Social Networking in South-Eastern Europe: 15th-19th Century (Geschichte: Forschung und Wissenschaft) 3643908660, 9783643908667

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Dr. habil. Ivan Parvev is Professor for Modern Balkan History at Sofia University St. Kliment Ohridski, Bulgaria. Dr. Maria Baramova is Associate Professor for Early Modern Balkan History at Sofia University St. Kliment Ohridski, Bulgaria. Dr. Grigor Boykov is Research associate at the Austrian Academy of Sciences, Vienna.

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Social Networking in South-Eastern Europe 15th – 19th century

Social Networking in South-Eastern Europe

978-3-643-90866-7

Maria Baramova, Grigor Boykov, Ivan Parvev (Eds.) Maria Baramova, Grigor Boykov, Ivan Parvev (Eds.)

“Social Networking” in South-Eastern Europe in the 15th – 19th centuries exhibits specific characteristics: the Ottomans and the Habsburgs, for example, each have their pattern of building and using social networks, with the “Third South-Eastern Europe”, i. e., the vassal principalities in the Balkans and the recreated national states, staying closer in the Ottoman pattern. It seems that the Muslim-Oriental social traditions established in the Balkans during Ottoman rule had a clear impact on the building of networks and the exercising of social influence. The specific regional practices, once established, were very hard to overcome or to replace by other patterns of social networking. These practices, however, could easily interact in border areas with one other, giving the inhabitants on both sides of the frontier the possibility of living a socially amphibious life, at least in terms of Social Networking.

LIT

LIT

Maria Baramova, Grigor Boykov, Ivan Parvev (Eds.)

Social Networking in South-Eastern Europe

Social Networking in South-Eastern Europe 15th–19th Century edited by

Maria Baramova, Grigor Boykov, Ivan Parvev

LIT

Cover image: Zu den blauen Flaschen, Altwiener Kaffehausszene, Öl auf Leinwand, 63 × 100 cm; circa 1900 Author: Anonymous. Credit: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/ File:Zu_den_blauen_Flaschen_painting_c1900.jpg

Publication of the Center of Excellence in the Humanities “Alma Mater” (Regional Studies Program), Sofia University “St. Kliment Ohridski”, funded by the Scientific Research Fund of the Bulgarian Ministry of Education and Science

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available in the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. ISBN 978-3-643-90866-7 (pb) ISBN 978-3-643-95866-2 (PDF) A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

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CONTENTS

Preface Social Networking in South-Eastern Europe between the Fifteenth and the Nineteenth Centuries. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 I. Social Networking and the Functioning of States Harald Heppner The Inner Austrian Estates Networking in the 16th – 18th Centuries. . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Günhan Börekçi On the Power, Political Career and Patronage Networks of the Ottoman Royal Favourites (Late Sixteenth and Early Seventeenth Centuries). . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 Olga Katsiardi-Hering Friendship, Communal and Official Links in the Social-Information Networks among the South-Eastern Merchants and Intellectuals (18th –19th Centuries). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63 II. Charity, cities and borders in Ottoman social networking context Amy Singer Ottoman Charity: Some Thoughts on a Network Perspective. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87 Hedda Reindl-Kiel Networks in Kind: The Ottoman System of Gift Giving with Regards to Some Regions in the Balkans. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101 Grigor Boykov Alliances of Patrons and Clients: Subduing the Unruly Ottoman Subjects in the Süleymanic Age. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127 Michael Ursinus The Tekke as a Focus of Social Networking: The ‘Donations’ Lists in Şeyh Şemsüddin el-Halveti’s Family Archive from Manastır (Bitola). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139 III. Social Networking in Diplomacy and Intelligence Ivan Parvev “There is no place where espionage is not used” Habsburg Spy Networking in the Ottoman Empire, 1689–1714. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165

Contents Maria Baramova Social Networking en passant: The Habsburg Great Embassy of Count Damian Hugo von Virmont to Constantinople 1719–1720. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179 Mihail Simov Russian military Intelligence on the Balkans in the years between the Crimean War and the Eastern Crisis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189 Index. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205

Preface

Social Networking in South-Eastern Europe between the Fifteenth and the Nineteenth Centuries

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hanks to the widespread popularity of social media like Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram and their increasing importance in recent years, the term “Social Network” has gradually been gaining an exclusive importance in everyday life. At the same time, election campaigns, hybrid warfare, colour revolutions, fake news etc. have been connected to or associated with the modern information tools provided by social media in our global digital society. Keeping in mind these recent trends and their importance for the functioning of modern society, it seems both timely and necessary to look back at history in order to find the roots of these mechanisms and formulate some questions, problems and hypotheses about the phenomenon of “Social Networking”. In order to put these problems on the agenda of academic research, in October 2012 a special Workshop was held in Sofia which analysed the historical dimensions of “Social Networks” and “Social Networking” within the broad geographical boundaries of South-Eastern Europe and temporal boundaries of the fifteenth to the nineteenth century. The Workshop itself was organized and funded by the Center of Excellence in the Humanities “Alma Mater” at St. Kliment Ohridski University of Sofia and, more precisely, by that Center’s Regional Studies Programme. This academic event marked the beginning of a new research trend in the PhD studies at the Faculty of History at the University of Sofia, which was especially dedicated to find the connection between social networking and the intelligence networks of the Great Powers in the Balkans. Therefore we decided to include a paper written by a younger Bulgarian scholar, who recently defended his PhD on the Russian intelligence networks in the 19th centuries Balkans – a topic, which was a direct result of the new academic trend inaugurated by the Workshop. It wouldn’t be wrong to underline that all that had also an impact on the teachings at the Faculty – two years ago a very ambitious MA Program “Diplomacy and Intelligence in the Balkans” was set up at the University of Sofia, with more than a dozen students currently enrolled in it. There is no need to hide the fact that the present volume of conference papers was published with a considerable delay. At the same time we have to underline that events like the „Arab Spring“, the Maidan in Ukraine, US elections in 2016, Brexit, the Cambridge Analytica scandal, the suspicion that internet trolling can influence very much in our modern society etc. made the topic of “social networking” even

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Preface

more important today for academic analyses than it was some years ago. Therefore, we can say that the classic Latin adage “Festina lente” (“make haste slowly”) is still valid. How can a “Social Network” and “Social Networking” be defined in a historical context? Were they characterized by the information distributed through the “official” channels and media or rather by the gossip (Fama) circulating from mouth to mouth? Was “Social Networking” the most commonly used means for furthering one’s career? Was there a clear-cut difference between espionage on the one hand and the building up of a necessary “Social Network” for a Venetian or Habsburg diplomat in need of inside information from the Sublime Porte on the other? Moreover, would the Ottoman envoys visiting Vienna or the Habsburg ambassadors going to Constantinople rely solely on the might of their own sovereigns, using previously established connections to fulfil their missions; or had they actually woven their own net of social contacts? What system of dependencies did an ambitious archbishop on his way to the Patriarch’s seat need to create? Would an artisan or a merchant who attempted to avoid taxation have used the social system of his corporation or would he have had to use his own abilities to find the shortest route to a corrupt administrator? Was charity in the Ottoman realm solely an act of compassion towards the needy or was there a sophisticated network of dependencies behind it? Certainly, the list of possible questions could be considerably longer. The Workshop’s efforts concentrated on the main sub-regional areas within South-Eastern Europe: those of the Ottomans, of the Habsburgs and of the “Third South-Eastern Europe”, i.e., the vassal principalities in the Balkans and the re-created national states. Two special themes particularly stand out within the general framework of the discussion: the city as a centre for Social Networking; and state authorities (central and local) as a vertex of Social Networking. The Workshop’s participants tried, amongst other things, to answer the following question: during the above-mentioned period did “Social Networking” differ in the Ottoman and Habsburg areas of South-Eastern Europe or, on the contrary, was it similar despite differences in the societies and the structures of power? Another important question is connected to mechanisms of “Social Networking”: what was the driving force behind theses networks’ agenda and capacity for extension? Was it the need for information or the will to distribute misinformation? Was it money, the striving for power or something else? It is not an easy task to summarize the results of almost a dozen papers dealing with different aspects of a five-hundred-year history of “Social Networking” in South-Eastern Europe. Some conclusions can, however, be drawn after reading the present volume as a whole. The first is that “Social Networking” in South-Eastern Europe exhibits specific characteristics which are clearly visible in the respective sub-regions: the Ottomans and the Habsburgs each have their own pattern of building social networks and exercising social networking, while the third area – that of the “Third South-Eastern Europe”, i.e., the vassal principalities in the Bal-

Preface

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kans and the re-created national states – was closer to the Ottomans. It seems that the Muslim-Oriental social traditions established in the Balkans during Ottoman rule exercised some influence on the building of networks and the exercising of social influence. The second conclusion is that specific practices in the sub-regions, once established, were very hard to overcome or to replace by other patterns of social networking. The third conclusion is connected to the fact that in border areas the specific sub-regional practices could easily interact with one other, giving the inhabitants on both sides of the frontier the possibility of living a socially amphibious life, at least in terms of Social Networking.

* * * The authors submitted the articles included in this volume in the course of the year that followed our Sofia workshop in October 2012. After some editorial work, the volume was practically ready to print in 2015, but unforeseen circumstances led to a grave delay. Currently, the editors kindly requested the authors not to revise their papers thoroughly but to limit themselves to an update of relevant literature that became available since the initial submission. Therefore, the texts in the volume present the authors’ take on the topics that are five years old. As long as the articles' main arguments remain unchanged, were they written today, they would undoubtedly have been different. The editors assume responsibility for the publication's delay and any eventual omissions in the bibliography to date. Finally, the editors like to express their gratitude to the Center of Excellence of the Humanities “Alma Mater” at the University of Sofia “St. Kliment Ohridski”, which funded the Workshop and the publication of the present volume. Special thanks also go to Dr. Anne Simon, who edited the manuscript linguistically. Last but not least, the editors like to thank LIT Verlag for the academic cooperation. Sofia, 2020

The Editors

I.

Social Networking and the Functioning of States

Harald Heppner

The Inner Austrian Estates Networking in the 16th – 18th Centuries

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Introduction

he researching of the Estates (feudalism) in Central Europe is not well developed and results rest to a large degree on chance: in this context, researchers busy themselves with issues relating to regional history, to early forms of parliamentarianism, or to the development of political systems in the Early Modern period. The reason for the limited interest lies in the fact that the reconstruction and re-examination of the feudal epoch(s) is not in style, that there is no group of individuals desirous of keeping the period alive in collective memory (former nobility) and, finally, that the source material is widely spread, was composed heterogeneously and is not easily accessible. Nevertheless, the sources contain a potential wealth of information on the social strata which existed for numerous generations as well as the culturally and politically representative bodies. Finally, as opposed to the lower strata, the Estates left a historical footprint (i.e. monuments, villas etc.). One benefit which arises from the precarious situation of period sources concerns the uncovering of networks and the collaboration of like-minded and persons in communication with one another. In our context a network is to be understood as a group of people who have varying origins and motives, whose exact number varies, but who, based on similar interests, communicate with one another in order to fulfill a collective or individual need. This discourse may be limited to the exchange of messages, but may also include comprehensive or fragmentary interactions which speak to a certain benefit. The formation of a network does not necessarily have to be an immediate process and usually requires a certain amount of time. Contact must be cultivated on a local, regional or supra-regional basis, during which it is entirely possible that interest will dry up and the proposed network will not come to fruition. In the best instance, this contact can lead to long-lasting forms of interaction. The driving forces behind the creation of a network include certain conditions, an individual or collective will, clear objectives and the generally adopted view of feasibility. The main reasons why networks fail to come into existence or subsequently fall apart include uncertain or changing conditions, a lack of information, absent or impractical leadership and confusion or pessimism regarding the achievement of the group’s goals. Studying networks therefore consists of questions regarding the personnel structures, the forms of organization, the nature of the network’s content, geographical makeup, means of communication, its period-specific conditions as well as its effects and the sedimentation of those events and happenings in other sources.

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The selected sample in this study pertains to the Inner Austrian Estates from the 16-18th centuries and focuses on their influence on the security policy of the Habsburg Monarchy with regards to the Ottoman Empire. The fact that the Estates of the Duchies of Styria, Carinthia and Carniola were, for generations, responsible for the creation and maintenance of the Military Frontier (Militärgrenze) in Croatia begs the following questions: to what extent did the factor of ‘networking’ (and network) play (or not play) a role; and how intricate was this theoretical network? The source material for such a study is to be found in Graz, Klagenfurt, Ljubljana, Zagreb, Budapest and Vienna and was, or is, therefore, not concentrated or composed in one single place. Furthermore, very few studies relating to the Military Frontier exist and those which do exist do not concern themselves with the topic of networks. Accordingly, the present study is not based on a large body of secondary sources, but can only provide a perspective on the issue at hand.

Image 1 Map of Inner Austria

The Inner Austrian Estates Networking in the 16th – 18th Centuries

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Inner Austria Under Emperor Maximilian II the Habsburg lands were divided into three realms1 (1564), which he then proceeded to grant to his sons: “Oberösterreich” (Upper Austria: the lands above and below the River Enns), Bohemia and Hungary were given to Rudolf II (1552-1612); his brother Karl (1540-1590) received “Innerösterreich” (InnerAustria, which included Styria, Carinthia, Carniola, Gorizia, Trieste and Inner-Istria); while Ferdinand (1529-1595) took control over “Vorderösterreich” (Further Austria, with Tyrol, Vorarlberg, parts of Swabia and Alsace). The Inner Austrian lands were not only in the centre, between East and West, but also oriented south, since they lay below the main ridge of the Alps, i.e., towards Italy, Croatia and Hungary. As a result, the administrative seat of the Inner Austrian government as well as that of the Estates of Styria and the Residence of Archduke Karl was Graz. This changed only in 1619, as the division of the Habsburg lands was annulled and the Duchies were again subordinated to Vienna. Nevertheless, various administrative functions and offices relating to Inner Austria remained in Graz well into the 18th century. 2 Pre-history of the Network The annexation of Bosnia by the Ottomans (1463) sent shockwaves through the Habsburg lands further north, not least because marauding bands of Ottomans began to appear in Carniola, Friuli, Carinthia and Styria, looting and plundering small communities and settlements.3 With every raid and every thrust the Ottomans made towards Hungary, Croatia, Venice and the South-Eastern Alps it became apparent that such ‘visits’ would not cease, but rather become more common, growing in size and severity. This prompted contemporaries to attempt to organize an effective security policy. Owing to a lack of experience on the part of the princes and Estates, it was decided that defences were to be organized at key crossroads and trade posts and to create impassable areas to prevent the encroachment of Ottoman irregulars and marauders, which could include thousands of horsemen. These barricaded areas were meant to discourage the attackers, or, at the very least, to hinder them long enough for proper defences to be organized further in the rear. 1 Walter Neunteufl. „Die Entwicklung derinnerösterreichischen Länder“ in Alexander

Novotny, Berthold Sutter (eds.), Innerösterreich 1564-1619 (Graz: Steiermärkisches Landesmuseum Joanneum, 1964), 513-525; Helmut Mezler-Andelberg. „Die Steiermark als Zentralland des habsburgischen Teilstaates Innerösterreich 1564 bis 1619“ in 800 Jahre Steiermark und Österreich 1192-1992. Der Beitrag der Steiermark zu Österreichs Grösse (Graz: Historische Landeskommission für Steiermark, 1992), 223-242. 2 Jože Žontar. Handbücher und Karten zur Verwaltungsstruktur in den Ländern Kärnten, Krain, Küstenland und Steiermark bis zum Jahr 1918 (Graz: Steiermärkisches Landesarchiv, 1988), 18-30. 3 Steiermärkisches Landesarchiv (ed.). Atlas zur Geschichte des steirischen Bauerntums (Graz: Akademische Druck- und Verlagsanstalt, 1976), f. 45.

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The organizational problems were manifold: there was a lack of able-bodied men to assume security duties at the borders; the raising of a militia or counter-force was cumbersome; the inefficiency and amount of time it took to sound the alarm was far too long; and, finally, a tradition of non-networked thinking which had taken root in the administration doomed all early attempts at controlling the frontier. This led to a call for co-ordination at a higher level.4 The death of Emperor Maximilian I (1459-1519) heralded changes in the formation of networks in response to the Ottoman threat. This entailed the assigning of central authorities to the individual provinces who would answer for the co-ordination of defence (the ‘Hofkriegsrat’ or Court War Council and Court Chamber).5 Additionally, the death of the Hungarian King Lajos II (Louis II) in the Battle of Mohács in 1526 meant that the Bohemian and Hungarian crowns passed to the Habsburgs.6 This necessitated and encouraged further networking and provided Vienna with a wealth of information on the Ottomans. It was now no longer enough simply to defend Inner and Upper Austria (the first Siege of Vienna by the Ottomans was in 1529) as Hungary and Croatia were the new frontlines of the Habsburg Empire. A further component which helped spur an Inner Austrian network was the Reformation, which within a short period of time had spread to the majority of Estates and precipitated a schism within the provinces: Lutherans were the new majority, with Catholics, including the Royal Family, being in the minority.7 The Ottoman threat and Protestantism occurred at the same time and strengthened a feeling of insecurity both objectively and subjectively. This insecurity not only caused the sovereign to negotiate and compromise but also the respective provincial Estates. After decades of improvisation in repelling the Ottomans – fortifying measures within the provinces; the deployment of troops to Croatia; and the construction of stationary defences along the Croatian-Ottoman frontier8 – came the agreement of 1578 (Brucker libel) between Archduke Karl and the Estates of Styria, Carinthia and Carniola which provided the basis for a network which functioned well 4 Hermann Wiesflecker. Maximilian I. Das Reich, Österreich und Europa an der Wende zur Neu5 6

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zeit 5. Bände (Wien: Geschichte und Politik, 1973-181), Bd. 1, 349-351, 355-358, 400; Band 2. 151-165. Friedrich Walter. Österreichische Verfassungs- und Verwaltungsgeschichte von 1500-1955 (WienKöln-Graz: Böhlau, 1972), 39-40. Walter. Österreichische Verfassungs- und Verwaltungsgeschichte, 40-47; Georg Kugler. „Die Entstehung der Habsburgermonarchie“ in Kunsthistorisches Museum (ed.), Kaiser Ferdinand I. 1503-1564. Das Werden der Habsburgermonarchie (Wien: Kunsthistorisches Museum, 2003), 77-86. Rudolf Leeb. „Der Streit um den wahren Glauben“ in Herwig Wolfram (ed), Geschichte des Christentums in Österreich. Von der Spätantike bis zur Gegenwart (Wien: Ueberreuter, 2005), 201212. Gunther E. Rothenberg. Die österreichische Militärgrenze in Kroatien 1522 bis 1881 (WienMünchen: Herold, 1970), 24-32; Karl Kaser. Freier Bauer und Soldat. Die Militarisierung der agrarischen Gesellschaft an der kroatisch-slawonischen Militärgrenze (Wien-KölnWeimar: Böhlau, 1997), 67-132.

The Inner Austrian Estates Networking in the 16th – 18th Centuries

Image 2: The Military Frontier in the 16th and 17th Century Source: TRUPPENDIENST-Handbuch Militäroperationen in Südosteuropa, p. 106, Grafik: Reichl/Rizzardi

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for nearly 150 years.9 The agreement stipulated that the Estates were allowed to remain Protestant, but had to assume responsibility both monetarily and personally for the Military Frontier in Croatia (in addition to having to pay for defences in their own provinces). From royalty’s perspective, physical resistance from the Estates was neutralized, as was their opposition to an imperial security policy; from the Estates’ perspective, they had achieved religious freedom as well as a certain amount of influence over the control of the Military Frontier.

The Network of the Inner Austrian Estates The network enjoyed an unusually long life span (from the second half of the 16th century until the first half of the 18th century), reflecting the fact that conditions did not fundamentally change during this period – the feudal structure of society and administration changed little and the Ottoman threat receded for Inner Austria only in 1699 (with the Peace of Karlovci/Karlowitz). This period corresponds to about eight generations, during which agreements and constraints fused the feudal societies of several provinces into a functional community. The geographical horizons of the network were not limited and consisted of multiple zones. The financial core was located in the three Inner Austrian lands (the city of Trieste and the shire of Gorizia, although initially part of this group, left after being unable financially to support the frontier), which shared the costs of the Military Frontier: The Estates of Carniola and Carinthia assumed the costs for the Croatian section of the Military Frontier (Western Croatia) while the Styrian Estates assumed those of the Wendish section (Northern Croatia). The functional core of the Military Frontier was, owing to its location on Croatian/Hungarian lands, outside the territory of the German Empire, to which the Inner-Austrian lands belonged. This was at that time the area between the Croatian coast (Rijeka etc.) and the upper banks of the Drava in Croatia. The conceptual environment of the Military Frontier also included Western Hungary, Upper Austria as well as eastern Upper Italy. The personnel composition of the network was likewise large owing to the nature of feudal society. Not only were those who sat in parliament or were members of an Estate included but also their subjects and tax payers. The organizational structure of an Estate within a province provided for the widespread incorporation of its members (Estate Panels), who amongst themselves debated not only what would be of benefit amongst themselves, but also the assumption of a common front against their ruler(s), who either resided in the country, travelled to negotiations or sent authorized representatives. In our case, two special organizations were created which were staffed by the Inner Austrian Estates: the Committee Parliament (Ausschusslandtag), which was composed of representatives of the Estates of Car9 Winfried Schulze. Landesdefension und Staatsbildung. Studien zum Kriegswesen des inneröster-

reichischen Territorialstaates (1564-1619) (Wien-Köln-Graz: Böhlau, 1973), especially 69-72.

The Inner Austrian Estates Networking in the 16th – 18th Centuries

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niola, Carinthia and Styria and had the express goal of facilitating communication; and the Estate Committee (Ständige Ausschuss), which functioned as a sort of executive committee for the three lands in dealings with the Inner Austria government.10

Motives The most important element in the development of the network was not its function as a pre-meditated response to constraints (i.e., to increase security or to extend the influence of the Estates per se), but rather its ability to function as a vehicle for the Estates to ‘liberate’ themselves by financial means from both their own rulers and the Ottomans (or the Ottoman threat). The Treaty of Bruck (1578) was no imperial dictate made from a position of power, but rather an agreement reached after long and complicated negotiations in which both sides mutually profited. Regarding the nature of the network one must also see, specifically using Croatia as an example, that there was a lack of foresight regarding further investment in that territory’s defences. The provinces had to fund their own defences in addition to pooling resources for the defence of Croatia. The question was whether this further burden would be cost-effective. Symbolically, the network was also strong, since it included the Estates of three lands. A central question relates to the disposition of the network, specifically since there are several components to consider: first, the governing bodies within the various Estates saw the network as a vehicle for spreading their own influence; second, the Estates of the three neighbouring provinces united against their mutual threat (the Ottomans) but needed also to unify on common goals and beliefs; third, the Estates attempted to wield and develop their influence as a counter-measure to the growing Absolutism of the Habsburgs; fourth, the network sought to integrate and support the Croatian Estates so as to accelerate/facilitate the integration of those Estates into the Hungarian realm; fifth, owing to the Protestant character of the Estates, they wished to demonstrate religious solidarity, unity and staying power as a majority religious community within a religiously heterogeneous (and hostile) monarchy. The network was only able to operate when lines of communication between the centres of Estate administration (Graz, Klagenfurt, Ljubljana), as well as between the Military Frontier and the hinterland, were open. Apart from the roads and postal system, a chain of torch-lit warning signals (Kreidfeuer/Quiritare) between Croatia and Graz aided in transferring information and warnings between the front and the rear.11

10 Schulze. Landesdefension, 100-136. 11 Schulze. Landesdefension, 130-131; Franz Otto Roth. „Versuchte ‚Frühwarnung’ vor Tür-

keneinfällen in die Steiermark“ in Die Steiermark. Brücke und Bollwerk. Katalog zur Landesausstellung (Graz: Steiermärkisches Landesarchiv, 1986), 219-221.

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There were five main benefits which the network of Inner Austrian Estates brought its members, the first being the gradual increase in security for the three provinces: while raids and fighting on Croatian and Hungarian terrain against the Ottomans did not dissipate until the middle of the 17th century, the years thereafter (with the exclusion of short periods of war in 1663/64, 1682/84) witnessed widespread peace and calm. This had less to do with the efficiency of the Military Frontier as a defensive bulwark and more to do with the wandering eye of the Ottomans which sighted other fields as potential conquests (Persia, Venice, Poland etc.) and with the decline in quality of their armed forces. The second benefit of the network was the fact that it provided the Estates with an opportunity to co-operate and pool their resources outside their traditional spheres of influence. While under normal conditions the opposite held true, in this case the military forces of the Estates were able to operate within the growing Military Frontier in Croatia until the 1730s, even long after Inner Austria (with regards to its administrative functions) had ceased to exist. This highlights another benefit: the neutralizing of the Croatian noblemen and Estates, who could exercise only token influence within their territory. The feudal influence exerted by the Inner Austrian Estates upon the Military Frontier did not result in support for or collegiality with the Croatian nobility, but rather in a climate of competition in which there was no place for feudal solidarity. The interaction between Inner Austria and the Military Frontier therefore assumed a colonial nature, climaxing in an offer to purchase the conquered region surrounding Lika (in present day Croatia), not with an eye to integrating it into the Military Frontier, but rather to placing it under civilian administration.12 A further benefit of the network was the requirement (by law) to provide the Military Frontier with weapons and other goods (clothing, building material, food and guerdon). This necessitated not only efficient procurement and distribution, but also accounting practices which would not be disadvantageous to the Estates.13 The final benefit of the Military Frontier was that it provided not only employment but also a stepping stone for a percentage of the male noblemen from the provinces of Inner Austria. Men could build upon functionary positions along the frontier and rise from border commanders to provincial officers, in some cases even to the rank of general.14

Decline of the Network Although the network of Inner Austrian Estates lasted until the first half of the 18th century, it had been living, for several reasons, on borrowed time since the early 17th century. The oldest reason was the Habsburgs’ efforts to overcome the Church schism by means of the Counter-Reformation and to bring about a Catholic renewal 12 Rothenberg, Die kroatische Militärgrenze, 81; Kaser, Freier Bauer und Soldat, 228-230. 13 Schulze, Landesdefension, 169-182. 14 Rothenberg, Die kroatische Militärgrenze, 47, 59.

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throughout their lands.15 This did not occur overnight, but the Habsburgs gradually succeeded in winning over state leaders in the name of religious uniformity. The Estates were faced with a simple choice: either reject Lutheranism or face expulsion from and forfeiture of their lands. It became apparent that the tide had turned when the Bohemian Estates were defeated at the Battle of White Mountain (1620). The writing was on the wall: opposition to central royal authority would be futile.16 The next, related, reason was the development of Absolutism, which entailed the assumption of responsibility for the monarchy as a whole by the Court in Vienna, with an eye outwards rather than inwards (specifically towards the Estates); delays and modifications to orders from Vienna were still possible, and even useful.17 However, this process led to a proliferation of state offices staffed by authorities which, under the auspices of assisting feudal authorities, slowly undermined the latter’s position and ultimately assumed their duties. As the Inner Austrian government was dissolved, power in the provincial (state) capitals reverted back not to the Estates, but to Vienna.18 The third reason for the decline of the network is related to the heavy defeats inflicted upon the Ottomans after the Second Siege of Vienna (1683) and the ensuing annexation of the remnants of the former Kingdom of Hungary to the existing territory of the Habsburgs, resulting in the advent of a major European power. The event which epitomized this change was the Peace of Karlowitz (Karlovci) in 1699. The Inner Austrian lands were thereafter more or less liberated from the threat of the Ottomans, rendering the further involvement of the Estates not only unnecessary but also undesirable: the broadening of the Military Frontier, completed as far as Northeastern Transylvania in the 1760s, was undertaken purely on the initiative of the War Council in Vienna (which was planned in the 1740s).19 The fourth factor which rendered the Inner Austrian network obsolete was the widening of the territories of the Habsburgs in 1716/18 and plans to centralize and modernize the Empire, not only in the spirit of the emerging Enlightenment, but also with an eye towards all external threats (the Ottomans were relatively toothless in the face of the still-nascent Prussia and the threat which that state represented). The reforms initiated by Karl VI (1711-1740) were pushed forward under his daughter Maria Theresia (1740-1780) and her son Joseph II (1765-1790). During this phase of 15 Leeb, Der Streit um den wahren Glauben, 308-323. 16 Joachim Bahlcke. „1620 – Schlacht am Weißen Berg bei Prag“ in Martin Scheutz, Arno

Strohmeyer (eds.), Schlüsseljahre österreichischer Geschichte (1496-1995) (Innsbruck-WienBozen: Studienverlag, 2010), 79-98. 17 Walter, Österreichische Verfassungs- und Verwaltungsgeschichte, 89-139. 18 Oskar Regele. Der österreichische Hofkriegsrat 1556-1848 (Wien: Österreichisches Staatsarchiv, 1949), 32-34. 19 Michael Hochedlinger. Austria’s Wars of Emergence 1683-1797 (London: Longman 2003), 151-167; Claudia Reichl-Ham. “Die Österreichische Militärgrenze” in Arbeitsgemeinschaft Truppendienst (ed.), Militäroperationen und Partisanenkampf in Südosteuropa (Wien: Bundesministerium für Landesverteidigung und Sport 2009), 101-113.

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development, the Austrian monarchy had no room for traditional feudalism and the autonomous Estates, which in turn became increasingly stifled throughout the 18th century until the French Revolution, when they largely disappeared as a force within domestic politics.20

Outlook The personnel composition of the network included noblemen, the Church and the representatives of major cities as well as the sovereign (from 1619, also outwardly), who knew one another well, met annually (if not more often) to conduct negotiations and were sometimes even related to one another (nobility, high clergy from noble families) and hailed from the same geographic area (South-Eastern Alps). Motivation within the network was not homogenous as regardless of solidarity when confronting the Ottomans (security policy), the Catholics (Church, small segments of the nobility and the Habsburgs) and the Protestants (large segments of the nobility, Protestant clergy and the general population) had varying views on spiritual life (Schism/Tolerance versus Counter-Reformation). Geographically, the network was not small as it included not only the Inner Austrian lands but also reached outwards towards Northern Italy, Croatia, Western Hungary as well as those provinces which were threatened by the Ottomans (Austria above and below the Enns, Southern Moravia). The goal of the network was not that of mutually beneficial joint-defence measures but, beginning in 1578, the Inner Austrian Estates began to make high annual investments in the Frontier (personnel, construction and maintenance activities, supply etc.) which was outside the German Empire. Among the benefits which could be gleaned from participation in the Military Frontier was not only the protection of the Estates’ territory from an advanced defensive position, but also the possibility of co-opting their own men into officer positions at command posts in Croatia. This service along the Frontier often signalled the beginning of careers in the military and government sectors or national service. Communication was of paramount importance to the network. The existing methods of relaying information from the Frontier to the hinterland, even before 1578, were expanded and bettered. To enhance cooperation between the Estates of the three Inner Austrian provinces (i.e. between Ljubljana, Klagenfurt and Graz) entailed not only the formation of a Select Diet, which was composed of deputies from all three provinces, but also a Standing Committee which held executive authority over the Inner Austrian government. There was also local support for the network (state district officers) who in the event of mobilization assumed functionary roles. 20 Anita Prettenthaler-Ziegerhofer. „Beschwerden und Bitten der steirischen Stände im 18.

Jahrhundert“ in Harald Heppner, Nikolaus Reisinger (eds.) Steiermark. Wandel einer Landschaft im langen 18. Jahrhundert (Wien-Köln-Weimar: Böhlau 2006), 157-176.

Günhan Börekçi

On the Power, Political Career and Patronage Networks of the Ottoman Royal Favourites (Late Sixteenth and Early Seventeenth Centuries)1

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his article aims to discuss the Ottoman royal favourites and their networks of clients in relation to the question of how power was wielded within the institutional frameworks of the Ottoman imperial court in Istanbul between the 1580s and the 1600s. This was a crucial period that many scholars today consider the beginning of a long era of “crisis and change” in the dynastic, political, socioeconomic, military and administrative structures of the early modern Ottoman Empire.2 My main objective is to shed light on the complex power relations that the Ottoman sultans and their favourites pursued and/or established in the context of 1 This article is now six years old. It was first presented as a paper at the Workshop, “Social

Networking in South-Eastern Europe, 15th-19th Centuries,” Sofia University “Sv. Kliment Ohridski” (26-27 October 2012). In 2014, I revised and submitted it for publication in this much-belated current edition. As such, the following discussion keeps its original submitted form, whereas some footnotes are updated so as to include the most relevant scholarly works that came out after 2013. I thank my colleague and one of the editors of this volume, Grigor Boykov, for both inviting me to the stimulating workshop in Sofia and his feedbacks and corrections on the draft of this article. I would also like to express my gratitude to all the colleagues present at the workshop for their insightful questions and comments on my paper. This study is partly based on my Ph.D. dissertation, Factions and Favorites at the Courts of Sultan Ahmed I (r. 1603-17) and his Immediate Predecessors, that I completed under the supervision of Professor Jane Hathaway at the Ohio State University in 2010. I remain grateful to my colleague Maurizio Arfaioli for his research assistance in the Venetian State Archives back in the mid-2000s, as well as for the transcriptions from the Italian ambassadorial dispatches cited below. Needless to say, any shortcoming in these passages solely belongs to me. 2 For different assessments of the Ottoman imperial crisis and change in the post-1580 period, see, in particular, Halil İnalcık, “Military and Fiscal Transformation in the Ottoman Empire, 1600-1700,” Archivum Ottomanicum 6 (1980), 283-337; Rifa‘at A. Abou-ElHaj, “The Nature of the Ottoman State in the Latter Part of the Seventeenth Century,” in: Andreas Tietze (ed.), Habsburgisch-Osmanische Beziehungen, (Vienna: Verlag des Verbandes der wissenschaftlichen Gesellschaften Österreichs, 1985), 171-185; Rhoads Murphey, “Continuity and Discontinuity in Ottoman Administrative Theory and Practice during the Late 17th Century,” Poetics Today 14/2 (1993), 419-443; Suraiya Faroqhi, “Crisis and Change,” in: Halil İnalcık, Donald Quataert (eds.), An Economic and Social History of the Ottoman Empire, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 411-636; and Baki Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire: Political and Social Transformation in the Early Modern World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010). Also see Suraiya Faroqhi (ed.),

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a factional politics that was intertwined with the exigencies of prolonged wars and incessant military rebellions during the period in question. I maintain that, under these circumstances, the Ottoman rulers of this era, namely, Murad III (r. 157495), Mehmed III (r. 1595-1603) and Ahmed I (r. 1603-17), repositioned themselves in practical politics vis-à-vis alternative foci of power and networks of political patronage, particularly among their ruling elite in Istanbul, and that they employed new ruling strategies in order to impose their sovereign authority on the business of rule, an end which they achieved, with varying degrees of success, mainly through the mediation of their royal favourites and the court factions led by them. By definition, an Ottoman royal favourite (generally called musâhib, mukarreb or makbûl )3 was a courtier or minister who enjoyed unparalleled royal favour as well as unequalled regular access to the person of the sultan, who had become increasingly secluded during the latter part of the sixteenth century.4 Most royal favourites were in effect the sultan’s deliberate ‘creatures,’ whose influence was intended to curb the authority of the viziers, who practically ruled the Ottoman Empire by the 1560s. In other words, favourites resembled the sultan’s alter ego: they were empowered to act as power-brokers within the Ottoman ruling body, just as in contemporary royal courts in other parts of Eurasia.5 On the one hand, they connected the sedThe Cambridge History of Turkey, vol. III: The Later Ottoman Empire, 1603-1836 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006). 3 Ottoman terminology pertaining to the sultan’s favourites presents a very complicated semantic problem. Certain terms, such as musâhib-i sultânî, mukarreb-i pâdişâhî or makbûli şehr-yârî, clearly refer to a royal favourite within the context of the late-sixteenth-century Ottoman court, as opposed to their traditional meaning of royal companion. See, for instance, DİA, s.v. “Musâhib,” by Mehmet İpşirli. Also see EI2, s.v. “Nadîm,” by Joseph Sadan. This observation is supported by the writings of the Venetian baili (sing., bailo) resident in Istanbul. These European ambassadors seem to have adopted the term musâhib (in the form of mosaipo in Italian) to similarly refer to a royal favourite of the sultan. Archivio di Stato di Venezia (ASVe), Senato, Dispacci Costantinopoli (SDC), filza 22, (dated 5 January 1585), fol. 374r: “questi giorni passati quell Muicelera[?], il qual si dice esser hora il Mosaipo del Gran Signore, cioè quello, con il quale il Gran Signor consiglia molte cose, senza saputa del magco Bassa […].” I thank my colleague Emrah Safa Gürkan for this reference. 4 On the seclusion of the sixteenth-century Ottoman rulers, see Rhoads Murphey, Exploring Ottoman Sovereignty: Tradition, Image and Practice in the Ottoman Imperial Household, 14001800 (London: Continuum, 2008), pp. 141-154 and Christine Woodhead, “Murad III and the Historians: Representations of Ottoman Imperial Authority in Late 16th-century Historiography,” in: Hakan Karateke, Maurius Reinkowski (eds.), Legitimizing the Order: The Ottoman Rhetoric of State Power, (Leiden: Brill, 2005), pp. 85-98. 5 For instance, see Ronald Asch, Adolf Birke (eds.), Princes, Patronage and the Nobility: The Court at the Beginning of the Modern Age, c. 1450-1650 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991); John Elliott, Laurence Brockliss (eds.), The World of the Favourite (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1999); John Adamson (ed.), The Princely Courts of Europe, 1500-1750 (London: Seven Dials, 2000); Antonio Feros, Kingship and Favoritism in the Spain of Philip III, 1598-1621 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000). Jan Hirschbiegel und Werner Paravicini (eds.), Der Fall des Günstlings: Hofparteien in Europa vom 13. bis zum 17. Jahrhundert (Ostfildern: Jan Thorbecke Verlag, 2004); Mathieu Caesar (ed.), Factional

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entary Ottoman sultan to the larger political world that lay beyond the gates of his palace; on the other hand, they typically tried to fill key positions in the central and provincial administrations with their own creatures while building up an extensive network of clients within the state apparatus and acquiring huge personal fortunes. The royal favourite’s rise to power at the end of the sixteenth century in turn led to bitter factional struggles among other grandees of the court and government whom the favourite could cut off from direct contact with the secluded sultan. Given the increased invisibility and inaccessibility of the Ottoman ruler during this period, anyone who managed to enter the sultan’s private quarters or, for that matter, formed an intimate relationship with the sultan could solidify his power against all challengers and make them stay (literally) outside politics while, at the same time, legitimizing his own power. If a favourite became too strong, however, he risked polarizing the sultan’s court and alienating the Ottoman political elite. This was exactly what troubled both Murad III and Mehmed III, as well as their royal favourites, notably Doğancı Kara Mehmed Pasha, the governor-general of Rumeli, and Gazanfer Agha, the chief eunuch of the palace. For instance, one fixed target of the sipahi rebellions of the early 1600s (in 1600, 1601 and 1603, to be precise) was Gazanfer Agha, whom the sipahis (imperial cavalry soldiers) repeatedly attempted to banish from the court because he, together with the queen mother, Safiye Sultan, had overwhelming control over the sultan and the business of rule. In early January 1603, Gazanfer Agha was executed in front of Mehmed III in order to thwart the threat of dethronement by the mutinous cavalry soldiers.6 Such an end was not unique to Gazanfer Agha. Doğancı Mehmed Pasha had suffered a similar fate in 1589, when he had been brutally murdered during the massive military uprising known as the Governor-General Incident (Beylerbeyi Vak‘ası). From 1584 until his murder, Mehmed Pasha had been the powerful musâhib of Murad III, whose reign witnessed the true emergence of royal favourites in the Ottoman imperial establishment, particularly after the assassination of Grand Vizier Sokollu Mehmed Pasha in 1579. Indeed, the career of each of these early royal favourites reveals critical details about the exercise of power at the Ottoman imperial centre while shedding light on the evolution of factional politics and the roles and networks of power-brokers at the imperial court both before and during the reign of Ahmed I, who continued the practice of using favourites to strengthen his personal rule.

Struggles: Divided Elites in European Cities & Courts (1400-1750) (Leiden: Brill, 2017); and Ruben Gonzalez Cuerva, Alexander Koller (eds.), A Europe of Courts, a Europe of Factions: Political Groups at Early Modern Centres of Power (1550-1700) (Leiden: Brill, 2017). 6 For a detailed discussion of the sipahi rebellion of 1603 and its repercussions, see my, Factions and Favorites at the Courts of Sultan Ahmed I (r. 1603-17) and his Immediate Predecessors, unpublished Ph.D. Dissertation, Ohio State University, 2010, pp. 54-63.

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In what follows I examine in details the power exercised by royal favourites holding different offices at the courts of Murad III, Mehmed III and Ahmed I. My discussion begins with the understudied problem of the rise of royal favourites in the Ottoman imperial establishment during the second half of the sixteenth century. I then discuss the rise and fall of the above-mentioned Murad III’s favourite, Doğancı Kara Mehmed Pasha, as a new type of power-broker in the Ottoman body politic. This second section also explores the early stages of Gazanfer Agha’s remarkably long political career under Murad III, during whose reign he began to construct his power base and political network. In the next and final section, I look at Derviş Agha, the chief gardener, who was critical in the consolidation of power for the newly enthroned Ahmed I as well as the way practical politics were run at the faction-ridden Ottoman imperial court in the early seventeenth century.

The Sultans’ New Agents of Power: A New Ottoman Court Order and the Emergence of Royal Favourites The conditions that set the stage for the emergence of royal favourites in the Ottoman political order were established during the three-decade-long second reign of Mehmed II (1451-81). From the beginning of the sultanate in the early 1300s until the beginning of Mehmed II’s reign, Ottoman rule had been characterized by frequent military campaigns that required the ruler and the political-military elite to be constantly on the move. Throughout this so-called formative period in Ottoman history, the location of the court shifted in accordance with new military conquests; thus, after the (re)conquest of Edirne in 1361, the court moved there from Bursa.7 Constant warfare and the correspondingly itinerant character of the Ottoman court necessitated the sultan’s active engagement with the world outside the palace. Since favourites could function only in a milieu in which the sultan had relinquished at least some of this contact, the lack of a permanent seat for the court prevented their emergence. This era came to an end with the conquest of Constantinople by Mehmed II in 1453. Mehmed made Constantinople the empire’s permanent capital and established the court permanently at his new palace of Topkapı. Despite the Ottoman Empire’s unprecedented territorial expansion under Selim I (r. 1512-20) and Süleyman I (r. 1520-66), capital and court remained stationary. One critical consequence of this expansion was the tripling of bureaucracy by the early years of Süleyman’s reign; this in turn necessitated the rationalization of the administrative structures

7 For the problem of when Edirne was taken by the Ottomans, see Halil İnalcık, “The

Conquest of Edirne (1361),” Archivum Ottomanicum 3 (1971), 185-210.

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along with the hierarchical re-classification and professionalization of court and government ranks according to function and salary.8 At the same time, during the so-called imperial maturation process that culminated in Süleyman’s forty-six-year reign, new emphasis was placed on the sultan’s visible dignity and kingship charisma; as a result, an elaborate, well-regulated court ceremonial was established to emphasize his majestic eminence, to inculcate rules of behaviour in his presence and to accentuate his claim to universal sovereignty as the most powerful Sunni Muslim ruler.9 These changes, which mostly took place in the late 1530s and 1540s, were manifested in the increasing remoteness of the sultan from the day-to-day business of rule – a remoteness that had already been codified in a law code promulgated by Mehmed II in the late 1470s. The most noticeable aspects of this sultanic seclusion were that the Ottoman ruler ceased to attend the meetings of the imperial council; gave audiences to his viziers or other grandees of the royal court only on designated days of the week; and appeared in public only on religious holidays or politically significant days. On the increasingly rare occasions when he rode out in public, furthermore, he always appeared on a richly caparisoned horse in a carefully choreographed, slowly moving procession, surrounded by hundreds of servants and courtiers.10 Süleyman himself made three critical innovations that linked the empire’s new administrative hierarchy to the sultan’s royal household. First, he filled the empire’s highest administrative offices with his former privy-chamber servants and members of the inner palace service, while promoting his sons-in-law (singular, dâmâd) to the rank of vizier and selecting the majority of the other high imperial officeholders from his own household. As a result, the sultan’s retinue grew enormously while his reliance on palace kuls (servants), recruited through the Christian childlevy (devşirme) to effect government centralization, increased. During his sultanate, palace-educated pages infiltrated the upper ranks of the Ottoman ruling elite to an unprecedented degree.11 8 Cornell Fleischer, “The Lawgiver as Messiah: The Making of the Imperial Image in the

Reign of Süleymān,” in: Gilles Veinstein (ed.), Soliman le Magnifique et son temps: Actes du colloque de Paris, Galeries nationales du Grand Palais, 7-10 mars 1990, ed. (Paris: La Documentation Française, 1992), 159-177, at p. 167. 9 See Gülru Necipoğlu, Architecture, Ceremonial and Power: The Topkapı Palace in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1991) and Fleischer, “The Lawgiver as Messiah.” Also see Nevin Zeynep Yelçe, The Making of Sultan Süleyman: A Study of Process/es of Image-making and Reputation Management, unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Sabancı University, 2009. 10 For a discussion of imperial processions during the reign of Süleyman I, see Gülru Necipoğlu, The Age of Sinan: Architectural Culture in Ottoman Empire (London: Reaktion Books, 2005), pp. 27-46. 11 On the appointment of kuls to the highest administrative posts during the reign of Süleyman I, see Metin Kunt, The Sultan’s Servants: The Transformation of Ottoman Provincial Government, 1550-1650 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983), esp. pp. 31-56. For Ottoman imperial sons-in-law during the same period, see Leslie Peirce, The Imperial Harem:

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Secondly, Süleyman allowed his grand vizier near-autonomous power in the management of imperial affairs. Prior to Süleyman’s reign, the administration of state had been a relatively ad hoc affair. From his reign onwards, the grand vizier, as the deputy of the sultan, became the empire’s de facto ruler, leading the centralized bureaucracy overseen by his council (dîvân), which met four times a week in the imperial council chamber at Topkapı Palace. Until the end of Süleyman’s reign, the grand vizier’s council was composed of four viziers who handled the political and military affairs; the chief judges (singular, kadı‘asker) of Anatolia and Rumeli, who decided on judicial matters; a chief treasurer (başdefterdâr) for book-keeping and financial affairs; and a chancellor (nişâncı) whose main duty was to issue and authenticate documents prepared in the name of the sultan.12 After deliberating on imperial affairs, the council members reported their decisions to the sultan either in person in the sultan’s Chamber of Petitions (‘Arz Odası), located in the exclusively private third courtyard of the palace, or in the form of written petitions. Finally, Sultan Süleyman transferred all members of his royal household from the Old Palace to the Topkapı Palace, which resulted in the convergence of the sultan’s household and the business of rule under one roof. The accommodation of both the bureaucratic-military administration headed by the grand vizier and the royal household in Topkapı Palace marked the last step in the establishment of the early modern Ottoman court as the central stage for imperial politics and the display of sultanic power. By the end of Süleyman’s reign, then, the Ottoman imperial court had acquired new palace-based manifestations of power and hierarchy. While the major consequence of these developments was the emergence of a new type of sultan who tried to rule a vast empire in seclusion, two interrelated factors became crucial to the exercise of political power in this new setting: a) controlling the points of access to the person of the sultan; and b) establishing and sustaining intimacy with the sultan and with other powerful figures at the court. Overall, while this new political framework dictated specific rules for attaining and wielding power, it also created agents – namely, the favourites – to bridge the gaps between the Ottoman ruler, his court and the outside world. In short, the rise of favourites as agents of power politics was a direct consequence of the emergence of a new Ottoman imperial court under Süleyman I, which completed its maturation by the 1550s.13 Women and Sovereignty in the Ottoman Empire (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), pp. 65-79. See also Tülay Artan, “Royal Weddings and the Grand Vizierate: Institutional and Symbolic Change in the early Eighteenth Century,” in: Jeroen Duindam, Tülay Artan, Metin Kunt (eds.), Royal Courts in Dynastic States and Empires: A Global Perspective (Leiden: Brill, 2011), pp. 339-399. 12 See Colin Imber, The Ottoman Empire, 1300-1650: The Structure of Power (New York: Palgrave Macmillian, 2002), pp. 154-176, for further details of the historical evolution of the Ottoman imperial council until the end of the sixteenth century. 13 See also Günhan Börekçi, Şefik Peksevgen, “Court and Favorites,” in Encyclopedia of the Ottoman Empire, eds. Gábor Ágoston and Bruce Masters (New York: Facts on File, 2009), 151-154.

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Royal Favourites at Work: Although Selim II (r. 1566-74) was the first Ottoman sultan whose reign began in this new political setting, the overwhelming control of Grand Vizier Sokollu Mehmed Pasha over the business of rule delayed the true emergence of favourites until the beginning of the reign of his son, Murad III. In fact, Murad III’s twentyone-year reign introduced a newly assertive style of sultanic rule whereby the sultan used a select group of favourites to limit the authority of the viziers. This shift in ruling strategy provoked a five-year power struggle between Sokollu’s court faction and that of Murad’s chief counsellor, Şemsi Ahmed Pasha, ultimately leading the assassination of Sokollu in 1579.14 Sokollu Mehmed Pasha’s death enabled Murad III to incorporate power agents such as Şemsi Ahmed Pasha into practical politics while giving them more official authority. In other words, Sokollu’s assassination marked the ascendancy of royal favourites in the Ottoman imperial establishment and, consequently, a redrawing of the boundaries of power at the court. After this date, the power of the grand vizierate diminished as the holders of this office came to be subject to the sultan’s whim, to be replaced whenever they proved unable to satisfy their master’s demands. In the sixteen years of Murad III’s reign following Sokollu’s death, the grand vizierate changed hands ten times between six viziers. During the eight-year reign of his successor, Mehmed III, the office changed hands eleven times between eight viziers. In this period, several grand viziers were appointed more than once; for instance, Koca Sinan Pasha, Siyavuş Pasha and Damad İbrahim Pasha held the office three times. Furthermore, both Murad III and Mehmed III altered the hierarchical pattern of vizierial promotion established during the second half of Süleyman’s reign. No longer was the second vizier routinely elevated to the grand vizierate while the third vizier moved up to second vizier. Instead, any vizier might be named to the grand vizierate. At the same time, Murad and Mehmed frequently promoted other court grandees and privy chamber officials to the rank of vizier and married them to royal women, thus cementing a political alliance with their favourite ministers. Not

14 In October 1579, Sokollu Mehmed Pasha was assassinated by a disgruntled petitioner

during an afternoon audience (ikindi dîvânı) at his palace. According to Salomon Schweigger, a Protestant preacher who came to Istanbul in January 1578 with the Habsburg ambassador von Sinzendorf, it was widely rumoured in the capital at the time that Sokollu’s murder was actually the work of the sultan. See Salomon Schweigger, Sultanlar Kentine Yolculuk, 1578-1581, trans. Türkis Noyan (Istanbul: Kitapyayınevi, 2004), pp. 99-100 and 161. Yet, it is still not known for sure whether the assassin acted on his own or upon secret orders from Murad III or, for that matter, Şemsi Ahmed Pasha, who himself died of natural causes a year later, in 1580. For a detailed discussion of the rivalry between the court factions of Şemsi Ahmed Pasha and Sokollu Mehmed Pasha, see Börekçi, “Factions and Favorites,” pp. 159-170.

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surprisingly, Sultan Murad raised the number of the viziers in the imperial government from five to seven. Another important tool that these sultans used to control the imperial government was the telhîs, the summary petition submitted by grand viziers or their deputies to the sultan. Particularly during the last quarter of the sixteenth century, as Caroline Finkel aptly puts it, “the grand vizier’s independent decision-making authority was curtailed, even in routine administrative matters, while direct contact between sultan and grand vizier became less usual, replaced by written correspondence in which the sultan indicated his decisions on a range of state affairs – appointments, salary payments, bureaucratic administration – decisions based on summaries of the issue in question presented to him in the form of petitions.”15 The favourites took full advantage of this new mode of communication with the sultan. They not only had the privilege of submitting their own petitions to the sultan, but could also control which vizierial telhîses the sultan saw. All of these sultanic initiatives had the aim of strengthening the sultan’s control over his court. These significant alterations in the Ottoman government system took place during the two prolonged wars that the Ottomans waged against the Safavids in 157890 and the Habsburgs in 1593-1606. Hence, the contingencies of these wars often defined the sultan’s attempts to control the business of rule through his favourites, and accordingly the reactions to these favourites’ extraordinary influence. By April 1589, the Ottoman-Safavid conflict had exacted an intolerable toll in manpower and revenues. As a result, a rebellion broke out in the faction-ridden capital. Known as the Governor-General Incident, it was engineered by the ruling viziers and their cronies, who targeted Murad III and his favourite, the governor-general of Rumeli, Doğancı Mehmed Pasha, and used the imperial cavalry soldiers as instruments of violence. The few scholars who have analyzed this first massive military rebellion in Ottoman history have properly located its underlying cause in the monetary crisis of the mid-1580s, when the akçe was devalued by half and the sultan’s soldiers were paid in debased coins.16 However, a closer look at the rebellion’s political context reveals the central role of Doğancı Mehmed Pasha, who was responsible for 15 Caroline Finkel, Osman’s Dream: The History of the Ottoman Empire (London: John Mur-

ray, 2005), p. 165. For a more detailed discussion of the Ottoman telhîs institution, see Suraiya Faroqhi, Die Vorlagen (telhīse) des Großwesirs Sinān paša an Sultan Murād III, unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Hamburg, 1967; Pál Fodor, “Sultan, Imperial Council, Grand Vizier: Changes in the Ottoman Ruling Elite and the Formation of the Grand Vizieral Telhîs,” Acta Orientalia Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 47/1-2 (1994), 67-85; and idem, “The Grand Vizieral Telhis: A Study in the Ottoman Central Administration, 1566-1656,” Archivum Ottomanicum 15 (1997), 137-188. For published examples of telhîses, see Cengiz Orhonlu, Osmanlı Tarihine Âid Belgeler: Telhîsler (1597-1607) (Istanbul: İstanbul Üniversitesi Edebiyat Fakültesi Yayınları, 1970) and Halil Sahillioğlu (ed.), Koca Sinan Paşa’nın Telhisleri (Istanbul: IRCICA, 2004). 16 See Cemal Kafadar, When Coins Turned into Drops of Dew and Bankers Became Robbers of Shadows: The Boundaries of Ottoman Economic Imagination at the End of the Sixteenth Century, unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, McGill University, 1986, esp. pp. 61-109; and Baki Tezcan,

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the debasement. In the end, the mutinous soldiers demanded and received his head; hence the name by which the rebellion is popularly known. Mehmed Pasha was a new, more powerful type of royal favourite deliberately created by the sultan after the deaths of Sokollu Mehmed Pasha in 1579 and Şemsi Ahmed Pasha in 1580. In fact, Doğancı Mehmed Pasha’s career marked the high point of Murad III’s assertive style of rule vis-à-vis his viziers, who were jockeying for position in the government that emerged after Sokollu’s assassination. In general, Murad’s initiatives in the aftermath of Sokollu’s death mark the beginning of a new period in his sultanate. He immediately promoted one of Sokollu’s longtime rivals, the second-ranking vizier Semiz Ahmed Pasha, to take his place. The new grand vizier lost no time in naming his political allies to his dîvân, while finding excuses to banish his enemies from the capital. He recalled the commander of the Safavid campaign, Lala Mustafa Pasha, a sworn enemy of the late Sokollu, to assume the second-ranking vizierate, while Lala Mustafa Pasha’s own sworn enemy, the third-ranking vizier Koca Sinan Pasha, was appointed commander in his place. Yet just a few months later, in April 1580, Semiz Ahmed Pasha died in office before these changes could take effect. Lala Mustafa Pasha, newly arrived in Istanbul, now expected to become grand vizier according to the pattern of government appointments established under Süleyman I. The sultan, however, to everybody’s surprise, appointed neither him nor Koca Sinan Pasha, who had managed to avoid the campaign and remain in the capital. In fact, for the first time in Ottoman history, the sultan refused to fill the grand vizierate for three months! During this hiatus, Murad III is reported to have favoured abolishing the grand vizierate and running the government himself by means of viziers whom he had created.17 Evidently, by instituting such a radical change at the top of the imperial administration, Murad wanted to take full control of the government and prevent any of his viziers from becoming another Sokollu. However, his attempt to alter the administrative hierarchy in place since the days of Süleyman proved impossible to sustain. For one thing, the war against the Safavids demanded a grand vizier in the field; Murad tried to fill the gap with Koca Sinan Pasha, who had been named vizier under Selim II. At the same time, he began to promote his inner palace servants to various high positions in the administration. In sum, what really defined the 1580s was the sultan’s creation of favourites who served as his instruments of rule in the fluid political environment of the imperial capital. Earlier, Şemsi Ahmed Pasha had succeeded to a certain extent in curtailing Sokollu Mehmed Pasha’s power; but now that both men were gone, Murad needed more power-brokers who could help him keep the reins of government that he had finally retrieved from Sokollu. In the last two decades of the sixteenth century, the sultans’ favourites quickly solidified their roles in running court affairs, albeit at the risk of inciting bitter “The Monetary Crisis of 1585 Revisited,” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 52 (2009), 460-504. 17 Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire, p. 100; and Finkel, Osman’s Dream, pp. 170-171.

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factional struggles, rebellions or even executions. Doğancı Kara Mehmed Pasha became the first official royal favourite when Murad III named him musâhib with extraordinary privileges in an imperial decree dated 28 October 1584.18 His status as official favourite, which has thus far not attracted attention in the scholarly literature, is critical for two reasons: a) it signifies a major turning point in Murad III’s style of rule via his favourites; and b) it embodies almost all the major dynamics of a new period in Ottoman political history, the first era of favourites (ca. 1580 – ca. 1650). Hence, a fresh look at his political career and at the tumultuous events surrounding his murder is in order here.

The Rise and Fall of Doğancı Kara Mehmed Pasha: Mehmed Pasha was Armenian by origin, born around the middle of the sixteenth century in Fernos, a village near the town of Zeytun in the Anatolian province of Maraş.19 Unlike most favourites, he was not a devşirme recruit raised and educated in the palace school (enderûn). According to Mustafa Âlî and Peçevi, he was a servant of Beşoğlu Kaya Bey, one of the district governors of Maraş province and a renowned hawker himself.20 From his master, Mehmed learned the art of hunting with birds of prey, above all hawks (Turkish singular doğan), whence his nickname Doğancı.21 Kaya Bey sent young Mehmed as a gift to the newly enthroned Selim II, 18 Mehmet İpşirli, ed., Tarih-i Selânikî, 2 vols. (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1999, 2nd edi-

tion), vol. I, p. 150 [Hereafter Selaniki, I-II].

19 The information on Doğancı Mehmed Pasha's place of birth comes from the deed of a

family waqf founded in 1626 by his brother Halil Pasha. See Meltem Aydın, “Halil Paşa ibni Piri Vakfiyesi,” Vakıflar Dergisi 37 (2012), 1-37 and eadem, Maraşlı Kardeşler: Sadrazam Halil Paşa, Beylerbeyi Mehmed Paşa ve Halil Paşa ibn-i Piri Vakfiyesi (Kahramanmaraş: Kahramanmaraş Belediyesi Yayınları, 2015). 20 İbrahim Peçevî, Ta’rîh-i Peçevî, Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi Kütüphanesi (TSMK), MS Bağdad 206, fol. 195a [hereafter Peçevi/TSMK]; and Gelibolulu Mustafa Âlî, Künhü’l-Ahbâr, İstanbul Üniversitesi, Nadir Eserler Kütüphanesi, MS TY 5961, fol. 439a [hereafter Âlî, Künhü’l-Ahbâr/İÜK]. Scholars are often mistaken about Doğancı Mehmed Pasha’s early life and training, claiming that he was a devşirme graduate of the palace school. For instance, see Tezcan, “Searching for Osman,” p. 163. Mustafa Âlî and Peçevi are the only contemporary authors who note his true background. Faris Çerçi’s critical edition of the fourth volume of Mustafa Âlî’s, Künhü’l-ahbâr should be used with caution, for he uses manuscripts of questionable reliability and occasionally misreads personal names, for example, reading Kaya as Kubad. Faris Çerçi (ed.), Gelibolulu Mustafa Âlî ve Künhü’lahbâr’ında II. Selim, III. Murat ve III. Mehmet Devirleri, 3 vols. (Kayseri: Erciyes Üniversitesi Yayınları, 2000), vol. III, p. 547. See Jan Schmidt, Pure Water for Thirsty Scholars: A Study of Mustafā ‘Ālī of Gallipoli’s Künhü l-Ahbār (Leiden: Het Oosters Institut, 1991), for a detailed analysis of Mustafa Âlî’s work, including an annotated list of manuscript copies and their reliability. 21 Mehmed Pasha is typically known as only Doğancı Mehmed Pasha in modern Ottoman historiography, whereas his contemporaries and near-contemporaries generally called him Kara Mehmed Agha during his early political career and Musâhib Mehmed Pasha

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hoping to curry favour. Sultan Selim in turn presented him to his eldest son Murad, by then serving as governor of Manisa, for he knew that Murad was a passionate huntsman. In Manisa, Mehmed became Prince Murad’s favourite hunting companion, acquiring the nickname Kara (“strong” in this context).22 Peçevi emphasizes that Mehmed was a very charming personality, renowned for his sweet talk, and that he always knew how to entertain his prince. Kara Mehmed’s expertise in hunting, combined with his other personal merits, must have played a critical role in his rise to power under Murad III, who is reported to have had a deep affection for him from early on.23 Following his accession in 1574, Murad III appointed Kara Mehmed chief hawker (doğancıbaşı), thus including him among the highest-ranking officials of his inner court service.24 According to contemporary archival sources, the chief hawker was the sixth highest-ranking official serving in the inner palace at this time, preceded only by the top five members of the sultan’s privy chamber: that is, the chief of the privy chamber (hâsodabaşı), sword bearer (silahdâr), master of the wardrobe (çukadâr), stirrup holder (rikâbdâr) and master of the turban (dülbend gulâmı).25 Moreover, the chief hawker worked in a now-vanished free-standing building, located between the Privy Chamber and the Chamber of Petitions in the exclusively private third courtyard of the Topkapı Palace, where he trained and took care of the sultan’s most precious hawks alongside some twenty hawkers under his command.26 after he became Murad III’s royal favourite and governor-general of Rumeli in 1584. Upon his brutal murder in 1589, he came to be known as Maktûl Beylerbeyi (the Murdered Governor-General). See, for instance, Âlî, Künhü’l-Ahbâr/İÜK, fol. 475a. Here, I have tried to follow this chronological order when referring to Mehmed Pasha by his nicknames. 22 Âlî, Künhü’l-Ahbâr/İÜK, fol. 439a; and Peçevi/TSMK, fol. 195a. Indeed, some archival sources also refer to him as Kara Mehmed Agha. See, for instance, the register of the sultan’s personal treasury, Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi Arşivi (TSMA), D. 34, fols. 37a, 38a, 42a and 48a. The Turkish word kara (literally, “black”) has a great many metaphorical meanings, often pejorative, and thus it is often very hard to be precise on its intended meaning as a nickname. For dictionary definitions, see James Redhouse, A Turkish and English Lexicon Shewing the English Significations of the Turkish Terms (Constantinople: Printed for the American Mission by A.H. Boyajian, 1890), pp. 1448-1450; and Gerard Clauson, An Etymological Dictionary of Pre-Thirteenth-Century Turkish (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1972), pp. 643-644. In Ottoman personal names, it may refer to dark hair or complexion, whereas in certain cases, as here, it should be interpreted in the sense of strong or powerful, as indicated by John H. Kramers in EI2, s.v. “Kara.” 23 Peçevi/TSMK, fols. 195a-b. 24 According to an entry in TSMA, D. 34, fol. 25b, Kara Mehmed was already serving as chief hawker in September 1575; thus Murad III must have appointed him soon after his enthronement. 25 See, for example, TSMA, D. 34, fols. 17a, 26a, 29b and 32a, where the chief hawker is listed right after these privy chamber officials on the reception of their traditional cash bonuses on religious holidays or other significant days. 26 See Necipoğlu, Architecture, Ceremonial and Power, pp. 123-124. According to TSMA, D. 34, fol. 41b (entry dated 6 N 986/6 November 1578), the total number of hawkers serving under the chief hawker was twenty-four.

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During royal hunts, he was the sultan’s closest companion and responsible for presenting the quarry to him.27 A hitherto unexamined register of the sultan’s personal treasury reveals that the chief hawker, together with the above-mentioned members of the privy chamber, the chief eunuchs of the palace and the imperial harem, distributed the royal largesse (ihsân-ı hümâyûn) – that is, the gifts presented from the sultan’s personal treasury on various occasions, such as upon an official’s promotion, on religious holidays, or after a royal hunt.28 The most common form of largesse were gold florins; other gifts included luxurious silk and/or fur-trimmed kaftans, arms and armour, horses and horse trappings.29 Once these items were taken from the sultan’s personal treasury, they were typically handed over to the recipients by one of the abovementioned intermediaries, including Mehmed Agha, or occasionally by the sultan himself in a royal ceremony.30 For five years, Kara Mehmed held this important office which enabled him to further cement his personal bond with his master.31 Meanwhile, thanks to his combination of official and non-official duties, he not only established himself as an important member of Murad III’s personal household but also enjoyed what would prove to be far-reaching relationships with several prominent court figures of the time, most crucially with the members of the aforementioned anti-Sokollu faction led by Şemsi Ahmed Pasha. As an experienced hunter and a witty conversationalist himself, Şemsi Ahmed Pasha should have held the sultan’s talented and charming chief hawker in high esteem. Among Kara Mehmed’s influential court contacts, Murad III’s first swordbearer, Bosnavî (Bosnian) İbrahim Agha, would play a definitive role in his rise and fall. İbrahim had actually been Selim II’s last stirrup-holder; Murad promoted him 27 See Stephane Yerasimos, Annie Berthier (eds.), Albertus Bobovius ya da Santuri Ali Ufki

Bey’in Anıları: Topkapı Sarayı’nda Yaşam, trans. Ali Berktay (Istanbul: Kitapyayınevi, 2002), pp. 31 and 101; and İsmail Hakkı Uzunçarşılı, Osmanlı Devletinin Saray Teşkilâtı (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1988, 3rd edition), pp. 311 and 420-421. 28 TSMA, D. 34. 29 See Hedda Reindl-Kiel, “Luxury, Power Strategies, and the Question of Corruption: Gifting in the Ottoman Elite (16th-18th Centuries),” in: Yavuz Köse, Tobias Völker (eds.), Şehrâyîn: Die Welt der Osmanen, die Osmanen in der Welt: Wahrnehmungen, Begegnungen und Abgrenzungen/Illuminating the Ottoman World: Perceptions, Encounters and Boundaries. Festschrift Hans Georg Majer (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2012), 107-119 and Murphey, Exploring Ottoman Sovereignty, pp. 183-205 and 226-238, for a discussion of early modern Ottoman court ceremonies for gift exchange between the sultan and his grandees and for the distribution of ranks and offices. 30 See TSMA, D. 34, fols. 31a, 32a, 32b, 33b, 37b, 43a and 48a, for random cases about Kara Mehmed’s intermediary role in the distribution of cash bonuses. 31 Towards the end of Kara Mehmed Agha’s tenure, the chief hawker surpassed the master of the turban in rank to become the fifth-ranking official in the inner palace hierarchy; this points to his heightened status even before Murad III. See TSMA, D. 34, fols. 44b and 46b.

