The Mamluk-Ottoman Transition: Continuity and Change in Egypt and Bilād al-Shām in the Sixteenth Century [1 ed.] 9783737006378, 9783847106371

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Ottoman Studies / Osmanistische Studien

Band 2

Herausgegeben von Stephan Conermann, Sevgi Ag˘cagül und Gül S¸en

Die Bände dieser Reihe sind peer-reviewed.

Stephan Conermann / Gül S¸en (eds.)

The Mamluk-Ottoman Transition Continuity and Change in Egypt and Bila¯d al-Sha¯m in the Sixteenth Century

With 20 Illustrations

V&R unipress Bonn University Press

Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über http://dnb.d-nb.de abrufbar. ISSN 2366-3677 ISBN 978-3-7370-0637-8 Weitere Ausgaben und Online-Angebote sind erhältlich unter: www.v-r.de Veröffentlichungen der Bonn University Press erscheinen im Verlag V&R unipress GmbH. © 2017, V&R unipress GmbH, Robert-Bosch-Breite 6, D-37079 Göttingen / www.v-r.de Alle Rechte vorbehalten. Das Werk und seine Teile sind urheberrechtlich geschützt. Jede Verwertung in anderen als den gesetzlich zugelassenen Fällen bedarf der vorherigen schriftlichen Einwilligung des Verlages. Titelbild: The Ottoman Caravanserai at Qatrana, Jordan – Built in 1531 CE on the Syrian pilgrimage route by the order of Sultan Süleyma¯n the Magnificent. Photo by Gül S¸en, 2016.

Contents

Notes from the Editors

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

7

List of Illustrations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

9

Abbreviations

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Stephan Conermann and Gül S¸en Introduction: A Transitional Point of View . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

13

Michael Winter Egypt and Syria in the Sixteenth Century

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

33

Paulina B. Lewicka Challenges of Daily Life in Early-Ottoman Cairo: a Learned Sufi’s Perspective. Preliminary Remarks on al-Muna¯wı¯’s Memorandum on Decent Behavior . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

59

Wakako Kumakura The Early Ottoman Rural Government System and Its Development in Terms of Water Administration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

87

Egypt

Claudia Römer An Attempt at Reconstructing the Ottoman Correspondence during Grand Vizier I˙bra¯hı¯m Pas¸a’s 1525 Mission to Egypt . . . . . . . . . . . . 115 Michael Winter The Conquest of Syria and Egypt by Sultan Selim I, According to Evliyâ Çelebi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127

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Contents

Syria Linda T. Darling Investigating the Fiscal Administration of the Arab Provinces after the Ottoman Conquest of 1516 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 147 Alev Masarwa Performing the Occasion: The Chronograms of Ma¯mayya ar-Ru¯mı¯ (930– 985 or 987/1534–1577 or 1579) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177 Toru Miura Transition of the ʿUlamaʾ Families in Sixteenth Century Damascus . . . . 207 Torsten Wollina Sultan Selı¯m in Damascus: The Ottoman Appropriation of a Mamluk Metropolis (922–924/1516–1518) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 221

Mamluks-Ottomans Timothy J. Fitzgerald Rituals of Possession, Methods of Control, and the Monopoly of Violence: The Ottoman Conquest of Aleppo in Comparative Perspective . 249 Yehoshua Frenkel The Ottomans and the Mamlu¯ks through the Eyes of Arab Travelers (in 16th–17th Centuries) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 275 Cihan Yüksel Muslu “Nomadic” Borders of Ottoman Provinces during the Mamluk-Ottoman Imperial Transition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 295 Gül S¸en Ottoman Servant, Mamluk Rebel? Narrative Strategies in Sixteenth-Century Ottoman Historiography – the Example of Ja¯nbirdı¯ al-Ghaza¯lı¯’s Downfall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 327 Bethany J. Walker Early Ottoman/Late Islamic I/post-Mamluk: What are the Archaeological Traces of the 16th Century in Syria?” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 343 Notes on Contributors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 367 Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 371

Notes from the Editors

The chapters in this volume were originally presented at the conference “The Mamluk-Ottoman Transition: Continuity and Change in Egypt and Bila¯d alSha¯m in the Sixteenth Century” held 5–7 March 2015 in Bonn. The conference brought together fourteen scholars from both Ottoman and Mamluk Studies with the aim to shed light on and rethink the transfer of rule in the region during the sixteenth century. It provided a unique opportunity to discuss the understudied transition period before and after the Ottoman Conquest in 1516–1517. The conference was hosted by the “Annemarie Schimmel Kolleg: History and Society during the Mamluk Era” funded by the German Research Foundation (DFG). The editors of this volume are grateful to DFG for its generous funding which enabled them to organize this conference. In the essays that follow, transliteration is not unified but internal consistency is sought. Variant spellings of personal and place names are listed in the relevant entries in the Index. Transliterations of textual passages are given mostly in the footnotes. Each bibliography is divided into sources and studies without any further subdivision. Spellings of the words of Ottoman or Arabic origin that have entered the English language follows standard dictionaries. Stephan Conermann Gül S¸en Bonn, September 2016

List of Illustrations

Conermann and S¸en Map. Eastern Mediterranean, Aegean and the Black Sea. Kita¯b-ı bahriye ˙ (Book on Navigation) by Pı¯rı¯ Reʾı¯s (d. 1554 CE). Fitzgerald Fig. 1. Aleppo’s Citadel and Environs (mid-1530s). Nasu¯h al-Matra¯kçı¯, Beya¯n-ı ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ mena¯zil-i sefer-i ʿIra¯keyn-i Sulta¯n Süleyma¯n Ha¯n. ˙ ˙ ˘ Kumakura Fig. 1. Estimated Locations of Sulta¯nı¯ Dykes in Gharbı¯ya Province. ˙ Fig. 2. Jisr Shaykh al-Ghadalla in Fayyu¯m. Table 1. Descriptions in the Ka¯nu¯nna¯me-i Mısır about Custom and Law at the ˙ Time of Qa¯ytba¯y. Table 2. Estimated Tax Revenues in Egyptian Provinces in the Late 15th Century. Table 3. A Record of Allocation of Water Seen in Reg. 3001–024267: 20. Miura Fig. 1.

Family Tree: Furfu¯r Family.

Muslu Table 1. Overview of Surveys and Administrative Divisions for Malatya, Divrig˘i, Darende, Kahta, Gerger, Besni, Hısn-ı Mansur (1519–1530). Map. Locations in the text. S¸en Table 1. Sixteenth-Century Chronicle-Type Universal or Dynastic Histories that Note Ja¯nbirdı¯’s Downfall.

10 Walker Fig. 1. Fig. 2. Fig. 3. Fig. 4. Fig. 5. Fig. 6. Fig. 7.

List of Illustrations

Cultural and Dynastic Periodizations Compared. Mamluk and Ottoman Material Culture from Jordan Compared. Handmade Jar Fired in an Open Kiln – Field B “jar pit”, Tall Hisba¯n. ˙ Handmade Geometrically Painted Jar – Field M house, Tall Hisba¯n. ˙ Elephant-eared Cookpot, Mamluk Period – Tall Hisba¯n. ˙ Ottoman-Era Cup and Bowl Rims – misc. sites in Jordan. Late Medieval Farmhouse – Field O, Tall Hisba¯n. ˙

Wollina Fig. 1. Axis of Mamluk Royal Buildings and Religious Cluster around Umayyad Mosque. Fig. 2. Axis of Ottoman-built Religious Institutions.

Abbreviations

BRIJMES DI˙A EI2 I˙A IRCICA JESHO MSR ÖNB SHAJ TALI˙D TTK WZKM

The British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies Türkiye Diyanet Vakfı I˙slâm Ansiklopedisi. Istanbul: TDV I˙slam Aras¸tırmaları Merkezi, 1988–2013. Encyclopeadia of Islam: New Edition. Leiden: Brill, 1998–2005. I˙slâm Ansiklopedisi: I˙slâm Âlemi Cog˘rafya, Etnog˘rafya ve Biyografya Lûgatı. Istanbul: Maarif Matbası, 1940–1988. Research Center for Islamic History, Art and Culture Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient Mamluk Studies Review Österreiche Nationalbibliothek Studies in the History and Archaeology of Jordan Türkiye Aras¸tırmaları Literatür Dergisi Türk Tarih Kurumu Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes

Stephan Conermann and Gül S¸en

Introduction: A Transitional Point of View

Periodizations are, as is known, highly dependent on perspectives. In Islamic history, the year 1516–15171 is often interpreted as marking an epochal change.2 The Ottoman conquest of Bila¯d al-Sha¯m (geographical Syria or Greater Syria) in 1516 and Egypt in 1517 has to date been the dominant narrative in Islamic studies (and beyond), marking not only the demise of the medieval Mamluk Sultanate, which was already in decline, but also the rise of an early modern Turkish empire.3 Many elements of this point of view are problematic. First, it contemplates the pre-modern period in a purely Western-centric manner, through the lens of such terms as “medieval” and “early modern.”4 1 All dates in this article are given in the Common Era unless otherwise indicated. 2 For a representative sample of conventional overviews, see The Western Islamic World. Eleventh to Eighteenth Centuries, ed. Maribel Fierro (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010) The New Cambridge History of Islam, vol. 2, or The Cambridge History of Egypt, ed. M.W. Daly, 2 vols (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). 3 Thus far, the fifteenth century has been regularly interpreted as a period of decline in the Mamluk Sultanate. This perception, however, is gradually evolving into a view of the fifteenth century – including developments in the sixteenth – as a time of transformation, several local and interregional factors leading to material long-term changes. See Amina Elbendary, Crowds and Sultans. Urban Protest in Late Medieval Egypt (Cairo: American University in Cairo Press 2015), 1–18. The decline perspective is problematic ab initio because it is often put forward in contrast to a “golden” or “classic” era. See Sonja Brentjes, “The Prison of Categories – ‘Decline’ and its Company,” in: Islamic Philosophy, Science, religion and Culture: Studies in Honor of Dimitri Gutas, ed. Felicita Opwis and David Reisman (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 131–156, especially Thomas Bauer, “In Search of Post-Classical Literature. A Review Article,” Mamluk Studies Review 11 (2007): 137–167. On the Ottoman Empire, see Christoph Herzog, “Zum Niedergangsdiskurs im Osmanischen Reich und in der islamischen Welt,” in Mythen, Geschichte(n), Identitäten: Der Kampf um die Vergangenheit, ed. Stephan Conermann (Hamburg: EB Verlag, 1999), 69–90. 4 The issue of periodization in the context of the Ottoman Empire was discussed by the German research group in “Ottoman Europe: Methods and Perspectives of Early Modern Studies on Southeast Europe”. The research group argues in its recent publication that the Ottoman Empire – with its large and long-standing territorial foothold in Europe – is an “integral part of Late Medieval and Early Modern European History.” For the introductory chapter, see Andreas Helmedach, Markus Koller, Konrad Petrovszky, Stefan Rohdewald, “Das osmanische

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Unfortunately, more meaningful classifications have not been able to establish themselves in our disciplines. The traditional view persists for heuristic reasons. What kind of heuristic process is this, however, as long as the strenuous effort to write a world or even global history still continues? 5 Is it not much more convenient simply to continue following the prevailing Western discourse in order to avoid the need to argue consistently and permanently against it? Why, one wonders, for example, has the approach of Marilyn R. Waldman (1943–1996) – a student of Marshall G. S. Hodgson (1922–1968) – in her unfortunately oft-ignored entry “Islamic World” in the Encyclopaedia Britannica, never really been systematically followed? 6 Waldman begins not with the birth of Muhammad ˙ (570) but farther back. For her, the expression “axis time” (800–200 BC), coined by Karl Jaspert (1883–1969), represents the ferment of the famous religious and cultural configurations in the Mediterranean region, India and China, and a fortiori in the area between the Nile and the Oxus (this, to avoid the terms “Middle,” “Middle East,” or even “Orient”). In reference to the Islamic civilization, the first phase of the “Formation and Orientation (500–634)”, which ends with the death of the first successor of the Prophet, Abu¯ Bakr, is followed, according to Waldman, by a time of “Conversion and Crystallization” (634–870). Although the rule of Muslim groups spread far and wide during that time, Muslims rarely accounted for the majority of the population in any given region. The subsequent period – “Migration and Renewal (1041–1405)” – saw the beginning of a new era marked by development of a normative canon and political fragmentation signaled by the arrival of the Seljuks, later strongly influenced by the Mongols and Timurids. After Timur’s death, Waldman begins to document a change of power holders – from migrational and nomadic groups to sedentary elites in large centralized empires. Only after 1683 does the basic framework of a constantly expanding Islamic world change slowly. Waldman’s entry ends with a sixth phase, titled “Reform, Dependency, and Recovery.” Although Waldman’s article is but an overview, it reflects some of Hodgson’s central concepts. Generally speaking, one who reads his opus magnum, The Venture of Islam Conscience and History in World Civilization (3 vols, Chicago Europa als Gegenstand der Forschung,” in Das Osmanische Europa. Methoden und Perspektiven der Frühneuzeitforschung zu Südosteuropa, ed. idem (Leipzig: Eudora Verlag, 2014), 9–23. 5 The Journal of World History was published in 1990, The Journal of Global History in 2005, and New Global Studies in 2007. Recently, several major projects on world history have been mounted: The Cambridge World History (7 vols., Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), Geschichte der Welt (6 vols., Munich: Beck, 2012 et seq.), WBG Weltgeschichte. Eine globale Geschichte von den Anfängen bis ins 21. Jahrhundert (6 vols., Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2009–2010) and Globalgeschichte. Die Welt 1000–2000 (8 vols., Vienna: Mandelbaum, 2008–2010). 6 See www.britannica.com/topic/Islamic-world (last downloaded 7 September 2016).

Introduction: A Transitional Point of View

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1975–1977), today, forty years after it appeared, is surprised to see how many of his ideas perfectly and seamlessly fit in postcolonial debates as well as the recent discussions about the limits and possibilities of a global history.7 All are still as refreshing as they are profoundly worthy: his consistent attempt to view the Islamicate regions as part of the history of world civilization, his efforts to counteract Eurocentrism (or Western-centrism) and a teleological interpretation of history that tapers down to European modernity, his rejection of the standard religious-norms-oriented interpretation of Muslim societies, and his hybrid cultural understanding, in the sense of continually assuming the existence of fruitful feedback between dominant and dominated groups. But back to Waldman’s periodization. Although she tries to break through the traditional dynastic historiography (Fatimids, Ayyubids, Mamluks, Ottomans) and promote other emphases, Waldman, like the others, unfortunately bases herself primarily on “concise” data. It is universally accepted, however – at least since Fernand Braudel’s (1902–1985) studies on the Mediterranean – that a political event usually says nothing at all where structural changes are concerned.8 If so, why always package historical events in wrappings of key facts? After similarly adhering to the usual time frame (1250–1517) in the first phase of its project on the history and society of the Mamluk period,9 the German Research Foundation (DFG)-funded research group has broadened its perspective since 2015, jettisoning the dynasty-defined classification in favor of a more flexible “Middle Islamic period” (12th–17th centuries). As for the beginning of this era, Stefan Heidemann offers excellent reasons for soft dating to the twelfth century: The transformation from the Early Islamic period to the Middle Islamic era during the 12th to 13th centuries is one of the most significant watersheds in world history. […] While developments that began already in Late Antiquity culminated in many respects in the early Islamic period; the Middle Islamic period, however, had quite a different cultural, political and material outlook. For the first time the majority of the population

7 The timeliness of Hodgson’s approach has often been emphasized in recent years: B. B. Lawrence, “Genius Denied and Reclaimed: A 40-Year Retrospect on Marshall G.S. Hodgson’s The Venture of Islam,” Marginalia (11. November 2014 = marginalia.lareviewofbooks.org/ retrospect-hodgson-venture-islam/) and Steve Tamari, “The Venture of Marshall Hodgson: Visionary Historian of Islam and the World,” New Global Studies 9, 1 (2015): 73–87. Still a good read: Edmund III Burke, “Islamic History as World History: Marshall Hodgson, ‘The Venture of Islam,’” International Journal of Middle East Studies 10 (1979): 241–264. 8 Fernand Braudel, La Méditerranée et le monde méditerranéen à l’époque de Philippe II (Paris, 1949). On the reception of Braudel’s theses, see John A. Marino, “The Exile and His Kingdom. The Reception of Braudel’s Mediterranean,” The Journal of Modern History 76 (2004): 622– 652; see further Anthony Molho, “Like Ships Passing in the Dark. Reflections on the Reception of La Méditerranée,” U.S. Review 24 (1): 139–162. 9 See www.mamluk.uni-bonn.de.

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in the Islamic realm was Muslim – with regional differences; cityscapes became islamicized, now being dominated by Islamic institutions and complexes; Islam in its theological, philosophical and cultural aspects became more self-centered yet cultural influences and economic exchanges with both China and the West increased dramatically by far. The old institution of the waqf became a political and economic instrument to finance new public and semi-public institutions. In this time Islamic culture as we know it today was formed. The middle decades of the 12th century saw the most dynamic developments in different areas within the society. Witnesses are the increasing literary production and the material culture: Nu¯r al-Dı¯n Mahmu¯d initiated a ˙ vast building program transforming of the cities; the fundamental currency reforms occurred all over Western Asia; new techniques of fritware, gold enamelled glass and inlaid metal were introduced; and urban historiography and legal literature blossomed. The reasons for the transformation are poorly understood and rarely explored. The advent of the Salju¯qs at the end of the 11th century had clearly laid the foundations for change, but the visible acceleration took only place two generations later.10

Not only do the archaeologists Donald Whitcomb11 and Marcus Milwright12 arrive at a similar processive evaluation of the march of social developments such as these, but Konrad Hirschler does the same in his treatise The Written Word in the Medieval Arabic Country: A Social and Cultural History of Reading Practices13 (2013), as does – despite the title! – Bethany J. Walker in her book Jordan in the Late Middle Ages: Transformation of the Mamluk Frontier14 (2011). The gateway to a “Middle Islamic period” as a frame of reference allows us, in regard to Bila¯d al-Sha¯m and Egypt, to involve both the Ayyubid as well as the Ottoman period in process-oriented investigations. Thus, we can now deal with developments for which the establishment or demise of Mamluk rule do not establish an absolute starting block or endpoint. When it comes, for example, to issues of material culture, environmental history, (im)mobility, and border areas (but also to the history of ideas and poetry), it is imperative to consider dynamics and processes that can hardly be understood without going beyond the time of the Mamluk Sultanate and to take account of changes that long predate the Ottoman conquest. The environment is a case in point. Environmental history opens new perspectives by facilitating the effective study of rural societies as a highly mul10 See www.aai.uni-hamburg.de/voror/personen/heidemann/transformation.html (last access 9 September 2016). 11 “Reassessing the Archaeology of Jordan of the Abbasid Period,” SHAJ 4 (1992): 385–390. 12 The Fortress of the Raven. Karak in the Middle Islamic Period (1100–1650) (Leiden: Brill, 2008). 13 Konrad Hirschler, The Written Word in the Medieval Arabic Country: A Social and Cultural History of Reading Practices (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2012). 14 Bethany J. Walker in her book Jordan in the Late Middle Ages: Transformation of the Mamluk Frontier (Chicago: Middle East Documentation Center, 2011). On her approach, see her “Militarization and to Nomadization: The Middle and Late Islamic Periods,” Near Eastern Archaeology 62/4 (1999): 202–232.

Introduction: A Transitional Point of View

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tidisciplinary topic of inquiry. Although well integrated and interdisciplinary in Ottoman studies, research on environmental history is, with exception of a few studies that make no reference to studies in neighboring disciplines, very sparse in Mamluk studies.15 An environmental approach, however, has the potential to overcome the disciplinary isolation and facilitate study of interactions between local communities and natural environments in various respects such as natural-resource management, political ecology, socialized landscapes, and agricultural history. The resilience of rural populations should particularly be taken into account. It should be noted that the concept of resilience is very helpful16 because it denotes the ability of a system to remain stable under pressure and recover after disruption. By invoking this concept, we may better understand why certain communities were able to survive various crises and political upheavals such as conquest by a foreign power. Resilience theory explores the complex relations that exist between natural and anthropogenic systems with all their complex political, economic, and cognitive contexts. Its interest encompasses the physical environment in all its characteristics. The predominant component of the physical environment, climate, however, should not be understood as the determinant of any human behavior; instead, it should be seen as a trigger. Likewise, social conflicts of local communities may be explored by investigating how local populations and authorities struggle over natural resources. Furthermore, since ecological processes always act in the long term and are not tied to political or dynastic transitions, research topics such as these may be considered only comparatively and must be carried out jointly by Ottoman and Mamluk scholars because they represent transformations that are detached from mere events.17 Here we finally arrive at the question of transitional periods. Basically, it comes down to asking how a change in political rule impacts societies overall and how 15 Two forerunner studies for Ottoman environmental history, both in the same year, are Alan Michail, Nature and Empire in Ottoman Egypt: An Environmental History (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011) and White, Sam. The Climate of Rebellion in the Early Modern Ottoman Empire (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011). For an overview, see Onur I˙nal, “Environmental History as an Emerging Field in Ottoman Studies: An Historiographical Overview,” Journal of Ottoman Studies 38 (2011): 1–26. For the studies on environmental disasters and their impact related to the Mamluk period, see William F. Tucker, “Environmental Hazards, Natural Disasters, Economic Loss, and Mortality in Mamluk Syria,” MSR 3 (1999): 109–128; idem: “Miscellanea, Natural Disasters and the Peasantry in Mamluk Egypt,” JESHO 24/2 (1981): 215–224; Yousef Ghawanmeh, “Earthquake Effects on Bilad ashSham Settlements,” SHAJ 5 (2000): 53–59 and Sarah Kate Raphael, Climate and Political Climate. Environmental Disasters in the Medieval Levant, Leiden-Boston, 2013. 16 On this point, see, for instance, Christopher Lyon and John R. Parkins, “Toward a Social Theory of Resilience: Social Systems, Cultural Systems, and Collective Action in Transitioning Forest-Based Communities,” Rural Sociology 78/4 (2013): 528–549. 17 We thank Bethany J. Walker for this assessment of the potential of environmental history.

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long such transformations actually last. The reconfiguration of power relations at the micro, meso, and macro levels and the emergence of new social orders take center stage. To pursue this point, it is apt to quote Linda T. Darling, who formulated the following thoughts in her wonderful wrap-up of our conference18: This conference has shown us several interesting things. One is that within the general topic of the transition of the Arab lands to Ottoman rule there are distinct subtopics around which groups of scholars can gather. These include subjects like governance, the economy, urban and rural life, religion, the built environment, social relations, and literature. We did not even begin to delve into diplomatic and commercial relations, environmental history per se, religious minorities, or a whole host of other possible topics. Another general conclusion is that in some of these areas we are poised on the threshold of exciting new reformulations and insights, while on others we have a lot of work before us until we can get past the stereotypes and conclusions of past generations. One big question that emerged from the papers is that of a turning point. Was there a turning point, and if so, when was it? The date of the Ottoman conquest? A generation later, when the rebellions had died down? After mid-century? Or would it differ depending on the subject matter? Some things – and this is especially true of conquest situations – some things change immediately, rapidly, and definitively. Some things change more gradually, and others not at all or scarcely so. We need to develop different timetables of change depending on whether we are looking at politics, religious orientations, or material culture, for example, and then see how these timetables interact and intersect. It is also important, as several papers showed, that we distinguish between the propaganda pictures, both positive and negative, and the actual course of events when it comes to things like economic change, urban restoration, or construction of irrigation systems. At the same time, we need to look at propaganda and attitudes in their own right, as several papers did. Attitudes appear to vary depending on whether we are hearing from contemporaries or later observers, insiders or outsiders, and we could fruitfully bounce these pictures off each other rather than treating each one as a single voice, more or less authoritative depending on the case. Among the papers there were also several attempts at reconstructing bodies of sources (literally or not so literally) that had been scattered by time, and more of this needs to be done, considering how fragmentary and scattered our source base is.

To assess and evaluate a transitional period properly, a long-range (longue durée) view of the attendant cultural, economic, legal, social, and political processes must be taken. Such an approach is, however, hindered in the case at hand, first of all by disciplinary and related language barriers in addition to the problematic perception of 1516–1517 as a separating caesura. The splitting of Islamic studies from the former discipline of Oriental studies, with Arabic as its main language, on the one hand, and Ottoman studies, on the other hand, has led to the clear demarcation if separate research fields.19 18 Linda T. Darling shared her thoughts with us in writing. From this paper we quote here. 19 Interestingly, there is no specific description of the history of the Ottoman studies since the

Introduction: A Transitional Point of View

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Thus, there are “Mamlukologists,” educated in Islamic studies, who focus extensively on the exploration of the Sultanate on the basis of Arabic sources, and there are “Ottomanists,” whose subject is the Ottoman Empire. The latter, generally speaking, deal more with the perspective of the Center. Research at the provincial level is still rare. Even if both groups gather to discuss, for instance, Ottoman Syria or Ottoman Egypt, each scholar stays unfortunately within his or her subject, thwarting consideration of the aforementioned long-term processes of transformation. Such processes may become significantly apparent only when the period before a change of rule is considered and involved equally in the analysis. If so, what should be done? Again, Linda T. Darling deserves the floor: It struck me that with a great amount of lead time it might be possible to do collaborative work on some of these issues, perhaps by pairing some of the papers presented here and seeing how they could be made to speak more directly to each other, or perhaps by bringing in some people who could not attend this particular conference. Or, for example, what if on each of several topics a Mamlukist and an Ottomanist were to work together to see what they could discover about this transition during the next couple of years? Confronting different types of sources could also be a fruitful procedure. What if you could line up several scholars on the same topic in a chronological row and look at change over time? What if we had time to look for some of these missing sources in various archives?

It is thus urgent in the future, first, to develop a viable analytical approach toward “transitional periods” in the context of comparative empire research or within the framework of recent transcultural considerations on power and rule20 and, second, to overcome the existing separation between the disciplines of Islamic studies. Bila¯d al-Sha¯m and Egypt were incorporated into the Ottoman state between 1516 and 1517 as a result of the defeat of the Mamluk forces in the battles of Marj Da¯biq (1516) and Raydaniyya (1517). Three recognized consequences of this defeat and conquest were the geographical and demographic expansion of the Ottoman Empire, Ottoman control over the sanctuaries in Mecca and Medina, and finally, the defeat of the Ottomans’ long-time rival, the Mamluk Sultanate. nineteenth century. Apart from the articles published in XIII. Türk Tarih Kongresi, Ankara: 4– 8 Ekim 1999. Seksiyon I: Osmanlı Historiyografisi (Ankara, TTK, 2002) and in the issue “Dünyada Türk Tarihçilig˘i” of the TALI˙D 15 (2010), one encounters only a few references in comprehensive works on Oriental studies. An exception is Susanne Mangold, Eine “weltbürgerliche Wissenschaft” – Die deutsche Orientalistik im 19. Jahrhundert (Stuttgart 2004); Suzanne L. Marchand, German Orientalism in the Age of Empire – Religion, Race, and Scholarship (New York: German Historical Institute, 2009); or Ursula Wokoeck, German Orientalism: The Study of the Middle East and Islam from 1800 to 1945 (London 2009). 20 The newly established collaborative research center, SFB 1167 “Macht und Herrschaft – Vormoderne Konfigurationen in transkultureller Perspektive” (www.sfb1167.uni-bonn.de/) promises such a reorientation.

