimme Defteri 90 (Istanbul: Türk Diinyasi Aragtirmalari Vakfi, 1993). For texts relevant to foreign merchants compare for example MD 10, p. 223, No 341 (979/1571-72); 23, p.270, No 571 (981/1573-74); 74, p. 247, No 560 (1004/1595-96). Examples have survived in the Dubrovnik archives and have been published in translation by N. H. Biegman, The Turco-Ragusan Relationship, According to the Firmans ofMurad III (15741595). Extant in the State Archives of Dubrovnik (The Hague, Paris: Mouton, 1967). See for example Acta Turcarum A2-26, translation on p. 141. •Vor an example see the summary published in Halit Ongan ed, Ankara'nin iki Numarali §er'iye Sicili (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurum, 1974): 124, No 1640. A checklist of the kadi registers surviving in Turkey, as well as a selection of sample documents, is found in Ahmet Akgündüz, et alii (eds.) $eriye Sicilleri, 2 vols. (Istanbul: Türk Dünyasi Ara§tirmalari Vakfi, 1988-89). 4 For an example concerning foreign merchants in Ankara, see Özer Ergen£, Osmanli Klasik Dönemi Kent Tarihgiligine Katki, XVI. Yiizyilda Ankara ve Konya (Ankara: Ankara Enstitüsü Vakfi, 1995): 113.

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It is a major drawback that for our period, almost all the surviving sources are official or semi-official in character. Archival documents written by private persons, subjects of the sultan, and at the same time, relevant to foreign traders, almost never survive. In addition most of the chronicles were written by high officials either still on active service or else in retirement. This limitation is rather regrettable. For presumably Ottoman merchants who did business with foreign traders, for instance selling cotton in defiance of sultanic prohibitions, may well have held opinions which differed from those held by the Ottoman authorities, at least where their particular commercial partners were involved.1 But this aspect of the problem unfortunately remains quite inaccessible to the historian of the twenty-first century. Things are further complicated by the fact that Ottoman officials had totally different priorities from the present-day historian. In Ottoman bureaucratic circles, it was customary to discuss the details of a given project at considerable length. 2 Whether enough money was available, whether the material and/or political returns on the money spent were satisfactory, what countermeasures should be taken in case of resistance to the project in question, all these and other matters quite often were debated in the surviving Ottoman documents. By contrast, why a certain measure might be considered desirable from an 'ideological' point of view is but rarely discussed. It would appear that a high degree of consensus on major issues prevailed among Ottoman officials, or in any case, it was 'politically correct' to pretend that such a consensus existed. 3 As a result, it is quite rare that official documents discuss what we might see as fundamental considerations of policy, such as the legitimacy and reputation of the ruler, the conformity or otherwise of certain practices to Islamic religious law, or the mutual obligations of subjects and sultan. 4 Such matters usually remain implicit, and have been deduced by modern researchers from indications which are often ambiguous. Our understanding of Ottoman views of foreign 'infidel' merchants equally is marred by these silences.

MD 36, p. 195, No 524 (987/1579-80). On such business connections in general compare Suraiya Faroqhi, Towns and Townsmen of Ottoman Anatolia, Trade, Crafts, and Food Production in an Urban Setting 1520-1650 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984): 128-29. ^Especially in wartime, this sometimes meant that even minor matters were decided in Istanbul: compare MD 10, p. 223, No 341 (979/ 1571-72), which discusses the fate of a ship from Dubrovnik, whose captain had attempted to purchase cotton in Izmir. As this was not an activity covered by the ahidname, the ship was to be confiscated and used for transporting officially required supplies. 3 That this was not true in 'real life' is a different matter altogether: for debates within the sixteenth-century Ottoman elite compare Cornell H. Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual in the Ottoman Empire. The Historian Mustafa Ali (1541-1600) (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986), passim. 4

Suraiya Faroqhi, Pilgrims and Sultans (London: Tauris Press, 1994).

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As we have seen, the oldest documents in which the Ottoman sultans, after a fashion, indicate their views of foreign trade and traders are known as the ahidnames.1 In European parlance, these grants were known as the capitulations, from the capitula or paragraphs of which they invariably consisted. Modern scholars also call them imtiyazat, meaning privileges. They were granted by many Muslim rulers, including the Mamluk sultans of Egypt, but also by some of the Turkish-speaking princes whose territories, located in South-western Anatolia the Ottoman sultans were to take over in the course of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. 2 The treaty instruments concerning minor rulers, such as the princes of Aydin and Mentege, all constitute "unilateral instruments used for the conclusion of peace and the concession of (commercial) privileges." 3 Ahidnames can be viewed as a special case of the aman, the protection which any Muslim, man or woman, could grant to an outsider; the beneficiaries of such protection being called muste'min. Such grants of protection are always unilateral. Yet there has been some debate over the question whether ahidnames at all times should be regarded as unilateral grants by the Ottoman sultans, or whether in certain instances, they should not rather be considered reciprocal agreements between the sultan and a foreign ruler. In the Venetian instance, it would appear that the earliest ahidnames, of 1403 and 1411, were unilateral grants. But already in 1419, the ahidname had been converted into a reciprocal treaty, which demanded the confirmation of both sides, loosely in imitation of Byzantine custom. Practice changed again quite rapidly, beginning in 1482, as now Ottoman ahidnames granted to Venice increasingly came to resemble the unilateral grants of privilege (ni§an), also used for affairs internal to the Ottoman Empire. This process continued throughout the sixteenth century, The fundamental study on this issue is the article 'Imtiyazat' in EI by Halil Inalcik. In addition there are monographs concerning individual states. On Dubrovnik, see Biegman, The TurcoRagusan Relationship. The important study by Hans Theunissen, "Ottoman-Venetian Diplomatics: The ahidnames. The Historical Background and the Development of a Category of Political-Diplomatic Instruments together with an annotated Edition of a Corpus of Relevant Documents" Ph D dissertation, Utrecht 1991 is only available on the internet. I am most grateful to the author for supplying me with a copy. Dariusz Kolodziejczyk, Ottoman-Polish Diplomatic Relations (I5th-18th century) (Leiden, 2000), with a large body of original douments included, now constitutes the basic study on Poland-Lithuania. On the treaties with Venice concluded by the Aydin and Mente§e princes, whose territories were located in western and southwestern Anatolia, compare Elizabeth Zachariadou, Trade and Crusade. Venetian Crete and the Emirates of Menteshe and Aydin (1300-1415) (Venice: The Hellenic Institute of Byzantine and Post-Byzantine Studies, 1983): 187-242. ^Theunissen, "Ottoman-Venetian Diplomatics", vol I: 82. 'Unilateral' means that the issuing prince appears as having made the grant upon his own initiative, without requiring confirmation on the part of the recipient.

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with Ottoman power still growing and its Venetian counterpart now noticeably on the wane. Particularly after 1540, all ahidnames issued to Venice, and also the new ones granted to western European rulers, can be characterized as unilateral grants of privilege. 1 Where western and southern Europe are concerned we can thus regard the Venetian treaties of the midfifteenth century as an exception which confirms the rule of unilateralism. However in the case of Poland, the norm was confirmation by the king. 2 Similarly to all other privileges, ahidnames were valid only for the reign of the issuing sultan, and had to be confirmed by his successor. In Ottoman practice, the foreign visitors were granted exemption from the cizye, the head tax which Islamic religious law required all non-Muslim subjects of a Muslim ruler to pay. 3 Religious law also limited the duration of the muste'min's stay to a single year, after which the foreigner would be regarded as a non-Muslim subject of the Muslim ruler on whose territory he/she was residing. The new subject would then have to pay cizye according to his means. But Ottoman governmental practice tended to ignore this particular limitation, and foreign Christian or Jewish merchants normally were exempt from the cizye regardless of the duration of their stay. Capitulations were addressed to the ruler and not to his subjects, and the number of paragraphs directly relevant to traders and trade was often quite limited. But of course the merchants would benefit from the clauses which protected the subjects of a given prince or Signoria in general. A major privilege absolved foreigners of the responsibility for debts contracted by their countrymen, if they themselves had not stood surety for the debtor in question. 4 This also included bailor and ambassadors, who were not to be made responsible for the debts of merchants from the state which they represented.5 'xheunissen, "Ottoman-Venetian Diplomatics," vol I: 238-39. ^Kolodziejczyk, Ottoman-Polish Relations'. 68-74. 3 This privilege was derived from the recognition of the visitors as temporary sojourners, regardless of the 'real' duration of their stay; compare Skilliter, William Harborne: 88. Matters were different when 'recognized' permanent residents were involved. Thus after the conquest of Constantinople/ Istanbul the Genoese of Galata were exempted from all taxes except the harac, a term often used as a synonym of cizye. After all the Genoese of Galata were permanent inhabitants of the Ottoman Empire and not merchants spending a few months or even years on the territories of the sultans: compare Kate Fleet, European and Islamic Trade in the Early Ottoman State. The Merchants of Genoa and Turkey (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999): 129. On the willingness of the Ottoman administration of the early seventeenth century to accept even long-term residents as foreign subjects, compare Suraiya Faroqhi, "The Venetian Presence in the Ottoman Empire", The Journal of European Economic History (Rome), 15 (1986): 345-84. Susan Skilliter, William Harborne and the Trade with Turkey (London: The British Academy and Oxford University Press, 1977): 88. 5 For a sixteenth-century case in which this issue was of some importance, compare Benjamin Arbel, Trading Nations, Jews and Venetians in the Early Modern Eastern Mediterranean (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1995): 113-32. On the situation of Jewish merchants see further Minna Rozen, "Strangers in a Strange Land: The Extraterritorial Status of Jews in Italy and the Ottoman Empire in the Sixteenth to Eighteenth Centuries" in Ottoman and Turkish Jewry.

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Even more directly relevant to commercial cases was the requirement that a local trader who did business with a merchant protected by, for instance, the English capitulations must register the contract with the kadi. Normally such registration was optional, as Islamic religious law values the testimony of actual living witnesses over written texts.1 But where merchants covered by the capitulations formed one of the contracting parties, Ottoman subjects who had not secured such written evidence at the time of the original transaction were, by sultanic fiat, unable to pursue their claims. This was an important protection for the foreign party to the contract, as a non-Muslim could not bear witness against a Muslim in a kadi's court: without written evidence, the non-Muslim muste'min often would have been at a severe disadvantage. 2 On the other hand, if the agreement was recorded in the kadi's registers, or a separate document issued by a kadi was in the hands of the foreign merchant, all that was needed was a Muslim's testimony to the effect that written evidence had in fact been presented. Thus the testimony of the foreign nonMuslim became irrelevant, and the two sides were more or less equal in front of the kadi.

The uses o/ahidnames: alliances against the Habsburgs What was the motivation for issuing ahidnames in the first place, apart from the fact that this practice had been current among pre-Ottoman Muslim rulers? Significant motivations were doubtless the political advantages which would hopefully ensue from such grants. 3 Thus it is certainly not due to chance that one of the earliest surviving ahidnames was issued by a prince hoping for Venetian support against his rivals, in the early stages of what was to become a ferocious war for the succession of the defeated sultan Bayezid.4 As to the sixteenth century, it was doubtless the Ottoman sultans' dominant motivation to gain allies against their Habsburg rivals. For from the early sixteenth century onwards, the sultans confronted Habsburg power both on land and sea. In the western borderlands of the former kingdom of Hungary, conquered in 1526, it was the Habsburgs who prevented further Ottoman expansion. And if the failure of the 1529 siege of Vienna may have been due

Yet particularly in Cairo, some merchants did use the kadi's court in the same fashion as their Italian counterparts used the offices of a notary public, namely to record current transactions. This is the reason why Nelly Hanna was able to write an entire monograph on such a trader: Making Big Money. ^Biegman, The Turco-Ragusan Relationship: 71; Skilliter, Harborne: 88. 3 For a discussion of these matters, see the article "Imtiyazat" in EI by Halil Inalcik. 4 For a discussion of this war compare Imber, The Ottoman Empire: 55-74.

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to inclement weather as much as to the armies of Charles V, this was surely a minor point. Moreover this same Charles V had also inherited the kingdom of Spain, which under his grandparents the Catholic Kings, in 1492 had conquered the last remnants of al-Andalus. The Habsburg-ruled Spanish kingdom also was attempting expansion in North Africa, and thus by the early sixteenth century, placing in j e o p a r d y the Muslim principalities of the Mediterranean coastlands. 1 In addition there was the well-known Ottoman rivalry with the Portuguese in the Indian Ocean, and Portugal became part of the Spanish domain in 1580. 2 Given this situation, sixteenth-century Ottoman rulers were in constant search of possible anti-Habsburg allies. This situation did not change significantly when Charles V in 1556 divided his empire between his son Philip II, king of Spain, and his brother Ferdinand I who ruled in Austria as the 'king of Beç' (Vienna), as Ottoman official parlance usually called him. Seen f r o m the viewpoint of Istanbul, the 'official' Ottoman fleet operated in the western Mediterranean only intermittently, and the corsairs of North Africa, in spite of their allegiance to the Sultans, were not necessarily docile in following the directives of the latter. Therefore it must have seemed reasonable to establish good relations with all rulers who could muster significant naval power against Spanish might in the Atlantic. This was certainly true of England which had escaped the 1588 Armada in part because of weather conditions in the northern Atlantic and partly because of the 1 Andrew Hess, The Forgotten Frontier, A History of the Sixteenth-Century lbero-African Frontier (Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 1978). Hess' work remains valuable because he is one of the very few Ottoman historians to have used Spanish sources. Hess has directed a good deal of polemics against the work of Fernand Braudel La Méditerranée et le monde méditerranéen à l'époque de Philippe II, 2 vols. (Paris: Librairie Armand Colin, 1. ed. in one volume, 1949, 2nd éd., 1966). In Hess' view, the cultural divide between the Muslim and Christian Mediterraneans is taken all too lightly in Braudel's geographic and economic perspective. However it would appear that commonalities in geography and economies do not, unfortunately for humankind, preclude adversarial relations. In addition, the third section of Braudel's book is devoted entirely to the Ottomano-Hispanic confrontation of the second half of the sixteenth century. For a reprise of the Braudelian project, which however gives trade rather short shrift, see Peregrine Horden and Nicholas Purcell, The Corrupting Sea, A Study of Mediterranean History (Oxford: Blackwell, 2000). Hess, The Forgotten Frontier. 99. MD 6, p. 166, No 355 (972/1564-65 is addressed to the king of Portugal Don Sebastian, and explains that if the latter really wants peace, he must not impede the movements of Muslim pilgrims and merchants (compare also 6 Numarali Miihimme Defteri). On Ottoman concern with the Portuguese threat to the links between Yemen and India, see MD 35, p. 293, No 743 (986/1578-79). Ottoman-Portuguese conflict has been examined by Salih Ôzbaran, compare the articles in his The Ottoman Response to European Expansion. Studies on Ottoman-Portuguese Relations in the Indian Ocean and Ottoman Administration in the Arab lands during the Sixteenth Century (Istanbul: The Isis Press, 1994). Palmira Brummett, Ottoman Sea Power and Levantine Diplomacy in the Age of Discovery (Albany: SUNY Press, 1994) has argued in favour of a commercial intent behind the Ottoman expansion into the Indian Ocean. Unfortunately, due to the lack of explicit 'policy statements' on the part of sixteenth-century Ottoman dignitaries, it is almost impossible to separate commercial from political motives.

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strategic mistakes made by Philip II and his admirals. 1 But the losses English captains had inflicted on Philip II were substantial nonetheless. As to the kings of Poland, when kingship became elective in 1572, the minimal Ottoman demand with respect to the personage to be chosen was his hostility to Habsburg designs. 2 Thus Sultan Selim II in 1573 acquiesced, not without misgivings, in the election of the Valois prince Henri, the second son of Henri II and himself the future French king Henri III. When the latter rapidly resigned the throne, the next king was Stephan Bâthory, prince of Transylvania and an Ottoman vassal for the latter principality.3 In the closing years of the sixteenth century, when the 'Long War' between the sultans and the Habsburgs was in progress, Ottoman diplomacy attempted several times to forge an Ottoman-Polish alliance. 4 To reward present and future support against the Habsburgs with the grant of an ahidname thus made sense in the overall context of Ottoman policy in central Europe.

States benefiting from ahidnames Early capitulations, in other words those granted before 1600, were limited to a relatively small number of states. As we have seen, the oldest surviving Ottoman privilege granted to the Venetians dates from the year 1403, that is, it was issued in the immediate aftermath of the catastrophic battle of Ankara. Genoa concluded a treaty with Murad I in 1387, and again, together with Venetians and others, with a son of Bayezid's in 1403. During the siege of Constantinople, Genoese policy was highly ambiguous, for much of it was determined by influential merchants 'on the spot'. Thus the Genoese simultaneously were supplying the Ottoman armies, maintaining their settlement of Galata in a state of precarious neutrality and asking for aid to the Byzantine Emperor from Latin Christendom.5 Starting from 1442 the status of Dubrovnik/Ragusa, a city state which had paid tribute to the Ottoman Empire since 1439, also was confirmed by capitulations. After the Ottoman conquest of the Hungarian kingdom (1526), ' For a discussion of this much-studied campaign, see Geoffrey Parker, The Grand Strategy of Philip II (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1998): 257-67. 2 Koiodziejczyk, Ottoman-Polish Relations: 123-27. Compare also Kemal Beydilli, Die polnischen Konigswahlen und Interregnen von 1572 und 1576 im Lichte osmanischer Archivalien. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der osmanischen Machtpolitik (Munich: Dr Dr Rudolf Trofenik, 1976). Beydilli, Konigswahlen: 140. 4 Kolodziejczyk, Ottoman-Polish Relations: 127. 5 Fleet, European and Islamic Trade: 128. On Genoese interests in the eastern Mediterranean, see Michel Balard, La Romanie génoise, (Xlle-début du XVe siècle), 2 vols (Rome: École Française de Rome, 1978).

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the city became a client state of the Empire, whose tribute (harac) payment, 12,500 gold pieces in the years around 1500, was regarded as the collectively paid equivalent of the head tax due from non-Muslims. Yet the city government also managed to insert into the ahidnames paragraphs which emphasized that Dubrovnik was not a simple province of the Empire. 1 Ottoman officials were not supposed to enter the city, which also maintained consuls on the sultans' territory to protect the interests of Dubrovnik merchants, as was practiced by other Christian states. Just after 1600, when it became Ottoman practice to collect, state by state, the sultanic edicts made out in favour of foreigners in special registers (ecnebi defterleri), the documents relevant to Ragusa were joined to those of Venice. 2 This connection, ironic though it appears given the frequent conflicts between the two states, may have been motivated by the fact that Ottoman scribes quite often wrote Dubrovnik 'Dobra-venedik', 'Venedik' being the standard Ottoman version of 'Venice'. 3 From the 1530s onwards, the French king, as the staunch opponent of Habsburg encirclement policies, was the only European potentate to enter into both an offensive and a defensive alliance with the Ottoman sultan. 4 Yet endless controversy surrounds the first ahidname issued, or supposedly issued, to the king of France. It had been made out in 1536, when the anti-Habsburg alliance of François I and Siileyman the Magnificent was still in its honeymoon. However the surviving document was issued by the Grand Vizier 'Makbul ve Maktul' Ibrahim Pa§a ('the favourite who was killed'); this dignitary fell from power and lost his life on Siileyman's orders shortly

1 However this did not prevent the Ottoman authorities from addressing the head of the Dubrovnik council as 'Dubrovnik beglerbegisi': M D 6, p. 193, No 416 (972/1564-65), for a transcription into the modern Turkish script and a facsimile compare 6 Numarali Muhimme Defteri. 2 Ba§bakanlik Argivi- Osmanh Ar§ivi (Istanbul), Maliyeden Miidevver (from now on: MAD) 6004. Biegman, The Turco-Ragusan Relationship: 38-45; Faroqhi, "The Venetian Presence". 4 T h i s can be claimed given the Franco-Ottoman siege of Nice, even though Tinguely, L'écriture du Levant'. 17-18 warns us that the French kings were more concerned about impressing European courts with this alliance than in common military operations. For a letter of Sultan Siileyman to François I, concerning combined military action, see Tayyib Gokbilgin, "Venedik Devlet Argivindeki Vesikalar Kiilliyatinda Kanuni Sultan Siileyman Devri Belgeleri," Belgeler, Turk Tarih Belgeleri Dergisi, 1,2 (1964): 119-20, continued as "Venedik Devlet Argivindeki Tiirkçe Belgeler Kolleksyonu ve Bizimle tlgili Diger Belgeler," Belgeler, V-VIII, 9-12 (1968-71): 1-152 (from now on both articles will appear as: "Venedik Devlet Arçivindcki Belgeler"). The document in question, based on an original in the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris, has been published in the Arabic script: Belgeler, V-VIII: 11619. As for the documents included in Gôkbilgin's edition, the user must keep in mind that these pieces have since been recatalogued, and call numbers may have changed. For recent studies concerning these matters, compare Géraud Poumarède, "Justifier l'injustifiable: l'alliance turque au miroir de la chrétienté (XVIe-XVIIe siècles)," Revue d'histoire diplomatique, 3 (1997): 217-46 and idem, "Négocier auprès de la Sublime Porte. Jalons pour une nouvelle histoire des capitulations franco-ottomanes" in L'invention de la diplomatie ed. by L. Bély (Paris, 1998): 71-85. For a wide-ranging discussion see idem, Pour en finir avec la croisade. Mythes et réalités de la lutte contre les Turcs aux XVIe et XVIIe siècles (Paris: PUF, 2004],

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afterwards. Whether or not the surviving document was ever 'ratified' by Sultan Siileyman was debated for a considerable time. Finally a consensus apparently was reached, which relegated these capitulations to the never-never land of might-have-been. 1 But recently the question has been reopened, with what final results remains to be seen. However without any doubt, capitulations were issued to the French king in 1569, in other words well before the end of the period studied here.2 Merchants of states to which capitulations had not been granted needed to come to an agreement with sea captains and consuls from Venice or France. This regulation constituted a matter of prestige as well as of material gain for the two states concerned, as the merchants in question paid a due known as the consulage. In consequence, the diplomatic initiatives of English merchants, founding members of the newly formed Levant Company, to establish an ambassador at the Ottoman court, and then to obtain capitulations of their own, aroused considerable hostility in French diplomatic circles. 3 However, capitulations were granted to the English in spite of this opposition, largely because the subjects of Queen Elizabeth I appeared as formidable opponents of the Spanish crown. This was due especially to the defeat of the 'Invincible Armada' in 1588, but even in the decade preceding this naval campaign, English 'Luteran's were regarded with interest by the Ottoman court. 4 Capitulations 'recognizing' the English ruler and her subjects were in ^Gaston Zeller, "Une légende qui a la vie dure: Les capitulations de 1535," Revue d'Histoire Moderne et Contemporaine, 2 (1955): 127-32. In his article on "Imtiyazat" in EI, Halil Inalcik has adopted Zeller's arguments. For a recent bibliography concerning this debate, see Merlijn Olnon, "Towards Classifying Avanias: A Study of Two Cases Involving the English and Dutch Nations in SeventeenthCentury Izmir," in Alastair Hamilton, Alexander H. de Groot, Maurits van den Boogert eds, Friends and Rivals in the East, Studies in Anglo-Dutch Relations in the Levant in the Seventeenth to the Early Nineteenth Century (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2000): 160-61. 2

E v e n before the formal issuance of an ahidname, good relations were apparently considered important by the sultan. Compare MD 5, p. 39, No 93 (973/1565-66), of which a facsimile has been published in 5 Numarali Muhimme Defteri. This official letter {name) is addressed to the 'Françe padiçahi'; it expresses Sultan Siileyman's satisfaction that the recent Anglo-French conflict has been settled. On the protection of French traders against interference by local powerholders on the island of Djerba, also before the grant of the 1569 ahidname, see M D 6, p. 617, No 1359 (972/1564565), compare also 6 Numarali Muhimme Defteri. 3 Skilliter, William Harborne: 38. On the issue in its entirety see Miibahat Kutiikoglu, Osmanliingiliz iktisadî Miinasebetleri (Ankara: Tiirk Kultiiriinii Ara§tirma Enstitiisii, 1974) and Victor Ménage, "The English Capitulation of 1580, A Review Article" International Journal of Middle East Studies, 12 (1980): 373-83. "^Christine Isom-Verhaaren, "An Ottoman Report about Martin Luther and the Emperor: New Evidence of the Ottoman Interest in the Protestant Challenge to the Power of Charles V," Turcica, 28 (1996): 299-318 shows that in the early 1530s, the Ottoman court received information about the Protestant movement from an Albanian mohair merchant. However this report was marred by numerous inaccuracies, not the least of which was the notion that Luther was a lord with an army under his command. Just after the end of the period concerning us here, in 1614, the Protestant Dutch were granted capitulations because they opposed the Spanish kings, and it was a considerable disappointment to Ottoman viziers that the Dutch soon turned out to be more interested in trade than in fighting. Compare Alexander H. de Groot, The Ottoman Empire and the Dutch Republic, A History of the Earliest Diplomatic Relations 1610-1630 (Leiden, Istanbul: Nederlands HistorischArchaeologisch Instituut, 1978).