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to sword-bearer upon his accession. In a short time, he became one of Murad’s most intimate inner palace servants (mukarreb ve makbûl, as Selaniki calls him).32 After Sokollu’s murder, Murad quickly promoted him through the ranks of his imperial administration. He was appointed agha of the Janissaries in 1579, governor-general of Rumeli in 1582, governor-general of Egypt in 1583, and government vizier in 1585. In 1582, as governor-general of Rumeli, he was charged with overseeing the circumcision festival organized for Prince Mehmed in the capital. Following the celebrations, he was betrothed to one of Murad III’s daughters, Ayşe Sultan, whom he married after he returned to Istanbul from Egypt, hence his nickname Damad (Son-in-Law) İbrahim Pasha.33 As İbrahim ascended the military-administrative hierarchy, he is reported to have considered Kara Mehmed his apprentice (şagird), for he personally educated him in the courtly manners required of a favourite.34 It seems that Mehmed was already İbrahim’s protégé when the above-mentioned battle between the rival factions of Sokollu Mehmed Pasha and Şemsi Ahmed Pasha took place.35 Nonetheless, as we shall see shortly, once Damad İbrahim Pasha had returned from Egypt and solidified his position in the imperial government, and once Doğancı Mehmed Pasha had solidified his status as royal favourite, their friendship degenerated into a bitter rivalry, ultimately leading to Mehmed’s execution and İbrahim’s banishment from the court for four years.36 Like İbrahim, Kara Mehmed followed a relatively fast track in his career. In early February 1580, he became the chief falconer (çakırcıbaşı) and accordingly left the inner palace grounds. Sultan Murad marked the occasion by giving him 2,000 gold ducats, a Persian-style jewelled dagger, a total of eight top-quality silk robes and a pair of baggy silk trousers (şalvar).37 Since the beginning of Murad III’s reign, only two of his personal servants had received such valuable gifts: Husrev Agha, the master of the wardrobe, and İbrahim Agha himself had received gifts of simi-

32 Selaniki, I, p. 127. 33 For a detailed summary of his life and political career, see Nezihi Aykut, “Damad

İbrahim Paşa,” İ.Ü. Tarih Enstitüsü Dergisi 15 (1997), 193-219. Also see EI2, s.v. “Ibrāhīm Pasha, Dāmād,” by Vernon J. Parry. On the circumcision festival of 1582, see Derin Terzioğlu, “The Imperial Circumcision Festival of 1582: An Interpretation,” Muqarnas 12 (1995), 84-100. 34 Âlî, Künhü’l-Ahbâr/İÜK, fol. 439a; and Peçevi/TSMK, fols. 195a-b. 35 Aykut, “Damad İbrahim Paşa,” p. 195, notes that İbrahim Agha was briefly imprisoned in Yedikule fortress in late 1575, which suggests Sokollu’s intention to get rid of him at the beginning of Murad III’s reign. 36 In 1593, İbrahim Pasha was reinstated as the third-ranking vizier on the imperial council during the grand vizierate of Koca Sinan Pasha. Later, he served three times as grand vizier under Mehmed III; in 1601, during his last term, he died at Eszék (Ösek) while commanding the imperial army in Hungary. See Aykut, “Damad İbrahim Paşa,” pp. 202-218, for details. 37 TSMA, D. 34, fol. 48a (entry dated 20 ZE 987 / 7 February 1580).

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lar value when they had been appointed chief of the palace gate-keepers (kapucıbaşı) and agha of the Janissaries, in March and December 1579, respectively.38 On October 9, 1583, after having briefly served as master of the royal stables (mîrâhûr), Kara Mehmed was promoted to agha of the Janissaries, a post which had been a gateway for the sultan’s kuls to the highest ranks in the military-administrative hierarchy, as seen in the case of İbrahim Pasha above.39 As a special mark of his favour, Murad III married him to a concubine from his harem.40 The sultan even allowed him to recruit certain family members and bring them to Istanbul, where they were employed in the inner palace service. His younger brother Halil joined the corps of hawkers and ultimately became an influential official. As Halil Pasha, he served as admiral of the imperial fleet and grand vizier under Ahmed I, Osman II (r. 1618-22) and Murad IV (r. 1623-40).41 In October 1584, Kara Mehmed reached the zenith of his career. Early that month, he petitioned Murad to make him governor-general of Rumeli and replace him as agha of the Janissaries with one of his own protégés from the privy chamber, Bosnavî Halil Agha, Murad III’s sword-bearer after İbrahim. According to Mehmed bin Mehmed, “since Musâhib Mehmed Agha’s wishes and petitions [always] received acceptance before the padishah,” Murad immediately granted both offices “without any reservation.”42 Only two weeks later, this time with the 38 See TSMA, D. 34, fols. 43b and 47b, for details. The number of promotions of inner-

court servants to outer posts significantly increased in the months before and after Sokollu’s assassination, which testifies to Murad III’s plan to rid his court of Sokollu’s clients and relatives. See, fols. 44a-60a. 39 Selaniki, I, p. 140. The day after his appointment, Kara Mehmed received his promotion gifts from the sultan via Gazanfer Agha. See TSMA, D. 34, fol. 76a (entry dated 23 N 991), for details. For the historical evolution of Ottoman military-administrative career lines between the mid-sixteenth and mid-seventeenth centuries, see Kunt, Sultan’s Servants, esp. p. 34 [table 3.1] and p. 68 [table 4.1]. 40 Âlî, Künhü’l-Ahbâr/İÜK, fol. 439a; and Peçevi/TSMK, fols. 195a-b. 41 See Mehmed bin Mehmed, Ta’rîh-i Âl-i Osmân, in Abdurrahman Sağırlı, Mehmed b. Mehmed Er-Rumî (Edirneli)’nin Nuhbetü’t-tevârîh ve’l-ahbâr’ı ile Târîh-i Âl-i Osmân’ının Metni ve Tahlilleri, unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Istanbul University, 2000, pp. 44-46 [hereafter Mehmed bin Mehmed, Tarîh]; Alexander H. de Groot, “A Seventeenth-century Ottoman Statesman: Kayserili Halil Pasha (1565-1629) and His Policy Towards European Powers,” Islam 54 (1977), 305-308; and Victor Ostapchuk, “An Ottoman Gazānāme on Halīl Paša’s Naval Campaign against the Cossacks (1621),” Harvard Ukrainian Studies 14/3-4 (1990), 482-506; Meltem Aydın, “Maraşlı Halil Paşa,” in: Uluslararası Osmanlı Döneminde Maraş Sempoz yumu, vol. I (Kahramanmaraş: Kahramanmaraş Belediyesi Yayınları, 2013), 369-387. The agha of the Janissaries during this period oversaw the devşirme recruitment process. See Serdar Özdemir, Osmanlı Devleti’nde Devşirme Sistemi (Istanbul: Rağbet Yayınları, 2008), pp. 116-200 and passim. Thus, it seems very likely that Kara Mehmed personally recruited his younger brother as a devşirme boy from their hometown in Maraş. 42 Mehmed bin Mehmed, Tarîh, p. 64: “Musâhib Mehmed Ağa[’nun]… recâ ve arzı huzûr-ı pâdişâhîde makbûl olmağla bilâ-tereddüd mezbûr Mehmed Ağa’ya Rumeli eyâleti ve mezbûr Halil Ağa’ya yeniçeriler ağalığı tevcîh ve ihsân olındı.” The exact date of Kara Mehmed’s appointment as governor-general of Rumeli is unclear, but Halil Agha was promoted to agha of

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backing of Damad İbrahim Pasha, Kara Mehmed was officially appointed a court favourite (he received the rank of vizier in 1587), with extraordinary privileges that bypassed all the established court hierarchy and imperial bureaucracy. For instance, he not only enjoyed the privilege of submitting petitions to and seeing the sultan in person on a regular basis; he was also assigned to supervise the preparations for Grand Vizier Özdemiroğlu Osman Pasha’s campaign of 1584-85 in the Caucasus and the distribution of three-month salaries to the palace soldiers, two important tasks which had traditionally been carried out by the grand vizier and his office.43 Furthermore, and perhaps most importantly, he oversaw the first significant devaluation of the Ottoman akçe, which was necessitated by a severe monetary crisis in the mid-1580s, as noted above.44 Interestingly, Doğancı Mehmed Pasha’s extra-official authority with respect to military affairs and his regular access to the sultan were likewise demanded by Özdemiroğlu Osman Pasha, whose appointment to the grand vizierate in July 1584, as Cornell Fleischer explains, was in fact the work of the court faction led by Gazanfer Agha, by then both the chief eunuch of the palace (kapu ağası) and the head of the privy chamber (hasodabaşı).45 Mustafa Âlî, who was in the capital at this time, notes that before his departure for war in mid-October, Osman Pasha petitioned the sultan to appoint Mehmed Pasha as his “private deputy” (vekîl-i hâss) so that he could discuss any affair related to his office with the royal favourite in private.46 These interrelated appointments and intermingling political alliances not only signify another reconfiguration of power relations under Murad III but also reflect

the Janissaries on October 16, 1584. TSMA, D. 34, fol. 85a (entry dated 11 L 992). Based on Mehmed bin Mehmed’s account, we can assume that Kara Mehmed’s appointment occurred on the same day. 43 Selaniki, I, pp. 150 and 180, mentions the privileges granted to Mehmed Pasha, whereas Âlî, Künhü’l-Ahbâr/İÜK, fols. 439a and 475a, notes the critical role of Damad İbrahim Pasha in his appointment as royal favourite. 44 The devaluation occurred under Mehmed Pasha’s supervision between 1585 and 1588, by which time the silver content of the akçe had been reduced by almost half (44%, to be precise). For different approaches to the monetary crisis, see Ömer Lütfi Barkan, “The Price Revolution of the Sixteenth Century: A Turning Point in the Economic History of the Near East,” trans. Justin McCarthy, International Journal of Middle East Studies 6 (1975), 3-28; Şevket Pamuk, “The Price Revolution in the Ottoman Empire Reconsidered.” International Journal of Middle East Studies 33 (2001), 69-89; Cemal Kafadar, “Prelude to Ottoman Decline Consciousness: Monetary Turbulence at the End of the Sixteenth Century and the Intellectual Response.” Osmanlı Araştırmaları 51 (2018), 265-295 and Tezcan, “The Monetary Crisis of 1585 Revisited.” 45 Cornell H. Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual in the Ottoman Empire: The Historian Mustafa Âli (1541-1600) (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986), p. 114. 46 Âlî, Künhü’l-Ahbâr/İÜK, fol. 439a: “Ol tarîhde serdâr-ı ekrem olan ‘Osmân Paşa merhûm Tebrîz semtine müteveccih olub müşârün-ileyhi [i.e., Doğancı Mehmed Pasha] kendü cânibinden vekîl-i hâss nasb idüb ‘izz-i huzûr-ı şehr-yârîye tenhâ girmesi lâzımdur deyü bildürmeğle ol merâma dahi vâsıl olmış idi.” Also see Selaniki, I, p. 150.

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the sultan’s new, more assertive court faction jointly led by Doğancı Mehmed Pasha and Gazanfer Agha. This picture becomes all the more intriguing when we consider Osman Pasha’s political background and how he was chosen as grand vizier, as well as why he wanted Doğancı Mehmed to be appointed his deputy. Osman Pasha was not a devşirme recruit like the rest of the members of his dîvân. Born in Cairo in 1527/28, he was the son of the famous Özdemir Pasha (d. 1561), a Circassian mamluk and former official of the Mamluk sultanate who had served as Ottoman governor of Yemen and conquered Abyssinia (Habesh) for Süleyman I.47 In time, like his father, Osman Pasha became a successful governor and a tireless commander, serving first in the distant provinces of the empire, such as Habesh, Yemen, al-Hasâ, and Basra. In 1572/3, he attained his first governor-generalship in Diyarbakır, thanks to his close friend and vizier ally, Lala Mustafa Pasha (d. 1580), the former tutor of Selim II and conqueror of Cyprus. However, four years later, Osman lost his post due to his connection to Lala Mustafa, whose arch-enemy, Grand Vizier Sokollu Mehmed Pasha, managed to dismiss him for being one of his rival’s adherents and appointed one of his own relatives in Osman Pasha’s place. After his dismissal Osman Pasha remained in Diyarbakır in order to evade further machinations by Sokollu. In 1578, Sokollu, as part of his typical strategy to keep his rivals away from the capital, assigned Lala Mustafa Pasha to command the Ottoman campaign against the Safavids in the Caucasus; Lala Mustafa in turn invited Osman Pasha to assist him. Five years into the Ottoman-Safavid War, Osman Pasha shone as a brilliant commander and governor-general, rightfully so after his resounding victories, which helped the Ottomans to capture Georgia, Gence, Shirvan and Daghistan, entrenching themselves in the region for the next twenty-five years. In 1583-4, Murad III sent Osman Pasha, who now held the rank of second vizier, to quell the rebellion of the Crimean khan, the Ottoman vassal Mehmed Giray, who refused to support the war in the Caucasus logistically. After successfully carrying out the sultan’s orders, he was invited to Istanbul by Gazanfer Agha. Osman Pasha arrived in Istanbul to a hero’s welcome in the early summer of 1584. Following an unusually long, four-hour private audience with Murad III, he was appointed grand vizier, replacing Siyavuş Pasha, the client of the late queen mother, Nurbanu Sultan (d. 1583).48 As Fleischer notes, this turn of events attracted the hostility of his fellow viziers in Istanbul, particularly the dismissed Siyavuş

47 Peter M. Holt, Eg ypt and the Fertile Crescent, 1516-1922: A Political History (Ithaca: Cornell

University Press, 1966), pp. 52-54.

48 See Şefik Peksevgen, Secrecy, Information Control and Power Building in the Ottoman Empire,

1566-1603, unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, McGill University, 2004, pp. 211-214, for a discussion of the significance of this long private meeting between Murad III and Osman Pasha.

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Pasha.49 Unlike these viziers, Osman Pasha was not a participant in intrigues, nor a palace-educated grandee, nor yet a sedentary courtier; rather, he was a great warrior and man of action. In him, Murad found the ideal grand vizier to lead his war against the Safavids. Perhaps most importantly, Osman Pasha did not have a factional network entrenched in the imperial administration and the royal court like the rest of ruling viziers. On the other hand, Osman Pasha knew very well that he was not experienced enough to survive the power struggles at court and that losing the game of factional politics often had serious repercussions. Besides the lesson he had learned from his dismissal from the governorship of Diyarbakır by Sokollu, he had barely survived the wrath of Koca Sinan Pasha, who at one point even advertised his execution to Sokollu when Osman was preparing to return to Istanbul after his successful service in Yemen. These details help explain why Osman Pasha volunteered at the first opportunity to leave the capital in order to launch a new campaign against the Safavids, along with the fractious Nogay Tartars. It is in this context that Osman Pasha’s request to have Doğancı Mehmed Pasha appointed as his private deputy should be considered. Although such a request was contradictory to the tradition of appointing the second-ranking vizier to be the grand vizier’s deputy in his absence, Osman Pasha now had enough political capital to have his request approved for the sake of his campaign, which might otherwise be jeopardized by the rival viziers he left behind. His request ultimately paid off in the capture of Tabriz, the former Safavid capital, which would remain in the hands of the Ottomans for the next twenty years.50 However, there was another reason behind Osman Pasha’s request, related to the “dilemma of the Ottoman grand vizier” – a conundrum that emerged as a result of both the long Ottoman-Safavid War and Murad III’s sedentary style of rule; and that recurred during the reigns of Mehmed III and Ahmed I. As the deputy of the sultan and the commander-in-chief of the imperial army (serdâr-ı ekrem), Osman Pasha had two options in time of war: a) to remain in the capital and risk losing his post to one of the rival viziers, who were eager to take him down, not just because of his prestige in the eyes of the sultan, but also because of he was an “outsider;” b) to take the field and leave a deputy behind, traditionally the second-ranking vizier, a tactic that entailed the same risk of being undermined by rival viziers during his absence. There was only one way to solve this problem: by shielding the sultan from the malicious insinuations of his rivals; and the only people who could accomplish this task in the absence of the grand vizier were the sultan’s favourites, above all Mehmed Pasha, whose influence over the business of rule was now critical to the political survival of virtually all courtiers. 49 Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual, p. 114. 50 However, Osman Pasha did not get a second chance to return to the capital. He died on

his way back from Tabriz and was buried in Diyarbakır as he wished. For his political career, see EI2, s.v. “‘Othmān Pasha, Özdemir-Oghlı,” by J. Richard Blackburn.

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Thus, from 1584 until his murder in 1589, Doğancı Mehmed Pasha was Murad III’s most trusted associate and chief power-broker, if not his face, in running court affairs. Moreover, like all chief favourites, he began to accumulate great wealth – in his case thanks to Sultan Murad, who kept showering him with royal largesse, most noticeably by granting him large landholdings as private property (mülk).51 The favourite no doubt also received his share from the ever-increasing sales of offices and tax farms.52 Besides creating a large network of clients, Mehmed Pasha used his wealth to patronize the arts and literature, modelling himself on the sultan, who was a renowned poet and man of letters himself.53 For instance, Mehmed Pasha’s hitherto overlooked personal library housed several rare and precious manuscripts, such as an illustrated and richly ornamented copy of the Shâhnâmeh (Book of Kings), the magnum opus of the celebrated Persian poet Firdawsî (9351020). These expensive books and works of art – no less valuable than those in the royal library – were no doubt produced by the leading contemporary artists and literati.54 Although the true scope of Mehmed Pasha’s artistic patronage remains to be studied, his regular commissioning of such works for himself and his royal patron surely contributed to the reputation of Murad III’s court as one of the most vibrant cultural environments in Ottoman history.55 Not surprisingly, news of Mehmed Pasha’s elevation to the status of royal favourite quickly travelled to all corners of the Ottoman Empire, as his sometime client, Gelibolulu Mustafa Âlî, testifies in a letter he sent him from Baghdad in around late 1585. This letter merits a close look as it provides a rare example of how a royal favourite was perceived by his contemporaries, while illustrating how patron-client relations worked at the imperial court during this period. Mustafa Âlî opens his letter by praising Mehmed Pasha’s newly attained position as the sultan’s musâhib, a development which, according to the writer, has already become well-known among the people of Egypt, Damascus, Aleppo and very likely Iraq. He then reminds Mehmed Pasha that in his new capacity he should not fail to inform the 51 See TSMA, D. 1630, D. 3416 and D. 3582, for Mehmed Pasha’s mülk lands in Anatolia

and Rumeli and the annual income that they produced.

52 On the sales of offices and tax farms during this period, see Pál Fodor, The Business of

State: Ottoman Finance Administration and Ruling Elite in Transition (1580s-1615) (Berlin: Klaus Schwarz 2018), esp. 73-124. 53 See Ahmet Kırkkılıç, Sultân Üçüncü Murâd (Murâdî): Hayatı, Edebi Kişiliği, Eserleri ve Divânının Tenkidli Metni, unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Ankara University in Erzurum, 1985, for Murad III’s literary personality and works, and a critical edition of his collection of poems. 54 See TSMA, D. 4057, for the probate inventory (tereke) of Mehmed Pasha’s books, which were confiscated for the royal library upon his murder in 1589. See Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual, pp. 126-127, for the literary works written by Gelibolulu Mustafa Âlî under Doğancı Mehmed Pasha’s patronage. 55 See Emine Fetvacı, Viziers to Eunuchs: Transitions in Ottoman Manuscript Patronage, 15661617, unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Harvard University, 2005, pp. 140-256, for a discussion of manuscript patronage and patrons during the reign of Murad III.

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sultan of problems pertaining to administrative affairs, especially the empire-wide corruption and sale of offices, because the viziers in Istanbul apparently never rose these problems out of fear of punishment; Âlî emphasizes that such unjust practices damage both the functioning and the reputation of the Ottoman sultanate; hence it is among the favourite’s most important duties to rectify them and save the sultan from the “sins” of these wrongdoings. After this prologue, Âlî comes to the gist of his plea. He explains how until recently, he had excelled as the finance director of the province of Erzurum, upon which achievements Özdemiroğlu Osman Pasha, who had stopped in Erzurum during his campaign, had rewarded him with the lucrative finance directorate of Baghdad, even though Âlî had asked for a much higher office. At the time, grand viziers and military commanders had the authority to make such appointments in the field on the sultan’s behalf. Âlî had recently become a client of Osman Pasha, for whom he had composed the victory missive after the above-mentioned Crimean campaign in 1584. In any event, Âlî gladly accepted his new patron’s reward and travelled to Baghdad to assume his new post, only to find that he had already been dismissed from it. Nevertheless, what really frustrated Âlî was the fact that his office had been sold to another grandee as a tax farm (iltizâm) by officials at the court in Istanbul, suggesting that his dismissal was the work of the favourite and his cronies.56 Accordingly, Âlî ends his letter by begging Doğancı Mehmed Pasha to secure him a new, preferably a higher, office in the finance department.57 However, Âlî’s appeal to the royal favourite went unanswered. It is possible that Mehmed Pasha did not receive his letter in the first place. Only after Âlî had returned to the capital in late 1586 and bombarded Mehmed Pasha and his cronies at court, above all Gazanfer Agha, with pleading letters, did he finally manage to attain the office of finance director of the province of Rum (Sivas); it was a much

56 See, Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual, pp. 115-123, for further details of Âlî’s appoint-

ment and dismissal.

57 See Gelibolulu Mustafa Âlî, Menşeü’l-inşâ, ed. İ. Hakkı Aksoyak (Ankara: Bizimbüro,

2009), pp. 109-111, for a critical edition of the letter in question. Doğancı Mehmed and Mustafa Âlî had met at Murad III’s princely court in Manisa. For their long-time patronclient relationship and Âlî’s repeated appeals to Mehmed Pasha and other prominent court figures for higher office during this period, see Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual, pp. 54-55, 118-120, 125-130 and 133. Âlî emphasizes at one point in his letter that he had successfully served the late Lala Mustafa Pasha during his campaign in the Caucasus in 1578, about which he later composed a work entitled The Book of Victory (Nusretnâme), dedicated to Murad III. Hence, by alluding to the bitter rivalry between Lala Mustafa Pasha and Sokollu Mehmed Pasha, Âlî tries to strengthen his appeal before the sultan and his favourite by reminding them of his real political allegiance. For further discussion of the sultan’s musâhibs as royal favourites by Mustafa Âlî, see Andreas Tietze (ed.), Mustafā ‘Ālī’s Counsel for Sultans of 1581, 2 vols. (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1979), esp. vol. I, pp. 42-43. See Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual, pp. 95-104, for a detailed analysis of Âlî’s work.

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lower and less lucrative office than finance director of Erzurum but far preferable to being unemployed.58 Clearly, during the first decade of the post-Sokollu era, Doğancı Mehmed Pasha’s role as chief royal favourite was central to the reconfiguration of power and patronage within the Ottoman administration, both in the capital and in the provinces. Together with his powerful allies at the court, he dominated the distribution of offices, in addition to his above-mentioned duties. Hence, more and more people of every rank and background turned to him, seeking his intercession, especially in reaching the secluded sultan to secure royal favour. Inevitably, Mehmed Pasha’s privileged position created resentment among other office-holders, including his former tutor and ally Damad İbrahim Pasha, now the third-ranking vizier in the imperial government. Their hostility escalated when Mehmed Pasha began to subvert communication with the secluded sultan. According to Peçevi, for instance, whenever the grand vizier or another member of the imperial council submitted a telhîs to the sultan, Mehmed Pasha cast aspersions on it, thus influencing the sultan’s reply.59 Thus, according to Mustafa Âlî, all the ruling viziers “united their words and efforts” (“yek-dil ve yek-cihet oldılar”) in an attempt to persuade the Sultan to dismiss his favourite, but to no avail. Mehmed Pasha’s position was so firmly established that it proved impossible to undermine him by nonviolent means alone.60 Eventually, Mehmed Pasha’s enemies had their chance for revenge in early April 1589, when the above-mentioned monetary crisis reached its climax just as the protracted war against the Safavids had entered its eleventh year.61 On April 1, the Janissaries and the sipahis received their overdue three-month salaries, but some of the sipahis were paid in the debased akçes that Mehmed Pasha had introduced.62 Enraged, the alienated cavalry soldiers marched on Mehmed Pasha’s mansion, shouting: Our sultan’s coins have taken this shape! In three hundred years, did the sultans of the House of Osman ever give the soldier[s] of victory such three-month money? Then you came, became a favourite (mukarreb) and imposed [new] taxes all over the country. Do you think you can correct the coins by making such innovations?63

58 See Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual, pp. 124-130. 59 Peçevi/TSMK, fol. 195b. 60 Âlî, Künhü’l-Ahbâr/İÜK, fol. 439a. 61 For the Ottoman-Safavid War of 1578-1590, see Bekir Kütükoğlu, Osmanlı-İran Siyâsî

Münâsebetleri, 1578-1612 (Istanbul: Fetih Cemiyeti, 1993), pp. 83-200.

62 Kafadar, “When Coins Turned into Drops of Dew,” pp. 77-78. 63 Selaniki, I, p. 210: “Padişahumuzun sikkesi bu sûrete girdi. Üç yüz yıldan berü âl-i Osmân selâtîni

‘asâkir-i [sic: asker-i] mansûreye böyle ulufe virmiş midür? Gelüp, mukarreb olup, memlekete akçalar saldırup, bid‘at itdürmeğle sikke mi tashîh eylesen gerekdür?”

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The following day, after Mehmed Pasha failed to respond, the sipahis took their protest to Topkapı Palace, where it quickly mushroomed into a fundamental challenge to Murad III’s practice of ruling via his favourite. Dissatisfied with the sultan’s repeated attempts to placate them through the mediation of Gazanfer Agha, the soldiers, for the first time in Ottoman history, broke into the second courtyard of the palace and demanded the heads of Doğancı Mehmed Pasha and his client, Mahmud Efendi, the chief treasurer, threatening the sultan to invade the imperial harem if their demands were not met.64 An anonymous contemporary report continues: With tears in his eyes… [the sultan] was forced to decide or declare: he commanded both [men] to be decapitated before the soldiers. This was immediately put into effect…. Thereafter the soldiers praised the sultan highly and left with great satisfaction, taking the governor-general’s head with them. They practised all kinds of mischief with it: throwing balls at it, hitting the mouth with their fists, tramping through the most important streets with the head set on a high pole so that everyone could see it. They mocked, cursed, and spoke all kinds of evil against him. As soon as all this had been done, the houses of the governor-general and chief treasurer were plundered, and many others who depended on them were taken captive.65

Most contemporary authors agree that this violent tumult was staged by the rival viziers in order to get rid of the sultan’s powerful favourite.66 Peçevi even asserts that Mahmud Efendi’s execution was intended to avoid the impression that they were targeting only Mehmed Pasha.67 Mustafa Âlî, meanwhile, categorizes these sipahis as interlopers in the imperial cavalry regiments. To the three groups of soldiers that had traditionally comprised these regiments – graduates (çıkma) of the 64 Âlî, Künhü’l-Ahbâr/İÜK, fols. 439b-440a. 65 Warhafttige vnd gar ausz fierliche Newer Zeyttung/ Ausz Constantinopel/ Welcher massen die Türcki-

sche Kriegsleut ein Erschröckliche Auffruhr angerichtet haben/ Auch fast die halbe Statt Angezündet vnnd in Brand gestecket. Geschehen den 19. Aprilis/ dieses 1589 Jars (Augspurg: Wöhrlin, 1589), pp. 4-6. I thank my colleague Alison Anderson for providing an English translation of the quotations from this report. 66 Âlî, Künhü’l-Ahbâr/İÜK, fols. 439b-440a and 475a; and Nezihi Aykut, ed., Hasan Beyzâde Târîhi, 3 vols. (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 2004), II, pp. 346-352 [hereafter Hasan Beyzade, I-II-III]. 67 Peçevi/TSMK, fol. 196a. According to Âlî, Künhü’l-Ahbâr/İÜK, fol. 439b, Mehmed Pasha’s chief steward Pîri Hüseyin later managed to retrieve his patron’s severed head from the rebels in return for 400 gold coins and buried it with Mehmed Pasha’s body, which was placed in his mausoleum near the shrine of Abu Ayyub. The mausoleum still stands; according to its gate inscription, it also houses the body of Mahmud Efendi, indicating that the two figures may have been related. However, what is striking is that Mehmed Pasha was the only executed royal favourite during this period to receive a proper funeral and burial in such a prestigious cemetery. In contrast, Süleyman I’s favourite İbrahim Pasha and Ahmed I’s favourites Derviş and Nasuh Pashas were buried in public cemeteries, probably without tombstones.

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sultan’s household, former Janissaries and sons of former sipahis – a fourth group had been added, composed of soldiers recently promoted from the artillery and armourer (cebeci) regiments, as well as former kuls (servants, soldiers) of ruling grandees, or kuls from cavalry regiments stationed in distant provinces such as Egypt, Damascus and Central Iraq.68 Mustafa Âlî’s remarks suggest that Doğancı Mehmed Pasha had intentionally paid the three-month salaries of the sipahis in this fourth group with debased coins in order to undermine his rivals and their supporters among the cavalry troops, while using the good coins to pay the Janissaries and the rest of the sipahis to reward them for being loyal to him. This scenario actually helps to explain the second wave of military uprising immediately after Doğancı’s murder, as will be seen shortly. Nonetheless, Murad III soon learned the true nature of the rebellion and dismissed its ringleaders: That same evening the sultan removed the mufti, the grand vizier, Siyavuş Pasha, the viziers [Damad] İbrahim Pasha and [Cerrah] Mehmed Pasha, the treasurers, and the chancellor, all officers of the sipahis and other lesser officials from their offices with disgrace, mostly to pour out his ire and to show that great violence had been used against him by his soldiers to force him to remove [from office] and hand over his beloved and most trusted man to death.69

Although some contemporary sources assert that the sultan now once again considered running imperial affairs personally, without a grand vizier, this was clearly impossible given the administrative practice established under Süleyman I. Murad did, however, look outside the capital for a new grand vizier, calling Koca Sinan Pasha, his grand vizier from 1580 to 1582, who was in Üsküdar, waiting to be reappointed after his dismissal from the governor-generalship of Damascus.70 Following his new grand vizier’s recommendations, the sultan quickly filled other vacant offices, as well, and ordered the soldiers’ salaries to be paid in good coins from his personal treasury.71 However, some of the sipahis were still not satisfied but wanted key tax farms to be granted to them instead of to Jewish bankers or other clients of

68 See Baki Tezcan, Searching for Osman: A Reassessment of the Deposition of the Ottoman Sultan

Osman II (1618-1622), unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Princeton University, 2001, p. 248.

69 Warhafttige vnd gar ausz fierliche Newer Zeyttung, p. 6. 70 Hasan Beyzade, II, pp. 353-354. 71 For details, see Selaniki, I, pp. 211-213; and Âlî, Künhü’l-Ahbâr/İÜK, fols. 439b-440a.

Immediately after he was reappointed as grand vizier, Sinan Pasha asked Murad III to give him full authority and accordingly to remove all royal agents interfering in government affairs. Given the scale of the turmoil in the city, Murad III had no option but to comply with this request. However, once the rebellion was over, Murad resumed his former style of rule and continued to use his power-brokers until the end of his reign. See Warhafttige vnd gar ausz fierliche Newer Zeyttung, pp. 6-7.

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the sultan and the late Doğancı Mehmed Pasha. Yet, Murad refused to grant them these privileges.72 The repercussions of the so-called Governor-General Incident were not limited to these details, however. What is often overlooked in modern scholarship is the extreme reaction of Mehmed Pasha’s dependents to their master’s execution. According to some contemporary sources, they sought to settle scores with those who had staged the rebellion by plotting a literally incendiary course of action that quickly found many supporters among the disgruntled sipahis and the Janissaries. The result of this joint scheme was a devastating fire and widespread looting all over the capital in early April 1589.73 According to one source, the fire that Doğancı Mehmed Pasha’s men had started reportedly destroyed half of the capital, burning some 20,000 houses, shops and workshops and killing thousands of people.74 According to another anonymous report, “the damage that occurred through this fire has been estimated at over a hundred million gold coins.”75 Indeed, the fire of 1589 was one of the most devastating disasters in the history of the city.76 These tumultuous events were not the last ones that Murad III and his court witnessed. Four years later, when the sultan had almost totally withdrawn from the public eye, the sipahis once again rose in revolt upon not receiving their salaries in full. They similarly occupied the palace grounds and demanded the head of the chief treasurer, at the time Şerif Mehmed Efendi, the successor of the abovementioned Mahmud Efendi. On this occasion, however, Murad III did not bargain with his unruly soldiers, but responded with blunt force: in a violent encounter at the second gate of the palace, the rebellious sipahis were massacred to the last man at the hands of the Janissaries and armed court officials. The sultan then dismissed Siyavuş Pasha, whom he had reappointed grand vizier a year before, and entrusted Koca Sinan Pasha with the seal of the office for the third time.77 However, as Tez72 Warhafttige vnd gar ausz fierliche Newer Zeyttung, p. 8. 73 Ibid., pp. 12-13. Selaniki, I, p. 213, also witnessed these fires and lootings, which he

describes as “unimaginable” in his chronicle.

74 Warhafttige vnd gar ausz fierliche Newer Zeyttung, pp. 10-11; and Richard Bruce Werham (ed.),

Calendar of State Papers: Foreign, Elizabeth (London: His Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1950), vol. XXIII: January-July 1589, p. 254. 75 Warhafftige vnd eigentliche Zeittung/ ausz Constantinopel. Des grewlichen unnd unerhörten Brandts darinn viel tausendt Heuser/ Sampt grossem Gut verbrandt/ welches nicht wol ausz zusprechen ist/ Vnd wie es sich begeben vnd zugetragen hat/ in diesem 1589. Jahr (...) (Cöllen: Niclas Schreiber, 1589), p. 4. 76 Interestingly, this fire is not listed in the history of the fires of Istanbul written by the famous seventeenth-century Armenian historian Eremya Çelebi Kömürciyan (d. 1695). See Hrand D. Andreasyan, “Eremya Çelebi’nin Yangınlar Tarihi,” İ.Ü. Tarih Dergisi 27 (1973),59-84, for a Turkish translation of this work. 77 Selaniki, I, pp. 301-305. After this sipahi rebellion, Murad III became all the more paranoid about his soldiers. For instance, according to Selaniki, I, p. 416, when a fire accidentally began in the Ayasofya market area near the palace in 1594, the sultan believed that it had been set by cavalry soldiers and declared that “this is an ominous sign on our door-

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can notes, it was Sinan Pasha who had secretly orchestrated this rebellion in order to undermine his rival Siyavuş.78 From 1589 until his death in 1595, Murad III did not attempt to create another royal favourite similar to Doğancı Kara Mehmed; instead, he relied on his experienced viziers to manage imperial affairs while keeping them under close watch, as Koca Sinan Pasha’s several telhîses testify.79 Moreover, he changed his grand viziers frequently, not only because he was highly suspicious of them, as contemporary historian Selaniki notes, but also to prevent any of them from becoming another Sokollu. The rebellion-weary sultan could easily observe that as soon as a new grand vizier received the seal of office, he lost no time in promoting his relatives and clients to various positions in central and provincial administration while clearing out those appointed by his predecessor.80 By making such frequent changes at the top of the imperial administration, Murad III no doubt sought to balance the rival factions of his powerful ministers, notably Sinan Pasha and his nemesis Ferhad Pasha, who exchanged the grand vizierate in the early 1590s.81 During the reign of Murad III’s successor, Mehmed III, this vizierial rivalry reasserted itself at higher levels when the Ottoman-Habsburg conflict that had started under Koca Sinan grew into the Long War (1593-1606). As a result, more open rebellions began to target the sultan and his court favourites or power-brokers; these in turn intensified political instability at the imperial centre from the beginning of the seventeenth century onwards. Overall, as the favourites’ roles at the Ottoman court became fixed during the latter part of the sixteenth century, the sultan ceased to be personally involved in the running of the empire and instead ruled through his favourites, albeit at the risk of facing major rebellions and even deposition. Gazanfer Agha fulfilled the role of royal favourite during the reign of Mehmed III while exercising much more power, authority and control over the business of rule than those of Şemsi Ahmed Pasha and Doğancı Mehmed Pasha could under Murad III. After serving as Murad III’s master of the turban in the privy chamber for three years, Gazanfer Agha replaced his elder brother, Cafer Agha, as head of the privy step.” This is also quoted by Woodhead, “Murad III and the Historians,” p. 95, fn  19, in a similar context. 78 Tezcan, “Searching for Osman,” p. 249. 79 For instance, see Sahillioğlu, Koca Sinan Paşa’nın Telhisleri, pp. 2, 6 and 8-16. In these petitions, Sinan Pasha complains about the misinformation given to the sultan by royal companions or agents regarding his actions. 80 Selaniki, I, pp. 427-428. 81 The appointment sequence of grand viziers during the last years of Murad III is as follows: Koca Sinan Pasha (1589-91); Ferhad Pasha (1591-92); Siyavuş Pasha (1592-93); and Koca Sinan Pasha (1593-95). For details of the intense rivalry between the factions of Sinan Pasha and Ferhad Pasha, see Selaniki, I, pp. 214-425. Also see Murphey, Exploring Ottoman Sovereignty, pp. 132-134. Eventually, Sinan Pasha succeeded in eliminating his long-time rival for good: in August 1595 he secured a royal order for Ferhad Pasha’s execution.

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chamber in 1577, when the latter was promoted to chief eunuch of the palace.82 In 1579, Cafer Agha retired, and Mahmud Agha took his office. Mahmud Agha died in 1581, whereupon Gazanfer Agha was promoted to chief eunuch.83 However, Murad III did not appoint a new head of the privy chamber but allowed Gazanfer to keep his former post together with the new one. By controlling these two most important offices, which enabled him to regulate access to the sultan, Gazanfer soon became one of the most prominent power-brokers at the courts of Murad III and Mehmed III. Prior to Gazanfer, no one had held both of these offices at once. After Mehmed III’s enthronement in 1595, Gazanfer Agha not only continued as royal favourite but also became Safiye Sultan’s most important ally at court. He thus quickly accumulated even more wealth, power and prestige while acting as one of the prime movers of imperial politics in the capital together with the queen mother. In the meantime, he assembled a very large network of clients and protégés composed of his own family members, merchants, court officials, government ministers, artists and intellectuals.84 Gazanfer Agha’s unique position is perhaps best attested by the theological college (medrese) that he established in Istanbul in 1595. This college, which abuts the Aqueduct of Valens in a busy section of modern-day Istanbul, was granted the status of an imperial college, marking the first time in Ottoman history that a college founded by someone outside the Ottoman royal family had received such an honor.85 In light of all this, the sipahi rebellions in the early 1600s were apparently calculated actions to diminish the overwhelming power and prestige of the royal favourite, an end which they achieved by securing the execution of Gazanfer Agha in front of Mehmed III during the rebellion of 1603, as noted above.

Ahmed I and His First Power-Broker: Derviş Agha/Pasha Ahmed I’s reign was, in several respects, a watershed in this period of crisis and change. He acceded to the Ottoman throne in 1603 at the age of thirteen upon 82 Maria Pia Pedani, “Safiye’s Household and Venetian Diplomacy,” Turcica 32 (2000), 9-32;

and Eric Dursteler, “Fatima Hatun née Beatrice Michiel: Renegade Women in the Early Modern Mediterranean,” The Medieval History Journal 12/2 (2009), 355-382, shed light on the family background of Gazanfer Agha. Among other things, they have conclusively established that Cafer did not die as a result of the castration procedure. 83 Scholars are often confused as to the chronology of Gazanfer Agha’s early political career as it is poorly researched. An overlooked register of the sultan’s inner treasury from the Topkapı Palace Museum Archives sheds further light on several hitherto uncertain points on both Gazanfer’s and Cafer’s careers. See TSMA, D. 34, fols. between 22b and 43b. Also see Seyyid Lokmân, Zübdetü’t-tevârîh, Türk İslam Eserleri Müzesi, MS 1973, fols. 92b, and 96a-96b and passim, for Gazanfer’s appointments. 84 For Gazanfer Agha’s patronage network, see Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual, pp. 72, 110-114, 125-126, 130, 169-171, 182, 295 and passim. For Gazanfer Agha’s art patronage and its importance, see Fetvacı, “Viziers to Eunuchs,” pp. 257-296. 85 Tezcan, “Searching for Osman,” p. 159.

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the sudden death of his father, Mehmed III. Except for the short first reign of Mehmed II (1444-46) some 150 years before, the Ottomans had never had such a young and inexperienced ruler, although several other under-age sultans would take the throne before 1650. Ahmed was, furthermore, the first Ottoman sultan to come to the throne from within Topkapı Palace. During the reigns of Selim II and Murad III, the eldest prince of the royal family had typically held a provincial governorship before acceding to the throne. However, Ahmed I’s father was the last sultan in Ottoman history to serve as a provincial governor so as to acquire training in practical politics and to establish his own retinue that would form the nucleus of his government when he became sultan. When Mehmed III died, Ahmed, by then his eldest son, took the throne with no opposition, but he had no experience of statecraft and lacked a loyal princely retinue that could fill crucial administrative posts. In fact, what differentiates Ahmed I’s reign from those of earlier sultans is that the power struggles within the Ottoman polity had shifted from a larger setting, which had included the provincial princely households, to the narrower domain of Topkapı Palace and Istanbul. Moreover, Ahmed was the first Ottoman ruler to assume the throne childless and in questionable health. At the time, the only other male member of the dynasty, his younger brother Prince Mustafa (the future Mustafa I, r. 1617-8; 1622-3) was barely four years old. Although the Ottoman custom of fratricide (kardeş katli) was not applied to Prince Mustafa, lest the dynasty’s continuity be thrown into jeopardy, the fragility of the Ottoman male line was soon demonstrated when both Sultan Ahmed and Prince Mustafa survived a near-fatal bout of smallpox in MarchApril 1604. Though this reality is not yet recognized by the established historiography, the House of Osman had never before faced such a serious threat of genealogical extinction.86 Despite the fact that Ahmed quickly demonstrated his ability to father children, the problem of dynastic continuity remained a major concern for the dynasty for many years to come. Ahmed inherited an empire that had been at war for nearly twenty years with the Habsburg Empire in the West and the Shiite Safavid Empire of Iran in the East while facing localized military uprisings in its central lands, known as the Celâli rebellions. The teenaged sultan thus needed guidance in the business of rule. Although there was no institutionalized tradition of regency at the Ottoman court, his Bosnian mother, Handan Sultan,87 and the royal tutor, Mustafa Efendi, acted as 86 See my “İnkırâzın Eşiğinde Bir Hanedan: III. Mehmed, I. Ahmed, I. Mustafa ve 17.

Yüzyıl Osmanlı Siyasî Krizi,” Dîvân Disiplinlerarası Çalışmalar Dergisi 26 (2009), 45-96, for a discussion of Prince Mustafa’s age and the threat of dynastic extinction during the early reign of Ahmed I. 87 The first reliable information on the ethnic-regional origin of Handan Sultan comes from a dispatch written by the Venetian bailo Francesco Contarini. According to Contarini, Handan was a Bosnian slave in the household of the governor-general of Rumeli, Mehmed Pasha, who happened to be the surgeon (hence his nickname, Cerrah) who had circumcised Mehmed III back in 1582 when he was a prince. On account of her

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de facto regents. These two powerful figures, until their deaths in 1605 and ca. 1608, respectively, were Ahmed’s chief mentors, guiding the inexperienced ruler in selecting and controlling his viziers and military officers.88 The de facto regency as practiced during Ahmed I’s early reign would set a precedent for all other under-aged sultans’ reigns in the seventeenth century. As Metin Kunt points out in a seminal article, one of the defining features of seventeenth-century Ottoman court politics was solidarity among people from the same ethnic-regional background, generally known as cins.89 According to Kunt, a major factor in shaping the career of an individual who joined the Ottoman court was his ethnic and/or regional origin and his relations with others of the same background in the Ottoman administrative hierarchy. Kunt also insightfully observes that this sort of solidarity bred a bipolar antagonism within the Ottoman militaryadministrative elite between “westerners,” such as Bosnians, Albanians and other Balkan peoples, and “easterners,” such as Abkhazians, Circassians, Georgians and other people from the Caucasus.90 Jane Hathaway has more recently demonstrated that this kind of East-West antagonism was not limited to court circles in Istanbul but can be observed in Ottoman Egypt and Yemen in the seventeenth century.91 In this context, Ahmed I’s first personal favourite was his chief gardener, Derviş Agha. Like Grand Vizier Yavuz Ali Pasha, Ahmed’s first grand vizier in 1604, Derviş Agha was an important Bosnian client of Ahmed’s mother, Handan Sultan. No information has thus far surfaced on his family background, childhood or education. His early career in the palace similarly remains obscure, but we know that he was a devşirme recruit and that he served in the corps of gardeners (bostâncı ocağı)

beauty, the pasha gave Handan to the prince in 1583 on his departure for Manisa, where he had served as a provincial governor until his succession. ASVe, SDC, filza 58, fol. 269v (dated January 17, 1604): “La presente Regina è di natione Bossinese, fu prima schiava di Mehemet Girà quando era Begleirbei della Grecia et poi donata per la sua gran bellezza a Sultan Mehemet quando andò al Sanzaccato di Amasia.” Based on this acccount, Maria Pia PedaniFabris, “Veneziani a Costantinopoli alla fine del XVI secolo,” Quaderni di Studia Arabi 15 (1997), 67-84 (at p.. 84), also indicates Handan’s ethnic-regional origin as Bosnian. 88 See Baki Tezcan, “The Question of Regency in the Ottoman Dynasty: The Case of the Early Reign of Ahmed I,” Archivum Ottomanicum 25 (2008), 185-198. For a discussion of Handan Sultan's regency, see my “A Queen-Mother at Work: On Handan Sultan and Her Regency during the Early Reign of Ahmed I,” Güneydoğu Avrupa Araştırmaları Dergisi (forthcoming, 2020). 89 Metin I. Kunt, “Ethnic-Regional (Cins) Solidarity in the Seventeenth-century Ottoman Establishment,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 5 (1974), 233-239. 90 Ibid., pp. 237-238. 91 See Jane Hathaway, “The Evlâd-i ‘Arab (‘Sons of the Arabs’) in Ottoman Egypt: A Rereading,” in: Colin Imber, Keiko Kiyotaki (eds.), Frontiers of Ottoman Studies, Vol. I: Vol. I: State, Province and the West, (London: I.B. Tauris, 2005), pp. 203-216; and eadem, A Tale of Two Factions: Myth, Memory and Identity in Ottoman Eg ypt and Yemen (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2003), pp. 42-44 and 181-184.

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during the reign of Mehmed III. In 1602, he became the superintendent (kethüda) of the corps and then replaced Bayram Agha as chief gardener in early June of 1604.92 On January 18, 1606, Ahmed appointed Derviş Agha grand admiral, reportedly at his personal request, after dismissing Cıgalazade Sinan Pasha.93 At the same time, the young sultan conferred the rank of vizier upon him, together with his predecessor’s hass revenues, amounting to 1,200,000 akçes.94 Only five months later, on the suspiciously sudden death of Lala Mehmed Pasha, Ahmed elevated him to the grand vizierate – an unusual demonstration of royal favour to a vizier of his status.95 One of the early 17th-century registers of imperial affairs (mühimme defteri)96 reveals that Ahmed allowed his favourite to retain the revenues associated with the admiralty even while collecting those attached to his new office.97 Derviş Pasha had served only eight months, however, when Ahmed ordered his execution on December 9, 1606, on the grounds that he had mismanaged imperial affairs and oppressed numerous viziers, grandees and common people.98 In short, from mid-1604 until his death in late 1606, Derviş wielded great power and influence as a royal favourite while creating much factionalism and alienation among the Ottoman ruling elite at the imperial centre. 92 See Murat Yıldız, Osmanlı Devlet Teşkilâtında Bostancı Ocağı, unpublished Ph.D. disser-

tation, Marmara Üniversitesi, 2008, pp. 276 and 287; and ASVe, SDC, filza 59, fols. 163v-164r (dated June 5, 1604). 93 Hasan Beyzade, III, pp. 836-837; and Mehmet İpşirli, ed., Târih-i Na‘îmâ, 4 vols. (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 2007), vol. I, p. 311 [hereafter Târih-i Na‘îmâ, I]. At the time of his dismissal, Cıgalazade Sinan Pasha was the field marshal on the eastern front, a post he had held since the summer of 1604. In February/March 1606, he died in Diyarbakır, reportedly in despair over his crushing defeats by the Safavids, the like of which he had never experienced before. See Mehmed bin Mehmed, Nuhbetü’t-tevârîh ve’l-ahbâr, in: Sağırlı, “Mehmed b. Mehmed Er-Rumî (Edirneli)’nin Nuhbetü’t-tevârîh ve’l-ahbâr’ı ile Târîh-i Âl-i Osmân’ının Metni ve Tahlilleri,” pp. 642-643 [hereafter Mehmed bin Mehmed, Nuhbe]; and ASVe, SDC, filza 63, fols. 33r-v (dated March 29, 1606), on his death. For further discussion of Sinan Pasha, see below. 94 T.C. Cumhurbaşkanlığı Devlet Arşivleri Başkanlığı, Osmanlı Arşivi Daire Başkanlığı (OA), KK, Ruûs, D. 256, p. 31 and BOA, Ali Emiri, I. Ahmed, no. 339. 95 OA, MAD, D. 4665, p. 120; Mehmed bin Mehmed, Nuhbe, p. 647; and Ziya Yılmazer, ed., Topçular Kâtibi ‘Abdülkādir (Kadrî) Efendi Tarihi, 2 vols. (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 2003), vol. I, p. 428 [hereafter Abdülkadir Efendi, I-II]. According to Peçevi, who was Lala Mehmed Pasha’s long-time confidant and personal secretary, it was widely rumored at the time that Derviş Pasha actually poisoned the grand vizier with the help of a Portuguese physician, then had himself appointed in his place. Peçevi/TSMK, fols. 301b-302b. 96 OA, MD, D. Zeyl 18, fols. 164b and 186a. 97 In the first two decades of the seventeenth century, the official annual income of a grand vizier from his hass revenues was between 1,500,000 and 1,750,000 akçes, while other government viziers received a little over 1,200,000 akçes. Compare OA, MAD, D. 3727; D. 6259; KK, D. 3065; and D.HSC, Dosya: 2/26, p. 1, which records hass revenues of the highest-ranking viziers at different times during the reign of Ahmed I. 98 Mehmed bin Mehmed, Nuhbe, p. 652; Mehmed bin Mehmed, Tarîh, p. 37; and Târih-i Na‘îmâ, I, pp. 318-319.

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Derviş Pasha’s quick rise and fall presents an intriguing case vis-à-vis those of early royal favourites such as Şemsi Ahmed Pasha, Doğancı Mehmed Pasha and Gazanfer Agha under Murad III and Mehmed III. Most strikingly, he was the first Ottoman chief gardener to be appointed grand admiral, then elevated to the grand vizierate shortly afterward.99 Under the established pattern of promotions for court and government offices, a person of his background could expect this kind of success only after serving in the provincial and central administrations for many years.100 In sum, instead of taking small steps, Derviş made big leaps in his political career, a feature which increasingly came to define the careers of minister-favourites during this era, not only in the Ottoman Empire but also in contemporary European courts.101 Hence, the main questions that need to be answered at this point are what led Ahmed I to promote his chief gardener so quickly to the top position in the imperial administration; and what led him to execute him shortly thereafter. A critical combination of institutional and personal factors shaped Derviş Pasha’s unusual political career and he was a critical part of the reconfiguration of power relations at the faction-ridden Ottoman court during the early reign of Ahmed I. Hence, his case needs to be examined in detail against the background of Ahmed’s early sultanate and with respect to each major player’s pursuit of power in a highly fluid political setting. 99 Ahmed I’s sons Osman II and Murad IV also rewarded their favourite chief garden-

ers, notably Recep Agha (Ahmed I’s last chief gardener) in 1621 and Cafer Agha in 1632, with this prestigious office. The dates of their appointments are given by Yıldız, “Osmanlı Devlet Teşkilâtında Bostancı Ocağı,”, pp. 277 and 310. However, these sultanic initiatives seem to be limited to the first half of the seventeenth century and thus did not establish a new pattern for the promotion of chief gardeners. Other chief gardeners became grand viziers during the same period but only after holding other offices. 100 Prior to Derviş Pasha, no servant of the sultan had been empowered as grand vizier in this way, with two notable exceptions. In 1523, Süleyman I became the only sultan in Ottoman history to promote a member of his inner court service directly to the grand vizierate when he appointed his beloved friend (refîk) and head of the privy chamber, İbrahim Agha. For the next thirteen years, until he was secretly strangled in his bedchamber in 1536, İbrahim Pasha acted as a co-ruler and enjoyed power and prestige almost equal to that of the sultan. In his unique career, analyzed by Ebru Turan, The Sultan’s Favorite: İbrahim Pasha and the Making of Ottoman Universal Sovereignty in the Reign of Sultan Süleyman (1516-1526), unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Chicago, 2007, he made critical contributions to both the sedentarization of Ottoman imperial power and the redefinition of sultanic sovereignty under Süleyman I. Upon his enthronement in 1595, Mehmed III appointed his ailing tutor, Mekkeli Mehmed Efendi, government vizier, then, shortly afterwards, grand vizier. However, Mehmed Pasha died ten days later and thus did not have a real political career as a minister-favourite. Nonetheless, he represents another key example of the promotion of inner-service favourites to the grand vizierate. See Tezcan, “Searching for Osman,” pp. 163 and 184, for a brief discussion of Mekkeki (Lala) Mehmed Pasha in this context. 101 See Ian A. A. Thompson, “The Institutional Background to the Rise of the MinisterFavorite,” in: Elliott, Brockliss (eds.), The World of the Favourite, 13-25.

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To begin with, by the late 1590s, the office of chief gardener had become one of the most important positions at the Ottoman court as it gave its holder the opportunity to cultivate an intimate relationship with the sultan and thus to influence him. The chief gardener was responsible for the sultan’s safety and, in this capacity, accompanied him wherever he went outside the palace, riding alongside him in the royal barge and overland on horseback. As a result, he had ample opportunity to talk with the sultan in private. Moreover, he was typically charged with carrying out secret royal orders, such as apprehending, imprisoning or executing viziers or other high-ranking officials.102 In a similar vein, he occasionally functioned as the private messenger between the sultan and the grand vizier.103 In sum, by the turn of the seventeenth century, the chief gardener not only enjoyed an intimate relationship with the secluded Ottoman ruler but had become a new power-broker based in the palace. Thus, as most seventeenth-century observers of the Ottoman court pointed out, he created either fear or hope in other grandees as his mediating role with the sultan increased.104 Some chief gardeners during this period actually refused promotion so as not to lose their privileged positions at the court and their contact with the sultan. For instance, when Murad III died in 1595, his long-time chief gardener Arnavut (Albanian) Ferhad Agha carried the news to Prince Mehmed, who had been serving as governor of Manisa since 1583, and invited him to the throne.105 After his enthronement, Mehmed III wanted to reward Ferhad Agha with one of the most prestigious and lucrative offices in the empire, namely, the governorship of Egypt, but the agha declined this offer and instead asked the new sultan to keep him as chief gardener for life, to which request Mehmed III acquiesced.106 Over the next six years, Ferhad remained in office as an important client of Gazanfer Agha, with whom he managed court affairs while controlling access to the sultan. After serving as chief gardener for a total of fifteen years – arguably the longest term in this post in Ottoman history – he was finally dismissed by Mehmed III as a result of the 1601 sipahi rebellion.107 He gradually re-ascended the ladder of power, receiving the 102 İA, s.v. “Bostancı,” by İsmail H. Uzunçarşılı; and DİA, s.v. “Bostancı,” by Abdülkadir

Özcan.

103 See Abdülkadir Efendi, I, p. 407. 104 For instance, see Ottaviano Bon, Descrizione del Serraglio del Gransignore, in: Luigi Firpo (ed.),

Relazioni di ambasciatori veneti al senato, tratte dalle migliori edizioni disponibili e ordinate cronologicamente, vol. 13: Costantinopoli (1590-1793) (Torino: Bottega d’Erasmo, 1984), pp. 411 and 427; Corinne Thépaut-Cabasset (ed.), Le Sérail des empereurs turcs: Relation manuscrite du sieur de La Croix à la fin du règne du sultan Mehmed IV (Paris: Éditions du Comité des travaux historiques et scientifiques, 2007), pp. 77-81; Jean-Baptiste Tavernier, Nouvelle relation de l’intérieur du serrail du Grand Seigneur (Paris: Olivier de Varennes, 1675), pp. 30-32; and Yerasimos, Berthier (eds.), Albertus Bobovius, pp. 79-80. 105 Ferhad Agha was appointed chief gardener in June 1585. See TSMA, D. 34, fol. 97a. 106 Âlî, Künhü’l-Ahbâr/İÜK, fol. 463b. 107 The Venetian bailo’s dispatch, dated April 1, 1601, mentions the dismissal of the chief gardener in the context of the sipahi rebellion, but without giving a name. See Calendar

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governorship of Damascus, then, with the help of his fellow former chief gardener Derviş Pasha, even higher positions in the imperial administration, as we shall see. Personal character, merit, ambition, political experience and factional alliances were the qualities necessary for an intimate servant of the sultan to receive such unparalleled royal favour and then to wield the power that came with it. In Derviş Pasha’s case, it is commonly reported that Grand Vizier Yavuz Ali Pasha appointed him chief gardener to replace Bayram Agha, who had failed to execute the deputy grand vizier, Kasım Pasha, whom Ali Pasha suspected of working to undermine him.108 The Venetian bailo Contarini notes that Ali Pasha chose Derviş Agha because he was a fellow Bosnian.109 In general terms, there was nothing unusual in this choice since Derviş was already the second-highest-ranking gardener in the corps. Moreover, given the pattern of promotions by the end of sixteenth century and the ethno-regional solidarity among Ottoman grandees, it was natural for Ali Pasha to replace the dismissed chief gardener with his fellow Bosnian.110 The operative question, then, is not how Derviş Pasha became chief gardener but how he managed to keep this position while becoming a royal favourite during a politically unstable period in which frequent dismissals, resulting from factional struggles or simply from personal enmities, were the norm. His resilience is all the more remarkable when we consider that he soon lost his initial patron, Ali Pasha, who died in Belgrade a month later, in July 1604. The grand vizierate then passed to Lala Mehmed Pasha, an experienced vizier known for his successes during the Long War, whom Derviş reportedly disliked. The queen mother now emerges as the main force behind the solidification of Derviş Agha’s status. Contemporary sources reveal that Handan Sultan had also of State Papers - Venetian, vol. 9, p. 450; see also Tezcan, “Searching for Osman,” pp. 160 and 348, n. 178. Although Yıldız, “Osmanlı Devlet Teşkilâtında Bostancı Ocağı,” p. 273, identifies Ferhad as chief gardener, he fails to mention his dismissal in 1601 and errs on the date of his appointment as agha of the janissaries, which was not in 1602, as he claims, but on January 4, 1603, the day of the outbreak of the last sipahi rebellion under Mehmed III. The rebellious soldiers put Ferhad Agha in office after dismissing Gazanfer Agha’s brother-in-law, Ali Agha, who had been agha of the Janissaries since mid-1601. However, in April 1604, Ferhad Agha was dismissed and shortly after appointed governor of Damascus. See Mehmed bin Mehmed, Nuhbe, pp. 508 and 588; and Mehmed bin Mehmed, Tarîh, p. 82. 108 Peçevi/TSMK, fol. 292b; and Hasan Beyzade, III, p. 813. 109 ASVe, SDC, filza 59, fols. 163v-164r (dated June 5, 1604). Ottoman palace gardeners were often selected from among Bosnian devşirme recruits because of their height and physical strength. Özcan, “Bostancı,” DİA. 110 Until the turn of the seventeenth century, a chief gardener was typically promoted to the post of master of the stables, agha of the janissaries or head of the palace gate-keepers (kapucıbaşı). He might then serve in the provincial administration as a district governor (sancakbeyi) or governor-general (beylerbeyi), followed by a vizierate in the central government. See Yıldız, “Osmanlı Devlet Teşkilâtında Bostancı Ocağı,” pp. 302-327, for a discussion of the career patterns of chief gardeners with a chronology of appointments in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.

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encouraged her son to appoint Derviş Agha chief gardener while urging him to rely on Derviş’s guidance in the business of rule. Peçevi relates a story that he heard from Derviş’s younger brother, Civan Bey, who was a gardener in the palace at that time.111 According to Civan, whenever Handan Sultan, Ahmed I and Derviş Agha got together in the palace gardens, the queen mother “would get her son to swear, by her right as a mother and the milk of her breast, that he would not do anything contrary to [Derviş Agha’s] words and thoughts.”112 For a young and inexperienced sultan like Ahmed, such strong words were no doubt persuasive. Indeed, when contemporary Ottoman authors refer to Derviş Agha, they typically call him the sultan’s mukarreb (derived from the Arabic root q-r-b, “to be close to”) to emphasize his position as favourite. They likewise stress that his proximity to the sultan quickly reached such a degree that whatever he told Ahmed, it was always accepted, “even if the whole world thought the opposite.”113 Indeed, only six months after Derviş’s appointment, the Venetian bailo testifies to the fact he was “very tight with and always at the ear of the sultan” – thanks to his official duty of controlling the rudder of the royal barge whenever the young sultan rode in it.114 Overall, Handan Sultan’s role in Derviş’s rise and fall was quite decisive: it was during her lifetime that he firmly established himself as the sultan’s first royal favourite, and it was soon after her death in 1605 that he reached the apogee of his political power as a minister-favourite, but then suddenly fell from favour and was executed. It seems that Handan Sultan initially expected Derviş Agha to act as a personal guardian for the young sultan, whose actions and health alarmed his regents, particularly during the first months of his sultanate. The thirteen-year-old Ahmed was a highly energetic character who, as soon as he took the throne, began spending a great deal of time outside the palace, notably hunting or conducting incognito inspections, regardless of the weather. Handan Sultan quickly realized that her son could easily put himself in danger and thus needed to be closely watched, for there was no real alternative for the sultanate except Ahmed’s four-year-old brother, Prince Mustafa. In this respect, an incident reported by the Venetian bailo 111 Immediately after his elevation to the grand vizierate, Derviş Pasha rewarded his brother

with the governorship of Eğriboz, where Peçevi worked with him on a tax survey.

112 Peçevi/TSMK, fol. 300b: “Vâlide sultân hazretleri her zemân sa‘âdetlü pâdişâha anun sözine ve

re’yine muhâlefet itmemeğe vâlidelik hakkına ve şîr-i pistânına yemîn virür imiş.” Also quoted by Peirce, The Imperial Harem, p. 237, from Ta’rîh-i Peçevî, 2 vols. (Istanbul: Matbaa-i Amire, 1281-1283/1864-1866), vol. II, p. 316. Peirce cites this story to illustrate Handan Sultan’s role as regent, but she implies that these gatherings occurred during Derviş Pasha’s admiralty, that is, after January 1606. Since Handan Sultan died in November 1605, it is clear from Peçevi’s account that these gatherings took place when Derviş was still chief gardener. 113 Peçevi/TSMK, fol. 292b; and Mehmed bin Mehmed, Nuhbe, p. 647. 114 ASVe, SDC, filza 60, fol. 143r (dated November 14, 1604): “il Bostangì Bassì del Gran Signor […] così havendo l’orechia di Sua Mastà le disse che non doveva comportare che esse barche andassero di quel modo adornate a concorrenza delli Caichi della Maestà Sua.” See also ASVe, SDC, filza 60, fol. 254r (dated January 8, 1605).

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Contarini is highly revealing and helps us further contextualize the beginnings of the intimate relationship between Ahmed I and Derviş Agha. According to Contarini, in early March 1604, Ahmed spent a full day hunting in cold weather. Late in the day, the young sultan wanted to pursue more game on a nearby mountain, but his companions opposed him: On account of the distance and the late hour, and with the weather threatening to turn bad, [the sultan] was advised against this [idea] by his head horseman and chief falconer, who agreed that they should not keep him out at night to his great inconvenience and discomfort. They pointed out these difficulties. His Majesty did not respond with any words; rather he immediately turned his horse and returned to the Barge. Upon reaching the Palace, he immediately sent an order to the Grand Vizier [Ali Pasha] to replace the two aforementioned men with other servants, showing with this act the greatest change of heart, so that he displeased many, appearing through this to give some indication of not wanting so easily to accept the opinion or advice of another. He was all the more displeased since the words of these two [servants] were on the order of the Grand Vizier, who had given a command that was to have been made known to the sultan whenever he encountered some similar difficulty that could have a detrimental effect, such as going at night to a mountain with a great retinue where there was neither lodging nor provision of any kind and where there was no time to make preparations, with other circumstances that threatened inconvenience.115

By “detrimental effect,” Ali Pasha was surely alluding to the precarious situation of the dynasty. Had something happened to the young sultan during these hunts, such as serious injury or accidental death, not only the dynasty but the whole political order, which was already under considerable pressure because of the ongoing wars and rebellions, would have fallen into chaos. We can assume, in any case, that Handan Sultan was ultimately responsible for this order. A few weeks later, in late March 1604, when Ahmed and his brother Mustafa barely survived smallpox, ensuring the young sultan’s safety and well-being should have become all the more critical to dynastic continuity. Yet, as soon as Ahmed recovered, he resumed hunting as vigorously as ever. Handan Sultan now desperately needed a trustworthy, able and vigilant servant who could keep an eye on her son whenever he was out of her sight. As the sultan’s personal safety during his outings was among the responsibilities of the chief gardener, Derviş Agha was the perfect candidate for this duty. Accordingly, he began to accompany his teenaged master like a shadow, if not like an “outdoor regent.” The Venetian bailo observes that Ahmed and Derviş regularly made inspections together in the markets and streets 115 ASVe, SDC, filza 59, fols. 4r-5r (dated March 9, 1604). The bailo further notes that the

chief falconer in question was none other than the above-mentioned Halil Agha, the younger brother of Doğancı Mehmed Pasha, and that he quickly returned to favor, thanks to the intercession of his patrons, Yavuz Ali Pasha and Cıgalazade Sinan Pasha.