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The conquest took place in an era that saw the largest expansion of the Ottoman Empire, which rose to become a vital player in world history. The flexibility and variety of the Ottomans’ conceptualization and organization of these conquests and their policies in the integrated territories (the so-called “conquest methods”) provide one of the first keys to understanding the period under discussion.21 The sixteenth century is in many ways distinguished from the ensuing periods (i. e., the eighteenth to twentieth centuries) in the political history of Egypt and Bila¯d al-Sha¯m under late Mamluk and early Ottoman rule. Previous research, however, while focusing on the Ottoman conquest as a political and cultural turning point, has downplayed the complexity of state and society in the region. The terms in which terms this watershed should be understood and described remain unclear. Under the new rule and under the influence of Ottoman politics, this former Mamluk core region was divided into two new provinces, each with different characteristics. Egypt, the larger of the two and the largest Ottoman province, had a special position due to its strategic and financial importance for the empire. Bila¯d al-Sha¯m, with its capital in Damascus, however, seems to have been a different case, where the new rulers evidently applied a policy of integrating the new territories into the imperial domain. It goes without saying that political history has largely shaped historians’ perception of the Arab lands under Ottoman rule. A comparative analysis of the history of the two most powerful empires of that time from a transitional point of view, beyond a merely dynastic periodization – namely, a clear-cut distinction between the Mamluk and Ottoman eras – remains a desideratum. Despite the growing interest in both this period and these regions in the field of Mamluk studies,22 little research has taken the period beyond the Ottoman conquest into account, usually stopping its analysis at exactly the political turning point of 1516–1517. When categorizing the studies geographically and chronologically, the vast majority of studies focuses on Egypt rather than on Bila¯d al-Sha¯m and, generally speaking, on the late Ottoman period rather than the sixteenth century.23 The 21 A still timeless classic on the topic is Halil I˙nalcık, “Ottoman Methods of Conquest,” Studia Islamica 2 (1954): 103–29. On the same topic, with emphasis on the consolidation, see Donald Quataert, The Ottoman Empire, 1700–1922, Second Edition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), especially 20–35. See further, e. g., Benjamin Lellouch and Nicolas Michel, Conquête Ottomane De L’Égypte (1517) Arrière-plan, Impact, Échos (Leiden-Boston: Brill, 2013). 22 Stephan Conermann presents the state of research: Conermann, “Quo Vadis, Mamlukology? (A German Perspective),” in Ubi sumus? Quo vademus? Mamluk Studies-State of the Art, ed. idem (Goettingen: V&R unipress/Bonn University Press, 2013). 23 The following seminal works on Bila¯d al-Sha¯m in the late Ottoman period should be noted: Jens Hanssen, Fin de siècle Beirut. The Making of an Ottoman Provincial Capital (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005); on the world economy and local politics, linked through the export of cotton, see Thomas Philipp, Acre. The Rise and Fall of a Palestinian City, 1730–1831 (New York: Columbia University Press, 2001); Stefan Weber, Damascus: Ottoman Modernity

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question of available written sources plays a significant role here. The province of Egypt and the late Ottoman period are richer in primary sources than are the province of Bila¯d al-Sha¯m and the early Ottoman era.24 The Arab provinces of the Ottoman Empire find some attention in general histories of the region.25 Thematically, the core subjects of research remain the history of cities in terms of urban development and social and economic history. Most studies, however, center on the modern period26 and even the research on cities still seems to fall short of the study of previous Mamluk and, from 1516 onward, Ottoman cities in southeastern Anatolia (coeval with northern Bila¯d al-Sha¯m), with only a few noteworthy exceptions.27 Speaking of urban history, the comprehensive oeuvre of Abdul-Karim Rafeq has influenced research on Ottoman Bila¯d al-Sha¯m in a broader context since

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and Urban Transformation 1808–1918 (Arhus: Aarhus University Press, 2009); on jurisprudential debate over the ownership of agricultural land from the sixteenth century onward, see Martha Mundy and Richard Saumarez Smith: Governing the Property, Making the Modern State. Ottoman Syria. Law, Administration and Production in Ottoman Syria (London, New York: I.B. Tauris, 2007). On Ottoman sources for the study of Arab provinces, first of all, Suraiya Faroqhi offers an indispensible introduction: Suraiya Faroqhi, Approaching Ottoman History. An Introduction to the Sources (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). Barbara Kellner-Heinkele gives a detailed overview of written sources and studies on the Ottoman-ruled Arab lands in 1517–1800; see Barbara Kellner-Heinkele, “Der arabische Osten unter osmanischer Herrschaft 1517–1800”; Quellen, in Geschichte der Arabischen Welt, ed. Ulrich Haarmann (Munich: Beck, 1987), 323–364, 708–715. Uriel Heyd introduced the value of the Ottoman Mühimme Defters for the study of the early period in southern Bila¯d al-Sha¯m; see Uriel Heyd, Ottoman Documents on Palestine 1552–1615: A Study of the Firman according to the Mühimme Defteri (Oxford: At the Clarendon Press, 1960). For an earlier study, see P.M. Holt, Egypt and the Fertile Crescent (London: Longmans, 1966); Barbara Kellner-Heikele, “Der arabische Osten unter osmanischer Herrschaft 1517–1800,” in Geschichte der Arabischen Welt, ed. Haarmann, 323–364. See further, Jane Hathaway, The Arab Lands under Ottoman Rule, 1516–1800 (London: Longmans, 2008). E. g., on Ottoman Acre, Beirut, Damascus, Cairo, Aleppo, and Baghdad within the framework of the late Ottoman modernization process, see The Empire in the City. Arab Provincial Capitals in the Late Ottoman Empire, ed. Jens Hanssen, Thomas Philipp, Stefan Weber (Würzburg: Ergon Verlag, 2002). For an architectural study, see Heghnar Watenpaugh, The Image of an Ottoman City. Imperial Architecture and Urban Experience in Aleppo in the 16th and 17th Centuries (Leiden: Brill, 2004). James A. Reilly published several studies on the social and economic history and the historiography of Ottoman cities: on Hama, see idem A Small Town in Syria: Ottoman Hama in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries (Bern and London: Peter Lang, 2002); on Lebanese cities, see idem, The Ottoman Cities of Lebanon: Historical Legacy and Identity in the Modern Middle East (London: I. B. Tauris, 2016). E. g., on the history of the cities Tarsus, Malatya, Ayınta¯b (Gaziantep) and Mardin, see Çetin Altan, Memluk Devleti’nin Kuzey Sınırı (Ankara: TTK, 2009); on the architecture of the southern Anatolian city Mersin, see Filiz Yenis¸ehirliog˘lu, Mersin: “The Formation of a Tanz¯ıma¯t City in Southern Turkey,” in The Empire in the City. Arab Provincial Capitals in the Late˙ Ottoman Empire, ed. Jens Hanssen, Thomas Philipp, Stefan Weber (Würzburg: Ergon Verlag, 2002), 253–274.

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the1970s.28 Rafeq, although very willing to enrich our conference in 2015 in Bonn, could not join us at that time. His studies on Damascus, based on court records, prepare the ground for future work.29 André Raymond (1925–2011), an urban historian himself, devotes himself to the history of Arab cities in several publications.30 In his major study, Grandes villes arabes à l’époque ottoman, he demonstrates that, and in what way, existing structures of social and urban organization in the Arab major cities did survive under Ottoman rule, thus disproving the previously prevalent assumption that the Ottoman conquest set in motion a general decline of urban civilization.31 The contributions to the volume at hand perceive early Ottoman rule in Egypt and Bila¯d al-Sha¯m not as a change of ruling dynasties that had a direct and radical impact on administration and society but as a time of transition. The assumption of heterogeneity in Mamluk and Ottoman statehood has induced many scholars not to regard the sixteenth century as such a period. This, along with the problem of having to consider primary sources in two different languages, left this interval with scanty scholarly attention until the recent past. In the continuation of this literature review, we will specify certain studies that we consider forerunners to the field of interest in this volume because they bring an epoch-spanning perspective to research on Egypt and Bila¯d al-Sha¯m. Ottoman Egypt at the time under discussion is introduced to us first in the early 1990s by Michael Winter, a leading historian on both the Mamluk and Ottoman periods. Among his several studies on the Mamluk–Ottoman transition, his Egyptian Society under Ottoman Rule 1517–1798 is, due to its recourse to both Ottoman and Arabic sources, one the first works that tells the social history of the relevant area via different groups from ruling class to Bedouin tribes and tariqas.32 Thomas Philipp (1941–2015), a proven expert on early 28 Among his other studies, Abdul-Karim Rafeq provides insights on Ottoman Damascus: The Province of Damascus, 1723–1783 (Beirut: Khayats, 1966). 29 For a compiled bibliography of his works until 2010, see Timothy Fitzgerald, “Bibliography of the Published Works of Abdul-Karim Rafeq,” in Syria and Bilad al-Sham under Ottoman Rule: Essays in Honour of Abdul-Karim Rafeq, ed. Peter Sluglett and Stefan Weber (LeidenBoston: Brill, 2010), 47–56. 30 André Raymond, Arab Cities in the Ottoman Period: Cairo, Syria and the Maghreb (London: Ashgate Variorum, 2002). 31 André Raymond, Grandes villes arabes à l’époque ottoman (Paris: Sindbad, 1985); a concise translation into English: The Great Arab Cities in the 16th–18th Centuries: An Introduction (New York, London: New York University Press, 1984). 32 Michael Winter, Egyptian Society under Ottoman Rule 1517–1798 (London: Routledge, 1992). His earlier study focuses on the schools of law in the early Ottoman period in Egypt; see Michael Winter, Society and Religion in Early Ottoman Egypt. Studies in the Writings of ‘Abd al-Wahha¯b al-Shaʾra¯nı¯ (New Brunswick- London: Transaction Books 1982). Winter traces the experience of two major Sufi networks (of Ibn Maymu¯n and al-Shaʾra¯nı¯) that witnessed the two dynasties, see idem, “Sufism in the Mamluk Empire (and in early Ottoman Egypt and

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modern Syria, and Ulrich Haarmann (1942–1999), “the grand old man” of Mamluk studies, were the first scholars to adopt a supra-epochal perspective in a volume published in 1998. The title of that work, The Mamluks in Egyptian Politics and Society, is therefore somewhat misleading. The result of a conference in Germany in 1994, it comprises a number of seminal studies that cover both the Mamluk and Ottoman periods in Egypt and Bila¯d al-Sha¯m.33 In particular, Jane Hathaway’s and Michael Winter’s contributions on Mamluk households and the Mamluk revival in Ottoman Egypt, respectively, deal precisely with the question of continuity and changes in the transition from Mamluk to Ottoman rule. Thomas Philipp traces the survival of Mamluk traditions beyond the sixteenth century and Daniel Crecelius focuses on the loyalty of eighteenth-century Egyptian households to Ottoman rule. André Raymond and Doris BehrensAbouseif, basing themselves on earlier studies, offer a comprehensive survey of urban society in both pre-Ottoman and Ottoman Cairo. Raymond, analyzing the history of Cairo by focusing of the ruling elite’s residential areas in the city through the Mamluk period and the first two centuries of Ottoman rule, concludes that continuity did exist at least until the eighteenth century.34 In her investigation of urban patronage, Behrens-Abouseif also compares both periods, concluding that “Cairo’s urban development in the Ottoman period was not dictated by a central policy or guided by an imperial vision. It was rather pragmatic and conservative. Thanks to this policy, the Mamluk heritage was maintained and preserved until modern times.”35 Egypt and Bila¯d al-Sha¯m from the establishment of the Mamluk Sultanate to the eighteenth century, well into the Ottoman era, is the subject of many studies

Syria) as a focus for religious, intellectual and social networks,” in Everything is on the Move. The Mamluk Empire as a Node in (Trans)Regional Networks, ed. Stephan Conermann (Goettingen: V&R unipress/Bonn University Press, 2014). In a much earlier study, Stanford J. Shaw presents Ottoman Egypt on the basis of his edition and translation of an eighteenthcentury Ottoman primary source, a Nizamna¯me; see Ottoman Egypt in the Eighteenth Cen˙ Ahmed Pasha, ed. and trans. Stanford J. Shaw tury. The Nizâmnâme-i Mısır of Cezzâr ˙ ¯ lı¯’s (Cambridge, ˙MA: Harvard University Press,˙ 1962). The Ottoman historian Mustafa¯ ʿA ˙˙ observations, committed to writing during his stay in Cairo in the late sixteenth century, are ¯ lı¯’s Description still an understudied primary source for the transition period; see Mustafa¯ ʿA ˙ of Cairo of 1599. Text, transliteration, translation, notes, ed. and ˙trans. Andreas Tietze (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1975). 33 Thomas Philipp and Ulrich Haarmann (eds.), The Mamluks in Egyptian Politics and Society (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). 34 André Raymond, “The Residential Districts of Cairo’s Elite in the Mamluk and Ottoman Periods (Fourteenth to Eighteenth Centuries,” in The Mamluks in Egyptian Politics and Society, ed. Philipp and Haarmann, 207–223. 35 Doris Behrens-Abouseif, “Patterns of Urban Patronage in Cairo: A Comparison between the Mamluk and the Ottoman periods,” in The Mamluks in Egyptian Politics and Society , ed. Philipp and Haarmann, 233 (224–234).

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in Michael Winter’s and Amalia Levanoni’s thematically diverse 2004 volume.36 It is illuminating to see how the Mamluks were visible in eighteenth-century Acre, in the Jazza¯r Ahma¯d Pasha’s Mamluk household (Thomas Philipp), within the ˙ local aristocracy of Mamluk origin as registered in the Ottoman administrative documents for waqfs in sixteenth-century Syria (Michael Winter), in popular genres as a memory of the Mamluk past – an impressive contribution by Jane Hathaway – and in the estates of military officers in the late seventeenth century (Andreé Raymond), both contributions – Winter’s and Raymond’s – in the Egyptian context.37 Even though the 2006 Festschrift in honor of Michael Winter. “Mamluks and Ottomans,” aims at the historical experience of Arabic-speaking societies during the fourteenth to eighteenth centuries, and even though the editors raise the issue of the neglected real continuity and the changes that were affected, it is only Miri Shefer’s contribution on court physicians that actually spans both periods. In 2009, Turcica published the proceedings of a colloquium on “Mamelukes, Turks, and Ottomans,” held at the College de France in 2008. While the first three contributions in this collection deal with the period before the Ottoman conquest, the other articles take an epoch-spanning approach, particularly those of Gilles Veinstein38 and Julien Loiseau,39 respectively, on the importance of the pilgrimage and on funeral ceremonies and mausoleums for the representation of power in Egypt before and after 1517, and of Nicholas Michel40 on continuities in iqta¯ʿ and land administration. ˙ The results of the 2008 colloquium encouraged Benjamin Lellouch and Nicolas Michel to convene several prolific scholars for a discussion of the prehistory and effects of the Ottoman conquest of Egypt in a volume published in 2013.41 While the contributions of the resulting volume of proceedings discuss the prehistory and impact of the Ottoman conquest in regard to politics and culture in the Mediterranean region, a number of articles focus on the events from a 36 Michael Winter and Amalia Levanoni (eds.), The Mamluks in Egyptian and Syrian Politics and Society (Leiden-Boston: Brill, 2004). 37 See the following articles in the same volume: Thomas Philipp, “The Last Mamluk Household,” 317–338; Michael Winter, “Mamluks and their Households in Late Mamluk Damascus: A waqf Study,” 297–316; Jane Hathaway, “Mamluk ‘revivals’ and Mamluk Nostalgia in Ottoman Egypt,” 387–406; André Raymond, “The Wealth of the Egyptian Emirs at the End of the Seventeenth Century,” 359–372. 38 Gilles Veinstein, “Le serviteur des deux saints sanctuaires et ses mahmal. Des Mamelouks aux Ottomans,” in Turcica 41 (2009): 229–246. 39 Julien Loiseau, “Le tombeau des sultans: constructions monumentales et strategies funéraires dans les sultanats mamelouk et ottoman,” Turcica 41 (2009): 305–340. 40 Nicholas Michel, “Disparition et persistance de l’iqta¯ʿ en Egypte après la conquête ottomane,” ˙ Turcica 41 (2009): 341–350. 41 Benjamin Lellouch and Nicholas Michel (eds.), Conquête Ottomane De L’Égypte (1517) Arrière-plan, Impact, Échos (Leiden: Brill, 2013).

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trans-epochal perspective. In this context, the contributions of Lellouch and Nelly Hanna42 the policies of Selı¯m I toward the Mamluk elite and on the administration of Egypt after 1517, respectively, of Julien Loiseau on urban structures before and after the conquest, and of Michael Winter and Doris Behrens-Abouseif on the impact of Ottoman rule43 are noteworthy. Another contribution, obliquely titled relative to its subject, is Nicolas Michel’s “The Circassians Have Burned the Books,”44 analyzing the change of power within the administration of Egypt and the role of Mamluk officials during the post-1517 transition period. The studies in Peter Sluglett’s and Stefan Weber’s volume (2010) carefully examine Bila¯d al-Sha¯m in various aspects such as economics, urban institutions, and society in different periods including those preceding the nineteenth century.45 Stefan Weber46 offers an urban history of the port city of Sidon from the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries; Thomas Philipp47 analyzes the impact of the Ottoman conquest on the economy of Bila¯d al-Sha¯m. In his most recent publication (2016), Toru Miura produces a detailed social history of one quarter in Damascus, Sa¯lihiyya, from the Mamluk period to the nineteenth century. In his ˙ ˙ examination of personal networks, waqf surveys, and properties, based on a variety of official registers in the early Ottoman period, he provides very instructive insights into the administration and institutions of the relevant urban environment more generally.48 42 Benjamin Lellouch, “La politique mamelouke de Selı¯m Ier,” in Conquête Ottomane De L’Égypte (1517) Arrière-plan, Impact, Échos, ed. Benjamin Lellouch and Nicholas Michel (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 165–210; Nelly Hanna, “Egyptian Civilian Society and Tax-Farming in the Aftermath of the Ottoman Conquest,” in Conquête Ottomane De L’Égypte (1517) Arrière-plan, Impact, Échos, ed. Benjamin Lellouch and Nicholas Michel (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 211–224. 43 Michael Winter, “The Ottoman Conquest and Egyptian Culture,” in Conquête Ottomane De L’Égypte (1517) Arrière-plan, Impact, Échos, ed. Benjamin Lellouch and Nicholas Michel (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 287–302; Doris Behrens-Abouseif, “The Ottoman Conquest of Egypt and the Arts,” in Conquête Ottomane De L’Égypte (1517) Arrière-plan, Impact, Échos, ed. Benjamin Lellouch and Nicholas Michel (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 303–326. 44 Nicolas Michel, “Les Circassiens avaient brûlé les registres,” in Conquête Ottomane De L’Égypte (1517) Arrière-plan, Impact, Échos, ed. Benjamin Lellouch and Nicholas Michel (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 225–268. 45 Peter Sluglett and Stefan Weber (eds.), Syria and Bilad al-Sham under Ottoman Rule Essays in Honour of Abdul Karim Rafeq (Leiden-Boston: Brill, 2010). 46 Stefan Weber, “The Making of an Ottoman Harbour Town: Sidon/Saida from the Sixteenth to the Eighteenth Centuries,” in Syria and Bilad al-Sham under Ottoman Rule. Essays in Honour of Abdul Karim Rafeq, ed. Peter Sluglett and Stefan Weber (Leiden-Boston: Brill, 2010), 179– 241. 47 Thomas Philipp, “The Economic Impact of the Ottoman Conquest on Bilad al-Sham,” in Syria and Bilad al-Sham under Ottoman Rule. Essays in Honour of Abdul Karim Rafeq, ed. Peter Sluglett and Stefan Weber (Leiden-Boston: Brill, 2010), 101–114. 48 Toru Miura, Dynamism in the Urban Society of Damascus. The Sa¯lihiyya Quarter from the ˙ 174–204. ˙ Twelfth to the Twentieth Centuries (Leiden: Brill, 2016), especially See also, Astrid

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When the features of the Ottoman provinces are set within a broad framework of center and periphery at the administrative level, one sees plainly that administration did function differently in the central provinces than in the periphery in many senses.49 The perception of “periphery” is extended to “frontier” or “borderland” research, allowing us to speak rather of “frontier studies.”50 This is a much more specific field of research than provincial history, thus, the question of continuity and change in the frontiers of the empires seems different than it is in the core lands. Considering southern Bila¯d al-Sha¯m a “frontier zone” under Ottoman rule, Kamal Abdalfattah and Wolf-Dieter Hütteroth’s study on fiscal activities in late-sixteenth-century Transjordan and Palestine, based on an Ottoman detailed register (mufassal defter), has been an outstanding reference book since the late 1970s.51 This work is followed by Muhammad Adnan Bakhit’s pioneering study, referenced in all subsequent research, on Damascus Province.52 We are indebted to Muhammad Adnan Bakhit’s highly relevant studies on the southern Bila¯d al-Sha¯m, particularly Jordan, not only in his pioneering The Ottoman Province of Damascus in the Sixteenth Century but also in a plethora of studies on local elements such as families and tribes in regard to their role as subjects and also in their importance as players in local administration, taxation, and the establishment of endowments. Bakhit’s publications deal with Ottoman administrative units (liva¯ʿ) such as Shobak, Ajlun, al-Salt, and Sidon, and with those in sixteenth-century Palestine such as Safad, Lajjun, Nablus, Jerusalem, and Gaza.53 The diversity of the local population and its notables, tribes, and families

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Meier, “Patterns of Family Formation in Early Ottoman Damascus: Three Military Households in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries,” Syria and Bilad al-Sham under Ottoman Rule. Essays in Honour of Abdul Karim Rafeq, ed. Peter Sluglett and Stefan Weber (LeidenBoston: Brill, 2010), 347–370. Metin Kunt, basing himself on prosopographical sources, demonstrates how the central power successfully transformed several provincial administrations in the second half of the sixteenth century and the first half of the seventeenth centuries; see Metin Kunt, The Sultan’s Servants: The Transformation of Ottoman Provincial Government, 1550–1650 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983). For a discussion on these terms relating to the Mediterranean region, see Linda T. Darling, “The Mediterranean as a Borderland,” Review of Middle East Studies, 46, 1 (2012), 54–63. Eugene L. Rogan’s earlier study considers Transjordan a frontier; see Eugene L. Rogan, Frontiers of the State in the Late Ottoman Empire. Transjordan, 1850–1921 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). Wolf-Dieter Hütteroth and Kamal Abdulfattah, Historical Geography of Palestine, Transjordan and Southern Syria in the late 16th Century (Erlangen: Frankische Geographische Gesellschaft, 1977). Muhammad Adnan Bakhit, The Ottoman Province of Damascus in the Sixteenth Century (Beirut: Librairie du Liban, 1982). On the non-Muslim population, see “The Christian Population of the Province of Damascus in the 16th Century,” in Muhammad Adnan Bakhit, Studies in the History of Bila¯d al-Sha¯m in the Sixteenth Century, introduced and co-edited by Thaer T.Al-Kadi (Amman: Jordan Uni-

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is documented in Bakhit’s analyses of Ottoman documents and cadastral registers (tapu defteri). In her aforementioned interdisciplinary study on Mamluk Transjordan (2011), Walker, in the chapter on Ottoman Transjordan, demonstrates how rural life in Transjordan changed only in a lengthy process, the Ottoman conquest causing no discontinuity whatsoever.54 A transitional approach is applied mostly in the studies on archaeology and material culture, through which multi-period analysis reveals changes and continuities in daily and cultural life. Only in recent times has the Ottoman period begun to find its place in archaeological studies specifically.55 With special focus on archaeological and historical aspects, the route of pilgrimage to Ottoman-ruled Mecca has been the subject of many studies.56 The part of this route that crosses Syria and Transjordan is nicely illuminated in a very recent study that documents, among other things, the architectural features of the stations that served Bedouin tribes and Ottoman officials as staging points.57 At this point, we should emphasize once again the potential of environmental history for the study of transitional periods. Adopting a trans-epochal approach to this field, Stuart Borsch deals with two major historical issues in the Egyptian history: the irrigation system and the Black Death. In his very recent Medieval Egyptian Economic Growth: the Maryu¯t Lagoon (2016), Borsch facilitates – despite his ˙ focus on 1250–1347 period of the Mamluk Sultanate – a long-range analysis of the economy in the Maryu¯t region of the Nile Delta.58 In his further studies on the ˙ impacts of plague outbreaks on the Egyptian economy, Borsch investigates the functioning, control, and maintenance of Egypt’s irrigation system. In this manner, the combination of quantitative investigation and textual analysis re-

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versity Press, 2009), 69–11. The articles in this section of Bakhit’s book reflect the diversity of the potential research fields. Walker, Jordan in the Late Middle Ages, 273–288. For a recent contribution focusing on pottery, see Bethany J. Walker (ed.), Archaeological and Ethnographic Studies on the Pottery of the Ottoman Levant (Boston-MA: American Schools of Oriental Research, 2009). For an earlier contribution, see Uzi Baram and Lynda Carroll, “The Future of the Ottoman Past,” in ed. idem, A Historical Archaeology of the Ottoman Empire. Breaking New Ground (New York: Kluwer Academic/Plenum Publishers, 2002), 3–32. Baram and Carroll discuss the issue and suggest several approaches, e. g., studying Ottoman archaeology as “historical archaeology” and in the broader context of “Middle Eastern studies.” E. g., Suraiya Faroqhi, Pilgrims and Sultans under the Ottomans, 1517–1683 (London: I.B. Tauris, 1994). Abdul-Karim Rafeq, “New Light on the Transportation of the Damascene Pilgrimage during the Ottoman Period”, Islamic and Middle Eastern Societies: A Festschrift in Honor of Professor Wadie Jwaideh (Brattleboro, VT: Amana Books, 1987), 127–136. Andrew Petersen, The Medieval and Ottoman Hajj Route in Jordan: An Archaeological and Historical Study; with contributions by Michael Diboll [et al.] (Oxford: Oxbow, 2012). Stuart Borsch, “Medieval Egyptian Economic Growth: the Maryu¯t Lagoon,” in History and ˙ Society during the Mamluk Period (1250–1517). Studies of the Annemarie Schimmel Institute for Advanced Study II, ed. Stephan Conermann (Goettingen: V&R unipress/Bonn University Press, 2016), 173–197.

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veals the development of the irrigation system, the pandemic, and depopulation, as well as their impacts on the agrarian economy through the centuries.59 This volume surmounts conventional concepts of periodization and addresses the notion of transition by investigating various aspects of its topic via fourteen contributions, each turning to previously unaddressed focal points and providing important results. It is an impressive achievement given the extreme paucity of sources for the transitional period discussed. After Michael Winter’s opening essay, we editors divided the contributions into three main categories: Egypt, Syria, and Mamluks-Ottomans. Methodological approaches toward the contributions range from classical textual sources to archaeology, reflecting the possibilities of research on a welter of relevant topics. In his opening essay, Winter points out the distinctions between two former centers and two distinctive imperial provinces. Egypt, with its economic potential and rich agricultural base, was a special case, whereas Bila¯d al-Sha¯m was important as a transit area among major pilgrimage routes, with Damascus as a major center of scholarship and strong and stable administration. Winter also outlines the respective prejudices and stereotypes of the conquerors and the conquered in both regions. His inspiring thoughts on the transitional approach, offered from the perspective of a leading scholar, provide a framework within which scholars may be guided through the ensuing studies. Four contributions to the section on Egypt deal with different contexts of the largest and richest domain of both empires on the basis of both Arabic and Ottoman written sources. Paulina B. Lewicka discusses a hybrid Mamluk-Ottoman cultural spirit that salvages knowledge from the previous period after an “acculturative process” in the extraordinary complex urban environment of Cairo via a reconfiguration of Hippocratic-Galenic and prophetic medicine. This local medical culture, reflected in a guide by the Egyptian Sufi al-Muna¯wı¯ (d. 1631), Memorandum on Decent Behavior, embodies the Mamluk heritage in the daily life of post-Mamluk Cairo. In an edifying investigation, Lewicka demonstrates the possibility of studying this topic through a rich source such as alMuna¯wı¯’s unedited Tadhkara by setting this religious scholar of high-rank and his compendium in the cultural and social context of the transition period. Wakako Kumakura examines the way the Ottomans developed their administration of Egypt in the direction of centralization by focusing on the management of water use in Fayyu¯m Province – an area of perennial irrigation 59 E. g. on the trend of wages and prices, see Stuart Borsch, “Subsistence or Succumbing? Falling Wages in an Era of Plague,” Annemarie Schimmel Kolleg Working Paper, 2014. https://www. mamluk.uni-bonn.de/publications/working-paper/ask-wp-13.pdf; idem, “Plague Depopulation and Irrigation Decay in Medieval Egypt,” in the special inaugural issue Pandemic Disease in the Medieval World: Rethinking the Black Death, ed. Monica H. Green, The Medieval Globe 1 (2014): 125–156.