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fact issued in 1580, and an English ambassador, acting in the name of Queen Elizabeth but paid by the Levant Company, unofficially had been present in Istanbul since 1579.1 On the Ottoman land frontier, intensive diplomatic relations had existed, ever since the first half of the fifteenth century, between the Ottoman Empire and the Commonwealth of Poland-Lithuania. An 'eternal peace' first had been concluded in 1533, and the first privilege known as an ahidname was issued in 1553. This was confirmed by Prince Selim, Siileyman the Magnificent's heir apparent, while his father was still alive, namely in 1564. These were important agreements, although the strongly 'western European' slant of twentieth-century historiography, in Europe and the US as well as in Turkey, has tended to push them into the background of historical consciousness.2 Moreover when in 1572, after the end of the Jagietto dynasty, PolandLithuania became an elective kingdom, the Ottoman sultans began to promote their own candidates for the Polish throne. 3 These were normally local noblemen, preferably those whose possessions were situated close to the frontier with territories under the sultans' control. For these men would be concerned about the damage which Ottoman and Tatar raiders could inflict on their lands and peasants, and thus nolens volens frequently formed a proOttoman faction in the Polish diet. Only when the election of these local figures proved impossible, which as we have seen was often the case, did Ottoman rulers and viziers resign themselves to a foreign prince of firmly anti-Habsburg credentials. 'Western1 foreigners on Ottoman territories Many clauses in the ahidnames did not formally refer to traders, although of course apart from diplomats, merchants would have been the likeliest visitors from western and southern Europe to frequent the Ottoman realm. Furthermore after the destruction of the Mamluk sultanate in 1516-17, there were the numerous pilgrims to Jerusalem, who also might visit a few Christian holy sites outside of the town itself. 4 While these pious visitors

'Skilliter, William Harborne: 40. Kolodziejczyk, Ottoman-Polish Diplomatic Relations: 117-19. 3 M D 21, p. 168, No 406 (980/1572-73). This text has been published, in facsimile and German translation, by Beydilli in Königswahlen: 30-31; for the facsimile, see the Appendix of his book, without page numbers. 4 A major restoration of the aedicula in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre took place in the middle of the sixteenth century. Compare Martin Biddle, The Tomb of Christ (ThruppStroud/Gloucestershire: Sutton Publishing, 1999): 100. 2

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did not stay very long and for the most part, had only limited contacts with the local population, they did spend a few days, weeks or months on Ottoman territory, and needed to be escorted to their destinations. 1 In addition there were the spies; a recent study has demonstrated that the long arm of the Venetian Signoria's secret services certainly reached all the way to fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Istanbul. 2 But remarkably enough, while the Ottoman authorities were quite concerned about the activities, or even just the possible actions of Iranian spies, they do not seem to have paid all that much attention to the Venetian secret service at least in peacetime. 3 We can only speculate about the reasons. But given the numerous comings and goings between the Empire and Venice, and the existence of an Ottoman 'colony' in this latter city sultans and viziers may well have surmised that they had the situation 'under control'. 4 In some cases political information concerning European courts may have been provided by the bailos in exchange for Ottoman tolerance of Venetian secret service activities.

Intermediaries Up to this point we have assumed that it was always clear and simple to distinguish between the subjects of the Ottoman sultan and those of foreign Christian rulers; and on the juridical level, this is of course true enough. However in practical everyday terms, the distinction was not always equally clear-cut. To mention one example, there was the city state of Dubrovnik, which may be termed a typical 'emporium' distributing goods arriving

1 Stéphane Yérasimos, Les voyageurs dans l'Empire ottoman (XIVe - XVIe siècles), Bibliographie, itinéraires et inventaire des lieux habités (Ankara: Tiirk Tarih Kurumu, 1991): 17-18. 2 Paolo Preto, I servizi secreti di Venezia, Spionaggio e controspionaggio al tempo della Serenissima: cifrari, intercettazioni, delazioni, tra mito e realtà (Milano: EST, 1999). On the reverse phenomenon see N. H. Biegman, "Ragusan Spying for the Ottoman Empire," Belleten, XXVII (1963): 237-55. ^Things were of course quite different in wartime. Compare the janissary arrested under suspicious conditions near Dubrovnik, a putative Venetian spy: MD 12, p. 132, No 291 (978/1570-71). See 12 Numarali Muhimme Defteri. 4 For a report to the young Sultan Siileyman, to the effect that the French and Genoese were preparing ships to aid the Knights of Rhodes (1522), see Gòkbilgin, "Venedik Devlet Ar§ivindeki Belgeler," Belgeler, V-VIII: 140-41. This message apparently reached the Ottoman court through the Venetians; it contains a brief account of a Franco-English war, which the English won, and a Franco-Spanish war, in which the French King came out on top. From the very end of Siileyman the Magnificent's long reign dates a letter to the Doge of Venice, in which the latter is ordered, in no uncertain terms, to pass on a letter addressed to Mustafa Pa§a, at that time besieging the island of Malta — the contents cannot have been very confidential. The Venetians are also expected to furnish intelligence: MD 6, p. 647, No 1424 (972/15), for a facsimile and a transcription in modern Turkish characters, see 6 Numarali Muhimme Defteri.

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from distant parts between adjacent major states. 1 Dubrovnik paid tribute to the sultans without ever having been conquered. 2 For as an Ottoman text dated 1617 rather graphically put it, this was an 'infertile rock' which was not worth the trouble and expense of a sultanic campaign. 3 However in real life this was not quite accurate to say the least; for Dubrovnik's tribute was much more significant than what could have been collected from an Ottoman provincial town on a remote and rocky coast close to the western frontier. As Catholics, the traders of Dubrovnik moved easily in Italy and other parts of Catholic Europe, and even did business with merchants living in states with whose rulers the sultans might be at war. 4 In their identity as Ottoman subjects on the other hand, they were able to trade freely throughout the sultan's domains.5 A comparable role as intermediaries fell to the Sephardic Jews who in the sixteenth century straddled the Ottoman-Venetian border. 6 Many of them had arrived in Venice after a long tour through Europe, and for the sake of the city's trade, the Venetian authorities granted a de facto tolerance to those people who had been baptized in Spain or Portugal, but had chosen to revert to their old faith before moving to Venice. 7 In many cases, some members of a given family or business partnership might be subjects of the Ottoman ruler and others of the Signoria. As a result, the bankruptcy of a merchant such as Hayyim Saruq, who really or purportedly had marketed a consignment of alum

! m D 23, p.285, No 612 (981/1573-74) lists the goods in which during the Cyprus war and its immediate aftermath, Dubrovnik merchants were allowed and forbidden to trade. Certain varieties of leather, raw wool and sheepskins were permitted, while the list of prohibited goods was much longer: grain, arms, gunpowder, horses, cotton, lead, beeswax, chagrin leather and the fat of slaughtered animals, used in soap and candle manufacture. 2 On the role of emporia compare K. N. Chaudhuri, Trade and Civilisation in the Indian Ocean. An Economic History from the Rise of Islam to 1750 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985): 56, 63, 98-99. 3 Archivio di Stato, Venice, Documenti turchi, Busta 11, No 1222 (1617). For an Italian summary of this document, a little too late for our purposes but instructive concerning Veneto-Ragusan relations of the period around 1600, compare Maria Pia Pedani Fabris, I "Documenti turchi" dell'Archivio di Stato di Venezia (Roma: Ministero per i beni culturali e ambientali, Ufficio centrale per i beni archivistici, 1994): 322; similar sentiments have been expressed, not quite as drastically, in Documenti turchi, Busta 11, No 1218. The relevant summaries in the catalogue, much older than the volume itself, had been prepared by Alessio Bombaci shortly after World War II. ^Biegman, The Turco-Ragusan Relationship: 44. As a result, during the Cyprus war (15701573), the Ottoman authorities were much concerned that goods purportedly sent to Dubrovnik were really destined for Venice: MD 12, pp. 545-546, No 1038 (1071-72); see also 12 Numarah Mtihimme Defteri. 5 For Dubrovnik traders coming to grief in the Aegean see MD 12, p. 561, No 1071 (979/157172); compare also 12 Numarah Mtihimme Defteri. On a Dubrovnik trader who had a fortune of 122,000 akge taken away from him, probably by a customs official see MD 6, p. 193, No 416 (972/1564-65). Compare also Francis Carter, Dubrovnik (Ragusa), A Classic City State (New York: Academic Press, 1972): passim. ^Arbel, Trading Nations, passim. 7 Bri an Pullan, The Jews of Europe and the Inquisition of Venice 1550-1670 (London: I. B: Tauris, 1997): 145-67.

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belonging to the Ottoman ruler, came to constitute a source of lengthy disputes between the two states.1 Nor was this type of ambiguity limited to Veneto-Ottoman Jews, similar cases also occurring among certain families of Venice's staunchly Catholic patriciate. Stationed in Istanbul as bailo before being elected doge, Andrea Gritti had fathered a son by a woman who was an Ottoman subject. Ludovico/Alvise Gritti refused to return to Venice when his father ordered him to do so, even when the two states were at war. He may well have continued to enjoy some favour at the Ottoman court because he was viewed both as a source of information and a potential negotiator. 2 Furthermore, as Kate Fleet has suggested, it is quite possible that Genoese customs farmers were active in early Ottoman ports, thus once again combining a role in the sultans' financial administration with citizenship in an Italian city state. 3 In this instance as in the cases of Ludovico Gritti and certain influential Jewish businessmen, individuals on the one hand might possess the overlapping identities of diplomat, customs farmer and trader, and on the other, the conflicting allegiances of an Italian city state and the Ottoman Empire. 4

A marginal note: Ottoman Muslims in Italy For a fairly long time it was assumed that Ottoman Muslims, when they traded at all, preferred the highly regulated commerce supplying Istanbul, avoiding involvement with 'infidels' and a fortiori, travel to Christian countries. After all, Muslim religious scholars did not regard their coreligionists who maintained close contacts with 'unbelievers' with any particular favour. Moreover commercial undertakings in the lands of the 'infidel' could easily be left to Ottoman non-Muslims who possessed much better political and social contacts in Christian territories. A prominent Cairo merchant of the late sixteenth century, whose business activities are Arbel, Trading Nations-. 104-05. Gokbilgin, "Venedik Devlet Ar§ivindeki Belgeler," Belgeler, V-VIII: 131 has published a sultanic letter addressed to the Venetians, which concerns the alum a certain Haron, a relative of the famous Josef Nassi, proposed to sell in Venice. On the importance of the §ebinkarahisar alum mines during this period, see MAD 5454 (985/1577); for an interpretation compare Suraiya Faroqhi, "Alum Production and Alum Trade in the Ottoman Empire (about 1560-1830)", Wiener Zeitschrift fur die Kunde des Morgenland.es, 71 (1979): 161-62. 2 Ferenc Szakdly, Ludovico Gritti in Hungary, 1529-1534, A Historical Insight (sic) into the Beginnings of Turco-Habsburgian Rivalry (Budapest: Akademiai Kiado, 1995). My thanks to Geza David for supplying me with a copy of this study! An Ottoman document in the Venetian archives confirms the role of the 'Beyoglu' Ludovico Gritti as a negotiator: Gokbilgin, "Venedik Devlet Ar§ivindeki Belgeler," Belgeler: 1,2: 144-145. Fleet, European and Islamic Trade: 134ff. ^Arbel, Trading Nations: 36-37.

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exceptionally well documented, did in fact use Jewish intermediaries for buying and selling in Venice, while certain other traders of Cairo mandated Venetian merchants visiting the Egyptian metropolis. 1 Yet that is by no means the whole story. In sixteenth-century Ancona, Muslim merchants possessed a fondaco (residence cum storehouse) of their own, and just after the end of 'our' period, in the beginning years of the seventeenth century, a sizeable palazzo on Venice's prestigious Canal Grande was converted into an establishment of the same type. 2 In the years just before and after 1600, Venice was in trouble economically, and we can be fairly certain that the Signoria would not have paid out the substantial sums of money needed for this undertaking had the number of Ottoman Muslims been insignificant. As an example, one might mention a record in Venice's Archivio di Stato concerning the story of a very ordinary Muslim trader killed in a brawl. In the course of settling the inheritance, his goods were bought by other Ottoman Muslims who happened to be present in Venice at the time, and the number of potential buyers was not negligible. 3 In fact, we know of merchants who came all the way from Ankara in order to sell mohair and mohair fabrics, which constituted almost the only source of ready money for certain villages to the west of this Anatolian town. 4 Others, who came mainly from Bosnia, probably sold raw wool to the manufacturers of woollen cloth active in Venice at this time. Apparently the Ottoman rulers of the period around 1600 did not believe that the Muslim traders frequenting Venice or Ancona did anything particularly strange or reprehensible. For when Ottoman Muslim merchants were robbed en route not a rare occurrence in these years of Uskok piracy, they were often able to obtain letters to the Doge, written in the name of the sultan and/or the grand vizier, who energetically asked the Venetian authorities for redress. 5

' Hanna, Making Big Money. 64-65. §erafettin Turan, "Venedik'te Turk Ticaret Merkezi," Belleten, 32, 126 (1968): 247-83; Ennio Concina, Fondaci, Architettura, arte e mercatura tra Levante, Venezia e Alemagna (Venezia: Marsilio Editori, 1997): 219-46. I am grateful to Giampietro Bellingeri for providing me with a copy of this book. Cemal Kafadar, "A Death in Venice (1575): Anatolian Muslim Merchants Trading in the Serenissima", Journal of Turkish Studies, 10 (1986), Raiyyet Riisumu, Essays presented to Halil Inalcik...: 191-218. ^Documenti turchi Busta 8, No 960, see also Pedani Fabris, / documenti turchi: 245-46; in Gòkbilgin, "Venedik Devlet Ar§ivindeki Belgeler," Belgeler, V-VIII: 122-24, we find a rescript concerning Jewish merchants bringing mohair fabrics to Venice. See also MD 24, p. 231, No 614 (982/1574-75), for an interpretation compare Faroqhi, Towns: 143. 2

^Suraiya Faroqhi, "Ottoman Views on Corsairs and Piracy in the Adriatic," in The Kapudan Pasha. His Office and his Domain, ed. by Elizabeth Zachariadou (Rethymnon: University of Crete Press, 2002): 357-371 and reprinted in this volume. For an example of the sultan's government putting pressure on the Venetians in order to secure the repression of the Uskoks, see MD 5, p. 445, No 1194 (973/1565-66), see 5 Numarali Muhimme Defteri. This text is an official letter to the doge of Venice, warning him that if the Venetians do not deal with the Uskoks and their helpers, the sultan will be obliged to send out galleys of his own.

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Customs revenues and ready money Moving from the discussion of persons to that of goods and money, it must not be forgotten that the control of trade routes, and the revenues to be derived from customs payments, constituted important sources of Ottoman economic power. Apparently Mehmed II the Conqueror (Fatih) had a good understanding of the importance of the international trade in spices — which incidentally, were just as popular among Ottoman consumers of the times as they were among western Europeans. 1 In the second half of the fifteenth century, the Mediterranean marts for spices lay on Mamluk territory in Aleppo and Cairo. But the Ottoman sultans of the time appear to have made an effort to turn this trade toward Bursa, an undertaking which, due to the great distances involved, did not succeed in the long run. 2 However with the conquest of the Mamluk sultanate in 1516-17 and of Iraq in the 1530s, the Red Sea and Basra routes, which remained important in European trade until about 1600 and into the mid-eighteenth century where intra-Ottoman trade was concerned, in any case came under the control of the sultans. Paying customs duties was the major obligation of foreign merchants according to the ahidnames, and normally subjects of the sultan paid less than aliens. Muslims always were favoured over non-Muslims. However given the small number of Muslim subjects living under Christian rulers during the period concerned, the clauses favouring Muslim traders only applied in the case of Poland-Lithuania, and even that but occasionally. Customs dues were often farmed out, and customs farmers depended on the payments of both foreign and Ottoman merchants. As a result these temporary officials and foreign merchants might establish complex and sometimes conflict-laden relationships in order to maximize profits. On the one hand, already fifteenth-century documents indicate that a tax farmer if he so wished, might cause any amount of difficulty to the merchants under his jurisdiction. He could demand supplementary dues, obliging the foreigners and their consuls to take the matter to the kadi or even to the central government,

'This is evident from the large quantities of pepper and other spices often found in the larders of Ottoman pious foundations. Compare for instance MAD 4706, p. 14 (1001-1009/1592-1601); these accounts concern the pious foundation of Sultan Selim II in Konya. Other evidence comes from the complaints of Yemeni merchants concerning the manner in which tax collectors abused them when collecting — in kind — the spices due to the Ottoman state: compare for example MD 47, p. 122, No 308 (990/1582). 2 Halil Inalcik, "Bursa and the Commerce of the Levant," Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Levant, 3 (1960): 131-47.

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always an expensive business.1 A customs farmer also could instigate searches for contraband goods, and these actions were especially troublesome when, as sometimes happened, the personage in question maintained links to the commercial rivals of the European traders with whom he had to deal. 2 But at the same time, enlightened self-interest also might work in the opposite direction. The farmer of the customs dues or — if the latter had found no takers willing to shoulder the risks of collection — a temporary salaried official (emin), at times might defend the merchants' interests vis a vis the Ottoman administration. However this kind of cooperation, not to say collusion, did not necessarily find its way into the official records, be they Ottoman or European. 3 Official Ottoman views of foreign trade and traders are all but inseparable from the attitudes of the relevant officials towards the problems of precious metal and coinage. 4 Silver was mined in limited quantities on Ottoman territory, both in the Balkans and Anatolia. But costs were high; in consequence, tribute and trade constituted the most important sources of the silver and gold so urgently needed for coinage. However at the same time, the Empire was located astride some of the major routes to South-east Asia, and in consequence, there was an appreciable outflow of specie eastward. In spite of attempts to stem the export of silver and even copper to Iran and India, the lure of Indian spices and fabrics continued to be very strong.5 By contrast, the gold and silver brought in by western Europeans must have contributed to the official tolerance which they were shown. However while in the late sixteenth century, debasement of the currency was regarded as a sign of political decline by quite a few Ottoman authors, price increases possibly due to a greater abundance of silver were not laid at the door of French, English or Italian merchants. 6 Overall it does not appear that the role of foreign merchants as suppliers of silver and gold was considered as important by the Ottoman administrations of the time as their attempts to export prohibited wares. 7

An instructive text has been published by Gokbilgin, "Venedik Devlet Argivindeki Belgeler," Belgeler, V-VIII: 109. Here we learn about Alexandrian merchants who did business with the Venetians on credit, and when the time came to pay, they produced a document stating that they were indebted to the exchequer. Since the tax collector could claim precedence over private creditors, this was apparently an easy way of avoiding payment. In Istanbul it was assumed that the whole business was fraudulent, and in all likelihood local officials against a suitable reward, made out the relevant documents. Arbel, Trading Nations: 41; Fleet, European and Islamic Trade: 134-41. 3 Arbel, Trading Nations: 42-45. 4 §evket Pamuk, A Monetary History of the Ottoman Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000). ^Pamuk, A Monetary History: 134. ^Kafadar, "Les troubles monétaires." addition, foreign trade was a source of shipping space for Ottoman private merchants as well as for the state. Certainly in the sixteenth century there was as yet no predominance of foreign shipping in Ottoman waters, but it was still a frequent practice to hire ships from Christian lands. For a case involving a Venetian shipper, see MD 5, p. 72, No 168 (973/156566); for a facsimile compare 5 Numarali Miihimme Defteri.

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Imported goods However, political, fiscal and monetary concerns apart, there were also commercial considerations, in the narrow sense of the term, involved in the granting of capitulations to certain European rulers. However, it is easy to exaggerate the importance of late fifteenth or even sixteenth-century trade with Europe in the general economic balance of the Ottoman Empire. A spate of recent studies have taught us that in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the Ottomans traded with both east and west. 1 In addition there was the sizeable commerce between different provinces of the Empire itself, although, given the deficiencies of our sources, the volume of these exchanges cannot be measured. Thus commerce with states of western and southern Europe, while forming the 'window' through which European and American historians traditionally have regarded Ottoman economic history, merely forms a small part of a much wider picture. However there were certain items which Ottoman customers, and more particularly the ruling group, did procure from European states. For armaments, English tin was of some significance, while especially in the second half of the sixteenth century, Ottoman urbanites of the 'middling sort' purchased the woollen cloths which the English could sell at relatively cheap prices. 2 For the latter derived major profits from Mediterranean trade by reselling Iranian raw silk to the developing silk industries of western and central Europe; on the other hand selling woollen fabrics cheaply was preferable to sending the ships out empty. When Venice developed a woollen industry from the second half of the sixteenth century onwards, the products of these manufactures also found some customers in Ottoman ports. 3 Yet none of these imports was in any way crucial to the functioning of the different regional economies which made up the Ottoman realm. While by definition the volume of luxury trade was minor, it did possess a disproportionate significance for the Palace and governmental circles

See for example: Dina Rizk Khoury, "Merchants and Trade in Early Modern Iraq," New Perspectives on Turkey, 5-6 (1991): 53-86; Inalcik, "The Ottoman State: Economy and Society;" Hanna, Making Big Money. ^Benjamin Braude, "International Competition and Domestic Cloth in the Ottoman Empire: A Study in Undevelopment," Review, II, 3 (1979): 437-54. ^Domenico Sella, "The Rise and Fall of the Venetian Woollen Industry," in Brian Pullan ed, Crisis and Change in the Venetian Economy in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (London: Methuen and Co. Ltd, 1968): 106-26 analyzes the fortunes of the industry, but does not discuss the sources of raw wool. One of these Ottoman customers was the governor of Bosnia Mustafa Pa§a, a relative of the powerful Sokollu, compare Gökbilgin, "Venedik Devlet Ar§ivindeki Belgeler," Belgeier, VVIII: 124-25.

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on whose writings we must depend for most of our information. 1 Thus in addition to silk cloth manufactured in Istanbul or Bursa, the Palace imported valuable textiles from Venice, where certain workshops seem to have oriented their production specifically towards the Ottoman market.2 Fine glassware was also exported to Istanbul from Venice, to say nothing of the cheese known as grana padano, which was well liked at the late sixteenth-century Ottoman court. 3 Moreover, once printing had become an important industry, Ottoman readers of Greek normally procured their reading matter from Venice; certain publishers in this city catered for readers of the vernacular, as opposed to the classical language. Religious texts held pride of place, but a certain number of secular works also were marketed.4

The 'Ottoman economic mind' It is now over thirty years ago that Halil Inalcik has given us an account of the reactions of Ottoman officialdom with respect to trade in general, of which the business of foreign merchants merely constituted a special case. In the intervening period, the work of Metin Kunt, Mehmet Geng, Bruce Masters, Murat £izak§a, Edhem Eldem, Daniel Panzac, §evket

Compare Gôkbilgin, "Venedik Devlet Argivindeki Belgeler," Belgeler, 1,2: 200-01 for an Ottoman pasha buying 30,000 akçe's worth of jewelry from Venice (938/1531-32). Luxury goods moreover travelled both ways, Polish noblemen being particularly avid consumers; compare Andrzej Dziubinski, "Polish-Turkish Trade in the 16th to 18th Centuries," in War and Peace, Ottoman-Polish Relations in the 15th - 19th Centuries (Istanbul: Turkish Ministry of Culture and Polish Ministry of Culture and Art, 1999): 38-45. While Dziubinski has worked on materials located in Poland and the Ukraine, some information also can be found in Ottoman sources. Thus in 972/1564-65, permission was accorded to the ambassador of the king of Poland to buy velvet in Bursa for his sovereign: MD 6, p.93, No 194; compare also 6 Numarali Muhimme Defteri. For a study based upon Ottoman sources, compare Gilles Veinstein, "Marchands ottomans en Pologne-Lituanie et en Moscovie sous le règne de Soliman le Magnifique," Cahiers du monde russe, 35,4 (1994): 713-38. A more unexpected luxury arriving in Renaissance Europe from the Ottoman Empire consisted of antique marbles from the region of Athens; their exportation was prohibited by MD 33, p. 181, No 357 (985/1577-78). ^Louise Mackie, "Ottoman Kaftans with an Italian Identity," in Suraiya Faroqhi, Christoph Neumann eds., Ottoman Costumes from Textile to Identity (Istanbul: Eren, 2004): 219-29. 3 Mari a Pia Pedani Fabris, In nome del Gran Signore, Inviati ottomani a Venezia dalla caduta di Costantinopoli alia guerra di Candia (Venice: Diputazione Editrice, 1994): 92-93 discusses the diplomatic gifts received by Ottoman envoys, which were often selected after the preferences of the personage in question had been ascertained. 4 Evro Layton, The Sixteenth Century Greek Book in Italy, Printers and Publishers for the Greek World (Venice: The Hellenic Institute of Byzantine and Post-Byzantine Studies, 1994).