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of the capital, punished the wrongdoers whenever they found them, sailed together in the royal barge, and, above all, frequently left the capital to go hunting together.116 The queen mother’s above-mentioned insistence that her son always follow Derviş’s advice should also be considered in this context. These joint ventures provided the perfect opportunity for Derviş to both solidify his privileged position with the sultan and observe his young master’s personal character, tastes and inclinations. Yet, as Ahmed spent more and more time on hunting, travel and public appearances, Derviş reportedly became bored with his duties, complaining about how his master’s outdoor activities keep him away from more important “court business” that required his personal attention.117 Coincidentally enough, a series of events that took place in the final months of 1605 and in early 1606 offered Derviş the chance to not only extricate himself from his boring duties, but also to acquire more power and official authority to the detriment of other ruling grandees. In early November 1605, Handan Sultan passed away after a brief illness. Handan Sultan’s death, in a certain sense, freed Derviş from the guardian role she had assigned him. However, at the same time, it meant the removal of a protective shield from around Derviş, thus exposing him to more risks in intra-elite rivalries during the prevailing crisis. Moreover, control of the imperial harem and its network of clients now passed to El-Hac Mustafa Agha, who had been appointed chief harem eunuch just a few days before the queen mother’s death. Mustafa Agha, whom Derviş must have known for years, was no ordinary eunuch. He had served as a harem eunuch under Murad III and Mehmed III but was exiled to Egypt in 1011 (1602-3) for unspecified reasons. However, he was invited back to the palace upon Ahmed I’s enthronement, most likely by Handan Sultan, and given the official status of royal companion (musâhib), in which capacity he had been intimate with Ahmed I within the confines of the palace, just as Derviş had been the sultan’s close companion in outdoor settings.118 Under these circumstances, Derviş should immediately have proffered his allegiance to the new chief harem eunuch, for not only was Mustafa Agha now the sole authority over the inner sanctum of Topkapı Palace, where the royal family resided; he could also easily form his own court faction in the absence of the late queen mother. Indeed, in short time, Mustafa Agha would do exactly this and use his unequalled position to gradually become one of the prime movers of court politics, just as Gazanfer Agha had done under Mehmed III. For the moment, however, Derviş had the chance to manipulate Handan Sultan’s absence to his advantage. However, despite the fact that he had been in such high royal favour and that he had enjoyed regular access to Ahmed, he now had 116 For example, see ASVe, SDC, filza 60, fol. 224r (dated December 13, 1604); and filza 61,

fol. 19r (dated March 14, 1605).

117 ASVe, SDC, filza 60, fol. 254r (dated January 8, 1605). 118 See Tezcan, “Searching for Osman,” p. 168; and TSMA, D. 2025, fol. 8b. Mustafa Agha

was appointed chief eunuch of the imperial harem on November 5, 1605.

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to be very cautious in his pursuit of power among his rivals and enemies at the faction-ridden court – who were surely not few in number – but above all in his personal relationship with the energetic and quite hot-tempered fifteen-year-old sultan, who he could observe was moving quickly to establish his personal rule. Indeed, Handan Sultan’s death gave the young sultan an opportunity to pursue his ideal of becoming the active ruler of a prosperous and stable empire like his great grandfather Süleyman I, since he had thus far struggled to assert himself against his two co-regents’ combined influence, as well as their network of clients, to say nothing of his faction-riven grandees. Ahmed had the energy of an ambitious teenaged ruler, with Süleyman I as his model.119 However, in order to fully realize such a scheme, he first had to resolve the crisis that gripped his empire and the suffering of his subjects from the prolonged wars and rebellions. To tackle these problems, the young sultan had at his disposal Mustafa Efendi as his chief counsellor and now sole regent, as well as the mufti of the time, whose ideas Ahmed, as a devout Sunni Muslim, respected; whenever he needed personal advice, he could approach them. Meanwhile, his incumbent grand vizier Lala Mehmed Pasha, one of the active members of the Sokollu “dynasty,” had been very successful in the Hungarian theatre of war and was now concluding a much desired peace treaty with the Habsburgs. The only other major problems still troubling the sultan and his government were the incessant Celâli rebellions in Anatolia and the unsuccessful war against the Safavids under Shah Abbas I. Under these circumstances, Ahmed not only needed wise advisors, able ruling viziers and tireless field commanders, but also his own agents who could handle the business of rule in a faction-ridden court. It is in this context that Derviş’s unusual rise to the grand vizierate as Ahmed’s minister-favourite should be considered. Handan Sultan’s death made Derviş’s position precarious, as she could have acted as a shield for him or helped him remain in her son’s favour. Instead, Derviş had no option but to wait for an opportune time to approach Ahmed for a new position that could give him more solid authority. That time came sooner than he might have hoped. In early January 1606, a report arrived in the capital on the defeat of Cıgalazade Sinan Pasha by Shah Abbas near Lake Urmiye the previous November. The report, which we now know to have been flawed,120 claimed that the experienced field marshal had fled the battlefield, as a result of which the Safavids were able to lay siege to Shirvan and Gence. This meant that Shah Abbas was 119 For an enlightening discussion of Ahmed I’s emulation of Süleyman I, see Nebahat

Avcıoğlu, “Ahmed I and the Allegories of Tyranny in the Frontispiece of George Sandy’s Relation of a Journey,” Muqarnas 18 (2001), 203-226. 120 As William Griswold, The Great Anatolian Rebellion, 1591-1611 (Berlin: Klaus Schwarz, 1983), pp. 106-107, notes, there was a misunderstanding among the Ottoman soldiers as to Sinan Pasha’s whereabouts in the camp as he was preparing a counter-attack against the Safavids. Once the rumor started to circulate that their commander had fled, the Ottoman troops began a chaotic retreat which Sinan Pasha had no choice but to follow while allowing Shah Abbas to seize his camp. Compare Hasan Beyzade, III, p. 835.

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close to reclaiming all the territory lost to the Ottomans during the war of 1578-90. When Sinan Pasha arrived in Van, the base of Ottoman military operations in eastern Anatolia, he found his friend and political ally, Canbuladoğlu Hüseyin Pasha, the governor-general of Aleppo and now the most powerful commander in northern Syria, waiting for him with his sekban (mercenary) troops. Seeing his ally’s late arrival for the campaign, the defeated Sinan Pasha exploded in wrath and ordered Canbuladoğlu’s execution along with several of his commanders.121 Sinan Pasha’s rash action proved a grave mistake as it sparked a major rebellion in Syria, where the intricate balance of power among the Ottoman district governors and local tribal chieftains was central to the functioning of the region’s economy, as well as to Ottoman control of the region. Upon the return of Canbuladoğlu’s sekban soldiers to their home base in Aleppo, Ali Pasha, Hüseyin Pasha’s nephew and unofficial deputy, rose in revolt to protest his uncle’s execution. In a short time, Canbuladoğlu’s rebellion turned into a major challenge to the sultan and his government. He declared an independent kingdom in the region with a coalition of other prominent regional political leaders, such as the Druze emir Fakhr al-Din ibn Ma‘an.122 On the other hand, for Derviş, the defeat of Cıgalazade meant an opportunity to take action against him and perhaps acquire his office. After all, the grand admiral had been one of his most powerful rivals, if not his chief enemy, once associated with the Safiye-Gazanfer faction.123 Since the day Derviş became chief gardener and began to rise in Ahmed I’s esteem, he had been at odds with Sinan Pasha. Their rivalry manifested itself most visibly in political matters, such as the issue of commercial privileges granted to European trading nations. Traditionally, these privileges, popularly known as capitulations, had to be confirmed by every new sultan upon his accession to the throne. Thus, soon after Ahmed’s enthronement, the representatives of France, England and Venice requested that their privileges be renewed as soon as possible. Meanwhile, the Venetians, via their resident bailo, asked for additional protective commercial measures. Sinan Pasha favoured the Venetian cause, if not because of his Italian roots then because he benefited from the rich Ottoman-Venetian commerce in the Mediterranean. Derviş, on the 121 Mehmed bin Mehmed, Nuhbe, p. 647. See Griswold, The Great Anatolian Rebellion, pp. 99-

109, for the details of Shah Abbas’ victories over Sinan Pasha and its aftermath. For Canbuladoğlu Hüseyin Pasha, see Holt, Egypt and the Fertile Crescent, pp. 103-105. 122 See Holt, Egypt and the Fertile Crescent, pp.112-117; and Jane Hathaway, The Arab Lands under Ottoman Rule, 1516-1800 (Harlow, Essex: Pearson/Longman, 2008), pp. 70-72. 123 According to the Venetian bailo Contarini, during the first months of Ahmed’s reign, the government was divided between the factions of Grand Vizier Yavuz Ali Pasha and Grand Admiral Cıgalazade Sinan Pasha. Hence, in the spring of 1604, when Ahmed’s regents, Handan Sultan and Mustafa Efendi, ordered Ali Pasha to take command of the imperial army in Hungary, the grand vizier tried to have Cıgalazade assigned to a similar command before his own departure on campaign, lest Cıgalazade acquire the grand vizierate in his absence. Derviş most probably sided with Ali Pasha in his effort against Cıgalazade. See ASVe, SDC, filza 58, fol. 400v (dated February 20, 1604).

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other hand, was notoriously anti-Venetian, instead favouring the English, as did the royal tutor, Mustafa Efendi. In the end, despite Derviş’s counter-actions, the Venetians had their capitulations renewed in November 1604, while receiving an imperial decree (nişân-ı hümâyûn) granting the extra protective measures.124 While Derviş was angling for Sinan Pasha’s lucrative office, Ahmed was indecisive in the face of the worsening political-military situation on the eastern front and in northern Syria. Although the young sultan was enraged at his field marshal’s failures against Shah Abbas, which meant nothing but humiliation before his chief Muslim rival, he was not sure whether it would be the right decision to dismiss Sinan Pasha, who was, after all, a very powerful vizier, a highly respected Ottoman grandee and a seasoned field commander whom he had even considered making grand vizier at the time of his enthronement.125 Since Ahmed did not have a princely household prior to his succession, he and his regents during this early period had to rely on such experienced viziers, especially when it came to filling high offices when the empire was at war. At the same time, Abbas I’s victory at Lake Urmiye elicited a desire for revenge in Ahmed and refuelled his eagerness to go to war. The previous year, his campaign against the Celâlis near Bursa had been an annoying fiasco and damaged his attempts to cultivate the image of a warrior sultan similar to that of his illustrious ancestors, notably Selim I and Süleyman I, who had been ever-victorious against 124 ASVe, SDC, filza 60, fol. 143r (dated November 14, 1604): “il Bostangì Bassì del Gran Signor

huomo di natura perfida et mal affetto di questa casa [i.e., Venice];” and Orhan Burian (ed.), The Report of Lello, Third English Ambassador to the Sublime Porte (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1952), pp. 24-27 [hereafter The Report of Lello]. For the details of the Venetian Capitulation of 1604, see H. Peter Alexander Theunissen, Ottoman-Venetian Diplomatics: The ‘Ahd-names. The Historical Background and the Development of a Category of Political-Commercial Instruments together with an Annotated Edition of a Corpus of Relevant Documents, unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Utrecht University, 1991. 125 Tezcan, “Searching for Osman,” pp. 180-181. Born in Messina around 1545, Sinan Pasha came from an aristocratic Genoese family, the Cicala, which had been in the service of various Italian states. He was reportedly captured by the Ottomans together with his father, a corsair in the service of Spain, at the battle of Djerba, off the coast of Tunisia, in 1560. He was then sold and trained in the palace school. After his graduation, he began his ascend in the Ottoman administration and became a vizier under Murad III. He served as grand admiral between 1591 and 1595. In 1596, in the aftermath of the battle of Mezőkerezstes, he managed to replace the aforementioned Damad İbrahim Pasha as grand vizier by exaggerating his role in the decisive assault on the Habsburgs. However, he had served for only forty days when İbrahim Pasha was reinstated upon Safiye Sultan’s intervention. Sinan Pasha was appointed governor-general of Damascus but returned to Istanbul in 1599 and reassumed the post of grand admiral, thanks to his renewed allegiance to the Safiye-Gazanfer faction. He successfully carried out his duties until he was appointed field marshal for the eastern front. See Mehmed bin Mehmed, Tarîh, pp. 30-31; and EI2, s.v. “Čighāla-zāde Yūsuf Sinān Pasha,” by Vernon J. Parry. For a detailed examination of Sinan Pasha's rise to power and grand admiralties, see Evrim Türkçelik, Un noble italiano en la corte otomana: Cigalazade y el Mediterráneo, 1591-1606 (Madrid: Albatros, 2019).

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their enemies, including the Safavids. Ahmed now had an opportunity to repair his recently damaged image and become a real gâzî sultan at last. He began to advertise the idea of campaigning in person by referring to an old Near Eastern/ Ottoman political maxim, “Şâha şâh gerek” (“Kings must face kings [in battle]”). However, he needed help to decide on all these important political matters before he could take action. Hence, he asked his tutor’s advice on the best course of action vis-à-vis all these troubling military problems, as well as his renewed intention to go to war. Seeing that the energetic sultan was again aspiring to take the field, which would mean great risks to his questionable health and thus to political stability, Mustafa Efendi told Ahmed that a grand vizier of Lala Mehmed Pasha’s experience, calibre and prestige would suffice to face the Safavid ruler and reclaim the lost territories, while at the same time taking revenge on the shah on his behalf. Thus, he advised the sultan to recall his successful grand vizier from the Hungarian theatre and ask him to take the command of the eastern front from Sinan Pasha. If Mehmed Pasha refused to return, then he should agree to serve as the second highest-ranking government vizier, commanding the imperial army in Hungary, and send back the seal of his office so that the sultan could give it to the vizier who would assume the eastern command. Ahmed half-heartedly acquiesced to his regent’s ideas and ordered an imperial decree along these lines to be rushed to Lala Mehmed Pasha, who was wintering in Belgrade after conquering Vác, Pest and Esztergom, crowning Stephan Bosckay of Transylvania king of the principalities of Transylvania and Hungary on Ahmed’s behalf, and negotiating a peace settlement with the Habsburgs to end the Long War. Yet, the campaign-weary grand vizier had been impatiently waiting to return to the capital. That is why, according to Hasan Beyzade, as soon as he received the sultan’s letter, he appointed Kuyucu Murad Pasha his deputy and “flew to the capital.”126 All these developments should have meant one thing to Derviş: he had to act quickly. For one thing, Sinan Pasha had not been removed from office or punished by the sultan. More importantly, Lala Mehmed Pasha now posed a serious threat to his standing. Derviş could anticipate that the grand vizier would immediately return to Istanbul, and that once he had resumed his seat in the imperial council, he would use his political capital to prevent a new campaign and instead reconfigure the power balances at court to his advantage. He had attempted the same thing a year earlier, when Ahmed recalled him from Belgrade after his unsuccessful siege of Esztergom to discuss strategy for a new Hungarian campaign. At that time, Lala Mehmed Pasha had claimed that his presence in the imperial council would facilitate coordination of the campaigns on three fronts, but he could not convince Ahmed, who ordered him to return to Hungary and take Esztergom as soon as

126 Hasan Beyzade, III, pp. 835-836 and 872-873; and Mehmed bin Mehmed, Nuhbe, p. 647.

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possible.127 Now, Lala Mehmed Pasha was returning to the capital with his mission accomplished and with much greater political capital. Under these circumstances, it is not hard to imagine that Derviş felt threatened by Mehmed Pasha’s increasingly privileged status in the eyes of the sultan and his tutor. The Venetian bailo Bon would later testify that the news of Mehmed Pasha’s conquests in Hungary had indeed much impressed the young sultan.128 On the other hand, Mehmed Pasha must have perceived Derviş as a potential threat to his standing, since he had enough political experience to realize that the royal favourites had recently become important power-brokers at court and that they were empowered by their masters to act against ruling viziers like him. He had witnessed how Cıgalazade Sinan Pasha had been appointed grand vizier and deposed in only forty days in the wake of the battle of Mezőkerezstes as a result of the intervention of Gazanfer Agha and Safiye Sultan.129 In any event, Derviş had the upper hand, that is, he had something neither Lala Mehmed Pasha nor Cıgalazade Sinan Pasha had: the ear of the sultan. Thus, he lost no time in persuading his young master to appoint him grand admiral instead of Sinan Pasha and even conferred upon himself the rank of vizier at the same time. Now, Derviş was a true pasha and he was equipped to defend himself against any rival at court. For his part, Ahmed must have recognized a certain merit or potential in Derviş. In contemporary Ottoman depictions, Derviş appears as an arrogant and powerhungry man with a harsh personality who liked to act alone. As his star rose, he reportedly became increasingly oppressive and intolerant, ruining several people’s careers and even their lives.130 However, as the English ambassador Lello testifies, he was equally a hard-working man, meticulous in his planning and careful in dealing with political problems.131 In a certain sense, Derviş acted as the young sultan’s alterego. Hence, Derviş Agha’s appointment as grand admiral in January 1606 marks not only the beginning of his rise to the status of minister-favourite but also Ahmed’s ultimate attempt to establish his personal rule free of his regents’ guidance. A few cases suffice to illustrate how Derviş operated at the faction-ridden court and why he faced execution in the end. First of all, thanks to his ready access to the sultan and the sultan’s trust in him, he was able to undermine many high-ranking viziers and other grandees whom he deemed threats to his survival. His first act as grand admiral was to send his rivals to war or have them appointed to distant prov-

127 Safi, Zübde, II, p. 9; Abdülkadir Efendi, I, p. 423; and Mehmed bin Mehmed, Nuhbe,

pp. 631-632.

128 ASVe, SDC, filza 63, fol. 53r. (dated April 13, 1606). 129 See above, footnote no. 123. 130 For a typical short contemporary Ottoman biography of Derviş Pasha, see Mehmed bin

Mehmed, Tarîh, p. 37.

131 The Report of Lello, pp. 24-27.

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inces. Not surprisingly, the returning grand vizier and his loyal men were the first victims on Derviş’s list. Once Lala Mehmed Pasha had arrived in Istanbul from Belgrade in mid-March 1606, receiving a hero’s welcome, he delayed departing for the eastern front, just as Derviş Pasha had anticipated.132 Like most successful grand viziers before him, Mehmed Pasha now faced what I call “the dilemma of the Ottoman grand vizier.” If he immediately left the capital for war, as commanded by the young sultan, then his powerful rivals, such as Derviş Pasha, could easily undermine him in his absence. If, on the other hand, he stayed in the capital, even if he managed to reconfigure the power balances within the imperial council to his advantage, he would still face the same type of rivalry from the alternative foci of power entrenched in the court. For example, his vizierial telhîses to the sultan could easily be intercepted by Derviş or by the favourite’s agents. At the same time, staying in Istanbul would mean getting involved in the vicious power struggles among the court factions, similar to the experiences of Özdemiroğlu Osman Pasha in 1584. Mehmed Pasha had never truly taken part in these struggles because he had spent the previous ten years fighting the Habsburgs in Hungary.133 Yet, unlike Osman Pasha, he did not enjoy the patronage of a royal favourite like Doğancı Mehmed Pasha, on whose extraordinary powers and intimate relationship with the sultan he could rely during his absence. The only rational move Lala Mehmed Pasha could thus make in his precarious situation was to gain the support of the members of the existing imperial council, of which Derviş was not a full member, as well as that of the chief mufti, Sunullah Efendi, whose alternative network of clients, especially among the imperial cavalry soldiers, was equally crucial for a vizier’s survival at the time.134 Hence, the day after his arrival, Mehmed Pasha convened an advisory council (meşveret meclisi) to discuss the situation on all three battlefronts, that is, the wars against the Habsburgs in the west, the Safavids in the east and the Celâli rebels in Anatolia, while at the same time seeking approval for his stay in the capital. He 132 See Abdülkadir Efendi, I, p. 455; and ASVe, SDC, filza 63, fol. 33r (dated March 29,

1606). Mehmed Pasha arrived in Istanbul on March 16.

133 Lala Mehmed Pasha had assisted at the capture of Eger (1596); commanded the right

wing of the army (the Rumeli troops) at the battle of Mezőkeresztes (1596); served in the army of the grand vizier İbrahim Pasha against Érsekújvár (1599); fought at Nagykanizsa (1600); participated in the thirty-four-day siege and capture of Székesfehévár (1602); and successfully fought against the army of Archduke Matthias near Buda (1603). He also organized the defence of Buda and the bridges at Eszék in 1603 but received a serious blow at the battle of Csepel Szigeth (Kovun Adası) the same year. For further details on Mehmed Pasha’s life and career, see EI2, s.v. “Mehmed Pasha, Lala,” by Alexander H. de Groot; DİA, s.v. “Lala Mehmed Paşa,” by Mahmut Ak; and İA, s.v. “Mehmed Paşa, Lala,” by Şehabettin Tekindağ. 134 On the power and client networks of Sunullah Efendi, see Börekçi, “Factions and Favorites,” pp. 38-41, 50-52, 54-58 and passim. For his political career, see Mehmet İpşirli, “Şeyhülislâm Sun‘ullah Efendi,” İ.Ü. Tarih Enstitüsü Dergisi 13 (1983-1987), 209-256.

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opened the session by raising the question of whether it was more important for him to take personal command of the eastern front or to stay in the capital and coordinate the wars. The members of the council, which was composed of ruling viziers, treasurers, chief judges and the mufti, unanimously agreed that Mehmed Pasha’s presence was required at the court in light of the gravity of the challenges. The grand vizier then raised the issue of defeats and other military problems in the eastern front. The council favoured replacing Cıgalazade Sinan Pasha with Nasuh Pasha, then serving in Anatolia, as the commander-in-chief of the armies fighting the Celâlis in Anatolia and the Safavids in the East. Nasuh Pasha not only had a large sekban army; he was also the son-in-law of Mîr Şeref Bey, the chief of the most prominent Kurdish tribe in eastern Anatolia.135 Thus, he would be more effective than any other ruling vizier in regaining the support of the Kurdish leaders in the region, and accordingly suppressing the two increasingly dangerous rebellions, namely, that of Canbuladoğlu Ali Pasha in Syria and that of the Celâli leader Tavil Halil, who was reported to have been in communication with Shah Abbas. Turning to the western front and the Long War, the council decided that Lala Mehmed Pasha’s current deputy in Hungary, Kuyucu Murad Pasha, should remain in place and continue the peace negotiations. The grand vizier would coordinate all these government efforts from Istanbul, just as he had planned. Once a telhîs along these lines was prepared, Lala Mehmed Pasha submitted it to Ahmed and got his approval.136 Before Lala Mehmed could relax, however, Derviş communicated privately with the sultan, casting aspersions on the grand vizier’s telhîs and convincing Ahmed that he was avoiding the war. As a result, the sultan revoked his approval of Mehmed Pasha’s strategy and ordered him to leave immediately for the eastern front, threatening him with dismissal if he failed to obey. He refused to receive Mehmed Pasha to discuss his change of heart, and Mehmed Pasha was obliged to prepare for campaign. A few days later, however, he petitioned the sultan to reassign him to the Hungarian theatre so that he could wrap up his earlier efforts to conclude the Long War. The sultan refused, this time threatening him with execution.137 Meanwhile, Derviş Pasha lost no time reconfiguring important administrative positions to his advantage while continuing to undermine the grand vizier. For instance, Mehmed Pasha had wanted to reward the agha of the Janissaries, Tırnakçıkardeşi Hüseyin Agha, with the governor-generalship of Rumeli for his services during the re-conquest of Esztergom, but Derviş had him appointed to Damascus and made his own client, Maryol Hüseyin, the new agha of the Janissaries. Similarly, 135 According to Tezcan, “Searching for Osman,” p. 387, n. 179, Nasuh Pasha was control-

ling an army of 7,000 men at around this time.

136 Hasan Beyzade, III, p. 836; and ASVe, SDC, filza 63, fols. 13r-v (dated March 14, 1606). 137 Ibid., pp. 838-840; Târih-i Na‘îmâ, I, p. 312; and Peçevi/TSMK, fol. 302. For Lala Mehm-

ed Pasha’s telhîs communications with Ahmed and the problems he experienced in seeing him in person during his grand vizierate, see Orhonlu, Osmanlı Tarihine Âid Belgeler, pp. 94-118.

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when Nasuh Pasha, the field commander against the Celâlis in Anatolia, arrived in the capital and, on the recommendation of Mehmed Pasha’s telhîs, was to receive the rank of third vizier in the imperial council, Derviş managed to send him to Baghdad as governor-general. The grand admiral had a role in several other appointments in the spring of 1606. Typically, he either petitioned the sultan to favour his own clients or saw him in private to discuss the distribution of offices.138 As for Lala Mehmed Pasha, he never had the chance to leave the capital. Derviş reportedly managed to poison him, which might well have been the case, considering the fact that it did not take long for Derviş to assume the grand vizierate. Immediately after the funeral of Lala Mehmed Pasha, on May 24, 1606, Ahmed sent the seal of the office to his favourite.139 Now Derviş could pursue his rivals even more recklessly, while rewarding his allies more easily. He bombarded the sultan with a series of telhîses on appointments, and Ahmed accepted them all. This way, for instance, Derviş got one of his clients, Frenk Cafer Pasha, the governor-general of Cyprus, appointed grand admiral in his place. In the meantime, Derviş Pasha made and unmade several important highranking ulema, once again according to whom he deemed a potential threat or a useful ally. He forged a critical alliance with the powerful Hocazades, the ulema “dynasty” of Hoca Sadeddin Efendi (d. 1599), the imperial tutor under Murad III and Mehmed III.140 In early June 1606, Derviş petitioned Ahmed to replace the two chief military-judges of the imperial council, Yahya Efendi and Kemal Efendi, with two Hocazade brothers, Esad Efendi and Abdülaziz Efendi, the second and third eldest sons of Sadeddin Efendi. In the same way, the mufti, Sunullah Efendi, who was one of the most powerful political actors of the early seventeenth century, was dismissed on July 27, 1606, and replaced with Ebülmeyamin Mustafa Efendi, the former mufti at the time of Ahmed’s enthronement.141 Not surprisingly, Ebülmeyamin Efendi was also connected to the Hocazades. He was a former protégé of Sadeddin Efendi, under whose protection he had bypassed the normal career track through multiple positions in the provincial judiciary.142 The sons of Sadeddin Efendi came to dominate the top ranks of the ulema hierarchy while becoming important actors in factional politics from the middle of Ahmed’s reign onwards and Derviş Pasha was instrumental in their rise to prominence. 138 See, for instance, Mehmed bin Mehmed, Nuhbe, p. 647-648; Abdülkadir Efendi, I, p. 448;

and OA, Ali Emiri, I. Ahmed, no. 46, 58, 59.

139 Mehmed bin Mehmed, Nuhbe, p. 649. 140 Hoca Sadeddin Efendi (b. 1536/7) fathered at least five sons, all of whom received their

teaching licences (mülâzemet) from their father in a relatively short time, probably without following the usual path of madrasa education. He then created a very powerful web of alliances by marrying his sons to women from other prominent ulema families of the sixteenth century. For further details, see Tezcan, “Searching for Osman,” pp. 117-118; and idem, “The Ottoman Mevali as ‘Lords of Law’,” Journal of Islamic Studies 20/3 (2009), 383-407. 141 Mehmed bin Mehmed, Nuhbe, p. 651. 142 Tezcan, “Searching for Osman,” p. 161.

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In a short time, Derviş had completed his reconfiguration of the power balances among the Ottoman ruling elite, and could focus on solving the problems troubling Ahmed and his empire. For instance, he quickly eliminated the troublemakers in the capital and punished many others for wrongdoing, such as counterfeiters. He also continued the peace negotiations with the Habsburgs via Kuyucu Murad Pasha, and the text of the Treaty of Zsitvatorok was finalized during his tenure of office.143 Besides, he worked particularly hard to coordinate the attacks on the Celâlis, whom he identified as the most urgent problem to be handled. He sent a large army into Anatolia under the command of his old friend Ferhad Pasha, on whom the sultan bestowed the rank of vizier, required for field marshals.144 In the meantime, Sunullah Efendi was reinstated as mufti upon the death of Ebülmeyamin Efendi. Ahmed took this decision because he superstitiously believed that the dismissed Sunullah had wished ill for Ebülmeyamin Efendi, who died of illness less than three months after taking office. According to Hasan Beyzade, Ahmed was so terrified of such bad omens that he decided to make Sunullah Efendi mufti again so that if he had wished similarly bad things for him, they would go away.145 Ironically, Sunullah Efendi’s return to office would prove critical in the fall of Derviş, now his arch-enemy, who was at the zenith of his power. For the powerful minister-favourite, raising money to fund these costly campaigns became his most challenging task. It was impossible to squeeze the various regions of the empire to produce additional revenue. The Anatolian economy had been suffering from the Celâli devastation for many years, while the western provinces were under economic duress due to the Long War. Moreover, as Griswold aptly notes, “the Syrian revolt of Canbuladoğlu Ali denied millions in gold to the central treasury.”146 Meanwhile, the young sultan was using his personal treasury to make huge investments in the Muslim pilgrimage sites of Mecca and Medina so as to project an image of piety similar to that of his great-grandfather, Süleyman I.147 Hence, Derviş Pasha decided to use one of the very last resources at his disposal: he would tax the wealthy residents of the capital. This decision ultimately prepared his end, just as the monetary crisis of the mid-1580s had doomed Doğancı Mehmed Pasha. When Derviş imposed a 1,000-akçe annual balcony tax on every house in Istanbul, he alienated a large sector of the capital’s rich popula-

143 See Gustav Bayerle, “The Compromise at Zsitvatorok,” Archivum Ottomanicum 6 (1980),

5-53.

144 See Orhonlu, Osmanlı Tarihine Âid Belgeler, pp. 118-126, for Derviş Pasha’s telhîses to

Ahmed on various policy matters and on domestic and international affairs, and the actions he took to handle them. 145 Hasan Beyzade, III, p. 853. 146 Griswold, The Great Anatolian Rebellion, p. 160. 147 See, for instance, the registers, TSMA, D. 1170, D. 1171 and D. 1191, which record Ahmed’s donations and traditional annual sultanic gifts (surre) to these cities during this period.

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tion, including several prominent ulema and vizierial households.148 In a short time, the sultan started to hear more and more complaints about his favourite-minister’s unceasing tax inspections, confiscations, excessive demands, involvement in bribery, and even execution of those merchants who failed to pay him. In addition, the sultan was informed about the recent failures of Ferhad Pasha, whom seemed not to be the superb commander Derviş had described.149 Derviş was apparently so preoccupied with procuring money for wars in unconventional ways that he failed to keep such problems from reaching his master’s ears. At one point, Ahmed summoned his tutor, Mustafa Efendi, and the latter’s political ally, the mufti Sunullah Efendi, to discuss these accumulating complaints about his favourite-minister and the unsuccessful campaigns against the Celâlis. For Sunullah, this was the moment to take his revenge on Derviş. Both advisors recommended that the sultan “get rid of” his grand vizier and appoint Kuyucu Murad Pasha, for he was both a very experienced vizier and a seasoned, tireless commander. However, so as not to rouse suspicion among Derviş and his dependants, which could easily result in a violent rebellion like the Governor-General Incident of 1589, both men advised the sultan to wait a few days before taking action. Apparently, Sunullah Efendi also gave a fetvâ for Derviş’s execution on the grounds that he had oppressed many people and ruined many innocent lives. As recommended, a few days later, Ahmed called Derviş to a private audience and then ordered his favourite-minister to be decapitated before him. The execution of Derviş Pasha naturally caused much joy and relief among the alienated ruling grandees and the oppressed people of Istanbul, while at the same time garnering respect for the young sultan for being such a strong-willed ruler. In contrast to his father, Mehmed III, whose sultanate was remembered in negative terms because of the tumultuous events that had resulted from Gazanfer Agha’s and Safiye Sultan’s overwhelming control over the sultan, Ahmed was now credited with removing his minister-favourite from the arena of politics before Derviş’s unchecked powers could trigger a catastrophe on the order of the military rebellions that had broken out repeatedly under Mehmed III. Like his father and grandfather, Ahmed had learned a lesson about the possible repercussions of giving near-absolute power to one favourite. Nonetheless, given that the early seventeenth-century Ottoman sultan was only one contender for power among all the members of his factionalized court, Ahmed had no option but to continue relying on his intimate servants so as to successfully impose his sovereign will on the business of rule. Moreover, his youth and personal aspirations forced him to surround himself with other types of powerful favourites. In this respect, the aforementioned El-Hac Mustafa Agha became the keystone of Ahmed’s post-1607 sultanate in the sense that he functioned as the young sultan’s 148 Târih-i Na‘îmâ, I, p. 319. 149 For Ferhad Pasha’s Celâli campaign, see Griswold, The Great Anatolian Rebellion, pp. 162-168.

Ferhad Pasha was executed by Ahmed after he failed in his command position.

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chief advisor, as his religious alter-ego and as his chief patronage broker.150 Still, Ahmed’s experience with Derviş appears to have helped him redesign his strategy of ruling by favourite ministers, particularly in the sense that he would now keep his government viziers under control and not let them alienate the entire population of the imperial capital, regardless of how important they were to his authority. To briefly conclude, in conventional Ottoman historiography, the emergence of the favourite in the early modern Ottoman political order has typically been interpreted as a symptom of the waning power of the sultan and the grand vizier, and thus a key manifestation of Ottoman decline. According to this view, the interference of the sultan’s favourites in the business of rule disrupted the balance of power among the government officials as institutionalized under Süleyman I. One of the objectives of this article was to demonstrate that the royal favourites were actually a direct consequence of the very transformations in Ottoman ruling institutions that took place during Süleyman’s long reign, and that they, together with their extensive networks of clients, remained indispensable agents of power for the sultans during a critical period of crisis and change in early modern Ottoman history.

150 On El-Hac Mustafa Agha and his centrality to Ahmed I’s sultanate in the post-1607

period, see Börekçi, “Factions and Favorites,” pp. 242-249. Also see Elma Korić, “Power Broker at the Ottoman Palace in Istanbul: Darüssaade Ağası Hacı Mustafa Ağa,” in: Feridun Emecen, Ali Akyıldız, Emrah Safa Gürkan (eds.), V. Uluslararası Osmanlı İstanbulu Sempoz yumu Bildirileri (27-29 Mayıs 2017) (Istanbul: İstanbul Büyükşehir Belediyesi Yayınları, 2018), pp. 811-834 and Jane Hathaway, Chief Eunuch of the Ottoman Harem: From African Slave to Power-Broker (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2018), esp. pp. 77-97.

Olga Katsiardi-Hering

Friendship, Communal and Official Links in the Social-Information Networks among the SouthEastern Merchants and Intellectuals (18th –19th Centuries)*

A

ccording to a tradition recorded by the chronicler Giuseppe Mainati,1 ship captains from Messolongi who visited the annual free fair in Senigallia,2 north of Ancona, in 1742 bought cheap iron objects that had arrived there via the new free port (since 1719) of Trieste. They spread the word fast when they returned to their homeland; and it was not long afterwards that Greeks from Messolongi, Kefalonia, Zakynthos and the Peloponnese began to settle in the Habsburg port in the Northern Adriatic. In 1720, a ‘Σοσιετά των Γραικών’ (Society of Greeks)3 had been set up in the Habsburg lands to provide Greeks with information on settling in Fiume and Trieste. The declaration of their status as free ports by Emperor Karl VI after the Treaty of Passarowitz (1718) ensured them both free trade and freedom of religion. The first case is an example of people from the same place spreading their experience by word of mouth, while the second is the first attempt at an organized campaign to raise awareness using printed media. However, both of them are early modes of multi-level social communication and information which would subsequently prove highly successful as the foundation of social and commercial networks which engaged numerous groups of people from the Balkans in migration within South-Eastern Europe and chiefly within the Habsburg lands. Everything that followed would constitute an attempt at forming and shaping the various social networks that developed in these countries in the 18th and 19th centuries and would lead to the forming of compagnie and

* I would like to thank the Special Account for Research Grants of the National and Kap-

odistrian University of Athens for supporting this research

1 Giuseppe Mainati. Croniche ossia Memorie Storiche Sacroprofane di Trieste. Comminciando dall’XI.

sec. sino à nostri giorni (Venice 1816-1818, vols. 1-6), vol. 2, 241-242.

2 Olga Katsiardi-Hering. Lismonimenoi horizontes Ellinon emporon; to emporiko panig yri sti Seni-

gallia (18ou-arhes19ou ai.) (Athens: Vivliopoleio Dionysiou Noti Karavia, 1989).

3 Zacharias Tsirpanlis. “I ‘Sosieta ton Grekon; stin aytokratoria ton Apsvourgon.”

Dodoni 3 (1974), 153-170; s. also Ikaros Mantouvalos. “I antilipsi toy syllogikou eaytou ston kosmo ton paroikon. Zitima lexeon;”, in: Olga Katsiardi-Hering – Anastasia Papadia-Lala – Katerina Nikolaou – Vanghelis Karamanolakis (eds.), Hellene, Romios, Greek: Syllogikoi prosdiorismoi kai taytotites (Athens: Eurasia edition, 2018), 397-416.

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communities4 in a nexus of multiple migratory movements by groups of different geographical, geo-economic, social and ethnic provenance. The thoughts that follow are based on a first attempt of analysis of subjects, familiar from the secondary literature, and it is not my purpose to offer a detailed, elaboration of the rich material. Focusing on some maps5 one can easily understand the space where these social networks came into being, the routes used by the immigrants of the 18th century in their journey from South-Eastern to Central Europe. They also show their places of provenance and the transit centres where they stopped for a while or set up commercial agencies and companies. All this is well known from the literature,6 but the focus of this chapter will be firmly on the networks. The network theory is well established, but still developing new questions thrown up by globalisation. A network is defined as a particular type of relationship which connects a group of people associated through trade, communication or kinship. Commercial networks lead to the creation of an institutional framework which moderates entrepreneurial risk and ensures the smooth flow of information. In the field of economic history, the development of theories on economic networks has boosted interest in the role of the family, familial relationships and friendship,7 where research

4 Olga Katsiardi-Hering. “Adelfotita, Compagnia, Koinotita. Gia mia typologia ton

ellinikon koinotiton tis kentrikis Evropis, me aformi to agnosto Katastatiko tou Miskolc (1801).” Eoa and Esperia 7 (2007), 247-210; Idem. “Greek Μerchant Colonies in Central and South-Eastern Europe in the Eighteenth and Εarly Nineteenth Century.” in: Victor N. Zakharov, Gelina Harlaftis, Olga Katsiardi-Hering (eds), Merchant Colonies in the Early Modern Period (London, Vermont: Pickering & Chatto, 2012), 127-140. 5 http://xeee.web.auth.gr/HCS/HCS_Conf_el/12_diaspora_en.pps (accessed: 12.4.2019). I would like to thank Prof. Evangelos Livieratos and especially the cartographer Dr. Aggeliki Tsorlini/ Aristoteleian University of Thessaloniki, who drew these maps for the Cartographic conference held in Kozani, 19.10.2013, on the occasion of the exhibition “On the above cited map: Westmacedonians and Kozaniots to Central Europe – Hungary”: Dr. Tsorlini used the map elaborated by Ödön Füves. Οι Έλληνες της Ουγγαρίας (Thessaloniki: Institute for Balkan Studies, 1965) and the article by Ikaros Mantouvalos, “Metanasteftikes diadromes apo ton horo tis Makedonias stin ouggriki endohora (17os aionas-arhes 19ou aiona).” in: Ioannis Koliopoulos, Iakovos Mihailidis (eds). Oi Makedones sti diaspora, 17os, 18os kai 19οs aionas (Thessaloniki: Society for Macedonian Studies, 2011), 178–235; see also the map on: Katsiardi-Hering. “Greek Merchant Colonies”, 129, Fig. 7.1: Danube: a bridge of people and articles. 6 Mantouvalos. ibid., offers the richest and most recent literature on the subject. On the Greek and South-Eastern diaspora see the database http://diaspora.arch.uoa.gr/main/ index.php?lang=en (accessed: 12.4.2019). 7 From the rich literature: Mary Rose. “The Family Firm in British Business, 1780-1914.” in: Maurice Kirby – Mary Rose (eds.), Business Enterprise in Modern Britain. From Eighteenth to the Twentieth Century (London – New York: Routledge, 1994), 61-87; Richard Grassby. Kinship and Capitalism. Marriage, Family and Business in the English-Speaking World, 1580-1740 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001); Laurence Fontaine. “The Organisation and Evolution of Traders’ and Pedlars’ Networks in Europe.” in: Margrit Schulte-Beerbühl – Jörg Vögele (eds.), Spinning the Commercial Web. International Trade, Merchants and Commercial Cities, c. 1640-1939 (Frankfurt a. M.: Peter Lang, 2004), 113-127.

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has examined trust between family members and ‘belonging’ (Us and Them);8 the relationship between the family, business and the community;9 the tactics underpinning bequests/wills10 and their effect on family businesses and the trade sector; the active role played by women; and patriarchal tactics. I won’t be dwelling exactly on commercial networks,11 as these are well discussed in many recent works, as well as on South-Eastern European and the Mediterranean trade;12 rather, this chapter will 8 Luuk Kooijmans. “Risk and Reputation. On the Mentality of Merchants in the Early

Modern Period.” in: Clé Lesger – Leo Noordegraaf (eds.), Entrepreneurs and Entrepreneurship in Early-Modern Times. Merchants and Industrialists within the Orbit of the Dutch Staple Market (Den Haag: Hollandse Historische Reeks, 1995), 26. 9 Marguerite Dupree. “Firm, Family and Community: Managerial and Household Strategies in the Staffordshire Potteries in the Mid-Nineteenth Century.” in: Kristine Bruland – Patrick O’Obrien (eds.), From Family Firms to Corporate Capitalism. Essays in Business and Industrial History in Honour of Peter Mathias (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998), 51-83; Mark Häberlein – Christof Jeggle (eds.), Praktiken des Handels: Geschäfte und soziale Beziehungen europäischer Kaufleute in Mittelalter und früher Neuzeit (Konstanz: UVK Verlagsgesellschaft mbH, 2010), particularly the chapters “Verwandschaftsbeziehungen und soziale Netzwerke”, p. 309-450, and “Informationen und mediale Wandlungsprozesse”, p. 227-307. 10 Alastair Owens. “Property, Gender and the Life Course: Inheritance and Family Welfare Provision in Early-Nineteenth-Century England.” Social History 26:3, (2001), 299317; Idem. “Inheritance and the Life-Cycle of Family Firms in the Early Industrial Revolution.” Business History 44:1 (2002), 21-46; Ikaros Mantouvalos, “Ellines diathetes kai praktikes klirodosias stin Tergesti. Mia proti proseggisi se sxesi me tin periptosi tis Viennis kai tis Pestis (19οs aionas).” Mnimon 30 (2009), 107-140. 11 Recent literature on network-analysis is very rich: Robin Pearson – David Richardson. “Business Networking in the Industrial Revolution.” Economic Historical Review 54:1 (2001), 657679; S. Ramada Curto – Antony Molho (eds.), Commercial Networks in the Early Modern World (San Domenico (FI): European University Florence, 2002), especially the Introduction and the articles by Francesca Trivellato and Maria Fusaro; Margrit Schulte-Beerbühl – Jörg Vögele (eds.), Spinning the Commercial Web. International Trade, Merchants and Commercial Cities, c. 1640-1939 (Frankfurt a. M.: Peter Lang Verlag, 2004); Jari Ojala. “The Merchant Networks between Finland and Europe during the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries.” European Review of Economic History 1 (1997), 323-352. 12 Gelina Harlaftis. “To epiheirimatio diktyo ton Ellinon tis Diasporas. I ‘chiotiki phasi” (1830-1860).” Mnimon 15 (1993), 69-127; Elena Frangakis-Syrett. “Networks of Friendship, Networks of Kinship: Eighteenth-Century Levant Merchants” Eurasian Studies 1:2 (2002), 184-205; Ina Baghdiantz-McCabe – Gelina Harlaftis – Ioanna Pepelasis Minoglou (eds.), Diaspora Entrepreneurial Networks. Four Centuries of History (Oxford-New York: Berg, 2005); Maria Stassinopoulou – Maria-Christina Chatziioannou (eds.), Diaspora – Diktya – Diaphotismos (Athens: Tetradia Ergasias, 28, Institute for Neohellenic Research, National Hellenic Research Foundation, 2005); Olga Katsiardi-Hering. “Christian and Jewish Ottoman Subjects: Family, Inheritance and Commercial Networks between East and West (17th-18th c.).” in: Simonetta Cavaciocchi (ed.), La famiglia nell’economia eruropea secc. XIII-XVIII /The economic role of the family in the European economy from the 13th to the 18th centuries, Atti della “Quarantesima Settimana di Studi” , 6-10 Aprile 2008, Istituto Internazionale di Storia Economica “F. Datini”, Serie II, Atti delle “Settimane di Studi”, (Firenze: University Press, 2009), vol. 40, p. 409-440; Maria-Christina Chatziioannou (ed.), Networking and Spatial Allocation around the Mediterranean, Seventeenth-Nineteenth Centu-

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focus on the many ways in which the various groups of people, immigrants from South-Eastern to Central Europe, pooled social information and networked during their migration and serial settlement in place after place, often in differing capacities. Here the rich ‘social networking’ theory can also be useful. The primary cohesive factor in social networks was the complete trust with which both independent and interdependent bodies (not necessarily the same each time) collaborated and respected the interests of the parties involved, since doing so was the best way of implementing their own goals.13 This cooperation enabled learning processes for their members but also promoted aims and plans which they would have been unable to implement on their own. Dorothea Jansen14 distinguishes five outputs of the social capital in social networks: family and group solidarity, confidence in the validity of general social norms, information, opportunities for profit through structural autonomy and social influence. Our subjects were mostly migrants who travelled back and forth between two empires. Although some settled permanently in one of their commercial sites, the ‘border’ remains a central factor for our consideration.15 Their and our worlds are not borderless, although these Conquering Balkan Orthodox Merchants16 were active in large empires and the only official state frontiers they had to cross were those between these two big states.17 It is well known that state frontiers and social/economic borries, The Historical Review, special issue, 7 (2010); especially on the Balkans s. Traian Stoianovich. “Diasporas and Τerritorial Τripartition.” in: Spyros Asdrachas et al., Greek Economic History, 15th-19th Centuries (Athens: Piraeus Group Bank Cultural Foundation, transl. from Greek, 2007), 423-435; Olga Katsiardi-Hering, “The networks of the Greek Commercial Traffic.” in: ibid., 435-455; Iannis Carras. “Community for Commerce: an Introduction to the Nezhin Greek Brotherhood Focusing on its Establishment as a Formal Institution in the Years between 1692 and 1710.” in: Victor N. Zakharov – Gelina Harlaftis – Olga Katsiardi-Hering (eds.), Merchant Colonies in the Early Modern Period (London, Vermont: Pickering & Chatto, 2012), 141-156, also his PhD: Emporio, Politiki kai Adelfotita: Romioi sti Rossia 1700-1774 (PhD Dissertation, University of Athens, Department of Political Sciences and Administration, 2011), on the commercial Greek-Orthodox networks towards Ukraine and Russia. 13 Joannes Weyer. “Einleitung. Zum Stand der Netzwerkforschung in den Sozialwissenschaften.” in: Idem (ed.), Soziale Netzwerke. Konzepte und Methoden der sozialwissenschaftlichen Netzwerkforschung (München - Wien: R. Oldenbourg Verlag, 2000), 10; very interesting is Figure 1 (p. 15) with the systematic plan of the various Social Network Research trends. 14 Dorothea Jansen. “Netzwerke und soziales Kapital: Methoden zur Analyse struktureller Einbettung.” in: Weyer, Soziale Netzwerke, 37. 15 Jürgen Barkhoff – Helmut Eberhart (eds.), Networking Across Borders and Frontiers. Demarcation and Connectedness in European Culture and Society (Frankfurt a.M: Peter Lang Verlag, 2009), especially Robert J. Holton. “Network Theories and Network Types.” in: idem., 24-26. 16 Traian Stojanovich. “The Conquering Balkan Orthodox Merchant.” Journal of Economic History 20 (1960), 234-313. 17 Katsiardi-Hering. “Greek Merchant Colonies”, 128-129; more: Idem, “Dounavis: Potami polemon kai eirinis – gefyra psyhon kai eidon (18os – mesa 19ou ai.” in: Georgios Tsigaras (ed.), Afieromatikos tomos epi ti symplirosei 25etias apo tis eis Episkopon heirotonias

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ders18 do not always coincide. Borders are present in almost each manifestation of human and social everyday life.19 In that sense the migrants lived a life of bordercrossing, a border life moving from their homelands to commercial places within the Ottoman Empire, staying temporarily and migrating forward to new places in the Habsburg lands and elsewhere in the Diaspora.20 This permanent movement, for some of them, created new social borders interrelated with their life prospects and expectations. As Holton observes, “Frontiers arise from human activity rather than being properties of nature or physical geography, and as such may be changed and re-shaped according to social objectives including the search for security, material resources and power”.21 Those migrants moved and lived in multi-centred networks with a multiplicity of connections and interrelations among themselves, rather than in only one network. Emphasis could occasionally be placed on one of the branches of the main network, which could be that of a commercial axis, but their social web could be woven in parallel or intersecting networks. Establishing themselves in new towns, either in the Ottoman or in the Habsburg Empire, they were also interrelated in networks formed within the framework of the various types of hierarchy, the state or that of the communities constituted in-between. Networks could be formed from below,22 among groups who had to deal with adversity and difficulties with the indigenous inhabitants (as in the case of the Transylvanian compagnie) or other competitors. Networks can also be formed from above or because incentives are given from above to establish communities, firms etc. or generally because of the various state laws and privileges bestowed on their immigrants (as in the case of the division of Greeks and Serbs in various communities in the Habsburg Empire). Networks can function from both below and above (as was the case with some of the firms within the Ambelakia network, for example). The duration and intensity of the relations within the networks varied.23 Trust and solidarity were among the core aspects, while communication and information formed the parallel axes around which these networks revolved.24 Multikai 20etias apo tis enthroniseos tou Mitropolitou Aystrias kai Exarhou Oyggarias kai Mesevropis k. Michael Staikos, Athens 2011, 405-419. 18 A.C.S Peacock (ed.), The frontiers of the Ottoman World (Oxford - New York: The British Academy by Oxford University Press, 2009). 19 See especially: Christine Roll – Frank Pohle – Matthias Myrzek (eds.), Grenzen und GrenzÜberschreitungen. Bilanz und Perspektiven der Frühneuzeitforschung (Köln – Weimar – Wien: Böhlau, 2010). 20 Gábor Ágoston. “Where Environmental and Frontier studies meet: Rivers, Forests, Marshes and Forts along the Ottoman-Hapsburg Frontier in Hungary.” in Peacock. The frontiers, 57-80. 21 Holton. “Network Theories”, ibid., 24. 22 Ibid., 22. 23 Michael Schenk. Soziale Netzwerke und Kommunikation (Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1984), 70 ff. 24 Moritz Csáky. “Kommunikation, Information, Kultur.” in: Johannes Frimmel – Michael Wögerauer (eds.), Kommunikation und Information im 18. Jahrhundert. Das Beispiel der Habsburgermonarchie (=Buchforschung. Beiträge zum Buchwesen in Österreich, 5,

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dimensionality 25 based on the relations of kinship, neighbourhoods, friendship, participation in community/religion or clubs/organizations is the other keystone. The groups of people under consideration here were immigrants in the contemporary sense of the word, moved from place to place “without employment agencies” but certainly within legal frameworks, at least in their countries of reception, and with their families, friends, communities, churches – and perhaps, in the case of Sremski Karlovci,26 their dioceses – providing them with interim places of reception. These were diagonal migrations27 from south to north and vice versa, and from west to east; and migrations undertaken by individual merchants within an emerging network of commercial agents in the cities or villages/ commercial centres, which were home, as a rule, to people of the same ethnicity, if not from the same town or village, and at the very least to people who spoke the same language, given that Greek often served as a lingua franca during this period. This chapter aims to try and configure the multiple concentric, parallel or multilevel circles of social networking in this world of merchants, scholars and priests. These worlds of communication formed during the process of settling in the places of reception between groups of different ethnicities who spoke different languages, during their preparations for settlement and the settling process itself. Especially during the period we are examining, every migrating individual or family subscribed to distinct codes of behaviour determined primarily by the geo-economic, family, religious and linguistic parameters which pertained in their places of departure (Greeks and Macedonian Vlachs from the uplands of Pindus, Western Macedonia, Thessaly; Serbs from the plain of Kosovo, the Serbian pastoral provinces of the Ottoman Empire, Vojvodina; Peloponnesians, Epirotes from mountain and coastal regions; the inhabitants of the Aegean islands, the Asia Minor seaboard and the Venetian-ruled Ionian islands): all of them different worlds with varying customs and traditions in relation to power. Identities28 and orientations were constantly being copied, adapted, developed and remoulded in the context of the ever-changing codes of communication which applied in the succession of places in which they settled and Peter R. Frank, Murray G. Hall (eds.) (Wiesbaden 2009), 21-30; Κlaus-Dieter Herbst – Stefan Kratochwil (eds.), Kommunikation in der Frühen Neuzeit (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 2009); on the cities as centres of cultural exchanges, see also: Donatella Calabi – Stephen Turk Christensen (eds.), Cities and Cultural Exchange in Europe (= Cultural Exchange in Early Modern Europe, general ed. Robert Muchembled, 2, Cambridge 2007). 25 Schenk, 68, Fig. 7. 26 See literature in Ifigenija Draganić. “Greek and Serbian in the Ottoman Empire and the Habsburg Monarchy in the 18th and at the Beginning of the 19th Centuries.” in: Plamen Mitev – Ivan Parvev – Maria Baramova – Vania Racheva (eds.), Empires and Peninsulas. Southeastern Europe between Karlowitz and the Peace of Adrianople, 1699-1829 (Berlin: LIT, 2010), 257-264. 27 Olga Katsiardi-Hering. “Migrationen von Bevölkerungsgruppen in Südosteuropa vom 15. Jahrhundert bis zum Beginn des 19. Jahrhunderts’.” Südost-Forschungen 59/60 (2001), 125-148. 28 See the recent vol. Olga Katsiardi-Hering, Maria Stassinopoulou (eds.), Across the Danube. Southeastern Europeans and Their Travelling Identities (17th-19th C.) (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2017.

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resettled. However, family and provenance remained fundamental parameters throughout. In a first stage, the point of departure served as a source of products for trade and of manpower (merchants, teachers, clergy, brides with whom to create families), while migrants also remained constantly in touch with it (obligations to the individual and patriarchal family left behind, taxation payable to the Ottoman authorities). In a second stage, the land of departure becomes a goal towards which life could be oriented, even if no return ever took place: this is often something in which memories and practical as well as notional interest are invested (bequests, charity for the poor, legacies for education etc.). There is a constant exchange of people, ideas, relationships. The codes of communication imposed by these conditions are examined in tandem, for it was the subjects of two different empires who were on the move. Despite their social differences and the differing religious and administrative systems that defined them, these codes intersect in regard to the migrants, chiefly in the bilateral treaties and privileges applying to both sides which the country of reception (the Habsburg Monarchy) granted to the Conquering Orthodox Balkan Merchants, but also in the constantly adjusted economic measures designed to protect its own subjects. In contrast, the country of departure (the Ottoman Empire) sought to maintain the status quo in relation to its subjects, especially with regard to their taxation: Passports/ Paßbriefe and Charats notes/ Charatszettel were also taken into account in the discussions on dress and the differentiation of networks of individuals and groups, as well as on their concealment and protection from persecution, competition and/or retribution. The various censuses held by the Habsburg authorities during the 18th century29 sought to solve administrative issues within the Empire, but their preservation today makes it easier for us to reconstruct local, family and economic networks. The country of reception is, of course, another fundamental parameter: group and individual attempts to acquire privileges of settlement and trade shape the social networking of people of the same religion and ethnicity/nationality who are interested in joining or competing with the same commercial network etc. Settlement leads to the formation of communities, with statutes of association, made up of groups of people sharing the Orthodox faith (Greek/ Griechen/ Görög) who may subsequently 29 Olga Katsiardi-Hering. „Grenz-, Staats-, Gemeinde-Konskriptionen in der Habsburger-

monarchie: Identitätendiskurs bei den Menschen aus dem Süden.” in: Maria Oikonomou – Maria A. Stassinopoulou – Ioannis Zelepos (eds.), Griechische Dimensionen südosteuropäischer Kultur seit dem 18. Jahrhundert: Verortung, Bewegung, Grenzüberschreitung (Wien - Köln et al: Peter Lang, 2011), 231-252; Jovan Pešalj. „The Mobility Control of the Ottoman Migrants in the Habsburg Monarch in the Second Half of the Eighteenth Century.” in: Harald Heppner – Eva Posch (eds.), Encounters in Europe’s Southeast. The Habsburg Empire and the Orthodox World in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries (Bochum: Dr. Dieter Winkler Verlag, 2012), 55-64; see also his recent PhD, Monitoring Migrations. The Habsburg Ottoman Borders in the Eighteenth Century (PhD, University of Leiden, 2019); Ikaros Madouvalos. „Conscriptiones Graecorum in Eighteenth-Century Central Europe. Crossing Borders: The Sociocultural Identification of Migrants from the Balkans to Hungarian Territories.” in: Heppner – Posch (eds.), ibidem, 121-134.

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divide themselves into separate groups and depart following the growth of their families, the intervention of the Metropolis of Sremski Karlovci and, primarily, the emergence of nationalism. Temporary social paths fork or come into conflict (examples from Trieste,30 Vienna,31 Pest32 and elsewhere). Local economically dominant forces (Saxons in the Transylvanian cities33 of Hermannstadt (Sibiu) and Kronstadt (Braşov), with the help of the central authorities, force the new arrivals to band together for mutual support in compagnie with a view to forming administrative, economic, social and moral codes of behaviour and coexistence: power lies in unity. Once the settling process has stabilized, new social networks take shape which revolve around community (groups of commissioners and other members of wide-ranging socio-economic groups: for example, the Greek-Orthodox community in Trieste, which had four classes of member according to the statutes34) and geographical provenance (Vienna/ by place of provenance35 as in Venice too36); and around its churches, schools, scholarly circles, residential and commercial neighbourhoods and circles of communication with the local bourgeoisie. Here, urban sociology and theories of territoriality can help form successive, opposing and marginal circles. 30 Giuseppe Stefani. I Greci a Trieste nel settecento (Trieste: Monciatti, 1960); Olga Katsiardi-

Hering. La presenza dei Greci a Trieste. La comunità e l’attività economica (1751-1830) (Trieste: Lint, 2018, transl. from Greek), 95-140. 31 Sofronios Efstratiadis. O en Vienni Naos tou Agiou Georgiou kai i koinotis ton othomanon ypikoon (Athens: K.Ch. Spanos, reprint, ed. Charalampos Chotzakoglou, 1997); Vaso Seirinidou. Ellines sti Vienni (18os – mesa 19ou aiona) (Athens: Herodotos, 2011), 281-304; Anna Ransmayr, Untertanen des Sultans oder des Kaisers. Struktur und Organisationsformen der beiden Wiener griechischen Gemeinden von den Anfängen im 18. Jahrhundert bis 1918 (Götingen, Vienna: V&R unipress, Vienna University Press, 2018), 37-57, 115-146, 163-237. 32 Ikaros Mantouvalos, Apo to Monastiri stin Pesti. Epiheirisi kai astiki taytotita tis oikogeneias Manou (teli 18ou-19os ai.) (Athens: National and Kapodistrian University of Athens, Saripolos Library, vol. 125, 2016), 104-107, 120, which examines the attempts by the Macedonian Vlachs to enable the presence of Aromunian-speaking clerics in the Greek-Orthodox church of Pest. 33 Ioan-Aurel Pop – Thomas Nägler (eds.), The History of Transylvania, vol. 1 (until 1541) (Cluj-Napoca: Institutul Cultural Roman, 2005); Maria Pakucs-Willcocks. Sibiu-Hermannstadt: Oriental Trade in Sixteenth Century Transylvania (Köln – Weimar et al.: Böhlau Verlag, 2007); Ioan-Aurel Pop – Susana Andea (eds.), The History of Transylvania, vol. 2 (From 1541 to 1711) (Cluj-Napoca: Center for Transylvanian Studies, 2009); Harald Roth. Hermannstadt: kleine Geschichte einer Stadt in Siebenbürgen (Köln – Weimar et al.: Böhlau Verlag, 2008); Olga Katsiardi-Hering. “I elliniki Diaspora stin Kentriki Evropi: o horos, i koinonia kai oi anthropoi.” in: Nikos Fokas (ed.), Elliniki Diaspora stin Kentriki Evropi (Budapest: U.M.K, 2012), 21-40 (also in the same vol. in Hungarian language, pp. 21-38); Daniel Dumitran – Valer Moga (eds.), Economy and Society in Central and Eastern Europe. Territory, Population, Consumption. Papers of the International Conference Held in Alba Iulia, April 25th-27th 2013 (Berlin – Zürich: 2013). 34 Katsiardi-Hering. La presenza dei Greci, 156-166. 35 Efstratiadis. O en Vienni Naos, 69-83. 36 Fani Mavroeidi. Symvoli stin istoria tis Ellinikis Adelfotitas Venetias sto IST΄ aiona. Ekdosi tou B΄ Mitroou Eggrafon (1533-1562) (Athens 1976).

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We shall now consider the successive, parallel and concentric circles of social networks and their configuration.

I. ‘Trust, Friendship and Kinship’: Social-Commercial Networks. Essentially, these are the economic networks formed by the movement of merchants from South-Eastern Europe into Transylvania, Austria, Hungary and Trieste on the Litorale; and also into Bohemia, Saxony, Ukraine and Russia. The details of these commercial networks are already extremely well-known and are still being researched. They provide the canvas on which the social networks examined below were constructed. Two illustrative examples will be considered here: the networks of the Manos family in Pest;37 and those of the firm ‘Andrulachi, Tabisco & Cie’ in Trieste.38 The first were a Macedonian Vlach family originally from Monastir/ Bitola in the Ottoman province of Macedonia who emigrated to Vienna and Pest at the end of the 18th century. They extended their terrestrial network in two phases during the 19th century from Leipzig and Nuremberg to Oršova, Semlin/ Zemun, Temesvar and Trieste in Central Europe; and maintained commercial agents in more than twenty locations throughout the Central Balkans. The second was a commercial firm ‘in accomandita’ in Trieste at the beginning of the 19th century whose terrestrial and littoral network was centred on Trieste and extended to more than thirty-five commercial sites stretching from Hamburg to Messina and from Thessaloniki to Smyrna and Constantinople.39 The family played a fundamental role in the building of these economic 37 Mantouvalos, Apo to Monastiri stin Pesti, 125-209, 235-298, 385-386; Idem. “The Entre-

preneurial Activity of Dimitrios and Stephanos Manos in Central Europe in the Nineteenth Century.” in: Robert Lee (ed.), Commerce and Culture. Nineteenth – Century Business Elites (Surrey: Ashgate, 2011), 139-166, on the special networks of Dimitrios and that of Stephanos Manos pp. 155, 158; for other networks orientated towards Central Europe see Katerina Papakonstantinou. Ellinikes emporikes epiheiriseis stin Kentriki Evropi to b΄ miso tou 18ou aiona. I oikogeneia Pondika (unpublished PhD, Department of History and Archaeology, University of Athens 2002); Aggeliki Igglessi. Voreioelladites emporoi sto telos tis Tourkokratias. O Stavros Ioannou (Athens: Historical Archive of the Commercial Bank of Greece, 2004). 38 Katsiardi-Hering. Elliniki paroikia, 562-568, 661, map 7; see also Olga Katsiardi-Hering, Maria Stassinopoulou. “The Long 18th Century of Greek Commerce in the Habsburg Empire. Social Careers.” in: Harald Heppner – Peter Urbanitsch – Renate Zedinger (eds.), Social Change in the Habsburg Monarchy/ Les transformations dans la monarchie des Habsbourg: l’époque des Lumières (Bochum: Dr. Dieter Winkler Verlag, series The Eighteenth Century and the Habsburg Monarchy, International Series, vol. 3, 2011), 191-203; for others places s. Despoina Vlami. “Gynaikes, oikogeneia, koinonia tis emporikis diasporas, 18os-19os ai.”, Ta Historika 45 (2006), 243-280. 39 Hamburg, Leipzig, Frankfurt, Köln, München, Basel, Salzburg, Brno, Krakau, Vienna, Pest, Trieste, Livorno, Ancona, Rome, Naples, Messina, Thessaloniki, Smyrna and Constantinople were some of the places where they established their agents or had jointfirms.