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supplied by the Yusuf Canal and an important location as a producer of summer crops and fruit. The change in the management of records on maintenance in Fayyu¯m may be regarded as a step of incorporating traditional local rural governance into the Ottoman bureaucratic administration. Thus, Kumakura presents the imperial perspective on the local level within a broader economic framework. Claudia Römer’s contribution introduces readers to a variety of official documents that were included in various sixteenth-century works and integrated by their historian-authors into historical narrative accounts as a potential way to reconstruct lost documents. Her case study concerns the official mission of the Grand Vizier I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha from Istanbul to Egypt in 1525, shortly after the conquest. The examination of his decrees and reports to the court and the imperial decrees given to him during his journey to the former Mamluk province provides insights into Ottoman chancery practice in the early transition period. On the basis of several of the best known Ottoman sources, such as Mustafa¯ Bostan’s Süleyma¯nna¯me, Römer describes, in a manner that ˙˙ stimulates further studies, how the chancery and decision-making functioned far from the central government. Another prominent Ottoman source, Evliya¯ Çelebi’s (d. 1682) Seyahatna¯me is the subject of Michael Winter’s second con˙ tribution. By analyzing the depiction of the Ottoman conquest in the traveler Evliya¯ Çelebi’s account, Winter discusses the reliability and the disaccord between this source and various Arab chroniclers. He also investigates the origins of the administrative changes that the Ottoman Sultan Selı¯m I introduced before the sultan returned to his capital, as described by Evliya¯. The section on Syria comprises four contributions on fiscal administration, poetry, and urban history. Linda T. Darling takes a closer look at the administrative transition between the empires. She emphasizes, first of all, the potential of the Ottoman mühimme defters (registers for important state matters) for the writing of a fiscal history that would explore negotiation processes to understand the conditions in sixteenth-century Syria beyond political and military history, which have been tackled prominently in this field. These registers – most still available in the archives, although those for the first three decades after the conquest do not survive – and the imperial decrees that they contain provide the most detailed data on the bureaucratic aspect of Ottoman rule in the provinces. Darling discusses some typical problems specific to Syria’s fiscal administration, focusing on a specific case involving a joint probe by officials from Syria and Egypt that highlights the state’s fiscal priorities. Consulting a range of mühimme registers, she describes fiscal practices and personnel in the Ottoman-ruled Arab lands and compares their outcomes with those of the Mamluk administration. When it comes to the cultural environment of Syria, outputs in the field of poetry may yield diverse insights into the transitional cultural life. Alev Masarwa presents biographical data on the sixteenth-century Damascene poet Ma¯mayya

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ar-Ru¯mı¯ (d.1577 or 1579) and the poetic characteristics of his compendium Garden of the Ardent Yearner and the Joy of the Lovers. She focuses particular attention on the chronograms, a common elaborate strategy for the indirect indication of a specific time. Her highly instructive and comprehensive study of these chronograms, which decorated many imperial buildings in Damascus, not only demonstrates that this was an era of artful encoding and decoding but also shows how the chronograms as a symbolic order can help to reconstruct historical events at the imperial and local levels. A contribution to the urban history of Damascus is made by Toru Miura in respect of notable ʿulama¯ʾ families. Focusing on the turning point from Mamluk to the Ottoman rule in Damascus, he asks, on the basis of narrative and archival sources (mainly the accounts of Ibn Tu¯lu¯n [d. 1546] and Ibn al-Himsı¯ [d. 1528]) whether sociopolitical changes ˙ ˙ continued or ceased after the Ottoman conquest. Miura also discusses the “decline” paradigm that the aforementioned local historians applied to the Mamluk Sultanate and, through his study of families, the positions of the influential schools of law. Torsten Wollina also contributes to the Damascene urban history by focusing on the urban revival of Damascus. The urban reconstruction of Damascus, he argues, was already under way in the late fifteenth century, during the Mamluk era, and continued through the sixteenth century, with the Ottomans in control. By so contending, he illuminates the early Ottoman policy of architectural patronage. Wollina, taking recourse to Lefebvre’s theory of space, explains which role of architecture served both imperial administrations in the provinces as well as others, as a tool for the attainment of power. The final section, “Mamluks-Ottomans,” comprises five contributions. Drawing on Arabic, Ottoman, and European sources, Timothy J. Fitzgerald reconstructs the late-Mamluk legal and political scene in the Levantine town of Aleppo by analyzing the Ottoman conquest of that city and the first several decades of imperial rule there from a comparative perspective, demonstrating the varied response of the Ottoman agents even within the region. By focusing attention so closely, Fitzgerald presents significant findings and disproves the textbook assumption that this strategically important provincial center was incorporated into the Ottoman system with the same ease by which it was militarily defeated. In contrast, he argues that the construction of Ottoman imperial order was a lengthy and difficult process. Conflicts surrounding questions of law, taxation, and religious and political identity flared frequently. Violence was endemic and daily life was precarious as Aleppines and state agents struggled to establish an acceptable modus vivendi. Yet conditions in sixteenth-century Aleppo were not unique. To place matters in perspective, Fitzgerald’s study compares events in Aleppo with what was occurring globally in this age of violent conquest and early modern imperial formation. A Mamluk-Ottoman perspective converges in the travelers’ accounts that Yehoshua Frenkel examines. After the “geography of power”

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changed, many scholars traveled from Arabic-speaking provinces to the Turkishspeaking cities in Asia Minor and beyond. Analyzing the depictions of Arab travelers such as al-Ghazzı¯ al-Dimashqı¯ (d. 1577), Frenkel demonstrates a clear continuation of Mamluk scholarship deep into the Ottoman era, portraying the relationship between Istanbul and contemporary Damascene and Arab sages and supporting the view of their attitude toward the new Ottoman Sultanate as neutral. Cihan Yüksel Muslu sheds light on two geographical areas that, although not far from provincial centers, are largely unknown: the northern border of the bygone Mamluk Empire and the southeastern part of its Ottoman successor. She focuses on a number of today’s Anatolian towns and problematizes in particular the transition, attending to various attempts to reorganize administration in these Mamluk-Ottoman borderlands, as may be gleaned from a preliminary survey of records. Drawing an administrative picture of this region by studying Ottoman tahrı¯r defters (registers), Yüksel Muslu demonstrates how this borderland was an ˙ area of struggle first among three major empires – Ottomans, Mamluks, and Safavids – as well as the local Dulkadirid Principality, and later between the lastmentioned and the Ottomans. Thus, she reveals the complex imperial transition that occurred between 1516 and 1530 in this very specific region. One of the most salient historical figures during and after the Ottoman conquest, also mentioned in many articles in the present volume, is Ja¯nbirdı¯ al-Ghaza¯lı¯ (d. 1521). Gül S¸en focuses on this governor of Damascus – first under the Mamluks, then under the Ottomans – as a transitional figure by examining sixteenth-century Ottoman historical writing. She discusses the narrative modus operandi of historians to understand how they made a moral tale out of a failed anti-Ottoman rebellion that flowed from a later claim to sovereignty by this transitional figure. By revealing the fictional potential of the coeval historiography with its claim for factuality, S¸en offers a way to read known narrative sources from a new perspective that yields a different understanding of famous figures and events and an indirect textual representation of sovereignty. The rural landscape of the southern Bila¯d al-Sha¯m is traced archaeologically by Bethany J. Walker with a focus on the material culture (ceramics and vernacular architecture), settlement, and land use, each presented in regard to Transjordan and historical Palestine on the base of several archaeological surveys. Thus, she gives insights into this region, which looks so different from urban centers archaeologically as well. The resulting finding is that the transitional aspect of the sixteenth century – the aspect and the period under discussion – is apparently most visible in the life of local communities. Walker contends that the transition of land administration in Syria was desultory at both local and rural levels. A strong regionalism appears in the material culture as the most important characteristic of the century at issue. She also highlights the importance of a dialogue between archaeologists and historians for a better understanding of local history after the Ottoman conquest of Syria.

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Map. Eastern Mediterranean, Aegean and the Black Sea. Kita¯b-ı bahriye (Book on Navigation) by Pı¯rı¯ Reʾı¯s (d. 1554 CE). This is a seventeenth- century edition. ˙Walters Ms. W.658, fol. 63b. Reproduced with permission of The Walters Art Museum, Baltimore.

Michael Winter

Egypt and Syria in the Sixteenth Century

The events of the first decades of the sixteenth century are recorded by two excellent eyewitness chroniclers, Muhammad b. Iya¯s (d. ca. 1524) 1 in Cairo, and ˙ Shams al-Din b. Tu¯lu¯n (d. 1546) in Damascus. Other sources are available, but ˙ these two important chroniclers and biographers record the fullest, liveliest, and most direct and credible story of the transition of Syria and Egypt from the Mamluk to the Ottoman rule, standing out as the best chroniclers of the sixteenth century. Both wrote diaries that show day by day how a new regime replaced the old one. Moreover, they describe the attitudes of the local populations to the new masters and their policies. They were very different from each other, and unknowingly complete each other. Ibn Iya¯s was one of awla¯d al-na¯s, the sons of the Mamluks. This social status gave him both intimate knowledge of the military and political elite, as well as empathy for the subject people. He combined ways to get inside information from the government, with understanding of the common people. His language and style are fluent and lively, but not grammatical, often mixed with colloquial expressions. Although he identified with the Mamluks, he was sincere enough to criticize them for their misdeeds. His characterization of the sultans is usually credible. Ibn Iya¯s was a great, but also the last, link in the rich tradition of Egyptian historiography during the Mamluk era. The tradition stops abruptly at his death, six years after the Ottoman conquest. It cannot be determined whether this gap in history writing occurred because Egypt was relegated from the center of an empire to the periphery of another, or because a great part of the sixteenth century passed peacefully without major political upheavals. The fact remains that the next important chronicler to write about Egypt’s events, Muhammad b. Abi’l-Suru¯r al-Bakrı¯ al-Siddı¯qı¯ (d. 1676), lived only in the next century. He was a ˙

1 M. Winter, “Ibn Iyas,” https://ottomanhistorians.uchicago.edu/en/historians/61, accessed 15 May 2016.

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scion of an aristocratic Sufi family, and the most distinguished historian of Egypt in the late sixteenth century and the first part of the seventeenth century.2 Other sources for the history of Egypt’s transition to Ottoman rule include an interesting chronicle of Egypt, written in Ottoman Turkish by ‘Abd al-Samad al˙ Diya¯rbakrı¯, a qa¯d¯ı who served in Egypt during the period immediately after the ˙ 3 Ottoman conquest. His work closely follows the fifth part of Ibn Iya¯s’s Bada¯’i‘ alzuhu¯r fı¯ waqa¯’i‘ al-duhu¯r. Many parts of the Turkish text are translations from the Arabic, and a particular benefit of this work is the translation of Arabic terminology into Turkish. Yet, this work continues Ibn Iya¯s’s narrative by two and a half years. This is an important addition, because it covers the rebellion of Ahmed Pasha Hain, “the Traitor,” against the Ottoman state and the Bedouin shaykhs’ part in this uprising and its aftermath. The writings of ‘Abd al-Wahha¯b al-Sha‘ra¯nı¯ (d. 1565), the greatest Sufi writer in the sixteenth century in Egypt, are interesting for students of Sufism and of society, but are of little use for political history. Still, amid mystical reflections, he adds passages against the Ottoman occupation, or a hint criticizing the qa¯nu¯n, the sultans’ law, as different from the sharı¯‘a.4 An unusual chronicle in Hebrew was written in 1523 by a Rabbi Eliyahu Capsali, who lived in Crete.5 It was quite unusual at this time for Jews to write history. The information about Egypt must have been given by a source on the spot, and reflects the reactions of Egyptian Jewry. Capsali regarded the Ottoman victories over the Mamluks, and also over the Venetians, as heaven-sent. He calls the Mamluks “enemies of the Jews,” and the Ottoman sultans “charitable kings.” The Turkish archives of the Bas¸bakanlık (Prime Minister’s Office) in Istanbul hold precious information about the issues of concern to the Ottoman government. Yet, even the archival sources concerning Egypt become abundant only toward the end of Sultan Süleyma¯n’s reign, leaving a gap of five crucial decades from the Ottoman conquest. The best corpus of documents for the period under study is the imperial decrees preserved in the mühimme defterleri that often refer to earlier periods. The main issues mentioned are the military, the Arab tribes, the religious minorities, and the Yemen. Of special interest are the Turkish military terms.

2 On him, see, Abdul-Karim Rafeq, “Ibn Abi l-Suru¯r and his Works,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, 38/1 (1975), 24–31. 3 The important text has been studied thoroughly by Benjamin Lellouch, Les Ottomans en Egypte: historiens et conquérants au XVIe siècle (Louvain/Dudley, MA, 2006). 4 M. Winter, “al-Shara¯nı¯,” https://ottomanhistorians.uchicago.edu/en/historians/78, accessed 15 May 2016. 5 Rabbi Eliyahu Capsali, Seder Eliyahu Zuta, eds. A. Shmuelevitz, Sh. Simonson and M. Benayahu (Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, 1975, 1977, 1983), 3 vols [in Hebrew].

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Shams al-Dı¯n Muhammad b. Tu¯lu¯n6 of Damascus was a learned ‘a¯lim, an ˙ ˙ expert in the sciences of Islam. He came from a Turkish family, but did not speak Turkish. He was a prolific writer, and a serious historian and biographer. Ibn Tu¯lu¯n hated cruelty and injustice, regardless of who caused them. He was sen˙ sitive to the suffering of young camels looking for their mothers. He was a humanist. His most important chronicle is a history of Syria and Egypt.7 He wrote a useful history of the qa¯d¯ıs of Damascus from the earlieset times until his own ˙ day.8 Ibn Tu¯lu¯n’s Arabic is that of a religious scholar. His historical writing was ˙ not as dramatic as that of Ibn Iya¯s, but it is less biased and more accurate. His description of the Ottomans is more balanced. His facts are trustworthy, and can be verified by materials in the Ottoman archives. As a native of Damascus with deep roots in his town, Ibn Tu¯lu¯n identified with his townsmen’s suffering from ˙ the huge army of occupation. Personally, his books were thrown out by the soldiers. Yet, he reports that Sultan Selim restored order by punishing unruly and riotous soldiers harshly. He also showed respect to ‘ulama’ and Sufis. While Ibn Iya¯s describes the Ottoman army as rabble, Ibn Tu¯lu¯n visited the Ottoman camp ˙ and was impressed by its orderliness. The writing of history in Syria did not come to a halt, as it did in Egypt. Historiography in sixteenth-century Syria was richer than that in Egypt at the same period. Here we have to mention the biographer Najm al-Dı¯n al-Ghazzı¯ (d. 1650 or 1651) of Damascus.9 His work is the first of three centennial dictionaries of Ottoman Syria. Many of his obituaries are well written, full of information, and extend over three centuries. He hailed from a family of ‘ulama’ and orthodox Sufis in Damascus (despite the nisba al-Ghazzı¯), and held several religious offices. Al-Ghazzı¯ had good relations with representatives of the Ottoman administration. However, he criticized in writing and conversation various measures that the Ottomans applied that were considered contrary to the sharı¯‘a. He was not as tolerant as Ibn Tulun.

6 On him, see Stephan Conermann, “Ibn Tu¯lu¯n (d. 955/1548): Life and Works,” Mamlu¯k Studies ˙ “The Historiography of Syria in the Late Mamluk Review 8,1 (2004): 115–39; Chaim Nissim, Period and the Beginning of the Ottoman Period: The Historical Writings of Shams al-Dı¯n Muhammad Ibn Tu¯lu¯n (1475–1546),” Ph.D. diss., The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2012 ˙ [in Hebrew]. 7 Shams al-Dı¯n Muhammad ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Mufa¯kahat al-khilla¯n fi al-zama¯n: ta¯rı¯kh Misr wa-al˙ ˙ ˙ Sha¯m, ed. Muhammad Mustafa¯ (Cairo, 1962–64), 2 vols. Despite the title, the work is primarily ˙ ˙ ˙ on the history of Syria, particularly on Damascus. 8 Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Quda¯t Dimashq: al-thaghir al-bassa¯m fı¯ dhikr man wulliyya qada¯ʾ al-Sha¯m, ed. ˙ Sala¯h˙ al-Dı¯n al-Munajjid (Damascus, 1956). Since Ibn Tu¯lu¯n was a Hanafi, his˙teacher ‘Abd al˙ al-Nu‘aymı¯, a Sha¯fi‘ı¯ scholar, wrote the biographies ˙ ˙ ¯ fi‘ı¯ judges. ˙Qa¯dir of the Sha 9 Najm al-Dı¯n Muhammad ibn Muhammad al-Ghazzı¯, al-Kawa¯kib al-sa¯ʾira bi-a‘ya¯n al-miʾa al˙ r (2nd ed., Beirut, 1979), 3 vols. ‘a¯shira, ed. Jabra¯˙ʾı¯l Sulayma¯n Jabbu ¯

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Among the important Turkish works for this period is an Ottoman chronicle which is in fact an official history. The writer was Hoca Sa‘düddı¯n (d. 1599). He wrote on the authority of his father, Hafiz Muhammad, who was one of Sultan Selim’s chamberlains, and who accompanied him on his campaign.10 Another work is Feridun’s Munshea¯t ül-sela¯tı¯n, a collection of the sultan’s correspondence with other monarchs, campaign logbooks, and letters announcing conquests (fetihna¯me). This, of course, is official historiography, and an im˙ portant source for Ottoman propaganda.11

The Ottoman Occupation12 The sixteenth century started with dramatic events and developments that caused deep changes in what is now called the Middle East. It is difficult to grade them by importance, but together they changed the balance of power for centuries. These were the advent of the Shi‘a Safavid state in Persia; the growing tensions between the Mamluks and the Ottomans, the two Sunni empires; and the naval activities of the Portuguese in the Red Sea after they discovered the route via the Cape of Good Hope, which caused the loss of the transit trade in Indian spices through Egypt. The strong rulers at the beginning of the century were Qansu¯h al-Ghawrı¯ of Egypt; the Ottoman sultan Bayazid, and after him, Selim the ˙ Grim (Yavuz); and the Safavid Shah Isma¯‘ı¯l. These rulers were strong, able and ruthless. The advent of Selim I, the most formidable of all, was the crucial event toward Ottoman supremacy in the region. In 1501, Shah Isma¯‘ı¯l turned Persia into a Shi‘a state of the Ithna ‘ashariyya creed. He presented himself not only as a charismatic leader, but as the living representative of the hidden Imam of the Twelver Shi‘a. The Safavid propaganda won over many Turkmens in Anatolia. These were called Kizilbash (Red Heads, after their headdress). For the Ottomans, Persia was no longer just a hostile neighbor, but directly threatened the control of their territories in Anatolia. Neither Bayazid nor his two sons were able to suppress the Kizilbash’s rebellion. Selim compelled his father to abdicate, and ascended the Ottoman throne. Then he executed his brothers and their sons. He embarked upon a policy far more warlike than his father’s. He carried out a massacre of Kizilbash in Anatolia. The sources speak of tens of thousands dead and imprisoned Shi‘is.

10 Muhammad Sa‘düddı¯n, Tacü’t-tevarih, ed. I˙smet Parmaksızog˘lu (Ankara, c1992). 11 Feridun, Mecmuat-i müns¸eat üs-selatin (Istanbul, AH 1274). 12 For a concise and lucid account of the historical developments, see P.M. Holt, Egypt and the Fertile Crescent 1516–1922: A Political History (Ithaca and London, 1966), 33–45.

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In August 1512, Selim defeated Isma¯‘ı¯l’s army at Chaldiran in Azerbaijan, using the firearms that the Ottomans had, and that their enemies did not possess. Despite their defeat, the Safavids were still considered a potential threat. The direct cause of the war between the Ottomans and the Mamluks was the implications of the Safavid threat. Both Qa¯nsu¯h al-Ghawrı¯ and the Ottomans were ˙ worried. The Safavids invaded Mamluk territories in the north-east. The Mamluks’ fears increased due to the association of such an invasion with the redoubtable Timur Lenk, who had invaded Syria a century before, inflicting immense destruction. Later, Isma¯‘ı¯l apologized to al-Ghawrı¯. This was the beginning of the correspondence between the Safavids and the Mamluks, as both empires feared the power of the Ottomans and the aggressiveness of Sultan Selim. Qansu¯h al-Ghawrı¯ understood that Selim was a more formidable enemy than ˙ Isma¯‘ı¯l. ‘Ala¯’ al-Dawla was the lord of Albistan, a buffer principality that was situated on the route that the Ottoman army had to take in order to reach its Safavid enemies. This principality maneuvered between the Ottomans and the Mamluks. After a series of battles, the territory was in the realm of the Mamluks. ‘Ala¯’ al-Dawla was very hostile to the Ottomans during their march. Selim killed him, and his region was later annexed to the Ottoman Empire. Selim sent alGhawrı¯ a fetihna¯me with the severed heads of ‘Ala¯’ al-Dawla, several of his sons and his vizier. Al-Ghawrı¯ ordered that the heads be given a proper burial, and prepared to go to war against Selim. In order to increase the religious character of his army, he took with him the chief qadis and several Sufi shaykhs. He ordered the caliph to go with him, ignoring his excuses for staying in Cairo. The Ottomans justified their decision to fight a Sunni Muslim state like themselves with the excuse that Qansu¯h al-Ghawrı¯ had allied himself with Shah ˙ Isma¯‘ı¯l, the ruler of the heretic Safavids. Another charge that the Ottomans made against Qansu¯h al-Ghawrı¯ was that he had executed Ottoman emissaries whom ˙ Selim sent to negotiate with him. The Ottoman ‘ulama’ noted that killing messengers is forbidden in Islam, even if they are infidels. Sa‘düddin, the Ottoman chronicler, quotes a verse: “When the Circassian supports the Kizilbash, we shall draw our swords also against him.” In the Ottoman propaganda, the Safavids were called ‘useless’ (Kizilbash bed ma‘ash) and the Mamluks ‘devils’ (Charakisa abalisa). It is difficult to prove historically the absence of a treaty between Isma¯‘ı¯l and al-Ghawrı¯; serious historians believed that it did exist. It is not certain that such a treaty was ever composed. Sultan al-Ghawrı¯ was very cautious by nature, and was fully aware of the weakness of his situation. His state’s economy was in trouble and his army undisciplined and seditious. He also suspected the Safavids’ intentions. There was an exchange of letters between the courts, but there is no evidence that al-Ghawrı¯ committed himself to assist Isma¯‘a¯l militarily. After the battle of Chaldiran, Isma¯‘a¯l sent letters to European and Middle Eastern rulers in

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a diplomatic offensive, attempting to create anti-Ottoman alliances, and one such messenger arrived in Cairo in late 1514. Al-Ghawrı¯ was in a critical position. He was an unpopular ruler, because of his cruelty, injustice, and stinginess. The chronicler Ibn Iya¯s admits that the sultan had culture and talents, and had introduced important innovations, but summarizes: “Each year of his reign weighed down on the people like a thousand years, and his defects outweighed his positive traits.”13 Khayrbak, the governor of Aleppo, was secretly correspondingd with Selim, and reported to him the weakness of the Mamluk army. Khayrbak was to play a central role in Selim’s decisions before and after the destruction of the Mamluk Empire. The story of the battle of Marj Da¯biq, a plain north of Aleppo on which the Ottoman army defeated the Mamluks in August 1516, is well known. The Mamluks fought valiantly, but were vastly outnumbered by the Ottoman troops. According to Ibn Iya¯s, Qansu¯h al-Ghawrı¯’s force was about 7,000 men strong, ˙ including 944 royal Mamluks. He observed that his army was smaller and less impressive than that of former sultans who had led their troops northwards in the previous century. The Ottoman elite infantry, the Janissaries, held a crucial advantage over the fine Mamluk horsemen by their use of arquebus and cannon. These weapons had already decided Selim’s victory against Isma¯‘ı¯l earlier. Efforts had been made in Egypt to train soldiers to use firearms, but these were substandard soldiers, and the project was too little and too late. Among other reasons was the opposition of the military elite to arming lower-rank soldiers with such dangerous weapons that were also considered un-Islamic and not chivalrous. Fulfilling his secret agreement with Selim, in the heat of the battle Khayrbak withdrew all his troops toward Hama¯. Al-Ghawrı¯ himself was responsible for the ˙ low morale of his soldiers by ordering the veteran Mamluks (qara¯nisa) to the ˙ front lines while trying to spare his own Mamluks ( julba¯n). The aged sultan fell off his saddle and died, probably of a stroke. His body was never found. Many Mamluks, including ranking emirs and governors, perished at Marj Da¯biq, but many succeeded in escaping and reaching Egypt. They prepared to fight the Ottomans under Tu¯ma¯nba¯y, the new sultan. He cut an impressive figure, ˙ very different from Qansu¯h al-Ghawrı¯. He was relatively young, courageous, ˙ pious, and acted with justice. He made preparations against the Ottomans. His main defect was that he did not make the emirs obey him, and accepted bad and irresponsible strategic and diplomatic advice. Meanwhile, Selim took Damascus without a battle. His actions there are described in detail by Shams al-Dı¯n Ibn Tu¯lu¯n. Selim tried to show his respect to ˙ 13 From Ibn Iya¯s’s obituary of al-Ghawrı¯, translated by Carl F. Petry, in Twilight of Majesty: The Reigns of the Mamluk Sultans al-Ashraf Qa¯ytba¯y and Qa¯nsu¯h al-Ghawrı¯ in Egypt (Seattle and ˙ London, 1993), 119–22.

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Islamic personages and sites. Of special significance was his demonstration of his veneration of Muhyı¯ al-Din Ibn al-‘Arabı¯, the great but controversial mystic who ˙ was born in al-Andalus, and died in Damascus in 1240. The Turks revered him and his doctrine; he had a special status, because it was believed that he had predicted the rise of the Ottoman Empire. Selim visited Ibn al-‘Arabi’s derelict tomb, and ordered the site cleaned, a dome erected on it, and a mosque constructed. The conservative Damascenes did not like this project. Later, when Ja¯nbirdı¯ al-Ghaza¯lı¯, a former Mamluk emir whom Sultan Selim had appointed as the governor of Damascus, rebelled against young Sultan Süleyma¯n, he closed down this site to gain popularity. After gaining control of Syria, Selim considered his options. He was worried that the march to conquer Egypt might be too dangerous and long. It seems that his offer of peace to Qansu¯h al-Ghawrı¯ before Marj Da¯biq was genuine. One can ˙ speculate that had al-Ghawrı¯ not killed some of his envoys, and had he not taken his army to the north of Syria, the Mamluk-Ottoman war could have been avoided. Even before the battle of Raydaniyya, in which the Mamluks under Tu¯ma¯nba¯y were defeated, Selim sent a delegation to Tu¯ma¯nba¯y offering him the ˙ ˙ option of ruling Egypt as his viceroy. Such an arrangement was known in the Ottoman Empire. Again, the hotheads around Tu¯ma¯nba¯y prevailed. The proposal ˙ was rejected, and Selim’s emissary was ill-treated (according to Ottoman sources, he was put to death). The battle of Raydaniyya (January 23, 1517) sealed the fate of the Mamluk Empire. All Tu¯ma¯nba¯y’s preparations were useless; the Ottomans surprised the ˙ Egyptians from behind. Tu¯ma¯nba¯y escaped, and there was more fighting in Cairo. ˙ The last Mamluk sultan escaped to a Bedouin shaykh who owed him a favor. Despite his oath, the Bedouin handed Tu¯ma¯nba¯y over to Selim, who ordered him ˙ hanged at the Zuwayla Gate. In this way he put an end to rumors that Tu¯ma¯nba¯y ˙ was still at large. Ibn Iya¯s describes the harsh treatment of the Mamluks by the Ottomans. Many of them were executed after obtaining a promise of quarter from Selim. Sultan Selim decided to kill all the Mamluk emirs. This was stopped under the influence of Khayrbak, whom Selim appointed as his governor of Egypt. As already mentioned, the influence of Khayrbak, the former governor of Aleppo who betrayed al-Ghawrı¯, cannot be exaggerated. He informed Selim of the weakness of the Mamluk state. He convinced Selim that his fears of attacking Egypt for topographic or military reasons were unfounded, and helped Selim overcome his hesitations. Now in Cairo, he used his influence to stop the massacre of the Mamluks. (Later, he told Mamluk emirs who complained about something, that without his intervention they would have been executed by Selim.)

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Selim was a strong and ferocious sultan, but as the Syrian and Egyptian campaigns prove, he often changed his mind, and was capable of trial and error behavior. His 1516–1517 campaigns were successful, but he did not have longterm plans. Perhaps they were impossible. He changed the policy of killing the Mamluk high command. Later, he pardoned many of them, and took them to Istanbul. A few received appointment in the Balkans. It is possible that, as Ayalon argues, Selim came to the conclusion that since the Safavid threat was still feared, it would be a waste to kill superbly trained soldiers who were Turkish speaking Muslims. Ibn Iya¯s has a quote supposedly said by Sultan Süleyma¯n during the siege of Rhodes in 1522, when the Mamluks formed about 500–800 of the Egyptian contingent. The Sultan was much impressed by them and expressed his amazement at his father’s bad judgment in killing such magnificent Mamluks. For Selim, the appointment of Khayrbak as the governor of Egypt was a success. He served Ottoman interests fully and efficiently, sometimes against his better judgment. When Ja¯nbirdı¯ al-Ghaza¯lı¯, another former Mamluk emir and governor in Syria, rebelled against young Sultan Süleyma¯n, calling upon Khayrbak to join him, he refused and executed Mamluk emirs who planned to join the rebellion. He executed several Cairo commoners who gossiped that he might join the rebellion. It is interesting to note that unlike most Mamluks, he was a Georgian and not a Circassian, and he had never been a slave. Although many Mamluk emirs owed him their lives, he was remembered as a traitor. Much better than al-Ghaza¯lı¯, he assessed correctly the futility of a rebellion against the Ottomans. He remained faithful to his Ottoman masters until his death in October 1522. Khayrbak and al-Ghaza¯lı¯ were the last former Mamluks to serve as viceroys. After them, the office was filled by high officials from the Ottoman ruling elite with the title of pasha (sometimes also vizier). Several arrived in Egypt directly from the sultan’s household. In the sixteenth century, no fewer than six pashas were given the title of Ha¯dim (Arabic: kha¯dim), ‘servant’, a euphemism for eu˙ nuch, i. e. they were eunuchs who started their careers in the sultan’s household. Mustafa ‘Âlı¯, a distinguished Ottoman, historian, writer and poet, who visited Egypt in 1599, explains: “It was the custom at the time… that the governorship of Egypt was given to persons of the eunuch class whenever it became vacant, because they were free of care for wives and children, and all their possessions revert in the end to the sultan.”14

14 Andreas Tietze (ed.), Mustafa¯ ‘Âlı¯’s Description of Cairo of 1599: text, transliteration, ˙ translation, notes (Vienna,˙1975), 73.