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Pamuk and others has further refined these concepts. 1 From the Ottoman administration's point of view, the crucial consideration was the supplying of local markets. For only in this way could prices be kept low, and a moderate level of prices in turn was considered a prerequisite for keeping the costs of war and administration within acceptable limits. Official concern with the interests of local craftsmen was not totally absent. But when Ottoman rulers intervened in order to protect the artisans' supplies of raw material from purchase by foreign traders, this was not because the export of finished goods, as opposed to raw materials, might be expected to enrich the sultans' realm. Rather official solicitude was prompted by political and moral considerations: the ruler was, noblesse oblige, expected to provide his 'poor subjects' with the means of making a livelihood. Viewed from a different angle, only craftsmen who could support themselves and their families could be counted upon to provide the sails, anchors, weaponry and other goods required for war, to say nothing of the needs of the Palace. With only slight exaggeration, we may conclude that the Ottoman administration became concerned with the fate of craftsmen only if the latter complained, and if the needs of the state were visibly in jeopardy. In consequence merchants from Latin Christendom were viewed as a problem only in specific contexts, especially if from the Ottoman realm they removed raw materials needed by the state and/or domestic producers. Given these attitudes, importation was generally viewed with a more favourable eye than exports. Quite a few goods, including leather and cotton (used in the manufacture of sails) were considered of military value and labelled as contraband per se.2 Once again, this way of thinking was not uniquely Ottoman, but also prevailed in late mediaeval Europe, where the popes frequently issued stringent prohibitions against trading with the ' Halil Inalcik, "The Ottoman Economic Mind and Aspects of the Ottoman Economy," in Studies of the Economic History of the Middle East, ed. Michael Cook (London, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1970): 207-18. See also: Metin Kunt, "Derviç Mehmed Pa§a, Vezir and Entrepreneur: A Study in Ottoman Political-economic Theory and Practice", Turcica, 9, 1 (1977): 197-214; Bruce Masters, "The Sultan's Entrepreneurs: The Avrupa tiiccan and the Hayriye tilccaris in Syria," International Journal of Middle East Studies, 24 (1992): 579-97; Mehmet Genç, "Ottoman Industry in the Eighteenth Century: General Framework, Characteristics and Main Trends," in Donald Quataert ed, Manufacturing in the Ottoman Empire and Turkey 1500-1950 (Albany: SUNY Press,1994) 59-86; Daniel Panzac, Les corsaires barbaresques, la fin d'une épopée 1800-1820 (Paris: CNRS Éditions, 1999); Edhem Eldem, French Trade in Istanbul in the Eighteenth Century (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1999); Edhem Eldem, Daniel Goffman, Bruce Masters, The Ottoman City between East and West, Aleppo, Izmir and Istanbul (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999); Pamuk, A Monetary History. However with few exceptions, these studies focus on the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. 2 M D 1, p. 403, No 1696 (976/1568-69) ordered increased vigilance at the checkpoint of Gelibolu to prevent French and Venetian merchants from exporting prohibited goods, see also 7 Numarali Mühimme Defteri. For a discussion compare Suraiya Faroqhi, "Die osmanische Handelspolitik des frühen 17. Jahrhunderts zwischen Dubrovnik und Venedig", Wiener Beiträge für die Geschichte der Neuzeit, 10 (1983): 207-22.

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Muslim world. 1 But the most significant of all Ottoman prohibitions concerned the exportation of grain, at least from the middle of the sixteenth century onwards. 2 Earlier the sultans in good years had issued special permits to export, of which Venice was a major beneficiary. 3 But as the sixteenthcentury population expansion made itself felt, and 1590s harvests were miserable throughout the Mediterranean, wheat became the principal contraband article and foreign merchants almost by definition potential grain smugglers. 4

Foreign merchants between central and local forces However the capitulations provided no more than a framework. While ambassadors negotiated the first-time grant and the renewal of existing capitulations at the court in Istanbul, the process of implementation was basically a local one. 5 This meant that provincial governors, kadis and, above all, customs farmers were the principal authorities to which the foreign merchants needed to turn. 6 However it would be naive to assume that these local figures necessarily had the same agenda as the central power. We have already encountered the most extreme case, namely the North African militias cum owners of corsair ships, who refused to recognize the treaties concluded by the sultans with foreign Christian powers, and demanded that European potentates treat with them directly. Local commanders of frontier garrisons might be moved by the ethos of Holy War against the 'unbelievers', and protect corsairs who attacked 'infidel' ships, to say nothing of the financial

'On the prohibition against selling slaves to the Mamluks compare: Balard, La Romanie génoise, vol 1:298. Preventing the exportation of grain presumably was one of the major reasons why from the late sixteenth century onwards, non-Ottoman merchants were forbidden to enter the Black Sea. Compare Halil Inalcik, "The Question of the Closing of the Black Sea under the Ottomans," in Archeion Pontou, 35 (1979): 74-110. However exceptional permissions were sometimes granted: see M A D 6004, p. 42 for a Venetian trader allowed to visit Ismail and Kili (Kilia) for the purpose of buying white sturgeon 1032-1033/1623-24). For an Ottoman permit issued to Venetians hoping to buy grain in the vicinity of Athens, dated 948/1541, see Gokbilgin, "Venedik Devlet Arçivindeki Belgeler," Belgeler, V-VIII: 78-79. For the Venetian perspective, compare Maurice Aymard, Venise, Raguse et le commerce du blé pendant la seconde moitié du XVle siècle (Paris: S.E.V.P.E.N., 1966): 135-40. 4 Peter Clark ed, The European Crisis of the 1590s, Essays in Comparative History (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1985): 232. 5 Faroqhi, "The Venetian Presence". ^Arbel, Trading Nations: 31-54.

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advantages to be gained from such protection. 1 Incidentally, matters were no different on the Venetian side of the border, where Ottoman Muslim merchants who had been despoiled by the Uskoks or other freebooters, surely not without some justification used to claim that Venetian fortress commanders were in league with the pirates. 2 Apparently the Ottoman authorities were inclined to think that the problems of foreign (and domestic) merchants should be solved by officials stationed in the locality where the traders were active, with the kadis taking on a prominent role. Of course these officials were expected to report to Istanbul, and abide by the directives given by the central government. But delegation of authority meant that the foreign state also could set up a local organization, and in the English ahidname we find the clause that consuls could be appointed in the cities of Alexandria, Cairo, Tripolis in Syria, Tripoli in Africa, Tunis, Algiers and other places. 3

World systems theory and the Ottomans If trade in luxury goods between two polities or regions prevails over other kinds of exchange, scholars who work within the framework of world systems theory consider that the two economies in question are integrated only to a minimal extent. 4 To what extent is this judgement applicable to the Ottoman case? Doubtless silken and woollen fabrics as well as glassware of better quality, which as we have seen, all played an important role in Ottoman-European trade before 1600, were at least semi-luxuries. As to the Iranian raw silk which was marketed by way of Bursa or Aleppo, it would seem that it also should be rated among luxury products, even though raw silk was of course a semi-manufactured item. However raw cotton, grain and most

For a Venetian complaint on such an issue see Documenti turchi, Busta 6, No 785; for a summary compare Pedani Fabris, I documenti turchi: 196. In this particular instance, Siileyman the Magnificent ordered a second investigation. For according to the Venetian petition, the kadi of Arnavud Belgradi (Berat), who had been in charge of the first, had not taken any particular interest in solving the dispute. Gokbilgin, "Venedik Devlet Arjivindeki Belgeler": Belgeler V-VIII: 88 has published a sultanic command, dated 943/1536, concerning robbers who had attacked a group of Venetian traders; these merchants had attended a fair in the Morea. While the attackers were found, they were let go by the official in charge of handling the case. Now Sultan Siileyman ordered a court investigation which was to determine the responsibility of local officials. As to the Ottoman side of the matter, a fine example is MD 3, p. 436, No 1306 (967/1559-60); for a facsimile and modern Turkish transcription of this text, see 3 Numarali Muhimme Defteri. 2 For one example among many see Documenti turchi, Busta 9, No 1053; compare Pedani Fabris, I documenti turchi: 269. 3 Skilliter, William Harborne: 88. 4 Immanuel Wallerstein, The Modern World-System, 3 vols. (New York etc: Academic Press, 1974, 1980, 1989), vol I: 302.

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leathers, whose role in smuggled trade we also have had occasion to witness, were daily necessities, and moreover belonged to those little-rewarded branches of production which world systems theory views as a mark of 'peripheral' regions. The real difficulty is that we usually have no way of measuring smuggling, and thus cannot really judge the quantities of wheat or cotton involved. One might thus consider that even in the late sixteenth century, the Ottoman economy was not as yet 'incorporated' into the expanding 'world economy' of capitalist Europe, even though the process of incorporation showed some signs of beginning, at least in a few places. In other words, the Ottoman realm still constituted a 'world economy' in its own right. This issue has however been a matter of considerable dispute, with one school of thought in favour of an early 'incorporation' and a concomitant disruption of Ottoman manufactures from the late sixteenth century onwards.1 More recently however, another school of thought has gained in importance. As we have seen, historians have come to better appreciate the relatively limited volume of European imports in comparison to the large quantities of goods circulating in Ottoman domestic markets. Even more inaccessible to the eye of the researcher are the yet larger quantities of goods which must have changed hands between villagers, or between villagers and nomads, in the context of more or less ritualized gift exchanges. European merchants of the sixteenth century therefore are today viewed by some historians myself among them, as relatively marginal to the Ottoman economy. In addition, it has been observed in several instances that industries which went through a 'bad patch' in the years around 1600 later revived to a greater or lesser extent. 2 These observations cast doubt on the assumption that already from the late sixteenth century onwards, the Ottoman Empire functioned merely as a market for European manufactured goods and a source of cheap raw materials. According to historians who agree with the view outlined here, 'incorporation' was a matter of the late eighteenth or even the early nineteenth century, and not of the years preceding 1600.3 However this ' Omer Liitfi Barkan, "The Price Revolution of the Sixteenth Century: A Turning Point in the Economic History of the Near East," International Journal of Middle East Studies, VI (1975): 328; Murat Qizak§a, "Price History and the Bursa Silk Industry: A Study in Ottoman Industrial Decline, 1550-1650", in The Ottoman Empire and the World Economy, ed. Huri Islamoglu-inan (reprint, Cambridge, Paris: Cambridge University Press and Maison des Sciences de l'Homme, 1987): 247-61. 2 Murat Q'r/.akqa., "Incorporation of the Middle East into the European World Economy," Review, VIII, 3 (1985): 353-78. Moreover even in the nineteenth century, certain Ottoman producers handled the challenge of western competition more actively and creatively than had previously been assumed. Compare Donald Quataert, Ottoman Manufacturing in the Age of the Industrial Revolution (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993).

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global evaluation does not exclude the possibility that in certain regions close to the sea, where grain or cotton smugglers were most active, a degree of integration prevailed even in the late sixteenth century. Now that we possess many more regional studies than was true thirty years ago, we have come to better appreciate that what was true for one town did not necessarily apply to another, even if the two places only were situated at a distance of a few kilometres from one another.

The Ottoman upper classes, 'provisionism' and preparation for war1 Both adherents of world systems theory and their opponents, who emphasize the importance of local Ottoman reactions to the intrusion of European goods and merchants, agree in viewing Ottoman craftsmen and traders as bona fide actors in the economic field. 2 In addition, there has been some debate over the role of the Ottoman upper class. Ever since Halil Inalcik's seminal works, it has been well understood that a laissez-faire approach towards the importation of European goods did not prevent the Ottoman ruling group of the fifteenth or sixteenth century from viewing the commercial interests of its subjects, both Muslims and non-Muslims, as worthy of sultanic protection.3 In addition, members of the Ottoman upper class could and did take part in commercial activities. For 'our' period, the most famous example probably concerns Rustem Pa§a. Siileyman the Magnificent's grand vizier and son-in-law showed an uncanny sense for money-making investments, a character trait which European observers also commented upon. 4 More ' On 'provisionism', e. g. the concern with provisioning as opposed to producing, see Gen?, "Ottoman Industry." 2 For a sophisticated discussion of this dispute, compare Huri tslamoglu-Inan, "Oriental Despotism in World System Perspective," in eadem ed. The Ottoman Empire and the World Economy, (Cambridge, Paris: Cambridge University Press and Maison des Sciences de l'Homme, 1987): 1-26. Halil Inalcik, "Capital Formation in the Ottoman Empire", The Journal of Economic History, XXIX, 1 (1969): 97-140. For a recent amplification of this view where piracy is concerned compare Faroqhi, "Ottoman Views on Corsairs and Piracy", reproduced in this volume. By contrast, Traian Stoianovich had suggested that at least the eighteenth-century Ottoman state was not much interested in protecting the enterprises of its subjects: "The Conquering Balkan Orthodox Merchant," The Journal of Economic History, 20 (1960): 257. The background of these varying attitudes definitely needs further investigation. 4 Ogier Ghiselin van Boesbeck, Vier brieven over het gezantshap naar Turkije, ed. by Zweder von Martels, tr. by Michel Goldsteen (Hilversum: Verloren, 1994): 50-51 discusses Rustem Paga's talent for putting in order the finances of Siileyman the Magnificent. For some references to this grand vizier's pious foundations and thus, indirectly, to his properties, compare the relevant articles in Islam Ansiklopedisi, islam Aleminin Cografya, Etnografya ve Biyografya Lugati by §inasi Altundag and §erafettin Turan, as well as in EI, 2"^ ed. by Christine Woodhead. For Rustem Paga's previous ownership of the fairgrounds of Dolyan compare MD 85, p. 112 (1041/1631-32).

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frequent were members of the Ottoman upper class who participated in urban economic life in an indirect fashion, namely by establishing pious foundations which rented out urban real estate. For these elite men (and occasionally women) constructed khans and covered markets, in which both domestic and foreign merchants rented space. Admittedly, the founders themselves profited only to a limited extent once their pious foundation had been established. Yet they must still have been interested in the commercial activities of the cities in which they had financed construction, if only to protect the symbols of their own piety. As long as 'infidel' merchants paid their rents, they were perfectly acceptable tenants of such foundation-owned buildings, and neither founders nor administrators expressed any particular objections against them.1 However another set of assumptions has it that the Ottoman state was willing to subordinate all 'economic' interests to warfare, and that in this context, the commercial concerns of its own subjects, and even those of the Ottoman elite, counted for relatively little. Where foreign merchants were involved, this attitude could have a variety of repercussions. As the preceding discussions have shown, under certain circumstances alien traders were regarded as possible threats to the Empire's war-making capacities, namely when they tried to export goods considered to be of military value. But these foreigners could also be considered as welcome additions to the Ottoman marketplace, as the goods they brought into the Empire directly or indirectly facilitated the provisioning of court and armies. Moreover as the balance of trade in this period was favourable to the Ottomans, European merchants were significant providers of gold and silver, the very sinews of war. Thus from the viewpoint of those scholars who regard the Ottoman ruling group as geared mainly to warfare, the 'provisionist' mentality of sultans and viziers presented foreign merchants with a wedge which opened the door permitting the latter to intrude into the Ottoman polity. 2 This was to become a major issue mainly in the centuries following 1600. But certain exposed industries, such as the costintensive silk manufacture of Bursa, experienced the rough winds of European competition already in the late sixteenth century. 3 This debate hinges around the problem to what extent the Ottoman ruling group understood the changes in commercial structures that were being brought about by the 'new' economic actors of the late sixteenth century, In Aleppo, khans belonging to pious foundations established by Ottoman dignitaries even could be leased to merchants and consuls on a long-term basis. Thus the French had rented such a khan: see Paul Masson, Histoire du commerce français dans le Levant au XVIle siècle (Paris: Hachette, 1896): 378. o A historian of Ottoman warfare has concluded that these difficulties did not prevent the Ottoman 'war machine' from functioning satisfactorily, and this well into the seventeenth century: Rhoads Murphey, Ottoman Warfare, 1500-1700 (London: UCL Press, 1999). 3 Çizakça, "Price History and the Bursa Silk Industry".

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particularly the English. 1 Many Ottomanist scholars probably would consider today that this issue is only marginally relevant to 'our' period. Put differently, between 1550 and 1600 there were perhaps fewer changes due to European traders active on Ottoman territory that would have demanded the immediate attention of a responsible official of the sultan's than had been assumed about thirty years ago. Certainly Venice, the Ottomans' old enemy and trading partner, was in considerable difficulty. 2 But then Venice's obvious and well-documented economic problems would not have made a contemporary observer from Istanbul's political elite worry overmuch about the fate of the Ottoman polity. After all, the trade routes to India through the Red Sea and Indian Ocean remained open to merchants from Cairo and elsewhere. 3 Only historians of our own time — and not contemporaries — have come to see the affinities between the Venetian and Ottoman politico-economic systems; and in some instances, they even have proposed that the two polities stood and fell together. 4 All this is far removed from the perspectives of an elite Ottoman living in the age of Murad III or Mehmed III.

In conclusion: avenues of possible

research

Scholars attempting to gain a sense of what the Ottoman elite thought of the changing situation in international commerce during the closing years This revision is linked to the understanding that the Asian land routes remained well-travelled long after 1600, in spite of all the advantages possessed by the chartered companies of England and Holland. For a 'classic' statement of the older view compare Niels Steensgaard, The Asian Trade Revolution of the Seventeenth Century. The East India Companies and the Decline of the Caravan Trade (Chicago, London: Chicago University Press, 1973). A significant challenge has come f r o m Stephen Frederic Dale, Indian Merchants and Eurasian Trade, J600-1750 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994); Rudolph Mathee, The Politics of Trade in Safavid Iran. Silk for silver 1600-1730 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999): 53-55 and Ina Baghdiantz-Mc Cabe, The Shah's Silk for Europe's Silver. The Eurasian Trade of the Julfa Armenians in Safavid Iran and India (1530-1750), (Atlanta/Georgia: Scholars Press and University of Pennsylvania, 1999): 31. All these recent works stress the continuing importance of caravan routes. 2

T h i s was a favourite research topic in the 1960s and 1970s, compare Brian Pullan ed., Crisis and Change in the Venetian Economy in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (London: Methuen & Co, 1968) and Richard Tilden Rapp, Industry and Economic Decline in Seventeenth-Century Venice (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1976). For a more recent study of this kind see Maria Fusaro. Uva passa, Una guerra commerciale tra Venezia e Inghilterra (1540-1640) (Venezia: Il Cardo, 1996). ^Hanna, Making Big Money. 11-9A. 4 W h e n it came to controlling the grain trade, this similarity between Ottomans and Venetians is particularly apparent; compare Lutfi Gu?er, "Osmanli Imparatorlugunda Hububat Ticaretinin Tabi Oldugu Kayitlar," Istanbul Universitesi ìktisat Fakultesi Mecmuasi, 13 (1951-52): 79-98 and Aymard, Venise, Raguse et le commerce du blé. Among historians who have commented on this similarity in a more general fashion, see Renzo Paci, La "Scala" di Spalato e il commercio veneziano nei Balcani fra Cinque e Seicento (Venice: Deputazione di Storia Patria per le Venezie, 1971): 20 and more recently Molly Greene, A Shared World, Christians and Muslims in the Early Modern Mediterranean (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press; 2000): 205.

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of the sixteenth century are not having an easy time, due to the limitations of our sources. 1 As we have seen, whatever notions we do possess have laboriously been pieced together from ahidnames, political correspondences with western European rulers, sultanic edicts issued upon the requests of foreign ambassadors and intra-Empire official correspondence aimed at curbing the exportation of forbidden goods. Furthermore much of the surviving evidence dates from the period after 1600, because it was only then that Ottoman officials began to document their reactions to the presence of western and central Europeans in separate registers (ecnebi defterleri) devoted purely to the affairs of foreigners. Ahidnames have been extensively studied; indeed it is not an exaggeration to say that questions linked with these grants of privilege figure among the best-known issues in Ottoman history. This clearly is due — to name only work undertaken during the last thirty years — to the efforts of Inalcik with respect to the ahidname issue in its entirety, Zachariadou for preand proto-Ottoman South-western Anatolia, Poumarède for France, Skilliter and Ménage for England, de Groot, Bulut and van den Boogert for Holland, Theunissen for Venice and Kotodziejczyk for Poland. 2 But when it comes to discussing the attitudes of the sultans' administrators in a less 'document-oriented' mode, the Ottoman perspective on 'infidel' merchants is still sorely neglected, if only because advance in this field depends so much on 'chance' finds of documents. 3 That foreign merchants but exceptionally occur in the kadis' registers has not facilitated the historian's task either. Moreover Ottomanists have tended to place special emphasis on matters internal to the Empire, not only because the sources orient us that way, but also because we have come to understand that in the years before 1600, foreign trade was important but certainly not decisive for the functioning of the Ottoman economy. Historians of the 1970s and 1980s have focused on smuggling and particularly the exportation of war-related goods, because they were concerned with the implied threat that foreign merchants

'This problem has plagued Daniel Goffman when writing Britons in the Ottoman Empire, 16421660 (Washington University Press, 1998): 11. ^Inalcik, "Imtiyazat" in £ / ; Zachariadou, Trade and Crusade; Poumarède, "Justifier l'injustifiable" and idem, "Négocier auprès de la Sublime Porte"; Skilliter, William Harborne, Ménage, "Capitulation of 1580"; de Groot, The Ottoman Empire and the Dutch Republic; Mehmet Bulut, Ottoman-Dutch Economic Relations in the Early Modern Period, 1571-1699 (Hilversum: Verloren, 2001): Kate Fleet and Maarten van den Boogert eds, The Ottoman Capitulations. Text and Context (Naples/Cambridge: Istituto Nallino and Skilliter Centre, 2003); Theunissen, "Ottoman-Venetian Diplomatics"; Kolodziejczyk, Ottoman-Polish Diplomatic Relations. Literary texts such as captivity reports and other travel accounts also may yield snatches of valuable information. Compare Cemal Kafadar, "Self and Others: the Diary of a Dervish in Seventeenth-century Istanbul and First-person Narratives in Ottoman Literature," Studia Islamica, LXIX (1989): 121-50.

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posed to the Empire's economic equilibrium. But by now it is hard to say anything very novel on this issue, given the limitations of our source material. The publication of original documents, which due to the efforts of both Venetian and Turkish scholars has proceeded apace during the last seven years has made much relevant evidence more accessible than it used to be even a few years ago. 1 Given this situation, it is certainly not by chance that during the 1990s, scholars interested in pre-Tanzimat Ottoman relations with western and central Europe have increasingly concentrated upon the seventeenth and especially the eighteenth century, where documentation both Ottoman and French or English is so much more ample. Moreover we have come to understand that regional identities in the economic field continued to exist even when imperial centralization was at its height; but of course this issue is much more easily studied with respect to the 1700s. We thus observe a certain decline of interest in the 'classical' period, and a corresponding increase of concern with the previously much maligned period of 'decline'. But if we wish to advance our understanding of sixteenth-century Ottoman attitudes, what can we do? In my view the time has come to pay more attention to Ottoman documents surviving in European archives, especially those of Venice. For here we often find evidence of the political bargaining undertaken not in the names of the sultans themselves, but in that of grand viziers and provincial governors. These less official texts are often more instructive than edicts issued under the rulers' tugra, for in the lastnamed, it was customary to emphasize claims to world domination and downplay anything as sordid as the balancing of mutual interests. Yet channels for 'give and take' did exist. A recent study has made it clear that quite a few more or less 'subterranean' links between the Ottoman world and Venice were formed during the sixteenth century; and from our viewpoint these will repay further exploration. 2 It would also appear that in spite of intensive research, the archives of Dubrovnik have not as yet yielded up all their treasures. 3 To a degree, the Ottoman materials surviving in these and other archives may help us understand the complicated negotiations, subterfuges and tergiversations which form the stuff of real political and commercial relations, and which go beyond the rather general, stereotyped provisions of the ahidnames.