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networks through mixed marriages between the offspring of houses based within and outside the Ottoman Empire. These marriages were entered into with a view to extending and coordinating further a number of the economic corporate structures, formed chiefly under Austrian law, which spread throughout Central Europe and the Ottoman East alike. The bodies within these networks undertook a number of roles: as temporary agents, as commissioners in various city-markets within SouthEastern Europe and Central Europe and as members of family firms and companies in accomandita. This network was also built up from within by young people who migrated to take up apprenticeships40 in commercial houses and workshops or to work as assistants or secretaries, in both cases for employees who were usually from the same place. The modes of information that facilitated the formation of these commercial networks were correspondence and commercial manuals41 printed in Greek publishing houses in Trieste and Vienna (and elsewhere) by Greek settlers who wanted both to keep people in their home towns informed and to modernize their activities with regard to currency equivalencies, standards and weights. The twentysix commercial manuals published between 1568 and 1820 were reprinted in a total of sixty editions. Seventeen of these were published in the mid-eighteenth and early 19th centuries on the printing presses of Halle, Vienna, Trieste, Iaši, Marseille, Constantinople and, especially until the mid-eighteenth century, Venice.42 With a view to bolstering the form of the networks, it is interesting to note that the books printed in Trieste depict the maritime commercial routes in the Mediterranean and Europe in general, with references to perhaps just a few central terrestrial axes; while the books printed in Vienna focus on Europe’s terrestrial commercial hubs and networks, and primarily on Constantinople and Venice. This same differentiation will be encountered in the other forms of network we shall consider. The dividing line between the maritime and territorial focus lies somewhere in Trieste, which, although administratively part of Austria, actually belonged to the Mediterranean and Western Europe in geopolitical, cultural and social terms. Viewing the whole central Diaspora in terms of the “central places theory”, one could draw the dividing line through Vienna, to the east 40 Katsiardi-Hering. “Christian and Jewish”, 427, 429-431; Weyer. “Einleitung”, 10. 41 See the literature in Olga Katsiardi-Hering. “Southeastern European Migrant Groups

between the Ottoman and the Habsburg Empires. Multilateral Social and Cultural Transfers from the Eighteenth to the Early Nineteenth Centuries.” in: Harald Heppner – Eva Posch (eds.), Encounters in Europe’s Southeast. The Habsburg Empire and the Orthodox World in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries (Bochum: Dr. Dieter Winkler Verlag, 2012), 143-145; see also the articles by Mario Infelise and Francesca Trivellato in: Francisco Bethencourt – Florike Egmond (eds.), Correspondence and Cultural Exchange in Europe, 14001700, series: Cultural Exchange in Early Modern Europe; general editor Robert Muchembled, vol. 3 (Cambridge University Press 2007), 33-52 and 80-103 consequently. 42 According to the table at the page 84 of Triantafyllos Sklaventitis. Ta emporika egheiridia tis Venetokratias kai Tourkokratias kai i ‘Emporiki Egkyklopaideia’ tou Nikolaou Papadopoulou (Athens: Etaireia Meletis Neou Ellinismou, Supplement of the Journal Mnimon, 5, 1991). Many of these commercial books are to be found at http://www.lib.uoa.gr/katoptron/ (accessed: 21.5.2019).

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of which a number of mixed Greek/ Vlach/ Serb communities – and, consequently networks, particularly among Greeks and Macedonian Vlachs – spread throughout the Hungarian and Transylvanian provinces43.

II. From ‘Below’ and from ‘Above’: Social Networking among Immigrants and Official Authorities The aforementioned economic networks were supported by different Orthodox (Greek, Serbian/ Illyrian) clergy and laymen with memoranda sent to the Habsburg authorities requesting privileges with a view to founding churches and communities (as the case of the Orthodox confraternities of Trieste in 1750). The stance of the Serbian Metropolis of Sremski Karlovci, which played a prominent role in the central Habsburg lands in defending Serbian interests and developed a complex network of senior clerics, priests, scholars, teachers, schools, educational books (most of which were ultimately under its supervision and control), would prove crucial in determining the extent of further co-existence at the community level and through the sharing of churches. One might say that the Metropolis represented for the Serbs in an Austro-Hungarian context what the Patriarchate of Constantinople represented in the Ottoman Empire. Individual efforts to establish contact with the authorities to acquire privileges to establish companies, factories etc. existed alongside these “institutional networks”, resulting in the formation of corresponding concentric social networks around them, or rival ones as in the late-eighteenth-century case of the Kaiserlich-Königlichen Untertanen (dominated by the Macedonian Vlachs) and Ottoman subjects (dominated by the rich Thessalian cotton-yarn merchants of Ambelakia44), which led in Vienna to the founding of two different Greek Orthodox churches at opposite ends of the same, short street: the Griechengassei!45

III. Intellectuals’ Social Networks Once communities had been established in the cities of the diaspora and their churches built, the main issue was the setting up of schools. This issue coincided both with the immigrants’ desire to have their children taught in their native tongue and with 43 Olga Katsiardi-Hering. “Central and Peripheral Communities in the Greek Diaspora:

Interlocal and Local Economic-Political-Cultural Networks in the 18th-19th Centuries.” in: Minna Rozen (ed.), Homelands and Diasporas. Greeks, Jews and Their Migrations (LondonNew York: Tauris, 2008), 169-180. 44 Details s. Olga Katsiardi-Hering. “The Allure of Red Cotton Yarn, and how it Came to Vienna: Associations of Greek Artisans and Merchants Operating between the Ottoman and Habsburg Empires.” in: Surayia Faroqhi – Gilles Veinstein (eds.), Merchants in the Ottoman Empire (Paris - Louvain et.al: Peeters, series Collection Turcica, vol. XV, 2008), 97-131. 45 Seirinidou. Ellines sti Vienni; Ransmayr, Untertanen des Sultans.

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Fig. 1. Cycle of Intellectuals’ social networking

reforms introduced into the imperial education system, especially after 1774, when the whole Empire, along with its non-Catholic subjects embraced J.J. Felbiger’s syllabuses and textbooks.46 Private tutors (fig. 1), who usually came from the same social circle or local environment as the wealthy merchants and were very often bound to them by friendship, generally followed the same life path as them – after applying to the communities, equipped with recommendation letters or being in correspondence with friends. An attempt to verify the provenance of the teachers and priests working in the Greek Orthodox communities of Trieste and Vienna sheds light on the parallel social networking and circles – the shared geographical origins of tutors and merchants—and their itineraries.47 (Fig. 2-3). Especially in the Austrian and Hungarian capitals (but in Venice and Trieste, too), the tutors would have come into contact with the publishers in the homes of their employers, given that the publishing houses were traditionally Greek-run in Venice48 and, from the late-eighteenth century

46 Katsiardi-Hering. “Southeastern European Migrant”, 154-162 with a bibliography;

Marija Petrović. “Austrian Enlightenment the Orthodox Way. The Church Calendar of the Habsburg Serbs and the Josephinist Reforms.” in: Heppner – Posch. Encounters, ibid., 46-54; Vaso Seirinidou. “The Enlightenment within the Enlightenment. Balkan Scholarly Production and Communication in the Habsburg Empire as seen through an Early Nineteenth-Century Private Library Catalogue.” in: ibid., 175-190; Nenad Ristović. “Acculturation versus Assimilation. The Role of the Orthodox Church in the Organisation of Western Modern-Age Classical Education among the Serbs in the Habsburg Monarch.” in: ibid., 191-204. 47 The sources of Figures 2. and 3. are: Katsiardi-Hering. La presensza dei Greci, ibid., tables on pp. 545-551; Efstratiadis. O en Vienni Naos, 110-160; Seirinidou. Ellines sti Vienni, 327332; also the information provided by Dr. Anna Ransmayr, whom I really thank. 48 Giorgos Ploumidis. To Venetikon Typografeion tou Dimitriou kai Panou Theodosiou, 1755-1824 (Athens 1969); Georg Veloudis. Das griechische Druck- und Verlagshaus in Venedig (1670-1854): das griechische Buch zur Zeit der Türkenherrschaft (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1974).

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Fig. 2. Local origins and ‘itinerary’ of the Trieste’ school teachers and priests, 1787-1830

Fig. 3. Local origins and ‘itinerary’ of the Vienna’ school teachers and priests, 1787-1830

onwards, in Vienna, too,49 where they were generally owned by Greeks and ‘Illyrians’50 as well. The tutors usually undertook the roles of author, teacher and sometimes priest; and the revival in Greek letters in the almost sixty years before the Greek Rev-

49 Konstantinos Staikos, Die in Wien gedruckten griechischen Bücher 1749-1800 (Athens: Hellenic

Cultural Foundation, 1995); Idem, Triantafyllos Sklavenitis (eds.), The Publishing Centres of the Greeks: from the Renaissance to the Neohellenic Enlightenment: Catalogue of Exhibition (Athens: National Book Centre of Greece, 2001). 50 Peter R. Frank – Johannes Frimmel, Buchwesen in Wien 1750-1850. Kommentiertes Verzeichnis der Buchdrucker, Buchhändler und Verleger. Mit einer um Informationen zur Verteilung der Befugnisse, Adressen und Biographien wesentlich erweiterten Fassung im PDF-Format auf CD-ROM (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 2008).

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olution of 1821, a period known as the Neo-Hellenic Enlightenment,51 was due to their efforts. Vienna, Pest and Leipzig were the main publishing centres; and a chain of people from Thessaly in the main, but also Western Macedonia and Epirus, were active in and around these cities and nearby educational centres (Jena, Halle, Göttingen, Bucharest, Iaši),52 along with personalities like Dosithej Obradović53 and Iosipos Moisiodax,54 who were part of dominant concentric and parallel circles. The details of these networks are, once again, well-known. Manolis Patiniotis has offered us a rich database, analytical diagrams and maps showing the routes along which eighteenthcentury Greek Orthodox scholars migrated to the educational and teaching centres of Central Europe from South-Eastern Europe.55 For those who entered the teaching profession to subsidize their living expenses and whose primary objective was their authorial activities and university education (the so-called Bildungsreisen), their career and social networking centred on the broad circle of their compatriots; moreover, they would generally return to their countries of provenance, or, after its establishment, to the new Greek state. The Thessalian scholars Grigorios Konstantas56 and Anthimos Gazis are good examples of individuals whose careers match this model. It is those scholars who were directly or indirectly part of Adamantios Korais’ dominant circle, whο ruled from Paris. Konstantinos Koumas,57 Konstantinos Oikonomos,58

51 Paschalis Kitromilides, Adamantios Korais and the European Enlightenment (Oxford: Voltaire

Foundation, 2010); Idem (ed.), Enlightenment and Revolution. The Making of Modern Greece (Cambridge – London: Harvard University Press, 2013). 52 Olga Katsiardi-Hering. “Il mondo europeo degli intellettuali Greci della Diaspora (sec. XVIII ex. –XIX in.).” in: Francesco Bruni (ed.), Nicolò Tommaseo: Popolo e nazioni. Italiani, Corsi, Greci, Illirici. Atti del Convegno internazionale di Studi nel bicentenario della nascita di Niccolò Tommaseo, Venezia 23 – 25 gennaio 2003 (Roma - Padova: Editrice Antenore, 2004), 69-85, and bibliography. 53 Wolfgang Fischer. Dositej Obradović als bürgerlicher Kulturheld. Zur Formierung eines serbischen bürgerlichen Selbstbildes durch literarische Kommunikation 1783-1845 (Frankfurt a.M. et al.: Peter Lang Verlag, series: Studien zur Geschichte Südosteuropas, vol. 16, 2007). 54 Paschalis Kitromilides. The Enlightenment as Social Critisism: Iosipos Moisiodax and Greek Culture in the Eighteenth Century (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1992) (translated from Greek). 55 Manolis Patiniotis. Apopeires diamorfosis epistimonikou logou ston elliniko horo tou 18oy ai. Arhes tis fysikis filosofias sto ergo tou Evgeniou Voulgari kai tou Nikiforou Theotoki (PhD, University of Athens, Athens 2001), 277-293; see also Idem, Stoiheia Fysikis Filosofias. O Ellinikos Epistimonikos Stohasmos ton 17o kai 18o aiona, (Athens: Gutenberg, 2013, pp. 183-232), particularly the maps on the pp. 197-225. 56 Daniil Philippides –Gregorios Konstantas, Neoteriki Geografia, Aikaterini Koumarianou (ed.) (Athens: Ermis, 1988, reprint from the 1st ed. 1791, with an introduction by Koumarianou). 57 Maria Stassinopoulou. Weltgeschichte im Denken eines griechischen Aufklärers. Konstantinos Michail Koumas als Historiograph (Frankfurt a. M. – Wien et al.: Peter Lang Verlag, 1992). 58 Kostas Lappas – Rodi Stamouli (eds.), Allilografia. Konstantinos Oikonomos o ex Oikonomon, vol. 1, 1802-1817; vol. 2, 1818-1822 (Athens: Academy of Athens, 1989-2002).

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Konstantinos Asopios, Stefanos Filitas59 et al. manifest the greatest mobility in terms of their studies (which ranged as far afield as Oxford and Vienna). They also left their mark through the revival of schools in the East (Koumas and Oikonomos in Smyrna’s Philological Gymnasium,60 for instance, and Christoforos Filitas at the Ionian Academy61). By contrast, conservative circles, proponents of a classicizing version of Greek and the exclusive use of Ancient Greek in education (Neofytos Doukas, Stefanos Kommitas, Ignatios Skalioras) tended to remain within the Habsburg Monarchy and work at the Academies in the Danubian principalities. A group of scholars (Michael Papageorgiou, Eufronios Papagianousis-Popović,62 Georgios Zaviras63 and Sakellarios from Kastoria/Macedonia) who had placed their scholarship at the service of their host nations and their numerous smaller and larger Orthodox communities were active in the communication group within the Habsburg Monarchy and in Hungary in particular.64 They worked alongside Serb scholars whose work had excited little interest in the nearby Ottoman-ruled Serbian provinces. The limited bourgeoisification of the latter, coupled with the limited inter-local trade undertaken by the Serbs of Hungary, meant they did not enjoy the same flexibility as the Greeks and Macedonian Vlachs. The oppositional relationships between the Orthodox archbishopric of Sremski Karlovci and Belgrade may also have played a part in this. In the 19th century the Bulgarian Ivan Dobrovski, as Nadia Danova has shown us,65 settled in Vienna in 1849, determined to publish Mirozrenie – a journal modelled on the pre-revolutionary Greek Ερμής ο Λόγιος (Ηermes o Logios), which was also published in Vienna in the second decade of the century – and through it to revive Bulgarian letters. He fol59 Stefanos Betis. Filitas kai Asopios, oi didaskaloi tou Genous (Ioannina: Hetaireia Ipeirotikon

Meleton, 1991); Olga Katsiardi-Hering. “Christoforos Filitas. Skepseis gia ti didaskalia tis glossas.” Mnimon 12 (1989): 9-42. 60 Philippos Iliou. Koinonikoi agones kai diafotismos. I periptosi tis Smyrnis (1819) (Athens: Mnimon, series: Theories kai Meletes Istorias, vol. 3, 1981). 61 Georgios Typaldos-Iakovatos. Istoria tis Ionias Akadimias, Spyros Asdrachas ed. (Athens: Ermis, 1982), passim. 62 Ioannis Papadrianos. “Enas Megalos Kozanitis apodimos: Eufronios Rafail-Papagiannousis-Popovits.” in: Pneumatikoi antres tis Makedonias kata tin Tourkokratian (Thessaloniki 1973), 107-133. 63 Vaso Seirinidou, To ergastirio tou logiou. Anagnoseis, logia paragogi kai epikoinonia stin epohi tou diafotismou mesa apo tin istoria tis vivliothikis tou Dimitriou N. Darvari. Parartimata: I. Katalogos vivliothikis Dimitriou N. Darvari, ΙΙ. Anazitontas ta ihni tis vivliothikis tou Georgiou Zavira (1744-1804) – II.A.Katalogos Vivliothikis Georgiou Zavira – II.B. Katalogos ellinikon heirografon kai entypon tis vivliothikis tou orthodoxou kentrou «Agios Nkolaos» Kecskemét Ouggarias (Athens: Historical Institute / National Hellenic Research Foundation, series: Vivliothiki Istorias ton Ideon, vol. 12, 2013). 64 Maria A. Stassinopoulou. “Trading Places. Cultural Transfer Trajectories among Southeast European Migrants in the Habsburg Empire.” in: Heppner – Posch, Encounters, ibid., 163-174, with a rich bibliography. 65 Nadia Danova. “Ivan Dobrovski à Vienne. (Contribution à l’histoire de Vienne en tant que centre politique et culturel des peuples balkaniques au XIXe siècle).” Études Balkaniques, 2 (2003), 3-45.

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Fig. 4. Dedications of books (Trieste-Vienna, 1742-1820)

Fig. 5. Dedications of Greek printed books (Trieste-Vienna, 1800-1820)

lowed the same path as the Greek Enlighteners: studies followed by cross-cultural contact, attempts at publishing before returning home a few years later. The men who financed the printing of the books were located between within these broader circles.66 (Fig. 4-5). It is sufficient to note that of the Greek books published between 1742 and 1799 with financial support (but not via subscription67 ), 55% were supported by princes and officials of the Phanariot class, 20% by the Church, 11% by merchants and 9% by intellectuals. This would change over the next twenty years (1800-1820), when the proportion supported by princes/ officials and clergy would fall to 24% and 17% respectively, while the percentage of books 66 Paraskevi Helmi, Afierothenta Vivlia tou Neoelllinikou Diafotismou: I Koinoniologia

ton Horigon: To Paradeigma tou Germanofonou Horou (Master Thesis, Department of History and Archaeology, University of Athens, 2011), particularly the diagrams pp. 19, 37, 75, 91. Figs 4. and 5. are on p. 75 and 37 of Helmi’s book. 67 The method used to publish academic books during the Enlighentment. For the Greek books, see Philippos Iliou. “Vivlia me syndromites. Ι. Ta hronia tou Diafotismou (17491821).” O Eranistis (12 (1975), 101-179.

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financially supported by merchants and intellectuals would rise to 27% and 18% respectively. It is clear that during the first two decades of the 19th century, merchant groups overtook the Church and the Princes of the Danubian principalities, who had dominated during the previous half century, as the primary providers of financing and dedicatees of new works. One can also note concentric Thessalian, Macedonian and Epirote circles in which the places of origin of the books’ sponsors were mirrored by the provenance of their authors. The above observations lead us to the main social network formed by intellectuals during the Enlightenment: their correspondence and multifaceted communication. The largest and most important intellectual network – that centred on the Greek scholar, Adamantios Korais68 – formed around a rich correspondence extending outwards from Paris, where Korais lived and wrote for about 50 years, to Trieste, Vienna, Smyrna, Chios, Constantinople and so forth. Parallel or concentric correspondence networks also formed around numerous other Enlighteners, including Konstantinos Oikonomos,69 Konstantinos Asopios,70 Daniil Philippides, Anthimos Gazis,71 Theophilos Kairis72 and many others, who formed a res publica litteraria in the manner of similar networks among European intellectual circles.73 The mid-nineteenth-century correspondence of Konstantin Georgiev Fotinov (emanating from Smyrna towards Constantinople, Philippopolis/ Plovdiv, Adrianople, Kotel, Thessaloniki, Pazardžik, Braila etc.) sheds light on another form of commercial-intellectual circle which was central to the Bulgarian ‘Renaissance’.74 The list of correspondents could include eminent figures and be crucial to the propagation of new ideological and intellectual trends among the circles of Europe and South-Eastern Europe. Dimitrios Darvaris from Kleisoura in Macedonia provides us with a typical exception to the scholars’ vertical social networks, with their links from and to 68 Konstantinos Dimaras – Aikaterini Koumarianou – Emmanouil Frangiskos (eds.),

Allilografia, Adamantios Korais (Athens: Omilos Meletis Ellinikou Diafotismou, 19641984), vols 1-6. 69 Lappas – Stamouli, Allilografia. 70 Katsiardi-Hering. “Christoforos Filitas”. 71 Aikaterini Koumarianou (ed.), Allilografia: (1794-1819), Daniil Philippides, Barbié du Bocage, Anthimos Gazis (Athens: Estia, 1966). 72 Demetres Kyrtatas (ed.), Allilografia Theophilou Kairi (Andros: Kaireios Vivliothiki, 2006). 73 Klaus-Dieter Herbst – Stefan Kratochwil (eds.), Kommunikation in der Frühen Neuzeit (Frankfurt a. M.: Peter Lang, 2009), particularly the article of Marin Gierl. “Res publica litteraria – Kommunikation, Institution, Information, Organisation und Takt.”, 241-252; s. also the vol. Mira Miladinović Zalaznik – Maria Sass – Stefan Sienerth (eds.), Literarische Zentrenbildung in Ostmittel- und Südosteuropa. Hermannstadt/ Sibiu, Laibach/ Ljubljana und weitere Fallbeispiele (München: IKGS Verlag, 2010), particularly the article of Harald Heppner. “Kulturelle Zentren im südöstlichen Europa. Eine historisch-analytische Skizze.”, 31-42. 74 Nadia Danova (ed.), Arhiv na Konstantin Georgiev Fotinov (Sofia: Institut za Balkanistika pri Bulgarska Akademija na Naykite, 2004), vol. 1.

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their places of provenance, and to their immediate inclusion in the horizontal Austro-Hungarian network.75 He studied and wrote in Semlin, Germany and Vienna, penning all his textbooks for the Empire’s Greek and Vlach children in Vienna and collaborating with Austrian, Serb and Hungarian writers. However, Darvaris relied on the blossoming independent family financial business and the economic ‘protection’ and interest it offered. As a scholar, Darvaris is comparable in terms of influence with the Serb Theodor Janković76 in his adoption of the reforms introduced into the Austrian syllabuses for Orthodox children of the Habsburg diaspora. Darvaris was also unique in being appointed a commissioner for minors orphaned by the death77 of their parents. None of the extremely important modern Greek scholars of the Enlightenment era active after 1790 in the imperial capital received such an appointment. With the exception of the Slovenian Kopitar,78 who was responsible for censorship and supported Vienna’s Greek and Serb scholars, there are very few accounts of direct communication between these noteworthy representatives of Greek scholarship and the local Austrian intelligentsia. That the Greeks’ language and provenance from largely agricultural and pastoral areas limited their social networking and worked against their induction is clear from the fact that scholars from the Ionian Islands, with their Western social organization, would seem to have made greater inroads into the cultural circles of Venice, Florence and Milan (Moustoxydis, Typaldos).79

IV. Das gesellige Jahrhundert: Social, Scholar, Political Societies (1800-1820) This section forms part of a general framework for the corporate organization of up-and-coming members of the bourgeoisie from the 18th century onwards and particularly in the Enlightenment era and that of the long French Revolution. The works of Reinhart Koselleck and Ulrich Im Hof80 have stimulated fruitful discussion concerning the bourgeoisie and their rise, especially in the context of the

75 Seirinidou. “The Enlightenment within the Enlightenment”; s. also Idem. To ergastirio

enos logiou.

76 Peter Polz, “Theodor Janković und die Schulreform in Russland.” in: Erna Lesky – Stra-

hinja K. Kostić – Josef Matl – Georg von Rauch (eds.), Die Aufklärung in Ost- und Südosteuropa. Aufsätze, Vorträge, Dokumentationen (Köln – Wien: Böhlau, 1972), 119-174. 77 Vaso Seirinidou. “Politismikes Μetafores kai Εllinikes Πaroikies. Nees Gnoseis mias Palias me Aformi to Paradeigma tou Dimitriou Darvari.” Mnimon 31(2011), 9-29. 78 Katsiardi-Hering – Maria Stassinopoulou. “The Long 18th Century”, 206. 79 Katsiardi-Hering. “Il mondo europeo”. 80 Reinhart Koselleck. Kritik und Krise. Ein Beitrag zur Pathogenese der bürgerlichen Welt (Freiburg – München: Alber, 1959); Ulrich Im Hof. Das gesellige Jahrhundert: Gesellschaft und Gesellschaften im Zeitalter der Aufklärung (München: Beck, 1982).

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formation of social intellectual societies,81 one of which were the Freemasons,82 another of which were the Jacobins.83 A good example of the integration of the merchants of the Greek Orthodox Diaspora into local social networks is their participation – particularly by their richest members – in various Masonic societies both in Central Europe and the Ottoman Empire. Most of these merchants were also members of local host economic institutions (e.g., insurance companies, commercial societies, stock exchanges, banks) so their acceptance into these social societies/ clubs marked a further step towards their integration into the local middle class. Ilia Hatzipanagioti-Sangmeister’s study leads us through the corridors of a moderate Freemasonry embraced by a number of Greek merchants84 (in Trieste, Leipzig, Vienna, Hof, Ollmütz, but in South-Eastern Europe, too) seeking to associate themselves socially and intellectually with – and to gain access to – local bourgeois society and its powerful inner circles.85 Literary societies with Masonic underpinnings (Minerva, in Trieste) also welcomed scholars of the diaspora.86 The first two decades of the 19th century witnessed an explosion of societies and associations all the way from Paris to Bucharest and Athens, formed by Greeks and other Balkan peoples with a focus on literature and cultivating Greek letters (Ελληνόγλωσσον Ξενοδοχείον (Hôtel Hellénophone, 1809: Paris)87 / Φιλολογική Εταιρεία Βουκουρεστίου ή Γραικοδακική Εταιρεία (Philological Society of Bucharest or Greek-Dacian Society, 1811: Bucharest88) / Φιλόμουσος Εταιρεία (Society of the Friends of the Muses, 1813: Athens, 1814: Vienna89). Members of these societies were inducted into the political 81 See the basic work by Jürgen Kocka (ed.), Bürgertum im 19. Jahrhundert: Deutschland im

europäischen Vergleich: eine Auswahl (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1995) vols 1-3; s. also Manfred Riedel. “Bürger, Staatsbürger, Bürgertum.” in: Otto Brunner – Werner Conze – Reinhart Koselleck (eds.), Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe: historisches Lexikon zur politisch-sozialen Sprache in Deutschland (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1972), vol. 1, 672-725. 82 Helmut Reinalter (ed.), Freimaurer und Geheimbünde im 18. Jahrhundert in Mitteleuropa (Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1989); Idem. Politische Vereine, Gesellschaften und Parteien in Zentraleuropa 1815-1848/49 (Frankfurt a. M.: Peter Lang, 2005). 83 See especially Helmut Reinalter. Jakobiner in Mitteleuropa (Innsbruck: Inn-Verlag, 1977), which refers to the Habsburg Monarchy. 84 Ilia Chatzipanagioti-Sangmeister. O Tektonismos stin Elliniki Koinonia kai Grammateia tou 18ou Aiona. Oi Germanofones Martyries (Athens: Periplous / Dionysis Vitsos, 2010); particularly for the case of Trieste s. Katsiardi-Hering, La presenza dei Greci, 322-325. 85 Katsiardi-Hering, ibid., 405-410; 433-440; Seirinidou. Ellines sti Vienni, 125-208. 86 Katsiardi-Hering, ibid., 256, 259, 311, 330. 87 Mathieu Grenet. “La loge et l’étranger: les Grecs dans la Franc-maçonnerie marseillaise au début du XIXe s.” Cahiers de la Méditerannée 72 (2006): 16, http://cdlm.revues.org/ index1169.html (12.4.2019 access). 88 Emmanouil Protopsaltis. Ignatios Mitropolitis Ouggrovlahias (1766-1828) (Athens: Academy of Athens, 1980). 89 Georgios Laios. I Filomousos Etaireia tis Viennis, 1814-1820. Nea Eggrafa (Athens: Academy of Athens, 1966); Eleni Koukkou. O Kapodistrias kai i paideia, vol. 1. 1803-1822, I Filomousos Etaireia tis Viennis (Athens: University of Athens, 1958); Tilemahos Velianitis, I Filomousos Etaireia ton Athinon (Athens: Vassilopoulos, 1993).

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and secret ‘Friendly Society’ (Φιλική Εταιρεία) founded in Odessa in 181490 by Freemason merchants and spread throughout the diaspora and the Balkans as far as the Ottoman capital, preparing the way for the Greek Revolution of 1821.

V. Social Networking within the ‘Compagnie’ / Communities in the Diaspora The social networks below are part of the context of the settlers’ organized existence in the diaspora in the form of compagnie and communities.91 From the beginning, it was their primary concern to found the church that constituted the core around which formed the social networks of people of the same faith. In the case of the Habsburg diaspora, the social fabric was soon shaken, generally in cases where one ethnic group (Serb or Greek) was dominant. The second step was the configuration of an official communal organization based on authorized statutes. Apart from the formal organization of the community, the core role played by the Church in the formation of wider social communal environment (in the sense of the Gemeinschaft) has been acknowledged by a theoretical debate on communities and networks, especially in immigrant societies.92 The ‘colonists’ (πάροικοι) lived and traded around the officially established communities, often, though not always, in distinct neighbourhoods (Griechengasse, Görög utca,93 Campo dei Greci) in which they aspired to erect buildings in a style which accorded with the built environment and with the analogous interior decoration and furnishing:94 by choosing to conform with their social surroundings, they would become part of that society, belonging to their community networks, but many of them fully integrated into local society either as members of the local authorities or local aristocracy or the local business circles.95 The neighbourhoods 90 See especially Georges Frangos. The Philike Etaireia, 1814-1821: A Social and Historical

Analysis (PhD Columbia University, 1971, University Microfilms International, Ann Arbor, Michigan, U.S.A. – London). 91 A discussion on the terms and their special institutional context with a rich bibliography is offered in: Katsiardi-Hering. “Greek Μerchant Colonies.” See also all the articles in the volume Zakharov –Harlaftis – Katsiardi-Hering (eds.), Merchant Colonies. 92 From a historical, anthropological perspective see Andrea Mason. Community, Solidarity and Belonging. Levels of Community and their Normative Significance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000); Antony Black. Church, State and Community: Historical and Comparative Perspectives (Aldershot: Ashgate Variorum, 2003). 93 It is well known, and discussed in the literature, that the term ‘Greek’ did not always have the meaning of the later nation-state, but very often that of ‘Greek-Orthodox”, see the recent vol. Olga Katsiardi-Hering – Anastasia Papadia-Lala – Katerina Nikolaou – Vanghelis Karamanolakis (eds.), Hellene, Romios, Greek: Syllogikoi prosdiorismoi kai taytotites (Athens: Eurasia edition, 2018), 94 Vaso Seirinidou. “Griechen in Wien im 18. Jahrhundert. Soziale Identitäten im Alltag.” Das achtzehnte Jahrhundert und Österreich 12 (1997), 7-18; Marco Pozzetto. “Gli uomini che hanno ‘fatto’ Trieste.” La Bora, 4:5 (1980), 16-29 and 5:1 (1981), 13-20. 95 Zakharov – Harlaftis – Katsiardi-Hering (eds.), “Introduction.” in: Idem (eds.), Merchant Colonies, 10.

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in the host lands were not separate, segregated areas; rather – applying the theoretical approaches of Human Territoriality – they were social groupings with more or less ethnic traits which were open, in many cases, to the prevailing social environment. Apart from a general view of belonging in a community, one can also observe separate networks within that. Groups formed within the administration of the various communities often precluded others; and socially and financially powerful families indirectly took charge of the administration of communal affairs, marginalizing other social groups, deliberately or otherwise. Consigned to the fringes, these groups could either orient themselves towards the maintenance of more powerful networks centred on their place of origin, or exclude themselves from the possibility of inclusion in the more international networks of the host society. Endogamy was more common among these latter groups than they were among economically more powerful groups, which integrated and/or assimilated more easily as a result. As an institutional body as well as an imaginary entity, communities led to the strengthening of identity, often articulating a legitimizing or demanding discourse to the authorities and attending as far as possible to the welfare (doctors, hospitals, charity collections) of poorer members of the community and locals alike; or to the protection of refugees seeking refuge in cities of the diaspora, especially the ports,96 in the wake of the succession of conflicts in South-Eastern Europe.

VI. Social / Charity Networking This final social dimension is revealed very clearly in a series of bequests and donations97 made by rich settlers in their wills to the people of their lands of provenance. These were aimed at providing for poor fellow countrymen – usually members of their own families, but not always – through the provision of dowries for young women, the founding of schools, the opening of libraries, the paying of teachers’ salaries and the provision of scholarships allowing young people to study in Europe. These bequests reveal the emigrants’ unbroken ties to their religion, families, countrymen and ethnicity. Many bequests were also made to churches, monasteries and charitable institutions in the East. The fear of death brought the people

96 Katsiardi-Hering. La presenza dei Greci, 339-366. 97 See especially: Georgios Ploumidis. “Sholeia stin Ellada Syntiroumena apo Klirodoti-

mata Ellinon tis Venetias (1603-1797).” Thesaurismata 9 (1972), 236-249; Marco Dogo, “Una nazione di pii mercanti. La comunità serbo-illirica di Trieste, 1748-1908.” in: Roberto Finzi – Giovanni Panjek (eds.), Storia economica e sociale di Trieste, I, La città dei gruppi (Trieste: Lint, 2001) 573-602; more s. Katsiardi-Hering, “Christian and Jewish”, 409411, 426-432; Mantouvalos. “Ellines Diathetes”; Seirinidou. Ellines sti Vienni, 407-414; see also the Publications in the framework of the Research Programm “Soziales Engagement in den Wiener griechischen Gemeinden” https://wienergriechen.univie.ac.at/publikationen/ (access on 21/4/2019).

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of the time closer to God,98 rendering them more devout and with a greater sense of responsibility towards their family, at least until the end of the 18th century. The bequests led to the emergence of the self-evident social network, but also of a culture in which emigrants competed to show how much they cared about the lands they had left behind – a form of rivalry which grew more intense as the 19th century progressed, especially after the founding of the Balkan nation states – or in the case of the Greek state, at least – and the emergence of the much-discussed and ideologically questionable institution of the benefactor.99 By way of conclusion, it is important to realize that all the above networks are manifestations of an urban middle class engaged in constantly redefining its personal and ethnic identities in the developing cities of South-Eastern and, above all, Central Europe. It sought to be included in the newly emerging societies, being absorbed into and evolving through them. The old and the forever-new pass through these ‘middle class’ social networks, as was the case in most European – especially industrial – cities.100 These were the new middle classes that would also shape the local urban communities of the Ottoman Empire and of the newly formed nationstates of South-Eastern Europe in the nineteenth century.

98 Philip Ariès. L’homme devant la mort (Paris: Seuil, 1977). 99 Benefaction was certainly one of the central social and economic forces in Greek history

and society, especially in the 19th century. Stephanos Sotiriou. Kefalaio kai Ethniki Syneidisi: Ethniki, Koinoniki kai Politistiki Prosfora ton Evergeton (Athens: Pelasgos, 2001); Dimitris Arvanitakis (ed.), To Fainomeno tou Evergetismou sti Neoteriki Ellada. Praktika Imeridas (Αthens: Benaki Museum, 2006); Spyros Ergolavos (ed.). Ipeirotes Emporoi Evergetes tou Ellinikou Ethnous kai Syntelestes tis Proodou tis Anthropotitas (Ioannina 2011). 100 Simon Gunn. “Class, Identity and the Urban: the Middle Class in England, c. 17901950.” Urban History 3:1 (2004), 40.

II.

Charity, cities and borders in

Ottoman social networking context

Amy Singer

Ottoman Charity: Some Thoughts on a Network Perspective

F

or those who came of age well before the advent of Facebook, Twitter and other social media of the early 21st century, the idea of digital-social networking is one we have learned as an intellectual concept and grown to appreciate for its power to create, reveal and re-establish links among people across the world. In important ways, digital networking has taken over the organization of social life among youth worldwide and has already proved its power as an agent of political and social intervention to be used by people of all ages. Internet search-engines are also link-makers, guiding us to the information or images or services we seek and suggesting ones that seem likely to interest us. Thus, too, the advertisers who buy space in the margins of search-engine pages gamble that their marketing software can deduce or intuit the ties between our queries and the kinds of products we might buy. Meanwhile the various professional and social-network groups try to persuade us that we need to join them in order to remain up-to-date and viable in our worlds of work and play. However, before networking “went digital”, networking existed as did networks, real or imagined. Thus it is not surprising that ideas about networks have also gained currency in the social-sciences, proposing additional analytic tools for discovering new patterns and meanings in human interactions. “Network theory” now finds acolytes and applications throughout the human, social and experimental sciences. Networks consist of nodes and the lines connecting them. For historians, ideas about networks serve as heuristic and analytical tools which may reveal or clarify connections between people, places, events, ideas and other kinds of data as part of a project to explain particular phenomena. A member of any of these data sets could be considered a node in a network, a point connected in one or more ways, perhaps a terminus but more likely a way-point along a chain or web of interconnected nodes. To be of use to historians, the definition of nodes and networks should reveal heretofore unseen patterns in human behavior, perhaps multiple layers or dimensions of connections that are not as readily apparent when approaching an empirical body of evidence with other kinds of questions and tools. However, while it may serve well the historian’s purposes to use this approach in explaining historical events, any network may have no existence as such outside the analytic construction of it for the purposes of interpretation.1 For historians, the essential

1 I would like to thank Shuki Ecker, author of “Jews, Pashas and Janissaries: Bazergans in the

Service of the Ottoman State from the 17th to 19th Centuries” [Hebrew] (PhD, Tel Aviv Univer-

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value of defining networks lies in their providing an additional means to discover engines and processes of historical change. This is an abstract way of thinking about networks. In concrete and historical terms, one might embark on a study that begins from the nodes – a group of particular professionals, members of a family, similar institutions, a group of cities or towns – and work to define the specific types of connections among them and to understand how they operate. On the other hand, one might begin with types of connection – political, commercial, familial, military, intellectual – and ask how a particular kind of connection defines the nodes of a network and what it imposes on or contributes to the nodes it connects. A passage from the writings of the Italian author Italo Calvino offers a concrete, if imaginary, example of nodes and connections. In describing one of his Invisible Cities, Calvino says: ...Zaira, a city of high bastions. I could tell you how many steps make up the streets rising like stairways, and the degree of the arcades’ curves, and what kind of zinc scales cover the roofs; but I already know this would be the same as telling you nothing. The city does not consist of this, but of relationships between the measurements of its space and the events of its past...2

The physical features of Zaira are comparable to whatever units a historian investigates. The mechanistic act of describing or enumerating the nodes is not what evokes from or imparts meaning to them, although their discovery and description are the initial tasks of an historian. Only when the connections are made between these points in space and time do the nodes become meaningful. To illustrate, and perhaps to emphasize that the connections may vary from mundane to extraordinary, Calvino claims that the city consists of: the height of a lamppost and the distance from the ground of a hanged usurper’s swaying feet; the line strung from the lamppost to the railing opposite and the festoons that decorate the course of the queen’s nuptial procession; the height of that railing and the leap of the adulterer who climbed over it at dawn; the tilt of a guttering and a cat’s progress along it as he slips into the same window; the firing range of a gunboat which has suddenly appeared beyond the cape and the bomb that destroys the guttering; the rips in the fish net and the three old men seated on the dock mendsity, 2014), for his insightful comments on the subject of networks. Bruce Stanley has written an article that offers a lucid introduction to ideas about networks and their application to the study of cities in the Middle East. The article is valuable for the critique it provides of the casual use of the network vocabulary as well as for the historiographic discussion and analysis of various network approaches and their application to the topic. See Bruce Stanley, “Middle East city networks and the ‘new urbanism’,” Cities 22, no. 3 (2005), 189–99. For a study that incorporates network theory to the study of history, see, for example: John Padgett, Christopher Ansell, “Robust Action and the Rise of the Medici, 1400-1434,” American Journal of Sociolog y 98, no. 6 (1993), 1259-1319. 2 Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities (New York: Harcourt Brace & Company, 1974), p. 10.

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ing nets and telling each other for the hundredth time the story of the gunboat of the usurper, who some say was the queen’s illegitimate son, abandoned in his swaddling clothes there on the dock.3

The nodes of Calvino’s tale are spun into a unity through the various connections between them. This is not a network, per se, but rather suggests how the connections between points create meaning for them in specific historical circumstances, not only because each has a context, but because each is part of a larger space of interconnections. In a different moment or in the same one but considered from a different angle, the connections between the same points may become inconsequential or prominent and so alter the meaning of the whole. Ultimately, to understand the history of a city (to take the example cited above) and the significance of its points and spaces, one must focus and re-focus to capture the multiple facets of each node and the many connections passing through it. Calvino concludes: The city ... does not tell its past, but contains it like the lines of a hand, written in the corners of the streets, the gratings of the windows, the banisters of the steps, the antennae of the lightning rods, the poles of the flags, every segment marked in turn with scratches, indentations, scrolls.4

In other words, the nodes hold clues as to the type, number and direction of the connections among them, which are visible and intelligible to the person who learns how to read them. At the same time, the network is a story created in order to connect the nodes and as such must compete with other stories that connect the same nodes differently. The remainder of this chapter explores some basic ideas and parameters for thinking about Ottoman charity and patronage through the lens of ideas about networks and social networking. The discussion will consider charity and charity networks through the specific example of the imarets (public kitchens) founded across the Ottoman Empire and the group of these institutions that was built in the city of Edirne. As a brief case study, imarets provide some empirical grounding for the general ideas suggested above and point to some further directions for research that engage with the concept of networks in the context of pre-modern historical situations.5 “Charity” in this discussion refers to voluntary beneficent giving, on any scale, of money or other resources, including time and expertise. Charitable giving is often investigated as a collection of isolated acts that originate as expressions of individual compassion or religious belief, or in more mundane motives like attempts to control people or spaces or resources, or even deriving from an immediate personal ambition to earn renown or admiration. However, charitable acts can 3 Calvino, Invisible Cities, p. 10. 4 Calvino, Invisible Cities, p. 11. 5 On imarets in general, see Amy Singer, “Imarets,” in: Christine Woodhead (ed.), The Otto-

man World, (London: Routledge, 2012), p. 72–85.

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also be usefully interpreted as being actions which contribute generally to human welfare, usually considered as a social or public good. These acts are often performed by people or located in institutions which, at least in an Ottoman context, belong to a charity network, which insects and overlaps other Ottoman networks.6 In the specific case of Ottoman public kitchens, the donations are those of sultans or high-ranking Ottoman commanders or officials. Historically and in the contemporary world voluntary giving is a normative expectation in many communities. Numerous faiths encourage or even require their adherents to give, including the broad spectrum of Jewish, Christian and Muslim sects. In the United States, voluntary giving has been an inseparable component of capitalist ideals and the engines of civil society for almost two hundred years. While not universally practiced and a recurring topic of debate, it is promoted and praised as resulting from the same financial freedom which produces capitalist initiatives and allows individuals to decide how to dispose of the bulk of their earnings.7 Moreover, it is the voluntary donation of money, time and expertise which creates the civil society organizations characteristic of healthy and dynamic democratic societies. Such giving is one way of defining communities, those in which the donor believes s/he has a stake and an obligation to other members of the community. Potential recipients are those who belong to the community, both in its more circumscribed and in its broader definitions. The choice of recipients is a clear statement about the community or communities with which the donor identifies in some way, as well as about what the donor believes is important for the community. In the pre-modern era, giving voluntarily within a community had additional importance. It was a form of insurance premium and constituted one of the links that created networks of individuals bound into groups. A network created in this way was one that was active or activated on behalf of weaker or needier members, whether their need was created by youth, sickness, old age or unexpected misfortune. Expectation and obligation are two kinds of links among the nodes of such communal networks and supply the impetus for keeping up one’s ‘membership dues’, however they were assessed. Social welfare offices and institutions are part of this apparatus in modern states, paid for by tax revenues. What preceded them, particularly in the Ottoman Empire, was a more personalized system of assistance. It was not arbitrary or impartial, nor is it entirely obsolete, as demonstrated by the multitude of NGOs and private aid organizations at work locally and globally in the early twenty-first century. 6 A summary presentation of ideas about charity and philanthropy may be found in

Amy Singer, Charity in Islamic Societies (Cambridge, U.K: Cambridge University Press, 2008), p. 4–9. 7 See the discussions about large-scale philanthropy in Francie Ostrower, Why the Wealthy Give: The Culture of Elite Philanthropy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996). Her analysis offers insights as to the rationale of a particular group of donors for their philanthropic choices.

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It may be helpful to think about pre-modern charity this way, as a form of insurance policy that emerges organically from the obligations and expectations of community members. Since people belong to more than one (sometimes overlapping or intersecting) network/ community – family, church, guild, neighbourhood, Sufi tekke – they essentially hold multiple insurance policies that may provide for them the protection and assistance supplied today by insurance companies or governments. These would include, for example: food, shelter, housing, clothing, health care, worker’s compensation, education, marriage support, care in old age and burial services. Historically, social and communal services like these made clear the advantages of belonging to the network/community. Historical documents sometimes provide concrete examples of how hard some people tried to prove that they belonged, or should be considered as belonging to, a certain community, in order to benefit from the material support to be gained.8 For a majority of people in pre-modern societies, the default was probably to belong to such protective insurance networks. Moreover, it seems likely that only people at the extreme edges of a society would have wanted, or been able, to remove themselves from networks like these or to be forcibly evicted. Such people, a small minority in any case, might have included criminals, eccentrics, ascetics, or anti-social, violent or brilliant individuals. They also might have been people of extreme power and extraordinary wealth who were able to step away because they were self-sustaining and perceived no potential benefit to belonging. However, periodic economic collapses, revolutions, wars and plagues were among the disasters that emphasized the need for some humility in the face of unforeseeable events. One of the keys to understanding what might be called a charity network is the idea that each person-node in this network was both donor and recipient. It is probably more usual to conceive of charity as taking place between, on the one hand, people characterized (more or less permanently) as “donors” and, on the other, those in the category “recipients”. In such a stereotypical scenario of charity relations, each node would serve only one function and be connected by only one type of link, even though perhaps to multiple recipients or multiple donors. Yet an alternative and perhaps more prevalent situation is that of one and the same person being a donor and a recipient. This might happen at different times of life, under changing circumstances or even simultaneously. A bit of luck and hard work could, over time, create a less vulnerable and more predictable life, while cataclysmic events, not to mention the more routine challenges of age and illness, could force former donors to become recipients. The same events might happen more 8 For an example, see the work of Mark R. Cohen on petitions of the Jewish poor in medi-

eval Cairo: Mark R. Cohen, Poverty and Charity in the Jewish Community of Medieval Eg ypt (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005), p. 288 and Mark R. Cohen, The Voice of the Poor in the Middle Ages: An Antholog y of Documents from the Cairo Geniza (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005).

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than once in a lifetime. Generic and traditional examples include: an orphan boy trained in a trade who became self-sufficient; an orphan girl dowered to marry; a wealthy person struck down by illness; a middle-class woman widowed in war or divorced; or a craftsman disabled in some accident. In each case, an individual would find him-/herself for the first time either needing assistance or able to offer it. The central texts of Judaism, Christianity and Islam all caution believers of such possibilities in an effort to encourage humility and generosity. The situation in which a person is simultaneously donor and recipient may be far more common than our historical imagination habitually conjures. For example: the person who endows a public kitchen is someone of great means and the number of people who benefit from the kitchen may number in the hundreds on a daily basis. Some of these people, however, are far from being impoverished, but have been included as beneficiaries due to their status as learned people or students, as travellers, officials or sick people. In turn, they themselves may be donors but on a different scale: in their neighbourhoods, helping impoverished relatives; among their professional cohorts; or in their religious communities. And even the act of offering a blessing or a word of comfort may be considered charitable giving, in addition to the more obvious transfer of money or resources, and bring spiritual benefits to the donor. This final idea offers even people of no material means a way to participate in networks of giving.9 Charity networks built on single nodes acting simultaneously as givers and donors may be more prominent and important, easier to discern in a pre-modern context. Once again, it seems likely that only at the extremes of poverty and wealth would someone play only one role at a time. Yet this type of duality in roles also exists, if less obviously and more impersonally, in many contemporary settings, particularly in countries where a capitalist economy and ethos prevail. For this, the term charity must be expanded to include what is usually labelled philanthropy. A student of means is still the beneficiary of philanthropic giving when attending a university partly supported by the private donations of buildings, books, endowed chairs and playing fields. Even those who can afford to buy tickets to cultural events, whether performances or exhibitions, are benefitting from the private funds donated to support the dance companies, museums and orchestras they frequent. Again, alternative models exist, such as the countries where educational, cultural and social services are all funded by tax-based government budgets, but along with the globalization of capitalism private philanthropy also seems to be enjoying growing popularity even as it remains similarly controversial. An idea fundamental to the conceptualization of charity and to understanding giving in social terms is Marcel Mauss’s notion of “the gift.” Based on studies of Pacific islanders and readings covering a broad range of societies, Mauss described 9 For example, a hadith says that a donation can include “even half a date”. Muhammad b.

Ismail‘al-Bukhari, Sahih al-Bukhari (Istanbul: Al-Maktaba al-Islami, 1979), p. 24 (zakat), bab 10.

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a system of “total services” ( prestations) in which people are necessarily engaged in continuous reciprocal relationships of giving. What appears to be voluntary giving is not actually voluntary but results from obligations imposed on people by previous gifts. There may be no immediate gift, in a literal, mechanical sense, which obliges someone to direct reciprocation. Nonetheless, by accepting a gift – and one is obliged to accept as well as to give in the societies discussed by Mauss – one acknowledges participation in and commitment to a network within which obligations to give are inherent. The obligations and reciprocations create a dynamic circulation of goods and services based on the underlying ties – of blood, loyalty, service and hierarchy – defining the society.10 The people Mauss described were mostly born into these societies and grew up inside these networks of “total services”. Although Mauss described his subject community in a particular time and place, his ideas have important implications for understanding human societies generally, even in the contemporary world. Moreover, Mauss contributed a sociological analysis of the implications of charitable giving for human relationships; he also essentially posited a network of giving, adding another dimension of meaning to the spiritual understanding of charitable giving discussed initially. As a topic of historical consideration, imarets have been written about almost universally as single institutions, built and included in the physical and financial framework of an endowed complex that would typically include a mosque, a school (medrese) and other social or cultural institutions.11 When imarets have been considered in any collective way, it has generally been in statements about the existence of a multiplicity of complexes and kitchens throughout the Ottoman Empire, as an Ottoman phenomenon. In concrete terms, some scholars have pointed to the presence of more than one imaret in a particular urban location, to emphasize the extent of Ottoman investment in developing the place. Zaviye-imarets built specifically for Sufi dervish orders have been referred to as instruments of Ottoman settlement and colonization in the Balkans, stressing the whole complex and not only the kitchen.12 Heath Lowry discusses imarets in collective terms as an instrument of 10 See Marcel Mauss, The Gift. The Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic Societies, trans.

W.D. Halls, foreword by Mary Douglas (London: Routledge, 1990), originally published in French as L’essai sur le don in 1925. For one (among many) Europeanist’s perspective on how Mauss’s ideas may inform the analysis of gift-giving outside the Pacific island context in which it was described by Mauss, see Natalie Zemon Davis, The Gift in SixteenthCentury France (Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 2000). 11 For an introduction to imarets and a review of the historical research on them, see Singer, “Imarets”. An example of work on a single imaret is found in Amy Singer, Constructing Ottoman Beneficence: An Imperial Soup Kitchen in Jerusalem (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2002), and in some of the articles included in Nina Ergin, Christoph K. Neumann, Amy Singer (eds.), Feeding People, Feeding Power: Imarets in the Ottoman Empire (Istanbul: Eren Yayınları, 2007). 12 Ömer Barkan, “Osmanlı İmparatorluğunda bir iskân ve kolonizasyon metodu olarak Vakıflar ve Temlikler: I. İstila Devirlerinin Kolonizatör Türk Dervişleri ve Zaviyeler,” Vakıflar Dergisi  2 (1942), 279-386; Semavi Eyice, “İlk Osmanlı Devrinin Dini-İctimai

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the early Ottoman policy of istimalet, winning people over, that followed on the conquest of a particular place. However, he stresses the overall impact of imarets rather than linking them or grouping them in any interactive way such as a network would imply.13 Imarets were also mentioned collectively in enumerations of the benevolent works of specific donors. Given the capital required to establish and endow an imaret, the founders belonged to the wealthier ruling strata of Ottoman society: the beğs of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries; the sultans; women of the imperial household; and viziers.14 Given the absence of wealthy merchants, religious figures or other members of Ottoman society from the ranks of the founders, there may also have been political or social restrictions that limited the founders to a relatively small segment of Ottoman society. Mapping imarets across the space of the Empire, albeit irrespective of time, reveals a certain pattern to imaret-making, suggesting that it is worth re-conceptualizing the imarets in a more organic and interconnected way. Imarets belonged to several networks and as such each imaret was a node at which the networks intersected. First, they were part of a network of charitable institutions that offered ritual and social services throughout the Ottoman Empire. Among these institutions were mosques, schools (mektep, medrese), hospitals, hans or caravanserais, burial services, baths, fountains and other activities that were sustained by permanent endowments. Imarets also constituted a network among themselves, one whose existence and characteristics are becoming more explicitly understood.15 For example, the Rum Seljuqs preceded the Ottomans in Anatolia as imperial rulers of a large part of Anatolia. Their sultans and viziers established caravanserais as endowments, some of which, though it is unclear how many, continued to operate well into the Ottoman Bir Müessesesi: Zaviyeler ve Zaviyeli-Camiler,” İstanbul Üniversitesi İktisat Fakültesi Mecmuası 23 (1962–63), 3-80; Sedat Emir, Erken Osmanlı Mimarlığında Çok Işlevli Yapılar: Kentsel Kolonizasyon Yapılar Olarak Zaviyeler (Izmir: Akademi Kitabevi, 1994); and Grigor Boykov, “Architecture as a Symbol of Power: Some Thoughts on the Ottoman Architectural Heritage of Plovdiv (Filibe),” in: Maria Baramova, Plamen Mitev, Ivan Parvev, Vania Racheva (eds.), Power and Influence in South-Eastern Europe 16th-19th Century, (Zurich: LIT Verlag, 2013), 67-85.  13 For a full elaboration of these ideas, see Heath W. Lowry, “Random Musings on the Origins of Ottoman Charity: From Mekece to Bursa, Iznik and Beyond,” in: Ergin, et al. (eds.), Feeding People, Feeding Power, 69–79; Heath W. Lowry, The Shaping of the Ottoman Balkans, 1350–1500: The Conquest, Settlement & Infrastructural Development of Northern Greece (Istanbul: Bahçeşehir University Publications, 2008), 65–106. 14 See, for example, on the 14th and 15th centuries, Lowry, The Shaping of the Ottoman Balkans and Heath W. Lowry, Fourteenth Century Ottoman Realities: In Search of Hâci-Gâzî Evrenos/ On Dördüncü Yüz yıl Osmanlı Gerçekleri (Istanbul: Bahçeşehir University Press, 2012); on women, Leslie P. Peirce, The Imperial Harem: Women and Sovereignty in the Ottoman Empire (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993),  p. 198-212; and on the Grand Vizier, Sokollu Mehmed Paşa, Gülru Necipoğlu, The Age of Sinan: Architectural Culture in the Ottoman Empire (London: Reaktion Press, 2005), p. 71, 355–362. 15 See note 11, above.

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period. When a map locating imarets in the Ottoman Empire is overlaid with one showing the locations of Seljuq hans in Anatolia, very few imarets appear in places where hans were located. Indeed, it almost looks as if the imarets were inserted into the spaces between the hans.16 The roles of the two institutions – imarets and hans – overlapped functionally as places where people travelling could find a protective and welcoming space to break their journey. Hans were fortress-like with space inside their walls for people, pack animals and cargos. In some cases, the traditional three days of hospitality offered free food in addition to shelter; in others only water and spaces to cook and sleep.17 Imarets as public kitchens were often part of or adjacent to spaces for sleeping and stabling animals. At the same time, they distributed meals to employees and stipendiaries of the imaret, of other institutions in the complex, travellers and specified others.18 One reason for the lack of physical overlap in han and imaret sites in Anatolia is that most hans were located so as to serve travellers on the roads between cities, while imarets, more often, were part of an urban fabric, welcoming travellers who arrived at those cities but also distributing food to some of the resident urban population. To reinforce this distinction, one may note that in the Balkans, where there was no Seljuq or indeed Muslim rule prior to the Ottomans, the Turkish beğs and the Ottomans established urban imarets as well as rural hans and sufi zaviyes. These latter two institutions had functions similar to those of imarets, at least in the crucial activities of offering food and shelter. In the large expanses of Anatolia, the distance between cities could be measured in many days of travel; in Thrace, Macedonia and the Balkans, the cities were closer together and the Ottomans encouraged settlement by founding mosque complexes at regular intervals along the routes, notably along the sağ, orta, and sol kolları. These were the right, centre and left ‘arms’ leading west from Istanbul and used by the army as well as by couriers and other travellers. Although there were variants, usually the sağ kol went through Çorlu, and turned due north at Baba Eski, eventually 16 These maps are based on the data collected from various Ottoman literary and docu-

mentary sources, together with the information supplied on the very detailed “Seljuk Han of Anatolia” website (www.turkishhan.org, last accessed 14 April 2019). An article that will publish these findings is in preparation. 17 See the extensive bibliography on Seljuq hans given at http://www.turkishhan.org/bibliography.htm (last accessed 14 April 2019). 18 See, for example, descriptions of the complexes, including large imarets, of Sultan Bayezid II in Edirne and Sultan Süleyman in Istanbul. Both had adjoining hospitality spaces. Mehmed Gökbilgin, XV. ve XVI. asırlarda Edirne ve Paşa Livâsı: Vakıflar, Mülkler, Mukataalar, (Istanbul: Üçler Basımevi, 1952, reprinted 2007); Fatih Müderrisoğlu, “Edirne II. Bayezid Külliyesi,” Vakıflar Dergisi 22 (1991), 151–98; Ömer Barkan, Süleymaniye Camii ve İmareti İnşaatı (1550–1557) (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1972–79); and Gülru Necipoğlu, “The Süleymaniye Complex in Istanbul: An Interpretation,” Muqarnas 3 (1985), 92–117. Examples from Damascus are discussed in Astrid Meier, “For the Sake of God Alone? Food Distribution Policies, Takiyyas and Imarets in Early Ottoman Damascus,” in: Ergin, et al. (eds.), Feeding People, Feeding Power, 121–49.

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crossing the Danube at Silistre; the orta kol continued north-west through Baba Eski to Edirne, Sofia and Belgrade; and the sol kol, following the Roman Via Egnatia, headed due west from Istanbul through Silivri, Tekirdağ, İpsala, Kavala and Salonika.19 Thus the imarets can usefully be conceived as part of a network and not merely as individual institutions identified solely by their founders. Finally, imarets belonged not only to a network of Ottoman benevolent institutions and one of imarets, but were also siblings in a family of institutions and practices that specifically attended to feeding people. These also included urban and rural hans and zaviyes, village guest-houses, palaces and the homes of wealthy people, as well as the occasions of official and personal celebrations. In each of these places and events, some people had a justifiable claim (hak) to receive a meal without paying for it; it was “free” to them based on who they were or what they did in the context of Ottoman society or administration. The meals were not served in restaurants: they required no obvious cash transactions or in-kind exchange. Within this network of food distribution sites, specific people had access to certain places and not others; some people probably could claim access to a larger numbers of sites (even if they would not necessarily frequent them); and some people had more limited options. Others had no claim at all to exercise on any possible site and so resorted to begging for assistance or a meal from likely sources, trying in this way to establish at least a temporary claim, perhaps based on a moral or pious imperative rather than one deriving from political or social status. A network of institutions like the one hypothesized here is organically ordered and largely self-policed. It did not exist on a municipal map nor in a guidebook. There were no directions for the perplexed traveller, who needed to be savvy or well-enough informed enough (for which, read: connected to a relevant network) to know or discover the correct address for his/her meal. The endowment deeds of some imarets list the people who could expect to eat there, on occasion specifically excluding undesirable groups.20 So, merchants and travellers on official business (like couriers, personal emissaries, or ambassadors) knew that they could arrive at an imaret or caravanserai or residence and expect to receive a meal. In the volumes of his seventeenth-century travel account, Evliya Çelebi notes where meals were to be found in the towns he visited and did so presumably because he expected to eat or had eaten his meals in one of the places he mentioned. However, he also sometimes states explicitly that a particular town had no imarets, or none that were functioning. In some of those same places, nevertheless, he adds that, in their stead, the Sufi zaviyes provided 19 These partial lists of stations along each arm are taken from Stephane Yerasimos, Les

voyageurs dans l’empire ottoman (XIVe-XVIe siècles): bibliographie, itinéraires et inventaire des lieux habités (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1991), p. 33-57, and see also the map “Anadolu and Rumeli in the Later 11th/17th century,” in: Hugh Kennedy (ed.), An historical atlas of Islam, 2nd revised ed., (Leiden: Brill, 2002). 20 See Singer, Constructing Ottoman Beneficence, p. 54-65, as well as various articles in Ergin et al. (eds.), Feeding People, Feeding Power.

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meals, and this was especially important in rural contexts where the urban range of institutional options did not exist.21 Evliya also specifies that the homes of wealthy people served as imarets for travellers (like himself).22 Apparently, this was not an uncommon practice among the Ottoman elites, who could expect that reciprocal hospitality would be available when needed. Evliya’s account adds depth to the idea of a food network, and points to the horizontal and vertical loci within it. A single imaret was connected to more than one network simultaneously. A meal offered by one member of the elite to another carried a different significance from that offered to a merchant or a student from an imaret bearing the sultan’s name. The first took place along a connection between two roughly equivalent individual nodes in this imagined food network; the second emphasized the hierarchy implied by the personal beneficence and power of the sultan as both individual and sovereign. His generosity was proffered through an impersonal and institutionalized link to numerous individuals. In one instance in his description of Istanbul, Evliya even calls Topkapı Palace an imaret due to the regular distribution of meals there, not only to the hundreds and eventually thousands of people who lived and worked there, but also to all daily visitors, whatever their business.23 It was an anticipated part of the agenda of a palace appointment or visit, whether by foreign ambassadors or subject petitioners. In this case the links between the sultan (or his representative) giver-node and the recipient-nodes were again vertical, laden with symbolism in both directions. Turning to the town of Edirne, the specific example of imarets there suggests some further ideas about charity networks in the Ottoman Empire. The number of imarets built and operating in Edirne over the course of its more than 600 years as an Ottoman city is uncertain. Ratıp Kazancıgil lists nine, all named for their founders: Sultan Bayezid I (Eski İmaret, Yıldırım), Gazi Mihal Paşa (Orta İmaret), the Muradiye of Sultan Murad II, Mezit Bey, Balaban Paşa, İbrahim Paşa, Evliya Kasım Paşa, Fazlullah Paşa, and Sultan Bayezid II. To these might be added at least two more, those of Beylerbeyi and Saruca Paşa. The imarets were founded over the course of almost a century, from 1399 (Bayezid I) to 1488 (Bayezid II). Thus eleven imarets may have been open and feeding clients at the end of the fifteenth century.24 21 One example of a rural zaviye hosting large numbers of travelers is the tekke of Akyazılı

Sultan at which Evliya arrived after leaving Silistre in the direction of Özü, on which see Evliya Çelebi Seyahatnamesi, 3. Kitap, edited by Seyit Ali Kahraman and Yücel Dağlı (Istanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 1999), p. 199. I am grateful to Grigor Boykov for pointing out this example. 22 Evliya Çelebi, Evliya Çelebi Seyahatnamesi, 1. Kitap: İstanbul, prepared by Orhan Şaik Gökyay (Istanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 1996; revised 2006), p. 132; Robert Dankoff, trans., Evliya Çelebi in Bitlis (Leiden: Brill, 1990), 147. 23 Evliya Çelebi, Seyahatname, 1. Kitap, p. 152a. 24 See Ratip Kazancıgil, Edirne İmaretleri (Istanbul: Türk Kütüphaneciler Derneği Edirne Şübesi Yayınları, 1991); Ratip Kazancıgil and H. Murat Tuğrul, Edirne ve Osmanlı

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For the purposes of the present discussion, the most noteworthy aspect of these imarets is their dispersed locations around the city. If they are placed on the map published by Özdeş in 1951,25 showing approximately the extent of settlement in the city toward the end of the fifteenth century, then the imarets more or less describe the perimeter of the city. Each of the imarets was located either at the edge of the settled area of the city and many were also along one of its main access routes (road or river). This pattern of distribution suggests that each had a catchment area, perhaps serving one or more town mahalles or quarters or emphasizing their specific role in hosting travellers, whether officials, merchants or others, by meeting them at entry points to the city. It is equally interesting to note where the imarets were not located. None was in immediate proximity to the old or new palaces, perhaps suggesting that Evliya’s claim with regard to Topkapı Palace was true of other palaces as well. That is: palaces acted as imarets, distributing meals to those who worked in them or arrived on business, and perhaps handing out leftovers in the immediate neighbourhood. They were, after all, the household residences of the Ottoman “first family” and so set or sustained the model for the obligations of well-to-do and leading households more generally. Imarets were not found in the market centre of Edirne, where two of the earliest Friday mosques, the Eski Cami and the Üç Şerefeli Camii, stood. Although the Üç Şerefeli had some of the subsidiary buildings of a mosque complex, neither of these mosques had a kitchen and in this they resembled the Ulu Cami of Bursa, also near the central markets and without an imaret. Perhaps free meals were available from other institutions in this part of a city, among the food dealers or shops preparing food; perhaps the fact that it was a non-residential neighbourhood in the centre of town obviated the need for such an institution. These distinctions suggest that the imarets belonged to a local network whose spatial pattern is beginning to emerge, but its social and occupational aspects are still not thoroughly understood. It remains to clarify how people made decisions about where they should turn for a meal. Presumably there were rules and boundaries that channelled individuals toward one type of institution or another. Such restrictions, however, may never have been specifically elaborated in writing, and so will appear only as a result of further research on the actual functioning of this group of imarets and of their associated nodes in the network.

Padişahları (Edirne: Türk Kütüphaneciler Derneği Edirne Şübesi Yayınları, 2001), p. 21, 27 and Gökbilgin, Edirne ve Paşa Livâsı, p. 252 and 255. Gökbilgin says that the beylerbeyi is Sinan Paşa but his identity needs to be resolved. This inventory of imarets in Edirne is still tentative and perhaps incomplete. Haim Gerber tried to calculate the percentage of Edirne’s residents who may have eaten regularly at imarets. See H. Gerber, “The Waqf Institution in Early Ottoman Edirne,” Asian and African Studies 17 (1983), 29-45. 25 Gündüz Özdeş, Edirne İmar Planına Hazırlık Etüdü (Istanbul: Istanbul Matbaacılık T.A.O., 1951), map “XV. Asır Sonlarında, Takriben 350 hektar.”

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This chapter has proposed some ideas about how to engage with the concept of social networking in the context of Ottoman history, if social is understood in its broadest possible meaning, and inseparable in fact from the economic, the political, and the cultural. The preceding discussion offers a point of departure for another way to consider the spatial organization and interconnection of aspects of Ottoman government, society and culture. It has begun to demonstrate how the idea of networks can be used to understand one single institution in more elaborate and complex terms. As noted here, the imarets constitute important physical nodes in intersecting networks of people and places, considered as broadly as an international or a trans-Ottoman perspective and narrowing to one that encompassed little more than the city of Edirne.