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Other governors were officials in charge of the sultan’s finances (as defterdar or khazindar). Two viceroys had been qa¯d¯ıs. Two came from the royal court.15 ˙ According to the chroniclers, several pashas who served as governors of Egypt were called by religious titles, such as faqih, jurisconsult. At least three pashas were known as Sufis. One was a member of the Mevlevi tariqa in Konya. A few governors were patrons of Turkish convents in Cairo. Most of them participated in public prayers, for example, when the Nile was low. They visited holy sepulchers, such as al-Ima¯m al-Sha¯fi‘ı¯, or the grave of Layth b. Sa‘d. This was the situation in Egypt throughout the sixteenth century and beyond. As is well known, the situation in Syria after the sixteenth century was different, and local (Arab) grandees were appointed in some provinces.

Ottoman Measures in Cairo16 Like any military occupation, the Ottoman occupation of Cairo was traumatic for the people. Ibn Iya¯s compares it to the conquest of Baghdad by the Mongols. This was a gross exaggeration, but it reveals the chronicler’s attitude. The soldiers pillaged Cairo for three days until stopped by the Sultan. The Mamluks were massacred systematically, and civilians suspected of hiding or helping them were also put to death. Ibn Iyas writes several times how the Mamluks were killed, often despite promises of quarter from Selim. Then the killing stopped. It is almost certain that Khayrbak, the governor of Egypt, interceded for them, and that Selim was convinced that it was wise to spare such superb soldiers, who like the Ottomans were Turkish-speaking and Sunnis, especially since the Safavid threat was not over. In September 1517, just before Selim’s departure from Egypt, the Mamluks were pardoned. They came out of their hiding wearing the clothes of fellaheen; they were destitute without their horses. At first, they were forbidden to wear Ottoman dress. Now the order was reversed; they had to wear only Ottoman garb. When Khayrbak reviewed the troops, he cut off half of every Mamluk’s beard, and said: “You must abide by Ottoman law, shave your beard, wear tight sleeves, and do everything like the Ottomans.” Ibn Iya¯s was shocked by the brutality of the Ottomans in Egypt, “because they had a reputation of being just rulers in their own country.” He portrays Selim as an unsavory, nervous, bloodthirsty man who did not keep his word, did not 15 See M. Winter, “The Islamic Profile and the Religious Policy of the Ruling Class in Ottoman Egypt,” Israel Oriental Studies, 10, (1988), 132–45. 16 M. Winter, Egyptian Society under Ottoman Rule, 1517–1798 (London and New York, 1992), 7–12, according to Ibn Iya¯s, Bada¯i‘i’ al-zuhu¯r fı¯ waqa¯i‘i’ al-duhu¯r, ed. Muhammad Mustafa (2nd ed., Cairo, 1962), vol. 5, passim.

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dispense justice, who was a pederast and drank, and did not have the dignity or the etiquette of kings. He describes the Ottoman soldiers as drinkers and hashish addicts, who did not fast during Ramadan. Most of them did not even pray, and they desecrated shrines and sanctuaries. They robbed shopkeepers, or did not pay the right price. People were forced to pull heavy cannons and to load huge stone pillars, which the Ottomans had torn out of some palaces, onto ships bound to Istanbul. Marble was also stripped from buildings and shipped to the Ottoman capital. The soldiers often molested women and boys in the streets. The qadi forbade local women to go out in the streets or to ride donkeys, so “they would not corrupt soldiers.” The soldiers were warned on pain of death not to marry Egyptian women. Ibn Iya¯s said that the soldiers were a rabble, and one could not tell an ordinary soldier from an emir. He sorrowfully reports that the first celebrations of the Prophet’s birthday (mawlid al-nabı¯) under the Ottomans passed almost unnoticed. The distribution of food to the public was abolished. The Ottomans sold the large tent used in the celebrations, which cost Sultan Qa¯ytba¯y 30,000 dinars, to Maghrebi merchants for 300 dinars. Ibn Iya¯s says: “The tent was one of the marvels of the world. It was one of the symbols of the kingdom and it was sold for the lowest price. The Ottomans did not understand its value, and later kings had to forgo its value. They caused great damage. It was one of their bad deeds in Egypt.” The people of Cairo were shocked when they learned of the Ottoman practice of sürgün, deportation. Groups of notables and artisans needed for construction works in Istanbul, officials, Christians and Jews were deported. The most distinguished exile was the last ‘Abbasid Caliph, al-Mutawakkil ibn al-Mustamsik Ya‘qu¯b, a respected, though powerless, figure. He had been forced by Sultan alGhawrı¯ to go to Syria. He was captured by the Ottomans at the battle of Marj Da¯biq, and returned to Cairo with the Ottomans. Selim treated him respectfully, and gave him a sense of importance and influence he had never had. While everyone in Egypt was aware that the Caliphate was powerless politically, it still had a symbolic importance. The exile of the Caliph signaled that Egypt was no longer the center of an empire, and had become a province ruled from a distant capital.17 After Selim’s death and Süleyma¯n’s ascent to the Ottoman throne, the atmosphere improved. Even Ibn Iya¯s noted that the young Sultan was reportedly a wise man. The Mamluks too had better days. A Mamluk unit, of several hundred soldiers whom Selim had exiled to Istanbul, helped conquer the island of Rhodes in 1522. When Süleyma¯n saw their performance in combat, he expressed his astonishment that “such fine Mamluks had been put to death during his father’s 17 Ibn Iya¯s, Bada¯’i‘ al-zuhu¯r, vol. 5, 178–79, 184–85.

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reign.” Finally, the Mamluks were accepted as an integral part of the imperial army, but their scores with the Ottoman units were far from settled. When Süleyma¯n came to power, his benevolence replaced his father’s harshness, and the exiles were allowed to return for short visits. The Caliph returned to Cairo.18 As always, the Ottoman attitude toward Islam was the most important criterion by which the regime was judged in the Arabic-speaking lands. Although the Ottomans intended to maintain a sharı¯‘a state, certain issues created tensions between Arabic-speaking ‘ulama’ and the Ottoman authorities, particularly in the early period. There was widespread opposition in Egypt and Syria to the Ottoman qa¯nu¯n, the sultan’s law, that the Ottoman legal system regarded as complementary to the sharı¯‘a. (Note that Sultan Süleyma¯n, a deeply religious Muslim, chose for himself the title Qa¯nu¯nı¯.) Many Arab ‘ulama’ regarded it as contradicting the holy law. Nothing met with so much resentment as the marriage tax that was double in case of a virgin compared to that of a woman who had been married before. This tax, besides being unjust, was regarded as a violation of the Prophet’s sunna. One of the ‘ulama’ in Syria cried in anger: “This state has imposed illegal taxes on women’s genitalia. What outrage can be worse than this?”19

The Principles of Ottoman Rule in Egypt and the Army Egypt was the largest Ottoman province. The Ottomans fully appreciated its strategic and economic value. True to their policy of pragmatism and economy, they regarded Egypt as a special case. The timar was an administrative and fiscal system supporting a huge territorial army and cavalry, which any moment could to called up to campaigns. The timar usually sealed the full integration of a newly conquered province into the Empire, yet it was not applied to Egypt. Considering the size of the country, Egypt’s garrison was small (about ten thousand men.) 20 Egypt was remote from the main borders of the empire. The tasks assigned to the army in Egypt were mostly defensive – garrisoning the capital, the provinces and the ports, protecting the hajj caravan, and the annual tribute sent to Istanbul from Egypt. Occasionally, an Egyptian contingent was ordered to join the main

18 The fact that the ‘Abbasid Caliph was allowed to return to Egypt is an additional proof that the story of the transfer of the Caliphate to Selim is a later invention. Had the Caliph been of such importance, even symbolic, the Ottomans would not have simply let him go home. The assumption of the Caliphate by the Ottomans occurred at the end of the eighteenth century, and signals the Ottoman weakness at that time. 19 Al-Ghazzı¯, al-Kawa¯kib al-sa¯ʾira, vol. 2, p. 193. 20 MD, vol. 7, no. 1335, 462–63, Dhu’l-Hijja 1, 975 (1568).

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imperial force in Europe or the Persian front. Yet these expeditionary forces were rare and small. Another reason the Ottomans did not apply the timar in Egypt was economic. They must have understood that the prosperity of the country depended to a large extent on its agriculture. It was necesssary to maintain the complex and sensitive irrigation system utilizing the water of the Nile. It made sense to refrain from interfering with local technical, administrative and fiscal practices and traditions. Apart from the annual tribute (irsa¯liye-i hazı¯ne), Egypt provided the Ottoman center with various products and foodstuffs. The soldiers who were stationed in Cairo soon discovered that Egypt was a pleasant and tranquil place compared with the rigors suffered in the heartland of the empire.21 The Ottoman efforts to pacify Yemen were an exception. The decrees of the mühimme and some literary sources make it clear that the soldiers did their best to avoid this dangerous task. On the other hand, commoners infiltrated the ranks to gain the status of ‘askeri. Mustafa ‘Âlı¯, the famous historian and poet, who visited Egypt, vividly describes how the Turks (Rumiler) do everything to avoid going to Yemen or Ethiopia. But the wretched ones of Cairo could be tempted to go, boasting that they had become the Sultan’s servants. They have no way of escape, and have little chance of returning alive.22 There is evidence that Egypt was considered a safe place to do one’s military service, even a refuge for shirkers from the Empire’s constant wars. An imperial decree dated 1605 stated openly that certain individuals desiring an imperial edict “by certain means” in order to go to Egypt under the pretext of conducting official business. The pasha of Egypt is ordered to ignore such ill-gotten edicts, and send the men to the front. Worse still, the phrasing of several of the sultan’s edicts reveals that, contrary to Istanbul’s absolute control over Egyptian affairs at the beginning of Ottoman rule, by the end of the sixteenth century, the Ottoman high command had lost in its own orderliness and integrity. Edicts dated 999 and 1003 inform the beylerbeyi of Egypt that certain individuals obtained official appointments in Egypt’s administration through their connections in Istanbul. The governor is ordered to ignore these decrees and appointments, and not to appoint anyone before a position is vacated (mahlu¯l). He should rely on his own ˙ sound judgment so as not overburden the Treasury. At the same time, Istanbul admits that the situation in Egypt is extremely “disorderly and muddled,” and tries to determine and limit the number of soldiers, their salaries and their ranks.23 21 See M. Winter, “‘Ali Efendi’s Anatolian Campaign Book: a defense of the Egyptian army in the seventeenth century,” Turcica 15, 1983, 267–309. ¯ lı¯, 52. 22 Tietze, Mustafa¯ ‘A ˙˙ no. 199, Dhu’l-Hijja, 1013. 23 MD, vol. 73,

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Mamluks and Beys in the Sixteenth Century24 The Ottoman garrison in Egypt consisted of seven corps (ojaqs). The Janissaries, an elite infantry corps, guarded Cairo and the Citadel, hence their other title Mustahfiza¯n. The ‘Azab infantry corps were less important than the Janissaries. ˙ Cavalry regiments were active in the countryside. One of the cavalry ojaqs was the Circassian regiment. Not all its members were Mamluks. The term Mamluk all but disappeared from the chronicles and from the official language of the Ottoman documents. The ethnic appellation Çera¯kise was used. The custom of recruiting boys and young men from the Caucasus continued after the conquest. A methodological problem for the historian is how to tell a Mamluk from a soldier who was not a Mamluk. To the best of my knowledge, it was David Ayalon who first tackled this issue. In the Mamluk Sultanate, it was easy to identify the Mamluks: Only they spoke Turkish, and more importantly, only they bore Turkish names. Now, under Ottoman rule, the majority of soldiers in Egypt bore Arab names. The sultans’ names were Arabic as well. It would not have been acceptable that the Mamluks alone were to bear Turkish names.25 The Ottoman documents mention certain ranks of beys (emirs) in Egypt in the sixteenth century. The highest were the sanjaq beyleri, or muha¯faza beyleri, ˙ ˙ ˙ below them the Çera¯kise beyleri, and the lowest were other military office holders, who were not beys. As Holt has explained, contrary to the usual Ottoman usage, a sanjaq (flag) in Egypt did not signify a district under a bey’s jurisdiction, but ˙ rather indicated the bey’s rank. Beys filled administrative posts such as defterda¯rs (treasurers), ka¯shifs, umara¯’ ha¯jj, or heads of a special task force (serda¯r). It ˙ seems, however, that standing outside and above the ojaq system, they became hard to control.26 In the sixteenth century, Istanbul was already worried that the Egyptian beys had many followers capable of causing trouble. It was preferred that lower-ranking and more dependable officers, such as emı¯ns and subas¸¯ıs, deal with the civilian population.27 The Ottomans found that the Circassian beys were useful, even indispensable, for certain tasks. They were appointed as ka¯shifs, district administrators in the countryside. This office was a Mamluk title. The ka¯shifs supervised the conditions of the canals and dykes, and protected the fellaheen against unruly 24 M. Winter, “The re-emergence of the Mamluks following the Ottoman conquest,” in Thomas Philipp and Ulrich Haarmann, eds., The Mamluks in Egyptian politics and society (Cambridge, 1998), 87–106. 25 D. Ayalon, “Studies in al-Jabarti I: Notes on the transformation of Mamluk Society in Egypt,” Journal of the Economic and Social history of the Orient, 3/2 and 3/3 (1961), 148–74, 275–325. 26 P. M. Holt, “The Beylicate in Ottoman Egypt during the Seventeenth Century,” in P. M. Holt, ed., Studies in the History of the Near East (London, 1973), 184–85. 27 MD, vol.7, no. 2106, p. 771, Rabı¯‘ I, 26, 970. (September 18, 1568).

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Bedouins. They were in charge of tax collection. The office of amı¯r al-ha¯jj, ˙ another Mamluk title, was a highly responsible one. It required administrative, military and diplomatic talents. Again, the ability to deal with the Bedouins along the way was essential. During the Mamluk period, the office was filled by the highest emirs. Ibn Iya¯s reports that immediately after the conquest, the Ottomans appointed the muhtasib (market inspector) of Cairo as amı¯r al-ha¯jj, a decision ˙ ˙ that was considered by the people of Cairo to be wrong and demeaning. A book by ‘Abd al-Qa¯dir al-Jazı¯rı¯, or al-Jazarı¯, who served for many years as the secretary of the Egyptian hajj, is an important source for the ha¯jj. He provides information ˙ about umara¯’ al-ha¯jj; it is clear that Circassian emirs were natural, even favored, 28 candidates for that post.

Religious and Urban Aspects of Ottoman Rule in Egypt and Syria As André Raymond29 and other historians, especially Abdul-Karim Rafeq,30 have proved in detail, Ottoman rule in Syria and Egypt in the sixteenth century was beneficial to the great cities, especially to Cairo, Damascus and Aleppo. The main reasons for this progress were the strength and stability of the Ottoman state that made the hajj caravans more secure, and the domestic and international trade more attracted to these cities. The construction of magnificent monuments, such as mosques and mausoleums, for which the Mamluk Sultanate was famous, ceased with the Ottoman occupation. Mamluk sultans and high-ranking emirs saw Egypt as their only home, where they planned to live, die, and be buried. The Ottoman governors’ terms of office in Egypt and Syria were temporary, often very short, and they expected to return to the center. Moreover, the sultans would not allow their viceroys to build “imperial” mosques for themselves. Nevertheless, the pashas contributed to the economic and religious life of the great Arab cities by founding waqfs and supporting religious and charitable foundations. Raymond shows that the great Arab cities made progress in many urban parameters: demography, construction and expansion of the cities, artisanship and guilds. The following brief discussion of the Damascus qadis in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries can serve as an indicator for the Ottoman-Arab relation28 ‘Abd al-Qa¯dir al-Jazı¯rı¯, al-Durar al-fara¯’id al-munazzama fı¯ akhba¯r al-ha¯jj wa-tarı¯q Makka ˙ ˙ al-mu‘azzama, ed. Ha¯mad al-Ja¯sir (Riyadh, 1983). ˙ ˙ ˙˙ 29 A. Raymond, “The ˙Ottoman Conquest and the Development of the Great Arab Towns,” International Journal of Turkish Studies, 1/1 (1979–80), 84–101. 30 Rafeq wrote many pioneering studies of Ottoman Syria, based on Syrian archives. See, for example Abdul-Karim Rafeq, Dira¯sa¯t iqtisa¯diyya wa-ijtima¯‘iyya fı¯ ta¯rı¯kh bila¯d al-Sha¯m al˙ hadı¯th (Damascus, 2002). ˙

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ship. The Turkish-Ottoman series of biographies of Ottoman scholars and Sufis that continue the Arabic work of Ta¯s¸köprüza¯de’s al-Shaqa¯’iq al-nu‘ma¯niyya31 ˙ show the routine of the appointments of the qadis who were sent to the various cities. The system was based on the graduates of the best colleges in the center, mostly in the capital. All of them were Hanafis and Turkish-speaking ‘ulama’. After serving as judges in the provinces, they were sent for one year in the center to serve as judges, and dismissed and transferred to another city. A typical career for a strong candidate might be: After a term in a town in Anatolia or Rumeli, an appointment in Aleppo; after a year, qadiship in Damascus, transfer to Cairo, then perhaps to Mecca. The next step might be promotion as kadiasker of Anatolia, then kadiasker of Rumeli. If he made it to the top, he would be appointed as ¸seyhülislâm, the mufti of Istanbul. We need the Arabic biographies to see the qadis in office. The writers present portraits of the qadis, assessing their personality, knowledge of Islamic law and of Arabic. Some are praised for their command of the language, their performance as a judge ( just or unjust), their honesty, sometimes their attitude to the indigenous Arabic-speaking people and the local ‘ulama’ and Sufis.32 The Ottoman chief qadis of Damascus were judged by the biographers on their own merit; in the majority of cases they are described as pious, knowledgeable, and just. They were involved with the leading ‘ulama’, showing them respect; sometimes they attended their classes, and were proud to receive an ija¯za (permission to teach what they learned from them). They left their mark by appointing local ‘ulama’ to positions of teaching, preaching and administrative work in Damascus. On the other hand, the Ottoman chief qadis in Cairo were barely noticed by the Egyptian chroniclers. The few cases in which they are mentioned only demonstrate their marginality in religious, intellectual and social life there. Note, of course, that the qadis who were respected in Damascus and ignored, or even mocked, in Cairo could be the same people. The reasons for the marked contrast between the two Arab cities in this respect lies in the special character of each. Many of the prominent ‘ulama’ of Syria traveled frequently to Istanbul and learned the Turkish language. The Egyptians were not inclined to travel. Another difference is that the Turkish presence was considerable in Cairo. Many Turks lived there permanently in their own enclaves. In this social and linguistic situation, the Ottoman qadis in Cairo were isolated from the majority of Egyptians despite their high position. Finally, there was the 31 Ahmad b. Mustafa¯ Tas¸köprüzâde, al-Shaqa¯’iq al-nu‘ma¯niyya fı¯ ‘ulama¯ʾ al-dawla al-‘uth˙¯ niyya, ed. Ah ˙ ˙ mad Subh¯ı Fura¯t (Istanbul, 1984–85); Mecdi Mehmed, Zeyl-ı ¸sak¸aik¸ Tashma ˙ ˙ kubrizadah: S,akaik-i Nu‘maniyeh ve zeyillleri (Istanbul, 1989), 5 vols. 32 M. Winter, “Ottoman qadis in Damascus during the 16th–18th centuries,” in Ron Shaham (ed.), Law, Custom, and Statue in the Muslim World; Studies in Honor of Professor Aharon Layish (Leiden, 2007), 87–109.

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special and wise Ottoman policy regarding Egypt of refraining from interfering in religious and scholarly life there.

Ibrahim Pasha and the Qa¯nu¯n-na¯me-i Mısır33 ˙ The rebellion of two Mamluk ka¯shifs soon after Khayrbak’s death was quickly put down. The rebellion of Hain (‘the Traitor’) Ahmed Pasha, the Ottoman governor of Egypt, was more serious. He disarmed the Janissaries, and ordered them to return to Istanbul, then massacred many of them in the Citadel of Cairo. He wooed the Mamluks, and pardoned those who took part in the previous rebellion. He extorted funds from the rich, and demanded a huge sum from the Jewish community of Cairo, threatening them with annihilation. He tried to train black slaves in the use of firearms. Some Bedouin tribes took part in the rebellion, believing that Ottoman power in Egypt was collapsing. Ahmed Pasha restored several Mamluk ceremonies. He even identified as a Circassian, and declared himself a sultan. After a few months, his rule collapsed, undermined by a group of loyalist emirs. The Jewish community celebrated its deliverance as the Purim of Cairo, since the date fell on that festival. After the suppression of Ahmed Pasha’s rebellion, Ibrahim Pasha, Süleyma¯n’s Grand Vizier, came to Egypt in order to restore Ottoman authority. He expressed his dissatisfaction with the quarrels between the Ottoman units and the Mamluks. He told them: “Let us not call one another Turcoman and Circassian, we are all the Sultan’s servants and brothers in Islam!”Arab shaykhs came to the Citadel to declare their loyalty. Those implicated in the rebellion were hanged, others were reappointed in their provinces. During his short stay in Egypt, Ibrahim Pasha promulgated the Qa¯nu¯n-na¯me-i Mısır, the edict codifying the admin˙ istrative practice of the province. The document was of utmost importance, since it reflected the conditions of Egypt shortly after the conquest. It remained in force for a long time. The viceroy is referred as malik al-umara¯’, a Mamluk-sounding term that was not used in Ottoman terminology, unless it is the Arabic translation of beylerbeyi. He was ordered to hold regular meetings in the divan, the council of state, four times a week, like the imperial council in Istanbul. What is impressive is the principle of continuity from Mamluk times. The Qa¯nu¯n-na¯me states that administrative and financial laws promulgated by Sultan Qa¯ytba¯y were to remain in force. It is obvious that the Grand Vizier shrewdly chose to emulate Qa¯ytba¯y, the popular model of stability, rather than Qansu¯h al-Ghawrı¯, whom both the ˙ 33 The text of the Qa¯nu¯n-i Name was published by Ö. L. Barkan, XV ve XVIıncı asırlarda Osmanlı ˙Imparatorlugˇunda zirai, ekonominin hukuki ve mali esasları (Istanbul, 1943), vol. 1, 355–87.

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Egyptians and the Ottomans hated. The document sheds light on the subprovinces that were in the charge of the ka¯shifs, mentioning their responsibilities, including collecting taxes from the peasants. The document mentions the Bedouin shaykhs, called shaykh ‘Arab, a title used during the Mamluk Sultanate. Their functions will be discussed in the chapter about Arab chiefs. Although the Mamluks were recognized as a corps, the state was wary of them. It is stipulated in the code that both the commanding officer and the regimental clerk of the Çera¯kise ocag˘ı should be Rumlu, men from the Turkish-speaking provinces. The disciplinary measures in their case were to be particularly strict. No allowances are made in recruiting new Mamluks. However, this was not to be; the importation of military slaves from the Caucasus did not stop. It was forbidden to appoint men to positions of power or leadership, who were Circassians, native Egyptians (falla¯h¯ın) or Bedouin (A‘ra¯b). It should be mentioned that in the ˙ orders from the mühimme defteri, issued later in the century (for example, in 1586), the governor of Egypt is ordered to have “able soldiers from among the Turks and Circassians be sent to Yemen.”34 However, the frequency of official references to Turks is far greater than to Circassians. The strict separation of the military class (‘askerı¯), including the bureaucracy, from the subjects (re‘a¯ya¯) was the fundamental principle of the Ottoman order. This is also expressed in the Qa¯nu¯n-na¯me-i Mısır. Civilians were not allowed to ˙ keep, manufacture and carry arms. In another passage, there is a warning against the illegal practice of soldiers opening shops and participating in trade. As we know, this warning was not heeded. By the eighteenth century, the merchants and the military had mingled in Egypt and elsewhere in the empire. Finally, the document declares the Ottomans’ intentions to enhance the status of Islam in Egypt. The code orders ending religious and moral vices, such as drinking and prostitution. It also forbids the custom of the common people to bring their disputes before the chief of police. All litigation must be brought to the qadi.

Religion and Ethnicity in Early Ottoman Egypt As we have seen, after the Ottoman conquest, there were tensions and misunderstandings between the Arabic-speaking populations in Egypt and Syria, and the Ottomans. Although both groups were Sunni Muslims committed to Islam, different traditions created problems, especially because the relationship between the rulers and the ruled was involved. With time, these problems di34 Yarar kul Rumlu ve Çerkes kulundan MD, vol. 60, nos. 595, 596, p. 254, Juma¯da¯ I, 8, 994 (April 27, 1586).

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minished (but never disappeared completely) for two main reasons: a. Both sides adjusted to each other; b. The Ottoman Empire was becoming more religious. On the other hand, ethnic issues were more complex and relative, and changed all the time according to political and social circumstances. From their earliest days, the Ottomans had been a vastly multi-ethnic society (or societies). Egypt (more than Syria) was almost totally homogenous ethnically. Certainly, there were the Turkish and Circassian Mamluks who were the ruling class, but numerically they were few. Even the considerable Coptic minority and the small Jewish community were religious, not ethnic, minorities.With the Ottoman conquest, the Turkish presence increased considerably, and included not only soldiers, but also bureaucrats, merchants, Sufis and students at al-Azhar. Now a new term, coined to designate Arabic-speakers and to differentiate them from Turkish-speakers, appeared: awla¯d al-‘Arab (Turkish evla¯d-ı ‘Arab), or, less frequently, abna¯’ al-‘Arab. Arabic chroniclers mention that a certain Ottoman qadi who served in Egypt or Syria “liked awla¯d al-‘Arab”, or rarely, that who did not. The term ‘Arab alone was reserved for Beduins. There were a few pejorative names Turks used for Arabs, like tat or miqlaji.35 Toward the end of the sixteenth century, Egypt, like other Ottoman provinces, experienced severe economic crisis. Inflation hit soldiers’ salaries, and as a result they rioted and revolted, trying to protect their privileges, and resorted to illegal means to increase their income. The inflation resulted at least in part from an influx of Spanish American silver. The imperial treasury debased the Ottoman silver currency (akçe) and delayed the troops’ salaries.36 There was a split in the army between Mısır qulları, the “soldiers of Egypt”, and qapu qulları, the “sol˙ diers of the Porte.” The former were an Egyptian territorial army with esprit de corps, and interests of its own. As early as 1568, an official mühimme order deals with the clashes between the two groups.37 Riots and revolts among the soldiers in the late sixteenth and the early seventeenth century had primarily economic origins, although there were also ethnic and racial motives. The first serious disturbances occurred during the incumbency of Üveys Pasha (1587–91). He found the treasury in deficit, and decided to cancel the salaries of those soldiers who owned shops and businesses. The army responded by demanding the revocation of salaries from awla¯d al-‘Arab. The mutinous soldiers attacked the pasha personally, and killed members of his retinue. Then they rioted in the city. Their rage was directed against Arabs, particularly qadis and bureaucrats. They proclaimed that awla¯d al-‘Arab would not be allowed to keep white Mamluks. 35 Tietze, Mustafa¯ ‘Âlı¯ , 40. ˙˙ “Egypt in the Seventeenth Century,” in M. D. Daly (ed.), The Cambridge History 36 J. Hathaway, of Egypt. Vol. 2 (Cambridge, 1998), 34–35. 37 MD, vol. 7, no.1329, Dhu¯ l‘Qa‘da 1, 975 (May, 1568).