^Compare Pedani Fabris, I documenti turchi and the publications of Miihimme registers mentioned on p. 122. 2 Mari a Pia Pedani Fabris, "Safiye's Household and Venetian Diplomacy," Turcica, 32 (2000): 932. 3 For a relatively recent contribution see Bosko I. Bojovic, Raguse et l'Empire ottoman (14301520) (Paris: Association Pierre Belon, 1998).

NEGOTIATING A FESTIVITY IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY: IBRAHIM PA§A AND THE MARQUIS DE BONNAC, 1720

In the present paper, we will analyze certain aspects of the relationship between Nevgehirli Damad Ibrahim Pa§a (about 1662-1730), grand vizier to Sultan Ahmed III, and the French ambassador Jean-Louis Dusson marquis de Bonnac (1676-1738). Our focus will be a major Ottoman festivity, namely the princely circumcision of 1720, in which one of these two men played a central, and the other a supporting role. We will attempt to understand why certain issues formed the subject of intensive negotiations, not to say haggling, between the highest Ottoman official and the ambassador of one of the major European states. This is mainly reflected in the published and unpublished writings of the French ambassador the marquis de Bonnac, which will form the main primary source for the present paper 1 . For background information, our major source will be the chronicle of the religious scholar and diplomat Mehmed Ra§id (died in 1735), who was close to the grand vizier Damad Ibrahim Pa§a and a contemporary of the event he described2. Debates and disputes concerning ceremonies, in which seventeenth and eighteenth-century diplomats were so often involved typically constitute the bane of archival researchers. When squabbles about precedence but also about material prestations degenerate into more serious quarrels, reams of paper tend to get filled. Historians wading through this ocean of correspondence in search of political or economic data therefore are likely to suffer a great deal of frustration. Whether a French ambassador was allowed to appear in the presence of an Ottoman sultan girded with a sword, and if so, of what type this sword might be, is not a problem whose significance we readily appreciate. Therefore it is easy for the modern researcher to fall into a moralistic trap, assuming that the members of seventeenth or eighteenthcentury ruling groups were inclined to waste their time — and ours — on futilities. Jean Louis Dusson, marquis de Bonnac, Mémoire historique sur l'Ambassade de France à Constantinople ... publié avec un précis de ses négotiations à la Porte ottomane, ed. by Charles Schefer (Paris, 1894), 40 (when discussing the embassy of Girardin). For a biography, see the relevant article in The Encyclopedia of Islam, 2nd edition, by Christine Woodhead. Mehmed Ra§id, Tarih-i Ra§id (Istanbul, 1282/1865-66), vol. 214-72. For a summary in German, see Joseph von Hammer [Purgstall], Geschichte des Osmanischen Reiches ... (Pest, 1831), vol. 7, 264-76.

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However during the last twenty-five years or so, the search for political ideology in the pre-Tanzimat Ottoman Empire has changed our perceptions. Particularly the more open-minded representatives of our discipline have become interested in the social anthropologist's perspective on political history, and this has affected the views of some Ottomanists concerning the 'externals' of diplomatic relations 1 . If political power is linked not only to the material, but also to the 'symbolic' capital of a given sultan, king or head of state, 'holding one's rank' no longer seems a totally futile exercise. Moreover the officials, military men and palace servitors who make up any court constitute a small, tightly knit community, comparable to a village, although of course the stakes of the game played by the participants are much higher than they could ever be in a peasant community. Thus the interactions of the members of a sultanic or royal court may be investigated on a 'micro' level, as a social anthropologist would study any small town or village. To take an example from eighteenth-century France, the writings of the duc de St Simon and others have allowed modern researchers to study competition among courtly families for material resources, links established through marriages or the role of status assertion through the patronage of artists and writers 2 . A perspective informed by social anthropology characterizes much of this work, and Giilru Necipoglu, Leslie Peirce and Tiilay Artan have pointed out how similar approaches may be taken when analyzing the Ottoman court 3 . But as yet much remains to be done. Obviously the momentous impact of certain decisions taken at a royal or sultanic court does not allow us to study this institution in isolation from the society it governed. Quite to the contrary, courtly society depended for its very survival on the resources furnished by peasants, artisans and merchants. After all no courtly society can exist without revenues or religious and political legitimization. In consequence, the new-style diplomatic historian cannot but endorse the criticisms which in the fairly recent past, certain social anthropologists have directed at their confrères and consoeurs studying small

William Roosen, "Early Modern Diplomatic Ceremonial: A Systems Approach," The Journal of Modern History, 52,3 (1980), 452-76 and for an Ottoman context: Christian Windier, Diplomatic History as a Field for Cultural Analysis: Muslim-Christian Relations in Tunis, 17001840," The Historical Journal 44, 1 (2001), 79-106. 2 For an excellent example see Pierre Chaunu, "L'Etat," in Histoire économique et sociale de la France, general editors Fernand Braudel and Ernest Labrousse, vol. 1,1, 90,128. On art collecting as a means of accumulating 'symbolic capital', that is social prestige, see Pierre Bourdieu, Die feinen Unterschiede, Kritik der gesellschaftlichen Urteilskraft, tr. by Bernd Schwibs and Achim Russer (Frankfurt/Main, 1987), 440-41. Tülay Artan, "From Charismatic Leadership to Collective Rule: Introducing Materials on the Wealth and Power of Ottoman Princesses in the Eighteenth Century," Toplum ve Ekonomi. TV (1993), 53-94; Giilru Necipoglu, Architecture, Ceremonial and Power, The Topkapi Palace in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries (Cambridge MA., 1991); Leslie P. Peirce, The Imperial Harem. Women and Sovereignty in the Ottoman Empire (Oxford, New York, 1993).

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communities 'as if they were alone in the world1. 'Micro' studies of courtly society only gain their full meaning if linked to the larger societal context. Moreover in exercising domination, soldiers and officials certainly play a crucial role; yet much of the ruler's power is based on consensus. This can take a variety of forms, and at least in part is manufactured by the ruler and his entourage, through ceremonial both religious and courtly 1 . As an Ottoman example of this technique of government, widespread the world over, one might adduce the sultans' control of the pilgrimage cities of Mecca and Medina. Here there were few if any troops. By contrast imperial largesse, highly visible gestures of piety and (usually) well-managed diplomatic relations with the Sharifs, who ruled the area under Ottoman suzerainty, constituted key legitimizing factors 2 . Or to use an example from the centre of Ottoman government, eighteenth-century sultans often emphasized their piety by organizing lectures and disputations by and among well-known religious scholars, which they attended in person. While these rulers may well have viewed themselves as being in need of religious instruction, it can be assumed that such gestures also served to legitimize their rule 3 . In Ottoman history, anthropologically inspired studies of politics and diplomaticy are still in their beginnings, and they have not really 'separated out' from the more conventional work on diplomatic history. Yet a start has been made. Thus for instance Selim Deringil in his work on the Hamidian period has shown that the Ottoman diplomacy of that time maintained links with Muslims in various British or Dutch colonial territories 4 . Typically Ottoman representatives tried to persuade the leaders of such Muslim groups to have the sultan-caliph mentioned in the Friday sermon. While this is a traditional mark of sovereignty throughout the Islamic world, Ottoman diplomats did not of course assume that such a mention really placed the Ottoman sultan in control of African or Southeast Asian territories. Yet this gesture did imply that in his quality as caliph, Sultan Abdulhamid possessed a moral authority over the Muslims in question. This could become politically relevant in case the partition of the Ottomans' Muslim core lands was placed on the immediate political agenda. Especially in India, the reactions of Muslims toward such a possibility were in no way indifferent to the representatives of British colonial power 5 . ' For a pointed formulation of the things courtly ritual is expected to achieve, see Clifford Geertz, Islam Observed. Religious Development in Morocco and Indonesia (Chicago, 1971), 36-38. Suraiya Faroqhi, Pilgrims and Sultans (London, 1994). ^Madeline Zilfi, The Politics of Piety (Minneapolis, 1988), 227-32. 4 S e l i m Deringil, "Legitimacy Structures in the Ottoman Empire: Abdulhamid II, 1876-1909," International Journal of Middle East Studies 23 (1991), 345-59. 5 Azmi Ozcan, Indian Muslims, the Ottomans and Britain (1877-1924) (Leiden, 1997).

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Establishing rank and the 'language of ceremony' In the early eighteenth century, the Ottoman ruler doubtless was more powerful on the international scene than was to be true in the time of Sultan Abdiilhamid II. However maintaining and increasing 'symbolic capital' was not a negligible consideration even in this earlier period. Unfortunately the considerations underlying Ottoman diplomatic behavior during the preTanzimat period often are difficult to discern, due to the penury of sources. The eighteenth-century deliberations of grand viziers and reisiilkuttabs concerning the honors to be ganted or refused to different foreign envoys rarely have come down to us. Such written communications as survive, especially the official correspondance (names) are often strongly formulaic and thus difficult to interpret. Yet from the reactions of the foreign personages present at the Ottoman court, it is evident that the sultans' high officials were well aware that by certain types of behavior, they might honor or else disparage a foreign ruler through his envoy. Not rarely, the representatives of Christian rulers thought their ceremonial standing at the sultan's court to be so significant that they were willing to sacrifice opportunities for concrete negotiations if they felt they were not being treated according to their rank 1 . Considerations of this kind were relayed by ambassadors stationed in Istanbul to the French or Swedish king, the Habsburg ruler or the Staten General in Den Haag. Impractical though such behavior may seem when viewed through present-day eyes, ranking played an important rule in the competition among seventeenth and eighteenth-century European rulers, with the Ottoman court as a sometimes aloof and sometimes rather interested spectator. After all, in seventeenthcentury France, England, Italy, or the Germanies, the stage formed one of the most potent symbols of courtly and indeed of human existence; and people were expected to act according to their respective stations in life 2 . But considerations of rank were also of significance where Iranian or Mughul ambassadors were concerned, even if the underlying ideology was substantially different 3 .

However the marquis de Bonnac observed that diplomatic negotiations could perfectly well begin without the ceremonial preliminaries. In his view it was therefore unnecessary to make concessions with respect to the modalities of an ambassadorial reception: de Bonnac: L'ambassade de France, 38. ^Richard Alewyn, Das grosse Welttheater. Die Epoche der höfischen Feste (Munich, 1989). ^From his seventeenth-century predecessors, the marquis de Bonnac had learned that at sultanic circumcisions, the ambassador of the Mughul emperor walked to the left and the French ambassador to the right. According to the same source, the left was considered more honorable at the Mughul court, while the opposite obviously was true of the French. The French ambassador in Istanbul claimed to be of the same rank as the Mughul representative. But given the fact that the Mughul dynasty was Sunni Muslim, it is highly doubtful that the Ottoman teçrifatçi saw the matter in the same light (Archives diplomatiques de Nantes, Ambassade de France à Constantinople, Serie A, fonds St. Priest, Correspondance politique 9, Mémoires et pièces divers du marquis de Bonnac 1716-1724, fol. 83a (new pagination).

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We may thus think of precedence, gestures of humility and diplomatic gifts — the latter of which might shade off into tribute — as a kind of language which on the whole was 'interculturally' understood. Certainly the comprehension of a foreign diplomatic ritual required some intellectual effort, for even within the Islamic world, court ceremonials differed considerably from one another. Thus the customs of Shah 'Abbas' court in Isfahan were in certain respects quite unlike those of its Ottoman contemporary 1 . Moreover, given the different religious and cultural backgrounds, diplomatic customs differed substantially between the Ottoman court and those of the principal European rulers as well. But these differences did not prevent certain gestures from being universally understood. Thus for instance certain presents were selected precisely because it already was known to the gift-giving court that they would be highly valued by the receiver. An Iranian embassy might bring an elephant to Istanbul; and this gesture was appreciated by the Ottoman court, as evident from the fact that it was eternalized in a miniature from the Topkapi palace workshops 2 . Nor did the language of ceremonial gift-giving become unintelligible when the border between the Muslim and Christian worlds was crossed. Where gifts from the Habsburg court or the Venetian doge to Ottoman sultans and grand viziers were concerned, we even know that certain types of presents were actively solicited by members of the receiving court 3 . Understanding courtly ritual was complicated by the fact that even though it changed slowly, ceremonial did tend to differ over time: in the Ottoman case, it is well known that the basic features of court ceremonial were laid down in the time of Mehmed the Conqueror. However significant changes occurred in the reign of Siileyman the Magnificent and later as well, especially in the eighteenth century 4 . Even so, information about the meaning of certain gestures seems to have been readily available to foreign envoys, even when due to wars or other circumstances, a lengthy break in diplomatic relations had intervened. A translator of the sultan's council, as well as the embassy dragomans, must have relayed such information when needed, and the

On the reception of the 'ambassador' Sir Anthony Shirley at the court of Shah 'Abbas, compare Lucien-Luc Bellan, Shah 'Abbas I, sa vie, son histoire (Paris, 1932), 88-89. At least if Shirley's embassy report is to be believed, his reception was profoundly different from the reception of foreign ambassadors at the Ottoman court, if only because Shah 'Abbas insisted on conducting diplomatic negotiations in person. 2 Ivan Stchoukine, La peinture turque d'après les manuscrits illustrés (Paris, 1966), plate CXI. ^Gottfried Mraz, Die Rolle der Uhrwerke in der kaiserlichen Türkenverehrung im 16. Jahrhundert" in Die Welt als Uhr, Deutsche Uhren und Automaten 1550-1650, ed. Klaus Maurice (Munich, 1980), 39-54 ; Maria Pia Pedani, In nome del Gran Signore, Inviati Ottomani a Venezia dalla caduta di Constantinopoli alla guerra di Candia (Venezia, 1994). ^Necipoglu, Architecture, Ceremonial and Power. 15-30; Artan, "Bogaziçi Çehresini Degigtiren Soylu Kadinlar ve Sultanefendi Saraylari," Istanbul Dergisi, III (1992), 109-18.

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gossip exchanged between embassies filled whatever gaps might remain. This is valid even though at times, an inexperienced or poorly counseled diplomat might misunderstand the meaning of a given gesture — to say nothing of cases in which the 'misunderstanding' was deliberate.

The political

context

The political circumstances in which the Ottoman Empire found itelf at the beginning of the eighteenth century are not without importance for our study. In 1718 the Peace of Pasarofça/Passarowitz had been signed after an attempt at mediation on the part of the British ambassador. The treaty was concluded on the basis of uti possidetis: by its terms the Venetians lost the Morea, which the Ottoman administration decided to treat as a newly conquered province. On the other hand, the Habsburg ruler acquired both the fortress of Belgrade and the Banate of Temegvar 1 . Thus the Habsburg Empire had become an even more serious threat to Ottoman control of the Balkans than it had been at the end of the seventeenth century, when the treaty of Karlofça/Karlowitz was concluded 2 . This situation must have encouraged Ottoman diplomats to strengthen ties with France. However this was easier said than done. Immediately after Pasarofça, the Ottoman court wanted to avoid getting embroiled with the Habsburgs for some time 3 . Yet by entering into closer relations with the French king, such a result was difficult to avoid, if only because where the French side was concerned, creating difficulties for the Habsburgs was one of the most significant reasons for sending ambassadors to Istanbul at all. This had been the major concern even in the first half of the sixteenth century, when Siileyman the Magnificent and François I allied in opposition to the Habsburg ruler Charles V. However more recently, these relations had suffered an eclipse: during the Ottoman-Venetian war for Crete (1645-1669), French noblemen, including an illegitimate son of the deceased King Henri IV, had fought on the side of the Venetians, and the same thing had occurred during certain late seventeenth-century Habsburg-Ottoman confrontations in 1 Lavender Cassels, The Struggle for the Ottoman Empire, 1717-1740 (London, 1966), 1-28. ^Rifa'at Ali Abou-EI-Haj, "Ottoman Attitudes toward Peace-making: The Karlowitz Case", Der Islam (1974), 131-37. 3 This is probably the reason why Ibrahim Beg, the Ottoman ambassador sent to Vienna for the signing of the treaty (not to be confused with the homonymous grand vizier) stayed on to witness the wedding of the Habsburg Erzherzogin Maria Antonia to the heir presumptive to the throne of Poland and duchy of Saxony, the later king August III (1719). August II, the bridegroom's father, was inspired by this encounter to launch in the same year, a series of 'ottomanizing' feasts at his Dresden court. In one of them he himself figured as the sultan: Eine gute Figiir machen. Kostum und Fest am Dresdner //«/(Dresden, 2000), 68-70.

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the Balkans 1 . Presumably Louis XIV had tolerated such activités on the part of his subjects in order to make his 'special relationship' with the Ottomans more palatable to other Christian rulers. For throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the French kings had suffered a notorious propagandistic disadvantage due to their alliance with the 'infidel" against a fellow Catholic power 2 . In consequence, Franco-Ottoman diplomatic relations, though never broken off, had cooled down considerably. One of the marquis de Bonnac's predecessors reported that when in 1665, he asked to be received by the grand vizier, he was given very rude treatment. This was due to the fact that in the early years of Louis XIV's personal rule, Frenchmen constituted a notable presence among the Ottoman Empire's enemies, the Knights of Malta not excluded3. Moreover on the eastern borders, the collapse of Safawid rule in Iran formed a further source of international tension 4 . In 1719-20, Mir Mahmud, the leader of the Ghalzai tribal unit in what is today Afghanistan, was recognized by the Safawid Shah Sultan Husayn as governor-general. In later years, this position allowed Mir Mahmud to make a bid for the control of futher provinces. Also in 1719, the Lezgis, who were Sunni inhabitants of a section of the Caucasus and hitherto had been subjects of the Safawid state, revolted against the latter. This rebellion constituted a reaction against the Safawid governing class, which at that time was attempting to convert all its subjects to Shi'ism. Unwilling to submit to this treatment, the Lezgis sought out the Ottoman sultan and placed themselves under his protection. In addition, the Russian Czar Peter I attempted to use this state of turmoil for the conquest of the Caspian coast (1722), where the Russian Empire already controlled the port of Astrahan. By 1723, a military confrontation of the two empires over the Iranian spoils thus seemed a likely eventuality. From an Ottoman viewpoint, the international scene was worrisome enough for the grand vizier Nev§ehirli Damad Ibrahim Pa§a to set aside the grievances against French policy which had accumulated in the course of the later seventeenth century. In 1720 the first high-ranking Ottoman official to visit Versailles, a full-scale ambassador rather than a simple envoy, embarked upon his journey 5 . At the French court, reviving the Franco-Ottoman alliance 1 Ekkehard Eickhoff, Venedig, Wien und die Osmanen, Umbruch in Südosteuropa 1645-1700 (Stuttgart, 2. ed. 1988), 241-64. Gérard Poumarède, "Justifier l'injustifiable: l'alliance turque au miroir de la chrétienté (XVI e XVII e siècles)," Revue d'histoire diplomatique. 3 (1997), 217-46. 3 De Bonnac, L'Ambassade de France, 70 (report of the ambassador De la Haye Vantelay). ^Hans Robert Roemer, "The Safavid Period" in The Cambridge History of Iran. Vol. 6 The Timurid and Safavid Periods (Cambridge, 1986), 310-24. 5 Fat ma Miige Gôçek, East Encounters West, France and the Ottoman Empire in the Eighteenth Century (Oxford, Washington, 1987).

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also was viewed as a matter of some importance, as evident from the largescale paintings documenting the Ottoman visit, one of which still survives in the Versailles Palace museum 1 . This attention on the part of the ministers of Louis XV largely was due to the fact that the latter still hoped to prevent Ottoman entanglements in Iran, and if that proved impossible, to at least avert a war between Ahmed III and Peter I. For given recent defeats in southeastern Europe, it seemed obvious that an Ottoman Empire fully occupied on its eastern and northern frontiers could not form a counterweight to Habsburg power. Lengthy attempts at mediation by the French ambassador to Istanbul, the marquis de Bonnac, must be viewed in this context 2 . The treaty which was concluded between the two rulers in 1724 divided Iran into two 'spheres of influence', while attempting to ensure that the Russian and Ottoman empires did not acquire a common frontier.

Ibrahim Pa§a and the marquis de Bonnac Ibrahim Paga has not left any memoirs; but the marquis de Bonnac has produced not only extensive diplomatic correspondence, but also a treatise, explicating Franco-Ottoman diplomatic relations for the instruction of his successors. From these texts it appears that although conversation was only possible through interpreters, the marquis de Bonnac developed considerable respect and even liking for his Ottoman interlocutor 3 . In part this must have been due to the fact that while Ali Paga, Ibrahim Pa§a's predecessor as grand vizier, never had bothered to hide his loathing for Christians, Ibrahim Paga's attitude was less emotional. We get the impression that in spite of having held a succession of courtly and bureaucratic appointments, the grand vizier really was a diplomat by inclination, and where the highly professional marquis de Bonnac was concerned, this probably made for some mutual understanding. Ibrahim Pa§a had opposed the 'war party' during the Peterwardein campaign, and had become grand vizier after this confrontation had ended badly for the Ottomans. He favored a period of recuperation and reconstruction, and while French diplomacy normally preferred to see the Ottomans embroiled with the Habsburgs, de Bonnac seems to have been realistic enough to appreciate Ibrahim Pa§a's point of view. ' For the picture showing the solemn entrée of the Ottoman ambassador, see Topkapi à Versailles, trésors de la cour ottomane, exhibition catalogue, musée de Versailles (Paris, 1999), 324. ^De Bonnac, VAmbassade de France, 216-80. -3 J Dc Bonnac, VAmbassade de France, 161.

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Moreover the marquis de Bonnac was quite critical of certain types of behavior in which, as he felt, his predecessors had all too often indulged, to the detriment of their missions. On reading de Bonnac's reports, one gains the impression that he was opposed to excessive demands for ceremonial 'special treatment' on the part of French ambassadors. Thus the marquis1 account of the dispute initiated by one of his predecessors, who according to French usage wished to be received at the Ottoman court while wearing his sword, was roundly disapproving of this provocative conduct 1 . At the same time the author seemed to think that the criticisms which in France were directed against French ambassadors who adopted Ottoman dress were rather exaggerated. If this was really considered important, the marquis felt that it would have been sufficient to order the ambassador to resume French costume without taking other, more drastic measures against him. De Bonnac reported without comment the difficulties caused to an Ottoman official by a Frenchman who stepped with his shoes on his host's carpet, and thereby made it unsuitable for use in prayer. But one does sense that up to a point, the marquis appreciated the Ottoman official's point of view. More outspoken was de Bonnac's criticism of one of his predecessors, who had insisted on acquiring a boat ornamented in a fashion which according to Ottoman protocol, was the exclusive privilege of the sultan. After having caused a great deal of bad blood, the ambassador had to remove his boat from the capital. According to de Bonnac, he would have done better if he had conformed to the custom of the country from the outset 2 . Throughout, one gains the impression that the marquis favored a pragmatic approach, which may well have facilitated relations with the equally matter-of-fact grand vizier.

Festival

politics

In the present paper, we will deal with a Franco-Ottoman negotiation, to which many of the considerations outlined above apply in one fashion or another. As we have seen, in September 1720, Sultan Ahmed III had his sons circumcised, and married off one of his nieces, a daughter of his deceased predecessor Mustafa II. The sultan decided to celebrate the occasion by a feast distinguished by its lavish magnificence. In terms of the empire-wide and even international interest this celebration aroused, it is conparable to the 1524 festivities on the occasion of the wedding of the then grand vizier Pargali

' De Bonnac, L'Ambassade de France, 51. De Bonnac, L'Ambassade de France, 51.