Hedda Reindl-Kiel

Networks in Kind: The Ottoman System of Gift Giving with Regards to Some Regions in the Balkans

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f we were briefly to characterise pre-modern Ottoman society, we could list a firm sense of hierarchy, a deep-rooted group consciousness, a meticulous perception of status and honour in combination with strong corporatist features and patronage as a comprehensively practised social concept.1 All these traits found their material expression in the Ottoman system of gift-giving, which involved virtually all parts of society and formed – parallel to the monetary cycle – a circular flow of commodities. The majority of all interactions within the Ottoman administration were connected to an exchange of gifts, be it in the form of objects, be it in form of “favours”. At first glance, this latter category has the smell of an institutionalised system of corruption, but, if we do not impose the moral standards of modern Western society on premodern Ottoman traditions the situation is more intricate. Selânikî Mustafa Efendi, a close observer of matters and processes within the administration, draws a link between gifts and bribery2, while apparently not being part of the gifting cycle himself. We do not know, whether his statements are singular opinions or reflect views shared by a broader public. Strictly speaking, corruption in the Ottoman Empire implied an explicit settlement of remuneration, a deal mostly lacking in the Ottoman traffic in gifts. Even in cases when such agreements were made, an Ottoman official would define this arrangement as rüşvet (corruption)3 only if the “favour” from his side would clearly violate given laws and rules. Nevertheless, the passage from gift to corruption was at all times more or less fluid. The normal way of gift-giving was, however, an act without any special agreements, thus fitting into the pattern of a gift economy, a system for creating and strengthening social bonds. The term “gift economy” (économie de don), contrasted to “barter economy” and “market economy”, is widely used and much debated in anthropology. It

1 Halil İnalcık, “State, Sovereignty and Law during the Reign of Süleyman.” in: idem -

Cemal Kafadar (eds.), Süleymân the Second and his Time (Istanbul: Isis, 1993), 69-102.

2 See, for example, Selânikî Mustafa Efendi, Tarih-i Selânikî (971-1003/1563-1595). Mehmet

İpşirli (ed.), (Istanbul: Edebiyat Fakültesi Basımevi, 1989). 2 vols., pp. 258, 328, 409, 427, 736. 3 For a general outline of corruption in the Ottoman Empire (from a judicial viewpoint) see Ahmet Mumcu, Osmanlı Devletinde Rüşvet (Istanbul: İnkilâp Kitapevi, 19852), 83-162.

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was coined by Marcel Mauss in his Essai sur le don (1923),4 the first modern scholar to analyse in depth the phenomenon of the gift, arguing that a gift always bears the obligation of reciprocity. Thus, a gift is never “free”, it is at all times imbedded into commitments – to give – to accept – and to reciprocate. The gift given in return is in general presented after an appropriate lapse of time to avoid notions of barter. The Ottoman gift circle knew at least three types of gift (the great number of expressions for gifts indicates many more types, of course), making sure that no misunderstandings in terms of status within the hierarchical order could occur: a tributary gift (mostly called pişkeş) offered to a superior; a gift to someone of equal standing (often called hediye, sometimes as a form of polite style also pişkeş); and a gift handed down to an underling (ihsan, in‘am, at the royal court also tasadduk). In contrast to other gift cultures, official gifts (with private ones the situation might have been different) in the Ottoman world did not bear the aura of the donor and thus form a special category of items. As soon as they were received and accepted they were considered normal private property and put into the treasury or used otherwise. While until the second half of the 17th century a clear tendency prevailed to send gift packages from household to household, allowing the head of the hane (household) to distribute the presented items at will, later we witness a trend also to direct separate parcels to the senior members (like the majordomo and others) of an official’s staff,5 which were again meant to be given out in the respective sub-household. This was certainly linked to changing access to high positions in the administration.6 While during the 16th century successful careers typically started in the royal palace, the 17th century saw a growing tendency for power to be attained through being trained in one of the great households. To keep all items from a gift package for oneself was not regarded as particularly well-mannered. The distribution of received gift packages was not necessarily a near-term matter and the recipients could be anyone “who deserved it,” as Evliya Çelebi puts it.7 Gifts were usually presented on certain occasions such as visits, religious holidays, feasts, delivering taxes or messages, inauguration into a new office, family celebrations (such as cir-

4 For this paper the following English translation was used: Ian Cunnison: Marcel Mauss,

The gift: forms and functions of exchange in archaic societies (London: Cohen & West, 1954).

5 Cf. Hedda Reindl-Kiel, “Luxury, Power Strategies and the Question of Corruption:

Gifting in the Ottoman Elite (16th-18th Centuries).” in: Yavuz Köse, Tobias Völker (eds.), Şehrâyîn: Die Welt der Osmanen, die Osmanen in der Welt: Wahrnehmungen, Begegnungen und Abgrenzungen./ Illuminating the Ottoman World: Perceptions, Encounters and Boundaries. Festschrift Hans Georg Majer (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2012), 111, 117. 6 See Rifaat A. Abou-el-Hajj, “The Ottoman Vezir and Pasha Households, 1683-1703: A Preliminary Report.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 94 (1974), 438-447. 7 Seyit Ali Kahraman, Yücel Dağlı, Robert Dankoff (eds.), Evliyâ Çelebi Seyahatnamesi. 7. Kitap. Topkapı Sarayı Kütüphanesi Bağdat 308 numaralı yazmanın transkripsiyonu – dizini (Istanbul: Yapı ve Kredi, 2003), 236.

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cumcisions, weddings), arrival at a new post in the province, departure from there, or just arrival at a settlement during a journey. The practice of the central Ottoman administration of preserving all possible records for the future enables us to reconstruct networks of local officials in some places. The Ottoman Archives of the Turkish Prime Ministry and of the Topkapı Sarayı namely contain a number of treasury inventories (in the catalogues mostly labelled hediye defteri or “gift register”), originally owned by high-ranking pashas. Well-kept registers of this kind note for every item whether it was bought or came as a gift (gifts formed usually approximately 70-90 % of all objects), who had been its donor and who received it later.8 Unfortunately, such well-kept inventories are extremely rare. More frequent are registers either mentioning only donors or only recipients. Nevertheless, all types of this kind of inventory provide us with the possibility of tracing the networks of the treasury’s owner to a certain degree. For unknown reasons, unfortunately no truly informative treasury inventory of a pasha based in the Balkans has come to light until now. This is nothing specific to the Balkans, however. Relevant archival material for most provinces in Anatolia is lacking as well. Many registers constitute a challenge because they do not reveal the owner’s name, his function or his place of residence. A fragment of an inventory from 177417759 is a good example for such a case. The items listed indicate a high dignitary, who is only mentioned as veliyü ‘n-ni‘âm (patron); inner evidence points to a governor (or a deputy-governor) of Filibe/Plovdiv, then Eğriboz/ Chalkis (Euboea), Bosnia, Selânik/ Salonica and finally Sivas. The first page of the defter seems not to mention any gifts. The heading reads: Filibe’de hazinedar ağadan anahtar ağasına teslim olunan (“[Items] handed over in Filibe/ Plovdiv from the treasurer to the master of the keys”). It then lists three jewelled hançers (scimitar), a diamond-studded knife, several precious boxes and cases (all these items could have been perfect gifts) – and three provincial seals (eyalet mühri) with boxes. One of them was handed over to the pasha’s mühürdar (Keeper of the Seals). The seals can hardly have been a present and they suggest that the pasha had the function of provincial governor. A portable golden case for instruments (such as mathematical or surgical utensils) - ustuc, seems to point to another employment, such as an inspector (müfettiş) or an official involved in frontier matters, yet the case was given in April 1774 to the pasha’s harem.10 Thus, given the provincial seals, it seems more plausible that his field of activity was indeed provincial administration. An even stronger indication is the 8 For a register of this kind see Hedda Reindl-Kiel, „Pracht und Ehre. Zum Geschenk-

wesen im Osmanischen Reich.“ in: Klaus Kreiser, Christoph K. Neumann (eds.), Das Osmanische Reich in seinen Archivalien und Chroniken. Nejat Göyünç zu Ehren (= Beiruter Texte und Studien Bd. 65, Türkische Welten Bd.1) (Istanbul-Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 1997), 170-181. 9 Başbakanlık Osmanlı Arşivi (henceforth: BOA), D.BŞM 4424. 10 D.BŞM 4424, p. 4.

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presence of a kapu kethüdası,11 the representative of a provincial governor at the central administration in Istanbul.12 If we put all dates and places mentioned into chronological order, the official must have been in Filibe/Plovdiv at the beginning of the year 1774. Between the beginning of April and beginning of December of the same year he is documented in Eğriboz/Chalkis; and from mid-June until the end of July of the following year (1775) we find him in Travnik, the provincial capital of Bosnia. The latest date in the defter is October, 30 1775 in Selânik/ Salonica. From Salonica he travelled at an unknown date to Sivas, as a small note indicates.13 While in Eğriboz our official had his harem with him14 and it seems likely that this was the case in Travnik and apparently in Salonica, too, as there is (under the heading “[Items] newly made in Travnik”) a reference to his harem ağası Bilâl “coming from Bosnia”.15 The document mentions a number of the pasha’s staff members: his treasurer (hazinedar ağa), his key-keeper (anahtar ağası), two eunuchs (Beşir and Bilâl) in charge of the harem (harem ağası), his confection master (ma‘cun ağası) named Emin Ağa, his keeper of the seal (mühürdar ağa), his chief equarry (rahtvan ağası), his custodian of the arms (silahdar ağa), his keeper of the ewers (ibrikdar), his majordomo (kethüda beğ ) and his kapu kethüdası. This indicates a rather extensive, sophisticated and wealthy household. Another agent referred to in the document, ‘Ali Ağa, is probably affiliated to an administrator in the office of the Grand Vizier and not to our pasha’s staff. ‘Ali Ağa is the Chief Gate-Keeper to the Memorandum Secretary (ser-bevvabini telhisî ).16 He brings to Istanbul a prayer rug (seccade) in the Polish fashion (Leh-kârî ) which our pasha has received from the Lieutenant-Governor (mütesellim) of Sofia.17 Who were – apart from his household members – the persons with whom our official exchanged gifts? The number of donors is amazingly small: apart from the mütesellim of Sofia, whose presents were received on the way from Filibe/ Plovdiv to Eğriboz,18 it was the finance director (deferdar) of Belgrade who had dispatched gifts to Travnik.19 In Eğriboz the majordomo (kethüda beğ ) delivered three expen-

11 D.BŞM 4424, p. 5. 12 See Mehmet Zeki Pakalın, Osmanlı Tarih Deyimleri ve Terimleri Sözlüğü, 3 vols. (Istanbul:

Millî Eğitim Basımevi, 1971), vol. 2, 172-3.

13 Note to the entry describing an enamel jewelled scimitar: Selânik’den Sivas’a giderken ufak

depesinden bir taşı düşmüştür (“When he went from Salonica to Sivas at the smaller end a stone fell out”), D.BŞM 4424, p. 4. 14 D.BŞM 4424, p. 4. 15 D.BŞM 4424, p. 6. 16 For telhis (memorandum) and telhisî/telhisçi see Pál Fodor, “Telhis” Türkiye Diyanet Vakfı İslâm Ansiklopedisi (henceforth: DİA) 43 (Istanbul 2011), 402-404. 17 D.BŞM 4424, p. 5. 18 Filibe’den Eğriboz’a teşrif-i veliyü ’n-ni‘âmîde esna-ı rahda Sofya müteselliminden gelen. D.BŞM 4424, p. 5. 19 D.BŞM 4424, p. 6.

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sive presents by means of an unnamed donor; and in the provincial capital of Bosnia the treasurer graced his patron with three valuable gifts.20 The recipients of our official’s benevolence were primarily members of his own household and staff: his harem,21 his majordomo,22 his two eunuchs, Beşir Ağa and Bilâl Ağa,23 his confection master (ma‘cun ağası) Emin Ağa and his custodian of the arms (silahdar ağa).24 The network-in-kind of our pasha was, of course, also directed to the outside world. In Eğriboz a certain Dellâlbaşıoğlu Monla Mustafa (maybe the judge or the deputy-judge?) and the keeper of the wardrobe (çukadar ağa) of the governor of Morea (Mora valisi) received gifts of a not excessively extravagant kind.25 A certainly sumptuous item (originating from the munificence of the mütesellim of Sofia), a prayer carpet in Polish fashion (Leh-kârî ), was sent “by the hands of ‘Ali Ağa, head of the gatekeepers at the memorandum secretary” to the Ottoman capital (asitane); it is not clear, though, whether the prayer carpet was directed to the pasha’s house in Istanbul, to the imperial court or to someone else. In Travnik a luxurious gift indeed was presented to “his Eminence the mufti of Filibe”: a new silver-gilt sword, which had been produced on the spot.26 In this context a small peculiarity deserves attention: the gift to the mufti is, like most other offerings handed out, called in‘am, pointing to a downward movement. This hints at the highly developed self-esteem or the rather high position of our pasha. Of course, the wardrobe keeper (çukadar) of the governor of the Morea was not pampered with a present out of the blue. We can be certain that he acted as his lord’s messenger bringing letters combined with a courtesy which, for unknown reasons (maybe because it was a horse or a cash gift), did not find its way into our recipient’s treasury register. It is hardly imaginable that the çukadar would be sent back to Tripolitsa without a reasonable offering for the governor. Thus, appropriate items might have been bought in the market and delivered directly to the çukadar; hence no registration in the treasury register would have been needed. Alternatively, perhaps the gift for the governor was not taken out of the normal treasury, but came from the stables and treasury of tackle and equipment for horses under the control of the equerry. In that case it would have been listed in a different register. A comparable situation seems natural in the case of ‘Ali Ağa, the telhisî’s head gatekeeper, who might have brought orders from the central administration to our veliyü ’n-ni‘âm. ‘Ali Ağa must definitely have been graced with a proper ‘souvenir’ before he started for the Ottoman capital.

20 D.BŞM 4424, p. 5. 21 Once in Eğriboz and once in Travnik, D.BŞM 4424, pp. 4 and 5. 22 D. BŞM 4424, p. 4. 23 D.BŞM 4424, pp. 5 and 6. 24 D.BŞM 4424, p. 5. 25 D.BŞM 4424, pp. 4 and 5. 26 D.BŞM 4424, p. 6.

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These conjectures indicate the weakness of this kind of source, although such sources do not reflect the overall picture, especially not when registers were not meticulously drawn up (as seems to be the case here) or several separate types of book-keeping were undertaken. To give an idea about the ‘normal’ gift network of a provincial governor, see the simplified and somewhat idealised diagram constructed on the basis of several pasha inventories27:

Ideal gift traffic of a provincial governor Sultan

Grand Vizier

Viziers

Saray Officials

Neighbouring Pashas

Local notables, ilmiye members & local sheiks

Religious dignitaries of the Empire Local businessmen & craftsmen

Provincial Governor

27 Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi Arşivi, D. 525. BOA, D.BŞM 258; D.BŞM 693; D.BŞM 2911;

MAD 14724.

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A prolific governor had to seek success on the spot, which could only be achieved via a local network. The neighbouring governors were important because they exercised a kind of social control over their colleagues in the adjoining provinces28 and could send negative reports – and one of them might make a career leap and become a superior. Every governor had to remain in favour with the incumbent grand vizier and, of course, the Sultan as the ultimate power. Evidently being on good terms with a future grand vizier was a major concern; therefore, all viziers had to be kept in focus. In this context we should not forget that patronage, the basis of smooth career paths, was often linked to offering the right gift at the right time, yet caring about the future for pre-modern men meant also thinking about the afterlife; hence, next to religious endowments, good contacts with spiritual leaders had to be established and cultivated. As a matter of fact, however, in many cases the documents do not make it known how recipients of an official’s largesse (and sometimes the donors as well) relate to one of these categories. Many entries in the registers do not contain functions or titles, but just mention Mehmed’e gönderildi (“sent to Mehmed”) or Ahmed Ağa’ya verildi (“given to Ahmed Ağa”). In the official’s inventory described above at least one donor is not named and the function of Dellâlbaşıoğlu Monla Mustafa is not clear. Such problems of attribution occur virtually in all registers and of course make the final picture somewhat blurred. Let us have a short look at the nature of the presented items registered in this defter. Dellâlbaşıoğlu Molla Mustafa received a slightly unusual gift: an unadorned comb of rhinoceros horn (sade som tarak). The majordomo was honoured with a rosary of black coral (savalia savaglia)29 festooned with gold (altun harçlı yesürî tesbih). The ‘Polish’ prayer rug had been, together with a caparison in the same style (Lehkârî kesme),30 an offering by the mütesellim of Sofia. All these objects matched the requirement of a proper present, since they were rare and not easy to obtain. Furthermore, rosary and prayer carpet had a religious connotation. Three items from an unnamed donor, forwarded by the majordomo, were fairly conventional gifts: a pair of silver pistols (which were then bestowed on Beşir Ağa,

28 Viorel Panaite, The Ottoman Law of War and Peace: The Ottoman Empire and Tribute Payers

(Boulder: East European Monographs, 2000), 392.

29 See http://www.misircarsisindan.com/Yusuri-Tesbih-001_164.html#0 (27 October 2013),

http://www.tesbihcimuharrem.net/link_goster.asp?id=47 (27 October 2013). Black corals of this type (savalia savaglia) still grow in the Sea of Marmara, http://gundem.milliyet.com.tr/marmara-ben-daha-olmedim/gundem/gundemdetay/12.11.2012/1625469/ default.htm (27 October 2013). The Kamus-ı Türkî describes the material as the black root of a tree, though; Raşit Gündoğdu, Niyazi Adıgüzel, Ebul Faruk Önal (eds.), Şemseddin Sami: Kâmûs-ı Türkî (Istanbul: ideal kültür & yayıncılık, 2011), 1198. I am grateful to Doç. Dr. Aziz Merhan for this reference. 30 The caparison was handed over (teslim) in Travnik to the equerry (rahtvan ağası), D.BŞM 4424, p. 5.

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the harem ağası), 11.375 m of serge broadcloth (saye çuka)31 and 10.4 m32 of red Flemish broadcloth (al renk Felemenk çukası). Valuable weapons were a standard gift and the same is true for broadcloth, a fabric sometimes worn by high dignitaries but mainly used for dressing their retinue. As the head of an elite household had to supply his attendants twice a year with new clothing, a gift of broadcloth to a pasha could be seen as a subsidy to his material obligations. We do not know the width of these fabrics.33 While the serge broadcloth was utilised for the repair of the veliyü ‘n-ni‘âm’s carriage (hinto), the Flemish broadcloth was cut into three pieces and used for gifts to the confection master (ma‘cun ağası) Emin Ağa (4.5 zira‘, 2.925 m), to the custodian of arms (3.5 zira‘, 2.275 m) and to the wardrobe keeper of the governor of the Morea (4 zira‘, 2.6 m). These quantities were supposedly only enough for a waistcoat, but certainly not for a whole dress. The largesse of the representative at the central administration (kapu kethüdası), two bolts of Angora shawl (Engüri şalîsi) and one bolt of mohair (sof ) for baggy trousers (çakşırlık), sent to Eğriboz, definitely bore a courtly flair, since şali34 and mohair were worn as equally luxurious substitutes for silk, frowned upon for religious reasons. Appropriately, one bolt of petrol-coloured shawl material was consigned to the harem, the second bolt of white shawl material served for tailoring long, wide coats (biniş) and gowns (cübbe) for the pasha and his son (?) Süleyman Beğ (efendimize ve necâtlu Süleyman Beğ efendimize). The bolt of mohair (sof ) was used to make three bulky pairs of trousers “for our lord”. After our pasha had moved to Travnik he did not have to go without the benevolence of his kapu kethüdası, who sent him a silver pen-case with golden adornments (it was handed over to a certain Lütfullah Efendi, who might have been the head clerk, divan efendisi, in the service of our pasha). Two pieces of sable fur seem to have completed the gift package and were, four months later in Salonica, used for the lining of the pasha’s gown. The finance director (defterdar) of Belgrade sent a collection of (gilded) tombac objects to Travnik: a washbowl with ewer, a water ewer (matara ibriği) and a decoration to hang from the ceiling (askı). The last object must have corresponded precisely to our pasha’s taste, since it was sent to his house in the Ottoman capital.35 Within the household gift-giving was by no means one-way traf31 It was 17.5 cubits (zira‘ ), D.BŞM 4424, p. 5. The zira‘ for fabrics equals 0.650 m. Cf. Halil

İnalcık, “Weights and Measures.” in: idem, Donald Quataert, An Economic and Social History of the Ottoman Empire, 1300-1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), p. 988. 32 16 zira‘, D.BŞM 4424, p. 5. 33 At the gift-giving for a royal circumcision festival in 1720 one length (donluk) of broadcloth was 12 cubits (zira‘ ) equalling 7.8 m. See Hedda Reindl-Kiel, “Power and Submission: Gifting at Royal Circumcision Festivals in the Ottoman Empire (16th-18th Centuries).” Turcica 41 (2009), p. 70, n. 223. 34 Engürü Şalî, made of Angora wool, resembles serge, a European fabric, but had a more robust, but suppler quality. See Hülya Tezcan, Atlaslar Atlası: Pamuklu, Yün ve İpek Kumaş Koleksiyonu/ Cotton, Woolen and Silk: Fabrics Collection (Istanbul: YKB, 1993), 26. 35 D.BŞM 4424, p. 6.

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fic. Thus, the ‘patron’ received from his treasurer a pair of pistols with a matchlock out of one piece of iron ( yek-pare timur kundaklı piştov) and a multi-coloured striped divan cover (divan futası).36 The selection of gifts our official would keep for himself and his nuclear family reveals him to have been a conscious member of the Ottoman elite. Even if our source admittedly yields only very limited insights, we can reconstruct a fragmentary network: our pasha seems to have been on good terms with the mütesellim of Sofia, the Governor of the Morea and the finance director (defterdar) of Belgrade. One individual (Dellâlbaşıoğlu Molla Mustafa in Eğriboz) of the man’s networkin-kind cannot be identified with certainty and another person (the mufti of Filibe) might have been a personal friend from the pasha’s time in Plovdiv. As already said, the presence of a kapu kethüdası in combination with the three provincial seals37 in our official’s possession is a strong argument that he was responsible for the administration of a province, even if his gift traffic does not fully match the scale to be expected of a governor. Thus, it seems tempting to suggest that he might have been a lieutenant-governor (mütesellim). However, a closer look at the provinces and dates given in the document reveals that all data harmonise very well with the last stages of the career of the former Grand Vizier İvazzade Halil Pasha.38 Halil Pasha was born in 1137 H (1724-5) as the son of İvaz Mehmed Pasha (born in Jagodina in the South of Belgrade), who later rose to Gand Vizier and became famous as “conqueror of Belgrade ( fatih-i Belgrad)” (1739).39 After having been mirahor-ı evvel (chief equerry) three times, Halil was appointed beylerbeyi (governor) of Rumili in October 1769 with the rank of Vizier and in December of the same year Grand Vizier. The failures during the Turco-Russian War, the catastrophe at Çeşme and the disaster at Kartal led to his dismissal (which stripped him also of the rank of Vizier) in December 177040. According to Ahmed Resmi Efendi, Halil Pasha had embezzled 600 -700 purses of akçes from the war chest.41 As Ahmed Resmi had lost his post as majordomo of the grand vizier on the appointment of Halil Pasha, this statement should be treated with a little caution. It happened often that high officials were deeply in debt to the imperial treasury following a military campaign. Usually they had received an advance of larger sums of money right at the outset of the campaign and were eventually not able to produce hüccets (legal certificates) for parts of their expenditure. 36 D.BŞM 4424, p. 5. 37 In all likelihood these seals did not belong to different provinces, but were three copies

for one single province.

38 I am very grateful to Snježana Buzov, who, with details from Bosnia, put me on the

track.

39 For his career see Fikret Sarıcaoğlu, “Hacı İvaz Paşa” in DİA 14, 487-8. 40 Fikret Sarıcaoğlu, “İvazzâde Halil Paşa” in DİA 23, 494-5. 41 Virginia H. Aksan, An Ottoman Statesman in War and Peace: Ahmed Resmi Efendi, 1700-1783

(Leiden, New York, Köln: Brill, 1995), p. 133.

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Fikret Sarıcaoğlu links the absence of confiscation measures after Halil Pasha’s fall from power to the influence of his former eunuch Bilal Ağa, who entered service in the royal palace and rose to the post of darüssa‘de ağası.42 Our register fragment suggests, however, that Bilal Ağa was still living in Halil Pasha’s household in 1774.43 After his dismissal Halil Pasha was banned to Filibe/ Plovdiv until he was again promoted to the rank of Vizier and appointed (20 December 1773) Governor of Eğriboz at the intercession of the Grand Vizier Muhsinzade Mehmed Pasha. In September 1774 Karlı-ili was added as a supplement (arpalık) to Halil Pasha’s salary. After his brother İbrahim Bey Efendi’s promotion to şeyhülislâm at the end of September 1774,44 Halil was appointed Governor of Hersek and Bosnia (24 February 1775). However, with his brother’s sacking 29 July1775 Halil Pasha’s time in Travnik ended too; and he was transferred to the governorship of Salonica (with the addition of Kavala) at the end of August 1775 and, at the end of September 1776, received an appointment as Governor of Sivas. On his way there, on the old silk road near Nallıhan (west-north-west of Ankara), he passed away (20 December 1776), leaving behind more debts than property.45 Halil Pasha’s postings in the Balkans after his fall from the Grand Vizierate might have to do with his family background in Serbia. His father Hacı İvaz Pasha, after his dismissal from the same position, had been appointed Governor of Jeddah but had asked for another governorship, claiming that he was not able to bear the climate of the Arabian Peninsula. Eventually, he was sent to Crete, then to Salonica, Bosnia and Eğriboz (including also Karlı-ili).46 The similarity in the career trajectories of father and of son is amazing. Halil Pasha’s career path after being dismissed from the office of Grand Vizier suggests that his treasury register was anything but well kept. It is striking that no welcome or farewell gifts from local groups are on record. These type of collective donors are almost omnipresent in gift registers of the 18th century.47 None of the connections with the central administration, the grand viziers (Silâhdar Mehmed Pasha, Muhsinzade Mehmed Pasha, İzzet Mehmed Pasha) and his şeyhülislâm brother is documented at all. It is completely unimaginable that Muhzinzade Mehmed Pasha’s intercession in favour of Halil Pasha occurred without any 42 Sarıcaoğlu,“İvazzâde Halil Paşa“ 495. 43 D.BŞM 4424, p. 4. The wording harem ağası Bilâl Ağa’ya Bosna’dan gelürken in‘amdır must

have been written in Salonica, Halil Pasha’s next post, to which he set out at the end of August 1775. Hence Bilal started his career in the royal palace apparently only after Halil Pasha’s death. 44 For his career see Mehmet İpşirli, “İbrahim Beyefendi, İvazpaşazâde” in DİA 21, 290-291. 45 Sarıcaoğlu,“İvazzâde Halil Paşa“, 495 -6. 46 Sarıcaoğlu, “Hacı İvaz Paşa”, 488. 47 Cf. Aykut Mustak, “A Study on the Gift Log, MAD 1279: Making Sense of Gift-Giving in the Eighteenth Century Ottoman Society.” (Unpublished MA-Thesis, Boğaziçi University, Istanbul, 2007), 78, 110-114, 122, 129. Another example is BOA, D.BŞM 1371, pp. 5-6 (about the owner of the treasury vide infra).

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gift traffic. This is even less conceivable regarding the latter’s reputation of being exceedingly free-handed. Apparently his generosity went hand-in-hand with carelessness in book-keeping. His distribution of rather small pieces of broadcloth does not match with frivolous bounteousness, though. Rather, it indicates parsimony and might have had its roots in Halil Pasha’s heavy debts to the imperial treasury. However, the lavish silver-gilt sword for the mufti of Plovdiv speaks another language. It suggests a certain instability in the pasha’s character, floating between open-handedness and parsimoniousness. Did this imbalanced gift-giving habit play a role at his last assignment to a location like Sivas (which might not have been the pasha’s primary choice)? Given the short terms Halil Pasha served in the respective provinces it is not astonishing that we find few traces of networks on the spot. His lasting friendship with the mufti of Plovdiv must have been a product of the pasha’s stay for three years in this town on the banks of the Maritsa. In Eğriboz, where he spent a little more than a full year, he came into closer contact to Dellâlbaşıoğlu Molla Mustafa, again a member of the ‘ulema, while his sojourn in Travnik of only a few months must have been too short for creating a local network. The ongoing gift traffic within the household should not be seen as a peculiarity of Halil Pasha’s demeanour. Due to the exceedingly short terms in one post in the respective provinces it must have been, for him, the only stable network-in-kind. In many respects İvazzâde Halil Pasha’s treasury register resembles another fragmentary inventory (12 pages) from the years 1130-1134 (1718-1722),48 belonging to an unnamed dignitary, whom we can identify as Şatır ‘Ali Pasha, a native of Melnik (in the south-west of today’s Bulgaria, Menlik in Turkish). The entries in this register indicate that he had connections beyond his official seat Kütahya, in Bursa, Chios, Manisa, Üsküb/ Skopje, Niş and Melnik. Yet, his later posting in the Hejaz (which was a dead end in terms of professional advancement) raises doubts that his network was a lasting success.49 Our next example leads us to the semi-autonomous principality (voyvodalık, “voyvodship”) of Wallachia and its ruler (voyvoda)50 by the grace of the Ottomans. 48 BOA, D.BŞ M 1371. 49 In 1716 he was deputy grand vizier (ka’immakam) in the Ottoman capital, held the

rank of vizier and had the governorship of Rumelia. In 1718, an appointment as governor of Anatolia followed. In 1722, ‘Ali Pasha was promoted away to the combined governorship of Abyssinia (Habeş) and Jeddah (Cidde); at the same time he became şeyhü ‘l-harem of Mecca. He died there in July/August 1724. See the chronicle of Çelebizade İsma‘il Âsım Efendi: Abdülkadir Özcan et al., Târîh-i Râşid ve Zeyli. III, Istanbul: Klasik, 2013, 1338. See also Fahameddin Başar, Osmanlı Eyâlet Tevcihâtı (1717-1730). Ankara: TTK, 1997, 278. 50 As the word voyvoda in the Ottoman language of that time denoted, as well as the rulers of the Danubian principalities, an official in the finance administration (see below), henceforth here only the anglicised form “voyvod”, but not voyvoda is used in the sense of “prince”.

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From the 18th century onward the voyvods of the Danubian Principalities were usually Phanariots (so called after the quarter Phanar/ Fener, in Istanbul where the Patriarchate is located51) bringing with them the Greek upper-class way of life. Of course, this cultural attitude had been shaped by the Ottoman environment. Until the end of the 18th century under the influence of the Phanariots the whole life-style of the Romanian nobility had become very close to the habits of the ruling elite in Ottoman İstanbul,52 but the whole process had started much earlier. The adaption to Ottoman gift-giving habits by Christian vassals is indicated by an account in the travelogue of Edmund Chishull (“chaplain to the factory of the worshipful Turkey Company at Smyrna”), who in 1701 accompanied the English Ambassador to Constantinople on his way back to England. In Bucharest the group enjoyed the hospitality of the Prince of Wallachia, Joannes Constantin Bassarab, who gave them a feast, and “[a]t the conclusion of the entertainment he vested his Excellency with a rich silk robe of the Valachian fashion, lined with an excellent sable fur”.53 A hil‘at (robe of honour) was an institutionalised gift which was always handed out in a downward movement. Hence it is never to be found among the tributary gifts ( pişkeş) sent by pashas to the Porte. Hil‘ats were given out by the court, i.e. (at least in theory) by the sultan. Since the distribution of robes of honour was in principle a royal prerogative and the voyvod of Wallachia was an Ottoman vassal, one might think at first glance that Bassarab acted here in the name of his master, the Sultan. The ritual of vesting someone with a robe of honour was, however, designed to emphasise the symbolic bondage of the invested individual. However, the description of the garment being of Wallachian fashion rules out the possibility that it could have been presented in the sultan’s name. Bassarab obviously acted on his own account, imitating his master, but adapting the robe to local models, thus giving the whole ceremony an indigenous touch. At the same time, the robing ceremony underlined his own status as a prince who could make the ambassador of His British Majesty his vassal. A short, almost perfectly drawn register from Nicolae Mavroyeni, Voyvod (hospodar) of Wallachia from 6 April 1786 until 1789 (executed 1790), allows us a small glimpse of the sort of network-in-kind that a non-Muslim, semi-autonomous prince could establish (and maintain) with the Ottoman world.54 Mavroyeni was Greek, born in 1735 or 1738 on the island of Paros, where his grandfather had been a judge. Like two of his uncles, Nicolae Mavroyeni had become dragoman of the Ottoman fleet in 1770, where he developed certain diplomatic skills55 and gained the protec51 See Tülay Artan, “Fener” in DİA 12, 341-342. 52 Peter F. Sugar, Southeastern Europe under Ottoman Rule, 1354-1804 (Seattle and London:

University of Washington Press, 1977), p. 135.

53 Edmund Chishull, Travels in Turkey and back to England (London: Bowyer, 1747), p. 79. 54 BOA, D.BŞM 5404. For a facsimile of the register see the Appendix. 55 Peter Mario Kreuter, „Franz Leopold von Metzburg und Nicolae Mavroyeni: Momen-

taufnahmen einer schwierigen Beziehung zweier diplomatischer Welten.“ in: Harald Heppner, Eva Posch (eds.), Encounters in Europe’s Southeast: The Habsburg Empire and the

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tion of the powerful Ottoman Admiral Ceza’irli Gazi Hasan Pasha, who installed him as the chief translator of the Ottoman fleet. This appointment implied controlling tax collection in the Mediterranean islands and in a way resembled the post of governor.56 Koca Yusuf Pasha, the incumbent Grand Vizier in 1786, had originally been Hasan Pasha’s protegé and later his representative at the central administration in Istanbul (kapu kethüdası).57 This fruitful patronage relationship gave, of course, the Admiral’s recommendation of Mavroyeni a special weight.58 Another advocate for the latter’s voyvodship was the French ambassador Choiseul-Gouffier who hoped to gain for French ships access to the Black Sea via Mavroyeni’s and Hasan Pasha’s influence.59 Mavroyeni had administrative experience, did not harbour friendly sentiments towards the Russians and had the reputation of being a sound friend of the Porte, so he was considered the ideal man for the Wallachian voyvodship.60 His installation has therefore to be seen within the framework of the imminent war against Russia. Testimony for his Turcophile feelings was his promotion of the Turkish language, which culminated in an – albeit unsuccessful – attempt to create a college for the study of Ottoman in the Vlah Sarayı in Istanbul.61 His endowment (vakf) for the upkeep of three fountains and the water supply in the village of Paroikia on Paros62 suggests that there was no big difference in his habitus to that of contemporary Muslim dignitaries. As Mavroyeni was not a scion of one of the noble Phanariot or Wallachian families,63 he had in Bucharest no local power basis of his own and depended mainly on his relations with the Ottoman establishment. These circumstances and his whole background seem to be the reason for the particularly unfavourable portrait painted of him by Romanian and Greek sources.64 It would be interesting to Orthodox World in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries. (Bochum: Verlag Dr. Dieter Winkler, 2012), 81-82. 56 Arzu Meral, “A Survey of Translation Activity in the Ottoman Empire.” Osmanlı Araştırmaları/Journal of Ottoman Studies 42 (2013), p. 117. 57 Cf. Mahir Aydın, “Cezayirli Gazi Hasan Paşa” in DİA 7, 501-503. İsmail Hakkı Uzunçarşılı, “Cezayirli Gazi Hasan Paşa’ya Dair.” Türkiyat Mecmuası 7-8/1 (1942), 17-40. 58 Cf. Uzunçarşılı, “Cezayirli Gazi Hasan Paşa”, p. 25. 59 Sophia Laiou, “Between Pious Generosity and Faithful Service to the Ottoman State: The Vakıf of Nikolaos Mavrogenis, End of the Eighteenth Century.” Turkish Historical Review 6 (2015), 153-154. 60 Nicolae Jorga, Geschichte des Osmanischen Reiches, 5 vols. (Gotha: Perthes, 1913; Reprint: Frankfurt/Main: Eichborn, 1990), vol. 5, p. 43-46. Alexandre A.C. Stourdza, L’europe orientale et le role historique des Maurocordato, 1660-1830 (Paris: Librairie Plon, 1913), p. 266-267. 61 Johann Strauss, “The Rise of Non-Muslim Historiography in the Eighteenth Century.” Oriente Moderno n.s., anno 18:1 (79) (1999), p. 219 and 223, n. 31. 62 See Laiou, “Between Pious Generosity and Faithful Service,” 151-174. 63 For the question of who counted as Phanariot, see Sugar, Southeastern Europe under Ottoman Rule, p. 133-134. 64 Cf. Stourdza, L’europe orientale, p. 266-267. Kreuter, „Franz Leopold von Metzburg“, p. 82-83. Walter Puchner, “Satirische Dialoge in dramatischer Form aus dem Phanar

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follow Mavroyeni’s actions in Wallachia on the basis of the rich Ottoman sources extant in the archives of the Turkish Prime Ministry. Shortly after his coronation in Bucharest, Mavroyeni started to send bohças (boğça in Ottoman), “bundles”, the traditional Ottoman parcels, to a number of Ottoman officials in the wider surroundings of his residence, Bucharest. He sent gifts to Adakale (Ada-ı Kebîr in the document), Rusçuk/ Ruse, Yergöğü/ Giurgiu (Yerköy in the document), İbrâil/ Brăila, Silistre, Fethülislam/ Kladovo, Vidin and Ismail. This we learn from the short register mentioned above. A peculiarity of the inventory is its restriction to Muslim Ottoman officials. The total lack of local Christian notables is striking: no Metropolitan, no bishop, no boyar is mentioned as recipient of a gift. Since it is inconceivable that these people were left out of the voyvod’s focus, our register must have had a special purpose. The document is structured strictly chronologically, starting with the gifts for the mihmandar (host, caretaker) Mehmed Ağa, obviously the Ottoman official attached to the voyvod’s retinue to enthrone and install him in Bucharest.65 Since Mehmed Ağa was the individual to legitimise Mavroyeni at the sultan’s court, he had particularly to be pampered. His share in the gift shower consisting of fabrics,66 similar to the allocations for the other recipients, but including also a pair of ermine fur squares (tulum),67 amounted to the relatively high value of 605 guruş. The bohça for the sultan was dispatched two weeks later, doubtless on the departure of Mehmed Ağa, heading for the Ottoman capital. As to be expected, this ‘bundle’, costing a total of 1040 guruş, is the most expensive of all gift parcels listed in the inventory. In contrast to all the others the sultan’s bohça contained, albeit in a number of variations, only one type of fabric, namely ağbani: plain (sade), embroidered (işlenmiş), with gold

und den transdanubischen Fürstentümern (1690-1820). Eine sekundäre Textgruppe des vorrevolutionären griechischen Theaters.“ Zeitschrift für Balkanologie 43/2 (2007), 193. 65 Cf. Viorel Panaite, The Ottoman Law of War and Peace: The Ottoman Empire and Tribute Payers (Boulder: East European Monographs, 2000), p. 354-355. 66 Mehmed Ağa received one length (tak) of şal for a robe (140 guruş), one length of car şal (110 guruş), two lengths of Indian (Hind-kârî ) çitari (70 guruş), two lengths of Indian gezi (70 guruş), one square (tulum) of ermine fur, kakum (95 guruş), one length of mohair, sof, for a robe (40 guruş) and one length of embroidered (işleme) ağbani (80 guruş), D.BŞM 5404, p. 4. Şal is a woollen fabric imitating Persian and Indian “shawl” products, especially their patterns; car şal has a plain coloured centre, a border and filled corners. It could be used for garments, curtains and many more items. Çitari was a silk-cotton mixture, mostly striped in two colours. Gezi was a thicker variant of hâre, watered silk, and mostly monochrome, while ağbani (or abani), is considered to be a silk cloth with a white ground and a saffron-coloured pattern, Tezcan, Atlaslar Atlası, 26, 28, 34. 67 The term tulum seems to be an equivalent to tahta, a square (of variable size) sewn together from several pieces of fur matching in colour and quality, Hülya Tezcan, “Furs and skins owned by the Sultans.” in: Suraiya Faroqhi, Christoph K. Neumann (eds.), Ottoman Costumes: From Textile to Identity (Istanbul: Eren, 2004), 66.

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embroidery (mutallâ işleme), patterned with yellow flowers (sarı çiçekli), with white flowers (beyaz çiçekli) and with printed (basma) motifs.68 The gift items in our register do not bear the slightest trace of local Wallachian products. Indeed, they could just as well be listed in an inventory from Istanbul or elsewhere in the Empire. If we leave aside the range of ağbani, which appears only in the packages for the sultan and for the mihmandar Mehmed Ağa, fabrics presumably woven in the area of Ankara (sof, şal, şali) and Indian silks (çitari, gezi, savâî69) prevailed. Only once does a Damascene (Şam) çitari, given to Hacı Giray,70 derive from another geographical region. The Indian fashion is further bolstered by ten Hindkârî turban wrappings (destar) added singly to diverse bohças. All these Indian destars bear the remark: mevcudundan, “from stock”. In all probability they had been part of a previous offering to Mavroyeni. For every item the register of the voyvod mentions its worth in guruş, an unusual practice not normally found in other gift inventories. Thus, the allotted textiles and furs (with the exception mentioned above) were obviously not re-used gifts the hospodar himself had received before, but newly bought. Possibly, he had already emptied his treasury after the ceremony of inauguration at the royal court in the Ottoman capital.71 The recipients of the voyvod’s generosity are not listed in the register according to their rank, their geographical setting or the amount of money spent for their ‘bundles’. This suggests that the bohças were, so-to-speak, ‘answers’ to congratulations-cum-gifts, given out in the order in which the felicitation presents had arrived before. The dates given for the dispatch of the offerings are mostly from the end (25-28) of Şa‘ban, the month before Ramadan. Hence, they could have been labelled as early gifts for the Sugar Feast (Şeker Bayramı). Two parcels, however – the one for the mihmandar and the one for the sultan – do not fit into this category: they are dated earlier and bear the remark: Hesabı görülmüşdür/ görülüb mah-ı Mayıs’ın iradından füru-nihade olunmuşdur, fi selh-i Mayıs 1200 (“The bill is paid and was put down in the expenses of the month of May; on the last day of May 1200”). This indicates that they were prepared in advance and immediately recorded in bookkeeping. Thus they seem to have a status different from the rest. The existence of separate bookkeeping is probably an indication that our gift inventory was not drawn up for internal use. This impression is enhanced by the fact that all costs are given in rounded numbers and the total of the gift expense for the sultan (in total: 1043 guruş) adjusted downward to 1040 guruş. A similar practice, but in reverse, is to be seen in the cases of the bohças for the nazır (director of 68 D.BŞM 5404, p. 4. The range of different types of ağbani indicates that patterns, embroi-

dery, gold embroidery, gold broché, and prints are (in contradiction to Hülya Tezcan’s description, cf. note 61) a secondary feature of this silk fabric. 69 Savâî is a silk fabric with a pattern of coloured tiny flowers; into these flowers was worked a (gold or silver) wire-wrapped yarn (kılabdan), see Tezcan, Atlaslar Atlası, 35 and 36. 70 D. BŞM 5404, p. 5. 71 Panaite, The Ottoman Law, 351-354.

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life-long tax-farming, malikâne 72) of İbrail/ Brăila (in total: 550 guruş, but recorded as 553 uruş); the kadı of Silistre (in reality: 250 guruş, listed as 253 guruş); the voyvoda (collector and redistributor of taxes73) of Yergöğü/ Giurgiu (actually: 265,5 guruş, but given as: 268 guruş);74 the serasker of Ismail, Şahin ‘Ali Pasha (in fact: 745 guruş, but indicated as 760 guruş);75 and the muhafız (lit. “protector”; town and fortress commander) of Silistre, ‘Osman Pasha (totalled up: 335 guruş, but denoted as 338 guruş).76 The total of all listed gifts made to 21 individuals (including the sultan) was valued at 6398 guruş (stated, but actually totalled up: 6374,5 guruş). In January 1784 the Porte had issued a deed (sened) stipulating Wallachia’s annual tribute at 309,500 guruş (619 kese) and limiting the mandatory gifts to the Ottoman ruler to 130,000 guruş. These latter offerings had to be paid from the Prince’s personal treasury. All other formerly customary presents and grants were to be abolished.77 At first glance the set-up of our inventory seems to point to this settlement and the new hospodar’s gifts would have been part of this agreement. However, if our register were part of this contract, why did it then contain only gifts offered shortly after Mavroyeni’s arrival in Bucharest? Why do we not find Mavroyeni’s patron Ceza’irli Gazi Hasan Pasha and the incumbent Grand Vizier, Koca Yusuf Pasha, among those who were pampered with luxury items? Why were the recipients only Ottoman officials posted primarily on the banks of the Danube? Who were, according to our register, the pillars of the new Wallachian Prince’s Ottoman network in the region? At least seven (probably even eight) of the 16 individuals78 receiving Mavroyeni’s gift packages were military commanders; four belonged to the ‘ulema and another four were representatives of the financial administration. To obtain an idea of how important each group was for the Prince of Wallachia, the amount of money per capita in each group was calculated. Unsurprisingly, the ‘ulema were, with 158,25 guruş per head, the least important, while the lords of the finances came to an average of 324 guruş and the military commanders to 341, 57 guruş (319 guruş)79 per head. A closer look at the list of military men, the representatives of the finance administration and the kadis with their respective postings might give a clue to the inven72 Cf. Mehmet Genç, “Nazır, Osmanlılar’da” in DİA 32, 450. 73 See Erol Özvar, “Voyvoda” in DİA 43, 129-131. 74 D.BŞM 5404, p. 5. 75 D.BŞM 5404, p. 6. 76 D.BŞM 5404, p. 7. 77 Jorga, Geschichte des Osmanischen Reiches, vol. 5, 28. 78 In two cases staff members of military commanders received separate gifts: the former

Grand Vizier Şahin ‘Ali Pasha’s and Bekir Pasha’s respective majordomos (kethüda) and the head clerk (divan efendisi) of Bekir Pasha. For the sake of not skewing the total picture, these three men and their share have not been included in the gifts. 79 The first number gives the average per capita for seven commanders, while the second number (319 guruş) is on the basis of eight officials and counts Hacı Giray Sultan as a military man.

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tory’s purpose. Gift bundles were sent to Adakale’s muhafız [Kekozade] İlyas Pasha80 and its Janissary commander ( yeniçeri ağası);81 to Vidin’s muhafiz Bekir Pasha82 and its Janissary commander;83 to the muhafız of Silistre ‘Osman Pasha84 and the Supreme Commander (serasker) of Ismail, Şahin ‘Ali Pasha.85 In all likelihood we can add another individual to the list of military men: Hacı Giray Sultan.86 He must be one of the numerous family members of the Crimean Khans. After the annexation of the Khanate by Russia in 1783 following the short-lived independence after the Treaty of Küçük Kaynarca in 1774, many of these Tatar Princes had sought refuge in the Ottoman Empire.87 Unfortunately we do not know Hacı Giray’s whereabouts in 1786. Archival documents record him in May 1788, when he is mentioned as Bender muhafazasında olan selatin-ı Cengiziye’den Hacı Giray Sultan (“Hacı Giray Sultan from the Genghisid sultans, who is ‘protector’ of Bender”).88 Thus it is well possible that in 1786 he already had an official military position in Ottoman service, but 80 İlyas was a son of ‘Ali Pasha, scion of a local Albanian pasha family in Gjakova (Koss-

ovo), the Kekozades. Members of this family had high positions in the Ottoman military during the second half of the 18th century. In August 1785 İlyas Pasha became governor of Dukagin (Western part of Kosovo) with the stipulation that he act as muhafız of Adakale (BOA, Cevdet Askeriye 38712 and Cevdet Askeriye 45876). Part of the provisions for his military household (kapusı halkı) had to be supplied by Wallachia (Cevdet Askeriye 50796). In early March 1787 İlyas Pasha must have been removed from office since one İbrahim Pasha is named as muhafız of Adakale (BOA, Ali Emiri-I. Abdülhamid 23907). In September 1787 İlyas is mentioned as having been transferred to Bosnia (Cevdet Askeriye 39461), two years later he was muhafız of Jagodina (Cevdet Askeriye 40461) and in May 1790 he is referred to as former governor (mutassarıf ) of Elbasan (Cevdet Askeriye 5126). In May 1809 he lived in Gjakova/ Yakova and is said to have been without any position for 21 years and therefore forced to sell half his manor (çiftlik) (Cevdet Askeriye 14543). 81 D.BŞM 5404, p. 4. 82 D.BŞM 5404 p. 7. See Mehmed Süreyya, Sicill-i ‘Osmânî, 4 vols. ([Istanbul]: Matba‘a-ı ‘Âmire, 1308/1890-1),vol 1, p. 182-3 (Ebubekir Paşa, Mir-i ‘alem). 83 D.BŞM 5404, p. 6. 84 D.BŞM 5404, p. 7. The existence of two ‘Osman Pashas (the namesake was muhafız of İbrâil/Brăila) at the same time in the same geographical zone and exercising a similar function makes it difficult to track “our” ‘Osman Pasha’s career. He was at the same time muhafız of Silistre and Governor (mutasarrıf ) of Akşehir; cf. Cevdet Dahiliye 17296. 85 D.BŞM 5404, p. 6. According to İsmail Hâmi Danişmend, Osmanlı Devlet Erkânı, (Istanbul: Türkiye Yayınevi, 19712), 66, no. 179, Şahin ‘Ali Pasha was Georgian, had been Governor of Aleppo and was Grand Vizier between 31 March 1785 and 1786. The reason for his dismissal was his illiteracy, which made it impossible for him not to share state secrets with others. After his removal from office he became Governor of Salonica and Supreme Commander of Ismail. 86 D.BŞM 5404, p. 5. 87 For the fate of the last Khan of the Crimea, Şahin Giray, who after an adventurous sway between Tsarina and Sultan took refuge with the Ottomans and in 1787 was finally executed in Rhodes, see Feridun Emecen, “Son Kırım Hânı Şâhin Giray’ın İdâmı Mes’elesi ve Buna Dâir Vesikalar.” Tarih Dergisi 34 (1984), 315-346. 88 Cevdet Askeriye 32064.

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there is no evidence. Presumably, his whereabouts were not far from the banks of the Danube, as is the case with all other recipients of Mavroyeni’s kindness in our register. As the totals spent for the respective gifts certainly reflect the rank of the recipient, his significance for the hospodar and the level of already existing relations, Hacı Giray Sultan’s position must have been rather modest. For him only 163 guruş were dispensed, the lowest sum of all bundles sent to military officials.89 The highest amount paid out was (officially) 760 guruş (in reality 665 guruş) for the former Grand Vizier and Supreme Commander of Ismail, Şahin ‘Ali Pasha, whose majordomo (kethüda) was separately graced with a square of ermine (80 guruş).90 The second on our list in respect of financial volume is Bekir Pasha, the commander of Vidin (475 guruş), whose majordomo and head clerk (divan efendisi) received separate parcels each containing a golden clock; the kethüda’s was ornamented with bosses (kabaralı).91 The group of the lords of the financial administration is, while small, not less significant. The gift package for the nazır of İbrâil/Brăila (553 guruş)92 was more expensive than the bohça for Bekir Pasha. This might be linked to a common task: the voyvods of Boğdan (Moldavia) and Wallachia, together with the nazır of İbrâil, were in charge of shipping grain to Istanbul.93 The nazır of Silistre was the second in terms of costliness; he received gifts worth 268 guruş,94 which undoubtedly reflected the importance of Silistre as the capital of a sancak, making this nazır’s position weightier than that of the voyvodas in Yergöğü/ Giurgiu (268 guruş)95 and Fethülislam/Kladovo (190 guruş).96 These voyvodas’ area of responsibility far exceeded the task of collecting taxes for the central treasury. Voyvodas, who came mainly from a wealthy local background, were also in charge of allocating salaries to garrisons, of providing certain places with victuals and animals for slaughter and of deploying troops.97 It seems that the nazırs’ duties, beyond the narrower business of tax collection, were rather similar to that of voyvodas. In any case, smooth co-operation between the Prince of Wallachia and the nazırs and voyvodas located in the neighbourhood must have been vital for his success in the eyes of the Porte. In my view, this explains the prominent place this group of officials has in Mavroyeni’s showers of gifts.

89 He received one square of ermine fur (85 guruş), two lengths of Damascene çitari (31

guruş), one length of Indian gezi silk (32 guruş) and 7.5 zira‘ (4.875 m) of Angora şali for bulky trousers (15 guruş), D.BŞM 5404, p. 5. 90 D.BŞM 5404, p. 6. 91 D.BŞM 5404, p. 6. 92 D.BŞM 5404, p. 5. 93 Cevdet Belediye 2649. 94 D.BŞM 5404, p. 7. 95 D.BŞM 5404, p. 5. 96 D.BŞM 5404, p. 6. 97 Cf. Özvar, “Voyvoda”, p. 130.

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The members of the ‘ulema received comparatively modest gifts: the mufti of Rusçuk was graced with a square (tulum) of squirrel fur (sincab kürk) (55 guruş) and a length (tak) of mohair (sof ) for a robe (40 guruş), while the kadı of Yergöğü/ Giurgiu was offered a square of ermine (kakum kürk) (95 guruş).98 His colleague in Rusçuk was better off with a square of ermine (80 guruş), two lengths of Indian çitari (70 guruş), one length of mohair for a robe (40 guruş) and an Indian turban wrapping, costing a total of 190 guruş.99 The real treat, however, went to the kadı of Silistre, who received an ermine square, Indian çitari, an Indian turban wrapping, one car şal, and 7.5 zira‘ (4.875 m) of Angora şali for bulky trousers (çakşırlık), a package worth 250 (officially 253) guruş.100 The gift to the mufti of Rusçuk was probably mainly determined by protocol. The differences in scale of the donations for the three kadıs doubtless reflect grades of rank. As judges represented the civil side of the state power they were, of course, men on whose good will the hospodar might depend in certain situations. After all, kadıs were not mere judges concerned with local law cases: their field of duties also embraced administrative, communal, financial and even military matters. They were responsible for the upkeep of the roads, bridges and fountains the army had to use. They supervised the repair of fortresses, organised the supply of the army with grain and straw and acted as inspectors for various undertakings in the name of the state.101 The kadı of Yergöğü, for example, had to control the prices of the provisions for Istanbul to be provided from Wallachia.102 Mavroyeni had not developed much fantasy in arranging the bohças to be despatched. Their contents were utterly conventional and highly formal: ermine fur squares, Indian silks, Angora mohair and shawls, golden clocks, leaving no doubt about the status of the recipients. Mavroyeni’s appointment as Prince of Wallachia had to be seen in the context of the looming war with Russia; and his gift inventory has to be regarded in the same light. During the war of 1768-1774 virtually all towns and fortresses present in our register had been part of the Russian front; three of them had fallen into enemy hands (İbrâil,103 Ismail,104 Silistre105) and returned to Ottoman control after the Treaty of Küçük Kaynarca. In the tense atmosphere prior to the Russian-Ottoman War of 1787-92 (joined in 1788 by Austria), political circles in Istanbul saw that a new war was unavoidable and expected a similar development in the confronta-

98 D.BŞM 5404, p. 5. 99 D.BŞM 5404, p. 6. 100 D.BŞM 5404, p. 5. 101 See İlber Ortaylı, “Osmanlı Devletinde Kadı” in DİA 24, 69-73. 102 Cf. Mihai Maxim, “Yergöğü” in DİA 43, 483. 103 Mihai Maxim, “İbrâil” in DİA 21, 364. 104 Feridun Emecen, “İsmâil“ in DİA 23, 83. 105 Machiel Kiel, “Silistre“ in DİA 37, 204. See also Ayla Efe,“Silistre Eyaletinde Osman-

lı-Rus Savaşları Küçük Kaynarca’dan Berlin’e.“ OTAM 19 (2006): 140 f.

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tion to come. Therefore, after 1780 we see the frantic strengthening of fortresses and fortification-works along the suspected front line in the war. In any case, Mavryeni’s anti-Russian stance made a close relationship to Ottoman officials based on the putative front line a vital necessity, even if it had not been instigated by the central administration in Istanbul. Russia’s appetite for the Danubian principalities made Mavroyeni a natural ally for the Ottomans. It had been clear from the very outset that he would fight side-by-side with the Ottoman forces. Thus, the gift packages to the officials based along the banks of the Danube and nearby had most probably been part of Mavroyeni’s deal with the Porte. This would explain the total lack of local Christian notables and the manner in which our register was compiled, namely, in good handwriting and with prices for every item. The inclusion into the hospodar’s munificence of officials from Adakale and Fethülislam/ Kladovo, strongholds against Austria, might be understood as an indication for the Ottoman perception that the impending war with Russia would, rather sooner than later, entail an armed encounter with Russia’s ally Austria.106 If our assumptions are right, the voyvod himself had sent the register to Istanbul, proving that he had done his homework. However, we cannot be sure, since after Mavroyeni’s execution (beheaded 12 October 1790)107 his assets were confiscated108and his documents must have been taken to Istanbul too. With the death of his master, Grand Vizier Cezayirli Hasan Pasha, in Shumen (Şumnu) on 30 March 1790,109 Mavroyeni had lost the main source of his power; and it cannot be by chance that he was executed at the instigation of the new Grand Vizier, Şerif Hasan Pasha.110 The two gift inventories discussed in this paper indicate a common approach all over the Empire towards creating networks in kind, as no differences can be traced between Balkan lands and regions further to the east of the Empire in the way of gift-giving and choosing partners to pamper. As we have seen, this attitude stretched even to territories which were not under direct Ottoman rule, such as the Danubian principalities. The first document examined here points to the very limited latitude for creating bonds enjoyed by a governor when serving in a province only for a very short term. The second register is a good example of the significance of the political and social background of donor and recipient for a “gift inventory” and our interpretation of it. In the case of nameless registers this might, however, be a fairly intricate endeavour.

106 Cf. İsmail Hakkı Uzunçarşılı, Osmanlı Tarihi, 8 vols. (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu,

1956), vol. 4/1, p. 519-520.

107 Kreuter, “Franz Leopold von Metzburg”, p. 91. 108 BOA, Cevdet-Maliye, 5304 (24 Şaban 1205/28 April 1791). 109 Aydın, “Cezayirli Hasan Paşa”, 502. 110 Kreuter, “Franz Leopold von Metzburg”, p. 91. On Şerif Hasan Pasha see Fikret

Sarıcaoğlu, “Hasan Paşa, Şerif” in DİA 16, 340-341.

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Normally, gift inventories belonged to the private papers of a dignitary and therefore did not withstand the hardships of time. In the Ottoman case the state would (and could) only lay hands on these documents if the original owner had been executed, had died encumbered with heavy debts to the state treasury (like İvazzade Halil Pasha) or had been a slave (kul ) of the sultan (who legally became his heir). This conjuncture makes gift inventories of Ottoman pashas in general a rarity. Of course, pashas based in Balkan lands must have been hit no less than others by the Ottoman practice of confiscation. In all likelihood a greater number of pasha inventories still remain in the uncatalogued sections of the Ottoman state archives. Hence, future researchers may pamper themselves with more networksin-kind of Ottoman Europe.

Cîmplung

Vidin

Niğbolu/Nicopolis

Yergöğü/ Giurgiu

Rusçuk

Silistra

Braila

Galatz

Constanta

Hırşova

Babadağ

Izmail

PRINCIPALITY OF MOLDAVIA

Bucharest

OTTOMAN EMPIRE

Lom

Craiova

PRINCIPALITY OF WALLACHIA

Piteşti

Ploieşti

Braşov/ Kronstadt

Curtea de Argeş

Sibiu/Hermannstadt

Fethülislâm/Kladovo

Adakale

Vajdahunyad

PRINCIPALITY OF TRANSILVANIA (Habsburg)

122 Hedda Reindl-Kiel

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124

Hedda Reindl-Kiel

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126

Hedda Reindl-Kiel

Grigor Boykov

Alliances of Patrons and Clients: Subduing the Unruly Ottoman Subjects in the Süleymanic Age

T

he heterogeneous nature of early Ottoman society in Anatolia and the Balkans has long attracted the attention of a number of prominent scholars. Historians have argued that the authority and power of the Ottoman dynasty over the emerging Islamic polity were neither as almighty as often depicted in older academic works on the so-called “classical period”, nor unchallenged. On the contrary, a growing number of studies have demonstrated that the centralization of the Ottoman state was an uneven process which was marked by a constant struggle between, on the one hand, the dominant political entity, i.e. the central authority embodied by the ruler, and, on the other, the “centrifugal forces” – a mixture of powerful frontier raider commanders, prominent Sufi preachers, itinerant dervishes and various nomadic groups and tribal clans who promulgated a programme coloured by distinct political claims.1 Over time each of the protagonist groups managed to build sophisticated and multi-branched networks of dependencies that served the preferred political doctrine and became the main source of legitimacy for the contesting fractions.2 The Ottoman sultans, who nominally controlled all appointments of administrative or high-ranking religious personnel, naturally enjoyed much greater liberty in accumulating and redistributing power. Moreover, some of the Ottoman rulers were also keen patrons of selected influential Sufi figures who served as gobetweens and communicated the sultans’ will at a popular level in the provinces. Patronage of a multi-branched network of clients also allowed a smoother imple1 Multiple publications in the past two decades address the fluid nature of early Otto-

man society and point to its complexity and evolution. See, for instance, Cemal Kafadar, Between Two Worlds: The Construction of the Ottoman State (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995); Heath W. Lowry, The Nature of the Early Ottoman State (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2003); Rudi Paul Lindner, Explorations in Ottoman Prehistory (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2007); Rudi Paul Lindner, “Anatolia, 1300-1451,” in The Cambridge History of Turkey, ed. Kate Fleet, vol. 1 -Byzantium to Turkey 1071–1453 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 102–37. 2 Often such informal networks determined which ruler occupied the Ottoman throne. See Dimitris Kastritsis, The Sons of Bayezid: Empire Building and Representation in the Ottoman Civil War of 1402-1413 (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2007); H. Erdem Çıpa, Yavuz’un Kavgası: I. Selim’in Saltanat Mücadelesi (Istanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2013); H. Erdem Çıpa, The Making of Selim: Succession, Legitimacy, and Memory in the Early Modern Ottoman World (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2017).

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mentation of the central power’s ruling concept, which, along with introducing the Ottoman dynastic myth, clearly aimed at increasing centralization and Sunnitization.3 At the opposite pole, prominent figures from the frontiers lords’ dynasties (i.e. the marcher lords/akıncı ucbeyis), whose relationship with the centralizing Ottomans was probably never smooth, became the focal point of a network of political figures as well as social groups with anti-centralizing, i.e. anti-Ottoman, sentiments.4 The mighty marcher lords in the Balkans established a very close alliance with the itinerant Abdals and the pastoral nomads, the Yürüks, who migrated at will or were deported by the Ottoman rulers from Anatolia to the Balkans. All three groups – the marcher lords, the ‘heterodox’ dervishes and the Yürüks – as diverse as they may seem, clearly belonged to a social milieu whose centrifugal tendencies brought them into conflict with the centralizing tenor of the newly elaborated Ottoman imperial doctrine.5 The frontier lords, who in the formative period ruled the territories under their control almost autonomously, not only sought the ideological support and blessing of the prominent militant dervishes in the Balkans, such as Kızıl Deli or Othman Baba, but also became vigorous patrons of their associated convents.6 By endowing the principal gathering places of the itinerant Abdals 3 Hakan T. Karateke and Maurus Reinkowski, eds., Legitimizing the Order: The Ottoman Rhet-

oric of State Power (Leiden: Brill, 2005); Nathalie Clayer, “Des agents du pouvoir ottoman dans les Balkans: les Halvetis,” Revue du monde musulman et de la Méditerranée 66, no. 1 (1992): 21–30; Nathalie Clayer, Mystiques, Etat et société: les Halvetis dans l’aire balkanique de la fin du XVe siècle à nos jours (Leiden; New York: E.J. Brill, 1994), 63–112; Ahmet Karamustafa, God’s Unruly Friends: Dervish Groups in the Islamic Later Middle Period, 1200-1550 (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1994), 65–84; Derin Terzioğlu, “Sunna-Minded Sufi Preachers in Service of the Ottoman State: The Nasihatname of Hasan Addressed to Murad IV,” Archivum Ottomanicum 27 (2010): 241–312. 4 Çıpa, Yavuz’un Kavgası, 130–35; Mariya Kiprovska, “Ferocious Invasion or Smooth Incorporation? Integrating the Established Balkan Military System into the Ottoman Army,” in The Ottoman Conquest of the Balkans: Interpretations and Research Debates, ed. Oliver Jens Schmitt (Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2016), 93–102. 5 Zeynep Yürekli, Architecture and Hagiography in the Ottoman Empire: The Politics of Bektashi Shrines in the Classical Age (Farnham, Surrey: Burlington, VT, 2012), 65–76; Mariya Kiprovska, “The Mihaloğlu Family: Gazi Warriors and Patrons of Dervish Hospices,” Osmanlı Araştırmaları 32 (2008): 173–202. 6 Halil İnalcık, “Dervish and Sultan: An Analysis of the Otman Baba Vilāyetnāmesi,” in The Middle East and the Balkans under the Ottoman Empire: Essays on Economy and Society (Bloomington: Indiana University Turkish Studies, 1993), 19–36; Irène Beldiceanu-Steinherr, “Le Règne de Selim I: Tournant Dans La Vie Politique et Religieuse de L’empire Ottoman,” Turcica 6 (1975): 34–48; Irène Beldiceanu-Steinherr, “Seyyid ‘Ali Sultan d’après les registres ottomans: l’installation de l’Islam hétérodoxe en Thrace,” in The Via Egnatia under Ottoman rule (1380-1699), ed. Elizabeth A. Zachariadou (Rethymnon: Crete University Press, 1996), 45–66; Rıza Yıldırım, Rumeli’nin fethinde ve Türkleşmesinde öncülük etmiş bir gâzi derviş: Seyyid Ali Sultan (Kızıldeli) ve Velâyetnâmesi (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 2007); Mariya Kiprovska, “Shaping the Ottoman Borderland: The Architectural Patronage of the Frontier Lords from the Mihaloğlu Family,” in Bordering Early Modern Europe,

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in Anatolia – such as the convents of Seyyid Battal Gazi, rebuilt by the Mihaloğlus; of Şücaeddin Veli, endowed by the Malkoçoğlus; or the complex of Hacı Bektaş Veli, supported by the Evrenosoğlus and the Malkoçoğlus – the Balkan warlords not only elevated them to palatial complexes that rivalled in magnitude those built by the sultans, but also proclaimed a pronounced political message linking the Anatolian gazi tradition to their actions in Europe, thereby claiming legitimacy.7 One hardly needs to dig too deep in order to illustrate the profound mistrust in Early Modern Ottoman society, which seems to have been dominated by the struggle for dominance of the alliances between centre and periphery. Recalling the decisive role played by the frontier lords in the so-called interregnum period which followed the Battle of Ankara (1402) and the subsequent anti-establishment activities in the course of Sheikh Bedreddin’s uprising, this appears to be a mere prelude to the much longer account of the confrontation between the ruling Ottoman dynasty and the fluid social context of the then-frontier society.8 The list of political bids for power made by the Balkan marcher lords and their allies, i.e. in supporting their chosen claimant to the throne, can be extended to include the periods of turmoil related to the accession of Murad II, Bayezid II and Selim I, who only gained the Ottoman throne thanks to the support they succeeded in obtaining from the peripheral forces.9 Naturally, the Ottoman rulers seem to have been fully aware of the immediate danger to the centralistic order posed by the hostility of those socio-religious movements with radical views that denied the legitimacy of their rule; and whenever the current political situation became favourable they did not hesitate to persecute the disobedient groups. Mehmed II, who managed to establish an unprecedentedly powerful and autocratic rule, targeted the social, religious and ethnic base of the ed. Maria Baramova, Grigor Boykov, and Ivan Parvev (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2015), 185–220. 7 Yürekli, Architecture and Hagiography in the Ottoman Empire. 8 Nedim Filipović, Princ Musa i šejh Bedreddin. (Sarajevo: Svjetlost, 1971); Michel Balivet, Islam mystique et révolution armée dans les Balkans ottomans: vie du cheikh Bedreddîn, le “Hallâj des Turcs”, 1358/59-1416 (Istanbul: Editions Isis, 1995); H. Erdem Çıpa, “Contextualizing Seyh Bedreddin: Notes on Halil b. Ismail’s Menakib-i Seyh Bedreddin b. Israil,” in Şinasi Tekin’in anısına: Uygurlardan Osmanlıya, ed. Günay Kut and Fatma Büyükkarcı (İstanbul: Simurg, 2005), 285–95; Dimitris Kastritsis, “The Seyh Bedreddin Uprising in the Context of the Ottoman Civil War of 1402-1413,” in Political Initiatives “From the Bottom Up” in the Ottoman Empire. Halcyon Days in Crete VII: A Symposium Held in Rethymno, 9-11 January 2009, ed. Antonis Anastasopoulos (Rethymno: Crete University Press, 2012); Saygın Salgırlı, “The Rebellion of 1416: Recontextualizing an Ottoman Social Movement,” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 55 (2012): 32–73. 9 Colin Imber, The Ottoman Empire, 1300-1481 (Istanbul: Isis Press, 1990), 91–94; Nicolas Vatin, Sultan Djem: un prince ottoman dans l’Europe du XVe siècle d’après deux sources contemporaines : Vâkı‘ât-ı Sulṭân Cem, Œuvres de Guillaume Caoursin (Ankara: Imprimerie de la Société turque d’historire, 1997), 25–33; Selâhattin Tansel, Sultan II. Bâyezit’in siyasî hayatı (İstanbul: MEB Devlet Kitapları Müdürlüğü, 1966), 23–69, 258–310; Selâhattin Tansel, Yavuz Sultan Selim (Ankara: Millî Eğitim Basımevi, 1969), 1–19; Çıpa, Yavuz’un Kavgası.