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Christians and Jews were not allowed to keep any slaves at all. Arabs were warned not to wear Turkish clothes. The viceroy gave in to the rebels’ demands. The next revolt broke out during the term of Sharı¯f Mehmed Pasha. He was attacked during a tour of the country, and only escaped due to a sandstorm. The rebels demanded the execution of notables and army officers. Again, several awla¯d al-‘Arab wearing Turkish clothes were murdered. A chaotic situation developed. Ibrahim Pasha, the next viceroy, was murdered in 1604, because he had tried to resist the army’s unjustified demands. The main issue was the tulba, an ˙ illegal levy imposed by the sipa¯hı¯s in rural areas under the pretext of facilitating police duties. It required an unusually strong personality to suppress the rebellious sipa¯hı¯s and to abolish the tulba. Muhammad Pasha (1607–11) was the ˙ right viceroy. Ibn Abi’l-Suru¯r al-Bakrı¯ al-Sidd¯ıqı¯, our principal source for the ˙˙ events, extols him in superlative terms.38 He knew how to gain popularity by demonstrating respect for holy places and men of religion. Also, he acted in a determined and ruthless way, executing ka¯shifs who gave tulba vouchers to the ˙ rebels. He summoned the troops on whom he could rely in Cairo. These were the units that had no part in the tulba, since they did not serve in the countryside. ˙ Bedouins were forbidden to mingle with the regular army; their task was to encircle and harass to enemy. The viceroy’s force had heavy cannons and falconets (darbzens). The rebels, who were stationed in rural areas throughout Lower Egypt, gathered at Tanta¯’ in the Delta. They swore at the shrine of Sı¯dı¯ (Sayyidı¯) Ahmad al˙ ˙ Badawı¯, the renowned Sufi shaykh and Egypt’s most popular saint, that they would stand united and would not give up their right to collect the tulba. The ˙ chronicler reports that they chose a sultan and a vizier, and planned to divide the country among themselves. Then they started to pillage the villages. A religious leader nicknamed Altı Parmak was sent to the rebels and delivered a speech calling all soldiers to obey the Koranic injunction to obey “those who are in authority” (ulu ‘l-amr), but to no avail. The confrontation took place at Khanqah, fifteen miles north of Cairo. When the rebels saw the strong force they were facing and the cannons, they lost courage, and tried to escape. Many rebels were executed. The chief qadi interceded, and saved 300 rebels. They were sent to Suez and thence to Yemen. The chronicler concludes: “That was in truth the second conquest of Egypt.” Muhammad Pasha spent the four years of his tenure in Egypt conducting fiscal and military reforms and promoting public works. He was recalled to Istanbul; contrary to custom, he was not dismissed. 38 Muhammad ibn Abı¯ l-Suru¯r Al-Bakrı¯ al-Siddı¯qı¯, “Kashf al-kurba fı¯ raf‘ al-tulba,” ed. ‘Abd al˙ riyya, 23 (1976), Rah˙¯ım ‘Abd al-Rahma¯n ‘Abd al- Rah¯ım,˙ in al-Majalla al-ta’rı¯khiyya al-Mis ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ 291–384.

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For suppressing the rebellion, he became known as qul qıran, “the breaker of the [rebellious] soldiers”. The translation of qul as “Mamluk” is wrong. It is worth to clarify this point, which is related to the subject of ethnicity. As we all know, a qul is a slave and in Ottoman terminology the sultan’s slave, or soldier. As we said before, the term Mamluk was not mentioned in the sixteenth century in Arabic or translation. The Turkish sources sometimes refer to the rebels as cündi, i. e. the word jundı¯ which in Arabic means a soldier, but in Turkish means usually a horseman, sipa¯hı¯. So who were the rebellious sipa¯hı¯s? It is recalled that their rage was directed at Arabs (awla¯d al-‘Arab) who dared keep white Mamluks or wear Turkish clothes. Ethnic definitions were much more on the minds of contemporary actors and observers than most other categories. It is the Turkishness of the rebels that is mentioned. In his treatise on the revolt, Ibn Abi’l-Suru¯r quotes a poem denouncing the Ru¯m, Turks who oppressed the people of Egypt. The chronicler knew his society well, and it was unlikely that he was mistaken in the ethnicity of the rebels. Of all the ‘ulama’ of Cairo, it was Muhammad Effendi (effendi was at ˙ that time a title of an ‘alim) who was chosen. The nickname Altı Parmak is clearly Turkish. It could have been easier to send an Arabic-speaking preacher, but a Turkish preacher was chosen to talk sense to the rebels in their language. It is interesting to note that the Turkish rebels already had deep roots in Egypt. Before their most important decisions, they visited tombs of Muslim saints in Cairo, and, most emphatically the shrine of Sı¯dı¯ Ahmad al-Badawı¯ – all symbols of ˙ Egyptian Islam. Was this a Mamluk, or even pseudo-Mamluk rebellion? There is no evidence for that, and it is unlikely. It is possible that among the sipa¯hı¯s there were a few who regarded themselves as having such an origin, but there is not a shred of evidence for that. Even if we do find a few Mamluks in the first decades after the conquest, no such discovery can be made almost a century later. It is true that Mamluk traditions reappeared in the eighteenth century, that sometimes linked them with the Mamluk Sultanate, but this was an invented tradition. Yet, this is the stuff that collective identities are made of.

Conclusion The history of Egypt and Syria during the sixteenth century can be divided into four unequal parts: a. Setting the stage for the struggle over the area of what is now called the Middle East. b. The supremacy of the Ottomans; the establishment of the Safavid state in Iran and the blocking of its expansion; the destruction of the Mamluk Sultanate.

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c. The reluctant acceptance of the Ottoman regime by the Arabs; the era of Süleyma¯n Qa¯nu¯nı¯ and its advantages. The Ottomans and the Arabs adjust to each other. d. A period of economic and social troubles in Egypt. The situation in Syria and Egypt during the last years of the Mamluk state, particularly during the reign of Qansu¯h al-Ghawrı¯ was very bad. The economy ˙ was in crisis; the soldiers in the cities, especially in Cairo, were unruly. The Sultan was intelligent, but cruel and greedy. The people had the feeling that the state was at risk. The Ottoman conquest was traumatic to an extent. Even if Ibn Iya¯s exaggerated, the population suffered. The mental and cultural gaps between the Turks and the Arabs were too wide. Also, there were naturally language difficulties. Sultan Selim really was Yavuz, grim and ruthless. Yet, with his cruelty and shrewdness he saved the empire, while his father and brothers were unable to do so. The most sensitive problems that caused the local population, and the ‘ulama’ in particular, to suspect and even hate the Ottomans, were religious misunderstandings. Although the Ottomans intended to maintain a sharı¯‘a state, many laws and regulations seemed to the native people to be mistaken and unIslamic. The best example is the Qa¯nu¯n, the sultan’s law, which the Ottomans considered as complementing the sharı¯‘a, while the Arab ‘ulama’ considered it as contradictory to the Holy Law. Even more than this, the Ottoman marriage contracts and taxes made the ‘ulama’ furious. These frictions improved with time. The just and benevolent rule of Süleyma¯n changed the atmosphere almost immediately. Even Ibn Iya¯s, who hated the Ottomans, whom he regarded as barbarians and bad Muslims, had good things to say of the young sultan. The Ottoman Empire was becoming more religious. The reasons for this change are complex, and have to do with its role as the leader of Sunni Islam, fighting against Shiites in the east and the infidel Christians in the west. As we have seen, almost all the governors in Egypt were devout Muslims, or at least demonstrated their piety in order to gain popularity in Egypt and Syria. The qadis who were sent to Damascus are portrayed by local biographers as learned, pious, and mostly just as judges, and even speaking Arabic. Even after Süleyma¯n’s long reign, the sultans were regarded as distant but benevolent figures. Egypt and Syria had simply no alternative to Ottoman rule, the stable and strong power that maintained an Islamic regime and fought for Islam. This does not mean that the tensions between the Ottomans and the Arabic-speaking peoples disappeared. If the religious tensions weakened, the ethnic divisions persisted. They worsened towards the end of the sixteenth century, when the financial crisis hit the income of soldiers and they looked for

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illegal means to increase their incomes. As we have seen, the Rumlu soldiers rioted and even killed awlad al-‘Arab officials who were wearing Turkish clothes. Even earlier, the constant quarrels between the Mamluks and Ottoman units within the garrison did not stop, even after the Mamluks were pardoned and accepted into the army. Later, when the Mamluk issue disappeared, there were the feuds between the qapu qulları (the soldiers of the sultan) and Mısır qulları (the soldiers of Egypt). This was not a religious quarrel, nor a political issue; both sides were loyal to the sultan. The former were relative newcomers, but both groups spoke Turkish. There were team loyalties, and as usual, interests were also involved. The conditions of the Jewish community are an indicator of the situation of the minorities generally. As we learn from Rabbi Ibn Abi Zimra, the Jews felt secure despite the hostile attitudes of certain people. When the majority population suffers, the minority suffers more. Finally, a word about historiography is necessary. After Ibn Iya¯s, the rich tradition of history writing in Egypt came almost to a standstill for a century. On the other hand, the continuity and flourishing of Syrian historiography is impressive. For the first time in centuries, Syria was no longer a satellite of Egypt and moved closer to the Ottoman center. Bila¯d al-Sha¯m was different from both its great neighbors. It also was on the way to building its own identity. Sometimes, a community finds its identity not through what it is, but through what it is not. This was the case of Syria.

Bibliography Sources Al-Bakrı¯ al-Siddı¯qı¯, Muhammad ibn Abı¯ l-Suru¯r. “Kashf al-kurba fı¯ raf‘ al-tulba,” ed. ‘Abd ˙ ˙ ˙ al-Rah¯ım ‘Abd al-Rahma¯n ‘Abd al- Rah¯ım. In al-Majalla al-ta’rı¯khiyya al-Misriyya, 23 ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ (1976), 291–384. Barkan, Ö. L., XV ve XVIıncı asırlarda Osmanlı ˙Imparatorlugˇunda zirai, ekonominin hukuki ve mali esasları. Istanbul, 1943. Capsali, Rabbi Eliyahu. Seder Eliyahu Zuta, eds. A. Shmuelevitz, Sh. Simonson, M. Benayahu. Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, 1975, 1977, 1983. 3 vols. [in Hebrew]. Cohen, Amnon (ed.). Ottoman documents on the Jewish community of Jerusalem in the sixteenth century. Jerusalem, 1976 [in Hebrew]. Diya¯rbakrı¯, ‘Abd al-Samad. Tarjamat al-nuzha al-saniyya fi dhikr al-khulafa¯’ wa’l- mulu¯k ˙ al-misriyya. British Library, MS Add. 7846. ˙ Feridun, Mecmuat-i müns¸eat üs-selatin, Istanbul, AH 1274. Al-Ghazzı¯, Najm al-Dı¯n Muhammad ibn Muhammad. al-Kawa¯kib al-sa¯ʾira bi-a‘ya¯n al˙ ˙ miʾa al-‘a¯shira, ed. Jabra¯’ı¯l Sulayma¯n Jabbu¯r. Beirut, 1979. 3 vols.

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Ibn Iya¯s, Muhammad ibn Ahmad. Bada¯i‘i’ al-zuhu¯r fı¯ waqa¯i‘i’ al-duhu¯r, ed. Muhammad ˙ ˙ ˙ Mustafa¯. 2nd ed. Cairo, 1962. ˙˙ Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Shams al-Din Muhammad. Mufa¯kahat al-khilla¯n fi al-zama¯n: ta¯rı¯kh Misr wa-’l˙ ˙ ˙ Sha¯m, ed. Muhammad Mustafa¯. Cairo, 1962–64. 2 vols. ˙ ˙˙ –. Quda¯t Dimashq: al-thaghir al-bassa¯m fı¯ dhikr man wulliyya qada¯ʾ al-Sha¯m, ed. Sala¯h al˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Dı¯n al-Munajjid. Damascus, 1956. Al-Jazı¯rı¯, ‘Abd al-Qa¯dir. al-Durar al-fara¯’id al-munazzama fı¯ akhba¯r al-ha¯jj wa-tarı¯q ˙˙ ˙ ˙ Makka al-mu‘azzama, ed. Ha¯mad al-Ja¯sir. Riyadh, 1983. ˙ ˙˙ ˙ Mühimme Defteri Bas,bakanlık Ars,ivi (The archives of the Prime Minister’s Bureau), Istanbul – MD. Mehmed, Mecdi. Zeyl-ı ¸sak¸aik¸ Tashkubrizadah: S,akaik-i Nu‘maniyeh ve zeyillleri (Istanbul, 1989). 5 vols. Tietze, Andreas (ed.). Mustafa¯ ‘Âlı¯’s Description of Cairo of 1599: text, transliteration, ˙˙ translation, notes. Vienna, 1975. Sa‘düddı¯n , Muhammad. Tacü’t-tevarih, ed. I˙smet Parmaksızog˘lu. Ankara, c1992. Tas¸köprüzâde, Ahmad b. Mustafa¯. Al-Shaqa¯’iq al-nu‘ma¯niyya fı¯ ‘ulama¯ʾ al-dawla al˙ ˙˙ ‘uthma¯niyya, ed. Ahmad Subh¯ı Fura¯t. Istanbul, 1984–85. ˙ ˙

Studies Rafeq, Abdul-Karim. “Ibn Abi ‘l-Suru¯r and his Works.” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, 38/1 (1975), 24–31. –. Dira¯sa¯t iqtisa¯diyya wa-ijtima¯‘iyya fı¯ ta¯rı¯kh bila¯d al-Sha¯m al-hadı¯th. Damascus, 2002. ˙ ˙ Ayalon, David. “Studies in al-Jabarti I: Notes on the transformation of Mamluk Society in Egypt.” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, 3/2 and 3/3 (1961), 148–74, 275–325. Bacqué-Grammont, Jean-Louis. Les Ottomans, les Safavides et leurs voisins: contribution à l’histoire des relations internationales dans l’Orient islamique de 1514 à 1524. Leiden, 1987. Conermann, Stephan. “Ibn Tu¯lu¯n (d. 955/1548): Life and Works.” Mamlu¯k Studies Review ˙ 8,1 (2004), 115–39. Goldman, Israel M. The life and times of Rabbi David Ibn Abi Zimra; a social, economic and cultural study of Jewish life in the Ottoman Empire in the 15th and 16th centuries as reflected in the Responsa of the RDBZ. New York, 1970. Hathaway, J. “Egypt in the Seventeenth Century.” In M. D. Daly (ed.). The Cambridge History of Egypt, Volume 2: Modern Egypt, from 1517 to the end of the twentieth century. Cambridge, 1998. 34–58. Holt, P. M. Egypt and the Fertile Crescent 1516–1922: A Political History. Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1966. –. “The Beylicate in Ottoman Egypt during the Seventeenth Century.” In P. M. Holt (ed.), Studies in the History of the Near East. London: Frank Cass, 1973. 177–219. Lellouch, Benjamin. Les Ottomans en Egypte: historiens et conquérants au XVIe siècle. Louvain/Dudley, MA, 2006.

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Nissim, Chaim. “The Historiography of Syria in the Late Mamluk Period and the Beginning of the Ottoman Period: The Historical Writings of Shams al-Dı¯n Muhammad Ibn Tu¯lu¯n ˙ (1475–1546).” Ph.D. diss., The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2012 [in Hebrew]. Petry, Carl F. Twilight of Majesty: The Reigns of the Mamluk Sultans al-Ashraf Qa¯ytba¯y and Qa¯nsu¯h al-Ghawrı¯ in Egypt. Seattle and London, 1993. ˙ Raymond, A. “The Ottoman Conquest and the Development of the Great Arab Towns.” International Journal of Turkish Studies, 1/1 (1979–80), 84–101. Shaw, Stanford J. The budget of Ottoman Egypt 1005–1006/1596–1597. The Hague, 1968. Strauss (Ashtor), E. The History of the Jews in Egypt and Syria under Mamluk Rule. Jerusalem, 1944. 3 vols. [in Hebrew]. Winter, M. Society and Religion in Early Ottoman Egypt: Studies in the Writings of ‘Abd alWahha¯b al-Sha‘ra¯rnı¯. New Brunswick and London, 1982. –. “The Islamic Profile and the Religious Policy of the Ruling Class in Ottoman Egypt.” Israel Oriental Studies, 10 (1988), 132–45. –. Egyptian Society under Ottoman Rule, 1517–1798. London and New York, 1992. –. “The Ottoman conquest and Egyptian culture.” In Benjamin Lellouch and Nicolas Michel (eds.). Conquête ottomane de l’Égypte (1517): Arrière-plan, impact, échos. Leiden, 2012. 287–302. –. “Ottoman qadis in Damascus during the 16th-18th centuries.” In Ron Shaham (ed.). Law, Custom, and Statute in the Muslim World; Studies in Honor of Professor Aharon Layish. Brill, 2007. 87–109. –. “Ottoman Egypt, 1525–1609.” In M. D. Daly (ed.). The Cambridge History of Egypt, Volume 2: Modern Egypt, from 1517 to the end of the twentieth century. Cambridge, 1998. 1–33. –. “The re-emergence of the Mamluks following the Ottoman conquest.” In Thomas Philipp and Ulrich Haarmann (eds.). The Mamluks in Egyptian politics and society. Cambridge, 1998. 87–106. –. “‘Ali Efendi’s Anatolian Campaign Book: A Defense of the Egyptian Army in the Seventeenth Century.” Turcica, 15 (1983), 267–309.

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Paulina B. Lewicka

Challenges of Daily Life in Early-Ottoman Cairo: a Learned Sufi’s Perspective. Preliminary Remarks on al-Muna¯wı¯’s Memorandum on Decent Behavior

‘Abd ar-Ra‘u¯f al-Muna¯wı¯ al-Hadda¯dı¯1 (952/1545–1031/1621) was a well-edu˙ cated, high-ranking Egyptian religious scholar of the influential Sha¯fi’ı¯ madhhab,2 whose career involved holding an important position of a professor in the Sa¯lihiyya madrasa in Cairo. But he did not devote his life to teaching – ˙ ˙ although apparently esteemed by students, for unclear reasons he had to abandon the job.3 Like a significant number of other religious scholars of the ArabicIslamic world, he spent much of his time writing books. He was a prolific author – his output included dozens of works which, somewhat typically for an erudite Islamic theologian, covered quite diverse fields of knowledge. In his case the topics ranged from fiqh, hadı¯th commentary, Qur‘anic exegesis, to logic, phi˙ losophy, medicine – and Sufism.4 The attention he devoted to the latter topic was a direct consequence of his personal involvement in Islamic mysticism which was typical for the cultural climate and social mood of Cairo of his days. And, like many Cairenes of that time, ‘Abd ar-Ra‘u¯f al-Muna¯wı¯ was an adherent of not one, but of several Sufi 1 ‘Abd ar-Ra‘u¯f al-Muna¯wı¯ was born in Cairo; his nisba al-Muna¯wı¯ came from the name of an Egyptian village of Munyat Banı¯ Khas¯ıb (Upper Egypt) where his forefathers settled having arrived there from Hadda¯da, a village ˙located in the neighborhood of Tunis. See al-Muna¯wı¯’s ˙ ¯n b. ‘Abd ar-Ra‘uf al-Muna¯wı¯, in: Abdelhamid Saleh Hamdan, “La vie et biography in: Ta¯j ad-Dı ¯ l’oeuvre du grand soufi Égyptien: ’Abd al-Ra‘u¯f al-Muna¯wı¯,” Oriente Moderno, Nuova serie, Anno 3 (64), N. 7/12, Studi in memoria di Maria Nallino nel decimo anniversario della morte (Luglio-Dicembre 1984), 205; see also Saleh A. Hamdan, “Al-Muna¯wı¯,” EI2, Leiden: E.J. Brill 1960–2004, VII. 2 The supremacy of the Sha¯fi’ı¯ school of law in the early Ottoman Cairo was discussed by Michael Winter in his Society and Religion in Early Ottoman Egypt. Studies in the Writings of ‘Abd al-Wahha¯b al-Sha’ra¯nı¯, New Brunswick and London: Transaction Books 1982, 219–223. 3 Al-Muhibbı¯, Khula¯sat al-Athar fı¯ A’ya¯n al-Qarn al-Hadı¯ ‘Asˇar, n.d., II, 413; Hamdan, “Al˙¯,” EI2, VII. ˙ ˙ Muna¯wı 4 Probably the only study devoted to ’Abd al-Ra‘u¯f al-Muna¯wı¯ and his work is an unpublished 2013 Ph.D. dissertation by Tayeb Chouiref Boukabrine, Soufisme et Hadith dans l’oeuvre du traditionniste et mystique égyptien Abd al-Ra’uf al-Munawi (m. 1031/1622); I am grateful to the supervisor of the dissertation prof. Éric Geoffroy for pointing my attention to it.

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tarı¯qas – he was introduced to Khalwatiyya, Bayramiyya, Sha¯dhiliyya and ˙ Naqshbandiyya.5 In the 16th- and early 17th-century Cairo, where ‘Abd ar-Ra‘u¯f al-Muna¯wı¯ lived, Sufism, or the mystical form of Islam, was a pervasive social and cultural phenomenon. Far from being homogeneous in form or content, it moved across social divides and spread across various domains of culture. Sufis of all walks of life were omnipresent, and their influence on people’s views, thoughts and emotions – overwhelming.6 Those of them who, like al-Muna¯wı¯, were also ‘ulama¯‘, or religious scholars, made a special group within the social elite.7 Learned, soulful and prominent, they played a key role in the culturemaking process and thus in shaping of the spirit of the time, or rather of the “spacetime” in this case. The term is to stress the actual inherence of both the temporal and spatial parameters in any “here-and-now” as well as my conviction that the synchronic and diachronic approaches must not exclude each other, particularly when a transition process is discussed.8 Here the spacetime refers to a unit defined by the Cairo city space and by a time span extending from 1517 to the 1620s, or the period which roughly covers the first century of the Ottoman occupation; the end of that period is marked by al-Muna¯wı¯’s death (1621/2).

5 For the profile of these tarı¯qas as present in early-Ottoman Cairo see Michael Winter, Egyptian Society under Ottoman˙ Rule, London and New York: Routledge 1992, 133–42; idem, Society and Religion, 88–125. 6 On the popularity of Sufism in the early Ottoman Egypt and the impact of the Ottoman occupation on its further spread of it see Winter, Society and Religion, 19–20; on the social position of Sufis in the 16th-century Egypt see ibid, 28–31. However, Michael Winter’s references to the late-Mamluk and post-Mamluk/Ottoman period as that of decadence, stagnation, literary decline, etc. is disputable, particularly in the light of recent research tendencies. Cf. also Leonor Fernandes, The Evolution of a Sufi Institution in Mamluk Egypt: The Khanqah, Berlin: Klaus Schwartz Verlag 1988, 2–3, where the reasons behind the Mamluks’ encouragement of the development of Sufism are mentioned. 7 Winter, Society and Religion, 30; idem, Egyptian Society, 128–9. For in-depth comments regarding the rivalry between the Sufis and the ‘ulama¯‘ see Winter, Society and Religion, 30, 160– 64; 219–36. For remarks on Sufis-‘ulama¯‘ relations see Éric Geoffroy, Le Soufisme en Égypte et en Syrie sous les derniers Mamelouks et les premieres Ottomans. Orientations spirituelles et enjeux cultureless, Damas, 1995, 54–61, 69, 72; also 170–72; Fernandes, Evolution, 2, 48. Cf. Michael Chamberlain, Knowledge and Social Practice in Medieval Damascus, 1190–1350, Cambridge, 2002, 167–8. 8 My appreciation of the “spatial turn” in cultural studies notwithstanding. Cf. Felix Gilbert’s discussion of Perry Miller’s The New England Mind: The Seventeenth Century (New York: Macmillan 1939), where it is observed that “Perry Miller demonstrated that a change in one area of thought involves an alignment of thought and action in all other spheres.” Felix Gilbert, “Intellectual History: Its Aims and Methods,” Daedalus 100/1, Historical Studies Today (Winter 1971), 82.

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Al-Muna¯wı¯ and his Mamluk-Ottoman environment In 1545, when ‘Abd ar-Ra‘u¯f al-Muna¯wı¯ was born in Cairo, the Mamluk era had been over for almost three decades. Thus he grew up in Cairo of the Ottomans, shaped by the post-Mamluk, Ottoman reality which surrounded him. This particular spacetime affected him with its Ottomanness in a variety of ways: through mundane experiences of its Alltag, the ideas which permeated it, the standards of its political order, its social mood, its cultural and mental climate, and people he met, many of whom were newcomers from other parts of the Ottoman empire. The most important for him were probably immigrant Turkish-speaking Sufis, whose presence grew considerably following the Ottoman occupation of Egypt.9 Some of them became al-Muna¯wı¯’s spiritual guides – such as shaykh Muharram ˙ ar-Ru¯mı¯ of the Khalwatiyya order, who did not know Arabic. It was due to their influence that al-Muna¯wı¯’s identity and personality gained their “Ottoman” trait. However, even though he grew up in Cairo of the Ottomans, the culture which shaped him was not entirely Ottoman, if only because his Ottoman-Cairene reality was filled with the Mamluk- (and pre-Mamluk-) period relics, which continued to be in use: streets, buildings, dress, food, manners, customs, habits, culture patterns, concepts, social structures, as well as language and texts. People, too, were in various ways deeply rooted in the Mamluk past even though the growing majority of them grew up in Cairo of the Ottomans and did not remember this past personally. In 1517 Mamluk Cairo became a provincial capital of the Ottoman Empire, but this does not mean that it immediately became an Ottoman city. To become one, Mamluk Cairo had to evolve. Thus the first century of the Ottoman presence became a period of transition. It was the century when the Local, the Traditional and the Familiar (although by no means homogenous) met the New and the Alien (and extremely variegated), brought here by the Ottoman state functionaries, learned men, Sufis, soldiers and all who followed them (Turkish-speaking, although by no means exclusively Turkish).10 It was the century when, after quite brutal beginnings,11 the old, multi-dimensional “Mamluk” tissue of the city had 9 Winter, Society and Religion, 20. 10 For an interesting discussion on the Ottoman (Osmanlı) identity see Bruce Masters, The Arabs of the Ottoman Empire, 1516–1918. A Social and Cultural History, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2013, 12–16; also Benjamin Lellouch, “Qu’est-ce qu’un Turc ? (Égypte, Syrie, XVIe siècle),” European Journal of Turkish Studies [Online], Complete List, 2013, Connection on 15 September 2015. URL : http:// ejts.revues.org/4758; and F. Asli Ergul, “The Ottoman Identity: Turkish, Muslim or Rum?,” Middle Eastern Studies 48/4 (2012), 629–45. 11 Probably the most vivid picture of the stern measures taken by the Ottoman Yavuz Sultan Selim against the Egyptian Mamluks was drawn by David Ayalon, “Mamlu¯k Military Aristocracy during the First Years of the Ottoman Occupation of Egypt,” in: The Islamic World from Classical to Modern Times: Essays in Honor of Bernard Lewis, edited by C.E. Bosworth et

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to interact with the outer, complex Ottoman layer, which from 1517 on shrouded the city space. The stability of certain institutions, values and habits had to respond to the tendency for change which, spurred by the influx of representatives of the new order and another culture, appeared in various domains of life. As a consequence of the acculturative process which followed the reaction between what was “Mamluk” and what was “Ottoman,” there emerged a cultural blend of a dual, “Mamluk-Ottoman” nature – the internal diversity of each of the two parties notwithstanding.12 This dual, or bicultural character was probably one of the most particular features of the mental climate of the early-Ottoman Cairo. It must have also been the trait of ‘Abd ar-Ra‘u¯f al-Muna¯wı¯. For even though he grew up under the al., Princeton: Darwin Press 1989, 413–16; for an excellent study of Abdüssamed Diyarbekrî’s (d. after 1542) perspective see Benjamin Lellouch, Les Ottomans en Égypte: Historiens et conquérants au XVIe siècle, Paris-Louvain-Dudley: Peeters 2006. See also Winter, Society and Religion, 13–15; idem, Egyptian Society, 7–9; Masters, The Arabs, 26–7; Doris Behrens-Abouseif, Egypt’s Adjustment to Ottoman Rule: Institutions, Waqf & Architecture in Cairo (16th and 17th Centuries), Leiden: E.J. Brill 1994, 27–8. 12 No comprehensive study has as yet been devoted to the cultural and psychological changes that followed the meeting between Mamluk and Ottoman cultures. However, certain aspects of the acculturation, usually related to Egypt’s adjustments and adaptations to the new circumstances, were discussed in a number of publications such as: Winter, Society and Religion, 15–25 (“Egyptian Society: the Impact of the Ottoman Rule”); ibid, Egyptian Society, 9–18 (“Historical Background”) and 129–31 (“The Impact of the Ottoman Conquest on Egyptian Sufism”); ibid, “Ottoman Egypt, 1525–1609,” in: The Cambridge History of Egypt, Vol. II: M.W. Daly (ed.), Modern Egypt, from 1517 to the End of the Twentieth Century, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2008, 1–33; Jane Hathaway, “Egypt in the Seventeenth Century,” in: The Cambridge History of Egypt, II, 34–58; Behrens-Abouseif, Egypt’s Adjustment, passim; and André Raymond, Cairo: City of History, Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press 2001, 191–288; also, to a degree, David Ayalon, “The End of the Mamlu¯k Sultanate (Why did the Ottomans Spare the Mamlu¯ks of Egypt and Wipe Out the Mamlu¯ks of Syria?),” Studia Islamica 65 (1987), 125–48. For studies of various aspects of the Cairene city space in the early Ottoman period see André Raymond, “The Residential Districts of Cairo’s Elite in the Mamluk and Ottoman Periods (Fourteenth to Eighteenth Centuries),” in: Th. Philipp and U. Haarmann (eds.), The Mamluks in Egyptian Politics and Society, Cambridge: CUP 1998, 207–223; idem, “Soldiers in Trade. The Case of Ottoman Cairo,” BRIJMES 18/1 (1991), 16–37; idem, “Architecture and Urban Development: Cairo during the Ottoman Period, 1517–1798,” in: John P. Spagnolo, Problems of the Modern Middle East in Historical Perspective: Essays in Honour of Albert Hourani, Reading: Ithaca Press 1992, 211–227; Nelly Hanna, Habiter au Caire aux XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles, Le Caire: IFAO 1991. See also Lellouch, Les Ottomans, and Benjamin Lellouch and Nicolas Michel (eds.), Conquête Ottomane De L’Égypte (1517). Arrière-plan, Impact, Échos, Leiden; Boston: Brill 2013, which offers some interesting insights into the political, social, and cultural strategies applied by the Ottomans to incorporate Egypt into their empire. In the article included in the present volume and dealing with “the Ottoman appropriation of a Mamluk metropolis,” Torsten Wollina discusses similar strategies in the Damascene context or, more precisely, the political aspects of cultural change and “forced diffusion” of certain traits of Ottoman culture that occurred in Damascus following the Ottoman occupation of the city.