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Ibrahim Pa§a, to whom Siileyman the Magnificent had given his sister in marriage. Other remarkable festivities followed; in 1582, it was the circumcision of the later Sultan Mehmed III, while the great festival of the seventeenth century was celebrated in 1675, to honor the circumcisions of the future Sultans Mustafa II and Ahmed III. The festivities of 1720, to which foreign ambassadors were invited, lasted for two weeks 1 . Not every princely circumcision was celebrated in an equally lavish fashion, and thus we need to ask for the reason why Sultan Ahmed III and Nevgehirli Ibrahim Pa§a decided on September 1720 as a suitable time for such a major enterprise. Doubtless there were personal reasons; apparently an earlier date once had been envisaged, but the celebration had been put off due to sickness in the sultan's family. But if viewed in a broader context, it is likely that the political situation also had been taken into consideration: on the one hand, a major war recently had been ended by the Ottoman ruler, successfully as far as the Venetians were concerned, while the opposite was true of the conflict with the Habsburgs. On the other hand, it was not at all impossible that the sultan would in the near future again go to war in Iran. Given these circumstances, a great festivity may have been an occasion to enhance the sultan's prestige and gather support for the campaigns to come. Moreover Sultan Ahmed III among his contemporaries possessed a reputation for being mainly concerned with the contents of his treasury. By contrast, Ibrahim Pa§a attempted to ensure a balance between 'taking' and 'giving'. The marquis de Bonnac recounts that the grand vizier once tried to persuade his sultan that while securing revenues and amassing cash was a necessary function of government, a ruler could retain the loyalty of his subjects only if he visibly distributed largesse 2 . In the anecdote relayed by de Bonnac, Ibrahim Pa§a in fact suggested that Ahmed III should concentrate either on securing revenues or else on distributing gifts. The grand vizier himself undertook to fulfill whatever the ruler considered the less congenial task, and the reader is left to conclude that gift-giving and largesse probably fell to the lot of ibrahim Pa§a. If this story has any validity at all, we may surmise that it was the grand vizier who convinced the Sultan that a peaceful interval, which well might be of short duration, was a good time to strengthen social and political ties by distributing the appropriate largesse. Some of these gifts went to the members of the sultan's household. In fact the chronicler Mehmed Ra§id, in An official 'festival book' documenting this event was copiously illustrated by the painter Levni: Esin Atil, Levni and the Surname. The Story of an Eighteenth-century Ottoman Festival (Istanbul, 1999). According to marquis de Bonnac, L'ambassade de France, 142, the foreign envoys only were asked to attend after ten days, during the last stage of the festival. ^Marquis de Bonnac, L'Ambassade de France, 153-154.

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his lengthy description of the 1720 festival, emphasized the attendance and at times active service of Ottoman officeholders at the celebrations, in particular, at the wedding of the Princess Emetullah, which in other accounts is often eclipsed by the circumcisions themselves 1 . Most important to this sophisticated bureaucrat at one time ambassador to Iran were obviously the offices held by the men who attended the wedding celebrations (apart from a brief mention of the princess being received by her spouse at her arrival in the marital home, there is no reference to the female participants) 2 . The prestige of these courtly and state offices was symbolized by the clothes and turbans worn by the participants. In addition, Ra§id reported that the visitors and those who took a more active role in organizing the wedding festivities all received robes of honor, while some attention was also paid to the gifts given to the sultan at this happy occasion 3 . This emphasis on gift exchanges makes it seem probable that apart from making visible official hierarchies by a series of processions, an exchange of presents did in fact constitute the central function of a courtly feast. But sultanic bounty was not limited to members of the court. To the contrary, lavish public banquets offered to dignitaries who were not courtiers and even to private soldiers also formed an important aspect of the festival 4 . Moreover five thousand poor boys were circumcised at the same time as the princes, several hundred every day, and included in the festivities 5 . In addition there were the numerous people employed temporarily in adding luster to the festival, such as acrobats, dancers and tulumbacis in charge of policing the streets. All these people must have received money and gifts 6 . In any event, by this sequence of banquets, Sultan Ahmed III could strengthen his ties to broad sections of the Istanbul population. What was the role of ambassadors in such a context? Several miniatures in the official festival book, by the famous miniaturist Levni and his school, record the foreigners' presence as spectators of the processions which formed such an essential part of both Ottoman and early modern European celebrations 7 . We find the French and — a real novum — the Russian ambassador attending one of these parades together; since we are dealing with Petrine Russia, the newcomer is attired in the French fashion and 'Ra§id, Tarih, vol. 5,220-221. Ra§id, Tarih, vol. 5,225. 3 Ra§id, Tarih, vol. 221-222. 4 Ra§id, Tarih, vol. 5, 236 and elsewhere. 5 Ra§id, Tarih, vol 5, 237 and elsewhere. ®Although I have made a diligent search, I have to date found very little evidence of discontent among the subject population concerning the expenses linked to the festival. But given the overwhelmingly official character of our sources, that fact in itself does not mean every much. 7 Atil, Levni, 94-95. 2

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thus indisguishable from other prominent Europeans. All these personages are dressed the same way, namely in a tight-waisted long embroidered coat, puffy knee-breeches and black stockings. They are invariably clean-shaven and the hair is worn open, reaching down to the shoulders. In most cases it probably would have been a wig, while the hats are black and of the type frequently found in seventeenth-century Dutch portraits. One wonders whether this garb, in which overcoats do not figure, may have constituted what Ottoman officials concerned with protocol regarded as the proper attire for 'Franks', rather than clothes actually worn in 1720. However, the noblemen's swords, which had caused so much trouble in an earlier period, are nowhere in evidence in Levni's miniature, although some of the visitors do sport canes. According to the same source, the foreign guests had been assigned seats in tents, admittedly rather modest structures, but located in the immediate vicinity of sultan and grand vizier. This is remarkable because Ra§id, when listing the tents flanking that of the sultan, did not mention a structure specifically assigned to the ambassadors 1 . On Levni's miniature, the more prominent among the European visitors were seated on decorated chairs. A surviving account of the Habsburg ambassador, which described one of the festival processions, presumably is based on the notes which one of his attendants had taken while attending a function of the type shown in Levni's miniatures 2 . At another occasion, we find European visitors embarked in a small boat, in order to get a better view of some of the festivities taking place on the waters of the Golden Horn. However, since in this picture the figures are shown only down to the waist, it is less evocative than the other one 3 . In addition to their attendance at the procession, the ambassadors apparently were assigned a certain day at which they could visit the festival site out at Okmeydani. This becomes apparent from a remark by the marquis de Bonnac, who says that a special courtesy was extended to him. The day on which he was to have visited Okmeydani being very rainy, he was given another time, so that he could visit in more pleasant circumstances4. However the Dutch ambassador chose to not attend at all; this is rather a pity, in so far as the latter had retained the services of J.B. Vanmour, a professional French painter who produced canvasses showing his patron at several official functions. While rather unsatisfactory as a documentarist, Vanmour still

Raçid, Tarih, vol. 5, p. 226 ff. De Bonnac reports having been received in the tent of the reis efendi: Centre des Archives Diplomatiques de Nantes, Serie A Fonds St Priest, vol. 8, Mémoires et pièces diverses du marquis de Bonnac. 2

Haus-Hof und Staatsarchiv, Vienna, Turcica I, f 89, 9 October 1720. Atil, Levni, 94-95. ^Marquis de Bonnac, L'Ambassade de France, 142. 3

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might have left us an interesting version of the proceedings 1 . As to the English representative, he attended, but did not find the festival site very remarkable; with its numerous acrobatic shows, Okmeydani en fête merely reminded him of London's St Bartholomew's fair. One of the major reasons for pre-festival contestation was the question of the gifts to be proffered. Raid's account has made it clear that Ahmed III expected major gifts from his dignitaries, who in some cases were specifically invited from the provinces, presumably with such an aim in mind. Moreover the artisans' guilds participating in the procession not only had to foot the bill for the floats in which their crafts were exhibited, but also make the ruler expensive presents. Thus it is in no way surprising that the foreign ambassadors also were expected to contribute. However the marquis de Bonnac claimed that in the course of time, a set of rules had developed concerning the occasions at which the sultan was or was not to be offered presents in the name of the French ruler. This involved a distinction between 'public' and 'private'; thus the accession of a sultan or the first visit of an incoming ambassador were to be considered state occasions, at which presents were due. But the same was not true of weddings or circumcisions in the sultan's family, which the French ambassador claimed to consider private events. Given the public importance of royal weddings in seventeenth- or eighteenth-century France, it is rather difficult to accept this claim at face value. A clever diplomat, the grand vizier may have sensed this inconsistency, but he did not engage in a discussion concerning the limits of 'public' and 'private' at the French and Ottoman courts — from our point of view, this reticence is of course highly regrettable. Rather, Ibrahim Pa§a laid a bait which de Bonnac found hard to resist. As the grand vizier put it, participation in the festival on Ottoman terms would, given the sultan's strict adherence to precedent, ensure that French ambassadors would receive honorable invitations to sultanic festivals in the future. Special care was taken to demonstrate that the 'three hundred' years of amity between the two emperors, namely the French and the Ottoman, had not been forgotten. As a result, the marquis de Bonnac wrote home that given these circumstances, there was no good reason for refusing to give the desired presents2.

R. van Luttervelt, De Turkse" schilderijen van J.B. Vanmour en zijn school. De verzameling van Cornells Calkoen, ambassadeur bij de Hoge Porte. 1725-1743 (Istanbul, 1958). For the use made of Vanmour's paintings in Venice see Guardi, Cuadri turcheschi. Fotidazione Giorgio Cini exhibition catalogue (Venice, 1993). My thanks go to Gianpietro Bellingeri for making this important publication available to me. ^Archives Nationales, Paris, letter of the marquis de Bonnac to the King, 28 September 1720, K 344 No. 50.

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conclusion

Certainly the minor points of ceremony over which Ibrahim Pa§a and the marquis de Bonnac argued with such perseverance do not form a substitute for physical power, such as an army or navy. Yet the very fact that at a critical point in Mediterranean history, diplomatic gifts and ceremonial ranking were considered to be of such importance by two sober and experienced personages, should give us cause to think. It would appear that 'baroque' intellectuals of western, southern and central Europe were not alone in seeing the world as a theater. A glance at Levni's miniatures tells us that for the duration of the festival, Ahmed III and Ibrahim Pa§a also were 'on stage', the play in which they acted being concerned with the centrality of the Ottoman Empire within the state system of its day. And just as in a Shakespearean play, the cast of serious actors was supported by those whose specialty was comedy, including young artisans with ambitions to cut a fine figure, acrobats and clowns, as such people turned out at the Ottoman festival as well. By their capers, and also by the handsomeness of the participating young apprentices, these representatives of Ottoman city life set off the various dignitaries, when the latter, according to both Mehmed Ra§id and the miniaturist Levni, solemnly arrived at the festival site to do obeisance to the sultan 1 . It would seem that in this ordered and hierarchical system which the Ottoman court projected, the foreign ambassadors had a role to play. They took their places among the Ottoman officials who waited to kiss the robes of the ruler, although the ceremonial applicable in their particular cases was different. How the te§rifatgi and other officials in charge of organizing the 1720 festival 'placed' the representatives of foreign rulers is surrounded by some ambiguity, as the Ottoman sources I have seen do not explicitly discuss the issue. Apparently the foreign visitors, who after all were not present every day, simply were assigned whatever tent was available at the time of their visit. Or else the reis efendi, in his capacity as the interlocutor of foreign envoys, made provision for them. From the marquis de Bonnac's account, it would appear that the grand vizier had promised the representative of the French king an honorable place among the visitors, and this promise, if we believe Levni's version of events, was fulfilled. But in the end, the exact position of the ambassadors constituted a matter of detail. What counted was principally that in the setting of the festival, out in the open in Okmeydani, the sultan presented himself as the apex of a hierarchy of dignitaires encompassing a large section of the Ancient World, all the way from India to Great Britain by way of Russia. ^Ra§id, Tarih, vol. 5, 230 ff.

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Gift exchanges were a significant means of making this hierarchy visible and at the same time, cementing it. The sultan bestowed robes of honor on his dignitaries, and set a silver ewer filled with coins as a prize for acrobatic skill. A s to the pashas and other officials, they responded by gifts of money, precious cloth, valuable horse gear and jewelry, while the guildsmen also made gifts which must have badly unbalanced their budgets. By accepting to present gifts in the name of his sovereign, the French ambassador took his place in this hierarchy, thereby demonstrating that the French king continued to value Ottoman support. But even the Russian czar, who within a few years, was once more to c o m e close to war with the Ottoman Empire, still considered himself bound by the treaty of 'eternal' peace concluded only a few years earlier. For two festive weeks, the position of the sultan remained uncontested.

AN OTTOMAN AMBASSADOR IN IRAN: DURRI AHMED EFENDI AND THE COLLAPSE OF THE SAFAVID EMPIRE IN 1720-21

A novel approach in foreign relations Quite a few Ottoman ambassadors or at least envoys before the eighteenth century have visited European, Iranian or even Indian courts. But most of them have not left reports, or perhaps they have done so but we have not as yet found them. Quite possibly some of these documents still lie in the storerooms of the Topkapi palace archives, un-catalogued and unknown to historians. 1 For the period before 1700 two reports of Ottoman ambassadors to Vienna have been published: the earliest is rather short and was written by Mehmed Pa§a, who after the battle of St Gotthard on the Raab (1664) concluded a twenty-year peace in Vienna. A better known participant in this embassy was Evliya (xlebi whose report on the Habsburg court was both lively and unofficial. 2 However we have no way of knowing whether any of the dignitaries serving under Sultan Mehmed IV (r. 1648-87) ever had a chance to read this work and if they did what they thought of it. Most recently reports and official documents concerning the visit of Ziilfikar Pa§a also have become available; this personage attended the Habsburg court in 1688-92 in an unsuccessful attempt to negotiate an end to the war of 1683-99, and for a while he was imprisoned in a fortress for his trouble. 3 For those Ottoman envoys, who came to foreign courts before the 1660s the documentation produced in the places that they visited typically is our main source of information. Thus the Venetian archives contain a considerable amount of data about the gavu§ or kapucu who as not very highranking officials typically were dispatched to the Signoria with a single clearly 1 For an exception see Giancarlo Casale, "His Majesty's servant Liitfi, the career of a previously unknown sixteenth-century Ottoman envoy to Sumatra..." Turcica, 37 (2005): 43-82. [Evliya f e l e b i ] , Im Reiche des Goldenen Apfels, des türkischen Weltenbummlers Evliya £elebi denkwürdige Reise in das Giaurenland und in die Stadt und Festung Wien anno 1665, translated and commented by Richard F. Kreutel, Erich Prokosch and Karl Teply (Wien: Verlag Styria, 2. edition, 1987), for the report of Kara Mehmed see: 255-63. 3 Mustafa Güler, Zülfikär Paga'mn Viyana Sefäreti ve Esäreti, Ceride-i Takrirät-i Zülfikär Efendi (Istanbul: (Jamlica, 2007). Unfortunately the book is marred by many printing errors, but it does contain a facsimile of one of the original manuscripts. See also [Zülfikär Pa§a], Viyana'da Osmanli Diplomasisi (Zülfikär Pa§a'nin Mükäleme Takrtri 1688-1692) ed. by Songiil Colak (Istanbul: Yeditepe Yayinevi, 2007).

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defined responsibility. 1 These office-holders carried letters written in the name of the sultans from which the unwary reader might conclude that the doge of Venice was something like an Ottoman provincial governor. In addition they frequently also carried less formal texts issued by the chancery of the grand vizier that must have served as the 'real' basis for negotiations and in which greater attention was paid to political realities. 2 Perhaps the young Ottoman Sultan Ahmed I. (r. 1603-17) did send a letter to the court of the Mughals in Delhi and Agra; but if so, the carrier was not an envoy but rather a traveller from Transoxania, who had passed through Istanbul possibly when on the hajj. However this letter was not accepted as genuine by its recipient the emperor Djahangir (1569-1627), who recounted this visit in his memoirs when narrating the events of 1608. As a reason for his scepticism Djahangir pointed out that hitherto no Ottoman envoy had been seen in Delhi or Agra, and moreover it had not been possible to check whether the letters presented by the Transoxanian visitor were genuine or not. 3 In fact one of the very few Ottoman office-holders to turn up at the Mughal court was Seyyidi 'Ali Rei's, who was not an ambassador at all but a mid-sixteenth century admiral who had lost his ships and happened to be in attendance at the Mughal court when the emperor Humayun died and Akbar ascended the throne. However it is most unlikely that had Seyyidi 'Ali Rei's appeared in Delhi in Djahangir's time, this naval commander and would-be diplomat would have been regarded as a 'proper' ambassador. 4 Official exchanges of envoys between the Ottomans and the Mughals thus seem to have been quite minimal; and while many pages of Seyyidi 'Ali R e i ' s ' fascinating report appear as if an ambassador were speaking, in reality the book is no more than an unofficial travelogue. However around 1700 the Ottoman court developed a new interest in diplomacy: after the treaties of K a r l o w i t z / K a r l o f g a (1699) and Passarowitz/Pasarofga (1718) that both involved serious territorial losses the authorities in Istanbul seem to have concluded that it would be useful to 1 Maria Pia Pedani Fabris, In nome del Gran Signore, Inviati ottomani a Venezia dalla caduta di Costantinopoli alia guerra di Candia (Venezia: Deputacione Editrice, 1994). 2 Suraiya Faroqhi, "Ottoman Views on Corsairs and Piracy in the Adriatic," in The Kapudan Pasha. His Office and his Domain, ed. by Elizabeth Zachariadou (Rethymnon: University of Crete Press, 2002): 357-71 and "Bosnian Merchants in the Adriatic," in Ottoman Bosnia, A History in Peril — The International Journal of Turkish Studies, 10, 1-2, ed. by Markus Koller and Kemal Karpat (Madison/Wisc.: Center of Turkish Studies, 2004): 225-39, both reproduced in this volume. [Jahangir], The Jahangirnama, Memoirs of Jahangir, Emperor of India, translated and commented by Thackston Wheeler (Washington, New York, Oxford: Freer Gallery of Art et alii, 1999): 95. 4 Seyyidi 'Ali Re'fs, Le miroir des pays, Une anabase ottomane a travers I'Inde et I'Asie centrale, translated and annotated by Jean-Louis Bacque-Grammont ([Aix-en-Provence]: Sindbad-Actes Sud, 1999); Mehmet Kiremit ed., Seydi Ali Reis, Mir'atu'l-Memalik, inceleme, Metin, Index (Ankara: Turk Dil Kurumu, 1999).

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explain their own policies at foreign courts and also collect political intelligence. After all it is possible to argue that if in 1683 the Ottoman government had been better informed about what had happened at the Polish court, the Grand Vizier Kara Mustafa Pa§a would have taken precautions against the approach of the allied armies of the Holy League and not been taken unawares, leaving the rear of the besieging army unprotected. In this context the embassy of Yirmisekiz Mehmed Efendi to Paris and Versailles (1720), which was meant to 'put the Ottomans on the mental map' of French court circles, in the Istanbul governing milieu seems to have been considered as quite significant. Among other matters this ambassador was supposed to bring back information about novelties in courtly culture; and this assignment he fulfilled to the full satisfaction of Sultan Ahmed III (r. 1703-30). The sultan even had his ambassador's report translated into French; and it was sent to the court of the young Louis XV as a polite gesture. 1 Yirmisekiz Mehmed Efendi's mission has also attracted considerable interest among modern historians.2 Much less attention however has been paid to the fact that in 1720 Ahmed III also sent an ambassador named Diirri Ahmed Efendi to Iran. While shorter than the account of Yirmisekiz Mehmed the report written by the envoy to Iran is also very instructive. It will form the topic of the present study.3

An ambassador travels We do not know very much about the life of Diirri Ahmed Efendi: he came from a family that resided in the eastern Anatolian town of Van, close to the Iranian border; supposedly he had lost the use of one eye. Educated as a scribe in the Ottoman chancery he was able to expand his knowledge of Persian, the rudiments of which he had perhaps already learned in his home town; he became proficient in both language and literature. Apart from his

1 Mehmed efendi, Le paradis des infidèles, Un ambassadeur ottoman en France sous la Régence, introduced by Gilles Veinstein (Paris: François Maspéro, 1981). 2 Fatma Müge Gôçek, East Encounters West. France and the Ottoman Empire in the Eighteenth Century (New York, Oxford, Washington: Oxford University Press and The Institute of Turkish Studies, 1987); compare also the exhibition catalogue Topkapi à Versailles, Trésors de la cour ottomane (Paris: Editions de la Réunion des Musées Nationaux und Association Française d'Action Artistique, 1999). 3 Ahmed Dürri Efendi, published in Mehmed Ra§id, Tarih-i Ratjid, 6 vols. (Istanbul: Matba'a-yi amire, 1282/1865-66), vol. 5: 382-98; Dourry Efendy, Relation de Dourry Efendy ambassadeur de la Porte ottomane auprès du roi de Perse ... translated by De Fiennes (Paris: Ferra, 1810): 172.

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embassy report he has left a collection (divan) of poetry. 1 Presumably his literary skill was a starting point for Diirri Ahmed Efendi's career; Iranians apart after all between Istanbul and Delhi Persian was known to all men - and a few women — who whatever their native languages might be, thought of themselves as belonging to polite society. Before being sent to Iran the author had held various offices in the Ottoman bureaucracy; while on this official mission he ranked as a finance director of the second order and was appointed chief accountant after his return. 2 Presumably Grand Vizier Ibrahim Pa§a and his advisors had been at pains to locate personalities suitable for the embassies they were to undertake. Even though Yirmisekiz Mehmed Efendi knew no French, he rapidly formed a circle of acquaintances in Paris and Versailles, while Diirri Ahmed Efendi at the Safavid court could present himself as an educated gentleman of rank and make observations and collect information that would have remained inaccessible to a person without his accomplishments. The chronicler Mehmed Ra§id informs us that Diirri Ahmed returned to the Ottoman capital in Safer 1134/December 1721; the envoy claimed to have spent a little over six months in Iran, but according to the documents analyzed by Miinir Aktepe, he should have left Ottoman territory in the late autumn of 1720. He had departed from Istanbul a good deal earlier as before crossing the border he spent some time in eastern Anatolia. 3 Given the new interest of Ahmed III and his grand vizier in diplomatic contacts, several official documents concerning this trip have come down to us. These records are also emblematic of the increasing bureaucratization of the Ottoman Empire in the 1700s: in earlier times Ottoman scribes at the very most copied into their registers the laissez-passers issued to departing envoys. However the three documents dealing with the embassy to Iran are more specific: thus we learn that before leaving Diirri Ahmed Efendi was told that for every day of actual travel, at certain pre-determined stops he had the right to collect 2000 akge of good quality, in other words in non-debased coin. 4 This sum of money corresponded to about 5.5 Venetian ducats, rather a paltry sum as he must

1 Miinir Aktepe,"Diirri Ahmet Efendi'nin Iran Sefareti," Belgelerle Türk Tarih Dergisi, I (1967) 1: 56-60; 2: 60-63; 3: 64-66; 4: 60-62; 5: 53-56; 6: 82-84. 2 Faik Re§at Unat, Osmanli Sefirleri ve Sefaretnämeleri, completed and edited by Bekir Sitki Baykal (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1968): 59-61; Aktepe,"Dürri Ahmet," 1: 60; 5: 56. 3 According to Franz Babinger, Die Geschichtsschreiber der Osmanen und ihre Werke (Leipzig: Otto Harrassowitz, 1927): 326 the embassy took place in 1720; this Statement is based on the date given by De Fiennes in the heading of his translation. It also agrees with the archival documents concerning Diirri Ahmed's embassy. For a detailed discussion of travel dates compare Aktepe, "Diirri Ahmet" 1: 61 and 5: 55-56. 4 Ba§bakanhk Ar§ivi-Osmanli Ar§ivi, Istanbul, Section Maliyeden miidevver (from now onwards: MAD) 9906, p. 300 (1132/1719-20).

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have had to pay the expenses of a sizable suite.1 In addition the envoy was allowed to collect some barley and straw for his camels. Tax farmers situated along his route were instructed to deliver these items upon demand and according to a well-established Ottoman practice, were to reimburse themselves at the end of the year by subtracting the relevant sums of money from the dues that they owed. Thus the central administration took up an interest-free loan for the benefit of its envoy. 2 Probably these assignments turned out to be insufficient. In any event plenty of complaints came in, detailing how the ambassador had collected far more than was his due. Possibly Diirri Ahmed Efendi when passing through the regions of Malatya und Diyarbakir had figured that the central administration was far too distant to control his each and every move. In Malatya he had obtained 200 Dutch guru§ beyond what he had been assigned, and in Diyarbakir as well the envoy owed money to local people. 3 But Diirri Ahmed was a creditor as well as a debtor; and the garrison of his hometown of Van was ordered to pay him back what its members owed him, so that he would be in a position to finance his trip. 4 Apparently his family was involved in local tax-farming: a brother of Diirri Ahmed's was expected to take care of the latter's interests while the ambassador was in Iran. 5 However it is hard to determine exactly what kinds of transactions were involved, as the money was demanded in the name of the ambassador by the Ottoman financial administration and not by the creditor directly. In one way or another Diirri Ahmed Efendi upon his return had to deal with a number of financial complications. He referred to this situation in his report, declaring that in the course of his six and a half months in Iran he had received 53 purses. Unfortunately the purse being a variable unit of money it is hard to say how much he really had collected in terms of akge or guru§. Of this amount 15 purses remained when Diirri Ahmed finally returned to Van. If his account can be believed the author used some of this money to repair certain pious foundations established by his family. Diirri Ahmed thought that this act also redounded to the glory of sultan and grand vizier; perhaps he felt that he deserved some financial compensation for his gesture. 6

According to §evket Pamuk, A Monetary History of the Ottoman Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000): 144 in 1725 1 ducat was worth 375 akge; five years earlier the akge may have been worth a little more. 2 MAD 9906, p. 581-2 (1132/1719-20). 3 MAD 9908, p. 268 (1133/1720-21). 4 MAD 9906, p. 412 (1132/1719-20). 5 Aktepe, "Diirri Ahmet," 2:61. 6 These paragraphs are missing in Mehmed Ragid's version, but they are extant in De Fiennes' translation: Dourry Efendy, Relation de Dourry Efendy. 56.