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frontier society. His so-called “land reform” clearly aimed at diminishing the power accumulated in the hands of the elites, most notably the frontier lords.10 Moreover, his imperial programme also imposed heavy obligations upon the Yürüks, who on the one hand constituted the primary bulk of manpower for the akıncı beyis and on the other the strongest sympathizers with and supporters of the itinerant Abdals.11 The repressive policies of the Ottoman central power largely forced the centrifugal forces underground.12 The discontent and reaction of the frontier society, however, can be clearly attested by the contemporary hagiographical literature. The vitae of Othman Baba and other popular heterodox dervishes, which took on textual form in this period, clearly reflect both the strong alliance between the warlords, the Abdals and ordinary Yürüks and their shared alienation by the centralistic measures of the Ottoman rulers.13 Moreover, recent studies on the four principal heterodox convents of the Eastern Balkans, namely those of Othman Baba, Kıdemli Baba, Akyazılı Baba and Demir Baba, all spiritually connected to the complex of Seyyid Gazi, demonstrate that while distinct heterodox (i.e. anti-establishment or anti-Ottoman) symbols were embodied in the architectural layout of these buildings, the patrons from the Mihaloğlu family were careful not to manifest explicitly their affiliation to the convents.14 The growing tension between the central power, which was gradually becoming Sunni, and the opposing “heterodox” social groups resulted in increased pressure 10 Nicoară Beldiceanu, “Recherches Sur La Réforme Foncière de Mehmed II,” Acta

Historica 4 (1965): 27–39; Bistra Cvetkova, “Sur Certaines Reformes Du Régime Foncier Au Temp de Mehmet II,” Journal of Economic and Social History of the Orient 6, no. 1 (1963): 104–20; Oktay Özel, “Limits of the Almighty: Mehmed II’s ‘Land Reform’ Revisited,” Journal of Economic and Social History of the Orient 42, no. 2 (1999): 226–46; Halil İnalcık, “Autonomous Enclaves in Islamic States: Temlîks, Soyurgals, YurdlukOcaklıks, Mâlikâne-Mukâta’as and Awqâf,” in History and Historiography of Post-Mongol Central Asia and the Middle East. Studies in Honor of John E. Woods, ed. Judith Pfeiffer and Sholeh A. Quinn (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2006), 112–34. 11 Halil İnalcık, “The Yürüks: Their Origins, Expansion and Economic Role,” in The Middle East and the Balkans under the Ottoman Empire: Essays on Economy and Society (Bloomington: Indiana University Turkish Studies, 1993), 97–136; Harun Yeni, “The Utilization of Mobile Groups in the Ottoman Balkans: A Revision of General Perception,” Oriental Archive 81 (2013): 183–205. 12 Derin Terzioğlu, “Sufis in the Age of State-Building and Confessionalization,” in The Ottoman World, ed. Christine Woodhead (London; New York: Taylor & Francis Ltd, 2012), 86–102. 13 İnalcık, “Dervish and Sultan: An Analysis of the Otman Baba Vilāyetnāmesi”; Yürekli, Architecture and Hagiography in the Ottoman Empire, 77–78; Tijana Krstić, “The Ambiguous Politics of ‘Ambiguous Sanctuaries’: F. Hasluck and Historiography on Syncretism and Conversion to Islam in 15th - and 16th-Century Ottoman Rumeli,” in Archaeolog y, Anthropolog y and Heritage in the Balkans and Anatolia the Life and Times of F.W. Hasluck, 18781920, ed. David Shankland (Istanbul: Isis Press, 2004), 250–56. 14 Yürekli, Architecture and Hagiography in the Ottoman Empire, 79–133; Kiprovska, “The Mihaloğlu Family: Gazi Warriors and Patrons of Dervish Hospices.”

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and open persecution on the part of sultans.15 Thus after an attempt on his life by a possibly Haydari dervish, for instance, Sultan Bayezid II ordered the kadı of Edirne “to round up all atheist abdals, dervishes, and ıshıks in the area east of Filibe and Zagra, and punish, after investigation and hearings, those among them uttering blasphemous words”.16 The local kadı obeyed the sultanic order and after an investigation arrested a few of “the followers of Othman Dede, who was a possessed man, and executed them by torture”.17 A few decades later, when the “Kızılbaş threat” became one of the main themes on the Ottoman political agenda, the sultans hardened their behaviour. It appears that in the eyes of the Ottoman rulers the distinction between heterodox and kızılbaş was very vague, if it existed at all, which led the Ottoman authorities to the idea, probably not completely ill-founded, that the Safavids were using the heterodox militant dervishes to focus popular discontent against the rule of the Sunni Ottoman Sultan.18 Moreover, in regard to the active Safavid propaganda, the central power perhaps feared that the close cooperation between the Abdals and the border lords might embolden Balkan raider commanders to challenge the pre-eminence of the Ottoman household. While the persecution of the Ottoman Shiites in Anatolia has been the focus of most scholarly attention and has been examined in a number of fine works, it seems that the socio-religious clashes in the Balkans during the reigns of Selim I and Süleyman I remain understudied. The aim of this paper is not to provide definitive answers, but rather to raise questions and, it is hoped, to stimulate discussion about the network of dependencies built and employed by the sultans in the sixteenth century, which allowed centralism to emerge victorious from the lengthy struggle for domination against the periphery forces in Rumelia. Evidently, this was a period in which the Ottoman doctrine of a universal Sunni empire with the sultan-caliph at its head appears to have been imposed throughout the country. However, what makes our case interesting is the involvement in the process of some of the most prominent Halveti sheikhs, whose religious propaganda became a powerful tool that transmitted the political programme of the Ottoman rulers. Although the present study examines this process in a restricted territory, roughly the region of Upper Thrace in modern Bulgaria, its conclusions may be valid also for the neighbouring parts of the Balkans which faced a similar development in 15 Derin Terzioğlu, “How to Conceptualize Ottoman Sunnitization: A Historiographical

Discussion,” Turcica 44 (2013 2012): 301–38.

16 Quoted after İnalcık, “Dervish and Sultan: An Analysis of the Otman Baba Vilāyetnāmesi,”

32–33.

17 Ibid. 18 Vladimir Minorsky, “Shaykh Bālī-Efendi on the Safavids,” Bulletin of the School of Orien-

tal and African Studies 20, no. 1/3 (1957): 437–50; Colin Imber, “The Persecution of the Ottoman Shi’ites according to the Mühimme Defterleri, 1565-1585,” Islam 56 (1979): 245–73; ibid.; Ayşe Baltacıoğlu-Brammer, “The Formation of Kızılbaş Communities in Anatolia and Ottoman Responses, 1450s-1630s,” International Journal of Turkish Studies 20, no. 1–2 (2014): 21–48.

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the first two centuries of Ottoman rule. The most important fact about the area in question is that prior to the Ottoman conquest the region was almost depopulated.19 In the first century after this territory had been incorporated into the Ottoman state many Anatolian-Turkish colonists, nomads and the sedentary population alike took advantage of the availability of arable land and settled there en masse.20 Most towns and villages in the region of Thrace re-emerged thanks to the Anatolian settlers, who brought and virtually “transplanted”21 into Balkan soil the internal dynamics of the then-heterogeneous Muslim society in Western Asia Minor.22 To some extent this modification appears to have been encouraged by the central power through the transfer of deportees, but it seems that generally the process was spontaneous, or else sometimes orchestrated by the powerful marcher lords.23 The development of the two principal urban centres in the region of Philipopolis, renamed Filibe and Tatar Pazarcık, provides an excellent illustration of this 19 The depopulation was due to constant warfare waged in the area between Byzantines

and Bulgarians for almost two centuries in the Late Middle Ages, together with later pillage raids carried out by Catalans and Anatolian Turks. See Machiel Kiel, “The Incorporation of the Balkans into the Ottoman Empire, 1353-1453,” in The Cambridge History of Turkey, ed. Kate Fleet, vol. 1-Byzantium to Turkey 1071–1453 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 142–54. 20 In spite of the mass migration of an Anatolian population to the region by 1530, Thrace still remained very sparsely populated, roughly 4.8 p/km2 . See Grigor Boykov, “The Human Cost of Warfare: Population Loss during the Ottoman Conquest and the Demographic History of Bulgaria in the Late Middle Ages and Early Modern Era,” in The Ottoman Conquest of the Balkans: Interpretations and Research Debates, ed. Oliver Jens Schmitt (Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2016), 136. 21 The term “transplanted” is used following the seminal article by Machiel Kiel, “Anatolia Transplanted? Patterns of Demographic, Religious and Ethnic Change in the District of Tozluk (N.E. Bulgaria), 1479–1873,” Anatolica 17 (1992 1991): 1–29. 22 Turkish migration and colonization of the parts of the Balkans have long attracted scholarly attention. See, for instance, the pioneering studies of Ömer Lûtfi Barkan, “Osmanlı İmparatorluğunda Bir İskân ve Kolonizasyon Metodu Olarak Sürgünler: 1,” İstanbul Üniversitesi İktisat Fakültesi Mecmuası 11 (1950 1949): 524–69; Ömer Lûtfi Barkan, “Osmanlı İmparatorluğunda Bir İskân ve Kolonizasyon Metodu Olarak Sürgünler: 2,” İstanbul Üniversitesi İktisat Fakültesi Mecmuası 13 (1952 1951): 56–79; Ömer Lûtfi Barkan, “Osmanlı İmparatorluğunda Bir İskân ve Kolonizasyon Metodu Olarak Sürgünler: 3,” İstanbul Üniversitesi İktisat Fakültesi Mecmuası 15 (1954 1953): 209–37. Compare Kiel, “The Incorporation of the Balkans into the Ottoman Empire, 1353-1453”. 23 Barkan attributes to the Ottoman rulers a decisive role in revitalizing Thrace and other parts of the Balkans. See Ömer Lûtfi Barkan, “Quelques observations sur l’organisation économique et sociale des villes ottomanes des XVIe et XVIIe siècles,” in Recueils de la Société Jean Bodin pour l’histoire comparative des institutions, vol. 7, La Ville 2: Institutions économiques et sociales (Bruxelles, 1955), 289–311. Recent studies, however, demonstrate that the marcher lords (ucbeğleri) also played a significant role in the process. See Heath W. Lowry, The Shaping of the Ottoman Balkans, 1350-1550: The Conquest, Settlement & Infrastructural Development of Northern Greece, 1st ed. (Istanbul: Bahçeşehir University Publications, 2008); Heath W. Lowry, The Evrenos Family & the City of Selânik (Thessaloniki): Who Built the Hamza Beğ Câmi’i & Why? (İstanbul: Bahçeşehir Üniversitesi, 2010).

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fact. While the much larger metropolis of the region, Filibe, was adorned with religious buildings and a commercial infrastructure patronized by the sultan and the high-ranking Ottoman officials, its smaller counterpart, Tatar Pazarcık, was created from scratch and developed into a provincial town by the members of the frontier society.24 The patronage of several families of raider commanders turned Tatar Pazarcık into a sort of “oasis” for the frontier forces which gave shelter to a wide network of political and religious figures as well as social groups. The emergence of the town coincided with the peak of the influence of the highly popular Abdal Othman Baba, who was closely associated with the Mihaoğlu family and one of the outspoken critics of Mehmed II’s rule.25 Considering the nomadic background of the residents of Tatar Pazarcık and its surroundings and the fact that the town enjoyed the support of several akıncı dynasties, it is hardly surprising that the Abdals in general and Othman Baba’s followers in particular found there favourable ground for spreading their influence. The taxation registers of Tatar Pazarcık from the fifteenth and the early sixteenth centuries, which contain the names of the tax-payers resident in the town, show that the greater portion of the population had a very vague, if any, affiliation to Sunni Islam. Personal names and patronymics such as Bektaş, Musa Baba, Barak Baba, Zülfikâr son of Baba Acem etc., all encountered among the tax-payers in the town, strongly imply the heterodox background of most of the town’s residents. When one also takes into consideration the names of the dervishes – İshak, Hındır Kulu and Kaygusuz Abdal – registered in the convent of Pirzade, built near the town by the prominent marcher lord Malkoçoğlu Bali Bey, the connection with the Anatolian mystical brotherhoods of itinerant Abdals becomes more than apparent.26 This fact alone can explain the great interest of the akıncı dynasties in the emerging Tatar Pazarcık and vice versa: the marcher lords’ support and patronage attracted various elements of the frontier society of that time. Created by a Crimean Tatar commander at the turn of the fourteenth century, supported by the mighty akıncı beyis, in the first century of its existence the town seems to have offered an ideal milieu for frontier culture in all its forms. Just like Sarajevo27 was established and developed by the frontier forces, Tatar Pazarcık appears to have become a common project, developed in the very heart of Ottoman Rumelia by the members of the prominent akıncı families. The town’s flourishing coincided with, or rather was defined by, the rehabilitation of the marcher lords’ dynasties during the reign of Bayezid II, after Mehmed II had 24 For a study of these cities see Grigor Boykov, “Mastering the Conquered Space: Res-

urrection of Urban Life in Ottoman Upper Thrace (14th-17th C.)” (PhD Dissertation, İhsan Doğramacı Bilkent University, 2013). 25 Grigor Boykov, Tatar Pazadzik: ot osnovavaneto na grada do kraya na XVII vek. Izsledvaniya i dokumenti (Sofia: Amicitia, 2008), 39–41. 26 Ibid., 47–48. 27 Hazim Šabanović, “Postanak i razvoj Sarajeva,” Radovi naučnog društva Bosne i Hercegovine 13, no. 5 (1960): 71–89; Vesna Mušeta-Aščerić, Sarajevo I Njegova Okolina U XV Stoljeću (Sarajevo: Sarajevo Publishing, 2005), 155–200.

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attempted to marginalize this influential group in Ottoman society.28 The marcher lords’ intensive patronage in Tatar Pazarcık might well be regarded as a preview of their re-emerging power in Rumelia. Certainly, the Ottoman rulers must also have noticed the strategic importance of Tatar Pazarcık, but they only managed to take the city under tighter centralized control in the Süleymanic era, i.e. after the third decade of the sixteenth century. Itinerant heterodox dervishes seem also to have been present even in the larger neighbouring city of Filibe, which had always been under much stronger control by the central power.29 The vita of Otman Baba mentions two convents in the city whose patrons recognized the authority of the renowned Baba.30 This is the only information about these convents and some scepticism may be justified, but in the summer of 1533 Corneille de Schepper, who travelled through the city, witnessed in Filibe a group of naked dervishes and attended their ritual of songs and dances in a garden near Filibe. The description of the dervishes, called ışıks by the Dutchman, leaves little doubt that he depicts a gathering of itinerant heterodox Abdals.31 In all probability the Abdals described by Corneille de Schepper were those mentioned by the menakib of Otman Baba. It seems that the 1530s were a turning point in the development of the region since the central power made a serious attempt to exert closer control over the unruly, disobedient social groups there. The sultans applied a mixture of restrictive administrative measures and Sunni religious propaganda promulgated by the Halveti preachers, who not only shared the animosity of the central authority towards heterodoxy, but also enjoyed the patronage of high-ranking Ottoman officials. The first step in this direction seems to have been taken in 1530 when a kadı was appointed for the first time in Tatar Pazarcık.32 The strategic value of the provincial town, which was located on an important juncture of the Via Militaris leading to the iron-producing centre of Samokov and thus distributed its production, must have been among the chief motives driving this act. Naturally, a single administrative act, such as the appointment of a kadı, in a place dominated by the centrifugal forces could hardly have changed the social and religious atmosphere in the town. The central power managed to forge a close understanding with some of the thenmost prominent Sunni Sufi figures of that period, who were encouraged to spend

28 See footnote 10. 29 Boykov, “Mastering the Conquered Space: Resurrection of Urban Life in Ottoman

Upper Thrace (14th-17th C.),” 44–116.

30 Ahmet Yaşar Ocak, Osmanlı İmparatorluğu’nda marjinal Sûfîlik: Kalenderîler (XIV-XVII.

yüz yıllar) (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1999), 191; Nevena Gramatikova, Neortodoksalniat Islyam v Bălgarskite Zemi: Minalo I Săvremennost (Sofia: Gutenberg, 2011), 539. 31 Corneille Duplicius de Schepper, Missions diplomatiques de Corneille Duplicius de Schepper, dit Scepperus, ambassadeur de Christiern II, de Charles V, de Ferdinand I et de Marie, reine de Hongrie ... de 1523 à 1555, ed. Saint-Genois (Bruxelles: M. Hayez, 1856), 191–92. 32 Boykov, Tatar Pazadzik: ot osnovavaneto na grada do kraya na XVII vek. Izsledvaniya i dokumenti, 56.

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time in Tatar Pazarcık and thus through their preaching induced the residents of the town to accept the Sunni doctrine. According to the authoritative opinion of Nathalie Clayer, who has written a detailed monograph on the Halvetiyya, the dervishes from this order were at the forefront of the Sunni propaganda in Rumelia, playing a leading role in the struggle against “the heretics” in the province. By the mid-sixteenth century, in Clayer’s view, towns and cities like Sofya, Ustrumca, Tatar Pazarcık, Samokov, Vidin etc. were already within the sphere of influence of the popular Sheikh Sofiyalı Bali Efendi, who is known for the support he lent to Ottoman Sunni ideology against certain dervish groups in the Balkans considered heretical by the state; and also for his extreme opposition to the Safavids and their sympathizers.33 According to the Halveti hagiographic tradition it was on the personal insistence of Bali Efendi that one of his most prominent disciples, Muslihuddin Nureddinzade, installed himself in Tatar Pazarcık in order to “guide the believers”.34 Being a native of the region, Filibeli Sheikh Mustafa Muslihuddin Nureddinzade, more popularly known as Muslihuddin Nurredinzade, was born in 1502 or1503 in the village of Anbarlı (mod. Žitnitsa) in the district of Filibe.35 Educated in Edirne, he moved to Sofia and became one of the numerous followers of Bali Efendi. In the 1530s or the 1540s, on the insistence of his mentor, Nureddinzade relocated to Tatar Pazarcık, where he took the lead in the struggle against the “heretics” in the region. Belgradî points that he quickly gained great popularity, while Ata’î underlines the magnetic power of the preacher, who gathered numerous followers, thus spreading his ideas all through the towns of Rumelia.36 According to Belgradî, Nurredinzade was a person of such charisma that when he was at the peak of his influence the Khalvetiyye order was referred to as “the order of Nureddinzade”.37 Nureddinzade’s sejourn in Tatar Pazarcık and the surrounding region in the 1540s and 1550s is shrouded in obscurity, but one may quite confidently suggest that his preaching targeted the Abdals at the convent of Pirzade mentioned above. Indeed, a tahrir from 1530 is the last documentary evidence for its presence; after this date it ceased to exist. It must have been in this period that Nurredinzade met and gained the confidence of his life-long patron Sokollu Mehmed Pasha, who at that time occupied the post of beylerbeyi of Rumeli. One hesitates to speculate that it was due to the influence of Sokollu that Nurredinzade was given a regular 33 Clayer, Mystiques, Etat et société, 70–71. 34 Ibid., 83. 35 According to Belgradî the birth place of the Sheikh was the town of Filibe. See Belgradî,

Silsiletü’l-Mukarribîn, f. 113a. Based on the information of Ata’î, Nathalie Clayer proves that he was actually born in the village located thirty kilometres north of Filibe. 36 Clayer, Mystiques, Etat et société, 81–82. 37 “… tarikat kendiye nisbet olunub, Nurreddizade tarikatı diyar-i Rum’da şayi’ buldu”. Belgradî, Silsıletü’l-Mukarribîn, f. 114a. See Zeynep Yürekli, “A Building between the Public and Private Realms of the Ottoman Elite: The Sufi Convent of Sokollu Mehmed Pasha in Istanbul,” Muqarnas 20 (2003): 163 for a detailed account of Nurredinzade’s career.

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daily allowance derived from the surplus of Şihabeddin Pasha’s vakıf in Filibe. The date of the sultanic order, April 1556, demonstrates that the Halveti sheikh already resided in Filibe at that time.38 Moreover, before following his patron to Istanbul, Nurredinzade established a Halveti convent in Filibe, for the support of which he created a cash waqf, endowing a large sum. The convent, consisting of dervish cells, a refectory and a mescid, was located away from the urban centre in a garden by the river where most likely the Abdals witnessed by Schepper used to held their rituals.39 There is little doubt that the pressure on the heterodox dervishes in Thrace was instigated by the central power. Numerous imperial orders compiled during the second grand-vizierate of Rüstem Pasha testify that the Abdals were targeted by Sunni imperial ideology. In the late 1550s, in all probability under the influence of the Nakshibendi Sheikh Mahmud Rızai, another native of Filibe and Rüstem Pasha’s life-long confident, the primary gathering place of the Anatolian and Balkan Abdals, the convent of Seyyid Gazi, was handed over to a Nakshibendi sheikh, whilst its heterodox dervishes were chased away. About the same time the dervishes at the tekke of Kıdemli Baba in Thrace were dispersed and their convent was closed.40 The strong alliance between the Sunni Sufi orders and the central Ottoman power took shape within a sophisticated network of patrons and clients who shared a feeling of alienation from the heterodox centrifugal society and seems to have become a perfect tool, one used throughout the Empire for imposing Ottoman centralist doctrine. There can be no doubt that these spiritual connections carried political overtones since they targeted a distinct group in the then-Ottoman society. The mission of Nurredinzade was taken up by another highly influential Halveti figure, Sheikh Mehmed b. Helvacı Ömer, more popularly known as Kurd Efendi. Being a native of the town and known for his profound commitment to Sunni Islam and hatred of the heterodox dervish groups, Kurt Efendi replaced his tutor Bali Efendi in Sofia in the mid-sixteenth century.41 It appears that he never cut the ties to his native town, but established a convent there and installed an appropriate adherent of his ideas as its sheikh. Twenty years later Nurreddinzade appointed him as a fellow-in-lineage ( pirdaş) who was to replace him in the Kadırga Limanı convent in Istanbul, built by Sokollu for his mentor.42 These facts once more serve to 38 BOA, A.DVN.MHM 2, 45/409. 39 Boykov, “Mastering the Conquered Space: Resurrection of Urban Life in Ottoman

Upper Thrace (14th-17th C.),” 131–34.

40 Suraiya Faroqhi, “Seyyid Gazi Revisited: The Foundation as Seen Through Sixteenth

and Seventeenth-Century Documents,” Turcica 13 (1981): 90–122; Suraiya Faroqhi, “The Tekke of Haci Bektas: Social Position and Economic Activities,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 7, no. 2 (1976): 183–208; Yürekli, Architecture and Hagiography in the Ottoman Empire, 42–45. 41 Clayer, Mystiques, Etat et société, 94. 42 Yürekli, “A Building between the Public and Private Realms of the Ottoman Elite,” 163.

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stress the magnitude of Kurt Efendi’s personality and his high position in the Halvetiyye order. Moreover, Kurt Efendi, who also inherited the patronage of Sokollu, seems to have been especially keen to follow closely the developments in the region of his birth; and whenever necessary he did not hesitate to use his connections with the Grand Vizier in order to incite the Ottoman government to take punitive measures against the heterodox groups in Thrace. Thus in 1577, three years after his arrival in Istanbul, a sultanic order was handed to one of Kurt Efendi’s subordinates which was to be delivered to the kadı of Filibe.43 The content of the decree reveals that in two villages in the area several individuals declaring themselves to be either followers of Sheikh Bedreddin or Hurufis had gained a certain popularity and were misleading the local Muslims and corrupting their faith. The kadı of Filibe was urged to investigate the case and if these individuals were found guilty of heresy, they were deemed worthy of capital punishment.44 The evidence assembled for the small region of Thrace clearly shows that during the Süleymanic age there was a multi-branched network of patrons and clients that served Ottoman centralist Sunni doctrine. The Sunnitization of the area, especially places such as the town of Tatar Pazarcık, did encounter resistance, but finally the Sunni centralist alliance prevailed over the peripheral forces, who were completely marginalized and forced to go underground. The three social groups which constituted the basis of the then-frontier society did not disappear completely from the political scene. Many of the raider commanders’ dynasties managed to retain power in their family powerbases and were the dominant political factor there until the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire. The increased pressure on the itinerant heterodox dervishes forced them to seek shelter under the emerging Bektashiya order. The echo of their presence can still be felt in a great many places throughout the Balkans. The Yürüks, in spite of the repeated attempts by the Ottoman central administration to settle them down, also seem to have outlived the Empire.

43 BOA, A.DVN.MHM 29, 98/237. 44 The text of the order is also published by Ahmet Refik, On Altıncı Asırda Rafızîlik ve

Bektaşilik (Istanbul: Muallim Ahmet Halit Kitaphanesi, 1932), 36–37. An earlier sultanic order (dating from 28 March 1573) instigated the persecution of the “heretics” in the region, Ibid., 31–32.

Michael Ursinus

The Tekke as a Focus of Social Networking: The ‘Donations’ Lists in Şeyh Şemsüddin el-Halveti’s Family Archive from Manastır (Bitola)

M

y brief paper intends to continue exploring aspects of the Ottoman Gifting System, albeit at the opposite end of the continuum of motives for the making of gifts. In its entry ‘Gift Giving in Persia’, the Encyclopaedia Iranica offers what is described as “a preliminary attempt at studying various aspects of gift giving in a chronological and historical framework, from the pre-Islamic ear to the early modern period”.1 It is obvious that the insights presented here also apply, grosso modo, to the Ottoman case, which is why I think it appropriate to follow the lead offered here in terms of both methodology and terminology. While social scientists have “advanced a continuum of motives for gift giving from ‘generalized reciprocity’ or pure gift (referring to transactions that are putatively altruistic and the terms of reciprocity, if any, are not defined), to ‘balanced reciprocity’, referring to direct and equivalent exchange, to ‘negative reciprocity’, referring to the attempt to get something for nothing (...)”, such concepts which primarily try to establish the relative role of selfinterest and altruism are “not directly applicable to ancient empires and pre-modern kingdoms such as Persia” (read: and the Ottoman Empire as well). Rather, so the editor of the Encyclopaedia, several different modes of exchange governing premodern societies need to be distinguished, as suggested by Karl Polanyi: “Those that are based principally on reciprocity, those based on redistributive activities of tribal chiefs and governments, and those based on markets. He maintains that while ‘market exchange’ is the dominant mode of transaction in modern society, ‘reciprocity’ is the dominant mode of transaction in primitive society. ‘Redistribution’ of wealth and products by the central and local administration, he believes, is the dominant mode of transaction in ancient empires and pre-modern kingdoms [...] He believes that mixed individual motives account for gift giving in pre-modern societies where economic gain is not the primary motive. These motives include custom and law, magic and religion (Polanyi, pp. 48-55).”2 Having just listened, in Polanyi’s terms, to examples of ‘balanced reciprocity’, I now intend to present a case of ‘generalized reciprocity’ or ‘pure gift’ by referring to an example where the motives appear to be guided least by self-interest, but instead by the pressure of public expectation or genuine religious zeal, or both (at

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least this is what the terminology employed in this case would suggest). In Islamic legal terms, my case is an instance of hiba or ‘gift inter vivos’, implying the transfer of ownership during the lifetime of the donor, and with no consideration payable by the donee; more particularly a gift of alms (sadaka) that is formally presented in terms of sadaka ve zakat in the (broader) Coranic sense of sadaka which includes both voluntary and obligatory alms.3 As a reminder: The term sadaka is used to designate charitable donations which do not require offer and acceptance (unlike gifts proper) and are always irrevocable.4 Unlike gifts of the ‘balanced reciprocity’ type which, particularly when involving state officials or even the ruler, are well recorded in Safavid Iran and the Ottoman Empire by means of special registers kept by officials like the pîškaš-nevîs5 and, hence, in court historiography (court historiographers often have more to say of royal gifts than the state of the economy),6 charitable donations, except for the Holy Cities, are scantily recorded in Ottoman practice, even when it comes to obligatory alms such as zakat – after all in theory an obligation on every adult Muslim of sufficient means. While there are many registers in Ottoman archives dealing with the canonical poll-tax or ciz ye (which registers are mostly of summary [icmal ] type, but also include some detailed [mufassal ] examples, composed by state officials for the Christian inhabited territories of the Ottoman Empire, the latter by painstakingly recording every household or individual subject to the canonical ciz ye),7 the equally canonical zakat obligation never was any of the business of Ottoman bureaucrats. I know of only one single case of detailed zakat recordings over several consecutive years, and this is from a ‘private’ Ottoman family archive. The archive in question, extracts from which are to be presented here, is from the district of Manastır (Bitola) and contains several folia of zakat recordings covering a period of eight years between 1202H/ 1787-8 and 1209H/ 1794-5,8 having evidently been copied into a ledger during the early 19th century from what is likely to have been several individual sheets of paper (for the full text of these eight lists in Latinized Ottoman Turkish see the APPENDIX below). It appears to have come down to us only as the result of a rather unusual step taken by Şeyh Mustafa Halife, son of the 3 EI² VIII, 709. For a summary of “Zakāt” see Enz ykolopädie des Islam, vol. 4: S-Z (Leipzig:

Harrassowitz, 1934), 1302-04. The entry is written by Joseph Schacht.

4 Y. Linant de Bellefonds, “Hiba”, EI² III, 350. On sadaka see T. H. Weir-[A. Zysow],

“Sadaka”, EI² VIII, 708-716.

5 R. Matthee, “Gift Giving IV: In the Safavid period”, Encyclopaedia Iranica 10, 609-614; 612. 6 Equally, according to Franz Rosenthal, “literature (in the narrow sense of the term) tells

us more about gifts than it does about commercial transactions”. Op. cit., 606.

7 Cf. Machiel Kiel, “Remarks on the Administration of the Poll Tax (Ciz ye) in the Ottoman

Balkans and Value of Poll Tax Registers (Ciz ye Defterleri) for Demographic Research”, Études Balkaniques 26:4 (1990), 70-104; Marinos Sariyannis, “Notes on the Ottoman Poll-Tax Reforms of the Late Seventeenth Century: The Case of Crete”, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 54 (2011), 39-61. 8 Manastır Sicilli no. 70, starting on folia 23b, 25b, 34a, 33a, 41b, 10b, 10a, 9b, respectively (in chronological order from 1202/1787-8 till 1209/1794-5.

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founder of the first Hayatiye convent in Manastır, ‘Poturak’ Zekiriya Efendi, having taken over, by 1792, from his elder brother Şeyh Şemsüddin in the leadership of the Halvetiye-Hayatiye convent established as an off-shoot of the mother tekke in Ohrid: Mustafa appears to have decided, by March 1807 (when Sultan Mustafa IV had ascended the Ottoman throne) to copy the existing family archive of original documents into a ledger of the type of a cadi’s sicil (which luckily survived as no. 70 of the series of Manastır kadı sicilleri), adding a note by his own hand in which he laments the fates of Sultan Mustafa and ‘his’ Sultan Sultan Selim at the hands of Bayraktar Mustafa Pasha during the summer of 1808.9 Şeyh Mustafa’s entries in the codex of his brother’s recordings of the sadaḳa ve zakat donations are highly distinctive (Illustration I): Far from being of calligraphic merit, the entries are laid down in a rather idiosyncratic cursive which is difficult to read and interpret in places. It starts off by reading: Bin ikiyuz iki senesi mah-i muharrem el-haram ibtidasında(n) sene tamamına değin verdiğüm zakatı mea sadaka beyan eder ‘This shows the zakat I gave together with sadaka as from the beginning of the holy month of Muharrem of the year 1202 till the end of that year’.10 Illustration II gives a Latinized rendering of the facsimile: It shows a list in which our scribe first specifies 2,200 para worth of ‘gifts’ (including a fur robe [cübbe]) to a number of personalities of some standing before listing the values (in para) of a number of items and field products: A shawl (and) belt for the derviş from Kastoria worth 260; a dress for Tırkaç Mustafa worth 200; for Derviş the captain of Livadia 200; for Derviş Halil from Ohrid a dress worth 800; two kile of grain (seed) for Derviş Halil from Ohrid worth 600; one and a half kile of grain for Derviş Hayrullah from Ohrid worth 400 para – a total so far of 4,660 para. The next entries are slightly more elaborate: One and a half kile of grain for Salih Hoca worth 400; two kile of grain from the new harvest for our Mehmed worth 600 (note the word-order: ‘Mehmed bizim’); one and a half kile of grain from the old harvest, again for Mehmed, worth 300; two kile of grain from the old harvest for our Hamza (again: ‘Hamza bizim’) worth 400; a dress (and) a fez for Hamza’s boys worth 300; five kile of grain given to (...) Ahmed (in) the village worth 1,200 para, resulting in a sub-total of 7,800 para. The following entries are still more explicit than the preceding ones, naming a number of people who appear to have gravitated around Şeyh Şemsüddin and his brother Şeyh Mustafa for one reason or another. The following is a reasonably close rendering of the Ottoman version into English:

9 Michael Ursinus, „Das Familienarchiv Şeyh Şemsuddins, Oberhaupt der Hayatiye-Hal-

vetiye von Manastir im späten 18. Jahrhundert”, in: Klaus Kreiser, Christoph K. Neumann (eds.), Das Osmanische Reich in seinen Archivalien und Chroniken: Nejat Göyünç zu Ehren. (Beiruter Texte und Studien 65. Türkische Welten 1) (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1997), 307-327. 10 Manastır Sicilli no. 70, fol. 23b.

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2,500 para entered in the zakat list (as the interest on) 50 piastres given to İbrahim by receipt; 2,400 para put down in the zakat list for Riste Volkan and Riste Petko from Orehovo (village); 3,200 para put down in the zakat register for Ruse Grozdan from Orehovo (village); 120 para put down in the zakat list for the hay given to Mumir from Orizari (village); 60 para (wages from the) beginning of Zilkade when Derviş Sadık started his services; 85 para for the light shoe ( yemeni) and boot (mest) plus expenses (harclık), again for Derviş Sadık; 200 para for one pair of trousers for Derviş Ali from Resen, witnessed by Nedelko, Svetko and Karanfil; 20 para as a monthly payment for the Imam, (due for the month of) Zilkade; 1,040 para for 26 piastres given by receipt on Kasım day 1202 to Kosta who had fled from the çiftlik; 400 para for the ten piastres given, again, to Kosta the sharecropper who fled trying to escape from paying his debt, witnessed by Nedelko, Karanfil and Svetko; 200 para for one wagon-load of wood for Kosta who absconded from the çiftlik; 2,400 para for 15 kese of rye, wheat and barley, at four piastres each, again for the fugitive Kosta; 900 para for four and a half wagonloads of hay at five piastres each, for Kosta, the fugitive from the çiftlik – amounting to a total of 20,885 para to be entered in the zakat register (zakat defterine mahsub olmışdır). Having set the scene, it is now convenient to introduce my next illustration (Illustration III) which will allow us to learn more about the household, the extended household, and the tekke of Şeyh Şemsüddin (where we need to differentiate between his tekke ‘staff’ and various dervish ‘guests’) as well as other local ilmiye personnel. Illustration III shows the spread and frequency over time of ‘donations’ across these five categories. The eight successive years of consecutive zakat lists can be found on the left side of the sheet (indicated as running from (1) 1202H through to (8) 1209H), while the figures in the centre indicate on which line of each year’s ‘donations’ list the person in question is mentioned.11 I need to stress that this is not a complete representation of all recipients since some of a more ephemeral kind had to be sacrificed due to lack of space. Lacking from this table are also the likes of Hacı Beşirzade İsmail, Hacı Beşirzade Ahmed and Hafız Çavuş (whose laconic inclusion in the list of ‘alms’does not allow any clear positioning, but it may be that, despite of the terminology employed, these ‘donations’ need to be considered more in the context of ‘balanced reciprocity’ than ‘almsgiving’). Equally excluded from the table are any further peasant and sharecropper recipients as these appear to have been equipped, via sadaka ve zakat, primarily to work the shaykh’s own çiftliks and therefore also constitute a case apart, with Şemsüddin’s ‘self-interest’ probably ranking paramount in such cases. What emerges from Illustration III is the head of a tekke figuring as the centre, by virtue of ‘gift giving’ under the denomination of sadaka ve zakat, of several distinct network circles (though presumably interconnected), each having a different radius, but all being centred on Şeyh Şemsüddin: the narrowest circle clearly representing (1) Şemsüddin’s own household, comprising his mother Ayşe, his wife Zeyneb, his 11 ‘Our’ Hamza, for instance, appears on lines 17 and 18 of the zakat list for the year 1202

hicri, the equivalent of year (1).

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elder sister Safiye as well as (his nephew?) Hamza. The next in size constitutes (2) his extended household in which figure prominently his kethüda Osman together with his daughter, as well as another kethüda of his, (Sarraç) Mehmed with his wife. A distribution pattern for ‘gifts’ and ‘donations’ similar to that which can be observed for the inhabitants of the two innermost circles can still be shown for the next wider circle including members of the tekke’s ‘staff’ and dervish ‘guests’ including, but not shown in Illustration III, çifutdan dönme Mehmed,12 a convert from Judaism, as well as kefere İliya zimmi,13 ‘Iliya the Unbeliever’ who, as a tekke sweep and zimmi, also received ‘alms’ as part of the canonical sadaka ve zakat. As the table shows further, these ‘alms’ are bestowed more or less regularly, but rarely on an annual basis (see Sarraç Mehmed himself or Derviş Ali from Resen). Only the last group of recipients figured in the bottom left corner of the table, representing the concentric network with the widest radius well beyond the confines of both the family and the tekke, shows a density and continuity of ‘donations’ per sadaka ve zakat that is truly regular and, apart from year (1), annual in frequency. It comprises some local (lower) ilmiye functionaries (‘kleine Moscheediener’ in Hans Georg Majer’s terms) of Manastır, including a certain Ali Efendi who, like Hasan Efendi, was a teacher at the local sibyan school, receiving biannual payments of 120 para, whereas the imam and hatib of the mosque in Eynebeğ quarter were awarded (monthly) ‘donations’ of 20 para each by virtue of their receiving sadaka ve zakat from Şemsüddin – enough to buy 20 loafs of bread. Finally: What exactly were the means by which Şeyh Şemsüddin was able to support his large ‘clientele’ at the rate of between 125 (for 1206) and 329 piastres (for 1205), an average of around 250 piastres annually?14 He clearly had no inhibitions to lay open his financial circumstances, so in concluding I would like to quote briefly from his own notes: “There are 700 piastres [in my possession]; furthermore, I have in my house 32 gold pieces worth 700, a total of 2,100 piastres. For every piastre 5 para were made into zakat; those 10,390 para [259.75 piastres] mean that in the year 1208 zakat and sadaka were paid in full, as a total of 260 piastres were given as zakat”.15 Or for the next year: “It came to altogether 9,620 para [or] 240 ½ piastres. Ready money by receipt available as akçe-i zakat: 1,411 piastres; [in addition] 36 pieces of gold in my house worth 700 piastres for zakat, being a total of 2,111 piastres, let this be known. The 9,620 para [given mean] four and a half para [spent] for every piastre. So for the year 1209 zakat and sadaka were paid in full. Let it be known that 240 ½ piastres were given as zakat and sadaka”.16 12 Year (3), lines 25 and 26. 13 Year (6), line 12. 14 In 1202 and 1205 his zakat rate had been ten para for every piastre in his possession as is

shown by the entries for the years (1) on fol. 23b and (4) on fol. 33a. In 1204 the figure was 6 ½ para for every piastre (entry for year [3] on fol. 34a-33b), in 1207, however, the rate was as low as 3 para from every piastre (entry for year [6] on fol. 10b). 15 Entry for the year (7) 1208 on fol. 10a. 16 Entry for the year (8) 1209 on fol. 9b.

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This clearly shows that Şeyh Şemsüddin was a man who was aware of the price to pay for satisfying the expectations of those who mattered around him, and of his duty towards them, in terms of ‘generalized reciprocity’.

APPENDIX Part One:

Illustration I: Fol. 23b with, on the right hand side, the entry for the year 1202/ 1787-8. Illustration II: The entry for 1202/ 1787-8 in Latinized form.

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Bin ikiyüz iki senesi mah-i Muharrem el-haram ibtidasında(n) sene tamamına değin verdiğim zakatı mea sadaka beyan eder

2400 3200 120 60 85 200 20 1040 400 200 2400 900

14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19.

şal kuşak Derviş Kesri(ye)li Tirkaç (?) Mustafa anteri Libada (?) bölükbaşı Derviş anteri Ohrulı Derviş Halil tereke Ohrulı Derviş Halil – kile aded 2 tereke Ohrulı Derviş Hayrullah – kile aded 1½

cem’anyekûn guruş 272 bin ikiyüz iki senesi hesabı zakat malum ola 312 bin yüz doksan beş senesinden ikiyüze(!) senesine gelince hesabı zakat budır malum ola

21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32.

8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13.

cübbe-i kürk Hacci Beşirzade İsmail Hacci Beşirzade Ahmed Sokola ba-temessük Kınalıda(n) Fındık Mustafa Hafiz Çavuş Nalband Mustafa

===== 584 kat‘-i hesab olmışdır malum ola

20.

para 400 300 160 800 300 120 120 2200 260 200 200 800 600 400 4660 400 600 300 400 300 1200 7800 2500

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Salih Hoca (?) tereki (!) kile aded 1½ Mehmed bizim tereki (!) – kile aded 2 yeni mahsuldan defa Mehmed eski mahsuldan tereki (!) kile aded 1½ Hamza bizim eski mahsuldan tereki (!) kile aded 2 Hamza uşaklarına fes anteri Karye (?) Ahmede (...) verilen tereki (!) kile aded 5 İbrahim ba-temessük elli guruş verilmişdir zakat hesabına kayd olmışdır Orehovalı Riste Volkan Riste Petko zakat hesabına kayd olmışdır Orehovalı Ruse Grozdan zakat defterine kayd olmışdır Mumir Orizari samaniyçün zakat hesabına kayd olmışdır Derviş Sadık gelüb hizmetine başladı Zilkade ibtidası defa yamani mea mest mea harclık (?) Derebiş Sadıka Derviş Ali Resnalı çakşir aded 1 şühudat Nedelko İsvetko Karanfil İmama aylık Zilka‘de çiflikden firar Kosta bin ikiyüz iki senesi Kasim ba-temessük yeğirmi altı guruş defa karzı firar (eden) Kosta Ortakçı on guruş şehadet Nedelko Karanfil İsvetko çiflikden firar eden Kosta hatab kolaç aded 1 defa firar eden Kosta cavdar gendüm şair kese 15 fi 4 guruş çiflikden firar eden Kosta saman kolaç aded 4 ½ fi 5 guruş (…)

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Illustration III: Table showing zakat ve sadaka ‘donations’ across recipients and time Şeyh Şemsüddin Halife el-Halveti from Manastır (Bitola) offers zakat and sadaka to: his household “bizim Ayşe” (validem) (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Zeyneb (hanım)

“ablam Safiye”

his extended household “bizim Hamza” 17, 18

“bizim (sarrac) Sarrac “bizim Osman Osman Aga Mehmed Mehmed (kethüda)” kerimesi (kethüda) zevcesi 15, 16

4, 35 6, 7 20 1, 16, 17

19 11

8, 14 10

21 20 (?) 5, 10, 29

4

34 24, 27 3, 10, 22 15 2, 3, 23 12

15, 16 17 15 19

15

Members of his “staff” and derviş “guests” Resnalı Hasan Derviş Derviş Ef. Sadık Ali 26 24, 25 18, 27 17 20 2, 9, 10, 30, 31 14, 30, passim 30, 33 33 9 passim 12, 30 passim 23, 24 28 passim 22 passim passim 24 33 passim passim 20

İmam Hatib Ali Ef. (1) 27 (2) passim passim (3) passim passim (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

passim passim passim passim passim

passim passim passim passim passim

Ohrili Ohrili Ohrili Filurina Kirçova Üsküblü Derviş Derviş Derviş Derviş Arab Derviş Derviş Kosturlu Hayrullah Eşref Halil Derviş Mehmed 13 11, 12 8

5, 6, 7, 32 3, 4, 21 31

8 19, 20 9, 30

34

19

Part Two: Preamble to Part Two: The following pages contain the transcripts (based on the system of Yeni Redhouse) of the eight annual lists (numbered 1-8) of Şemsüddin’s zakat ve sadaka donations. Due to the orthographic and grammatical idiosyncrasies of these entries which no doubt at least in part result from the fact that their compiler’s mother tongue was most probably Slavic, not Turkish, these texts are not always easy to read and interpret with certainty. This is partly also the result of the extreme brevity of expression evident throughout these entries. For this reason, and for considerations of space, no translation into English has been attempted.

The Tekke as a Focus of Social Networking

147

Manastır Sicilli no. 70, fol. 23b: Bin ikiyüz iki senesi mah-i Muharrem el-Haram ibtidasından sene tamamına değin verdiğim zakatı mea sadaka beyan eder sene 1202 1202 1202 [1]

400 para

cübbe-i kürk

[2]

300

Hacı Beşirzade İsmail

[3]

160

Hacı Beşirzade Ahmed

[4]

800

Sokola ba-temessük

[5]

300

Kınalıdan Fındık Mustafa

[6]

120

Hafız Çavuş

[7]

120

Nalband Mustafa

[sub-total:]

2200

[8]

260

şal kuşak Derviş Kesriyeli

[9]

200

Tırkaç Mustafa

[10]

200

Libada bölük başısı Derviş

[11]

800

anteri Ohrulı Derviş Halil

[12]

600

Tereke Ohrulı Derviş Halil kile aded 2

[13]

400

Tereke Ohrulı Derviş Hayrullah kile aded 1 1/2

[sub-total:]

4660

[14]

400

Salih Hoca tereke kile aded 1 ½

[15]

600

Mehmed bizim tereke kile aded 2 yeni mahsuldan

[16]

300

defa Mehmed eski mahsuldan tereke kile aded 1 ½

[17]

400

Hamzamızın eski mahsuldan tereke kile aded 2

[18]

300

Hamza uşaklarına fes anteri

[19]

1200

karye Ahmede ba-rabcık verilen tereke kile aded 5

[sub-total:]

7860

[20]

2500 [2000 ?]

İbrahim ba-temessük elli guruş verilmişdir zakat hesabına kayd olmışdır

[21]

2400

Orehovalı Riste Vılkan Riste Petko zakat hesabına kayd olmışdır

[22]

3200

Orehovalı Ruse Grozdan zakat defterine kayd olmışdır

[23]

120

Mumir Orizarili samanıyçün zakat hesabına kayd olmışdır

[24]

60

Derviş Sadık gelüb hizmetine başladı Zilkade ibtidası

[25]

85

defa yamani mea mest mea harclık Derebiş Sadıka

[26]

200

Derviş Ali Resnalı çakşır aded 1 şühudat Nedelko İsvetko Karanfil

[27]

20

imama aylık Zilkade

[28]

1040

çiflikden firar Kosta bin ikiyüz iki senesi Kasım ba-temessük yeğirmi altı guruş

[29]

400

defa karzı firar Kosta ortakçı on guruş şühudat Nedelko Karanfil İsvetko

[30]

200

çiflikden firar eden Kosta hatab kolaç aded 1

[31]

2400

defa firar eden Kosta çavdar gendüm şair kese 15 fi 4 guruş

[32]

900

çiflikden firar eden Kosta saman kolaç aded 4 ½ fi 5 guruş

[grand total:]

20885

guruş başına on para geldi verdiğim zakat bu senede ve zakat defterine mahsub olmışdır 272 guruşdır

Bin ikiyüz iki senesi Muharrem el-Haram üzere içün [in upper left margin:] cem‘anyekûn guruş 272 [:] bin ikiyüz iki senesi hesabı zakat malum ola [plus] guruş 312 bin yüz doksan beş senesinden ikiyüze sene be-sene gelince hesabı zakat budır malum ola [making a total of] guruş 584 kat’-i hesab olmışdır malum ola

Michael Ursinus

148

Manastır Sicilli no. 70, fol. 25b: Bin ikiyüz üç senesi mah-i Muharrem el-Haram ibtidasından sene tamamına değin verdiğim zakat gerek sadaka beyan eder [1]

20 para

imama aylık Zilhicce

[2]

20

Derviş Sadık

[3]

20

imama aylık Muharrem

[4]

260

kürk Derviş Aliye

[5]

400

çakşır Salıh Hoca

[6]

340

anteri Fatmaya

[7]

80

mest pabuçlar Fatma

[8]

270

Kürd Manastır mea Asım para 160

[9]

600

kürk Derviş Osman mea Derviş Sadık para

[10]

200

zıbın Derviş Sadık para

[11]

640

çiflikden firar eden Nikola Momcula(?)oğlı aylak harcı aded 2 guruş on altı sene 1202

[12]

600

firar eden Nikola gendüm akçesi on beş guruş şühudat Petre Mitre Nedelko bisene 1202

[13]

1200

Ömer Ağa Kastoryalı para

[14]

2000

Risto ve sair resimler mea [...] -ler der bab-i ali [...]

[sub-total:]

6750

[15]

20

imama Safer el-Hayrın aylık para

[16]

20

defa imama Rebiyülevvel

[17]

120

Ruz-i Hızırda Hasan Efendiye mekteb içün para

[18]

120

Ruz-i Kasımda Ali Efendiye mekteb içün Ruz-i Hızıra varınca para

[19]

60

mest pabuç Derviş Murada para

[20]

80 [?]

Resnalı Derviş Ali gendüm osmak ½ para

[21]

20

imama Rebiyülahir aylık para

[22]

20

imama Cumaziyülevvel aylık para

[23]

20

hatib Cumaziyülahir aylık para

[24]

20

hatib Receb-i Şerif aylık para

[sub-total:]

7250

[25]

20

imama Cumaziyülahir aylık para

[26]

20

Receb-i Şerif aylık para

[27]

20

mekteb içün Ali Efendiye ikiyüz üç senesi Ruz-i Hızırdan Ruz-i Kasıma varınca eda olmışdır para

[28]

20

imama Şaban-i Şerif aylık para

[29]

10

imam Ramazan-i Şerif nısf-i aylık para

[30]

885

Derviş Sadık harclık verilen libaslarından gayrı budır para

[31]

80

Derviş Sadık kemer verilmişdir para

[32]

20

hatib Şaban-i Şerif aylık para

[33]

20

hatib Ramazan-i Şerif aylık para

[grand total:]

8445

Cem’anyekûn yüz on bir guruş zakat verilmişdir malum ola

Bin ikiyüz üç senesi zakat defterine kayd olmışdır malum olmak içün işbu araya şerh verilmişdir malum ola.

The Tekke as a Focus of Social Networking

149

Manastır Sicilli no. 70, fol. 34a-33b: Bin ikiyüz dört senesi Muharrem el-Haram yevm-i pazarertesi olub sene tamamına değn gerek zakat ve gerek sadaka deftere kayd olmışdır malum ola nsene 1204 [1] [2] [3] [sub-total:] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [sub-total:] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20]

1300 40 20 1360 40 300 30 150 260 260 120 160 600 1800 5080 120 160 80 120 20 20 320

Bukovalı İstoyan Pareoğlı otuz iki buçuk guruşdır Hacı Beşirzade Molla Ahmed zakat içün kayd olmışdır para hatib aylık Muharrem el-Haram zakat içün kayd olmışdır Muharrem ayı

[21] [22] [23] [24] [25] [26] [sub-total:]

20 20 20 20 400 480 6880

[27] [28] [29] [30] [31] [32] [33] [34] [35] [sub-total:] [36] [37] [38] [grand total]

20 20 200 [!] 120 200 1200 350 220 460 9670 20 20 20 9730

hatib Rebiyülahir aylık para zakat içün kayd hatib Cumaziyülevvel aylık para zakat içün kayd hatib Cumaziyülahir aylık para zakat içün kayd hatib Receb-i Şerif aylık para zakat içün kayd çıfutdan dönme Mehmede gömlek zıbın kalpak yelek şalvar çıfutdan dönme Mehmede siyah aba hırka mest pabuç Yalnız yüz yetmiş iki guruş zakat kayd olmışdır geçmişdir zakat defterine bu hesab baki kalmışdır guruş 17 ½ hatib Şaban-i Şerif aylık hatib Ramazan-i Şerif aylık imama Ramazan içün aylık Mekteb içün Ali Efendiye Ruz-i Hızırdan Kasıma değin eda olmışdır Derviş Aliye [...] kızına cübbe içün şal ferace para Derviş Hayrullah şımak (?) ferace cübbe şakşır şam alaca anteri tac Ali Efendi sohte kaltak üzengi ketem kuskun kolan malı bizim Mehmede bir kıyyelik şinik çuha vermişdir bizim Ayşemiziye kıyyelik çuha firişte çuha mest pabuç takiya terlik

Ayşe bizim zakat içün kayd olmışdır Derviş Hayrullah tereke üç osmak zakat içün buğday Derviş Hayrullah soğan zakat içün Derviş Hayrullah keten zakat içün kıyye 30 fi para 5 Derviş İbrahim iki osmak buğday zakat içün kayd olmışdır Ohrulı Derviş Müşerref iki osmak buğday zakat içün hizmetkar Hadice zakat içün kayd olmışdır Musli Paşo hatablardan kalmışdır zakat içün kayd para kaftancı çifliğinden Dimitri firar badelhesab on beş guruş Gure arabacı firar elli guruş zakat içün kayd olmışdır mekteb içün Ali Efendiye Kasımdan Ruz-i Hızıra varınca eda olmışdır Bukovalı Trayan Biko zakat defterine kayd olmışdır Yelek Derviş Mustafaya cinci zakat defterine zıbın Kör Derviş Hasan zakat defterine geçdi hatib aylık Safer el-Hayr zakat defterine kayd hatib Rebiyüevvel aylık zakat defterine kayd cübbe-i kürk (para) Topal karye mest Derviş Murada (para) zakat içün

hatib Şevval-i Şerif aylık para hatib Zilkade aylık para Zilhicce aylık para hatib içündir

İkiyüz kırk iki guruş cem’anyekûn bin ikiyüz dört senesi eda olmışdır zakat içün malum ola bin beşyüz guruşın zakatıdır altı buçuk para kalmışdır guruş başına zakat bu sene-i mübarekede nice emsallarımız eyliye istedim

Michael Ursinus

150

Manastır Sicilli no. 70, fol. 33a: Bin ikiyüz beş senesi mah-i Muharrel el-Haramın yevm-i Çeharşenbe güni olub sene tamamına varınca gerek zakat ve gerek sadaka verdiğüm ale’l-infirad beyan olur malum olmak içün kayd olmışdır [1]

180

Arnabud Osman hocaya giderdi harclık verilmişdir para

[2]

20

hatib aylık Muharrem el-Haram beş senesi para

[3]

160

Derviş Hayrullah Ohrulı gendüm üç osmak para

[4]

80

Derviş Hayrullah vazifemizde iki guruş para

[5]

60

bacdardan on avrete bir osmak gendüm verilmişdir para

[6]

260

bizim Ayşe anteri benim zakat içün kayd olmışdır para

[7]

70

nukud bir guruş Ayşeye ve bir çift mest zakat içün para 30

[8]

45

Derviş Murad bir çift mest pabuç zakat içün para

[9]

120

Mekteb içün Ali Efendiye Kasımdan ruz-i Hızıra gelince para

[10]

20

hatib Safer el-Hayr aylık para zakat defterine kayd

[11]

20

hatib Rebiyülevvel aylık para zakat defterine kayd

[12]

60

Resnalı Derviş Ali ½ osmak şair verilmişdir zakat içün

[13]

70

Divanî Abdelkahhar Efendiye bir osmak çavdar verilmişdir zakat

[14]

80

Derviş Murada bir [...] fuçısı kaşa verilmişdir zakat içün

[15]

35

Müfti Efendinin Deli hizmetkarına bir çift mest verilmişdir zakat

[16]

20

hatib Rebiyülahir aylık para zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[17]

20

Cemaziyülevvel aylık para zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[sub-total:]

1320

[18]

85

Sofyalı Sarraç Süleyman zıbın zakat içün verilmişdir para

[19]

78

Kırçovalı Derviş Mehmed yelek zakat içün verilmişdir para

[20]

25

Kırçovalı Derviş Mehmed bıcak zakat içün verilmişdir

[21]

210

Ohrulı Derviş Hayrullah bıcak kavuk iki saç sarık

[22]

20

hatib Cemaziyülahir aylık zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[23]

20

hatib Receb-i Şerif aylık zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[24]

120

bizim Mehmed zıbın zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[25]

20

Hatib Şaban-i Şerif aylık zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[26]

200

Ramazan-i Şerif imam içün ruz-i Hızır ve Ramazan Çarşenbe güne vaki olmışdır

[27]

280

bizim Mehmede anteri zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[sub-total:]

2378

[28]

5040

Gite Çoban firar kut akçesi zakat içün kayd şühudat Nedelko İstoyçe Koço

[29]

5760

defa Gite Çoban firar etmek akçesi zakat içün kayd şühudat Nedelko İstoyçe Koço İliya kefil etdi ba-temessük olan vaki olmışdır

[30]

70

Derviş Ali mest pabuç çift aded 1 mea hıtra [?] verilmişdir on para malum ola

[sub-total:]

13248

[31]

40

hatib mekteb Ramazan-i Şerif aylık guruş bir zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[32]

40

hatib mekteb Şevval-i Şerif aylık guruş bir zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[33]

40

hatib mea mekteb Zilkade-i Şerif aylık guruş bir zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[34]

40

hatib mea mekteb Zilhicce-i Şerif aylık guruş bir zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[sub-total:]

13408

The Tekke as a Focus of Social Networking

151

üçyüz yeğrmi tokuz guruş sekiz para zakat içün verilmişdir guruş başına on para zakat düşmüşdir malum ola

Üçyüz yeğirmi tokuz sekiz para zakat içün verilmişdir guruş 329 para 8 [guruş] başına on para düşmüşdir ve bu sene-i mübarekede zakat borcum kalmamışdır malum olmak içün işbu araya şerh verilmişdir malum ola [in lower right margin:] Bin altıyüz yetmiş guruş zakat budır bin ikiyüz beş senesi eda olmışdır ve Allah ta’âlâ nice emsallarla müşerref eyliye amin [short phrase in Arabic omitted]

Manastır Sicilli no. 70, fol. 41b: Bin ikiyüz altı senesi mah-i Muharrem el-Haram yevm-i Salı güni olmışdır sene tamamınadek gerek zakat ve gerek sadaka verdiğüm ale’l-infirad beyan olur malum olmak içün işbu araya kayd olmışdır bin ikiyüz altı senesi sene 1206 [1] [2] [3]

40 600 60

[4]

180

[5]

40

[sub-total:] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15]

920 80 40 460 380 220 110 110 40 40 80

[16]

320

[17] [18] [sub-total:] [19] [20] [21] [22] [23] [24] [25] [26] [27] [28] [29] [sub-total:] [30]

40 21 2861 40 40 40 40 240 120 40 40 20 240 120 3841 500

hatib Muharrem el-Haram aylık para zakat içün kayd olmışdır malum ola kantarcı Derviş Mustafa çiçekli anteri para zakat içün kayd olmışdır bizim Mehmed kethüda çantada [?] yeğirmi beş para nukud otuz beş para zakat içün kayd olmışdır bizim Osmana katır kıymeti 60 mea mest 30 mea çorab 10 zakat içün kayd olmışdır Saferde hatib mekteb aylık Safer el-Hayr Cuma güni cedid ay olub zakat el-mübarek el-hayr [?] Saduddin otlık akçesinden zakat içün kayd olmışdır malum ola hatib Rebiyülevvel aylık para zakat içün kayd olmışdır Derviş Ahmed kazaz cübbe-i kürk çuha zakat içün kayd olmışdır Arab Derviş çakşır mea mestleri çuha zakat içün kayd olmışdır bizim Mehmed gendüm kile iki yüz on para üzere zakat içün kayd olmışdır müezzin Molla Ahmed gendüm bir kile yüz on para zakat içün kayd olmışdır kazaz Derviş Ahmed bir kile gendüm yüz on para zakat içün kayd olmışdır Derviş Murad bir osmak çevrinti kırk para zakat içün kayd olmışdır hatib mea mekteb Rebiyülahir aylık Salı güni cedid ay olmışdır Osman Ağanın kerimesi bakırlarına [sic] kalaylamak içün zakat defterine kayd olmışdır Osman Ağanın kerimesi ara verildiği halden [sic] leğen mea ibrik zakat defterine kayd olmışdır hatib mea mekteb Cemaziyüevvel aylık para zakat defterine kayd olmışdır Kör Derviş Süleymana hırka-i şerif aldım para zakat defterine kayd olmışdır hatib mea mekteb Cemaziyülahir aylık para zakat defterine kayd olmışdır Hatib mea mekteb Receb-i Şerif aylık para zakat defterine kayd olmışdır bizim Hamza fes mea cücük nanaları [?] mea lebade cücük [?] içün zakat bizim Mehmede yemeni içün para zakat defterine kayd olmışdır Ramazan tedavi kılmak içün imam Hasan Efendi zakat içün kayd olmışdır Kadır Gecesi hatem-i şerif içün Hasan Efendi zakat içün kayd olmışdır hatib mekteb Şaban-i Şerif aylık para zakat içün kayd olmışdır hatib mekteb Ramazan-i Şerif aylık para zakat içün kayd olmışdır mescide imam olan Ramazan-i Şerif aylık para zakat içün Derviş Ali üç sahan ve bir tencere ve bir su tası zakat içün kayd Ali Hoca bir osmak çavdar ve bir osmak şair zakat içün kayd Flirinada sakin Arab Derviş çuha hırka para zakat içün kayd olmışdır

Michael Ursinus

152 [31] [32] [33] [34] [35] [36] [grand total:]

200 160 60 120 60 60 5001

Ohrulı eş-Şeyh Hayrullah Efendi para zakat içün kayd olmışdır Ohrulı eş-Şeyh Abdülkerim Efendi sakal tarağı yaka mea kadife kesesi mekteb hatib imamet-i mescide Şevval-i Şerif aylık para zakat içün kayd olmışdır Üskübli Derviş zıbın zakat içün kayd olmışdır mekteb hatib imamet-i mescide Zilkade-i Şerif aylık zakat içün kayd mekteb hatib imamet-i mescide Zilhicce-i Şerif aylık zakat içün kayd beş bin bir para olmışdır cem’anyekûn yüz yeğirmi beş guruş eder

İkiyüz altı sensi yüz yeğirmi beş guruş zakat içün verüb bu hesab kat’ olmışdır malum ola sene 1206

Manastır Sicilli no. 70, fol. 10b: Bin ikiyüz yedi senesi mah-i Muharrem el-Haram ibtidasından sene tamamıina değin gerek zakat ve gerek sadaka verdiğüm beyan eder ale’l-infirad malum ola

[1]