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Ottoman rule and was affected by Ottoman culture, al-Muna¯wı¯ was also brought up, educated and guided by persons who had been born, raised and formed in the times of the Mamluks and who shaped him according to the norms and ways that were typical of the late-Mamluk past. If we are to believe his biographers,13 these persons included such individuals as ‘Abd ar-Ra‘u¯f ’s father, who is said to have taught him Arabic language and Islam, and ‘Abd al-Wahha¯b ash-Sha’ra¯nı¯ (897– 793/1492–1565), the most famous of his Sufi masters. As a young man, al-Muna¯wı¯ was apparently also influenced by a shaykh named ar-Ramlı¯ al-Ansa¯rı¯,14 ˙ with whom he “worked a lot” and to whom he was strongly attached – if only because the shaykh, while being a husband of al-Muna¯wı¯’s grandmother, “was for him like a father.”15 With all probability, those and other persons of his parents’ and grand-parents’ age group influenced al-Muna¯wı¯, inspired him, and contributed to shaping his personality. They infused him with memes16 typical for their generation. They instilled their ways of thinking and behaving into his psyche and mind and, at the same time, transferred onto him many of their own problems and troubles. All this happened according to the rule that one generation, through its interactions with the next, educates it into the same ways of thinking and assures that their own concerns would be those of subsequent generations.17 Thus the patterns and values of old, Mamluk past became a part of al-Muna¯wı¯’s emotional-culturalintellectual baggage, all the more so that he adopted many of them at a rather young age.18 One is even tempted to say that this way al-Muna¯wı¯’s cultural super13 To the best of my knowledge, there are two biographies of al-Muna¯wı¯, very similar in their contents. One of them is included in the biographical dictionary compiled by al-Muhibbı¯, ˙ by Khula¯sat, 412–16; the other, written by al-Muna¯wı¯’s son Ta¯j ad-Dı¯n, was published ˙ “La vie,” 203–13. Hamdan, 14 Cf. Winter, Society and Religion, 221. 15 See al-Muhibbı¯, Khula¯sat, II, 412–13; Ta¯j ad-Dı¯n b. ‘Abd ar-Ra‘u¯f al-Muna¯wı¯ in: Hamdan, “La ˙ ˙ vie,” 205–6. 16 As genes transmit biological information, memes act as units transmitting ideas, behaviors or styles that spread from person to person within a culture. While self-replicating through imitation, they modify human behavior and contribute to spreading a given culture pattern. See, above all, Richard Dawkins, The Selfish Gene, Oxford: Oxford University Press 1989 and, for example, Susan Blackmore, The Meme Mashine, Oxford: Oxford University Press 2000. 17 See Charles M. Radding, “Evolution of Medieval Mentalities: A Cognitive-Structural Approach,” The American Historical Review 83/3 (1978), 595. 18 Childhood and one’s early emotional experiences are of course fundamental for understanding one’s personality from the perspective of psychohistory and through the application of psychoanalytic concepts (see Paulina B. Lewicka, “Did Ibn al-Ha¯jj Copy from Cato? Re˙ considering Aspects of Inter-Communal Antagonism of the Mamluk Period,” in: Stephan Conermann (ed.), Ubi sumus? Quo vademus? Mamluk Studies: State of the Art, Bonn University Press at V&R unipress 2013, 236–40, 250). But Radding points to some of the discoveries of the Swiss cognitive psychologist Jean Piaget, such as that according to which when children first become aware of rules, they treat them as “sacred and untouchable.” According

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ego, or Freudian Über-Ich,19 gained – apart from the “Ottoman” – a “Mamluk” dimension. In other words, the beliefs, values, ideas, symbols, patterns, norms, ways of behaving and ways of thinking, manners, habits and practices that were instilled into al-Muna¯wı¯ in the process of rearing, education and socialization were influenced by the spirit and the cultural capital of the two epochs and, as such, had a dual, Mamluk-Ottoman character. And it is because of this particular trait of alMuna¯wı¯’s that his rich literary output constitutes (supposedly, at least) a record of cultural, intellectual, social and mental heritage of the Mamluk era as present in the early-Ottoman Cairo. The attribute all the more precious that it was so ephemeral. However persistent, with time the Mamluk traits naturally weakened, making more and more room for the Ottoman style.20

¯ lı¯ al-Alba¯b bi-Ma’rifat Al-Muna¯wı¯’s Memorandum, or Tadhkarat U ¯ al-Ada¯b Al-Muna¯wı¯ wrote almost one hundred works,21 of which only few have been published. Today the most famous are probably his biographical dictionaries of Sufis: a grand biographical dictionary, known as Tabaqa¯t al-Muna¯wı¯ al-Kubrá,22 ˙ in which he collected the lives of the great Sufis from Muhammad to his own times; and the shorter version of it, known as Tabaqa¯t al-Muna¯wı¯ as-Sughrá.23 Of ˙ ˙˙ all his writings, one work constitutes a particularly precious source for studying

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21 22 23

to Radding, “cognitive theories also suggest new ways of understanding cultural change”; see Radding, “Evolution,” 581–2, 584. Very generally speaking, the superego is the mechanism which makes people control their biological behavior according to cultural rules. For Freud “the installation of the super-ego can be described as a successful instance of identification with the parental agency,” while as development proceeds “the super-ego also takes on the influence of those who have stepped into the place of parents – educators, teachers, people chosen as ideal models.” See Sigmund Freud, New Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis (The Standard Edition), New York: W. W. Norton & Company 1990, 72–3; also J. David Velleman, Self to Self. Selected Essays, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2006, 129–55; Charles M. Beadnell, “The Super-Ego of Freud,” The Lancet 210/5424 (13 August 1927), 359. As cultures change and acquire new traits, some of the old ones become useless and inevitably disappear. Such a culture loss is particularly typical of periods of acculturation, when a culture is transformed due to the adoption of cultural traits from another society; during this process alien traits diffuse in, and substantially replace, existing cultural patterns. The list of these works is included in al-Muhibbı¯, Khula¯sat, II, 413–16; Hamdan, “La vie,” 207– ˙ ˙ 13. Zayn ad-Dı¯n Muhammad ‘Abd ar-Ra‘u¯f al-Muna¯wı¯, Al-Kawa¯kib ad-Durriyya fı¯ Tara¯jim asSa¯da as-Su¯fiyya, ˙3.vols., Beirut: Da¯r Sa¯dir n.d. ˙ ˙ ¯ m Awliya¯‘ ash-Shayta¯n bi-Dhikr ˙ Idem, Irgha Mana¯qib Awliya¯‘ ar-Rahmán, Beirut: Da¯r Sa¯dir ˙ ˙ n.d.

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¯ lı¯ alcertain aspects of the Mamluk-Ottoman cultural blend. It is his Tadhkarat U ¯ Alba¯b bi-Ma’rifat al-Ada¯b, which title can be translated as “Memorandum for the Knowledgeable Persons on the Rules of [Decent] Behavior”. This title, which may suggest an etiquette handbook, is a little bit confusing, though. In fact, hidden behind it is a rather particular manual of savoir vivre; it comprises not so much a manual of good manners but, rather, a compendium of fundamental, practicalscholarly-spiritual knowledge related to a number of everyday issues. At the same time, it includes guidelines to correct ways of acting in certain situations. In a way, it is a guide to what may be called harmonious life – presented, however, as an intellectual challenge. The still unedited work survives in a number of copies which are catalogued under different titles in different libraries. For the time being, I have identified three of them.24 There are two copies in Da¯r al-Kutub wa-l-Watha¯‘iq al-Qawmiyya (Ba¯b al-Khalq branch) in Cairo:25 the older one, dated 1023/1614–15, is catalogued under 3083 Tasawwuf and consists of 47 unnumbered leaves (MS Cairo1). ˙ This may be the autograph rough copy, completed during the author’s lifetime (d. 1621), written in rather careless and uneven naskhı¯. It is heavily marked and annotated and due to the fact that significant fragments of the text are faded, not easy to read. The other Da¯r al-Kutub copy is catalogued under 230 Akhla¯q (MS Cairo2); dated 1035/1626, it consists of 113 numbered pages written in a relatively clear naskhı¯ style.26 The third and the youngest copy of al-Muna¯wı¯’s Tadhkara belongs to Yale Holdings, Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library (MS Yale). Catalogued as Landberg MSS 163 it consists of 47 leaves written with black and red ink in nice calligraphic naskhı¯. The copy is not dated; according to the library information, it dates back to the 19th century. There is also another trace which, however seems to lead nowhere: the catalogue of an Istanbul library founded by certain ‘Ashir Efendi in the 18th century,27 Defter-i Kutubkhana-yi ‘Ashir Efendi published by Der-i Saadet in 1306/1888–9, mentions a copy of Tadhkara dated 1301/1883.28 However, the Istanbul copy is not to be found anymore in the Süleymaniye Library, where it apparently used to be kept – according to the library staff, it seems to have disappeared a relatively long time 24 The copies are not identical as far as their contents and composition are concerned. 25 Ref.: Fihrist al-Kutub al-‘Arabiyya al-Mawju¯da bi-d-Da¯r lighayat as-Sa¯na 1921, Cairo: Da¯r alKutub al-Misriyya 1924, I, Mulhaq, 36; also Carl Brockelmann, Geschichte der arabischen ˙ I, Leiden: E.J. Brill ˙ 1937, 417. I would like to thank prof. Frédéric Bauden for Literatur, Sppl. helping me with identifying Brockelmann’s reference with the reference provided in the Fihrist. 26 Some pages (90–99) seem to be missing from it, although it is at the moment difficult to say whether the MS is incomplete or the scan has been done improperly. 27 The ‘Ashir Efendi Library, founded in 1154/1741, was originally situated near the Laga Hammam at Baghcha Gate. 28 Defter-i Kutubkhana-yi ‘Ashir Efendi, Der-i Saadet 1306, 30 (# 446).

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ago.29 Considering the date ascribed to it in the Defter (i. e. 1301/1883), it cannot be ruled out that the missing Süleymaniye copy is identical with the copy currently held at Yale. Nevertheless, the fact that a copy of Tadhkara was made as late as in the 19th century and that it was taken to, or written in, Istanbul is meaningful. Tadhkara, or “Memorandum,” consists of ‘Introduction’ (‘Al-Muqaddima’) and twelve chapters, which cover various aspects of everyday life. Interestingly enough, most of the topics are discussed from two points of view – medical and legal-religious. The titles of the chapters run as follows: Introduction (Muqaddima) I.

On the rules related to eating (Fı¯ a¯da¯b al-akl) I.1. Religious-legal rules (Fı¯ a¯da¯bihi ash-shar’iyya) I.2. Medical rules (Fı¯ a¯da¯b al-akl at-tibbiyya) II. On the rules related to drinking (Fı¯ a¯da¯˙ b˙ ash-shurb) II.1. Religious-legal rules (Fı¯ a¯da¯bihi ash-shar’iyya) II.2. Medical rules (Fı¯ a¯da¯bihi at-tibbiyya) III. On the rules related to dress (Fı¯ a¯da˙¯ b˙ al-malbas) IV. On the rules related to sexual intercourse (Fı¯ a¯da¯b al-jima¯’) IV.1. Religious-legal rules (Fı¯ a¯da¯bihi ash-shar’iyya) IV.2. Medical rules (Fı¯ a¯da¯bihi at-tibbiyya) ˙ IV.3. On sexual potency (Fı¯ al-ba¯˙h) V. On the rules related to sleeping (Fı¯ a¯da¯b an-nawm) V.1. Religious-legal rules (Fı¯ a¯da¯bihi ash-shar’iyya) V.2. Medical rules (Fı¯ a¯da¯b an-nawm at-tibbiyya) ˙ ˙amma¯m) VI. On the rules related to bathing (Fı¯ a¯da¯b al-h ˙ VI.1. Religious-legal rules (Fı¯ a¯da¯bihi ash-shar’iyya) VI.2. Medical rules (Fı¯ a¯da¯bihi at-tibbiyya) ˙ VII. On the rules related to the relations˙ with wife and what relates to this problem (Fı¯ a¯da¯b mu’a¯sharat az-zawja wa-muta’alliqa¯t dhalika) VIII. On the rules related to child-rearing (Fı¯ a¯da¯b tarbiyyat al-awla¯d) VIII.1. Religious-legal rules (Fı¯ a¯da¯bihi ash-shar’iyya) VIII.2. Rules [found] in stories (Fı¯ al-a¯da¯b al-hikmiyya) VIII.3. Medical rules (Fı¯ a¯da¯bihi at-tibbiyya) ˙ IX. On the rules of the traveler (Fı¯ a¯da¯b˙ ˙al-musa¯fir) IX.1. Religious-legal rules (Fı¯ a¯da¯bihi ash-shar’iyya) IX.2. Medical rules (Fı¯ a¯da¯bihi at-tibbiyya) ˙ accompanying the family, relatives and X. On fulfilling duties towards people,˙on neighbors, and on the rules related to relations with (…) other people while taking into consideration their social affiliation, time and place notwithstanding (Fı¯ qiya¯m bi-huqu¯q an-na¯s wa-sahbat al-ahl wa-l-aqa¯rib wa-l-jı¯ra¯n wa a¯da¯b mu’a¯sharat al˙ ¯ n wa-ghayrihi min ˙ ˙ an-na¯s ‘alá ikhtila¯f tabaqatihim fı¯ kull zama¯n wa-maka¯n) khila ˙ what has been said (…) (Fı¯ jam’ XI. A collection of general rules and repetition of jawa¯mi’ al-a¯da¯b wa-huwwa in ka¯na fı¯hi takra¯r ma’a ma¯ taqaddam…) 29 I am grateful to prof. Frédéric Bauden for the research he made for me in the Süleymaniye Library.

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On the purity of the soul, on its improvement and embellishment with good deeds (Fı¯ taha¯rat an-nafs wa-tazkiyyatiha¯ wa-tahlı¯ha¯ bi-l-akhla¯q al-fadila) ˙ ˙ ˙

As an object of research, Memorandum is a very challenging and, at the same time, very promising text, in which orthodox Sunni thought, Sufi tradition, Hippocratic-Galenic concepts, magic and didactic stories are brought together in the form of a collection of knowledge pertaining to aspects of daily life. But the guidelines to norms of correct behavior and references to daily practices constitute only the surface of the text. Under this multi-topic outer layer lies the often hidden, multi-dimensional inner part, in which emotions, spiritual issues, religion, philosophy, literary history, intellectual tradition and universal archetypal patterns interweave and overlap in a way which makes of Memorandum a unique and very sophisticated literary entity. In fact, it is a collection of knowledge which, while representing certain cultural reality is also a perfect example of “‘construction’ or ‘production’ of reality (…) by means of representations.”30 As far as its place in the literary and intellectual history is concerned, alMuna¯wı¯’s Memorandum generally follows the tradition outlined by texts which discuss rules of behaving in various situations – such as guides of table manners, rules for travelers, rules related to bathing, to sleeping, to caring for hygiene or to solving problems with sexual potency. At the same time, it also forms a part of a long and complex tradition of popularizing medical and dietetic knowledge in a simplified and reader-friendly way.31 And, at the same time, it follows the literary convention of tibb an-nabı¯, or prophetic medicine, i. e. the tradition of writing ˙ about health on the basis of the Qur‘an and the Sunna of the Prophet. Furthermore, Memorandum follows the tradition outlined by authors who wrote treaties explaining the weirdness of women and teaching the ways of dealing with them and with the threat they constitute. Interestingly enough, Memorandum also enriches the otherwise modest Arabic-Islamic legacy related to writing on child-rearing. The model of a multi-topic, savoir-vivre-like compendium was not al-Muna¯wı¯’s invention – it had been set up by Abu¯ Ha¯mid al-Ghaza¯lı¯ in the late 11th – ˙ early 12th century. But al-Muna¯wı¯’s Memorandum was not a copy of al-Ghaza¯lı¯’s ¯ da¯t,” which was a part of Ihya¯’ Ulu¯m ad-Dı¯n).32 “Norms of Daily Life” (“Rub’ al-‘A ˙ 30 Peter Burke, What is Cultural History, Cambridge: Polity 2008, 77. 31 Cf. Paulina B. Lewicka, “Diet as Culture. On the Medical Context of Food Consumption in the Medieval Middle East,” History Compass 12/7 (2014), doi/10.1111/hic3.12176/full, 611. ¯ da¯t” was, in fact, the first comprehensive Arabic32 Al-Ghaza¯lı¯’s (ca. 1058–1111) “Rub’ al-‘A Islamic guide to various questions of daily life and to correct ways of behaving in various situations, a kind of a treaty on “what every Muslim should know on everyday issues” (the topics included table manners, rules of sexual intercourse, of travelling, of isolation, rules related to various kinds of relations with people, of “ordering good and forbidding evil,” etc).

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During the five centuries which passed from the lifetime of al-Ghaza¯lı¯ to the times of al-Muna¯wı¯, the idea of such a compendium evolved, subjected to all kinds of influences. It was modified according to various currents in social life, politics and culture of the Arabic-Islamic world. It participated in a constant, neverending process of recycling of texts. The individuality of particular authors affected it, too. In other words, as a section of literary history, Memorandum had its complex past. It was a part of a centuries-long intellectual debate. It answered questions which had previously been raised. It was presented in the form in which such problems had previously been treated. Consciously or not, al-Muna¯wı¯ had in mind a model according to which he fashioned his work. But from time to time he broke the traditional mold and contributed to creating a new trend.33 The very complex character of al-Muna¯wı¯’s Memorandum, the diversity of topics it discusses, as well as its broad, variegated, multi-dimensional context imply that in the study of this text eclecticism seems to be the only reasonable choice. It allows one to look at the text from a variety of perspectives and, in turn, to make a multi-aspect analysis and interpretation of it. The possible approaches are numerous and range from social, literary and anthropological history to social psychology, to history of ideas, to psychohistory, to gender studies or history of emotions34 – to name but a few examples. However, the nature of the thematic fields which Memorandum covers usually locates the research area at the intersection of a number of concerns.

As such, it became the model to follow for many future authors of various works of this kind. Al-Ghaza¯lı¯, who is quoted relatively frequently in Memorandum, was for al-Muna¯wı¯ an important and, in a way, obligatory paragon also for another reason – like al-Muna¯wı¯, alGhaza¯lı¯ was a Sufi who combined Sunni theology with Sufism; see Abu¯ al-Ha¯mid al-Ghaza¯lı¯, ˙ Ihya¯’ ‘Ulu¯m ad-Dı¯n, Cairo: Da¯r Ibn Hazm 2005, 432–876. ˙ Gilbert, “Intellectual History,” 91.˙ These remarks pertain both to the entire work and to 33 Cf. Memorandum’s particular chapters which, in fact, constitute quite separate units, or literary micro-entities. Al-Muna¯wı¯’s tendency to innovativeness was also noticed by Tayeb Chouiref Boukabrine in his dissertation Soufisme et Hadith (as Tayeb Chouiref noticed in the Résumé, “Muna¯wı¯’s works are not lacking in originality. He was heir to many scholars marked by Sufism, and at the same time, was able to present views radically different from the conventional ones. This is actually the case when he speaks about falsafa, alchemy and the science of letters”). 34 The history of emotions is one of the fastest growing fields in current historical debate; in the context of the present text see especially William M. Reddy, “Against Constructionism: The Historical Ethnography of Emotions,” Current Anthropology 38/3 (1997), 327–351; Cas Wouters, “Etiquette Books and Emotion Management in the 20th Century. Part One: The Integration of Social Classes,” Journal of Social History 29/1 (Autumn 1995), 107–24; “Part Two: The Integration of the Sexes,” Journal of Social History 29/2 (Winter 1995), 325–39; Susan J. Matt, “Current Emotion Research in History: Or, Doing History from the Inside Out”, Emotion Review 3 (January 2011), 117–24; and Jan Plamper, The History of Emotions. An Introduction, Oxford: OUP 2015.

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In other words, the research agenda usually lies where various areas overlap. This is, for instance, the case of Memorandum’s medical aspect, which has to be considered an area at the intersection of literary and intellectual history, history of ideas, religion, as well as history and social history of medicine and medical culture. But medicine is a pervasive social and cultural phenomenon, and as such constitutes a very particular aspect of Memorandum. In a way, it is a structural element of the work, as most of the issues presented in particular chapters are discussed, in a quite innovative way, from two points of view: legal-religious and medical. “Legal-religious” means the context of hadı¯th, Qur‘anic quotations, and sayings of various Islamic or Sufi authorities. “Medical” generally means the rules of Galenic medicine. This distinction is an interesting proposition, if only because it seems to point to a phenomenon which stood, in a way, in opposition to what had been typical for the genre known as the medicine of the Prophet (tibb an-nabı¯). While authors ˙ of books on prophetic medicine combined the tenets of the medical doctrine of Galen with the Muhammadan tradition and the Qur‘anic quotations, al-Muna¯wı¯ disconnected them in a way and discussed each of them separately. As such, Memorandum may prove to be an important stage in the history of coexistence of the Hippocratic-Galenic thought and the Islamic religion. For example, we can learn from Memorandum what remained of the Galenic doctrine of humoral pathology in the 16th and early 17th century, that is after some 700 years of its functioning in Da¯r al-Isla¯m as a medical system, as a branch of knowledge, as a way of thinking and living, and as lingua franca of the cultured urbanites.35 In fact, al-Muna¯wı¯’s text proves how durable and persistent, but also how flexible was the medical thought of Galen. We can find clues in Memorandum as to how Galen’s concept evolved and how it could be adjusted to new circumstances.36 Memorandum also shows that the Galenic medicine, no matter 35 In this context, it might be useful to consider the perspectives that were employed by A.I. Sabra and Sonja Brentjes in their studies of medieval science: A.I. Sabra, “The Appropriation and Subsequent Naturalization of Greek Science in Medieval Islam: A Preliminary Statement,” History of Science 25 (1987), 223–43; idem, “Science and Philosophy in Medieval Islamic Theology,” Zeitschrift für Geschichte der Arabisch-Islamischen Wissenschaften 9 (1994), 1–42; Sonja Brentjes, “On the Location of the Ancient or ‘Rational’ Sciences in Muslim Educational Landscapes (AH 500–1100),” Bulletin of the Royal Institute of Inter-Faith Studies 4 (2002), 47–71. 36 However, if these clues are to be correctly understood, Memorandum has to be situated in relation to a larger corpus of medicine-related writings of the time; some of these texts were written by physicians, such as Da¯wu¯d al-Anta¯kı¯ (d. 1599), Muhammad Shams ad-Dı¯n al˙ Qawsu¯nı¯ (d. 1525) or Shiha¯b ad-Dı¯n Ahmad˙ al-Qalyu¯bı¯ (d. 1658). The authors of others, ˙ however, had nothing to do with medical˙ profession – as was the case with ‘Abd al-Wahha¯b ash-Sha’ra¯nı¯, who produced a summary of the book on remedies written centuries earlier by Ibn Tarkha¯n as-Suwaydı¯ (1204–1292) (‘Abd al-Wahha¯b ash-Sha’ra¯nı¯, Mukhtasar Tadhkarat ˙ ˙ compiled a as-Suwaydı ¯ fı¯ at-Tibb, Cairo 1289 H. and 1308 H.) or of al-Muna¯wı¯ himself, who ˙ ˙

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how convincing and irrefutable it still remained in al-Muna¯wı¯’s days, had to be customized to the spirit of the time and place. Or, more precisely, as a pagan concept invented by pagan Greek philosophers it had to be validated so as to become acceptable to the Muslim-Sufi environment of the early-Ottoman Cairo. So, at least, can be concluded from al-Muna¯wı¯’s narrative, which proposes an alternative history of the doctrine of humoral pathology. Thus, according to what Memorandum says, its origins were recorded in Kita¯b at-Tawra¯t (which seems to mean the Hebrew Bible here) 37; the appropriate fragment, reportedly detected by Wahb (al-Munabbih),38 read that God had created Adam’s body of four things, one of which was moist, one dry, one cold and one hot.39 To be sure, moisture, dryness, coldness and hotness are fundamental categories of Hippocratic-Galenic doctrine of humoral pathology which developed from the concept of four classical elements of fire, earth, air, and water. According to this concept, of these elements – which themselves embodied the qualities of hot, cold, dry, and wet – all things were composed. However, al-Muna¯wı¯ proposes a modified version of it: Kita¯b at-Tawra¯t, as quoted by him, explains that God made Adam of tura¯b, or soil, which was dry, and of water, which was moist. This is slightly different from the Greek original medical book (presumed lost) titled Bughyat al-Muhta¯j ilà Usu¯l at-Tibb wa al-‘Ila¯j. In this ˙ ˙ disregarded: although context, a work such as ash-Shirbı¯nı¯’s Hazz al-Quhu¯˙f should ˙not be ˙ written some decades after al-Muna¯wı¯’s death (i. e. in 1686 or soon after) and basically dealing with the rural environment of Lower Egypt, it nevertheless provides a lot of interesting data regarding the durability of certain elements of the Galenic doctrine; in fact, the dietary layer of Hazz al-Quhu¯f is particularly rich; see Yu¯suf b. Muhammad ash-Shirbı¯nı¯, ˙ ¯nı¯’s Kita¯b Hazz alHazz al-Quhu¯f bi-Sharh Qas¯ı˙d Abı¯ Sha¯du¯f, in: H.T. Davies, Yu¯suf al-Shirbı ˙ ˙ ¯ Sha ˙ ¯ du¯f (“Brains Confounded by the Ode of Abu¯ Sha¯du¯f ExpounQuhu¯f bi-Sharh Qas¯ıd Abı ˙ Vol. I, Leuven: ˙ ˙ Peeters 2004, 215–436, numerous fragments. See also Gary Leiser and ded”), Michael Dols, “Evliya¯ Çelebi’s Description of Medicine in Seventeenth-Century Egypt,” Sudhoff ’s Archiv 71/2 (1987), 197–216; Michael Dols, “Medicine in Sixteenth-Century Egypt,” in: Ekmeleddin Ihsanog˘lu (ed.), Transfer of Modern Science and Technology to the Muslim World. Proceedings of the International Symposium on Modern Sciences and the Muslim World, Istanbul: Research Centre for Islamic History, Art and Culture 1992, 213–21. Sherry Sayed Gadelrab, “The Popularization of Medical Knowledge in Ottoman Egypt, 1517–1800,” Lokman Hekim Journal 2/3 (2012), 1–12, http://lokmanhekim.mersin.edu.tr/index.php/ lokmanHekim/article/view/136, last access on March 23, 2016; idem, “Medical Healers in Ottoman Egypt, 1517–1805,” Medical History 54/3 (2010), 365–86. 37 The meaning of the term Tawra¯t, popularly identified with Torah, is not quite obvious – generally it was considered to be a holy scripture revealed to Moses. Typically for medieval Muslim literature, most quotations from the Tawra¯t were not based on any known text. See Hava Lazarus-Yafeh, “Tawra¯t,” EI2, X. 38 Wahb ibn Munabbih was a Muslim traditionist from Yemen (654/655–725 to 737); well versed in Jewish traditions, he was sometimes believed to have been of Jewish descent and a convert to Islam. In the hadı¯th, where the term Tawra¯t appears frequently, Jewish converts to Islam or ˙ descent, like Wahb b. Munabbih, are quite often mentioned as those who people of Jewish quote from it; Lazarus-Yafeh, “Tawra¯t.” 39 Tadhkara, MS Yale, fol. 2a; MS Cairo1, fol. 1b; MS Cairo2, fol. 2b (p. 4).