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The report and how it was received According to the requirements of protocol Diirri Ahmed addressed his report to Sultan Ahmed III; but in the conclusion we find him complimenting the Grand Vizier ibrahim Pa§a, son-in-law (damad) to the sultan; thus he acknowledged the role of this highest Ottoman official in his appointment. Most of the account covers the ambassador's trip, according pride of place to the author's encounters with Shah Soltan Husayn and the equivalent of the grand vizier in the Safavid administration, known as the litimdd al-davla. The shah at this point had left his capital of Isfahan and undertaken a campaign against Kandahar; after a lengthy detour the court had ended up in Teheran. Here the ruler possessed a substantial palace; but otherwise the later capital of Iran appeared to Ahmed Diirri as rather a small place (kasaba). The most important scenes of this report have been rendered in the shape of dialogues; moreover the author has inserted a number of poems in Persian and Turkish, as was common in elegant prose. Occasional quotations appear in their original Persian shape; but on the whole the text has been written in a language reasonably close to educated speech and not in formal Ottoman with its many Arabic and Persian elements. At the end of Ahmed Durri's report we find a short systematic account of the late Safavid court and its dignitaries as well as a brief description of the local political geography. No instructions survive; thus we do not know what results the Ottoman court expected from Diirri Ahmed Efendi's embassy and what matters that he was to highlight in his report. In all probability the ambassador had received oral instructions on the issues he was to discuss.1 We only can deduce these concerns from the text itself. Evidently the Ottoman authorities wanted their envoy to present the strengths and good qualities of their own administration in the face of the shah and his most important dignitaries. But the ambassador also tried to analyze the reasons why Safavid rule over an empire that at least in his own opinion, was quite wealthy had now come close to collapse. In this context presumably ibrahim Pa§a wanted to find out whether a campaign against the Safavid domains at this point was likely to succeed. At the Iranian court an attack on the part of the Ottoman sultan was greatly feared and the author attempted to dispel these concerns with words that sounded plausible but in the end turned out to be untrue. Although Diirri Ahmed Efendi did not disclose his own opinions about war and peace, most likely after his return he spoke in favour of an Iranian campaign, which did in fact come about a few years later, ending with the conquest of Tabriz. 2

1

Aktepe, "Diirrî Ahmet" 1: 58. Fariba Zarinebaf-Shahr, "Tabriz under Ottoman Rule (1725-1730)," unpublished Ph. D. dissertation, The University of Chicago, 1991. 2

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At the time of writing Diirri Ahmed Efendi's report must have been a state secret. But as Safavid rule collapsed so fast, already in 1722 according to the opinion of many historians, the text evidently was made accessible 'to the public' quite soon. 1 Apart from several libraries in Istanbul, copies are available in Paris and Vienna. 2 In 1745 the text was translated into French by De Fiennes, a student in the French training program for interpreters of Middle Eastern languages {jeunes de langue). Moreover the Jesuit priest Juda Krusiriski, who had spent considerable time in Iran produced a translation into Latin. 3 The French translation only appeared in print in 1810, in a volume mainly containing the writings of the scholar François Pétis de la Croix Junior, who had travelled in the Ottoman Empire in the seventeenth century. Apparently Ahmed III was not as much interested in the report of Diirri Ahmed as in the almost contemporary text by Yirmisekiz Mehmed Efendi; and later generations have tended to agree with the sultan. Certainly Diirri Ahmed's work was soon included in the influential chronicle of Mehmed Ra§id (died in 1735). Ra§id's interest may have been motivated by the fact that in the late 1720s, shortly after Diirri Ahmed's trip he also went to in Iran as an envoy. Yet apart from Miinir Aktepe's seminal article only cursory attention has been paid to this work. 4 This neglect is especially regrettable as it has promoted the notion that Ahmed III and his advisors were only interested in the principal capitals of Europe. In consequence modern historians have connected the Ottoman interest in diplomacy in rather too one-sided a fashion with the recent defeats of the sultans' commanders by the armies of Prince Eugene of Savoy. Even if high officials in the service of Ahmed III had come to realize that military victories were no longer a foregone conclusion, at the Ottoman court of the 1720ies the possibilities of diplomacy were being explored with wider concerns in mind.

Different views on the end of the dynasty are possible: it all depends on whether certain Safavid princes, who briefly held court in one or another province of Iran, are considered retenders or legitimate rulers. Babinger, Geschichtsschreiber. 326; Unatand Baykal, Osmanli Sefirleri-. 61. 3 I have not seen the manuscripts or the translation by Krusiriski; however Aktepe, "Diirri Ahmet" is based on the former. 4 Aktepe, "Diirri Ahmet" is of special interest as the author has found and partly published the correspondence between the Ottoman and Safavid courts that was linked in one way or another to the embassy of Diirri Ahmed Efendi. These documents are found in the Miihimme and Name-i Humayun series of the Ba§bakanlik Argivi-Osmanh Ar§ivi. Thus the present author has continued the work of her one-time hoca in extending the search to the Maliyeden miidevver series.

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The weakness of the Safavid Empire: 'foreign policy' and military affairs In my perspective the report of Ahmed Diirri is mainly a discussion of the factors accounting for the weakness of the Safavid Empire in the years before it finally went down. 1 As at the same time the author focuses on the continuing wealth available in this territory, it is likely that as we have seen he wanted to entice the Ottoman court to begin a campaign against the rival dynasty. Ahmed Diirri has given a far more coherent account of the current political and military crises than of the sources of Iranian prosperity; after all, the author had been educated as an Ottoman gentleman and official and thus was well versed in literature including chronicles. On the other hand he had no background as a merchant and his financial experience probably was limited as well. To begin with Iran had extended frontiers that were difficult to defend; this situation was especially apparent in the South-east, in present-day Afghanistan. Already in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries there had been numerous clashes between the Safavids and their Mughal neighbours in this region. 2 In the early 1700s Prince Mir Ovays had established himself in Kandahar as an independent ruler. His son Mahmud, who was not a Shiite like the Safavids, but rather a Sunnite, extended his campaigns all the way into Central Iran. 3 To compound the problems facing the ruling dynasty, the Afghan tribe known as the Bahadirlu had conquered the city of Herat, today also located in Afghanistan, which had been joined to the Safavid realm in the sixteenth century. Further to the north the Bahadirlu also seemed poised to occupy the city of Mashhad, situated close to the north-eastern frontier of today's Iran, famed for its sanctuary and a major pilgrimage site. Additional crises were brewing in the Caucasus, where traditionally the Safavids were preeminent but where Sunnites were numerous; thus the Lesgians who were one of the more important Sunnite groups of the region seemed inclined to accept the suzerainty of the Ottoman sultans. It is noteworthy that our author has so little to report about the other powerful neighbours of the Safavid polity. Probably Diirri Ahmed Efendi said nothing about the ambitions of his own government because he had been sent 1 We possess two studies that analyze the weaknesses of the late Safavid Empire, both emphasizing international trade: Rudolph P. Matthee, The Politics of Trade in Safavid Iran. Silk for Silver 1600-1730 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999): 224-30 und Ina Baghdiantz McCabe, The Shah's Silk for Europe's Silver. The Eurasian Trade of the Julfa Armenians in Safavid Iran and India (1530-1750) (Atlanta / Georgia: Scholars Press and University of Pennsylvania, 1999): 354-62. 2 [Jahangir], The Jahangirnama, passim contains an enumeration of the many campaigns that this ruler undertook or ordered to be undertaken in what is today Afghanistan, during his reign of about twenty years. 3 Hans Robert Roemer, "The Safavid Period," in The Cambridge History of Iran, vol. 6 ed. by Peter Jackson and Laurence Lockhart (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986): see especially 310-31.

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on what in a later age would have been called a goodwill-mission to the court in Teheran. He also included but a very few comments on the policies of the Sunnite Uzbeks on Iran's north-eastern border and on the Russian Empire of Peter the Great even though the latter was highly active in the Caucasus during just those years. While he did encounter the ambassadors of both these polities he only said that the Iranian court treated them with much less consideration than was shown to his own person. Perhaps Diirri Ahmed was so flattered by this attention that he omitted to comment on the obvious limitations of the Safavid worldview; or else he emphasized his own prominence because it was considered a reflection of the importance that the court in Teheran accorded to the Ottoman sultan. Thus we may hypothesize that the report of Diirri Ahmed was somewhat anachronistic, whether knowingly or not must remain an open question: for in the early seventeenth century in other words about a hundred years earlier, the Ottomans and Safavids really had been the only great powers active in this region. 1 But on the other hand the government in Istanbul was quite aware of Russian policies in the area; in 1724, about three years after Diirri Ahmed's return Ahmed III came to a formal agreement with Tsar Peter concerning the division of western Iran into Russian and Ottoman 'spheres of interest'. Conceivably our author had been sent on a simple goodwill cum fact-finding mission and it was only the collapse of Safavid rule in 1722 that awakened Ottoman interest in territorial acquisitions. 2 At the present state of our information it is impossible to be sure. One of Diirri Ahmed Efendi's favourite topics was the lack of military preparedness in the late Safavid Empire. Thus he commented that firearms were not being produced and especially noted the lack of cannon manufactures. In Istanbul by contrast, firearms were taken much more seriously; already in the mid-fifteenth century, shortly after the conquest of Constantinople, the Ottoman sultan had instituted a cannon foundry, which was refurbished by Siilcyman the Magnificent (r. 1520-66). In 1719, just before Ahmed Diirri set out for Teheran the buildings had been destroyed by a fire and were replaced during the following years. 3

When diplomatic relations were involved such anachronisms were not rare. Thus Jahangir, The Jahangirnama: 95 penned a lengthy comment on the battle of Ankara (1402) in which the Ottoman Sultan Bayezid I Yildirim had been defeated by his own ancestor Amir Timur. From this event, over two hundred years old at the time of writing, Jahangir deduced that the Ottoman sultans had a moral obligation to send envoys to his own court. 2 Roemer, "The Safavid Period": 327. o Ahmet Aran, "Tophane-i Amire," in Dtinden Bugiine Istanbul Ansiklopedisi (Istanbul: Ttirkiye Ekonomik ve Toplumsal Tarih Vakfi, 1993-94), vol. 7; Gabor Agoston, Guns for the Sultans, Military Power and the Weapons Industry in the Ottoman Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005).

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In addition the ambassador remarked that in the entire Safavid Empire there were only three cities with significant fortifications namely Kandahar, Erivan und Derbend; however the first-named had already been lost. These remarks too must be viewed against the backdrop of Ottoman military practice: on both the Habsburg and Venetian frontiers sieges with their paraphernalia of mining, sapping and artillery fire were the very stuff of war. As three examples among many, we may refer to the conquest of Candia (1669) and the two sieges of Vienna, of which the second from June to September 1683, came quite close to succeeding. 1 Even in their Iranian wars the Ottomans tended to focus on the conquest of fortresses: thus Sultan Murad IV in 1635 had conquered Erivan, one of the three key fortified towns of the Safavids according to Durri Ahmed, although he had been unable to hold it. In 1638-9 after a long siege the same ruler had retaken Baghdad, a city that in the early part of the seventeenth century had been in Safavid hands for some time. In addition Durri Ahmed Efendi's hometown of Van was a major border fortress. 2 We can thus assume that in the eyes of the envoy, Ottoman military men were good at handling fortresses both when in the offensive and when defending their own territory; in comparison their counterparts in the service of the Safavids cut a rather poor figure. Durri Ahmed Efendi's comments on military affairs in certain respects correspond to what has been said by certain historians of the late twentieth century. 3 Certainly guns and artillery were known and used by military men in the service of the shahs. But this use was sporadic rather than systematic, and firearms did not lead to the restructuring of armies as happened in early modern Europe and according to recent research, in the Ottoman Empire as well. 4 Probably the relative lack of interest in firearms and the paucity of fortified places were interrelated. As Ottoman armies tended to focus on fortresses, rulers such as Shah 'Abbas I pursued a strategy of creating empty spaces in which the enemy was expected to lose himself; at times this strategy might even involve the destruction by Iranians of Safavid fortifications. Moreover field artillery was relatively useless in battles with nomads, who in the Iranian context were a much more serious threat to settled government than in the 1

John Stoye, The Siege of Vienna (Edinburgh: Birlinn, reprint 2000). Jean-Louis Bacqué-Grammont, "Un plan inédit de Van au XVII e siècle," Osmanli Ara§tirmalari, II (1981): 97-122. 3 Rudi Matthee, "Unwalled Cities and Restless Nomads: Firearms and Artillery in Safavid Iran," in Charles Melville (ed.), Safavid Persia (London: I. B. Tauris, 1996): 389-416. 4 Halil Inalcik, "Military and Fiscal Transformation in the Ottoman Empire, 1600-1700," Archivum Ottomanicum, VI (1980): 283-337; Gäbor Ägoston, "Ottoman Artillery and European Military Technology in the Fifteenth to Seventeenth Centuries", Acta Orientalia Hungarica, 47 (1994): 15-48 and "Ottoman Warfare in Europe 1453-1826" in Jeremy Black (ed.), European Warfare, 1453-1815 (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1999): 118-44 and 262-63. 2

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Ottoman lands. Probably Safavid interest in cannons and gunpowder was not exactly promoted by such considerations.1 The comments of the Ottoman envoy on Iranian soldiers also are quite remarkable. In Diirri Ahmed Efendi's estimation they were good sharpshooters, expert in the use of bows and arrows as well as of firearms. But leadership was poor and the envoy went so far as to claim that in the Safavid ruling group of his own time reasonable men were few and far between. Moreover the ruler and his circle had lost the will to maintain themselves in power; and everywhere one could hear people say that the dynasty of the 'Cheykh-Oghlou' was about to go down. 2 In this latter judgement the Ottoman observer agreed with many European authors of the time, who disapproved particularly of the obvious lack of interest that the reigning Shah Soltan Husayn took in matters of state. 3

The weakness of the Safavid Empire: the exaggerated courtly society and its lack of political realism

self-confidence

of

Three hundred years after the events, it is impossible to say to what extent Diirri Ahmed Efendi's account of Shah Soltan Husayn was fair; but in our text the last Safavid ruler appears as a weak person who only sought the friendship of Ahmed III and the latter's envoy because he hoped that this connection would protect him from his enemies. However the shah, who in Diirri Ahmed Efendi's account was always referred to with expressions of respect was perfectly capable of asking questions in a most friendly tone of voice, which put the Ottoman envoy in an awkward position. Noblesse oblige: Diirri Ahmed took such behaviour in good part. We will now attempt to analyze the reasoning that motivated the ambassador's criticisms of Shah Soltan Husayn. In Diirri Ahmed Efendi's perspective it was strange that the Safavid court believed or at least claimed to believe that the different rebellions challenging the rule of the shah were due to petty disputes and intrigues, while quite obviously the crisis was much more serious and profound. Implicitly the Ottoman envoy thus was critical of the tendency to explain all political conflicts by the routine tensions between persons and factions that were and 1

Matthee, "Unwalled Cities": 395-405. Dourry Efendy, Relation de Dourry Efendy: 55; the transcription was the creation of De Fiennes, who added that the dynasty bore this name because its ancestor was - correctly supposed to have been a famous dervish sheik. 3 For an impressive example see Laurence Lockhart, The Fall of the Safavi Dynasty and the Afghan Occupation of Persia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1958): 42.

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are everyday occurrences at any seat of government. In certain cases the author noted the 'reality underlying the rhetoric'. While Safavid dignitaries claimed that certain people from Daghestan appeared at court to express their devotion to the shah and were rewarded by gifts "out of compassion and because of their poverty" Durri Ahmed observed that these gifts compensated the Daghestanis for leaving the Iranian-controlled sections of the Caucasus in peace; otherwise they were sure to raid these areas for slaves. Policies of this type certainly were not unknown in the Ottoman realm even though the author preferred to not mention the relevant parallels: thus for two centuries already the Ottoman sultans had been sending money, grain and other valuables to the Bedouins living close to the pilgrimage route to Mecca. In this instance as well the tribes were given grants-in-aid so that they would leave the pilgrims in peace. 1 This situation must have been well-known to most of Durri Ahmed's readers in Istanbul; therefore the author perhaps also intended to admonish his public to avoid self-satisfaction and judge political situations on their merits.

A potential 'fifth column': the Sunnites of Iran In Durri Ahmed Efendi's account the religious tensions between Sunnites and Shiites living in Iran were a major topic; the author also was interested in the consequences of these tensions for the political relations between sultan and shah. Ever since the early sixteenth century the sultans had projected an image as defenders of Sunnite right belief; in so doing they had claimed superiority not only over the unbelievers of Europe but also over the Shiites of Anatolia and Iran. As the latter were concentrated in the Safavid realm that was governed by the shahs, Iran came to be viewed as a land of misbelievers. 2 At the same time the politically relevant elite of Iran adhered to the Shi'a of the Twelve Imams. At least in the sixteenth century, ritual cursing of the first three caliphs that in Shiite perspective had deprived the descendants of the Prophet Muhammad of their birthright the caliphate, was part and parcel of Safavid self-definition while causing much official indignation in Istanbul. In the Ottoman-Iranian peace treaty of 1590, and already in its predecessor the peace of Amasya (1555) the sultans had therefore

Community and Leadership, ed. by Aron Rodrigue (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1992): 123-66. 1 Suraiya Faroqhi, Pilgrims and Sultans (London: Tauris Press, 1994): 65-69. 2 On Sultan Siileyman's using his major mosque in order to express the sixteenth-century conflict between Sunnites and Shiites compare Giilru Necipoglu-Kafadar, "The Siileymaniye Complex in Istanbul: an Interpretation," Muqarnas, III (1986): 92-117.

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imposed a paragraph that expressly forbade the ritual cursing of "companions of the Prophet." 1 Towards the late seventeenth century religious policy became a serious weakness of the late Safavid Empire; and Dtirri Ahmed Efendi addressed this issue at some length. During those years the shahs attempted to make Iran into a country where apart from a few foreigners the entire population was Shiite. Certainly the persecution of Sunnites in Iran and Shiites in the Ottoman lands had been common in the sixteenth century as well. Sultan Siileyman had put great pressure on the Shiite-inspired minority today known as Alevis and there had been considerable emigration from Anatolia to Iran that was at least partly caused by religious persecution. 2 As for Iranian Sunnites who wished to pursue a career in government service they often enough found out that their only chance lay in emigration. But where the Ottomans were concerned attempts to secure religious uniformity among Muslims by the year 1600 had largely ended. Only after 1880 do we encounter renewed attempts to convert the Shiite subjects of the sultan in Iraq and elsewhere, now with relatively modern tactics inspired by those of Christian missionaries. 3 Matters were rather different in Iran during the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. Christians, Jews and Zoroastrians were exposed to considerable pressures and often emigrated, moving to places as different as India and Venice. Life was also made difficult for Sunnites both in the spiritual and material sense; sometimes they were targeted for special dues that they only could escape by converting. 4 Diirri Ahmed did not discuss the problems that this policy implied for Jews and Christians; however considerable attention has been paid to the situation of non-Muslims residing in Safavid Iran in the secondary literature of the late twentieth century. 5 The Ottoman ambassador by contrast focused on those regions which in his opinion were principally inhabited by Sunnites. From his account it appears as if these Sunnites who supposedly made up thirty percent of the population of the Safavid Empire only waited for a ruler of their own religious convictions who would liberate them from their present oppressors. This

1 Bekir Kuttikoglu, Osmanh-iran Siyasi MUnasebetleri vol. I, J578-1590 (no more published) (Istanbul: istanbul Universitesi Edebiyat Fakiiltesi, 1962): 195. Ahmet Refik [Altinay], Onaltinci asirda Rafizilik ve Bekta^tlik. Onaltinci asirda Tiirkiye'de Rafizilik ve Bekta$ilige dair Hazinei evrak vesikalarini havidir (Istanbul: Muallim Ahmet Halit, 1932); Colin Imber, "The Persecution of the Ottoman Shiites According to the Miihimme Defterleri 1565-1585," Der Islam, 56 (1979): 245-73.

Selim Deringil, "The Struggle against Shi'ism in Hamidian Iraq: A Study in Ottoman CounterPropaganda," Die Welt des Islams, XXX (1990): 45-62. 4 Roemer, 'The Safavid Period": 313. 5 Lockhart, The Fall of the Safavi Dynasty: 70-9.

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disaffection of Iranian Sunnites came out with particular clarity when the author described the reception he was given by the inhabitants of the town of Djazirc: the entire population turned out to meet him and he claimed to have been profoundly moved. 1 Thus the long-term attempts on the part of Ottoman sultans and grand viziers to conquer western Iran could be legitimized by the sufferings of the Sunnites under Iranian rule.

The prosperity of the country Diirri Ahmed Efendi reported that at least in the towns, the Iranian economy was prosperous. As peasants were not numerous foodstuffs apparently were twice as expensive as on Ottoman territory, but the townspeople were doing well; the author did not explain how this was supposed to have worked in a pre-industrial economy. In this context Diirri Ahmed mentioned that the population was dense and large and small towns were numerous; when passing through he claimed to have encountered but few poor people. By contrast villages were rare and those that did exist seemed to Diirri Ahmed to rather resemble towns. Such a settlement might hold between three hundred and one thousand houses and possess a public bath. However the tribal societies of Iran did not make any impression upon the Ottoman visitor. Textile manufactures both urban and rural appeared to be major sources of wealth; and in this respect as well the envoy's impressions have been confirmed by recent research. 2 Both silk and cotton fabrics were manufactured; and it was also common to mix the two fibres. The products of a few large cities were traded on the interregional level; presumably this remark of the author's implied that many other textiles were manufactured for local use only. Ahmed Diirri stressed that Iranians did not import fabrics from abroad, apart from a few Kashmir shawls and some rough French woollens. Once again although the author did not say so, this situation differed from that of the contemporary Ottoman Empire where both Indian and French fabrics found an extensive clientele. Perhaps the relevant remark was meant as a comment upon the Ottoman situation, for the consumption of Indian luxuries certainly was not unknown among the Iranian upper class as well. 3

1 Ahmed Diirri Efendi in Tarih-i Ratjid, vol. 5: 396-97, in the version given by De Fiennes this section has been considerably abridged. 2 Willem Floor, The Persian Textile Industry in Historical Perspective 1500-1925 (Paris: L'Harmattan, 1999). a Floor, The Persian Textile Industry: 301.

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In fact Ahmed Diirri's interest in commercial matters was linked to his official mission: for the peace of Passarowitz/Pasaroffa stipulated that Iranian traders, for the most parts Armenians called acem tiiccari in Ottoman parlance should be permitted to pass through the Ottoman realm and bring their goods to Habsburg territories. 1 During the previous decades of almost continuous warfare the transit of these traders had been forbidden and as a result, Iranian goods were sold at unusually high prices in Vienna and elsewhere in the Habsburg domain. But now that peace had been concluded this transit trade was considered to be of mutual advantage, as after all the traders paid substantial customs duties that helped fill the sultans' treasury. A paragraph in the treaty of Passarowitz/Pasarofga thus specifically allowed the passage of these merchants and specified the duties they were expected to pay. It was part of Ahmed Diirri's mission to inform the Safavid court of this change in Ottoman policy.