200

Ebülmuin Efendi 1 Hüseyin Efendi 1 Hüseyin Bayrakdar 3 zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[2]

30

berber Derviş Hasan otuz para zakat içün kayd olmışdır malum ola

[3]

60

Muharrem el-Haram mekteb hatib imamet zakat içün kayd olmışdır aylık

[4]

60

Safer el-Hayr aylık mekteb ve hatib ve imamet zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[5]

60

Rebiyülevvel aylık mekteb ve hatib ve imamet zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[6]

60

Rebiyülahir aylık mekteb ve hatib ve imamet zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[7]

60

Cemaziyülevvel aylık mekteb ve hatib ve imamet zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[8]

60

Cemaziyülahir aylık mekteb ve hatib ve imamet zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[sub-total:]

590

[9]

440

Hırka-i şerif siyah aba asitane-i aliyede zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[10]

600

kırmızı çuha cübbe-i kürk Derviş Hasan zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[11]

600

Molla Saduddin müezzinlik beratı içün masarıf zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[12]

40

mest asitane-i alide kefere İliya zimmiye zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[13]

80

kalçın çift aded 1 çorab çift aded 1 zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[sub-total:]

2350

[14]

200

Derviş Ahmed kazaz gendüm osmak aded 10 fi 5 guruş zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[15]

200

Sarraç Mehmed gendüm osmak aded 1 fi guruş 5 zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[16]

60

Receb-i Şerif aylık hatib Efendiye mekteb ve imamet içün zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[17]

220

Osman Ağanın kerimesine badi döşek aded 1 fi guruş 5 ½ zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[18]

60

Şaban-i Şerif aylık hatib ve imamet içün zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[19]

200

Zeyneb Hatun demirî reng iki arşın bir cübbe çuhası zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[20]

400

Kınalıdan Hamza ve Ayşe al tilki anteri zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[sub-total:]

3690

[21]

280

Ramazan-i Şerif teravih imamet içün aylık yedi guruşdır zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[22]

120

Ramazan-i Şerif hatem-i Kur’an-i Şerif Hasan Efendi edüb üç guruşdır

[23]

60

Ramazan-i Şerif aylık hatib ve mekteb ve imamet zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[24]

160

kavukçı Molla Ömer dört guruş inkar edüb zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[25]

40

Kör Ömer yazıcı bir guruş zakat içün kayd olmışdır malum ola

[26]

40

Şevval-i Şerif aylık hatib ve mea mekteb zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[27]

60

kör Derviş Hasan altmış para zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[28]

60

Zilkade-i Şerif aylık hatib ve imamet ve mekteb içün zakat içün kayd olmışdır

The Tekke as a Focus of Social Networking [29]

60

Zilhicce-i Şerif aylık hatib ve imamet ve mekteb içün zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[grand total:]

4570

dört bin beşyüz yetmiş para cen’anyekûn zakat içün kayd olmışdır

1096

bin toksan altı guruş malım olub be-her guruş başına üçer

153

üçer buçuk para zakat verilmiştir hakk-i ta’âlâ dergahından kabula karin edüb malıma berekat-i celil-i İbrahim ihsan eyliye hayirli Arabla bol nafaka ile helal kısmet ile nasibimiz eyliye amin [short phrase in Arabic omitted]

Manastır Sicilli no. 70, fol. 10a: İşbu bin ikiyüz sekiz senesi mah-i Muharrem el-Haram ibtidasından bir sene tamamınadek gerek zakat ve gerek sadaka verdiğüm ale’linfirad beyan eder malum ola sene 1208 Çeharşenbe [1] [2] [3]

60 65 680

[4]

60

[5]

235

[6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [sub-total:] [11] [12]

60 60 400 60 200 1870 280 200

[13] [14] [15] [16]

80 40 280 460

[17]

720

[18] [19]

840 160

[20]

280

[21]

240

[sub-total:] [22] [23]

5810 80 100

[24] [25]

800 800

Kınalıdan Ayşe ve çocuklarına küçük bayramda verilen Sarrç Mehmed bir zolota kalıb ve otuz beş para araba tahtalarından Sarraç Mehmed gendüm kile 1 fi guruş 9 çavdar kile 1 fi guruş 8 zakat içün kayd olmışdır Muharrem el-Haram aylık hatib ve imamet ve mekteb içün zakat defterine kayd olmışdır Derviş Ahmed gendüm kile ½ fi para 200 Kınalıdan Hamza fi para 35 zakat defterine kayd olmışdır Safer el-Hayr aylık hatib ve imamet ve mekteb içün zakat defterine kayd olmışdır Rebiyülevvel aylık hatib ve imamet ve mekteb içün zakat defterine kayd olmışdır Safiye Hatun iblik içün on guruş zakat defterine kayd olmışdır Rebiyülahir aylık hatib ve imamet ve mekteb içün zakat defterine kayd olmışdır Kınalıdan Hamza zıbın zakat içün kayd olmışdır para bir anteri pahasız hanıma zakat içün kayd olmışdır para Mahmud Paşa firarlarından Korçalı Salih ibn İbrahim yelek aded 1 fi 5 guruş zakat içün kayd olmışdır Cemaziyülevvel aylık hatib ve imamet ve mekteb kalfası ve muallim sibyan hocası defa Safiye Hatuna iblik içün on guruş zakat defterine kayd olmışdır Osman kethüda karısına bir dane pahalı zıbın yedi guruş zakat içün kayd olmışdır validem verdiği sadaka katib Zekeriya Efendiye seccade aded 2 fi 5 ½ guruş şemdan aded 2 fi 6 guruş validem hayrat içün bina eyledigi Orizar-i Balada bunar oğrada [sic] içinde on sekiz guruş Isfahan kadı[sı]na verilen cübbe çuha mea kürk kablı ve Gülşeniye [?] şalı el-Hacci Derviş Kosturalı guruş 2 diğer derviş bir çift ayak kasrı guruş 2 dört zakat içün kayd [...] Çikrikçi Abdülkadire Edreneden gelen avret en[lik]leri aded 270 fi para 1 mea kudı [sic] fi 10 para zakat içün Orizar-i Balada ahur icaresinden altı aylık 6 İsvetko-oğlı Vılkan zimmi zakat içün 6 guruş Cemaziyülahir aylık hatib ve imamet ve mekteb ve kalfası muallim-i sibyan zakat kayd Miras Yedî [?] Mehmed tepsi içün para 70 ve Sarraç Mehmed bir çift üzengisi para 30 zakat içün Resnalı Derviş Ali zevcesine çuha ferace-i cedid zakat içün kayd olmışdır Eş-Şeyh Said Efendiye mea validesine müezzinlik içün verilen yeğirmi guruş zakat içün kayd olmışdır

Michael Ursinus

154 [26] [27] [28]

80 80 400

[29]

320

[30]

80

[31]

1040

[sub-total:] [32] [33] [34] [35] [total:]

9590 80 560 80 80 10390 1400 700 [grand total] 2100

Receb-i Şerif aylı imamet mea mekteb ve hatib ve kalfası zakat içün kayd olmışdır Şaban-i Şerif aylık imamet mea mekteb ve hatib ve kalfası zakat içün kayd olmışdır Ramazan-i Şerif teravih içün imamet guruş yedi ve hatem-i Kur’an-i Şerif içün üç guruş Kınalıdan Hamza çocuklarına zıbın aded 4 fi guruş 5 ½ Beşirzade Ahmed guruş 1 katıra içün dakik kıyye 7 fi guruş 1 ½ avretlere Ramazan-i Şerif aylık hatib ve imamet ve mekteb ve kalfalık içün zakat içün kayd olmışdır Ohrulı Sürahi Ahmed Efendi damadı Molla Mustafa guruş 26 yeğirmi altı zakat içün kayd olmışdır tokuz bin beşyüz toksan para olmışdır cem’anyekûn malum ola Şevval-i Şerif aylık hatib ve imamet ve mekteb ve kalfası içün zakat içün kayd olmışdır Ohrulı Kakoşa kadını eş-Şeyh Sadık validesi on dört guruş zakat içün kayd olmışdır Zilkade-i Şerif aylık imamet ve hatib ve mekteb ve kalfası zakat içün kayd olmışdır Zilhicce-i Şerif aylık imamet ve hatib ve mekteb ve kalfası zakat içün kayd olmışdır ba-temessükat mevcud olan akçe-i zakat içün beyan eder guruş mevcud olan hanemde altunları aded 32 kıymet 700 zakat içün beyan eder cem’anyekûn iki bin yüz guruşdır malum ola

Be-her guruş başına beş para zakat olmışdır verilen on bin üçyüz toksan paradır malum olub bin ikiyüz sekiz senesi zakat ve sadakası tamamen eda olub cedid tokuz senesi zakat içün mübaşeret olmışdır malum olub bu hesab kat’ olmışdır 260 yalnız ikiyüz altmış guruşdır zakat verilen Manastır Sicilli no. 70, fol. 9b: İşbu bin ikiyüz tokuz senesi mah-i Muharrem el-Haram ibtidasından bir sene tamamınadek gerek zakat ve gerek sadaka verdiğüm beyan eder ale’l-infirad ola sene 1209 1209 [sic] [1]

2000

İştibli eş-Şeyh Mehmede bir çift kol yastık avret içün tüynak zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[2]

1240

çiflikden firar eden Prespalı Evgeni otuz bir guruş zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[3]

80

Muharrem el-Haram aylık hatib ve imamet ve mekteb ve kalfası zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[4]

80

Safer el-Hayr aylık hatib ve imamet ve mekteb ve kalfası zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[5]

160

Ammizadelerim Necmüddin ve Safiyüddin sünnet-i şerif oldığı halde Mısır nısfiyesi aded 2 kıymet 4 guruş zakat içün verilmişdir

[6]

400

kınım Alişah sünnet-i şerif oldığı halde Mısır nısfiyesi aded 5 kıymet 10 guruş zakat içün verilmişdir

[7]

80

Rebiyülevvel aylık hatib ve imam ve mekteb ve kalfası zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[8]

400

Kalkandelenli Derviş Osman anteri aded 1 kıymet 10 guruş zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[sub-total:]

4440

[9]

80

Rebiyülahir aylık hatib ve imam ve mekteb ve kalfası zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[10]

800

iplik içün ablam Safiye Hatuna yeğirmi guruş verilüb Kasım zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[11]

80

Cemaziyülevvel aylık hatib ve imam ve mekteb ve kalfası zakat içün kayd olmışdır

The Tekke as a Focus of Social Networking

155

[12]

620

bizim Sarraç Mehmede şair kile 1 kıymet 12 guruş mesti çocuk içün kıymet 3 ½ guruş zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[13]

80

mekteb içün Cemaziyülahir Receb-i Şerif Şaban-i Şerif Ramazan-i Şerif dört aylık verilmişdir miras katibi [?]

[14]

80

hatib ve imamet Cemaziyülahir ve Receb-i Şerif iki aylık verilüb zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[15]

1000

Sarraç Mehmed zevcesine [...] cübbe ara tavşan kürk kablı yeğirmi beş guruş zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[sub-total:]

7180

[16]

440

Arab Uşakkî eş-Şeyh Abdülkadir çakşır çuha aded 1 kıymet 11 guruş zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[17]

40

hatib Şaban-i Şerif ve Ramazan-i Şerif iki aylık verilüb zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[18]

520

Dilsiz Derviş kaynım sırma kolan on üç guruş zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[19]

240

Osman Ağanın büyük kerimesi sırma kolan altı guruş zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[20]

320

Derviş Ali yelek şal zinan anteri mea zıbın mea yelek uşak içün plata [?] aded 5 zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[21]

120

Ramazan-i Şerif hatem-i Kur’an-i Şerif on guruş zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[22]

300

Ramazan-i Şerif imamet teravih içün bir yıldız altun zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[sub-total:]

9160

tokuz bin yüz altmış para olmışdır cem’anyekûn malum ola

[23]

120

mekteb içün Şevval-i Şerif Zilkade-i Şerif Zilhicce-i Şerif Hacci Ali-ye üç guruş

[24]

20

hatib aylık Şevval-i Şerif zakat içün kayd olmışdır malum ola para

[25]

20

hatib aylık Zilkade-i Şerif zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[26]

20

imam aylık Zilkade-i Şerif zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[27]

20

hatib aylık Zilhicce-i Şerif zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[28]

20

imam aylık Zilhicce-i Şerif zakat içün kayd olmışdır

[29]

60

İştibli eş-Şeyh Mehmed Efendiye Ohride zakat içün kayd ve dervişe verilen

[30]

160

Ohride türbe-i şerife kurban aded 1 kıymet 3 guruş mum aded 1 kıymet 1 guruş

[total:]

9620

cem’anyekûn tokuzbin altıyüz yeğirmi para olmışdır 240 ½ guruş

1411

ba-temessükat mevcud olan akçe-i zakat içün beyan eder guruş

700

hanemde mevcud olan altunlar added 36 kıymet 700 zakat içün beyan eder guruş

2111

cem’anyekûn ikibin yüz on bir guruşdır malum ola

[grand total:]

Be-her guruş başına dört buçuk para zakat olmışdır verilen tokuz bin altıyüz yeğrmi para malum olub bin ikiyüz tokuz senesi zakat ve sadakası tamamen eda olub on senesi zakat içün mübaşeret olmışdır malum olub bu hesab kat’ olmışdır İkiyüz kırk buçuk guruş verilen zakat ve sadaka malum ola guruş 240 1/2

156

Michael Ursinus

FAKSIMILES17

17 The author expresses his gratitude to Dr. Petar Todorov and the responsible authorities of the archive in Skopje for the assistance with these facsimiles.

The Tekke as a Focus of Social Networking

157

158

Michael Ursinus

The Tekke as a Focus of Social Networking

159

160

Michael Ursinus

The Tekke as a Focus of Social Networking

161

III.

Social Networking in Diplomacy and Intelligence

Ivan Parvev

“There is noƒwhere espionage is not used” Habsburg Spy Networking in the Ottoman Empire, 1689–1714

1

The statement “There is no place where espionage is not used” was formulated by the great Chinese military strategist, Sun Tzu, in his “The Art of War” more than 2,500 years ago.1 It is true that for him the most important function of his work was to discover the secrets of successful warfare and to pass on the resulting insights to his readers, commanders and rulers alike. Sun Tzu had probably not considered the possibility that his treatise could also be useful in times of peace since his primary concern was war. It would certainly not be groundbreaking to assert that Sun Tzu’s pointed formulation was valid not only in times of war, but could, indeed, also be regarded as an integral part of diplomatic and international relations during the Early Modern period – and obviously not only that era. The logic of this assessment is especially evident if we examine the activities of states that regard each other as ideological adversaries and eternal enemies. 2. That the Christian rulers in Central and Western Europe were trying to acquire inside knowledge of the powerful and very dangerous Ottoman state requires no special proof. Bertrandon  de la  Broquière (1400-1459) for example, who travelled in the1430s through the lands of the Sultan, not only described the cities along his route, but also kept track of the difficulties of the passage, noted the distance from one place to another, etc.2 There is no doubt that such information possessed considerable military value for those who would plan a war against the Ottomans. Coincidence or not – many of the Early Modern European travel accounts which deal with Turkey contained such information. This doesn’t mean, of course, that every European Christian, who travelled through the Ottoman Empire in the 16th18th centuries should be regarded as a “spy on a secret mission.” The more powerful the Ottoman Empire became vis-à-vis its neighbours in Central Europe, the greater became the Christian rulers’ need to acquire knowledge about the Sultan’s intentions. Especially after 1453, when Constantinople was conquered by Mehmed II and the Grand Turk made no secret of his plans to bring 1 Marc McNeilly, Sun Tzu and The Art of Modern Warfare. (Oxford: Oxford University Press,

2015), p. 300

2 Charles Henri Auguste Schefer (ed.), Le voyage d’outremer de Bertrandon de La Broquière

(Paris: E. Leroux, 1892), cf. its English translation by Galen R. Kline (ed. and transl.) The voyage d’outremer (New York – Bern – Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1988)

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Ivan Parvev

Rome under his rule, monarchs in Christian Europe were eager to know which territories the Ottoman armies would target on this particular occasion. It turned out that Venice was a trustworthy channel for information due to the fact that the Serenissima kept a permanent resident, a bailo, in Constantinople. His main task was to protect the interests of Venetian merchants, but also to keep his eyes and ears open in order to ascertain what the Sultan’s next step as conqueror would be. This information was sent to the Venetian Senate; after that, disguised as news, it found its way into the media of the time. Foreign diplomats residing in the Republic of Saint Mark could easily forward more information about the Turks to their sovereigns.3 3. Habsburg-Ottoman relations in the Early Modern era have been only partially studied within the framework of espionage research. For the 16th century a few case studies exist: those by Biegman4 , Agoston5 , Zahirovic6 and Emrah Gürkan7 etc. However, for the 17th and 18th centuries there are only few hints, but no special studies. This is quite curious, since espionage in peacetime and military intelligence in times of war were an important aspect of the relations between enemy states. Studies on the Habsburgs and Ottomans were obviously not focused on the topic of espionage, which is probably a drawback. It would be interesting to ask to what extent the Habsburgs and the Ottomans were really convinced about the importance of espionage – be it in times of peace or during a war. Let us start with the Empire of the Sultan. Until the 1790s the Ottomans relied, in their contacts with the rulers of the Christian world, on ad hoc diplomacy. In other words, they sent Turkish envoys to Europe (Vienna, Venice or Paris) on certain specific occasions. The Ottoman Empire did not deem it necessary to have permanent representatives in the major capitals of the Christian West. This is quite surprising at first glance, since the Sultan allowed European monarchs or republics to have their diplomats at the Sublime

3 Cf. in connection to this the intriguing book of Noel Malcolm, Agents of empire. Knights,

corsairs, Jesuits and spies in the sixteenth century Mediterranean world (London: Allen Lane, 2015)

4 Nicolas H. Biegman, “Ragusan Spying for the Ottoman Empire. Some 16th-Century

Documents from the State Archive at Dubrovnik”, Belleten 27 (1963), 237-255.

5 Gabor Agoston, “Information, Ideology, and Limits of Imperial Policy”, in: Virginia

Aksan, Daniel Goffman (eds.) The Early Modern Ottomans: Remapping the Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), pp. 75-103 6 Nedim Zahirović, “Two Habsburgs Sources of Information at the Sublime Porte in the Second Half of the 16th Century”, in: Maria Baramova et al. (eds.) Power and Influence in South-Eastern Europe, 16-19th Century (Berlin: LIT Verlag, 2013), pp. 417-423. 7 Emrah Safa Gürkan. “The Efficacy of Ottoman Counter-Intelligence in the 16th Century”, Acta Orientalia Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 65 (2012), 1-38; idem, Espionage in the 16th Century Mediterranean: Secret Diplomacy, Mediaterranean Go-Betweens and the Ottoman-Habsburg Rivalry (PhD diss., Georgetown University, Washington, DC, 2012); idem, “Dishonorable ambassadors? Spies and secret diplomacy in Ottoman Istanbul”, Archivum Ottomanicum 35 (2018), 47-62.

“There is noƒwhere espionage is not used”

167

Porte. Indeed, the stay of Western diplomats in Constantinople was even co-funded by the Ottoman treasury.8 In the history of international relations it is a well-known commonplace that foreign diplomats were actually regarded by their host country as the “official spies” of sovereign, who sent them. It is hard to believe that the Ottomans could have repressed this simple fact. If they were aware of it, why did the Sublime Porte not insist on reciprocity? For any rational politician or ruler, it would be advantageous to send his “official spies” (read: his diplomats) to foreign capitals in order to balance the activities of all the foreign spies in its own capital. How might one explain this voluntary surrender of reciprocity? Did the Ottomans themselves really not think about the possibility of spying on their (religious) opponent at all? On the other hand, without an intact espionage service, at least in times of war, the Ottomans surely would not have been able to expand their empire across three continents. There is ample historical evidence that Ottoman military commanders used spies to monitor the movement of enemy forces - so they should have known the benefits of espionage. That the Ottomans refrained from sending “official resident spies” to the Christian world could be explained in different ways. There was, for example, the Ottomans’ view of themselves as the “most powerful empire” in the Mediterranean and Europe. Two things followed from this self-image: 1) as the Sultan is the most powerful ruler in the world, he does not need spies abroad, since he is so powerful that no one would dare to attack him – in other words, strategizing along the lines of: to think and be concerned about the enemy is something for the weak; and 2) because the Sultan is so powerful, it would be beneath his dignity to send permanent residents to Christian countries, as this would mean he regards the unbelievers, the enemies of Islam, as equals.9 It is doubtful whether any other considerations played a role. It is certain that as long as the Ottomans were able to win their battles against the Christians, a demonstrative lack of interest was manifested in what was happening in Europe. After the Treaty of Karlowitz (1699), the first major military fiasco on the part of the Ottomans10 , they began, albeit slowly, to realize that it would be useful and in the inter8 On the history of Ottoman diplomacy, the recently published volume Ahmet Nuri

Yurdisev (ed.), Ottoman Diplomacy Conventional or Unconventional? (Houndsmills, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004). The work is written by Yurdusev, Halil Inalcik and Rifa’at Ali Abou-El-Haj. On the Early-Modern Austrian-Ottoman diplomatic relations see recently the book of Maria Baramova, Translation of Power. Negotiating peace between the Habsburgs and the Sublime Porte, 1547-1747. Sofia: Universitetsko izdatelstvo “Sv. Kliment Ohridski“, 2019 (in Bulgarian). 9 For more details on the European peace process and on war and peace in the Islamic world cf. Baramova, Translation of power, p. 15-44 10 Cf. Rifa’at Abou-El-Haj, The Reisülküttab and Ottoman Diplomacy at Karlowitz (unpublished PhD dissertation, Princeton University, Princeton, NJ 1963); idem. “Ottoman Diplomacy at Karlowitz”, Journal of the American Oriental Society 87 (1967), 498-512.

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Ivan Parvev

est of the state not only to know whether the Christians were plotting against the Sublime Porte, but also to discover the secrets of European superiority. Not until the late eighteenth century did the Ottomans establish permanent missions abroad, probably in the hope that their “official spies” would now contribute to the stabilization of the Sultan’s power in the Balkans. Here, I wish to formulate the following hypothesis. For many years historians have reached the conclusion that terms like “Türkenfurcht” (“Fear of the Turks”) and “Türkenkomplex” were a suitable tool for describing the real attitude of Christians towards the victorious Ottomans and their plans for permanent conquest. The “Terror Turcorum” was, until the end of the 17th century, an important feature of European-Ottoman relations. But what about the 18th and 19th centuries, when the Ottomans were no longer the nemesis of the Christian world? Do the fears and complexes simply vanish? Has the exoticism of the Orient simply replaced the “Fear of the Turks”? We could argue about that, of course. I would suggest, however, that after the Treaty of Karlowitz in 1699 a new complex gradually began to emerge. It could be described as an “Europe-complex”, but this time it should be attributed to the Ottomans. This complex accompanied the Ottoman Empire until its dissolution after the First World War. It was not a complex of fear, as had been the case with the Türkenfurcht, but rather a respectful tribute to something very powerful, which, of course, could not be articulated publicly. Whether this was an inferiority complex remains be clarified through further research. What was the point of view in the Habsburg monarchy when the question was raised as to whether or not to gather information about the Sultan? First of all, we should keep in mind that since the 1540s a Habsburg representative had been installed as permanent resident in the Ottoman capital11. In other words, Austria had his “official spy” in Istanbul, as Habsburg-Ottoman relations left the context of academic and intellectual discourse and were defined by state ideology and the conflict of religions. There is no doubt that from the 1520s until the end of the 17th century the “Idea of ​​War” dominated bilateral relations – be it in the form of jihad against the infidels, or of the “Lega Sacra” against the Muslim Turks; be it in bloody and merciless warfare, or in the curious fact that in the early 1680s the severed heads of Turks 11 On the European diplomats in the Ottoman capital since the 16th centiry cf. Bertold

Spuler, Die europäische Diplomatie in Konstantinopel bis zum Frieden von Belgrad (1739). Breslau, Priebatsch 1935 (Univ. Diss. Breslau 1935); idem. “Die europäische Diplomatie in Konstantinopel bis zum Frieden von Belgrad (1739). 3. Teil: Listen der in Konstantinopel anwesenden Gesandten bis in die Mitte des 18. Jahrhudnerts”, Jahrbücher für Kultur und Geschichte der Slaven Bd. 11. 3/4 (1935), 313-366. On the early stages of Habsburg diplomatic presence in the Ottoman Empire cf. Austro-Turcica, 1541-1552. Diplomatische Akten des habsburgischen Gesandtschaftsverkehrs mi der Hohen Pforte, im Zeitalter Süleymans des Prächtigen. Bearbeitet von Srećko M. Džaja unter Mitarbeit von Günter Weiss; in Verbindung mit Mathias Bernath herausgegeben von Karl Nehring (München: Oldenbourg, 1995).

“There is noƒwhere espionage is not used”

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were offered for sale in Leipzig because there was apparently a demand in Western Europe for such goods.12 Or, in the fact that in Vienna the Imperial War Council – and it alone – bore responsibility for relations with the Sublime Porte – and this until well into the 18th century. In other words: War wherever you look! The studies on Habsburg spies in the Ottoman Empire during the 16th century demonstrate, however, that the Habsburg Monarchy did not differ greatly from the other European countries when it came to the problem of gathering information about the Ottomans. The Emperor had his “Official Spy” in Constantinople; there were the travellers who in their – very often – printed reports described their impressions of the realm of the Sultan. A good example are the famous Turkish Letters of Busbecq13 . It is worth underlining that it was Venice – and not Vienna which served as a kind of news centre for all those who wanted to find out about more about the Sublime Porte. It seems that in some situations the presence of the Habsburg resident alone was not enough for Vienna to find its way in the rather complicated und unpredictable political plans of the Ottomans. To compensate for this the Emperor sometimes appointed another “Official Spy” to replace the old resident in order to clarify the facts. Such was the case with count Caprara, who in 1682 was sent to Constantinople by Leopold I as internuntio to the Ottoman capital.14 The hope that the joint efforts of two Austrian diplomats – Caprara and the former resident Khunitz – would help to preserve peace with the sultan, however was not justified and war broke out in 1683. 12 Cf. Theatri Europaei Continuati Zwälffter Theil Das ist: Abermalige Außführliche

Fortsetzung Denck und Merckwürdigster Geschichte Welche, ihrer gewöhnlichen Eintheilung nach, an verschieden Orthen durch Europa, Wie auch in denen übrigen Welt-Theilen, vom Jahr 1679. an biß 1687. sich begeben und zugetragen; (…) Durch Matthaei Merians Sel. Erben. Franckfurt an Mäyn/ Gedrickt bey Johann Görlin. Jm Jahr MDCXCI. [1691], p. 774-75: „Etwa sonderbares war es/ daß sich in der Leipziger Neuen Jahres-Messe daselbst einige eingefunden/ welche etliche Fässer voll gedörrte Türcken-Köpffe/ / unterschiedlicher Art und Gestalt/ von abscheulichen Gesichtern/ seltsame Bärthen/ und vielerhand Haaren/ welche theils lang gewachsee/ theils kurtz abgeschören/ mitbracht/ welche nachdem sie schön gestaltet/ und ihre Gesichter nicht zerhauen gewesen/ das Stück zu vier/ sechs/ biß acht Thaler/ und höher gestiegen. Solche Köpffe sind hernach in Dänemark/ Schweden/ Hamburg/ Holland/ Engeland/ Franckreich/ und Spanien verschickt worden“. 13 Cf. The Turkish letters of Ogier Ghiselin de Busbecq, imperial ambassador at Constantinople, 15541562. Translated from the Latin of the Elzevir edition of 1663 by Edward Seymour Forster. Reprint of the Oxford edition 1927. (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2005); Ingnace Dalle, Un Européen chez les Turcs. Auger Ghiselin de Busbecq (1521-1591) (Paris: Fayard, 2008). 14 On Caprara’s mission in Constantinopel, which started in February 1682 cf. Joseph von Hammer, Geschichte des osmanischen Reiches, grossentheils aus bisher unbenützten Handschriften und Archiven. Sechster Band. Von der Grosswesirschaft Mohammer Köprili’s bis zum Carlowiczer Frieden. 1656-1699 (Pest, In C.A. Hartleben’s Verlage 1830), p. 380 ff. Cited further as GOR.

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The studies on the espionage activities along the Habsburg-Ottoman border in the 16th century show that the attempts by the Viennese government to smuggle information across the border were rather uncoordinated, spontaneous and only moderately successful. One might assume, of course, that it was very difficult to attract qualified informants who could be of real use to the Habsburgs - and not solely due to the high risk to the spy himself, who could very easily lose his life. More serious was the very simple fact that the “spying range” of the possible informants, if they were among the Christian subjects of the Sultan, was rather limited. For example: what could a Hungarian wine merchant living in the area of ​​Buda tell his Habsburg contact about political events in Constantinople which was not already reported via the “Venice connection” to the European public and probably printed in the Newe Zeitungen? Possibly nothing at all. Of course, the information of the Buda wine merchant could be of some importance, especially if you expected a direct attack by Ottoman troops. If the government in Vienna wanted to look behind the decision-making process at the Sublime Porte, the Habsburg “Official Spy” in Constantinople and, of course, his “social network” would be more suitable for that task. For this reason, the Habsburgs’ decision to concentrate on the Ottoman capital if insider information was needed and not to look for it along the Habsburg-Ottoman border is more than understandable. That “Target Constantinople” was particularly important for Vienna is due not only to the need of an endangered monarchy to know more about a powerful enemy, such as the Ottomans were at that time. Information also made it possible to counteract anti-Habsburg intrigues at the Sublime Porte – the French residents at the Sublime Porte were especially suspected of encouraging them. Whether this suspicion was justified, is, of course, another question.15 The efforts by the Habsburg Monarchy to use mainly their own representatives in the Ottoman capital and the ad-hoc envoys sent to Constantinople to collect data and information about the Empire of the Sultan may have been the result of other considerations. One such was the realistic conclusion that against such a mighty empire the best intelligence service can’t achieve much as long as the Habsburg army was, at best, only able to hold the borders of the Monarchy. If you are on the political and diplomatic defensive, and your powerful enemy dictates the agenda of bilateral relations, the hoarding of information about him would actually be an end in itself. While you will have a better view about what is going on, the actual decisions will be taken by your adversary. 4. The decades from 1689 to 1714 brought a radical change in Habsburg-Ottoman relations. The dominance of the Sublime Porte, which could be traced back to the 1520s, was in practice replaced by the supremacy of the Habsburgs, who 15 Cf. on the common interest of French and Ottomans during the 16th century Christine

Isom-Verhaaren, Allies with the Infidel. The Ottoman and French Alliance in the Sixteenth Century (London: I. B. Tauris, 2011).

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could now, in turn, determine the political fate of South-Eastern Europe. In the last years of the 17th century changes took place in European-Ottoman relations, which were subsequently more and more defined by the apparent weakness of the Sultan’s Empire. To what extent these changes influenced Hapsburg espionage in the Ottoman Empire could be clarified by intensive study of the relevant Austrian archives. That would be an exciting research topic, especially if we consider that it would close a gap in historiography. Two case studies could mark the beginning of that interesting research topic. Of course, one must be aware that the conclusions drawn from them must be formulated very carefully and under strict conditions since nothing can replace a full evaluation of all sources which alone could prove whether the formulated hypotheses are correct or not. To be more optimistic, however, we could say: if you want to reach a mountain peak, you must start climbing the mountain first. The first case study deals with the nature of espionage in times of war; and the second case study with espionage in times of peace. 4.1. Habsburg espionage in the military campaigns of 1689-1690. In the war of 1683-1699 the years 1689-1690 were of particular importance. This relatively short period witnessed the maximum expansion of the Habsburg-Ottoman front line in the inner core of the Balkans. During these very same years the military struggle of Leopold I against the Ottoman Empire was transformed from a war on one single front to a war on two fronts – a real nightmare for Vienna. After the conquest of Belgrade (1688) the Habsburg military command wanted to move further in the direction of Nish and Sofia, but after the outbreak of the war with France they had to include the French factor in their war plans. That had, of course, a direct impact on the number of troops that were fighting in the Balkans against the Ottomans. And it is quite understandable that the generals, who could no longer count on 50,000 men, but rely only on half of them, were trying to collect and use all possible information about the enemy’s plans and movements.16

16 For the political and military aspects of the Austrian war efforts in Balkans in the 1680-s

cf. Onno Klopp, Das Jahr 1683 und der folgende große Türkenkrieg bis zum Frieden von Carlowitz 1699 (Graz: Styria, 1882); Ivan Parvev, Habsburgs and Ottomans between Vienna and Belgrade (1683-1739) (Boulder: Columbia University Press, 1995); Charles W. Ingrao, The Habsburg Monarchy 1618-1815 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2nd. ed. 2000), Ch. 3: Facing east: Hungary and the Turks (1648-1699). On the Habsburg commanders-inchief during the campaigns of 1688 and 1689, the Elector of Bavaria, Max Emanuel, and Markgrave Ludwig Wilhelm von Baden cf. Ludwig Hüttl, Max Emanuel. Der Blaue Kurfürst, 1679-1726. Eine politische Biographie (München: Süddeutscher Verlag, 1976); Wolfgang Froese, Martin Walter (eds.) Der Türkenlouis. Markgraf Ludwig Wilhelm von Baden und seine Zeit (Gernsbach: Katz, 2005).

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The source material for this case study are German periodicals from 1689-1690. Probably a dozen newspapers and a journal have been examined for this purpose.17 It would of course be logical to check the printed information in the media against the content of the archives in the Austrian Kriegsarchiv. This would allow the scholar to correct the newspaper information or to complete it through new details, maybe hidden from the public. At the same time, it is unlikely that the comparison between the two groups of sources – the media and the military archives – would produce a truly ground-breaking insight, one which could justify this timeconsuming research. If we consider the archival sources used for the second case study, the information contained therein does not differ dramatically from that in the media – for example, the names of informants are nowhere mentioned. It seems that the “Official Spy” of the Habsburgs preferred to keep certain sensitive data not on paper, but in his head. If we keep that in mind, we can consider the newspapers of the 17th century as quite a reliable source. During the campaigns of 1689-1690 the Habsburg military command was in a position to collect information about the plans of the Ottoman enemy, its numbers or movements, through following channels: – Imperial reconnaissance detachments or patrols. They were recruited mainly from the local Christian population, who sided with Emperor and fought against the Ottomans. – Balkan Christians who submitted their information directly to the patrols, or even appeared in person in the imperial headquarters to report directly to the Habsburg commanders. – Testimonies of Ottoman prisoners-of-war, who were interrogated by the officers of Leopold’s army. – Testimonies of Hungarian deserters, who deserted from the troops of the Ottoman ally Count Imre Thököly. – Information from Catholic Christians who had been kept in the Ottoman Empire by force and who tried to regain their freedom by crossing the front line. If we have to assess the military value of the information that flowed through this spy network to the Habsburg command, we can conclude that the data provided by the informants were correct. For example, it was known in Vienna as early as spring 1690 how many Ottoman warships there were on the Danube. The intention of the fleet was to advance up the river to the fortress of Vidin, which had been seized by the Habsburgs in the course of the military campaign of 1689, in the hope of recapturing it. There are only small differences in the data when it comes to the crew and the armament of the fleet – the details submitted by the Hungarian deserters and the evidence given by Habsburg patrols, for example, matched. When 17 Cf. Rigische Novellen, Relations Courier, Königsberger Sonntags Ordinari Post-Zei-

tung, Wöchentliche Post-Zeitung, Eingelauffene Ordinari Post-Zeitung, Nordischer Mercurius, Wöchentlicher Ordinari Friedens- und Kriegs-Currier, Europäischer Mercurius oder Götter-Both, Europäische Zeitung, Altonaische Relation, Journal etc.

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the Grand Vizier Mustafa Köprülü prepared his attack against the Habsburg troops in the summer of 1690, the imperial commander, Markgrave Ludwig Wilhelm von Baden, was very soon informed that the Ottoman army was 70,000 to 80,000 men strong. The route of their march and their primary target could be identified easily based on the evidence of the existent espionage network – the Ottomans were planning to concentrate their forces in the vicinity of Sofia, and Nish, still in Habsburg hands, was to be attacked afterwards. What Imperial generals did not know for sure was where the Ottomans would strike first – towards Vidin or towards Nish. For this reason, an observation corps commanded by General Trautmannsdorf was ordered to patrol the area between Sofia and Vidin and, if necessary, to act in this or that direction.18 18 Cf. the detailed information about the actvity of its detachment in the newspapers:

Journal. Anno 1690. Num. 64. 12. Aug.Wien/ den 13. Aug. „[…] Von Widin hat man Nachricht/ daß Hn. Graff Trautmansdorff/ nachdeme er vernommen/ wie die Unsrige dasige Grabs verlassen/ und sich ins Schloß reterirt/ und die Türcken mit 5 000. Mann auff 60. allerhand Schiffen und 4. Galleren mitten auff der Donau halten/ die Ancker geworffen/ und zu campiren angefangen/ ist ged. General mit seinem Corpo 10 000. Mann starck den 26. pass. zu ged. Widin arriviret und also sein Lager geschlagen/ deme gleich viele Proviant und andere Schiff/ worauff 600. Mußketirer gewesen/ so dem Dragoner Marsch geschlagen gefolget. Die Türcken haben sich in ihren Schiffen zwar in Bereitschafft gestellet/ und starck Feuer gegeben/ nachdem man aber einige Stücke an die Donau gebracht/ und der Feind unsere Schiff mit Jnfanterie wohl besetzt/ die Cavallerie auch in Bereitschafft gesehen/ ist er auff die andere Seithen gewichen/ und den 27. dito weiters hinter dasige Jnsel salvirt/ nachgehends aber noch ferner zurück begegen/ deßwegen dann Hr. General Trautmannsdorff die Schiff auff der Donau zurück commandirt/ die er mit seinem ganzten Corpo biß in Sicherheit convoyret/ und den Marsch gegen Jagodina genommen/ alwohin Hr. Gen. Veterani/ laut Brieffen aus Nissa vom 5. dieses auch in Marsch begriffen.“ Similar narrative can be found in Kriegs-Courier. Num. 21, Montags/ den 11. (21. Aug.) 1690. Wien/ vom 13. Aug. st. n. „Aus dem Kayserl. Feld-Lager bey Widin wird unterm 27. passato anhero berichtet/ daß/ nachem der Herr General Trautmannsdorff durch einen Expressen die Nachricht erhalten/ wie daß die Unsrige die Stadt Widin verlassen/ sich in das Schloß salvirt/ und die Türcken 5 000. Mann/ mit 60. Schiffen/ Tschaicken/ und 4. Galeeren mitten auff der Donau hielten/ und die Ancker geworffen/ auch den 25. wie man in unserm Lager gehört/ starck zu canoniren angefangen; als ist obgedachter Hr. General Tarutmannsdorff/ noch selbigen Abend/ mit seinem unterhabenden Corpo/ welches effective 10 000. Mann starck ist/ aufgebrochen/ und hatte den 26. bey Widin/ das Lager sehr vortheilhafftig geschlagen/ dem auch gleich darauff eine grosse Menge Schiffe/ worauf 600. Musquetirer waren/ und den Dragoner-March spielten/ gefolget. Als solches die Türcken von weiten ersehen/ haben sie sich mit ihren Tschaicken in Bereitschafft gestellt/ ihre Fahnen in der Menge auffgesteckt/ und zu canoniren angefangen; Weil man aber einige Stücke an die Donau brachte/ und auff die Feindliche Tschaicken und Galeeren gleichfals starck Feuer gab/ und die Türcken über dieses unsere Schiffe mit Jnfanterie gnugsam besetzt fanden/ auch die Cavallerie in Bereitschafft sahen; als habeb sie sich wieder auff die andere Seite gewendet/ und mit den groß- und kleinen Gegen-Schüssen lang die Nacht continuirt. Von den Unsrigen seynd 4. blessirt worden/ ob denen Türcken oder Tschaicken einige Schaden geschehen/ kan man noch nicht wis-

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However, some evidence did later turn out to be wrong. A Catholic Christian who had escaped from Adrianople and finally reached the Habsburg troops in the spring of 1690 reported that the Ottoman army, which wanted to attack the Imperial troops in that campaign, was very low in numbers. According to his information it counted only about 7,000 men; besides which, the morale of the Turks had apparently sunk so low that no one seriously believed in victory against the Habsburgs.19 Whether this defector had erred in good faith or, equally possible, was provided by the Ottomans with false information in order to confuse the imperial commanders, will probably never be clarified. For the military plans of the Habsburgs, however, it was important that very soon after more precise information from the Scout network was acquired about the precise strength of the Ottoman army.20 Another aspect should be mentioned here as well. Many of the aforementioned espionage reports agree that the Grand Vizier was indeed leading a numerically very strong army, but that its military virtues were not a match for the Habsburg troops. Whether Ludwig von Baden really believed that only “undisciplined riffraff” were advancing against his army is open to debate. To sum up: The Habsburg headquarters obviously possessed a well-functioning espionage network, which forwarded to the army commanders correct information about the advancing Ottomans. However, this knowledge was of little value for the campaign itself. The reason is very simple: the imperial forces could muster only 25,000 men against the troops of the Grand Vizier, i.e. they had to fight a triply sen. Den 27. ist das Corpo in seinem alten Lager still gestanden/ die Türcken aber haben sich mit ihren Tschaicken und Galeeren hinter die Jnsul gezogen/ und lassen sich nicht mehr sehen. Was ihr Vorhaben weiters seyn wird/ stehet zu erwarten. Letzter Briefe aus Nissa vom 5. August melden/ daß allda sichere Kundschafft eingelauffen/ daß der Seraskier mit 12 000. Mann/ um sich mit dem Teckely zu conjugiren/ auff Nicopolis losgangen/ der Groß-Vezier aber mit der Türckischen Armee zu Sophia angelangt sey.“ 19 Cf. Europäische Zeitung. Num. 47. Den 13. Junii 1690: Nissa/ den 3. Junii st. n. „Den 30. Maij ist ein Chur-Bayerischer Wielkischen Musterbruder/ so bey Mohaz gefangen worden/ und 3. Jahr zu Constantinopel gesessen/ in Zeit 15. Tagen von dannen sambt einem Wasser-Pollacken sich salvirt/ anhero kommen/ welcher gewiß außsagt/ daß gantz Türckey voller Forcht stehe/ ja schon viele Kauff-Handels- und andre Leute von ermeltem Constantinopel/ übers Meer in das weiße Mohren-Land entfliehen“; Journal. Anno 1690. Num. 41. 24 May: „Ein Uberlauffer/ so vor 6. Wochen von Adrianopel durchgangen/ und nach Nissa kommen/ berichtet/ daß sich damahls nur 8000. Türcken daselbst befunden/ und daß/ als er zwo Wochen hernach nach Nicopoli kommen nicht mehr als 600. Türcken alda/ zu Rußziock 1500. und bey dem Teckely nur allein 1200. von seinem Anhang gewesen“. 20 Cf. Europaeische Zeitung. Num. 67. Den 22. August 1690. Wien/ den 24. Augusti st. n. „Sonntags brachte ein Courrier daß der Feind Nissa würcklich mit 70. à 80 000. Mann belägert/ welche aber meist in gezwungenem Land-Volck und Canalien bestehen/ Nissa hingegen ist mit 3000. Teutschen zu Fuß und 500. zu Pferdt besetzt/ auch mit allen andern wohl auffgezogen/ welche sich und ihrem Commendanten Hn. General Guido von Starnberg und Hn. General-Ingenieur Grafen Marsily tapffer werden/ ungeachtet der Feind viel Frantzösis. Ingenieurs und Feuerwercker bey sich hat.“

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superior enemy. In addition, there was the tactical need to provide Vidin, Nish and Belgrade with garrisons and to protect Transylvania against possible enemy intrusion. Seen from a purely military perspective, the campaign of 1690 could not be won by the Habsburgs under these circumstances, no matter how effective the military espionage of the imperial forces was. 4.2. Espionage in times of peace: Franz Fleischmann and his spy network in Constantinople, 1713-1714. The second case study deals with the information-gathering network of the Habsburg resident in Constantinople, Anselm Franz von Fleischmann, from the years 1713-1714. As mentioned above, this period falls under the term “peace time”. In fact, this can be easily proven: The Russo-Ottoman war of 1710-1711 was over; the War of Spanish Succession was de facto finished; and Habsburg-Ottoman relations were quite friendly. Both in Vienna and Istanbul, efforts were being made to behave like good and benevolent neighbours living peacefully together. Only the Ottoman declaration of war against Venice (December 1714) brought a possible war with the Sultan back onto the political agenda in Vienna. The sources for this case study are the archive files of the Viennese Haus-, Hofund Staatsarchiv, especially those connected to the activity of the Habsburg Resident Fleischmann in Constantinople.21 From Fleischmann’s reports it becomes apparent that his information about Ottoman policy and the mechanisms behind it, the actual protagonists and goals, was collected through his “men of confidence”, who held different positions in the Ottoman power structure. Probably this information or spy network had been built up during the time of his predecessor, Leopold Talmann. However, since Fleischmann had been a secretary in the imperial embassy in Constantinople since 1707, one may assume that he had no difficulty in maintaining this network after he became Habsburg Resident. Fleischmann does not mention his informants by name, but refers to them generally as “men of confidence”, “good friends”, etc. Sometimes he describes how he communicates with them: he pays them visits, brings them gifts, has conversations with them (“discursweise”) about this or that etc. This applies especially to those amongst his informants who belonged to the Ottoman ruling elite. The peace time of 1713-1714 was indeed without serious tensions in HabsburgOttoman relations, but this does not mean that in Vienna nobody was concerned about how the Sublime Porte would react, if the political situation in the Balkans changed for the worse. Fleischmann, at least, was worried because two issues in European-Ottoman relations still awaited their solution. First, there was the unfortunate fact that the Swedish King Charles XII, who sought refuge after the Battle of Poltava on Ottoman territory in 1709, was still in the Empire of the Sultan. With the Peace of Prut in 1711 the Russians had to acknowledge their defeat in the war 21 The official letters of Fleischmann in his capacity of Austrian resident at the Sublime

Porte are kept in the Viennese Haus-, Hof- und Staatsarchiv, Türkei I, 180.

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with the Sublime Porte, but they insisted that Charles XII should leave Ottoman territory before they handed back Asov to the Ottomans. Given the intransigence of the Swedish king, who was fascinated by the idea of making an alliance with the Sultan against Russia, combined with the intrigues of the French ambassador in Istanbul, who would gladly have seen the Sultan fighting the Habsburg Monarchy, Fleischmann’s task was indeed not particularly easy. According to his instructions the Imperial Resident in Constantinople tried to intervene in the Swedish affair carefully and very cautiously. At the same time, he was again to emphasize that emperor Charles VI would gladly allow the Swedish king free passage through his Crown lands on his way home. Vienna hoped that as a consequence of all that the Russo-Ottoman peace would finally come into effect, which would in turn lower political tension in South-Eastern Europe. Anselm Franz Fleischmann had an informant in the suite of Charles XII with whom he kept in contact by letter. The name of this spy is not mentioned, but it seems that he not only informed the Resident of what was happening at the court of the exiled King, but tried to influence the political decisions of Charles XII according to Habsburg interests. Fleischmann also did not hesitate to seek contact with the “Fraction of the Crimean Tatars” at the Ottoman court. The Resident was aware that the Tatars played an important role in former Ottoman declaration of war against Russia, so he wanted to win them for the Viennese cause by gifts and by talking (“discursweise”). It is undisputed that the espionage and intelligence network that Fleischmann maintained in the Ottoman capital benefited the interests of the Habsburgs in South-Eastern Europe. One can also not escape the impression that the Resident had a very good feeling for how to make this sort of network work best. The stranger it is then to realize that the policy-makers in Vienna, who should indeed have been quite interested in what is going on at the Golden Horn and particularly in maintaining Fleischmann’s espionage network, were relatively indifferent to its problems. There is no other way to explain the fact that the Resident constantly complains in his reports that the War Council had still not sent any money to Constantinople in order to maintain the “good friendship of the men of confidence”.22 Whether these funds were used to bribe informants directly, or indirectly by distributing gifts, cannot be seen clearly from the examined documents. This was actually the major difference to the Habsburg information-gathering network in Constantinople set up by the “Official Spy” of the Emperor on the 22 Cf. HHStA, Türkei I, 180, Fleischman to Hofkriegsrat, 2 December 1713: he needs the

money „...nebst anderen für unterschiedliche bey dem Türckhs. Hoff habender guter freudn gehörige sachen außzahlen zu können. (...) und ferner conservirung Meiner confidenten nöthiger geld“. The need for money is underlined at the end of 1714 as well. Cf. HHStA, Türkei I, 180, Fleischmann to Hofkriegsrat, 6 Dezember 1714 and in the P.S. from 10 December 1714.

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Golden Horn. This network needed money to function properly. By contrast, when the Habsburgs used their spies in the war years 1689-1690 they did not pay for the data collected. Some informants did their job because they were disciplined soldiers; and others, the deserters and prisoners-of-war, because they expected a better treatment from the imperial forces. A third group perhaps did it out of the conviction that Habsburg rule was a better alternative to Ottoman rule in the Balkans. In Constantinople, in the years of peace, the situation was rather different. Anselm Franz Fleischmann was aware of that fact and was convinced that the smooth functioning and expansion of his spy network in the Ottoman capital needed mainly cash and gifts to work best. Why the War Council in Vienna did not immediately send the money that Fleischmann demanded is a matter of speculation. Since the War of Spanish Succession in 1713 was fought really rather symbolically, it is unlikely that this sum of Reichsthaler was desperately needed for military use. Maybe the imperial advisers did not consider the situation in Constantinople so dangerous that they had to intervene immediately. Or after the Treaty of Karlowitz they may have felt so sure of their superiority over the Ottomans that they thought the Porte would not dare to pursue an aggressive policy against the Habsburg monarchy without having any allies.

* * * To summarize, it can be stated that the Habsburg residents in Istanbul constructed an espionage network which functioned quite well.23 Although the War Council in Vienna was very slow in responding to Fleischmann’s pleas to send funds so the network could operate effectively, the resident was still in the position to report good news from Constantinople to his superiors: by mid-1713 it was clear that Russia and the Sublime Porte would at last agree on the modalities of peace; the Swedish king had also agreed to return to his native country by crossing Habsburg territory. Fleischmann was also very skilled in his efforts publicly to expose the peace concluded between the King of France and the Emperor at Rastatt (1714) – this was done in such a manner as to ensure the Ottomans would not have the slightest doubt about the now-friendly relations between the two courts. In summer 1714 Fleischmann also succeeded in informing the War Council of the impending war against Venice which the Ottomans were preparing.24 The Resident did indeed have good informants, because in December 1714 the Sublime Porte really declared war on the Serenissima. It seems, however, that the politicians in Vienna were not too concerned about all that – either they ignored the information about the impending war through misinterpreting it; or they simply preferred to let things go their own way, giving the Ottomans the chance to attack St. Mark’s Republic. One thing is certain – intentionally or not, Fleischmann was left in the dark about the real intentions of Vienna. Of course, he deems it necessary to articu-

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late his own view of the consequence, which would arise for Austria in such a case: The Emperor should intervene and honour himself with the glory to have expelled the Turks from Europe.25 5. The two case studies on the Habsburg spy networks in Ottoman South-Eastern Europe in the period between 1689 and1714 clearly show that the imperial generals and diplomats were quite able to build effective local news networks. The information obtained through these channels was mostly correct and useful. This is valid not only for the war years of 1689-1690, but also for the activities of the Emperor’s “Official Spy” in Constantinople in 1713-1714. Franz Fleischmann was very effective in obtaining insider knowledge both from the Sublime Porte and from the Court of the exiled Swedish King. The Resident was also a very good manager of his information-gathering network. The political and military elite of the Habsburg Monarchy surely had no doubt about the value of information networks, which could operate in the realm of the Ottomans both in war years and in times of peace. On the other hand, at least from the second case study, it does not appear that Vienna regarded the strengthening of such espionage networks as a priority which should actively be promoted. Whilst the War Council approved Fleischmann’s initiatives, a “grand espionage” strategy was apparently not yet considered with respect to the Sublime Porte. Perhaps Viennese politicians were convinced that superiority against the Ottomans would not be guaranteed by an efficient intelligence system, but only by the military strength of a powerful army. In view of the Habsburg-Ottoman conflict, which was long lasting and mainly defined by religion and ideology, this is hardly surprising. The time when Constantinople would be transformed into the playground of the powerful intelligence services of the Great Powers was, at least from the perspective of the years 1689-1714, still pretty far away.

25 HHStA, Türkei I, 180, Fleischmann to Hofkriegsrat, 22 Septemer 1714: „(...) von Ihro

Röm. Kays- und Cathol. May. deden der allerhöchste eine so herrlich glory allein vorbehalten zuhabn scheint, gewiß und gar leichtlich auß Europa wuerden gejaget werden“.

Maria Baramova

Social Networking en passant: The Habsburg Great Embassy of Count Damian Hugo von Virmont to Constantinople 1719–1720

T

he French chess term en passant refers to a move on the game board that allows the player to gain an advantage by moving his pawn forwards. Metaphorically, it also indicates a parallel activity which is executed without any specific preparation and does not require any great effort in its implementation. Examining the diplomatic missions from and to Constantinople in the course of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries and, more specifically, in the eighteenth century, one can observe that along with their official activities the envoys were quite assiduous in establishing informal connections and social networks in a way strongly reminiscent of the chess strategy. Imitating the moves of the figures on a chess board, the routes of diplomatic missions were, to a great extent, connected to the possibility of collecting information, establishing informal contacts, etc. This brief chapter is a case study which aims to examine and demonstrate the creation of a peculiar social network of contacts established by the Habsburg’s Great Embassy to Constantinople between 1719 and 1720.1 Traditionally, the exchange of Great Embassies between Vienna and Istanbul aimed to underline anew the peaceful intentions of the two parties. Less than a year after the Treaty of Passarowitz (1718) the Habsburg diplomat Count Damian Hugo von Virmont (1666–1722) was given such a mission and headed for the Ottoman capital. The choice by Emperor Charles VI was not fortuitous, especially con1 Cf. studies dedicated to Virmont’s activity as a diplomat: Arno Strohmeyer, Die Theat-

ralität interkulturellen Friedens: Damian Hugo von Virmont als kaiserlicher Großbotschafter an der Hohen Pforte (1719/20). In: Guido Braun, Arno Strohmeyer (eds.), Frieden und Friedenssicherung in der Frühen Neuzeit. Das Heilige Römische Reich und Europa. Festschrift für Maximilian Lanzinner zum 65. Geburtstag. Münster: Aschendorff Verlag, 2013, p. 413-438. For the negotiations at Passarowitz and the signing of the peace treaties cf. the published conference volume by Charles Ingrao, Nikola Samardzic, Jovan Pesalj (eds.), The Peace of Passarowitz 1718. West Lafayette, Ind.: Purdue University Press, 2011; Bettina Habsburg-Lothringen, Harald Heppner (eds.), Wir und Passarowitz. 300 Jahre Auswirkungen auf Europa. Ausstellungskatalog: 6. April bis 4. November 2018, Landeszeughaus. Graz: Universalmuseum Joanneum, 2018; Timo Blocksdorf, Grenzziehungsfragen nach dem Frieden von Passarowitz. Eine Untersuchung der osmanisch-venezianischen Grenzziehung in Bosnien 1718 bis 1721 anhand der Dokumente 1651-1862 der Miscellanea documenti turchi des Archivio di Stato di Venezia. Berlin: EB-Verlag, 2018.

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sidering that Count Virmont had been among the officials present at the signing of the peace treaty. Thus on 17 May 17192 the embassy, consisting of close to 400 people, boarded seventy-two ships and set off for Constantinople along the Danube. Among them were two secretaries – Virmont’s private secretary, Baron Gerhard Cornelius von der Drisch and the secretary to the mission, Joseph Dierling; two physicians; nine Sprachknaben; three interpreters; a Hofmarschall [seneschal]; the imperial general Count Odueyer; the Chief Engineer, Friedrich von Obschelviz; numerous aristocrats and courtiers; Armenian and Greek missionaries, etc. Passing Belgrade, the embassy of Count Virmont met the Ottoman ambassador, Ibrahim Pasha, who in return led 760 people to Vienna.3 By 31 July 1719 Habsburg’s Great Embassy had reached the Ottoman capital. Among the main themes of the negotiations entrusted to Count Virmont were assuring the protection of the Holy Land; guarantees about the work of the consuls; protection over the “Greek trade” (“Griechischer Handel”); the release of prisoners of war, etc. Thanks to the undoubted advantage of the Habsburgs in the last war Virmont even managed to impose some extra demands, like the withdrawal of the rebellious Hungarian troops of Prince Francis II Rákóczi from the environs of the Habsburg border; or the issue of a sultanic decree ( firman) guaranteeing the religious rights of the Catholic residents of the island of Chios. It was through Virmont’s mediation that Queen Eleanor of Sweden dispatched a letter informing the Emperor about the death of her brother, the unfortunate King Charles XII, who had been detained for many years by the Ottomans. After a number of audiences and specially held receptions and ceremonies, in the spring of the following year the embassy of Count Virmont set out on the return journey and reached Vienna on 22 July 1720. There are several factors which make the embassy of Count Virmont interesting. Apart from being extremely well documented, which was a common practice in Austria, the mission took place during the greatest political and territorial enlargement of the Habsburg monarchy in South-East Europe to that date. In theory, the Treaty of Passarowitz should have fulfilled the demands of Charles VI, but in practice it appears that Habsburg ambitions were directed much farther east, towards Constantinople. This can clearly be seen from the detailed description of

2 HHStA, Türkei I, 184, 1719 IV–XI, Fol. 2r- 10v: Protocollum Sublegata Comissionis die

21 Aprilis 1719 habita, which contains the formal decision about Virmont’s embassy to the Ottoman capital. For the instructions of the ambassador cf. HHStA, Türkei I, 184, 1719 IV–XI, Fol. 11r-38r Instruction für den hoch und wohlgebohrenen ... obrist feldzugmeister, bestallten obristen und lieben ... Damian Hugo Grafen von Virmont, was selber als unser an die Ottomanische Porten abgeordneter Großbotschafter daselbst zu beobachten und zu besorgen hat. (6 May 1719); see also Fol 39r - 50v; 51r-82v. 3 See HHStA, Türkei I, 184, 1719 IV–XI, Fol. 93r-106v (17 Mai 1719) Specification 1719 mit Kays. Groß Bothschaffter grafen v, Virmont Excell: an die Ottomanische Porten abgegangenes Personalis.

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the embassy of Count Damian Hugo von Virmont recorded by his personal secretary, Baron von der Driesch. Driesch’s account was first published in Latin in 1721,4 but only became really popular two years later, after its second German translation was printed in Nuremberg in 1723.5 This is hardly surprising since at the beginning of the eighteenth century Latin did not enjoy a large readership. Moreover, having first been published in a language that was not widely read, the book appears originally to have targeted a specialized readership and thus one can expect the information it contains to be more credible. Naturally, as mentioned above, together with main body of the narrative describing the events on the route of the embassy, Driesch was especially keen to emphasize Habsburg ambitions concerning domination in South-Eastern Europe. Thus, using literary techniques and allegories in describing the movements of the group after crossing the Ottoman border, he clearly lays out this claim: As for us, immediately after we passed each other (the Ottoman embassy), above and before us we saw an eagle that was showing us the road, giving us hope that we shall return home safely from this journey […] We can take this [the eagle – M-B.] as a good sign that Constantinople will be in our hands again, as if the bird decorating the imperial coat of arms wanted to show us the way which we should take to go there.6 4 Historia Magnae Legationis Caesareae, quam Fortunatissimis Caroli VI. auspiciis Augus-

tum Imerantis post biennalis belli confectionem suscepit illustrissimus, & excellentissimus S. R. I Comes Damianus Hugo Virmondtius, Maximi Caesaris Primus Nuper ad possarovicium Caduceator, ejusdemque Magnus Postea ad Portam Orator, Authore Gerardo Cornelio Drieschio. Excellentissimo Legato ab Epistolis, & Historia Stumptibus Authoris. Viennae Austriae, Typis Andreae, Universitatis Typogra. Anno 1721. 5 Historische Nachricht von der Röm. Kayserl. Groß-Botschaft nach Constantinopel, welche auf allergnädigsten Befehl Sr. Röm. Kayserlichen und Catholischen Majestät Carl des Sechsten/ nach glücklich vollendeten zweyjährigen Krieg, Der Hoch- und Wohlgebohrne des H. R. ReichsGraf Damian Hugo von Virmondt/ rühmlichst verrichtet. Worinnen ganz besondere Nachrichten von der Türken Policey, Religion, Griechischen Antiquitäten und andern merkwürdigen anderswo vergeblich gesuchten Sachen/ zu finden; dabey vieles mit den accuratesten Kupfern erläutert ist. Ausgesetzt von Gerard Cornelius von den Driesch/ Sr. Excellenz Secretair und Historiographus. Nürnberg/ zu finden bey Peter Conrad Monath 1723. The first German edition was published in 1722 under the title Historische Beschreibung der letzten Gesandtschafft an den Türckischen Sultan: So Ihro Röm. Käyserl. und Königl. Cathol. Majestät Durch Herrn Damian Hugo, Grafen von Virmondt verrichten lassen; In welcher viele gantz neue und besondere Nachrichten vom Zustand deß Türckischen Reiches in Weltlichen und KirchenSachen gegeben werden, Nebst einer Vorrede von den fürnehmsten Büchern dergleichen Inhalts/ Auß den Nachrichten Herrn Gerhard Cornel von der Driesch...gezogen. Augsburg: Mertz und Mayer, 1722. 6 Driesch, Historische Nachricht 1723, p. 57-58 – „Was uns anbelangt, machte uns ein Adler, der, sobald die Auswechslung geschehen, beständig vor uns flog, und uns gleichsam den Weg zeigte, keine geringe Hoffnung, daß wir unsere Reise glücklich würden zurück legen; (...) Wir können es indessen für ein gutes Zeichen annehmen, daß wir noch einmal Constantinopel wieder in unsere Hände bekommen werden, und dieser das

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The embassy of Count Virmont crossed the Balkans in high spirits and absolute confidence in the might of the Habsburg eagle. However, the imperial emissary did not restrict his activities to his official mission only. What one can observe in practice is a series of attempts on the part of Virmont and his subordinates to establish an informal network of contacts that in all probability aimed to facilitate the eventual future transition of these lands into Christian hands. There are several general levels of social networking that one can detect in Driesch’s highly detailed account of the diplomatic mission. Naturally, these consisted primarily of informal interaction and meetings (as long as this was possible) with the Ottoman officials in the capital and the representatives of the government in the provinces. Second, with regard to the latter, there were multiple meetings with prisoners of war whom Virmont bought, manumitted or assisted in their flight. Some of the captives were used as bargaining chips and a good reason for making contact and establishing political networks with other western ambassadors in Constantinople. A long-term political network was certainly facilitated by the practice of training Sprachknaben, boys left in the Ottoman capital to be educated and trained as dragomans. Although limited, the attempts to establish closer contacts with local Christians in the Balkans were another aspect of establishing a network of informal contacts. As a result, the narrative relates Virmont’s attempts to manipulate the Ottoman authorities. Thus three different levels of social networking are clearly visible: top-level, i.e., interacting with the Grand Vizier and high-ranking Ottoman officials; mid-level, i.e., informal contacts with Ottoman local authorities and foreign ambassadors; and low-level, i.e., contacts with prisoners of war, slaves and local Christians.

Freedom in the exchange of information Most numerous, and probably deliberately sought, were the contacts of Count Virmont and his entourage at the low level of social networking. Naturally, the practice of captives of war seeking refuge and shelter in such embassies is neither new nor uncommon. Therefore, it is not their large number but rather the decided interest of the Habsburg ambassador that calls for the researcher’s attention. Driesch seems to have been extremely careful and recorded in great detail every case of a runaway or manumitted slave who joined the group. Count Virmont appears to have paid special attention to the Venetians who asked for his assistance, buying out a great number of them or even helping them to prepare their flight from their Muslim owners. It is hardly surprising that the captives in the latest wars were especially valuable sources of information. Thus Driesch relates that “on the road to Sofia a Venetian captured in the last war sought refuge with us. He was a native of Tyrol and fearing Römisch-Kaiserliche Wappen zierende Vogel und den Weg habe zeigen wollen, durch welchen wir dahin gelangen sollen.“

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pain and torture he embraced Islam, but remained a true Catholic in his soul”. Later the secretary describes the audience between Count Virmont and the Venetian refugee, but despite the great detail in which Driesch narrates the ambassador’s meetings he refrains from transmitting the contents of the dialogues. One should also note the fact the captives of war who desired to return to their homelands were not the only group with which the Great Embassy established informal contacts. It is difficult to judge whether it was a result of conscious efforts by the Habsburg ambassador and his entourage, but the imperial envoys came into close contact with a number of renegades, too: i.e., former Habsburg or Venetian soldiers who for some reason had entered Ottoman service. For instance, while at Adrianople the embassy group was contacted by a man who during the war had served as a medic ( feldsher) under the command of Count Guido von Starhemberg. He was captured by the Turks and served for years as a slave in the household of an Ottoman notable. Prior to his death the Ottoman official manumitted the man and endowed him with enough money for the sustenance of his family.7 Among the war captives bought off by the Habsburg ambassador, or assisted by him to flee, we encounter Frenchmen, Germans from Brandenburg, Saxons or even Swedish. Far less numerous were the group’s contacts with the local Christian residents. In spite of the Armenian and Greek missionaries present in the entourage of the Habsburg ambassador, the diary of the journey only rarely records meetings and conversations with the Balkan Christians. In this respect the information about a local “villager who, led by his curiosity, asked for an audience with the ambassador” near Stanimaka (district of Philippopolis) seems even more intriguing. Last, but not least, at the low level of social networking were the open requests for favours. For instance, near the Ottoman capital the embassy was approached by a Saxon who had converted to Islam and asked the ambassador to “say a good word about him in front of the Grand Vizier” when Count Virmont met him. When Baron Klimberg suggested to the Saxon that “he return to his home land and his mother Church, the former laughed in our faces and made fun of us”.8

Hunting and fishing with the Bey In spite of the formal character of the meetings between the Habsburg ambassador and the Ottoman officials, which were in most cases conducted in accordance with protocol, often the general atmosphere of the meetings predisposed to informal interaction. Driesch relates, for instance, that the kadı of Şehirköy invited the 7 Driesch, Historische Nachricht, p. 131-32 8 Driesch, Historische Nachricht, p. 161-62 – “(…) und als gedachter Hr. von Klimberg

ihn unter andern fragte, ob er nicht bisweilen aus Reu angetrieben nach Teutschland zurück, oder an Gott und die künftige Ewigkeit gedächte, nahm er solches nur für ein Scherz auf, und machte ein Gespött und Gelächter daraus”.