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but still similar to it. Two other elements are much more intriguing: according to al-Muna¯wı¯, or to the text he quotes, God used also hotness – which was a quality of nafs, and coldness – which was a quality of ru¯h. In fact, in the Arabic literary ˙ tradition the meanings of nafs and ru¯h differ according to the context. In the Sufi ˙ understanding, nafs is the carnal soul, the ego, the seat of passions, the often negatively inclined aspect of the self; ru¯h, on the other hand, is spirit, a human ˙ faculty in contest with ego-soul.40 Whatever the hidden meaning behind such a vision, after this first creation God created in the human body four kinds of natural disposition, which constituted essential prerequisites for the functioning of the body and which corresponded to Galenic humors. These were: black bile, yellow bile, blood and phlegm. None of them could exist without the others and, moreover, they had to be perfectly balanced41 – which, again, corresponded to the Hippocratic-Galenic concept. In other words, Memorandum demonstrated that the idea of humors and their balance was created by God, which act was recorded in the Bible. This way, combining the tenets of the Galenic doctrine with the elements of mysticism and placing them all within the monotheistic-Biblical context gave the humoral doctrine an Islamic-Sufi touch which legitimized it in the Sufi(?)-Muslim environment and made it fit the mental climate of the first century of the Ottoman occupation. But the text of Memorandum reflects also the practical dimension of medical theory. One can learn from it, for example, that fish and milk products should not be mixed in one meal as this causes illnesses such as leprosy, albinism, and semiparalysis/hemiplegia.42 In fact, there seems to be no evidence that avoidance of mixing fish and milk products had been observed in Egypt of the Mamluk period, or in the medieval Middle East in general. This combination, which is considered unhealthy today, appeared in a number of old Arabic-Islamic recipes

40 See Annemarie Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions of Islam, Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press 1978, 190–91; Éric Geoffroy, Introduction to Sufism: The Inner Path of Islam, Bloomington (In.): World Wisdom 2010, 12, 67, 149–51, 166; John Renard, Historical Dictionary of Sufism, Lanham: Scarecrow Press Inc. 2005, 79–80, 226. In early Arabic poetry nafs meant the self or person, while ru¯h was breath and wind. Beginning with the Qur‘an, nafs also ˙ means soul, and ru¯h means a special angel messenger and a special divine quality; cf. E.E. ˙ “Nafs,” EI2, VII. Calverley; I.R. Netton, 41 Tadhkara, MS Yale, fol. 2a; MS Cairo1, fols. 1b–2a; MS Cairo2, fol. 2b (p. 4). The fragment was also transmitted by some earlier authors, such as Ibn Qutayba (‘Uyu¯n al-Akhba¯r); Ması¯h b. alHakam al-Dı¯masˇqı¯ (Ar-Risa¯la al-Ha¯ru¯niyya); Abu¯ Ta¯lib al-Makkı¯ (Qu¯t al-Qulu¯b); Ibn˙ ʿAbd ˙ ˙ Rabbihi (Al-‘Iqd al-Farı¯d); Ibn al-‘Arabı¯ (Futu¯ha¯t al-Makkiyya); and an-Nuwayrı¯ (Niha¯yat al˙ Arab fı¯ Funu¯n al-Adab). 42 Tadhkara, MS Yale, fol. 14a; MS Cairo1, fol. 22b; MS. Cairo2 fol. 16a (p. 29).

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where fish and yoghurt were put together.43 Al-Muna¯wı¯’s remarks may have reflected, then, a new trend in medico-culinary thinking. The culinary culture of the Arabic-Islamic world was, by the way, closely related to medicine. In the Galenic medical system, which in the Middle Ages prevailed among the Arab-speaking cultured urbanites, food had medicinal properties and was a fundament of both curative and preventive treatment. Dishes were understood not only as nourishment, but also as compositions of nutrients that were determinants of health and illness, remedies for ailments, therapeutics against diseases. With educated people reading medical books and spreading the acquired knowledge, with the information transmitted from book to book, from teacher to student, from doctor to patient, and from patient to his relatives or neighbors, the Greek medico-culinary teachings became part of a broader public domain of knowledge.44 By the 16th/17th century the Greek humoral doctrine was significantly simplified and modified but, as al-Muna¯wı¯’s Memorandum demonstrates, it still shaped – together with the medicine of the Prophet – educated person’s thinking on medicine, health, illness, and food.45 These are just few examples of medicine-related issues that can be explored through the text of Memorandum. In fact, medicine dominates the contents of this text, or, more properly, sets its tone, due to which reason Memorandum constitutes a mine of information about medical culture of the early-Ottoman Cairo. It confirms the pluralism of this culture, the healing systems of which included not only the Galenic doctrine, but also magic and folk medicine.46 It reflects the state of medical knowledge among educated Cairenes and the way they thought about medical issues. It reveals their health concerns. It points to the role medicine played in various domains of life. In this context, it may be interesting to observe that al-Muna¯wı¯ was clearly impressed by Da¯wu¯d al-Anta¯kı¯ ˙ (d. 1599), a famous physician of Syrian origin whom he calls “shaykhuna¯” and 47 whom he quotes a number of times. 43 See Paulina B. Lewicka, Food and Foodways of Medieval Cairenes: Aspects of Life in an Islamic Metropolis of the Eastern Mediterranean, Leiden: E.J. Brill 2011, 215–16. 44 Cf. Lewicka, Food and Foodways, 76–7 and references therein. 45 See Lewicka, Diet as Culture, 610. 46 Cf. Michael Dols, “Insanity and its Treatment in Islamic Society,” Medical History 31 (1987), 10–12, 14; idem, “Islam and Medicine,” History of Science 26/4/74 (1988), 420; idem, Majnu¯n: The Madman in Medieval Islamic Society, Oxford: Clarendon Press 1992, 248; Manfred Ullmann, “Die Tadkira des ibn as-Suwaidı¯, eine wichtige Quelle zur Geschichte der griechisch¯ arabischen Medizin und Magie,” Der Islam 54 (1977), 33–65. On folk medicine see also Peter E. Pormann, Emilie Savage-Smith, Medieval Islamic Medicine, Washington, D.C.: Georgetown University Press 2007, 145–61. As for magic, it is especially prominent in Memorandum’s section dealing with sexual potency and comprising al-Badr al-Qawsu¯nı¯’s treaty on sexual ˙ does not include the potency quoted in extenso (Tadhkara, MS Yale fols. 18b–25b; MS Cairo1 treaty; MS Cairo2, fols. 26b–37b (pp. 50–72); on al-Qawsu¯nı¯ see below, n. 60. ¯ lı¯ al47 Probably it was not accidental that the title of al-Muna¯wı˙¯’s Memorandum, Tadhkarat U

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But medicine is just one example, if particularly complex, of a thematic field on which the text of Memorandum sheds its particular light. Such fields are indeed many and, as the list of chapters demonstrates, range from table manners and eating habits48 to bathing practices,49 to child-rearing,50 to the nature of relations between women and men. As for the issues related to this last topic, they are discussed, above all, in the Memorandum’s chapter VII, which is titled “On the rules related to the relations with wife and on what relates to this problem.”51 From the perspective of literary history the chapter is by no means unusual; it simply follows the centuries-long tradition of transmitting the knowledge about woman as a weird, faulty, corrupt, wicked and dreadful kind of creature. It was due to this tradition, which flourished in the Mamluk period, that the symbolic fundament of thinking about women, at least among the urbanites, was uninterruptedly informed by messages included in the sources of Islamic law. Such messages ranged from the Qur’anic verse 4:34, according to which “men are superior to women on account of the qualities with which God has gifted the one above the other” etc.52 to countless sayings ascribed to prophet Muhammad – such as that according to which women are “intellectually and religiously defective” (an-nisa¯‘ na¯qisa¯t ‘aql wa-dı¯n).53 Stories, maxims and statements credited ˙

48

49

50 51 52

53

¯ da¯b, is so similar to the one written by Da¯wu¯d al-Anta¯kı¯, Tadhkarat Ulı¯ Alba¯b bi- Ma’rifat al-A ˙ al-Alba¯b wa-al-Ja¯mi’ li-l-‘Ajab al-‘Ujja¯b (2 vols., Cairo: Shirkat Maktaba wa-Mat ba’a Mustafa¯ ˙ ˙˙ al-Ba¯bı¯ al-Halabı¯ wa-Awla¯duhu bi-Misr 1925). ˙ table, unlike the medico-culinary culture, was not In fact, the˙Arabic-Islamic culture of the shaped by the Greek model. Rather, it followed “timeless”, ancient, local customs, which were occasionally mixed with the etiquette of the Persians. The Arabic-Islamic table manuals of the Middle Ages were discussed in Lewicka, Food and Foodways, 387–404. The archives of al-Maktaba al-Markaziyya li-l-Makhtu¯ta¯t al-Isla¯miyya in Cairo (As-Sayyida ˙ ˙ copy of al-Muna¯wı¯’s treaty on the Zaynab branch of Wiza¯rat al-Awqa¯f) hold an 18th-century same topic. Titled An-Nuzha az-Zahiyya fı¯ Ahka¯m al-Hamma¯m ash-Shar’iyya wa-t-Tibbiyya, ˙ ˙ Other copies ˙ ˙ Library, it is dated 1178 H. and consists of 20 folios. are available in Leiden Or. 2801 and the Ghazi Husrev-Bey Library in Sarajevo, R4272-2. Nuzha was published by ‘Abd al-Hamı¯d Sa¯lih Hamda¯n, Cairo: Ad-Da¯r al-Misriyya al-Lubna¯niyya 1987. ˙ ˙ ˙ Avner Giladi has˙ discussed the question of concepts˙ of childhood and of attitudes towards children in medieval Islam in his book Children of Islam: Concepts of Childhood in Medieval Muslim Society, Basingstoke and London: Macmillan 1992, and in a number of articles. Tadhkara, MS Yale, fols. 29a–32b; MS Cairo1, fols. 25a–28a; MS Cairo2, fols. 42a–46a. Ar-rija¯lu qawwamu¯na ‘alá an-nisa¯‘ bi-ma¯ faddala Alláhu ba’dahum ‘alá ba’din, “Men are superior to women on account of the qualities˙ ˙with which God˙ has gifted the ˙one above the other, and on account of the outlay they make from their substance for them. Virtuous women are obedient, careful, during the husband’s absence, because God has of them been careful. But chide those for whose refractoriness you have cause to fear; remove them into beds apart, and scourge them: but if they are obedient to you, then seek not occasion against them: verily, God is High, Great!”; Qur‘an, 4:34, translation by John Medows Rodwell. A number of other hadı¯ths is quoted by Shirley Guthrie, Arab Women in the Middle Ages: Private Lives and Public Roles, London: Saqi Books 2001, 162, 163. See also Nadia M. ElCheikh, “Describing the Other to Get at the Self: Byzantine Women in Arabic Sources (8th11th Centuries),” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 40/2 (1997), 240.

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to other Islamic authorities complemented Muslims’ body of knowledge pertaining to the nature of women. Constantly quoted and replicated in all kinds of narratives, such communiqués became inherent elements of religio-social discourse of the Mamluk period, to which al-Muna¯wı¯’s generation was a direct heir. As such, they preserved and consolidated the common belief in the natural, God-ordained inferiority and intellectual disability of women, which features were accepted by the society as an indisputable axiom. Not surprisingly, for a person like al-Muna¯wı¯ it was just obvious that in order to joke with women prophet Muhammad had to lower himself in thoughts and actions to the level of their minds (nevertheless, this had to be done if only because fun-making and joking, which they liked, “softened their hearts” /huwwa al-ladhı¯ yutayyib qulu¯b an-nisa¯‘/).54 But apart from in˙ feriority and intellectual incompetence of woman the Mamluk sources stressed also her strangeness, mysteriousness, her evil nature and her often unbridled lust as well as satanic powers and deceptiveness – for woman was also the source of temptation that deprived man of the ability to control himself. She was the tool of the devil. “You are the blade of my army, you are the locus of my secret, you are my arrow which I will shoot, and I will never miss…”,55 the devil was to say when woman was created. So, at least, says al-Muna¯wı¯’s narrative. While following the tradition of promoting this kind of knowledge, the chapter “On the rules related to the relations with wife…” constitutes a precious documentation of how gender was socially and culturally constructed. But it also shows how hatred, contempt towards, and fear of, women as well as norms imposing the lack of symmetry between the sexes were transmitted from one generation to the next, reproduced, replicated and processed in texts by new and new authors. True, al-Muna¯wı¯ did not devote much attention to discussing woman as a cause of the future apocalypse, which topic was, by the way, an interesting element of the mental climate of the Arabic-Islamic world.56 But in his 54 Tadhkara, MS Yale, fol. 29b; MS Cairo1, fol. 25a; MS Cairo2, fol. 42a (p. 81). 55 Anti thaqı¯f jundı¯ wa-anti mawdi’ sirrı¯ wa-anti sahmı¯ al-ladhı¯ armı¯ bi-ki fa-la¯ akhti‘ abadan. ˙ Tadhkara, MS Yale, fol. 32a; the˙ fragment does not seem to be included in MS Cairo1 or MS Cairo2. “And you are my envoy when I need you” (wa-anti rasu¯lı¯ fı¯ ha¯jatı¯) adds al-Ghaza¯lı¯, ˙ was to say: “You are whose version of the maxim differs slightly; according to him, the devil half of my army etc.” (anti nisf jundı¯). Al-Ghaza¯lı¯ also explains what “half of [the devil’s] army” means: “half of his army˙is lust and the other half is anger” (fa-nisf jundihi ash-shahwa ˙ wa-nisf jundihi al-ghadab); see al-Ghaza¯lı¯, Ihya¯’, 986 (“Kita¯b kasr ash-shahawa ¯t”). Al-Mu˙ ˙ in his Fayd al-Qadı¯r˙as well; see ‘Abd ar-Ra‘u¯f al-Muna¯wı¯ Fayd alna¯wı¯ quoted the maxim ˙ Qadı¯r Sharh al-Ja¯mi’ as-Saghı¯r, V, Beirut: Da¯r al-Ma’rafa li-t-Tab’ wa-n-Nashr 1391/1972,˙436. ˙ in, for example, ˙˙ ˙ ˙ Cf. also version al-Hakı¯m at-Tirmı¯dhı¯, Al-Manhiyya ¯ t, Cairo, Bu¯la¯q: Maktabat ˙ al-Qur‘a¯n n.d., 129. 56 For an excellent discussion of the motif of woman as present in Islamic writings referring to apocalypse see Walid Saleh, “The Woman as a Locus of Apocalyptic Anxiety in Medieval Sunnı¯ Islam,” in: Angelika Neuwirth, Birgit Embalo, Sebastian Günter, Maher Jarrar (eds.),

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presentation he introduced an element of dehumanization, otherwise rarely used in the Arabic-Islamic literature in reference to humans of inferior status.57 The entire last page of the ca. seven-page chapter is dedicated to comparing women to ten kinds of animals (apart from other comparisons of this kind which can be found in the text), as nothing could illustrate bad features of women’s nature in clearer way.58 While following the centuries-long tradition of transmitting the knowledge about woman as a subhuman and as evil incarnate, Memorandum became a link in this timeless chain of transmitters. Thus woman remained a potential fitna – anarchy, chaos and a threat to the unity of the Islamic community.59 As for the issues related to the social status of women and the specificity of the relations between women and men, some interesting clues are also included in Chapter IVof Memorandum. Devoted to “the rules related to sexual intercourse” and including al-Badr al-Qawsu¯nı¯’s treaty on sexual potency quoted in extenso,60 ˙ it constitutes an interesting supplement to the chapter “On the rules related to the

57

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Myths, Historical Archetypes and Symbolic Figures in Arabic Literature. Towards a New Hermeneutic Approach, Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag 1999, 123–45. See, however, Barbara Ostafin’s fascinating analysis of Abu¯ Tamma¯m’s Kita¯b al-Hama¯sa, where such comparisons, and a generally negative image of women, are discussed; ˙Barbara Ostafin, „Pie˛kna czy brzydka? Wyste˛pna czy cnotliwa? Wybrane wizerunki postaci kobiety w literaturze arabskiej do X w.,” in: Adnan Abbas, Adrianna Mas´ko (eds.), W kre˛gu zagadnien´ ´swiata arabskiego, Poznan´: UAM 2015, 20–4. For discussion on dehumanization as one of the central processes in the transformation of ordinary, normal people into indifferent or even wanton perpetrators of evil see Philip Zimbardo, The Lucifer Effect: Understanding How Good People Turn Evil, New York: Random House 2007, xii. Tadhkara, MS Yale, fol. 32; MS Cairo1, fols. 27a–27b; MS Cairo2, fols. 44b–45a (pp. 86–87). See, for example, El-Cheikh, “Describing the Other,” 240. Cf. Winter, Society and Religion, 28, 291–296. Tadhkara Muba¯raka fı¯ Asba¯b Da’f al-Ba¯h…; al-Muna¯wı¯’s al-Badr al-Qawsu¯nı¯ may be identical with Muhammad b. Muh˙ ammad b. Muhammad Shams ad-Dı¯n b.˙ Badr ad-Dı¯n al˙ ˙ by Khayr ad-Dı ˙ ¯n az-Zarkalı¯ (1893–1976) as an Egyptian Qawsu¯nı¯ (d. 931/1525) described ˙ doctor and an ‘a¯lim, who visited the country of the Ottomans (Bila¯d ar-Ru¯m) after they occupied Egypt; died in Rosetta; see Khayr ad-Dı¯n az-Zarkalı¯, Al-A’la¯m. Qa¯mu¯s Tara¯jim Ashhar ar-Rija¯l wa-n-Nisa¯ min al-‘Arab wa-l-Musta’ribı¯n wa-l-Mustashriqı¯n, Beirut: Da¯r al‘Ilm li-l-Mala¯yı¯n 2002, VII, 56; cf. “A Shelflist of Islamic Medical Manuscripts at the National Library of Medicine,” National Library of Medicine Bethesda, Maryland 1996, 32, #32, available from https://www.nlm.nih.gov/hmd/pdf/shelflist.pdf; cf. also The Schoenberg Database of Manuscripts /SDBM/. But “A Shelflist” mentions also Muhammad b. Muhammad ˙ ˙ name al-Qawsu¯nı¯, fl. 1520–1574; see “A Shelflist,” 33, #32/1. There was also al-Qaws u¯nı¯ whose ˙ ˙ was Madyan b. ‘Abd al-Rahmàn al-Qawsu¯nı¯ (969–1044/1562–1634) and who was the head of physicians in Cairo/head of˙ al-Bı¯ma¯rista¯˙n al-Mansu¯rı¯; cf. Gadelrab, “The Popularization,” 5; az-Zarkalı¯, Al-A’la¯m, VII, 198; “A Shelflist,” 2, #3;˙ 3, #3/I. Emily Savage-Smith mentions yet another(?) al-Qawsu¯nı¯ – Muhammad b. Muhammad al-Qawsu¯nı¯ al-Misrı¯ who, according to ˙ who likely became ˙ ˙ physician ˙ ˙ Ottoman Sultans her, was an Egyptian court physician to the Suleyman the Magnificent (r. 1520–66) and Selim II (r. 1566–74); see E. Savage-Smith, A New Catalogue of Arabic Manuscripts in the Bodleian Library, University of Oxford, Vol. I: Medicine, Oxford, 2011, 499.

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relations with wife…” and adds to the picture of gender relations that Memorandum reflects.

Memorandum in its socio-cultural context As far as studies of the Mamluk-Ottoman transition are concerned, Memorandum may prove to be an outstanding source. Produced by an author who, while living in the early Ottoman epoch, was a direct heir to the cultural capital of the Mamluk period, Memorandum may reveal elements of the intellectual, social and mental heritage of the Mamluk era as present in the early-Ottoman Cairo. It may offer clues as to the continuity and discontinuity of certain cultural phenomena and intellectual currents. It may shed light on trends, changes and shifts, it may suggest how this element or that could contribute to something new. It may also show how certain ideas, knowledge, norms, opinions, attitudes, manners and practices evolved, both in the longue durée and in the short-term timescale. However, it should be treated with some caution, as learned normative texts, while promoting certain knowledge and specific modes of behavior, are not really records of everyday social practice. Memorandum was written in Cairo by a Cairene who, it seems, throughout his life did not move out of the city, at least not far and not for long. Consequently, the book should not be used as a mirror for any non-Cairene space, even though aspects of its cultural and intellectual climate corresponded to those typical for other urban centers of the Arabic-Islamic world of that time. But the “Cairene” nature of Memorandum should be treated with caution, too, if only because the society of the early Ottoman Cairo was not homogenous, and neither was its culture. And al-Muna¯wı¯ was not just “any” of the city inhabitants. He was an erudite Sufi theologian and, as such, belonged to the social elite of the period. The thoughts he expressed in his text and the concerns he addressed simply could not be typical of all the Cairene Muslims, who in many respects constituted a multielement mosaic. The often sophisticated language he used could not be spoken by all. Whose knowledge then, whose culture, and whose mentality does Memorandum reflect? Who was behind the attitudes to the world the book represents and promotes? Whose reading list does it reveal? Into whose thoughts, convictions, values, and emotions does it provide an insight? Whose “guide to life” was it? Certainly, the text is always a record of the state of knowledge and mind of its author, and the concerns addressed in it are also his. But the text produced by a given author is always socially and culturally embedded. In fact, it is a product of a sophisticated interaction between his inner psychic world and the social-cultural context; its meaning is determined not only by the author’s individuality,

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but also by the community to which he belongs and to whose ideas, norms and ways he is inseparably tied. The existence of links between the mind of an author and the thinking of the group from which he comes61 imply that the proper understanding of the meaning of a text requires considering it as a record of the state of knowledge and mind of the author as a member of certain social group. It is this group whose world the text reflects. In the case of al-Muna¯wı¯, one should probably identify the group, or community, as the network of people who made his spiritual-intellectual milieu and who shared with him values, ideas, convictions, certain knowledge, and meanings. They shared texts and their interpretations. They shared manners, customs, habits, ritual practices and, often, also territory or, in this case, neighborhood. This community consisted of a network of educated males with Sufi inclinations who lived in Cairo of the first century of the Ottoman occupation. The internal divisions and incoherency within this milieu notwithstanding, it was probably this community which created his “sense of belonging, of identity and – by the same token, of difference from others.”62 It was his community of meaning63 but also his interpretive community,64 textual community65 and his community of

61 Cf. Gilbert, “Intellectual History,” 84. 62 Anthony P. Cohen, Symbolic Construction of Community, London and New York: Routledge 1985, 43; cf. also 15. 63 As Anthony Cohen has said, communities are best understood as “communities of meaning”. “People construct community symbolically, making it a resource and repository of meaning, and a referent of their identity.” Cohen, Symbolic Construction 108. 64 “Interpretive Communities” is a term invented by Stanley Fish and pertains to the readeroriented theory of literature. According to Fish, interpretive community consists of a group of “informed readers,” who possess both linguistic competence by having internalized the syntactic and semantic knowledge required for reading, and literary competence by being familiar with our literary conventions. Fish argues that the informed reader’s interpretive perceptions and aesthetic judgments are not idiosyncratic but socially constructed; they depend heavily on the assumptions shared by the social group or groups to which the reader belongs. Fish’s theory states that a text does not have meaning outside of a set of cultural assumptions regarding both what the characters mean and how they should be interpreted. Fish claims that we as individuals interpret texts because each of us is part of an interpretive community that provides us with a particular way of reading a text. See Evelyne Keitel, “Interpretive Communities,” in: Blackwell Reference Online, http://www.blackwellreference. com; Stanley Fish, Is There A Text in This Class? The Authority of Interpretive Communities, Harvard University Press 1980, 147–174 (“Interpreting the Variorum”). 65 Kuhn used the term “textual community” to refer to epistemological communities with shared texts, interpretations, and beliefs. See entry “Interpretive Community” in: Oxford Dictionary of Media and Communication, Oxford: Oxford University Press 2011, 223; also Brian Stock, The Implications of Literacy: Written Language and Models of Interpretation in the 11th and 12th Centuries, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1983, 88–151 as presented by Maren R. Niehoff, “Did the Timaeus Create a Textual Community,” Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 47 (2007), 162.

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discourse.66 Members of this community often inspired his readings. They contributed to shaping his knowledge, his Weltanschauung, his opinions and judgments. It is they who stimulated questions he asked and answered. It was their philosophy and their system of values that informed al-Muna¯wı¯’s attitude towards the world. To a significant degree, it was their way of thinking, and their frame of mind, that his voice expressed. These people contributed to determining the contents of Memorandum which, by the way, while constituting a unique guide to their world, may prove helpful in defining them as psycho-class.67 As a guide to life which emerged from within their milieu Memorandum is, therefore, a text of culture pertaining to the community they formed; it is a collection of their knowledge – although this knowledge often might have been shared with others. Indeed, were the boundaries of al-Muna¯wı¯’s spiritual-intellectual network that strictly limited? Was his communal identity, apart from being determined by the Sufi connection, also reduced to the Sufi part of the society? Does his manual reflect only this fragment of the cultural climate and social mood that was defined by Sufis? Certainly, the Sufi aspect of his identity affected his writings, Memorandum included, in a fundamental way, no matter whether al-Muna¯wı¯ participated intensely in the rituals of particular tarı¯qas or not. However, as far as ˙ this particular text is concerned, one is sometimes tempted to disregard the lines marked out by Sufism. After all, a considerable majority of authors whom al-Muna¯wı¯ quoted were non-Sufis.68 Moreover, the concerns which al-Muna¯wı¯ addressed were of a rather universal character, from food and health to table manners, to “the women question” or to hamma¯m – the bath. Furthermore, the knowledge he transmitted ˙ was, more often than not, within the reach of the entire community of welleducated, Arabic-speaking Muslims, as was the case with knowledge of Galenic medicine and dietetics or of Sunni theology. Wherever mysticism was not involved, learned Sufis shared with non-Sufis not only the city space and everyday 66 Cf. M.J. Killingsworth, “Discourse Communities. Local and Global,” Rhetoric Review 11/1 (1992), 110–22. 67 The concept of psychoclass is key to the thought of Lloyd deMause, the pioneer of psychohistory. It emerges out of a particular style of childrearing and child abuse at a particular period of a society’s development. Another key psychohistorical concept is that of group fantasy, which deMause regards as a mediating force between a psychoclass’s collective childhood experiences (and the psychic conflicts emerging therefrom), and the psychoclass’s behavior in politics, religion and other aspects of social life. According to his “psychogenic theory of history,” it is not “economic class” or “social class” but “psychoclass” – shared childrearing modes – that is the real basis for understanding motivation in history; see Lloyd deMause, Foundations of Psychohistory, II, New York: Creative Roots 1982, available from: http://www.psychohistory.com/htm. 68 Over sixty out of ca. eighty names of authorities quoted or mentioned in Memorandum did not belong to Sufis.

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dilemmas, but also a considerable part of knowledge, so that the world of Sufis and non-Sufis overlapped. Therefore, the border-line between what was and what was not Sufi is sometimes difficult to draw, all the more so that were so many Sufis in Cairo of the late Mamluk and the early-Ottoman period – after all, Sufism is believed to have dominated the Cairene scene completely those days. In other words, al-Muna¯wı¯’s Memorandum may be considered, at least in part, a literary expression of thoughts, disputes, beliefs, convictions, stereotypes and values that made the cultural climate and social mood of the entire, literate earlyOttoman Cairo, and not of its Sufi sector only. The text may also allow us to understand the mentality of educated Cairenes and to “capture the otherness”69 of the community they created. One may only wonder how much al-Muna¯wı¯’s voice was representative of the common opinion, how much Memorandum reflected the views or the attitudes of the Cairene society at large, as not all of its dwellers were religious intellectuals. “Every intellectual activity wants to make some kind of appeal and is shaped by this need”.70 Who was the addressee of the appeal al-Muna¯wı¯ expressed in his Memorandum? As it usually is the case with literature, the author, having been shaped by and through the culture of a community, produces messages addressed to this very community. Consequently, the community to which the author belongs not only influences him, but is also in turn influenced by his texts in a kind of feedback. In the case of al-Muna¯wı¯ this would imply that it was above all the members of his spiritual-intellectual network who constituted his audience. Since the daily life was presented in Memorandum as an intellectual challenge, the reader of this text must have been culturally and intellectually prepared. If he was to understand it, he must have been aware of the fundamental tenets of Galenic medicine, of pharmacology and magic, of Islamic theology.71 The Sufi Wisdom presented another challenge.72 Because of its mystic, inner aspect it might have narrowed down or otherwise affected the circle of readers of the text and, consequently, the potential range of its causative power. Sufism may have been popular, but Sufi thought was not accessible to,73 nor accepted by, all.

69 Cf. Robert Darnton’s expression as quoted by Burke, Cultural History, 38. 70 Gilbert, “Intellectual History,” 91. 71 Although Winter, Society and Religion, 27, asserts that “Sufis wrote for simple people who were not versed either in poetry and adab, or in the theological and judicial sciences.” 72 The numerous references to Sufi authors (sixteen out of ca. eighty names quoted or mentioned in Memorandum belonged to Sufis) and to Sufi thought (of which the chapter “On the purity of the soul…” is the most apparent example), not only confirm the significance of the Sufi connection of its author but also give the mystic dimension to the entire work. 73 Quite often, a non-Sufi would simply not understand the Sufi message if only because a Sufi and non-Sufi would interpret the same Islamic text differently. This is for example true for

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In other words, it may be assumed that the full meaning of both the culturalintellectual and spiritual layers of the text of Memorandum was comprehensible for people like al-Muna¯wı¯ – well-educated males,74 concerned with religion, and in one way or another influenced by Sufism. Apparently, it was to them that the author appealed. The limits of time and space did not matter so much here, as it could be read decades later outside Cairo.