Self-presentation, Ottoman style, or how the ambassador was received at the Safavid court Apart from bringing back information about the difficulties of the ruling dynasty and the wealth of Iran, Durri Ahmed Efendi evidently intended to convince the court in Teheran that in spite of recent defeats on European fronts the Ottoman sultan was still a force to be reckoned with. Presumably it was hoped that the shah in his difficult position would be overawed to the point of conceding whatever demands Ahmed III and his grand vizier might make in the future. Put differently 'propaganda' in favour of the sultan might was one of the major duties of the envoy. In writing his account the latter fulfilled the probable exigencies of his superiors by including a relatively detailed summary of his conversations with the shah and his grand vizier. Unfortunately I do not know of any Iranian source that would permit us to check the claims of Durri Ahmed Efendi. A particularly effective way of documenting the prestige enjoyed by the Ottoman sultan at the court in Teheran was the description of the ceremonies with which Durri Ahmed was received and sent on his way. The language of ceremonial being intelligible at both courts, our author paid close attention to this aspect. He thus reported that upon his arrival, one of the Iranian viziers travelled twenty-two miles too meet him; great pomp was deployed, and the vizier's suite numbered about three thousand persons. Even in smaller towns receptions were quite elaborate. In this context the Ottoman 1

Aktepe, "Durri Ahmet" 1: 58-60.

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envoy listed the victuals and other items which the shah sent in order to ensure his support and that of his suite; presumably the value of these necessities and their prompt arrival also could be construed as marks of respect. But the most important event was certainly the reception by the shah and his litimad al-davla. To give but one example: when the official letter of the Ottoman Grand Vizier Damad Ibrahim Pa§a was handed over to the latter's opposite number, the Iranian dignitary supposedly kissed the document with as much respect as Diirri Ahmed himself had done. In this courtly environment the ambassador could creatively employ his special talents; in other words Diirri Ahmed Efendi was not confined to a purely reactive role. Both Persian and Ottoman poems were recited with relative frequency, and the author participated in these literary sessions. Supposedly the Iranian courtiers complimented the envoy on his knowledge of Persian; and he must have enjoyed emphasizing this fact when addressing the sultan and grand vizier. Self-presentation, Ottoman style: the beauties of Istanbul and the wisdom of Ahmed III The Ottoman ambassador also attempted to impress the Iranian court by emphasizing those points that the Ottoman elite considered its own major strengths. The beauty of Istanbul had a role to play in this competitive courtly game. Diirri Ahmed Efendi reported that he had provided the shah with an extensive description of the mosques and other pious foundations of the Ottoman capital; he highlighted the handsome and elegant appearance of the Topkapi Sarayi, and even evoked the view of the Bosporus. 1 In 1703 when Ahmed III ascended the throne he had had to promise that henceforth he would reside in Istanbul and not in Edirne as his predecessors had done; and perhaps this praise of the old-new capital was meant to counter gossip about Sultan Ahmed's enforced move. In addition this description may have been a concealed attempt to score a point against the Iranian ruler, who had just left his capital Isfahan to better resist his enemies. At least that is my interpretation of Diirri Ahmed's remark that 'not only' the rulers of India and Uzbekistan envied Sultan Ahmed on account of his superb capital city. As the third important ruler of the Muslim world was the shah of Iran, the reader of Diirri Ahmed's lines was likely to complete them by adding the latter's name to the list of rulers who would have liked to reside in Istanbul. 1 In the version relayed by Mehmed Ragid this paragraph is briefer than in De Fiennes' translation: Ahmed Diirri Efendi in Tarih-i Ra§id, vol. 5: 383; Dourry Efendy, Relation de Dourry Efendy. 28-9.

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Praising the person of Ahmed III was another important element in Ottoman self-presentation; but as this sultan had not won any major victories and could not boast any remarkable physical achievements, the envoy chose to depict him as a wise ruler. Diirri Ahmed Efendi explicitly declared that his sultan did not enjoy hunting, although the shah certainly thought that this activity was particularly appropriate for a ruler. 1 Shooting exercises supposedly were the only sport in which Ahmed III occasionally showed an interest although even here, he was more a spectator than an active participant. On the other hand Diirri Ahmed stressed that his ruler took the duties of his office very seriously; he regularly listened to the meetings of his high officials and by regularly attending Friday prayers in one of Istanbul's great mosques, he not only fulfilled a religious obligation but also ensured that the people of the capital had a chance to encounter their ruler. The envoy also reported that Ahmed III invited scholars of Islamic law and religion into the palace in order to profit from their knowledge. Lectures of this kind were sponsored by several sultans of the eighteenth century, but it is noteworthy that this activity could also serve to legitimize an Ottoman sultan in front of other Muslim rulers. 2 In addition Ahmed III was presented as a lover of books, who reserved one day a week for their study in the palace library that he had himself founded and richly endowed.3

A coherent policy of reconstruction But surely the most interesting feature of Diirri Ahmed's story is his account of the political program that he attributed to his ruler: for this was rather different from the sets of measures generally recommended in the 'books of advice' that from the later sixteenth century onwards were so often written by intellectually minded Ottoman bureaucrats. 4 After all these texts mainly recommended that the sultan limit the size of his standing army, restore the military tax assignments (timars) to the status they had possessed in the reign 1 Dourry Efendy, Relation de Dourry Efendy: 22; Ahmed Diirri Efendi in Tarih-i Ragid, vol. 5: 380. This comment is all the more remarkable as otherwise the shah refused to countenance the killing of animals: Lockhart, The Fall of the Safavi Dynasty: 41. 2 Madeline C. Zilfi, "A Medrese for the Palace: Ottoman Dynastic Legitimation in the Eighteenth Century," Journal of the American Oriental Society, CXIII, 2 (1993): 184-91. 3 This handsome building still adorns the third court of the Topkapi palace. In a note De Fiennes claims that Ahmed III was not considered to be a connoisseur of Arabic and Persian; Dourry Efendy, Relation de Dourry Efendy. 16, note. 31. But as the poetry composed by this sultan was considered far from insignificant and Ottoman poetry presupposed familiarity with the classical Persian authors, this claim can be discounted. 4 On the difficulty of correctly interpreting these texts see Rifa'at A. Abou-El-Haj, Formation of the Modern State, The Ottoman Empire Sixteenth to Eighteenth Centuries (Albany: SUNY Press, 1991): 53-60.

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of Siileyman the Magnificent, weed out corrupt officials and — if possible or necessary — defeat rebels, conquer new provinces and afterwards thank God for victory by endowing a mosque or two. By contrast Diirri Ahmed stressed that the sultan had sent orders to all provinces in his empire to restore all existing mosques, theological colleges, caravansaries and other pious foundations. He also had ordered to pay their stipends and gratuities to the students enrolled in these colleges, as well as to other persons engaged in religiously meritorious activities. Presumably these payments mostly had been discontinued during the decades of warfare that had preceded the peace of Passarowitz/Pasarof?a. Evidently their resumption presupposed that the necessary means could be made available; unfortunately Diirri Ahmed did not specify where these sums of money were supposed to come from. Doubtless these restorative measures were intended to enhance the reputation of the sultan and the Ottoman house in general: the ruler presented himself in the role of facilitator, who made it possible for his subjects to live a pious life by re-vitalizing the necessary institutions. But Ahmed III also restored buildings of a military nature; and in 1720 at the very same time when Diirri Ahmed was in Iran, this ruler also ordered major repairs to the fortifications of the Balkan town of Nish; construction workers even were recruited from distant Crete. This policy of reconstruction was real and by no means a propagandistic invention of the Ottoman envoy. Some forty years ago Cengiz Orhonlu was able to show that after the peace of Passarowitz/Pasarof9a in 1718, the Ottoman authorities made a major effort to re-ensure the security of the caravan routes compromised during decades of warfare. Fortified khans were constructed, several of which became the crystallization points of small towns. At the same time the villagers responsible for the security of certain stretches of road in exchange for tax exemptions, in this period were given a more formal organization than had been true in earlier years, for instance in the sixteenth century. 1 At least in some provinces tax collection was reformed and detailed bureaucratic rules, not always very realistic, were issued to limit corruption and waste. Such measures had become necessary because during the wars of 1683-99 and 1715-18 all expenditures outside the combat zones had been scaled down to the point of non-existence: even many fortresses of the hinterland were very poorly supplied. But it is significant that not only we modern historians discern a 'policy of reconstruction', but that a well-informed contemporary made the same point when praising his sovereign.

1 Cengiz Orhonlu, Osmanh imparatorlugunda Edebiyat Fakultesi, 1967): 59-94.

Derbend Teçkilati

(Istanbul: Istanbul Universitesi

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The Ottoman also had their problems: the fate of non-enthroned princes and the relationship to non-Muslim foreign powers In the seventeenth century the Ottoman dynasty had come to regard its oldest male member as the legitimate successor of the reigning sultan. Thereafter the well-known and much criticized custom of killing off the brothers of a newly enthroned ruler was almost completely abandoned.1 From the seventeenth century onwards these princes were more or less imprisoned in a special section of the palace and rarely were visible to the public, a precaution common to both Safavid and Ottoman rulers. Even so Diirri Ahmed was visibly uncomfortable when the shah questioned him about the fate of the Ottoman princes. This reticence is all the more noteworthy as Sultan Ahmed III did not hide away his sons and on festive occasions showed them off to the population of his capital. 2 But we can assume that at the Iranian court the hecatombs of young Ottoman princes buried shortly after the accessions of their royal brothers in the late 1500s were not forgotten; and after all even in the seventeenth century certain sultans including Murad IV (r. 1623-40) had had their brothers killed, if not at their accessions then at some later time. Quite obviously these were not matters which an educated Ottoman of the early eighteenth century liked to remember. It is interesting to see that Diirri Ahmed retorted by pointing out a case in which the shah himself had not acted in accordance with the traditions of his house. Presumably he meant to imply that if previous Ottoman rulers had had their brothers killed, at least they had the excuse of having obeyed the traditions of their dynasty. Somehow the ambassador had found out that Soltan Husayn had permitted the Safavid princes imprisoned in his harem access to slave girls; and this was the issue that now was supposed to cause embarrassment to the shah even though, as the envoy was happy to concede the Iranian ruler had acted out of compassion. In this discussion the representatives of the two rival dynasties evidently were caught between the horns of a dilemma. On the one hand it was important to demonstrate that the princes of the relevant dynasty were not exposed to the undignified conditions accompanying imprisonment. But on the other hand, both Ottomans and Safavids since the seventeenth century had developed dynastic laws that demanded that potential claimants to the throne be detained and prevented from having children. 3 As these two alternatives were mutually exclusive it was always possible to fault 'the other side' whenever that became politically convenient. 1 Nicolas Vatin and Gilles Veinstein, Le Sérail ébranlé (Paris: Fayard, 2003): 204-17. ^ Maria Pia Pedani Fabris ed., Relazioni dì ambasciatori veneti al Senato, voi. XIV Costantinopoli, Relazioni inedite (1512-1780) (Padua: Aldo Ausilio—Bottega di Erasmo, 1996): 864-70. J Roemer, "The Safavid Period": 366.

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The second troublesome point concerned the peace treaties of Karlowitz/Karlofga (1699) and Passarowitz/Pasarof9a (1718) that the sultans had concluded with the rulers involved in the so-called Holy League, namely the Habsburg Empire, Poland, Venice and Russia. After all, these treaties had sanctioned the loss of Hungary as well as the principality of Transylvania, hitherto an Ottoman dependency. In the long run, both Mehmed IV (r. 164887) and Mustafa II (r. 1692-1703) were dethroned because of these defeats. Yet by the treaty of Passarowitz/Pasarof^a that had been signed in 1718 in other words in the time of the ruling sultan Ahmed III, even the important fortress city of Belgrade had been lost.1 We have no way of knowing whether these events really were discussed in the polite and detached terms that the ambassador's report suggests. It is quite possible that the shah and his courtiers highlighted recent Ottoman defeats, but that the envoy preferred to not share the details with his readers. If Diirri Ahmed Efendi is to be believed Shah Soltan Husayn only wished to be informed about the recent peace treaties — or truces as they were regarded within the framework of Islamic law. The Safavid ruler wanted to know whether the agreements applied to short or to lengthy periods and whether in all cases a written text had been agreed upon. Diirri Ahmed replied that some of the treaties were valid for twenty-five and others for thirty-five years: originally the sultan had been unwilling to grant them but as the Christian rulers had insistently sued for peace, he ultimately had agreed. As for the latter they had promised that every year, merchants and ambassadors personally would attend the sultan's court and present their gifts. Thus the author postulated a resemblance to the tributary embassies whose attendance at the Safavid court Diirri Ahmed previously had noted. However the Ottoman envoy did not speak of tribute but rather of gifts; and thus in a way he responded to the changing political situation.

The ambassador as a negotiator Apart from the oral guidelines that Diirri Ahmed Efendi had received in Istanbul, he also had his own agenda. Quite obviously he wanted to impress the powers that be by his skills as a negotiator. Thus he emphasized how he studiously avoided 'capture' by Iranian courtly ritual; and to any perceived slights he reacted immediately. 2 Several times the author told his readers that 1 Rifa'at A. Abou El-Haj, "Ottoman Attitudes toward Peace-Making: the Karlowitz Case," Der Islam LI (1974): 131-7. L See Aktepe, "Diïrrî Ahmet" 2: 61-63 for one example among several.

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he did not hesitate to interrupt the speeches of Iranian dignitaries and emphatically complain to the shah concerning the misdeeds of the latter's governors stationed along the Ottoman-Iranian borders. In the same vein, Diirri Ahmed Efendi reported that whenever he had received gifts and polite attentions from Iranian grandees, he immediately had reciprocated in kind. The Ottoman ambassador and therefore the ruler that had sent him were not to be outdone at any foreign court. But almost in the same breath the author also explained how he managed to gain acceptance on the part of the shah's entourage by acting in a manner becoming to a diplomat. Thus when the Iranian grand vizier indicated by a gesture that a certain issue was not to be broached in the presence of his ruler Diirri Ahmed claimed that he immediately took the hint. For as he told his readers he understood straight away that by insisting, he might have gotten his interlocutor into trouble with the latter's own sovereign. All this diplomatic manoeuvring however only was possible because the author was fluent in Persian and fully conversant with Iranian classical literature. If his account is at all reliable, his literary knowledge and skills surpassed the expectations of the Teheran court where even well-educated non-Iranians were concerned. Perhaps Diirri Ahmed Efendi wished to indicate that he was available if another embassy were to be sent into this crisis area. But whatever his plans, they were nullified by the author's untimely death shortly after his return to the Ottoman lands. 1 As we have seen Diirri Ahmed felt that the late Safavid court was deplorably amiss when it came to military preparedness and political prudence. But there were compensations: literature, apparel and also musical performance were strikingly elegant. We may even suspect that Diirri Ahmed feared that in comparison the Ottoman sultan would cut a less impressive figure: for at one point he recorded quite indignantly that of course Ahmed III was more majestic in appearance that his Iranian counterpart. On one occasion literary men were sent to the lodgings of the envoy to both entertain and impress him; and whenever he was received at court a concert was given. While the author did not record the quality of these performances it still is worth noting that he never said anything negative about them; yet when it came to Iranian personalities and policies he certainly did not hesitate to make uncomplimentary remarks. Therefore it is likely that singers and musicians usually were highly skilled. Perhaps Diirri Ahmed Efendi was more impressed by the culture of the late Safavid court than one might think at first reading.

1 Compare Aktepe, "Diirri Ahmet" 5: 56 on the dates given in the sources for Diirri Ahmed's death.

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In conclusion In a relatively brief text the Ottoman ambassador has succeeded in conveying a graphic account of his aims and the means that he used to achieve them. It was his primary concern to impress the Safavid shah with the power of Sultan Ahmed III and the latter's concern with good government. In this context Diirri Ahmed Efendi described a program of reconstruction that probably had been designed in the entourage of Grand Vizier Ibrahim Pa§a and that he attributed to the sultan personally. With hindsight Ahmed III may thus appear as a predecessor of the reforming Sultan Selim III (r. 1789-1807). However around 1720 military problems were not as evident as they were to be about seventy years later. Therefore the sultan and his grand vizier could afford to focus on restoring pious foundations, thus legitimizing Ottoman rule by the services rendered to the cause of the Muslim religion and by implication to education as well. Throughout Sultan Ahmed III and his grand vizier seem to have demanded first-hand political information. At least this is what we may conclude after reading the brief but sometimes quite apposite remarks of their ambassador concerning the products of Iranian artisans and the political crisis that was to end with the demise of the Safavid Empire a few years later. Given the scarcity of sources it is hard to decide whether Diirri Ahmed Efendi was right in considering the Sunnite population of Iran as an at least potential fifth column; a certain amount of wishful thinking probably was involved. Yet whatever the situation in practical terms, the author's comments on this issue are of interest, as they show that well-informed Ottomans continued to believe that they could use the conflict between Sunnites and Shiites to destabilize the Safavids and thus further the political aims of their rulers. In addition we can guess at the impression that the court of the last Safavid shah made upon an educated Ottoman gentleman such as Diirri Ahmed Efendi: certainly it seemed weak and even decadent, but at the same time it was highly cultivated; in some visitors it even might cause a secret inferiority complex. Concerning the diplomatic activities of the author, it is evident that just like in contemporary Europe, an envoy was expected to 'lie abroad for the good of his country'. For presumably Diirri Ahmed Efendi knew - or at least could guess — that there was a distinct possibility that Sultan Ahmed III and his entourage might decide to attack western Iran. But it was his brief to persuade the shah of the contrary. Therefore we find him indignantly rejecting a suggestion that Ottoman intentions were not altogether peaceful: people that put about such rumours — or so Diirri Ahmed claimed — did not know what

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they were talking about. 1 Certainly invasion projects only became acute when the collapse of Safavid rule resulted in a power vacuum in Iran, and that happened only after the conquest of Isfahan by the Afghans in 1722. But some 'contingency planning' on the Ottoman side is likely to have occurred earlier on, and the reports of the khan of Erivan about invasion plans that Diirri Ahmed Efendi was at pains to discredit may well have contained a core of truth. W e will need to locate further sources before we can be sure. While Damad Ibrahim Pa§a was not a diplomat by his early training he evidently had talents in this field and was able to appreciate the value of contacts between royal courts. In the years f o l l o w i n g the peace of Passarowitz/Pasarofga this grand vizier evidently tried to establish contacts both to western and to eastern rulers. If diplomacy was to be of use to the Ottoman government after a series of less than successful wars, the relevant policy did in fact imply the collection of information and the projection of 'sultanic propaganda' in all major kingdoms and empires. European rulers were part of this setup but they did not monopolize Ottoman attention. In this context Diirri Ahmed Efendi should have been a most valuable servant of the Ottoman grand vizier, as he was one of a probably limited circle of men who possessed the 'intercultural flair' needed for Ahmed Ill's new style diplomacy. We are left to wonder what might have happened if both Diirri Ahmed and the Safavid Empire had survived longer.

1 Ahmed Diirri Efendi, in Mehmed Ra§id, Tarih-i Ra§id\ 374; Dourry Efendy, Relation Dowry Efendy. 7-38.

de

A PRISONER OF WAR REPORTS: THE CAMP AND HOUSEHOLD OF GRAND VIZIER KARA MUSTAFA IN AN EYEWITNESS ACCOUNT

A considerable amount of work has been done on the fates of prisoners of war, but most studies concern the post-1850s. Interest has focused on the American War of Secession, British actions against the Boers in South Africa, most prominently the two World Wars and in addition the Korean and Vietnam conflicts. In the near future we surely can expect a number of studies on prisoners of war taken in the Anglo-American wars in Kuwait and Iraq. Yet the early modern period to a large extent remains a terra incognita. What is more, researchers who do deal with this period have concentrated on the Thirty Years War or the unending armed conflicts of the eighteenth century between the five 'great powers' of contemporary Europe. As for the campaigns by Ottoman sultans against the Habsburg rulers in Vienna, the kings of Poland and the Signoria of Venice, the problems connected to prisoners of war have received but cursory attention. This remains true even when the prisoner in question is reasonably prominent: thus an extensive biography of the well-known geographer and writer on military matters Luigi Fernando de Marsigli devotes but a very few pages to the period that this author spent on Ottoman territory as a prisoner of war. 1 Probably historians have not shown much interest in the stories of soldiers captured in wars involving the Ottomans because it is often assumed that between Muslim and Christian rulers, there simply were no common frames of reference. Although in Christian Europe the treatment of captured soldiers often was brutal enough, historians will posit that there existed a shared set of Christian values or at least some common ground between fellow Catholics or Protestants. This was not true however when the opposing parties were of different religions. Therefore in Habsburg-Ottoman wars for instance it was not feasible to conclude formal arrangements for the exchange of captured soldiers and especially officers, of the kind that in eighteenthcentury Europe might be made before the rival armies even encountered one another in the field. 2 Given this lack of common norms between the Ottomans and their Christian opponents, prisoners of war were not protected by any written or unwritten law. Whether they were captured by soldiers of the sultans or those of the Habsburg emperors, what happened to these men 1

John Stoye, Marsigli's Europe (New Haven. London: Yale University Press, 1994): 20-23. D a n i e l H ö h r a t h , '"In C a r t e l l e n w i r d der W e r t h eines G e f a n g e n e n beslimmeV Kriegsgefangenschaft als Teil der Kriegspraxis im Ancien Régime," in In der Hand des Feindes. Geschichtsschreibung zur Kriegsgefangenschaft von der Antike bis zum Zweiten Weltkrieg, ed. by Rüdiger Overmans and the Arbeitskreis Militärgeschichte (Köln, Weimar, Wien: Böhlau Verlag, 1999): 141-70. 2

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therefore depended exclusively on the characters and intentions of their captors. Probably this situation has discouraged quite a few historians; for they must have worried about encountering a mass of disparate bits of information in widely scattered primary sources, from which it might be all but impossible to produce an overall picture. 1 At least until the end of the seventeenth century it is in fact true that prisoners of war taken in the Ottoman-Habsburg borderlands enjoyed few guarantees, apart from the fact that captors who had taken prisoners whose families were of some wealth and standing expected substantial ransom payments and therefore had an interest in the survival of their captives. 2 Shortly after a battle it was common practice for both Ottoman and Habsburg soldiers to kill their captives. Those prisoners who survived the traumatic hours and days following such an encounter most often were enslaved, and a return became increasingly unlikely once the military corps to which the captor belonged had removed itself from the battlefront. That such was the fate of most Christian captives in Ottoman hands is relatively well known because ransoming such people was part of the ordinary business of ambassadors. It is less often realized that the Habsburgs also enslaved their captives, and this was still common practice during the conquest of Ottoman Hungary in the 1680s. 3 In southern Italy enslaved Muslim prisoners of war could be encountered even in the beginning of the nineteenth century. 4 All this is correct; but it is not the whole story, as will become apparent from our discussion of a little known captivity report from the late seventeenth century. In reality ransoming and exchanges of prisoners between Ottomans and Habsburgs did occur even if no formal agreements had preceded the wars in which these men had been captured. Such a procedure from the war of 1683-99 will be the subject of the present study. Our source was published for the first time in 1689 and reprinted a few years later: no full-scale modern edition is available. The author was Claudio Angelo de Martelli, who in spite of his Italian name seems to have spoken German as his native language and published his book in German. When captured near Vienna in the summer of 1683 De Martelli was serving his as a 'Rittmeister', in a regiment of 'Kiirassier's, whose commander was Count Diinewald. Thus he was a an older 1 These difficulties are reflected in Suraiya Faroqhi, The Ottoman Empire and the World Around it, 1540s to 1774 (London: I. B. Tauris, 2004): 119-36. 2 Geza David and Pal Fodor eds., Ransom Slavery (Leiden: Brill, 2007). 3 Osman Aga, Der Gefangene der Giauren. Die abenteuerlichen Schicksale des Dolmetschers Osman Aga aus Temeschwar, von ihm selbst erzählt, tr. and commented by Richard Kreutel and Otto Spies (Cologne, Graz, Vienna: Styria, 1962). For an edition of the original see Osman Aga, Die Autobiographie des Dolmetschers 'Osman Aga aus Temeschwar, ed. by Richard Kreutel (Cambridge: Gibb Memorial Trust, 1980). For a French translation see: Prisonnier des infidèles. Un soldat ottoman dans l'empire des Habsbourg, tr. by Frédéric Hitzel (Aix-en-Provence: Sindbad-Actes Sud, 1998). For the context compare Frédéric Hitzel, "Osmân Aga, captif ottoman dans l'empire des Habsbourg à la fin du XVIIe siècle," Turcica, 33 (2001): 191-216. 4 Salvatore Bono, Schiavi musulmani nell' Italia moderna, Galeotti, vu' cumprà, domestici (Naples: Edizioni Scientifiche Italiane, 1999).