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ambassador out fishing, during which they “discussed a variety of topics”. Naturally, one should not underestimate the fact that fishing and hunting, along with conversations over a cup of coffee or cold sherbet, to a great extent constituted the core of the formal programme when receiving guests. Nevertheless, the account strongly suggests that the conversations often went far beyond the formal limitations of protocol. It appears that the farther from the capital these meetings took place, the higher the number of informal nuances they contained. For example, the meeting between the Habsburg ambassador and the agha of the janissaries in Nish is particularly intriguing. In contrast to the Ottoman governor of Nish and serasker of Rumelia, the head of the janissary garrison in the city is described by the ambassador’s secretary in highly positive tones. According to Driesch, in both the meetings the janissary agha showed his predisposal towards the Habsburg ambassador manumitting, in his presence, one of his slaves, a Venetian war captive who had saved the agha’s life in recent riot by janissaries in the city. Later, when the janissary commander asked for a second meeting with Virmont, both “exchanged civilities and expressed their mutual gratitude”. The manumitted Venetian slave provided useful intelligence about the garrison in Nish. He informed Virmont and his entourage that, because of their addiction to alcohol and their inclination to revolt against their superiors in time of peace, the janissaries in Nish were deprived of their weapons and had no access to ammunition. The tension between the agha of the janissaries and the beylerbeyi and their struggle for superiority in Nish can be clearly detected in the narrative. According to Driesch, the Ottoman authorities attempted to keep the embassy outside Nish on the pretext that there was outbreak of plague in the city, but the secretary is positive that this was merely a false excuse on the part of the serakser, who tried to hinder the mission. Even though they were more limited, Count Virmont also had informal contacts with lower-level Ottoman officials in other settlements on the route. The narrative often depicts him hunting and enjoying coffee in the presence of the local notables: After the hunt the Pasha of Hasköy offered us a splendid meal. While having their coffee the Pasha and His Excellence the Ambassador discussed at length topics such as religion, war and peace, the Pasha thus risking beheading for this

Religious themes, apparently not the prerogative of the local administration, were naturally the main discussion point with the Muslim clergymen. Thus the Habsburg ambassador debated with the molla of Ihtiman the “customs and religion of the Jews”. As a consequence of this meeting the Muslim clergyman assisted the ambassador in liberating a Christian woman detained “against her will” by a Jewish merchant. Despite the favourable conditions for informal contact during hunting and fishing, or for sharing coffee with the Ottoman local officials, one should still not forget that the leaking of information on the part of both sides was very strictly controlled.

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Golden Horn meetings The embassy of Count Virmont spent almost nine months in the Ottoman capital,9 seemingly enough time to establish a stable network of contacts at the highest political level. The results of the political aspects of social networking are not always immediately observable. Often, their real value appears in a long run, but it also certainly yields long-term political advantage. Thus the period spent at the Sultan’s court appears important not only for Virmont’s diplomatic activity, but also for the establishment of a stable network of political contacts from the bottom to the top. Virmont’s activity en passant paid dividends once the embassy reached the capital Istanbul. Apart from the information he collected from the prisoners of war that joined the Habsburg embassy, they turned into both a good bargaining chip and a good reason for frequent visits to the other foreign ambassadors in Pera. In the course of his stay in Istanbul Virmont managed to arrange multiple meetings with the French, Dutch and English ambassadors as well as the representatives of Venice and Russia.10 Moreover, more than once the exchange of former Ottoman prisoners of war became the formal reason for Virmont’s visits. The contacts with the French ambassador naturally seem to have been of particular importance. This is hardly surprising given the traditional connections and influence of French diplomacy at the Ottoman court. Improving Habsburg-French relations after the War of the Spanish Succession found reflection in intensified diplomatic contact between the two ambassadors at the Golden Horn in the period, even before the last military conflict between Vienna and Constantinople. It seems clear that Virmont did not spare resources (including informal ones) or energy when reaffirming this political and diplomatic line in 1719 to 1720. One must not underestimate the fact that Virmont followed specific instructions which served to implement the will of the Charles VI. Sticking rigidly to the main purpose of his mission became the reason for Virmont’s denial of support to a group of Vlach “intriguers” from the Kantakouzenos family who, supported by the newly appointed dragoman at the Sublime Port, Gregorius Ghica, plotted to dethrone Nicholas Mavrocordatos.11 Undoubtedly, the entire activity of Count Virmont was dominated by one main goal: the stabilizing of Ottoman-Habsburg political relations in accordance with the view of the victorious Charles VI. 9 Cf. in general about the embassy’s activities HHStA, Türkei I, 184 1719 IV-XI. 10 Ibid., Fol. 212 v-213 r – meeting with the French ambassador; 228 v - 230 v – conversa-

tion with the Russian resident; meeting with the English ambassador – fol. 226 r etc.

11 Türkei I, 184 1719 IV-XI, Sept.-October: Fol. 78r-79v, 3 Octobris 1719, Constantinop-

oli: Ad Illustissimum, et Excellentissimum Deum D. Damianum Hugonem S. R. Jmperii Comitem de Virmont actualem Jntimum, et Aulieo-Bellicum Consilianum, rei tormentano supremu Protectum, unius regiminis pedesti Constitutum Tribunum, nce non ad Portas ottomanicam, existentem Magnum Legatum...Humillima Supplicatis Joannis Mathei Stephanouki Dragiesan Kantakusisni Comitis.

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Certainly the social and political networks established by Count Virmont in the Ottoman capital were of great importance to Vienna. His long sojourn, skilful diplomacy and, to some extent, good luck allowed the Habsburg ambassador to establish a large range of informal contacts at all levels of the Ottoman ruling elite. According to Driesch, among the people who were on “friendly” terms with Count Virmont was the head of the palace guard, the kapıcıbaşı Mehmed agha, the second-ranking Ottoman representative during the peace negotiations at Passarowitz. Charged with the security of the Habsburg delegation, the Ottoman commander had dispatched his attendant in order to “look after their needs” upon their arrival in Istanbul. Being in all probability informed in advance about the nature of the kapıcıbaşı, Count Virmont apparently responded to his hospitality. According to Driesch’s narrative Mehmed agha: … was a big and well-fed man who took good care of his stomach. His Excellence the Ambassador, who heard about this, jokingly asked whether he should keep the chocolate that he had brought as gift and present it only when the thirty-day feast was over. At this point the agha will certainly have a greater need to refresh himself.

It seems that apart from being a glutton the kapıcıbaşı had more weaknesses that were masterfully exploited by the Habsburg ambassador: the kapıcıbaşı not only allowed us to bring wine to his home, but we could drink as much as we wanted …Himself, he was a lover of a spirit called by the Turks racky, which he drank as if he were pouring water in his throat.

According to Driesch, during the embassy’s stay in Istanbul Virmont visited Mehmed agha’s home multiple times, where they spent “whole nights” in informal conversation. The imperial ambassador managed to extract from his nighttime companion information about the exact number of the janissaries in the city, the size of the janissary corps in the entire Ottoman domain, and the fact that the Sultan never left his capital, not even for Edirne, unless he was escorted by 150,000 men, etc. Luck shaped Count Virmont’s connection with the Grand Vizier Nevşehirli Damat Ibrahim Pasha, who held the post for twelve years until 1730. Known for being a skilful statesman with a great impact on both domestic and foreign policy, the Grand Vizier, who was also Sultan Ahmed III’s son-in-law, enjoyed enormous influence at the Ottoman court. Ibrahim Pasha was a proponent of peaceful relations between the Ottomans and the Habsburgs, which indeed remained such until the 1730s. Despite the apparent pursuit of consolidating the peace process on both sides, it was an incident far from protocol that brought the Grand Vizier and the Habsburg ambassador Count Virmont closer together. Dirsch’s narrative relates that during the first months of their stay in Constantinople Virmont’s entourage received the news that the Grand Vizier had fallen ill with a severe intestinal upset. The ambassador sent one of the physicians in the

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group, Andreas Dorschäus, who, using his “secret resources”, managed to help and cured Ibrahim Pasha. This brief, accidental episode apparently had long term consequences, since the positive reaction on the part of the Grand Vizier came shortly afterwards. Moreover, a month a half after these events the Grand Vizier visited the Habsburg ambassador in private and organized a great festivity in his honour, thereby disregarding some of the established practices for contact with the Christian ambassadors in Constantinople: On 4 October His Excellence the Ambassador was greatly honoured –[writes his secretary]. Because this haughty nation does not allow a Grand Vizier to visit a foreign ambassador, but meanwhile Ibrahim Pasha desired to express his compliments to the ambassador of His Imperial Majesty, but also did not want it to be suspected by his own people that he had established close ties with the gâvurs, he did the following. He went out of the city a distance of two hours and set up his camp 1000 paces from the camp of His Excellence the Ambassador, thus giving the apparent impression that it was the ambassador who had come to visit Ibrahim Pasha and not the contrary.12

*** To sum up: the social network en passant which was established by the Habsburg ambassador Count Virmont can certainly be regarded as a reasonably successful undertaking. Undoubtedly, his activities during his embassy to Constantinople helped to smooth Habsburg-Ottoman relations in the 1720s, so the success of his mission seems clear. One could argue, of course, that the Peace of Passarowitz was the actual framework for the contacts between Vienna and Istanbul, giving a secondary importance to the skills and activities of Habsburg diplomats. Acknowledging this fact, however, one must underline that dealing with the empires and statesmen of the Orient has always demanded certain qualities and sensitivity. The social networks on multiple levels established during his mission demonstrate that the personality of Count Damian Hugo von Virmont embodied all the necessary qualities of a great diplomat of his era.

12 Driesch, Historische Nachricht, p. 234 ff.

Mihail Simov

Russian military intelligence on the Balkans in the years between the Crimean war and the Eastern crisis

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he defeat in the Crimean War (1853-1856), with all its political consequences, put an end to the “period of deep political freeze”, as one author terms the thirty-year-long rule of Emperor Nicholas I in Russia1. Despite moderate general terms, the Treaty of Paris (1856) deprived Saint Petersburg of its dominant position in the Balkans and the Black Sea region and struck a heavy blow to the prestige of the Romanov dynasty and to Russia as a Great Power. Nevertheless, after 1856 Russia’s Eastern policy saw no major change in its basic concepts. Given the circumstances and the newly adopted policy of avoiding foreign complications and focusing on domestic renewal, the tsarist government had to restrain itself from active intervention in the East, but Southeastern Europe remained firmly within the sphere of its political interest and the region continued to be seen as inextricably linked to Russia by the ties of Orthodoxy and Slav descent. Restoration of influence and prestige in the Balkans and solving the Eastern Question in Russia’s favour remained one of the principal long-term goals of the tsarist government. The means of achieving this did not go much further than a new war in the East against the old enemy – the Ottoman Empire. Moreover, due to the nature of the Eastern Question major implications could force Russia to intervene at any moment in the near future whether it wished to or not. Unlike the previous wars the future campaign was to be solely a land-based one due to the absence of the Russian fleet in the Black Sea. All this meant that after 1856 the Balkans enjoyed an even more important place in Saint Petersburg’s military strategy than before as a battlefield where the Eastern Question would be solved. This resulted in more active intelligence in the region. Features of Russia’s political and military strategic thinking, the place of Southeastern Europe in its geo-political interests and the preparations for the war of 1877-1878 are clearly visible through the prism of the military intelligence in the two decades between the Crimean War and the Eastern Crisis of 18751878. Therefore, examining this subject could give us a good vantage point on Russia’s policy and military strategy in the East during the two complicated decades after the Crimean War. The nineteenth century saw major developments in the field of warfare which made armed conflict considerably more complicated and demanding of resources 1 Werner Mosse. Perestroika under the Tsars (London:  I B Tauris & Co Ltd 1992), 19.

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and planning than it had been before. This in turn led to an increase in the importance of military intelligence, elaborating its organization and methods, and eventually turned it into a specific and highly professional branch of work carried out by specialized services in times of both war and peace2. One of the foremost needs of military command was for adequate topographical maps of potential theatres of war; and providing such maps was a task of the military-topographical intelligence which formed an important part of the peacetime work of the general staffs and intelligence services during the period in question3. Knowing the enemy is another key component of any military success. In Europe after Napoleon governments sought victory in short military campaigns and paid great attention to analysing the enemy’s powers and capabilities in advance; thus information about foreign armies became even more important. The need for thorough and professional observation of the military developments in other countries led to the introduction of the system of military attachés through which military intelligence obtained a legal, permanent network of agents abroad4. In Russia the developments outlined above happened, in the period examined here, during the large-scale military reform carried out under the direction of the Minister of War Dmitriy Milyutin. Before the Crimean War peacetime intelligencegathering in foreign countries was the prerogative mainly of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, which alone had an elaborate network of agents and channels of information abroad. Through its diplomatic missions, central institutions in Saint Petersburg were supplied with information of a political, military, economic and other nature5. The only means for the Ministry of War to collect intelligence in times of peace was to send officers with special missions abroad under the cover of travellers, explorers, tradesmen etc. By the mid-1800s this system had created a shortage of military information against the background of the rapid development of warfare, increasing size of armies and constantly modernized weaponry in Europe. As the future Minister of War Dmitriy Milyutin noted in 1850: “The information unsystematically provided by the embassies was far from enough to satisfy our needs”6. After the sobering defeat in the Crimean War the government took measures to improve the system of intelligence gathering. Immediately after the War the system of military attachés was adopted by Russia and official representatives of the Ministry of War, or, to use the Russian term, military agents, were appointed 2 Dennis Showalter. Intelligence in the Eve of Transformation. Methodology, Organiza-

3 4 5 6

tion and Application. “The Intelligence Revolution. A Historical Perspective. Proceedings of the Thirteenth Military History Symposium.” (Washington DC: U.S. Air Force Academy Office of Air Force History United States Air Force 1991), 15-38. Irvine Dallas. “The Origin of Capital Staffs.” Journal of Modern History, 2 (1938): 173. Alfred Vagts. The Military Attaché (Princeton University Press 1967), 15-36. Konstantin Zvonarev. Agenturnaya razvedka. Vol. 1. Russkaya agenturnaya razvedka vseh vidov do I vo vremya voynyi 1914-1918 gg. (Moscow: BDTS-press 2003), 10-11. Gudrun Persson. Learning from Foreign Wars. Russian Military Thinking 1859-1873 (Solihull: Helion & Company 2010), 49.

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in five European capitals, including Constantinople. The special instructions regulating their professional activity received royal approval and stated that these agents had to collect a wide spectrum of military information and send it in special reports directly to the Ministry of War, providing it in this way with a constant flow of intelligence in peace time7. A further step was the formation of a specialized central military-intelligence service. After several experimental reforms shaping the structure of the full-time body at the head of the Russian Army, in 1867 a Military Scientific Committee ( Russian: Voenno-uchenyiy komitet) was founded within the structure of the General Staff (Russian: Glavnyiy Shtab). This became the first service in the Russian Empire responsible for the gathering, analysis and accumulation of military-intelligence information8. In this way, Russia’s military intelligence had, by the 1860s, obtained a central apparatus and foreign network of agents formed by the military agents and officers sent abroad temporarily on different missions. This set the conditions for more active intelligence-gathering, including in the Balkans. Russia’s military intelligence in the Balkans in the decades examined in this chapter could be subdivided into two periods, which were shaped by the development of the central intelligence institutions in Saint Petersburg and the process of the strategic planning of a hypothetical future war against the Ottoman Empire. The first period stretches to about the mid-1860s and is characterized by the initial workingout and improving of a permanent system of collecting military intelligence in the East. The main interest here lies in the work of the Russian military agent in Constantinople. The year 1867 marks the end of a series of experimental reforms of the central military institutions in Saint Petersburg; meanwhile, a year earlier the first rough strategic plan for a war against the Ottoman Empire was drawn up by Nikolay Obruchev, who also headed the Military Scientific Committee. This marked the beginning of more systematized and focused intelligence activity in the Balkans, representing, in fact, preparation for a possible war. Military topography, cartography and statistics became the main emphasis during this period and special intelligence missions carried out by Russian officers were among the principal means of information-gathering. The first permanent channel for supplying the Ministry of War in Saint Petersburg with intelligence from the East was established in August 1856 when the newly appointed military agent started sending his reports from Constantinople to the Minister of War9. Victor Antonovich Frankini, graduate of the Artillery School in Saint Petersburg, became Russia’s first official military agent in Southeastern 7 Mihail Alekseev. Voennaya razvedka Rossii ot Ryurika do Nikolaiya II. Book 1. (Mos-

cow: Izadatelskiy dom “Russkaya Razvedka” 1998), 367-375.

8 Mihail Alekseev. Voennaya razvedka v Rossiyskoy Imperii – ot Alexandra I do Alexan-

dra II (Moscow: Veche 2010), 206.

9 RGVIA (Rossiyskiy Gosudarstvennyy Voyenno-Istoricheskiy Arkhiv/Russian State

Archive of Military History), f. 450, op. 1, d. 57, 1.

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Europe and the Orient and remained in that post until 1870, when he was replaced by Alexander Semenovich Zelyeni, graduate of the General Staff Academy in Saint Petersburg10. During the whole period examined here the military agent in Constantinople remained the only military representative of Russia in the East. His pay initially was 1,500 roubles annually, paid by the Ministry of War11. He received additional sums for “gifts” for his informers as necessary, but no more than 1000 (later 1,200 roubles) annually12. His reports, written initially in French, were sent approximately twice a month and delivered in the Russian capital with the diplomatic post, or by special couriers when the information was particularly important13. In 1864, as a result of a new series of military reforms in Russia, revised instructions to the military agents were approved. These stipulated that from then on reports had to be written in Russian and sent to the newly formed Main Directorate of the General Staff (Russian: Glavnoe Upravlenie Generalnogo Shtaba), part of which was the Military Scientific Department responsible for intelligence activities14. Apart from the regular reports an additional list of detailed information about the Ottoman army had to be sent three times a year – on 1 January, 1 May and 1 September. After the founding of the Military Scientific Committee in 1867 all that information was received there. Any other information of political and military interest was to be sent directly to the Minister of War under the seal “Top Secret”15. It is also important to note that in the instructions from 1856 it was pointed out that the intelligence collected by the military agents, especially information regarding politics, had to be presented to the Russian Ambassador in the respective capital prior to its being sent to Saint Petersburg. Of course, the instructions stated that all this should be done in a way that would not cause suspicion in the foreign government and discredit the agents16. Clearly the military agents were also expected to collect information of political interest and this is evident in the reports of the agent in Constantinople. Apart from the description of the Ottoman army, its current state, armaments, military reforms etc., Frankini regularly includes in his reports a wide spectrum of political information concerning the Porte’s affairs, intrigues at the Ottoman court, the situation with the Christian subjects of the Empire, the personal characteristics of high-ranking Ottoman officials; indeed, even details from Sultan’s intimate life could be found. According to the Russian agent’s reports from the early 1860s the Ottoman government consisted of idlers only interested in the joys of life and in competing with each other in treachery and intrigue; the 10 Spisok Generalam po Starshinstvu (St. Petersburg: Vornnaya Tipografiya 1903), 173. 11 RGVIA, f. 450, op.1, d. 60, 98. 12 RGVIA, f. 450, op.1, d. 57, 97-98. 13 More about the communication between Constantinople and Saint Petersburg can be

found in: Elena Kudryavtseva. Russkie na Bosfore. Rossiyskoe posolstvo v Konstantinopole vo pervoy polovine XIX veka (Moscow: Nauka 2010), 48. 14 Gudrun Persson. Learning from Foreign Wars, 57-58. 15 RGVIA, f. 450, op. 1, d. 73, 100-101. 16 Mihail Alekseev. Voennaya razvedka Rossii ot Ryurika do Nikolaiya II, 375.

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state’s treasury is empty; and the army is in an unenviable state17. The opinion of the Minister of War for the first year of Frankini’s service in Constantinople is eloquent enough: “Staff Captain Frankini has not only collected and provided the most complete and accurate information about Turkey in its military aspects but he keeps sending most timely, correct and interesting reports about everything happening in the Porte and about different state officials”18. At first, the information about the Ottoman army collected by Frankini, seemingly detailed, was incomplete due to the still undeveloped channels of information-gathering. As Frankini himself noted, to receive intelligence about the relocation, strength and condition of military units in the interior of the Empire was not an easy task19 and required taking trips in different provinces for intelligence purposes. For example, as early as October 1856 Frankini visited Thessaloniki and in his report to the minister noted that he had not been able to collect all the needed intelligence due to Russia’s loose network of agents in these parts20. “In such a large and important political centre as Bitola, where Britain, France and Austria have agents (consuls), Russia has nobody”, added Frankini, underlining the need to open a Russian consulate in the town21. The report cited here emphasizes one of the major problems of Russian military intelligence in the Balkans during the whole period under examination – the shortage of personnel. With only one officer permanently attached to the diplomatic mission in Constantinople, the military authorities could not effectively keep the whole region of Southeastern Europe and the Orient under scrutiny. This situation could also be attributed to the rivalry between the Ministry of War and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Russia as the latter was trying to keep the whole network of agents abroad under its control. The agents of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs were namely those who had to fill the gaps in the system of collecting military intelligence in Southeastern Europe. Given its already developed structures in the Balkans and its working channels of information, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs was deeply involved in military intelligence during the years after 1856. A question which obviously arouses interest is the secret activity of military agents in Constantinople. As mentioned above, they had at their disposal a particular budget for “gifts” for their secret informers. Who the recipients of those “gifts” were is rarely mentioned in the reports but some clues can give us a general picture. For example, in December 1856 Frankini informed the Minister of War that he had established contact with the German native Maximilian Stain, who was then serving as a Major-General in the Ottoman army under the name of Ferad pasha22. 17 RGVIA, f. 450, op.1, d. 58, 205; d. 64, л. 80. 18 Ibid., f. 450, op. 1, d. 57, 381-382. 19 Ibid., f. 450, op. 1, d. 57, 117. 20 Ibid., f. 450, op. 1, d. 80, 72-74. 21 Ibid. 22 Ibid., f. 450, op.1, d. 57, 97-98.

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Later this “man with a good knowledge of the East” gave Frankini information about a secret shipment of weapons for the Caucasian rebels prepared by the Porte and Great Britain23. Another European immigrant with whom Frankini had contact was the Polish national Toma Verbitsky, who was serving in the Caucasian Regiment of the Ottoman army. The Russian agent was instructed to cultivate closer connections with Verbitsky because, as the Minister wrote: “For us it will be useful to have men loyal to us in the Ottoman Army”24. Later Alexander Zelenyi managed to acquire, from an employee of an Austrian company conducting preparations for building railways in European Turkey, maps and area descriptions which the Russian staff needed for mapping the European provinces of the Ottoman Empire25. These examples reveal agent-recruiting work aimed at subjects of non-Muslim descent; the presence of high-ranking Muslim officials or officers working as spies for the Russian military agent is not observed. As a whole, the reports by the military agents are based mainly on non-secret sources such as published data, personal observation of military manoeuvres and exercises, contacts with Ottoman military figures, information received by Russian consuls, etc. Secret intelligence and espionage were minor weapons in the arsenal of the military agents: ultimately, their aim was rarely to penetrate the state secrets of the Porte but to collect and analyse information needed in the General Staff for filling the military-statistics database, providing material for mapping European Turkey, all of which formed part of the preparations for a potential war in the future. Military agents’ reports were not merely piled up in the chancellery of the Ministry of War but were regarded as an important source of information. This is clearly evident from the correspondence kept in the archives alongside the reports which makes it possible to trace the path of intelligence information from Constantinople to the central institutions in Saint Petersburg. The Minister of War regularly dispatched military agents’ reports to the Minister of Foreign Affairs, the Director of the Asian Department and other state officials and military leaders, depending on the contents of the specific report. During the Russian diplomatic action of denouncing the military neutralization of the Black Sea, for example, Alexander Zeleni’s reports regarding the possible reaction of the Porte were ending up on Minister Gortchakov’s desk and provided an important inside view of Ottoman preparations and their possible implications for Russia. A large percentage, sometime up to 50% of the reports, were read by the Emperor himself, proof of which are his frequent handwritten notes in the margins of the documents. After 1864, following the new instructions, military agents’ reports to the Main Directorate of the General Staff and later to the Military Scientific Committee became more systematized and focused on statistical data about the Ottoman army and materials needed for mapping the most probable future theatre of war. The 23 Ibid., f. 450, op.1, d. 57, 275-276. 24 Ibid., f. 450, op.1, d. 57, 351. 25 Ibid., f. 450, op. 1, d. 89, 21-22.

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focus on topography and statistics became even more evident when Alexander Zeleni took up the post in Constantinople in 1870. The Head of the Military Scientific Committee General Nikolay Obruchev constantly exchanged correspondence with him on questions regarding the intelligence-gathering. The other part of the agent’s reports continued to be addressed directly to the Minister of War and presented a wider and more analytical inside view of the general situation in the Balkans, the Porte’s affairs and the Eastern Question in general. All in all, in the period examined here Russia’s military agent in Constantinople became a vital part of its military intelligence apparatus in the East. The information provided by him not only served the direct needs of the military command but also drew a complex military and political picture which proved very useful for Saint Petersburg’s Eastern policy as a whole. Occupying an official post in the Ottoman capital and being under the eye of the authorities, the military agent kept his activity more in the field of legal means of gathering intelligence than in secret activity and espionage. As the former Head of the Austro-Hungarian Intelligence Service wrote decades later: “Namely, the legal means of information-gathering could give, to a perspicacious agent, a clearer picture than the contacts with dark figures, whose words could often be misleading”26. A further impulse to Russian intelligence activity in the East became the process of strategic planning for a future war. In 1866 General Nikolay Obruchev presented a memorandum to Emperor Alexander II outlining general considerations for a future war against the Ottoman Empire. The basic principles presented there eventually laid out the basis of the strategic plan for the war of 1877-1878. New challenges for the tsarist army in the East conditioned by the Treaty of Paris shaped the strategy of a blitz land campaign, the main theatre of which would be the Balkan Peninsula and, more specifically, the Bulgarian lands. Obruchev accentuated the importance of careful preparation, the major part of which should be the profound exploration of the future theatre of war and its topographical features27. The logic expounded by the Russian general was simple – the desired quick and decisive victory demanded thorough exploration and mapping of the future theatre of war. Despite the previous wars with the Ottoman Empire, in the 1860s the Russian Army General Staff had too insufficient a knowledge of the Balkans as a theatre of war, as well as too few and inaccurate maps – far too inadequate for the planed campaign. Actually, the tsarist army had penetrated deep into the Balkans as recently as in 1829 and then the offensive had developed mainly in the Eastern parts near the Black Sea coast, so the territories to the west had remained largely unknown. The Ottoman government, on the other hand, had done next to nothing in mapping its own lands. That is how topographical intelligence became one of the main spheres of activity of the Russian intelligence service in the late 1860s and early 1870s. 26 Boris Shaposhnikov. Mozg armii. Vol. 3. (Moscow: Voengiz 1929), 311. 27 RGVIA, f. 846, op. 16, d. 7622, 64-64 ob.

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In 1866 the Russian General Staff decided to start work on a new general map of European Turkey to the scale of 1:420000; topographical surveys had to be conducted for it in the Ottoman Empire. The Russian Ambassador in Constantinople Nikolai Ignatiev suggested the organization of a wide-ranging expedition in European Turkey under the pretext of conducting primary surveys for the measuring of the meridian from the town of Ismail to the Isle of Candia or, in other words, continuing the Struve Geodetic Arc28. The idea was adapted and proposed to the Ottoman authorities, who gave their permission for a group of Russian officers, military topographers, astronomers and geodesists to conduct the work on the terrain. The conditions were as follows: Russia would pay all the expanses; the results of the research would be presented to the Porte; and Ottoman officers would also be included in the expedition29. It is difficult to believe that the Ottoman government was unaware of the real purpose of this expedition. It is more probable to assume that the Russian officers were allowed to conduct their research with the idea that it could be useful for the Porte itself. Most surely General Ignatiev also used his influence to persuade the Porte. That is how in September 1867 a Russian military-scientific expedition arrived in Constantinople with the official aim of exploring the territory between the River Danube and the Greek Archipelago in order to continue triangulation on Ottoman territory30. Beyond any doubt the real motive of the whole undertaking was to explore the land south of the Danube as a possible theatre of war and to conduct topographical surveys for the mapping of the territory. All this is clear from the course of the expedition. Setting off from Constantinople, Russian officers reached the town of Rustchuk (present-day Ruse) by sea and train and, in order to cover more territory, decided to split into two groups. During the following two months they travelled through Central North Bulgaria, the Central Balkan Mountains and the sub-Balkan region31. These territories were largely unexplored and unmapped and, more importantly, they were seen as a main theatre of war in the near future. The Russian officers paid special attention to the Central Balkan Mountains since they presented the main natural obstacle for the troops’ advance south into Ottoman territory. A year later the Collection of Military Statistics for the Year 1868 was published in Saint Petersburg, a large part of which was devoted to the 28 The Struve Geodetic Arc is a chain of survey triangulations stretching from Hammer-

fest in Norway to the Black Sea, through ten countries and over 2,820 km, which yielded the first accurate measurement of a meridian. The chain was established and used by the German-born Russian scientist Friedrich Georg Wilhelm von Struve in the years 1816 to 1855 to establish the exact size and shape of the earth. 29 Nikolai Starodyimov. “Otvažnyi razvedchik Nikolai Artamonov zadolgo do voynyi sformiroval pazvedyivatelnuyu set v Turtsii”. Voenno-istoricheskiy žurnal 10 (2001): 47; RGVIA, f. 450, op.1, d. 82, 6. 30 RGVIA, f. 450, op. 1, d. 82, 6. 31 Zapiski voenno-topograficheskogo otdela Glavnogo Shtaba. (Saint Petersburg: Voennaja tipografija 1971, Vol. 32), 5-49.

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Ottoman Empire and contained detailed descriptions of Balkan mountain passes and routes, with the overall conclusion that the impassability of the mountains was more of a legendary fiction than a geographical reality32. As a result of the military-topographic expedition of 1867 the absolute geographical location of thirty-five towns and villages in Bulgarian lands was found and many inaccuracies in existing maps were corrected. The information collected formed the basis of the topographical map of European Turkey published in Saint Petersburg in 187633. In 1869 one of the expedition members and editor-in-chief of the map of European Turkey Nikolai Artamonov again arrived in Constantinople. His official task was to present to the Porte the calculations made by the Russian astronomers and topographers and to verify the geographical position of some settlements in the Balkans34. This time Artamonov spent nearly eight months in the Balkans and during that time made topographical surveys along the route Constantinople-EdirnePhilipopolis-Sofia-Svishtov35. Unlike 1867, this time territories in present-day Western Bulgaria were explored, something which clearly characterizes Artamonov’s mission as a continuation of the 1867 expedition to the West. The Russian officer managed to calculate the geographical position of thirty-seven settlements, made detailed route descriptions and also collected data for the making of a map of Constantinople and its vicinity on a scale of 1:2100036. Alongside topography another main accent of the Russian intelligence missions carried out in the Balkans in the late 1860s and early 1870s is military statistics. Here we have to note that the term “military statistics” defines not simply data presented in the form of numbers but a political science dealing with the collection and analysis of information about states and societies. The founder of military statistics as a branch of science in Russia was, namely, Dmitriy Milyutin, Head of the Ministry of War and architect of all the military reforms carried out in the 1860s and 1870s37. Thus it is not surprising that during the period in question officers were sent to the Balkans to collect the information needed for updating the military-statistics database.

32 Voenno-statisticheskij sbornik na 1868 god. (Saint Petersburg: Voennaja tipografia

1868), 292.

33 Istoricheskiy ocherk deyatelnosti Korpusa voennyih topografov 1822-1872. (Saint

Petersburg: Voennaja tipografija 1872), 583-584.

34 Nikolai Starodyimov. Otvažnyi razvedchik Nikolai Artamonov, 49. 35 Zapiski voenno-topograficheskogo otdela, 89-135. 36 Valerij Glishkov. Stanovlenie i razvitie voennoy kartogradiy v Rossii (XVIII - nachalo

XX veka). Dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Geography (Moscow: Russian Academy of Sciences 2003), 28. 37 David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye. “Milyutin I voennaya razvedka Rossii.” Petr Andreevich Zayonchkovskiy. Sbornik statey i vospominaniya k stoletiuy istorika. (Moscow: ROSSPEN 2008), 696-697.

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In 1867, formally as a member of the expedition discussed above but in fact on a separate intelligence mission, Lieutenant Skalon was sent out; he was attached to the diplomatic mission in Constantinople as an aide-de-camp to General Ignatiev. He had been sent into the Ottoman Empire for the first time two years earlier by command of the Minister of War to collect topographic and statistical information on European Turkey. His work as an intelligence agent probably proved to be useful, because of which he was left at the disposal of General Ignatiev. The account Route from the Borders of Bosnia and Serbia to the Town of Burgas on the Black Sea Coast compiled by him gives us an idea of his travels in the Balkans prior to the 1867 expedition38. In 1867 Skalon followed a different route from the rest of the expedition and travelled over the territories of present-day Western Bulgaria and Eastern Serbia and also part of Vardar Macedonia. Directions given by the command clearly demanded the collecting of statistical data. His Data of the Statistics of European Turkey contains detailed descriptions of the provinces visited, the ethnic and confessional composition of the population, the economy, trade, agriculture, etc. A separate chapter is devoted to the road network in present-day Western Bulgaria; in it Skalon describes roads, their passability in different seasons, the possibility of transporting heavy loads, etc.39 At the end of 1867 Skalon was joined in the town of Vidin by the Serbian officer and intelligence agent Bogolyub Katalinich and together they continued their travels along the border of the Serbian Principality through old Serbia and to the border of Greece40. Katalinich’s intriguing carrier deserves attention here since the Serbian officer’s name is closely connected with Russian intelligence on the Balkans. A Catholic Slav born in the Croatian part of the Military Frontier41, Katalinich received his military education in the Austrian Empire, served as a frontiersman and later joined the Austrian Corps in Mexico. During his service under the Austrian flag he gained vast experience, including in military topography, because of which he was chosen to accompany Skalon on his travels. His good knowledge of the situation in the Northwest Balkans combined with his Slavic decent and experience made him a useful agent for Russian intelligence on the East. In June 1869 Katalinich was enlisted in the Russian Army and very soon arrived in the Balkans again but this time sent by the Russian General Staff. During his “accidental two-month leave” he visited Romania, Serbia, Croatia and the Military Frontier. In the notes he delivered to the Russian General Staff Katalinich describes the political, military and social situation in the countries he visited, 38 RGVIA, f. 450, op. 1, d. 79, 56-60. 39 RGVIA, f. 450, op. 1, d. 79, 1-27. 40 Mihail Nigalatiy. Perspectivyi serbsko-ruskogo voennogo sotrudnichestva v 60-e –

nasch. 70-h godov XIX v. Dissertation for PhD in History. (Moscow: Moscow State University 2009), 116. 41 The Military Frontier was a province straddling the southern borderland of the Habsburg Monarchy and later the Austrian and Austro-Hungarian Empires.

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with the main accent on the Military Frontier where he spent most of his time42. His work, appreciated by the Minister of War as worthy of encouragement, gave Russia a chance to obtain an inside view of the current state of affairs in a part of the Balkan Peninsula where it had no consulates or agents from the military intelligence. In the early 1870s the Russian General Staff worked intensely on collecting and systematizing information about the Bulgarian lands. The task of compiling a military description of the most probable future theatre of war and its road network was given to one of the members of the 1867 expedition – Staff Colonel Georgiy Bobrikov. In 1873 the Military Scientific Committee asked for royal approval for Bobrikov’s dispatch to Ottoman territory for “filling in some blank spots in the description of the country and routes”. Approval was given and Bobrikov left for the Ottoman Empire on an officially private trip as an officer on leave. In his report to General Obruchev about the month-long trip Bobrikov wrote that despite the fact he was constantly kept under surveillance by the Turks he had managed to collect enough statistical data to help him to finish the description within a year43. A year later Bobrikov was again sent to the Balkans to collect statistical data, this time in Romania, since as the Military Scientific Committee stated, “studying Romania is particularly important for us, especially in respect to the Ottoman Empire; thus it will be very useful to examine closely this country’s military organization”44. In the 1860s and 1870s a number of Russian travellers visited the Balkans. While some of them were driven purely by scientific and research interests, others were clearly involved in military-intelligence activity. One example is the geographer, member of the Russian Geographical Society and explorer of the Far East Mihail Ivanovich Venyukov, who visited the Ottoman Empire twice during the period examined here: in 1867 and 1874. He explicitly points to the objective of his second journey in his memoirs: “the collecting of information about objects interesting from a military and political perspective”45. His travel notes were later published in the official organ of the Ministry of War, Voennyi sbornik46. General Nikolay Obruchev himself set off on an intelligence mission of his own in 1873. The main purpose of his travels in the Ottoman Empire, Germany and Austro-Hungary is stated in a report sent by the General Staff to the Emperor: “establishing direct communication with the military agents in the respective countries with respect to the correcting and updating of the collections of military statistics and also for collecting the most up-to-date and exact information about these countries’ armed forces”. The report also adds that General Obruchev will use the opportunity to “travel over large part of the Balkan theatre of war” during his stay

42 RGVIA, f. 430, op. 1, d. 7, 6. 43 Ibid., f. 401, op. 2/926, d. 48 (1873 г.), 14. 44 Ibid., f. 401, op. 2/926, d. 60 (1874 г.), 5. 45 Mihail Venyukov. Iz vospominania. Vol 2. (Amsterdam 1895), 191. 46 Mihail Venyukov. “S dorogi po Turtsii.” Voennyi Sbornik 8 (1874): 364-392.

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in the Ottoman Empire47. In his report to Minister Milyutin about the results of his mission Obruchev gives a wide overview of the political situation in Ottoman Turkey and the military developments. His overall impression is of the weakness of the Ottoman army due mainly to the lack of systematic training. When it comes to the theatre of war he once again underlines that more effort should be put into studying the topography because otherwise the Russian General Staff would continue to have erroneous knowledge of the Balkan theatre48. These examples are just the most notable cases of the intelligence missions of Russian officers in the Balkans in late 1860s and early 1870s. As a whole, it could be concluded that all Russian officers in Eastern Europe were either serving as intelligence agents or combining their main work with intelligence activity. For example, the Russian representative on the international commission constituted to settle Serbian borders in 1862 was requested also to provide information about the Serbian army, Ottoman forts in the Principality and their significance as defences49. This observed intelligence activity is without any doubt the product of the strategic planning and preparation for a possible war against the Ottoman Empire in the near future. The focus on topography is clear and reveals that the Russian General Staff regarded the natural obstacles rather than the enemy forces as the main challenge for its army in the Balkans since these forces were generally seen as poorly trained and organized and unfit for effective offensive action. Secrecy is not the main priority of these missions. The reasons for Russian officers’ presence in the Balkans are not a secret from the Ottoman authorities and western diplomats. In the end these are not covert operations aimed at obtaining the Porte’s state secrets or creating networks of agent but at providing the army staff with the information needed at a particular moment. Realization of these missions always happened with the approval of the Ministry of War and with the co-operation of its diplomatic agents in Ottoman Turkey, a situation which once again leads to the question of the role of diplomats in the Russian system of military intelligence in the Balkans. As we have already seen, the Russian Ministry of War had only one permanent agent for the whole of the Balkans and the Orient during the entire period under discussion. This meant that the only constant source of intelligence information from the European provinces of the Ottoman Empire were the consulates. After the Crimean War the Ministry of Foreign Affairs significantly extended its consular network in the interior of the Balkans with the purpose above all of being constantly informed about the situation and developments in the strategically important region50. Consuls in fact formed the backbone of Russia’s information-gathering networks abroad and even more so in the Balkans, where their function was more that of political representatives than of traditional consular officials. The very 47 RGVIA, f. 401, op. 2/926, d. 49 (1873 г.), 1. 48 Ibid., f. 401, op. 1/926, d. 49, 15 ob. 49 Ibid., f. 450, op. 1, d. 67, 27. 50 Ocherk istorii Ministerstva inostrannyih del 1802-1902 (Saint Petersburg 1902), 95-98.

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fact that a large volume of reports from consuls in Balkans towns could be found in the archival collection of the Military Scientific Committee testifies to the consuls’ role in military intelligence. Russian consuls in the Balkans sent their reports regularly either to the Director of the Asian Department of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs or to the Ambassador in Constantinople, from where they were directed to Saint Petersburg. Those consuls residing outside the Ottoman territories sent their reports to the highest-ranking diplomatic agent in the respective country. Once arrived in Saint Petersburg, those reports containing information of military interest were sent to the Minister of War, the Chief of the General Staff or the Head of the Military Scientific Committee General Obruchev. As Chief of the General Staff, General Geyden wrote to the Director of the Asian Department in November 1875: “According to the established order all consular reports of interest to the Ministry of War were delivered to the General Staff by the Asian Department. At the present time consular reports from Turkey are particularly important since they present the only reliable source of true information on the current situation”51. Through this mechanism the Ministry of War was able to receive information from all the Balkan provinces where consuls resided; and here we speak not only of data appearing accidently in consular reports but of a developed system obliging consuls to collect information of military importance. For example, a letter from General Obruchev to the Asian Department from January 1868 tells us that through a scheme developed jointly by the embassy in Constantinople and the General Staff, consuls in the main Ottoman towns were assigned to collect statistical information for the needs of the General Staff52. During his visit to the Ottoman Empire in 1873 General Obruchev also discussed with General Ignatiev a system for collecting statistical data with the help of consuls53. Given the strategic importance of the Ottoman Danube vilâyet as an operational theatre for the Russian Army in a future war, the consul in Ruschuk was given the task of collecting intelligence in the territories south of Danube. Alexander Moshnin managed to provide a newly completed Ottoman map of the Danube vilâyet, photographs of Rushchuk and Shumla fortifications as well as a description and plan of the Varna fortress54. Of course, the embassy in Constantinople and its head had the central role in the Russian information-gathering networks in the Balkans. The diplomatic mission had been by default and in practice the organizational and coordinating centre of all the information-gathering networks in the region since the beginning of the eighteenth century. It was also the centre into which the main stream of information from the entire Orient flowed, underwent its initial analysis and was sent to Saint 51 RGVIA, f. 401, op. 3/927, d. 9 (1875 г.), 158-158 ob. 52 Ibid., f. 401, op. 2, d. 10 (1868 г.), 2. 53 Ibid., f. 401, op. 2/926, d. 49 (1873 г.), л. 1. 54 Ibid., f. 864, op. 16, d. 7625, 2; d. 8931, 4.

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Petersburg. In 1864 the embassy was headed by the energetic General Nikolay Ignatiev. A graduate of the General Staff Academy in Saint Petersburg, Ignatiev had had previous experience as a military agent in London55. As a staff officer and figure of such importance for Russian Eastern policy in the period, Ignatiev also played a considerable role in organizing the military-intelligence activity in the Balkans. As he once wrote to the Ministry of War: “The Ministry could already convince itself on more than one occasion of my invariable willingness to use all the instruments at my disposal for the collecting of military-topographical and military-statistical information about Turkey”56. These are definitely not empty words: Ambassador Ignatiev was in constant communication with General Obruchev, the Minister of War and the supreme military command on all questions regarding the gathering of information and preparation for war. The initiative for the expedition in 1867 had come from Ignatiev and was first discussed in his correspondence with the Minister of War57. All the intelligence missions by Russian officers were undertaken with the knowledge and co-operation of General Ignatiev. Energetic, resourceful and perspicacious, he was perfectly suited for the role of “honourable spy”. Ignatiev not only had close connections to high-ranking Ottoman officials but also organized a large network of informants from the Christian colonies in Constantinople using different levers of compulsion and reward. As the Russian diplomat Kartsov wrote in his memoirs: “His subordinates rarely had the chance to announce to him something he did not already know. With the fall of dusk all kind of political schemers or simply said spies […], members of the Russian colony, Armenians, Greeks came to him bringing political information. In exchange he offered them administrative and legal protection”58.

*** In the two decades after the Crimean War Russian military intelligence was in a period of institutional formation, experimenting with different central structures, setting up networks of foreign agents and preparing cadres specialized in studying different regions and countries. The intelligence apparatus in the Balkans remained poorly developed, if judged by more contemporary standards. With only one official post for the whole Orient, the Russian Ministry of War still had to rely largely on the information channels of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Nevertheless, the system developed for collecting military information was satisfactory in times of peace. The Russian General Staff managed to complete its main task in respect to Ottoman Turkey, which was the mapping of its European territory. Through the intelligence missions of staff officers valuable information about the Balkan theatre of war was collected which later proved to be a substantial component in the quick advance during the initial stage of the Russo-Turkish War of 1877-1878. In the 1860s and 1870s officers specialized in studying the Balkan theatre of war; they were actually few in number but played a significant role during the war. For exam-

Russian military intelligence on the Balkans...

203

ple, Nikolay Artamonov headed the intelligence department of the Danube Army in 1877-1878. Secret intelligence on the Balkans was not among the main instruments of Russia’s military intelligence in this period. Due to the fact that the main interest lay in the terrain, roads, fortifications, etc. rather than Ottoman military secrets, covert activity was not all that necessary. As strange as it sounds, the General Staff of the Russian Army did not have a single secret agent in Constantinople during the War. This was later regarded as a major gap in peacetime intelligence activity and new instructions for military agents were drawn up demanding more attention to the work with secret informers who would continue to provide information from the enemy’s capital in times of war59. The main effort was put into studying the theatre of war, its topography and road network as studying the Ottoman Empire as a possible enemy remained a secondary plan. After his visit to European Turkey General Obruchev himself once again stressed the importance of topographical intelligence as a precondition for a successful campaign. The Ottoman army, on the other hand, was seen as underdeveloped, poorly trained and largely unfit for the modern-day battlefield. Later during the war Russian generals had to admit their negligence of the Ottoman forces, but the false impression of the enemy’s strength could not be entirely attributed to faults in intelligence. Military agents in Constantinople, for example, were pointing at the modern weaponry of the Sultan’s army, the high personal qualities of the individual soldiers and speaking highly of the Ottoman artillery. We could say that underrating the qualities of the Ottoman army was more a question of a deeply rooted understanding of Ottoman Turkey as a state on the brink of collapse rather than an actual lack of intelligence information. All in all, the Russian military intelligence in the Balkans in the period examined in this chapter, and especially after 1866, was more active than in previous years; and this is a clear sign of the importance which the region had for Saint Petersburg’s military strategy and foreign policy as a whole. The fact that from the second half of the 1860s Russia was preparing for complications in the East does not mean the war was desired at this moment but it proves that Saint Petersburg was determined to enter a new campaign to defend its interests in the East if the circumstances so required.

59 Mihail Alekseev. Vornnaya razvedka v Rossiyskiy imperii, 332

INDEX A Abbas I 51, 53, 57 Abu Ayyub Ansari 37 Abyssinia (Habesh) 31 Adakale 114, 117, 120 Adrianople (see Edirne) 68, 79, 174, 183 Ahmed Ağa 107 Ahmed I 17, 18, 19, 20, 30, 33, 37, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 47, 48, 50, 51, 52, 60, 186 Ahmed Resmi Efendi 109 Akyazılı Baba 130 Aleppo 34, 51, 52, 117 Alexander II 195 Ali Ağa 104, 105 Ali Pasha 43, 47, 49, 52, 57 Alsace 9 Anatolia 22, 26, 33, 51, 56, 57, 58, 94, 95, 103, 111, 127, 128, 129, 131, 132 Anbarlı (mod. Žitnitsa) 135 Ancona 63, 71 Ankara (Angora) 25, 27, 33, 35, 37, 43, 44, 52, 95, 96, 108, 111, 115, 129, 134 Artamonov, Nikolai 196, 197 Asopios, Konstantinos 77, 79 Asov 176 Athens 63, 65, 66, 67, 70, 71, 72, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 81, 82, 84 Austria 8, 9, 10, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 71, 72, 119, 120, 168, 178, 180, 193 Ayşe Sultan 28 B Baba Eski 95, 96 Baden, Ludwig Wilhelm von 171, 173, 174 Balaban Paşa 97 Bali Efendi 135, 136 Barak Baba 133 Basel 71 Bassarab, Joannes Constantin 112 Bayezid I 97 Bayezid II 95, 97, 129, 131, 133 Bayram Ağa 43, 47 Bekir Pasha 116, 117, 118 Belgrade 47, 54, 55, 77, 96, 104, 108, 109, 171, 175, 180

Beşir Ağa 104, 105, 107 Beşoğlu Kaya Bey 26 Bilâl Ağa 104, 105, 110 Bitola 5, 71, 139, 140, 146, 193 Black Sea 189, 194, 195, 196, 198 Bobrikov, Georgiy 199 Boğdan (Moldavia) 118 Bohemia 9, 71 Bosckay, Stephan 54 Bosnavî Halil Ağa 30 Bosnia 9, 103, 104, 105, 109, 110, 117, 198 Braila 79 Britain 64, 193, 194 Brno 71 Broquière, Bertrandon de la 165 Bruck 13 Bucharest 76, 81, 112, 113, 114, 116 Buda 56, 170 Budapest 8, 70 Bulgaria 131, 132, 196, 197, 198 Busbecq, Ogier Ghiselin de 169 C Cafer Ağa 40, 44 Cairo 31, 91 Calvino, Italo 88, 89 Canbuladoğlu Ali Pasha 57 Canbuladoğlu Hüseyin Pasha 51, 52 Candia 196 Caprara, Enea Antonio de 169 Carinthia 8, 9, 10, 12, 13 Carniola 8, 9, 10, 12 Caucasus 30, 32, 35, 43 Cerrah Mehmed Pasha 37 Çeşme 109 Ceza’irli Gazi Hasan Pasha 113, 116 Charles (Karl) II 9, 10 Charles VI 176, 179, 180, 185 Charles XII 175, 176, 180 Chios 79, 180 Cıgalazade Sinan Pasha 43, 49, 51, 52, 55, 56 Constantinople (see Istanbul) 6, 2, 20, 27, 71, 72, 73, 79, 112, 165, 166, 167, 169, 170, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 185, 186, 187, 191, 192, 193, 194, 195, 196, 197, 198, 201, 202, 203

206

Index

Çorlu 95 Crete 110, 129, 140 Crimea 117 Croatia 8, 9, 10, 12, 13, 14, 16, 198 Cyprus 31, 58 D Damad İbrahim Pasha 23, 29, 30, 35, 37, 53, 186 Damascus 34, 37, 38, 46, 53, 57, 95 Danube 64, 68, 96, 116, 118, 120, 172, 180, 196, 201, 203 Darvaris, Dimitrios 79 Dellâlbaşıoğlu Molla Mustafa 105, 107, 109, 111 Demir Baba 130 Derviş Ağa 20, 41, 43, 47, 48, 49, 55 Diyarbakır 31, 32, 33, 43 Djerba 53 Dobrovski, Ivan 77 Doğancı Mehmed Pasha 19, 24, 26, 29, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 40, 44, 49, 56, 59 Dorschäus, Andreas 187 Doukas, Neofytos 77 Drava 12 Dri(e)sch, Gerhard Cornelius von der 180, 181, 182, 183, 184, 186, 187 Dukagin (Western part of Kosovo) 117 E Ebülmeyamin Mustafa Efendi 58, 59 Edirne (see Adrianople) 20, 87, 89, 95, 96, 97, 98, 131, 135, 186, 197 Eğriboz/ Chalkis (Euboea) 447, 103, 104, 105, 108, 109, 110, 111 Egypt 28, 29, 31, 34, 37, 43, 46, 50, 52, 91 Eleanor of Sweden 180 Emin Ağa 104, 105, 108 Enns 9, 16 Epirus 76 Érsekújvár 56 Erzurum 33, 34, 35 Eszék (Ösek) 29, 56 Esztergom 54, 57 Evliya Çelebi 96, 97, 98, 102 F Fazlullah Pasha 97 Felbiger, Johann Ignaz von 74 Ferdinand I 9, 10, 134 Ferhad Pasha 40, 58, 59 Fethülislam/ Kladovo 114, 118, 120 Filitas, Christoforos 77, 79 Filitas, Stefanos 77

Firdawsî 33 Fleischmann, Anselm Franz von 175, 176, 177, 178 Florence 65, 80 Fotinov, Konstantin Georgiev 79 France 52, 93, 171, 177, 193 Francis II Rákóczi 180 Frankini, Victor Antonovich 191, 192, 193, 194 Friuli 9 G Gazanfer Ağa 19, 29, 31, 32, 35, 36, 40, 41, 44, 46, 50, 55, 60 Gence 32, 51 Georgia 32 Germany 80, 199 Ghica, Gregorius 185 Giurgiu 114, 116, 118, 119 Gjakova (Kossovo) 117 Gorizia 9, 12 Graz 8, 9, 10, 12, 13, 16, 171, 179 H Habsburg Monarchy 8, 10, 42, 67, 68, 69, 71, 72, 74, 77, 81, 169, 170, 171, 176, 178, 198 Hacı Bektaş Veli 129, 133 Hacı Beşirzade Ahmed 142, 145, 147 Hacı Beşirzade İsmail 142, 145, 147 Hacı Giray 115, 116, 117, 118 Hacı İvaz Pasha 109 Hafız Çavuş 142, 147 Halil Pasha (İvazzade) 30, 109, 110, 111, 121 Halle 72, 76 Hamburg 24, 71, 169 Handan Sultan 42, 43, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52 Hatzipanagioti-Sangmeister, Ilia 81 Hermannstadt (Sibiu) 70 Hersek 110 Hoca Sadeddin Efendi 58 Hungary 9, 10, 12, 15, 16, 29, 52, 54, 56, 57, 64, 67, 71, 77, 171, 199 I Iaši 72, 76 Ibrahim Pasha 23, 28, 29, 30, 35, 37, 45, 53, 56, 97, 117, 180, 186, 187 İbrâil (Brăila) 114, 116, 117, 118, 119 Ignatiev, Nikolay Pavlovich 196, 198, 201, 202 İlyas Pasha 117 Inner-Istria 9 İpsala 96 Iraq 34, 37

Index Ismail 114, 116, 117, 118, 119, 196 Istanbul (see Constantinople) 17, 18, 23, 24, 25, 27, 28, 30, 32, 34, 36, 39, 41, 42, 43, 44, 48, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 59, 60, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 107, 108, 111, 112, 114, 116, 117, 118, 119, 129, 132, 135, 136, 137, 166, 168, 175, 176, 177, 179, 185, 186, 187 J Jagodina 109, 117, 173 Janković, Theodor 80 Jeddah 110, 111 Jena 76 Joseph II 15 K Kairis, Theophilos 79 Kara Mehmed Pasha 19, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 39 Karl VI 15, 63 Karlowitz (Sremski Karlovci) 12, 15, 68, 70, 73, 77, 167, 168, 177 Katalinich 198 Katalinich, Bogolyub 198 Kavala 96, 110 Kaya Bey 26 Kaygusuz Abdal 133 Kefalonia 63 Kıdemli Baba 130, 136 Kızıl Deli 128 Klagenfurt 8, 13, 16 Kleisoura 79 Koca Sinan Pasha 23, 25, 29, 32, 38, 39, 40 Koca Yusuf Pasha 113, 116 Köln 71 Kommitas, Stefanos 77 Konstantas, Grigorios 76 Köprülü Mustafa Pasha 173 Korais, Adamantios 76, 79 Kosovo 68, 117 Kotel 79 Koumas, Konstantinos 76 Kronstadt (Braşov) 70 Küçük Kaynarca 117, 119 Kurt Efendi 136, 137 Kütahya 111 Kuyucu Murad Pasha 54, 57, 58, 60 L Lajos II 10 Lala Mehmed Pasha 43, 44, 47, 51, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57 Lala Mustafa Pasha 25, 31, 32, 35

207

Leipzig 71, 76, 81, 140, 169 Leopold I 169, 171 Livadia 141 Livorno 71 Ljubljana 8, 13, 16, 79 M Macedonia 68, 71, 76, 77, 79, 95, 198 Mahmud Efendi 36, 37, 39 Mahmud Rızai 136 Mainati, Giuseppe 63 Malkoçoğlu Bali Bey 133 Mamluk sultanate 31 Manastır (see Bitola) 5, 71, 139, 140, 141, 143, 146, 147, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154 Manisa 26, 35, 42, 46, 111 Maria Theresia 15 Maritsa 111 Marseille 72 Mavroyeni, Nicolae 112, 113, 114, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120 Maximilian I 10 Maximilian II 9 Mehmed Ağa 30, 114, 115 Mehmed II 20, 21, 41, 129, 133, 165 Mehmed III 18, 19, 23, 29, 33, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 50, 58, 60 Mehmed Pasha 19, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 40, 42, 43, 44, 45, 47, 49, 51, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 59, 109, 110, 135 Messina 71 Messolongi 63 Mexico 198 Mezit Bey 97 Mezőkerezstes 53, 55, 56 Mihaoğlu family 133 Milyutin, Dmitriy 190, 197, 200 Mîr Şeref Bey 56 Mohács 10 Moisiodax, Iosipos 76 Moravia 16 Morea 105, 108, 177 Moshnin, Alexander 201 Mumir from Orizari 142 Murad II 97, 129 Murad III 18, 19, 20, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 44, 46, 50, 53, 58 Murad IV 30, 44 Musa Baba 133 Muslihuddin Nureddinzade 135 Mustafa Agha 50, 60

208

Index

Mustafa Âlî 26, 31, 34, 35, 37 Mustafa Efendi 42, 51, 52, 53, 59 Mustafa I 42, 141 N Nalband Mustafa 145, 147 Naples 71 Napoleon I 190 Nish 111, 171, 173, 175, 184 Nurbanu Sultan 32 Nuremberg 71, 181 Nurredinzade 135, 136 O Obradović, Dosithej 76 Obruchev, Nikolay 191, 195, 199, 200, 201, 202, 203 Odessa 82 Oikonomos, Konstantinos 76, 79 Ollmütz 81 Oršova 71 Osman II 30, 37, 44 Osman Pasha 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 56, 116, 117 Otman Baba 128, 130, 131, 134 Ottoman Empire 5, 8, 17, 18, 20, 21, 22, 24, 25, 32, 34, 45, 67, 68, 69, 72, 73, 81, 84, 89, 90, 93, 94, 95, 97, 101, 106, 107, 112, 113, 116, 129, 132, 136, 137, 139, 140, 165, 166, 168, 169, 171, 172, 189, 191, 194, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 203 Özdemiroğlu Osman Pasha 30, 31, 34, 56 P Papageorgiou, Michael 77 Papagianousis-Popović, Eufronios 77 Paris 20, 46, 73, 76, 79, 81, 84, 112, 165, 166, 169, 189, 195 Paros 112 Passarowitz 63, 179, 180, 186, 187 Pazardžik 79 Peçevi, Ibrahim 26, 29, 30, 35, 37, 44, 47, 48, 57 Peloponnese 63 Pera 185 Persia 14, 139 Pest 54, 70, 71, 76, 169 Phanar/ Fener 111 Philippides, Daniil 76, 79 Pindus 68 Pirzade 133, 135 Plovdiv 79, 94, 103, 104, 108, 109, 110 Plovdiv (Philipopolis, Filibe) 94, 103, 104, 105, 108, 109, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 197

Poland 14 Poltava 175 Poturak Zekiriya Efendi 141 Prussia 15 Prut 175 R Rastatt 177 Rhodes 117 Rijeka 12 Riste Petko from Orehovo 142 Riste Volkan 142, 145 Romania 198, 199 Rome 71, 166 Rudolf II 9 Rumeli 19, 22, 24, 26, 28, 30, 33, 42, 56, 57, 96, 111, 131, 133, 134, 135, 184 Rusçuk (Ruse) 114, 119, 196, 201 Russia 66, 71, 113, 117, 119, 120, 176, 177, 185, 189, 190, 191, 192, 193, 194, 195, 196, 197, 199, 200, 203 Rüstem Pasha 136 S Safiye Sultan 19, 41, 53, 55, 60 Şahin ‘Ali Pasha 115, 116, 117 Şahin Giray 117 Saint Petersburg 189, 190, 191, 192, 194, 195, 196, 197, 200, 201, 202, 203 Sakellarios from Kastoria 77 Samokov 134, 135 Sarajevo 129, 133 Saruca Paşa 97 Şatır Ali Pasha 111 Saxony 71 Schepper, Corneille de 134, 136 Schweigger, Salomon 23 Selim I 20, 53, 129, 131 Selim II 22, 25, 26, 28, 31, 41 Selim III 141 Semlin/ Zemun 71, 80 Şemsi Ahmed Pasha 23, 24, 25, 28, 29, 40, 44 Senigallia 63 Serbia 110, 198 Şerif Hasan Pasha 120 Şerif Mehmed Efendi 39 Şeyh Mustafa Halife 141 Şeyh Şemsüddin 5, 139, 141, 142, 143, 144, 146 Seyyid Battal Gazi 129, 130, 136 Sheikh Bedreddin 129, 137 Shirvan 32, 51 Shumen (Şumnu, Shumla) 120, 201

Index Şihabeddin Pasha 136 Silistre 96, 97, 114, 116, 117, 118, 119 Silivri 96 Sinan Pasha 23, 25, 29, 32, 38, 39, 40, 43, 49, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56 Sinzendorf 23 Sivas 35, 103, 104, 111 Siyavuş Pasha 23, 32, 37, 39, 40 Skalioras, Ignatios 77 Skalon, Dmitrij Antonovich 198 Smyrna 71, 77, 79, 112 Sofia 1, 3, 17, 79, 96, 104, 105, 107, 109, 133, 134, 135, 136, 171, 173, 182, 197 Sokollu Mehmed Pasha 19, 22, 23, 24, 25, 28, 29, 31, 32, 35, 39, 51, 94, 135, 136, 137 Spain 18, 53 Stain, Maximilian 193 Starhemberg, Guido von 183 Struve, Friedrich Georg Wilhelm von 196 Styria 8, 9, 10, 13, 171 Şücaeddin Veli 129 Süleyman I 20, 21, 22, 23, 25, 31, 37, 38, 45, 50, 51, 53, 59, 60, 61, 95, 131, 150 Sun Tzu 165 Sunullah Efendi 56, 58, 59, 60 Swabia 9 Syria 51, 52, 53, 57 T Talmann, Leopold 175 Tatar Pazarcık 132, 133, 134, 135, 137 Tavil Halil 57 Tekirdağ 96 Temesvar 71 Thessaloniki (Selânik/ Salonica) 64, 71, 77, 79, 103, 104, 108, 110, 117, 132, 193 Thököly, Imre 172 Thrace 95, 128, 131, 132, 133, 134, 136, 137 Tırkaç Mustafa 141, 147 Transylvania 15, 54, 70, 71, 175 Trautmannsdorf, Siegmund Joachim von 173 Travnik 104, 105, 107, 108, 110, 111 Trieste 9, 12, 63, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 78, 79, 81, 82, 83 Tunisia 53 Turkey 17, 112, 127, 132, 165, 193, 194, 196, 197, 198, 200, 201, 202, 203 Tyrol 9, 182 U Ukraine 1, 66, 71 United States of America 90, 190

209

Upper Austria 9, 10, 12 Urmiye 51, 53 Üsküb/ Skopje 111 Üsküdar 38 Ustrumca 135 V Vác 54 Varna 201 Venice 9, 14, 52, 63, 70, 72, 74, 80, 166, 169, 170, 175, 177, 178, 185 Venyukov, Mihail Ivanovich 199 Verbitsky,Toma 194 Vidin 114, 117, 118, 135, 172, 173, 175, 198 Vienna 2, 8, 9, 10, 15, 17, 35, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 166, 169, 170, 171, 172, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179, 180, 185, 186, 187 Virmont, Damian Hugo von 6, 179, 180, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187 Vojvodina 68 Vorarlberg 9 W Wallachia 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118 White Mountain 15 Y Yavuz Ali Pasha 43, 47, 49, 52 Z Zagreb 8 Zaira 88 Zakynthos 63 Zaviras, Georgios 77 Zelyeni, Alexander Semenovich 192 Zsitvatorok 58

Geschichte: Forschung und Wissenschaft Maria Baramova; Plamen Mitev; Ivan Parvev; Vania Racheva (Eds.) Power and Influence in South-Eastern Europe 16 – 19th century If a power wishes to subdue a region, what can it do? Order its armies to annex it? Carve up the region into parts that are subsequently ruled by different great powers, or create new principalities as a tool for indirect power influence? Why not use ideology and economic strength to rule that same region instead? The volume demonstrates how the European powers of the 16th – 19th centuries oscillate between these different stances in their attitude towards the Balkans, at the same time leaving enough space for the smaller regional players – states and individuals alike – to exercise their local power and influence. Bd. 38, 2013, 464 S., 59,90 €, br., ISBN 978-3-643-90331-0

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Dr. habil. Ivan Parvev is Professor for Modern Balkan History at Sofia University St. Kliment Ohridski, Bulgaria. Dr. Maria Baramova is Associate Professor for Early Modern Balkan History at Sofia University St. Kliment Ohridski, Bulgaria. Dr. Grigor Boykov is Research associate at the Austrian Academy of Sciences, Vienna.

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Social Networking in South-Eastern Europe 15th – 19th century

Social Networking in South-Eastern Europe

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Maria Baramova, Grigor Boykov, Ivan Parvev (Eds.) Maria Baramova, Grigor Boykov, Ivan Parvev (Eds.)

“Social Networking” in South-Eastern Europe in the 15th – 19th centuries exhibits specific characteristics: the Ottomans and the Habsburgs, for example, each have their pattern of building and using social networks, with the “Third South-Eastern Europe”, i. e., the vassal principalities in the Balkans and the recreated national states, staying closer in the Ottoman pattern. It seems that the Muslim-Oriental social traditions established in the Balkans during Ottoman rule had a clear impact on the building of networks and the exercising of social influence. The specific regional practices, once established, were very hard to overcome or to replace by other patterns of social networking. These practices, however, could easily interact in border areas with one other, giving the inhabitants on both sides of the frontier the possibility of living a socially amphibious life, at least in terms of Social Networking.

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