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contemporary of Osman Aga, who fell into Habsburg hands as a very young officer during this same war. 1 De Martelli was an Ottoman prisoner for about two years, during which time-span he experienced the household of the recently executed grand vizier Kara Mustafa Pa§a (1634-83) at first hand. Under circumstances that we will discuss De Martelli was able to return to Habsburg territory long before the peace of Karlowitz and continue his military career. 2 By 1689 as the title page of his book indicated he had been promoted to the position of "General Adjutant: und Obrist Leutenand". 3

Claudio Angelo de Martelli, Relatio captivo-redempti, das ist warhafft: und eigentliche Beschreibung der Anno 1683...außgestandenen Gefaengnuß (Vienna: Matthias Sischowitz, 1689). A copy of this book is in the Herzog August Bibliothek in Wolfenbiittel. I gained access to this rare work due to the help of Gesine Bottomley and her team, librarians in that paradise of scholars known as the Wissenschaftskolleg in Berlin. Long may they flourish! Apart from what De Martelli and a few of his contemporaries report, not much seems to be known about this officer's biography. Unfortunately I was unable to consult his file in the Österreichisches Militärarchiv (Vienna). A cousin of De Martelli's was the dean of the cathedral chapter of Augsburg whom the author called "Freiherr von Schönstain" (De Martelli, Relatio captivo-redempti: 96). According to Joachim Seiler, Das Augsburger Domkapitel vom Dreißigjährigen Krieg bis zur Säkularisation (1648-1802) (St. Ottilien: Eos-Verlag, 1989): 375ff. the person referred to was Leonhard Frey vom Schönstein, licentiatus utriusque iuris (1624-93). Frey vom Schönstein came from a patrician family domiciled near Lake Constance and in Vorarlberg on Habsburg territory. The family had acquired its noble status only in 1669, when the emperor Leopold I had granted them the title "vom Schönstein". This personage apparently was De Martelli's closest male relative; I am obliged to the archivists of the cathedral archive in Augsburg for their aid in tracking him down. In another section of his book De Martelli declared that he was unmarried and had no close relatives (De Martelli, Relatio captivo-redempti: 111). However this claim may be untrue; for he seems to have had a wife or female companion whose name he did not mention {ibid.: 151, 152). My reasons for doubting his statement are the following: when referring to the wives of other people he often used the term "Liebste" ('beloved'). Therefore it is possible that when he wrote about his own "Liebste" he meant 'Eheliebste', a common term for spouse at this time. Or else the union may not have received official sanction. His partner apparently lived in Innsbruck. I have not been able to explain why the author did not mention any attempts to inform his "Liebste" of his whereabouts. Otherwise he quite often gave the names of the people to whom he sent mail. While De Martelli never spoke about children either legitimate or illegitimate, his "Schwager" (brother-in law) Freiherr Pienner von Pixenhausen did make a brief appearance in his memoirs. This person was apparently a canon, probably in the little Bavarian town of Mühldorf. But when De Martelli returned f r o m Istanbul, Pienner von Pixenhausen had been dead for some time. De Martelli claimed that he had been a soldier for sixteen years; however possibly he was thinking not of the date of his capture in 1683 but rather of the time at which he wrote his book (1685-89). Thus probably at the time of his capture he was in his middle thirties. De Martelli also remarked that before his Ottoman adventure he had served in the Netherlands, the German territories and Hungary. He had been taken prisoner once before, namely in the Hungarian wars and had spent part of his captivity in the house of a local nobleman. Apparently the author was dissatisfied with the progress of his career and took the opportunity offered by his report to point out this fact (ibid.-. 71). It is worth noting that the relevant passage was not deleted by the censor. 2 For a biography see the article "Mustafa Paga, Merzifonlu, Kara" by Miinir Aktepe in islam Ansiklopedisi (published by the Turkish Ministry of Education), vol. VIII: 736-38. 3 De Martelli wrote many German verses, of execrable quality. In addition he apparently spoke Latin well and at least understood Hungarian, Italian and Polish. At one point he remarked that an acquaintance had addressed him in "Teutsch/Waelsch/und Französisch" (German, Italian and French). I do not know whether we should conclude that he also understood French (De Martelli, Relatio captivo-redempti: 60). At one point he had to pass up a chance to flee because as he told his readers, he knew no Serbian or Croatian (ibid.: 92). De Martelli's knowledge of Polish was to prove a veritable survival skill.

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late seventeenth century-style: asserting piety and loyalty

When De Martelli's book was published in 1689 the HabsburgOttoman war over Hungary was still raging. The peace of Karlowitz/Karlof§a only was concluded ten years later: when the book appeared the armies of Leopold I had occupied Belgrade (1688). De Martelli profited materially from this latter event as Be§ir Aga the former Ottoman commander of the fortress along with the latter's family, was assigned to the author "as my slaves". 1 Thus De Martelli's memoirs should be regarded as a piece of war propaganda, intended to justify the actions of the imperial army and even to legitimize them in religious terms. Quite often the author mentions his loyalty towards Leopold I and his devotion to the Catholic Church in one and the same breath. But perhaps most remarkable is his confession that taken by themselves, his religious convictions might not have been strong enough to ensure his survival in Ottoman captivity - meaning presumably a survival without conversion to Islam. Only his loyalty to his ruler and to his commander Charles of Lorraine as he puts it, allowed him to hold out in spite of all pressures. 2 This combination of Catholic piety and loyalty towards the ruler is clearly expressed already on the title page. In the last lines of the long text that filled this page according to the custom of the times, religious catchwords abound: the author's release from captivity is described as miraculous, God's intervention is invoked and there is a reference to salvation as well. In the dedicatory prologue the author dwells at length upon his steadfast adherence to his Catholic faith. Remarkably enough the book is dedicated not to some military figure or even to the emperor Leopold himself, but to a canon regular by the name of Franziskus from the Premonstratensian monastery of Pernegg, who was a member of the estate of Habsburg prelates. 3 As yet another example of the religious discourse favoured by De Martelli there is an episode that the author described as having happened shortly after he had been wounded 1

De Martelli, Relatio captivo-redempti: 154. De Martelli, Relatio captivo-redempti: 70. 3 In his prologue the author refers to the kindness that Franziskus von Pernegg — as an individual — had shown towards himself. He also had reason to be grateful to the order of the Premonstratensians collectively, of which Franziskus was a member; but he does not tell us what this kindness involved in concrete terms. As I was informed by Prior Benedikt Felsinger and the archivist of the monastery Pater Johannes Mikel (Kloster Geras/Pernegg), Franziskus von Pernegg is identical with Franz von Schollingen. In the late seventeenth century the latter's family had recently been ennobled and when in 1700 the priory was raised to the status of an abbey, Von Schollingen became its first abbot. I am most grateful for this piece of information; yet it is a pity that the archives of the monastery contain no evidence of the relationship between De Martelli and Franz von Schollingen. However it is of interest that once again, we find churchmen from recently ennobled families of the minor nobility within the author's social circle. 2

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and captured. A dish containing meat was offered to him, which he was unable to eat; and while De Martelli was well aware of the fact that shock and loss of blood had made it impossible for him to consume anything much, he did not omit to mention that these events had taken place on a Friday when his religion forbade him to touch meat. In the same vein he reports that after his return to his homeland he visited the pilgrimage church of Altötting to thank God and the Virgin Mary for his fortunate escape; De Martelli undertook this pilgrimage even before reporting to his commander in Vienna. Another example of the religious discourse so much favoured by De Martelli concerns his emphatic refusal to convert. The barber who treated the author's wounds immediately after his capture apparently suggested such a move, while warning the prisoner that by refusing he risked execution. If De Martelli's story can be believed, he responded by stressing his willingness to die a martyr's death. However such claims do appear somewhat formulaic. Thus we find a similar statement in the report of Giovanni Benaglia about the embassy of the Habsburg Internuntius Caprara; in 1683 Kara Mustafa Pa§a had taken this diplomat from Istanbul all the way to the gates of Vienna. Once Caprara sent a messenger to the emperor although the grand vizier had expressly forbidden him to do, supposedly remarking "oh how fortunate would we be if they soon were to send us off to paradise" ("O wie wären wir alle so glückselig/ wann sie uns aufs bäldiste ins Paradiß schickten.")1 As is well known the wars between Habsburgs and Ottomans were viewed by both sides not only as secular power struggles but also as religious wars. De Martelli also makes this point by giving his readers a lengthy account of how crosses and communion were mocked by the opposing side. 2 However it is not so clear how many of these acts — in so far as they really had occurred — had been committed by Muslims. After all religious imagery was just as objectionable to the Hungarian Calvinists who so often were Ottoman allies and who certainly were no great respecters of Catholic ritual objects, including the bread and wine used in the mass. In addition stories about the desecration of churches always made 'good copy' and should therefore be treated with circumspection.

1 De Martelli, Relatio captivo-redempti: 23; Johanne Benaglia, Außßhrliche Reiß-Beschreibung von Wien nach Constantinopel und wieder zurück in Teutschland... deß Hochgebohren Grafen und Herrn Herrn Albrecht Caprara etc. welche Er als Ihro Römisch-Keyserl. Maj. Extraordinari-Gesandter... den Stillstand mit der Ottomanis Pforten zu verlängern/ verrichtet, translator not mentioned (Frankfurt/Main: Matth. Wagner, 1687): 100. 2 De Martelli, Relatio captivo-redempti'. 33-34.

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Explaining capture - or what happens if a soldier is overwhelmed powerful opponent

by a

Unless completely incapacitated by their wounds prisoners of war have sometimes had to defend themselves against accusations of disloyalty - Soviet soldiers who had the great misfortune of being captured by the Nazi armies during World War II form a particularly harrowing example. 1 Presumably De Martelli stressed his loyalty at every step because he had similar potential challenges in mind. Being overpowered however formed a plausible excuse; and De Martelli already in the title of the first chapter of his book stressed the enormous size of the Ottoman army when it first appeared before Vienna. Supposedly two to three hundred thousand soldiers of the sultan were accompanied by about a hundred thousand Tatars. In reality it must have been difficult to form an accurate idea of the size of the Ottoman army, and the author's aim in reporting these figures probably was meant to demonstrate that he and his fellow soldiers had been powerless to resist such a multitude.2 De Martelli gives his readers a detailed account of the circumstances under which he was taken prisoner; and this information also should be viewed as part of a tactic that permitted the author to justify his behaviour. When on 30 June 1683 the advance guard of the Ottoman army reached the river Raab, De Martelli went out to reconnoitre; and this move resulted in a skirmish with Ottoman troops that had reached the other side of the river. The next day Duke Charles of Lorraine ordered a larger-scale exploratory move to figure out the strength of his opponent; but this was interrupted by an attack on the part of

Thus the military career of Luigi Fernando Marsigli ended with a dishonourable discharge f r o m the imperial army because the authorities in Vienna believed that as a second to the commander of the fortress of Breisach he had too rapidly submitted to the armies of Louis XIV. The commander himself was executed: Stoye, Marsigli's Europe: 246-47. [Georg Christoph] Baron Kunitz, Diarium Welches Der am Türkischen Hoff und hernach beim Groß-Vezier in der Wienerischen Belaegerung gewesten Kayserl. Resident Herr Baron Kunitz eigenhändig beschrieben... nebst außfiihrlicher Relation der Wienerischen Belagerung (Vienna: no page numbers, no publisher, 1684) begins by estimating that the Ottoman army consisted of 170,000-180,000 men including the Walachian and Moldavian contingents. Later on the author revised this figure, suggesting that many troops were occupied elsewhere and that thus only 90,000 men were available for the siege of Vienna. However in the appendix of this little book we find a text claiming to be a translation of an Ottoman document recording a review of troops during the later stages of the siege. As far as I can tell the original has not yet surfaced. According to Kunitz this document was dated 18 Ramazan/7 September 1683 (according to present-day conversion tables 18 Ramazan that year corresponded to 20 August). At this muster 168,000 soldiers allegedly were counted while losses amounted to 48,544 men. Both Kunitz' and Benaglia's books are available in the Wiener Stadt- und Landesbibliothek located in the Vienna city hall. The pre-publication story of the Kunitz diary is rather interesting: the editor/printer claimed that the text was found in Kunitz' tent after the Ottoman army had hurriedly evacuated its camp before Vienna. If this claim is more or less correct we can assume that the author when taken away by the withdrawing Ottoman army intentionally left his diary behind: after all it contained military intelligence. Moreover once the Ottoman armies had left, Kunitz' work was usable for propaganda purposes; and probably for this very reason it was printed the next year.

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the Tatars who in the meantime had crossed the Raab. Thereupon the author was personally ordered by the commander-in-chief to reconnoitre the possibilities of crossing the Raab and Raabnitz rivers; and in the course of this undertaking he was captured on 2 July. This information is confirmed by the Ottoman Divan interpreter Alexander Maurocordato, who briefly recorded in his diary that Claudio Mart[ell]i had been captured along with 60 men. 1 De Martelli reported that unexpectedly he was confronted by a troop of 300 Tatars and tried to extricate his troops. But from the beginning this attempt did not have many chances of success and after being wounded, the author could not avoid capture.2 De Martelli also demonstrated his continued loyalty to the Habsburg cause by highlighting his frequent attempts from prison to contact his commander. Apart from transmitting information about his whereabouts that might prove to be of military value, these letters presumably were meant to encourage the officers in charge to arrange for an exchange of prisoners involving De Martelli. In fact after his letters had been received the author was sent clothing and 10 guilders: however he does not tell us whether this was a private gesture on the part of one of his correspondents or whether the money came from an official army fund. As a further token of his devotion to the imperial cause De Martelli included a detailed discussion of the projects for flight that he supposedly had elaborated before being taken from Belgrade to Istanbul and later on, during his stay in the Ottoman capital; however none of these plans even came close to realization. Once again presumably the author stated his intentions in order to make it clear that in real life flight was impossible. At the same time looking out from a window of the Belgrade fortress he supposedly counted the army units that the Ottoman commanders sent out to strengthen the defences of Buda. He did in fact manage to pass on this intelligence to his commander Charles of Lorraine: at other occasions he also established contact with the margrave Hermann of Baden and with the Habsburg diplomat Georg von Kunitz who as we have seen was a prisoner in the camp of the grand vizier.3 Richard F. Kreutel, Karl Teply eds. and translators, Kara Mustafa vor Wien, 1683 aus der Sicht türkischer Quellen (Verlag Styria: Graz, Vienna, Cologne, 1982): 81. For a biography of this Ottoman dignitary who had studied medicine in Padua and had done research on the circulation of blood, see Nestor Camariano, Alexandre Mavrocordato, le Grand Drogman, son activite diplomatique (1673-1709) (Salonica: Institute for Balkan Studies, 1970). Richard Kreutel is one of the very few modern historians to have taken notice of Claudio Angelo de Martelli and his book; see Kreutel and Teply eds. and translators, Kara Mustafa vor Wien: 23 and elsewhere. De Martelli, Relatio captivo-redempti: 13-15. De Martelli, Relatio captivo-redempti'. 41-42, 94, 96. Kunitz, Diarium: no pagination, p. 1 according to my count only mentions De Martelli a single time, namely when he recorded the Rittmeister's capture. Kunitz also had learned that the prisoner whom he called 'Claudi' had been assigned to the grand vizier.

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Giving information to the other side — or refusing to cooperate Soon after his capture the author was questioned on the part of the Tatar khan and the grand vizier. From the very beginning he tried to keep his rank and decorations secret, even though a Rittmeister was not a very highlevel officer. More significant was the author's position as an imperial aide de camp: presumably De Martelli wanted to avoid detailed questions concerning Habsburg tactics and strategy. We may assume that at this early stage the Ottomans had not yet laid hands on many captives of any prominence in the imperial forces; and it was probably for that reason that Rittmeister De Martelli was confronted several times with the highest commanders in the sultan's army. The author claims to have even kept his family name secret as far as possible: when talking to the Tatar khan and to Alexander Maurocordato he supposedly identified himself simply as a soldier. However the success of these tactics should not be overestimated. 1 Thus for instance the Ottoman chief interpreter knew De Martelli's family name perfectly well and at their very first encounter, used it to address the self-styled 'Claudio the soldier'. Mavrocordato had probably received this information from the Hungarian nobleman Ferenc Horvath, who knew the author of our text from earlier military confrontations. 2 Certainly during his stay in the Ottoman camp De Martelli usually went by the name of Claudi; but as the Ottomans normally used given names in preference to family names it does not seem likely that the chief interpreter was the only person to know De Martelli's true identity. However in this respect at least the latter was quite optimistic; and when imprisoned in the fortress of Belgrade he continued to hope that there were only two people that knew his family name. He therefore became rather upset when the Polish diplomat Samuel Prosky a newcomer to the local dungeon, called De Martelli by his full name. 3 As to the situation of Prosky it is necessary to put his situation into perspective. While it has long been known that the Ottomans of the time imprisoned foreign ambassadors when at war with their rulers, Ottoman ambassadors on Habsburg territory might suffer the same fate. Thus when his

Herr von Quarient, a cousin of the Habsburg envoy at the Ottoman court who was also in the camp of Grand Vizier Kara Mustafa Pa§a asked De Martelli quite insistently to keep his identity secret. Evidently Von Quarient had not yet grasped that the Ottomans had long since identified their prisoner; see De Martelli, Relatio captivo-redempti: 24. On the office and responsibilities of an imperial aide de camp: ibid.: 71. 2 De Martelli, Relatio captivo-redempti: 20-21. The author had spent eighteen months in Eperies as a prisoner of Prince Thököly who was firmly committed to the Ottoman side. 3 De Martelli, Relatio captivo-redempti: 71.

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peace mission initiated in 1688 had failed the Ottoman envoy Zulfikar Pa§a also was imprisoned in a fortress. 1 In Ottoman-Habsburg confrontations an officer who provided the enemy with data beyond name, rank and serial number apparently was not regarded as a traitor; for even though De Martelli made much of his loyalty to the imperial cause he admits to having given Kara Mustafa Pa§a some information about Habsburg fortresses and their commanders, even if the author asserted that the relevant statements were vague, ambiguous or even downright false. In this context De Martelli made brief references to the materials that Ottoman officers used in order to make sense of the information he had provided and to plan their undertakings. Apart from the ubiquitous rulers and compasses, the author observed maps covering among other localities Vienna and Gyor/Raab. Unfortunately we have no way of knowing whether the map that the author saw was identical to the one and only Ottoman map showing the besieged town that has come down to us. 2 De Martelli had a good deal to say about his encounter with Alexander Maurocordato; as we have seen the latter by contrast only mentioned the event in a single line. The high position of the interpreter who was dressed in the Ottoman style was clearly apparent from his appearance on horseback and the size of his suite. At this occasion Mavrocordato seems to have taken some trouble to establish a dialogue with the imprisoned Habsburg officer. 3 According to De Martelli Maurocordato immediately emphasized that he was a Christian and thus by implication not a 'renegade'. This opening gambit confronted the author with the undeniable though unpalatable truth that there were Christians that wholeheartedly espoused Ottoman expansion. Maurocordato suggested that the conversation be held in Latin, which as we are told several times, De Martelli not only read and understood but also spoke. Presumably by choosing this language unknown to the Ottomans and also to most soldiers on the Habsburg side, Maurocordato wished to suggest that certain parts of the negotiation at least would remain confidential. In all likelihood the Divan interpreter sub rosa offered the prisoner that he could 1

Güler, Zulfikar Pa?a: XXX. Richard Kreutel und Karl Teply, ""Abbildung der Festung Wien, getreulich wiedergegeben" Der große türkische Plan zur Belagerung Wiens" in Richard F. Kreutel, Karl Teply eds. and translators, Kara Mustafa vor Wien, 1683 aus der Sicht türkischer Quellen (Verlag Styria: Graz, Wien Köln, 1982): 257-88. See also De Martelli, Relatio captivo-redemptv. 20. 3 De Martelli saw Maurocordato riding a horse in the Ottoman military camp. This privilege indeed showed that the interpreter was highly valued by the grand vizier; for travel apart, nonMuslims were often forbidden to appear on horseback: Matthew Elliot, "Dress Codes in the Ottoman Empire: The Case of the Franks," in Ottoman Costumes, From Textile to Identity, i d . by Suraiya Faroqhi and Christoph Neumann (Istanbul: Eren, 2004): 103-23. In certain cases the grand vizier seems to have taken Maurocordato's advice; in fact De Martelli thought that he owed his very life to the interpreter's powers of persuasion: De Martelli, Relatio captivoredemptv. 25. 2

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secure the latter's release if only De Martelli could guarantee repayment of the 600 - or perhaps only 300 - Thaler that this move would cost him. In addition Maurocordato wanted information about the state of Vienna's defences. However the author claimed that he refused to be tempted and gave away no details; but in order to not make an enemy of Maurocordato, De Martelli excused himself on account of his miserable physical condition due to the wounds he had recently sustained. Possibly the Habsburg officer thought or wished his readers to think that the data he provided to the Ottoman side were known anyhow; in this case his account was meant to convince his audience that he had not given away any really sensitive information. 1 If we can believe De Martelli's claims the latter even refused an explicit offer of release in exchange for information that he considered treasonous. 2 It is likely that the 'good cop, bad cop' interrogation technique was as familiar to Ottoman investigators as it was to their opposite numbers of later periods. In this case Grand Vizier Kara Mustafa Pa§a took on the role of the threatening 'bad cop.' By contrast Maurocordato tried to persuade the author by offering inducements as an alternative to the big stick brandished by the Ottoman commander. Thus the author was first included in a line of prisoners and loaded with chains; after he had had time to reflect on his difficult situation the chains were taken off and he was conducted to the interpreter.

The sufferings of a prisoner To portray himself as a faithful servitor of his ruler and a true-believing Catholic besides, De Martelli did not omit a detailed description of his sufferings as a prisoner. But even if these descriptions contained an element of self-interest the tribulations suffered by this prisoner and many others on both sides of the Habsburg-Ottoman frontier were real enough. From this and other wars we possess any number of reports concerning hunger, beatings, sickness, loss of social status and mortal peril; it therefore makes sense to view these afflictions as constitutive of the experiences of prisoners of war. In this respect De Martelli's report resembles that of Osman Aga to say nothing of reports written by people who suffered the same fate in other epochs. 3 Life for the prisoner was made especially difficult by the fact that in addition to militarily relevant information demanded by the high command certain soldiers hoped to use De Martelli's presence to increase their own 1 2 3

De Martelli, Relatio captivo-redempti: 19-20. De Martelli, Relatio captivo-redempti: 28. For a rather dramatic instance compare De Martelli, Relatio captivo-redempti: 39-40.

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chances of booty once the Ottoman army had stormed Vienna. Thus the author told us that in order to get information on buried treasure three former Habsburg subjects now converted to Islam mistreated him rather badly. In all likelihood high-level Ottoman commanders were not directly involved in this affair. Certainly booty-making in a conquered city could make the fortunes of Ottoman generals as of their opposite numbers anywhere else. Indeed after the failed siege of Vienna the grand vizier was accused of having waited too long in storming the city; as a motive for this unexpected caution, he supposedly had wanted to secure a capitulation because in this case he would not have been obliged to permit his soldiers several days of plunder and thereby lose a large share of the riches that the Ottomans assumed were stored in the Habsburg capital. But treasure hunts in the narrow sense of the term probably were more often undertaken on the private initiative of ordinary soldiers.1 Among the places where De Martelli suffered his captivity he singled out the fortress of Belgrade for special opprobrium; and to make life worse he was imprisoned in this castle for almost a year. To describe his ordeal the author turned to scriptural models namely the psalms and even the passion of Christ; at least in the prose sections of his story the author did not otherwise use literary devices of this type very often, preferring to account for concrete situations in concrete terms. Apart from dirt and hunger De Martelli emphasized the cold, the airlessness of the dungeons and the lack of water. However he did not view the Ottoman high command as responsible for this situation, imputing his and companions' misery rather to the behaviour of the fortress commander (dizdar). 2 It is worth noting in this context that the Ottoman supply system which otherwise worked reasonably well, in the winters of 1683-85 all but collapsed, so that the Belgrade garrison also was famished. When De Martelli was about to leave Belgrade the commander by contrast showed him somewhat more consideration; as for the dizdar's wife, she had previously been sending alms to the prisoners in secret. Unfortunately De Martelli does not tell us whether he felt any obligation to reciprocate when the couple, now themselves prisoners were assigned to him as slaves after the Habsburg capture of Belgrade. Aside from the material deprivation that at least in part had been caused by the severe winter cold the captives in the fortress of Belgrade were exposed to what we might call the psychological warfare of the Ottomans. Every once in a while rumours were circulated to the effect that the Polish or Habsburg armies had suffered major defeats. Supposedly 60,000 Poles had lost their 1 De Martelli, Relatio captivo-redemptv. 32. According to Thomas M. Barker, Doppeladler und Halbmond, Entscheidungsjahr 1683, translated and ed. by Peter and Gertraud Broucek (Graz, Wien Köln: Styria, 1982): 81.