Conclusions As a source for studies on the Mamluk-Ottoman transition, Memorandum is a promising and demanding text. It may reveal some aspects of the acculturative processes that accompanied this transition. It may shed light on developments in medicine, dietetics, gender relations, as well as on manners, customs, habits and practices related to eating and to social life during the first century of the Ottoman occupation. It may reveal the emotions, mentality, and Weltanschauung of the Cairene society – even if limited to well-educated males with Sufi inclinations. It may help us capture their way of thinking and provide clues as to the intellectual tradition they followed. However, to answer at least some of the countless questions that Memorandum provokes, and to properly read the clues it provides, broad contextualization of its text is necessary, as well as situating this text in relation to other historical writings of the time. One has also to investigate the ways in which the author constructed this text at the intersection of theology, mysticism, magic, medicine, philosophy, and literary tradition of the Arabic-Islamic culture.75 The diversity of topics that al-Muna¯wı¯’s manual discusses, as well as its variegated, multi-dimensional context imply that in the study of this text interdisciplinary approach is the only reasonable choice – simply because it is the only mode of inquiry that allows the researcher to make a multi-aspect analysis and interhadı¯th, which for Sufis had a very special meaning; see Geoffroy, Introduction, 6–8; 42–3; 48– 50; Renard, Historical Dictionary, 99–100; also Winter, Society and Religion, 161. 74 Women, by the way, played a very special role as far as this text is concerned. Although certainly not considered as strategic readers by al-Muna¯wı¯, and not even being members of his spiritual-intellectual milieu, they nevertheless constituted a part of the society, no matter how inferior. Consequently, their presence contributed to various developments in culture and social life and to the emergence of certain mental habits referring to them. As a member of this society al-Muna¯wı¯ was a product of its attitudes and views; these views and attitudes, run through and processed by him, in turn resulted in the text of which women were a subject and which was meant to affect them. 75 Justin Stearns, “Writing the History of the Natural Sciences in the Pre-modern Muslim World: Historiography, Religion, and the Importance of the Early Modern Period,” History Compass 9/12 (2011), 937, available from http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/j.1478-0542. 2011.00810.x.

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pretation of a literary work. And it allows him/her to chose rarely frequented, unpaved ways, to “blur genres” in his/her scholarly narrative.76

Bibliography Sources Al-Anta¯kı¯, Da¯wu¯d, Tadhkarat Ulı¯ al-Alba¯b wa-al-Ja¯mi’ li-l-‘Ajab al-‘Ujja¯b, 2 vols., Cairo: ˙ Shirkat Maktaba wa-Matba’a Mustafa¯ al-Ba¯bı¯ al-Halabı¯ wa-Awla¯duhu bi-Misr 1925. ˙ ˙ ˙˙ ˙ Defter-i Kutubkhana-yi ‘Ashir Efendi, Der-i Saadet 1306 H. Al-Ghaza¯lı¯, Abu¯ al-Ha¯mid, Ihya¯’ ‘Ulu¯m ad-Dı¯n, Cairo: Da¯r Ibn Hazm 2005. ˙ ˙ ˙ Al-Muhibbı¯, Khula¯sat al-Athar fı¯ A’ya¯n al-Qarn al-Hadı¯ ‘Asˇar, 4 vols., n.p., n.d. ˙ ˙ ˙ Al-Muna¯wı¯, Ta¯j ad-Dı¯n b. ‘Abd ar-Ra‘u¯f, in: Hamdan, Abdelhamid Saleh, “La vie et l’oeuvre du grand soufi Égyptien: ’Abd al-Ra‘u¯f al-Muna¯wı¯,” Oriente Moderno, Nuova serie, Anno 3 (64), N. 7/12, Studi in memoria di Maria Nallino nel decimo anniversario della morte (Luglio-Dicembre 1984), 205–13. Al-Muna¯wı¯, Zayn ad-Dı¯n Muhammad ‘Abd ar-Ra‘u¯f, Fayd al-Qadı¯r Sharh al-Ja¯mi’ as˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Saghı¯r, 6 vols., Beirut: Da¯r al-Ma’rafa li-t-Tab’ wa-n-Nashr 1391/1972. ˙ ˙ ˙ –, Al-Kawa¯kib ad-Durriyya fı¯ Tara¯jim as-Sa¯da as-Su¯fiyya, 3.vols., Beirut: Da¯r Sa¯dir n.d. ˙˙ ˙ –, Irgha¯m Awliya¯‘ ash-Shayta¯n bi-Dhikr Mana¯qib Awliya¯‘ ar-Rahmán, Beirut: Da¯r Sa¯dir ˙ ˙ n.d. ¯ da¯b: 1) Da¯r al-Kutub wa-l-Watha¯‘iq al-Qaw¯ lı¯ al-Alba¯b bi-Ma’rifat al-A –, Tadhkarat U miyya (Ba¯b al-Khalq branch), Cairo, MS 3083 Tasawwuf; 2) Da¯r al-Kutub wa-l-Watha¯‘iq ˙ al-Qawmiyya (Ba¯b al-Khalq branch), Cairo, MS 230 Akhla¯q; 3) Yale Holdings, Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Landberg MSS 163. –, An-Nuzha az-Zahiyya fı¯ Ahka¯m al-Hamma¯m ash-Shar’iyya wa-t-Tibbiyya, al-Maktaba ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ al-Markaziyya li-l-Makhtu¯ta¯t al-Isla¯miyya, Cairo (Wiza¯rat al-Awqa¯f), MS 5251. ˙ ˙ Ash-Sha’ra¯nı¯, ‘Abd al-Wahha¯b, Mukhtasar Tadhkarat as-Suwaydı¯ fı¯ at-Tibb, Cairo 1289 H. ˙ ˙ ˙ and 1308 H. Ash-Shirbı¯nı¯, Yu¯suf b. Muhammad, Hazz al-Quhu¯f bi-Sharh Qas¯ıd Abı¯ Sha¯du¯f, in: H.T. ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Davies, Yu¯suf al-Shirbı¯nı¯’s Kita¯b Hazz al-Quhu¯f bi-Sharh Qas¯ıd Abı¯ Sha¯du¯f (“Brains ˙ ˙ ˙ Confounded by the Ode of Abu¯ Sha¯du¯f Expounded”), Vol. I, Leuven: Peeters 2004. At-Tirmı¯dhı¯, al-Hakı¯m, Al-Manhiyya¯t, Cairo, Bu¯la¯q: Maktabat al-Qur‘a¯n n.d. ˙ Az-Zarkalı¯, Khayr ad-Dı¯n, Al-A’la¯m. Qa¯mu¯s Tara¯jim Ashhar ar-Rija¯l wa-n-Nisa¯ min al‘Arab wa-l-Musta’ribı¯n wa-l-Mustashriqı¯n, 8 vols., Beirut: Da¯r al-‘Ilm li-l-Mala¯yı¯n 2002.

76 On “genre blurring” see Clifford Geertz, “Blurred Genres. The Refiguration of Social Thought,” in: idem, Local Knowledge: Further Essays In Interpretive Anthropology, Basic Books 2000, 19– 35.

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Fihrist al-Kutub al-‘Arabiyya al-Mawju¯da bi-d-Da¯r lighayat as-Sa¯na 1921, Cairo: Da¯r alKutub al-Misriyya 1924, I, Mulhaq. ˙ ˙ Fish, Stanley, Is There A Text in This Class? The Authority of Interpretive Communities, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press 1980. Freud, Sigmund, New Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis (The Standard Edition), New York: W. W. Norton & Company 1990. Gadelrab, Sherry Sayed, “The Popularization of Medical Knowledge in Ottoman Egypt, 1517–1800,” Lokman Hekim Journal 2/3 (2012), 1–12, available from: http://lokmanhe kim.mersin.edu.tr/index.php/lokmanHekim/article/view/136. –, “Medical Healers in Ottoman Egypt, 1517–1805,” Medical History 54/3 (2010), 365–86. Geertz, Clifford, “Blurred Genres. The Refiguration of Social Thought,” in: idem, Local Knowledge: Further Essays In Interpretive Anthropology, Basic Books 2000, 19–35. Geoffroy, Éric, Le Soufisme en Égypte et en Syrie sous les derniers Mamelouks et les premieres Ottomans. Orientations spirituelles et enjeux cultureless, Damas: IFPO 1995. Giladi, Avner, Children of Islam: Concepts of Childhood in Medieval Muslim Society, Basingstoke and London: Macmillan 1992. Gilbert, Felix, “Intellectual History: Its Aims and Methods,” Daedalus 100/1, Historical Studies Today (Winter 1971), 80–97. Guthrie, Shirley, Arab Women in the Middle Ages: Private Lives and Public Roles, London: Saqi Books 2001. Hamdan, Abdelhamid Saleh, “La vie et l’oeuvre du grand soufi Égyptien: ‘Abd al-Ra‘u¯f alMuna¯wı¯,” Oriente Moderno, Nuova serie, Anno 3 (64), N. 7/12, Studi in memoria di Maria Nallino nel decimo anniversario della morte (Luglio-Dicembre 1984), 203–13. –, “Al-Muna¯wı¯,” EI2, VII. Hanna, Nelly, Habiter au Caire aux XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles, Le Caire: IFAO 1991. Hathaway, Jane, “Egypt in the Seventeenth Century,” in: The Cambridge History of Egypt, Vol. II: M.W. Daly (ed.), Modern Egypt, from 1517 to the End of the Twentieth Century, 34–58. Keitel, Evelyne, “Interpretive communities,” in: Blackwell Reference Online, http://www. blackwellreference.com. Killingsworth, M.J., “Discourse Communities. Local and Global,” Rhetoric Review 11/1 (1992), 110–22. Lazarus-Yafeh, Hava, “Tawra¯t,” EI2, X. Leiser, Gary; Dols, Michael, “Evliya¯ Çelebi’s Description of Medicine in SeventeenthCentury Egypt,” Sudhoff ’s Archiv 71/2 (1987), 197–216. Lellouch, Benjamin, and Nicolas Michel, Conquête Ottomane De L’Égypte (1517). Arrièreplan, Impact, Échos, Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2013. –, “Qu’est-ce qu’un Turc ? (Égypte, Syrie, XVIe siècle),” European Journal of Turkish Studies [Online], Complete List, 2013, Connection on 15 September 2015. URL : http:// ejts.revues.org/4758. –, Les Ottomans en Égypte: Historiens et conquérants au XVIe siècle, Paris-LouvainDudley: Peeters 2006. Lewicka, Paulina B., “Diet as Culture. On the Medical Context of Food Consumption in the Medieval Middle East,” History Compass 12/7 (2014), http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/ doi/10.1111/hic3.12176/full, 600–17.

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–, “Did Ibn al-Ha¯jj Copy from Cato? Reconsidering Aspects of Inter-Communal Antag˙ onism of the Mamluk Period,” in: Stephan Conermann (ed.), Ubi sumus? Quo vademus? Mamluk Studies: State of the Art, Bonn University Press at V&R unipress 2013, 231–61. –, Food and Foodways of Medieval Cairenes: Aspects of Life in an Islamic Metropolis of the Eastern Mediterranean, Leiden: E.J. Brill 2011. Masters, Bruce, The Arabs of the Ottoman Empire, 1516–1918. A Social and Cultural History, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2013. Matt, Susan J., “Current Emotion Research in History: Or, Doing History from the Inside Out”, Emotion Review 3 (January 2011), 117–24. Miller, Perry, The New England Mind: The Seventeenth Century, New York: Macmillan 1939. Niehoff, Maren R., “Did the Timaeus create a Textual Community,” Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 47 (2007), 161–92. Ostafin, Barbara, „Pie˛kna czy brzydka? Wyste˛pna czy cnotliwa? Wybrane wizerunki postaci kobiety w literaturze arabskiej do X w.,” in: Adnan Abbas, Adrianna Mas´ko (eds.), W kre˛gu zagadnien´ ´swiata arabskiego, Poznan´: UAM 2015, 17–29. Plamper, Jan, The History of Emotions. An Introduction, Oxford: Oxford University Press 2015. Pormann, Peter E.; Savage-Smith, Emilie, Medieval Islamic Medicine, Washington, D.C.: Georgetown University Press 2007. Radding, Charles M., “Evolution of Medieval Mentalities: A Cognitive-Structural Approach,” The American Historical Review 83/3 (1978), 577–97. Raymond, André, Cairo: City of History, Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press 2001. –, “The Residential Districts of Cairo’s Elite in the Mamluk and Ottoman Periods (Fourteenth to Eighteenth Centuries),” in: Thomas Philipp, Ulrich Haarmann (eds.), The Mamluks in Egyptian Politics and Society, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1998, 207–23. –, “Soldiers in Trade. The Case of Ottoman Cairo,” BRIJMES 18/1 (1991), 16–37. –, “Architecture and Urban Development: Cairo during the Ottoman Period, 1517–1798,” in: John P. Spagnolo (ed.), Problems of the Modern Middle East in Historical Perspective: Essays in Honour of Albert Hourani, Reading: Ithaca Press 1992, 211–27. Reddy, William M., “Against Constructionism: The Historical Ethnography of Emotions,” Current Anthropology 38/3 (1997), 327–51. Renard, John, Historical Dictionary of Sufism, Lanham: Scarecrow Press Inc. 2005. Sabra, A.I., “The Appropriation and Subsequent Naturalization of Greek Science in Medieval Islam: A Preliminary Statement,” History of Science 25 (1987), 223–43. –, “Science and Philosophy in Medieval Islamic Theology,” Zeitschrift für Geschichte der Arabisch-Islamischen Wissenschaften 9 (1994), 1–42. Saleh, Walid, “The Woman as a Locus of Apocalyptic Anxiety in Medieval Sunnı¯ Islam,” in: Angelika Neuwirth, Birgit Embalo, Sebastian Günter, Maher Jarrar (eds.), Myths, Historical Archetypes and Symbolic Figures in Arabic Literature. Towards a New Hermeneutic Approach, Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag 1999, 123–45. Savage-Smith, Emily, A New Catalogue of Arabic Manuscripts in the Bodleian Library, Oxford, Vol. I: Medicine, Oxford: Oxford University Press 2011.

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Wakako Kumakura

The Early Ottoman Rural Government System and Its Development in Terms of Water Administration

In Ottoman history, the sixteenth century is regarded as the time when Suleyman I (r. 926–74/1520–66) established a centralized administration.1 However, how the Ottomans involved themselves in Egyptian administration at the time, that is, their attitude toward it, and the process and method of that involvement, has so far remained ambiguous. This article examines how the Ottomans established their administration in Egypt by focusing on water administration in the province (wila¯ya) of Fayyum. Egypt was now located in a marginal region of the Ottoman Empire in terms of the physical distance from its center, though it was pivotal from both strategic and economic points of view. How can we view continuities and changes in a local district on the empire’s margins? The foregoing arguments concerning the Ottoman political attitude toward Egyptian administration can be divided into two theses. One suggests that the Ottomans inherited, and preserved, the Mamluk administrative structure, and views their method of rule there as a special case, different from Syria where they applied the same tımar system as in the central areas of the empire.2 Such a view is supported by evident facts. First, the Ottoman legal code Ka¯nu¯nna¯me-i Mısır ˙ repeatedly mentions that it is following the legal precedents set by the Mamluk Sultan Qa¯ytba¯y (r. 872–901/1468–96). Second, since the prosperity of Egypt depended on the complex and sensitive irrigation system of the Nile, the Ottomans could not easily interfere with local technical, administrative and fiscal practices and traditions. The second thesis, on the other hand, casts doubt on the view that emphasizes continuity and immutability, suggesting rather that the Ottomans launched a new kind of hybrid administration with both Mamluk and Ottoman

1 For the place of the reign of Suleyman I in Ottoman history, and administrative centralization at that time, see I˙nalcık 1973, 3–4. 2 For the thesis, see Holt 1966, 51–52; Winter 1992, 17; idem 1998a, 3–4. Holt emphasized the continuity of the administration from the Mamluk period and suggested that, unlike Syria, Egypt was not integrated into the Ottoman ruling system. Winter also suggested that Ottoman involvement in the administration of Egypt remained at a minimum.

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features.3 Prior theses then have been argued in regard to the extent the new regime inherited the former Mamluk ruling structure. These two theses do not, however, offer enough material and analysis for us to judge their validity. To begin with, we need to grasp how the law of Qa¯ytba¯y was dealt with in the Ka¯nu¯nna¯me-i Mısır. Table 1 gives a summary of the eleven ˙ articles out of a total of 22 in the Ka¯nu¯nna¯me that mention the law of Qa¯ytba¯y. ˙ Except for No. 5, all references to the law of Qa¯ytba¯y concern tax. It is difficult therefore to say that Qa¯ytba¯y’s law was preserved in all aspects of the administration. In addition, the Ka¯nu¯nna¯me abolished the tribute goods (diya¯fa) and ˙ ˙ the miscellaneous tax imposed on peasants (2, 10), the tax for the Arab shaykhs (6), and the other miscellaneous taxes (11) that had been allowed in the reign of Qa¯ytba¯y. Moreover, the Ka¯nu¯nna¯me introduced the criminal law adopted in Anatolia,4 ˙ which means that it was not just a copy of the law of Qa¯ytba¯y. The Ottomans carefully examined which regulations could be adopted into their new law from the law of Qa¯ytba¯y, in so far as they complied with their ruling policy, and to these they added their own law. The theory of “hybrid rule” mentioned above is therefore valid in this regard. Nevertheless, how the Ottomans participated in the rule of Egypt is still vague. To answer this question, we need to know more detail about the Ottomans’ activities, based on actual records obtained from documentary sources. However, the reason why a firm theory has not been established so far lies in the basic problem of the inadequacy of available sources, such as contemporary chronicles and provincial court registers.5 Another approach should therefore be taken to cast light on this issue. Turning our attention to the situation in the seventeenth century, we notice the administrative ties that existed between the Ottoman central government and the local government of Egypt. First, a variety of documents was exchanged between the Sublime Porte, the governor’s council in Cairo and the sharı¯a‘ courts located in provincial cities in Egypt. The court registers of the Egyptian provincial cities contain copies of Imperial orders (marsu¯m, ferma¯n) sent from Istanbul and decrees (buyu¯ruldı¯) issued by the governor’s council.6 Second, qa¯d¯ıs ( judges) were sent to Egyptian provincial ˙ 3 4 5

See Hathaway 1997, 9–11; idem 2008, 51. Ka¯nu¯nna¯me, 362. ˙ Arabic sources concerning the early Ottoman era in Egypt, see Holt 1968a. For Turkish For sources, see Shaw 1968. For the research historiography concerning the early era of Ottoman rule in Egypt and the difficulties it faced, see Hanna 2012. 6 The Imperial orders and decrees were not just sent to the provincial courts by way of a command hierarchy. When a case that the provincial sharı¯a‘ courts did not have the authority to judge occurred, the judge entrusted its judgement to the council of the governor of Egypt or the Sublime Porte. As a result, the Imperial order or the decree was returned to the provincial

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Table 1: Descriptions in the Ka¯nu¯nna¯me-i Mısır about Custom and Law at the Time of ˙ Qa¯ytba¯y. No. Article [page no.]

Summary of the code

1

Ka¯shifs in Egyptian villages [p. 360]

2

Ka¯shifs in Egyptian villages [p. 361]

Ka¯shifs should collect the tax imposed on the land according to the Tax Registers (Irtifa¯‘ Defterleri), as was the case at the time of Qa¯ytba¯y. Tribute goods collected by ka¯shifs from peasants at the time of Qa¯ytba¯y are abolished.

3

Ka¯shifs in Egyptian villages [p. 361]

4

Ka¯shifs in Egyptian villages [p. 361]

5

Ka¯shifs in Egyptian villages [pp. 361–2]

7 8 9

Abolished

Ka¯shifs should collect ‘the tax of the ka¯shif ’ Continued according to custom and law at the time of Qa¯ytba¯y. Ka¯shifs should collect the tax to be allocated Continued to the maintenance of dykes and to dredging according to custom and law at the time of Qa¯ytba¯y.

Peasants must maintain the irrigation facilities according to the law at the time of Qa¯ytba¯y. The situation of The ‘tax of the shaykh’ collected according shaykhs of Arab tribes to the law of Qa¯ytba¯y is not valid and is [p. 364] impermissible. The shaykhs of Arab tribes are not allowed The situation of shaykhs of Arab tribes to collect more miscellaneous taxes than [p. 364] they had at the time of Qa¯ytba¯y. The situation of The shaykhs of Arab tribes must send shaykhs of Arab tribes tribute to the Sultan. [p. 365]

6

Continued/ Abolished Continued

Continued Abolished Continued Continued

The situation of harbors and seaports [p. 370]

10

11

The tax collected from merchants, misContinued cellaneous taxes and the one-tenth tax at seaports are according to custom and law at the time of Qa¯ytba¯y. The situation of khara¯j The miscellaneous tax paid to tax collectors Abolished tax on land [p. 373] and civil officers that had been imposed on peasants since the time of Qa¯ytba¯y is abolished. The situation of surveys [p. 374]

The survey tax is preserved according to custom at the time of Qa¯ytba¯y. However, other miscellaneous taxes that were collected in the Circassian period are abolished.

Continued, Abolished

court. Cases of Imperial orders issued to make a survey and construct irrigation facilities can be seen in reg. 1058–000004, 192; Mikhail 2010; idem 2011, 58–66.

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courts based on the Ottoman appointment system called müla¯zemet.7 These facts show us that the provincial towns of Egypt were tied to the Sublime Porte, at least by means of administrative documents. This implies that Ottoman ruling policy was not static in its involvement with Egyptian administration. Hence this article focuses on water administration in Fayyum province to examine how the Ottomans established their administration in Egypt. The reason why I focus on water administration is that irrigation that relied on the Nile was vital not only for local governance but also for the entire rule of Egypt. Throughout Egyptian history, successive governments had tried to gain the maximum profit from the land by developing and maintaining irrigation facilities, while playing a role in providing rural society with an infrastructure for water use, by means of which they demonstrated their legitimacy to rule. Thus, examining how the Ottomans involved themselves in water administration in the Egyptian provinces will provide us with a clue to understanding their policies regarding the administration of Egypt.

Sources The main sources consulted in this study are documentary sources from the first half of the sixteenth century. Unfortunately, we lack provincial court registers from the time under examination, though a variety of survey registers remain, which provide us with valuable detailed data and copies of administrative documents. a. MS. Ayasofya 2960: the tax survey records for the first year of the Ottoman rule in Egypt contained in the Ayasofya Manuscript of Fakhr al-Dı¯n ‘Uthma¯n alNa¯bulusı¯’s Ta’rı¯kh al-Fayyu¯m. This manuscript is catalogued as Fakhr al-Dı¯n ‘Uthma¯n al-Na¯bulusı¯’s Ta’rı¯kh alFayyu¯m wa Bila¯di-hi, a survey record of Fayyum province in the Ayyubid period.8 It consists of 175 folios. The last 3 folios, i. e. fol. 172v–175v, are devoted 7 Müla¯zemet is the Ottoman appointment system that was established in the first half of the sixteenth century. The Ottomans appointed provincial qa¯d¯ıs and professors according to the ˙ their studies in the madrasas of order of the roll of the names of those who had completed Istanbul. For the system, see Matsuo 1996; Hayashi 2008, 147–149. The chief judge of Egypt (qa¯d¯ı al-‘askar) was appointed by the ¸seyhülislam based on the register and approved by the ˙ Meanwhile, the qa¯d¯ıs of provincial sharı¯a‘ courts were appointed by the qa¯d¯ı al-‘askar Sultan. ˙ of Anatolia. See El-Nahal ˙1979, 13–17. 8 For the work written by Fakhr al-Dı¯n ‘Uthma¯n b. Ibra¯hı¯m al-Na¯bulusı¯ al-Safadı¯ (d. 660/1261), see Sato 1986, 264–265; Rapoport and Shahar 2012, 1–3; idem online, “The˙ Tax Register.” The title written on the manuscript is Kita¯b Izha¯r San‘at al-Hayy al-Qayyu¯m fı¯ Tartı¯b Bila¯d al˙ ˙ ˙see Kumakura Fayyu¯m. For further details on the manuscript, 2015a.

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to survey records in the khara¯j year of 9239 that started from September 1517, the very first year of Ottoman rule in Egypt. It contains records of 27 villages in Fayyum province, which were the financial resources of the Dı¯wa¯n al-Dhakhı¯ra (Bureau of the Sultanic Fisc).10 This unique survey record gives us the total khara¯j (land tax) and diya¯fa (tribute goods, or tax in kind) and the details were recorded ˙ as basic items, with extra reports being made if the village had problems concerning land or irrigation at the time of the survey. The reports are useful for this study in order to know how irrigation facilities were maintained in the local society during the transition period. b. Reg. 3001–000113: Daftar al-Tarbı¯‘ Wila¯yat al-Fayyum sana 933 (the Cadastral ˙ Survey Register of Fayyum Province in 1527–8). This is the first systematic tax register based on the first Ottoman land survey in Egypt.11 It contains detailed tax records for each village that show the total of khara¯j tax, diya¯fa, and other revenue sources as well as the expenses of each village. ˙ c. Reg. 3001–000115: Daftar al-Tarbı¯‘ Wila¯yat al-Fayyum sana 934 (the Cadastral ˙ Survey Register of Fayyum Province in 1528–9). This contains a series of records for the year following reg. 3001–000113. Though it contains basic items such as khara¯j, diya¯fa, and other revenues the same as the ˙ previous year’s register, it also contains more detailed information about the kind of crops that were taxed, the size of the cultivated area of each crop, and the total khara¯j for each crop. d. Reg. 3001–024266; 3001–024267: Daftar Irtifa¯‘ al-Miya¯h bi-Bahr Sayyid-na¯ ˙ Yu¯suf ‘an al-Qabda al-Yu¯sufı¯ya Ta¯bi‘ Wila¯yat al-Fayyu¯m (Registers of the ˙ Amount of Water Taken from the Bahr Youssef in Fayyum Province). These are copies of the original register compiled in 1541. They contain records of the amount of water taken from the Bahr Youssef and its branches by each village, 9 The khara¯j year was a special way of counting the year for taxation purposes. It corresponded to the Coptic calendar, in which a year starts from Tout (September 11th of the Gregorian calendar). See Poliak 1939, 21; Rabie 1972, 133; Sato 1997, 127, n. 7. 10 Dı¯wa¯n al-Dhakhı¯ra was a bureau that had been formed during the financial crisis of the Mamluk dynasty in the fifteenth century. Before this, each bureau in the Mamluk government had been managed under each revenue source. However, as the economic situation worsened, the different revenue sources were unified under the Dı¯wa¯n al-Dhakhı¯ra as the sultanic fisc to compensate for lost revenues of the bureaus. For further details on this bureau, see Igarashi 2010; Igarashi 2011, 92–124. 11 The land survey in 933/1527–8 was the first survey carried out by the Ottomans. The records were thereafter positioned as the basic records for Ottoman land administration. For details on the survey and the records, see Rawda, 53r; Afı¯fı¯ 1991, 39–40; Michel 1996, 122; Kumakura ˙ 2009, 64–65.

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and also contain copies of the decrees by which the amounts of water were modified. e. Reg. 3001–000106: Daftar Jayshı¯ (the Register of the Army). This was compiled in the mid-sixteenth century to record the waqfs and private lands (milk) authorized by the Ottomans. It contains records of the parcels of land in each village, including the names of waqf holders and the private land in each parcel. What makes it a unique historical source is that the Mamluk land records appear beside the Ottoman ones.12 These records enable us to know about land administration and the land system during the transition period from the late Circassian period to the mid-sixteenth century. However, in this article, I would like to pay attention to the administrative documents copied in the register, such as the decrees the governor of Egypt issued to the sharı¯a‘ court in Fayyum and hujja (statement) documents on land and irrigation issues. ˙ f. Reg. 3001–001905: Daftar Jusu¯r Wila¯yat al-Wajh al-Qiblı¯ (the Register of Dykes in Upper Egypt). This contains detailed records concerning sulta¯nı¯ dykes ( jusu¯r sulta¯nı¯ya) and ˙ ˙ baladı¯ dykes ( jusu¯r baladı¯ya) located in Upper Egypt based on the survey of 955/ 1548 and 956/1549. It offers us useful records such as the persons in charge of the maintenance the sulta¯nı¯ dykes, their condition and the annual cost of main˙ tenance.

Topography and Position of Fayyum Province Fayyum province is located about 100 km south of Cairo. The distance from the Nile to the center of the province is about 25 km. This area forms a wide basin, into which the Bahr Youssef (Bahr Yu¯suf), a branch of the Nile, flows forming ˙ Lake Qarun (Birkat al-Qa¯ru¯n) at the terminal point13. The topography enabled the area to be a flood control basin since Pharaonic times. Massive reclamation work was carried out from the Ptolemaic dynasty, in the course of which large and small canals diverging from the Bahr Youssef were dug along inclinations to irrigate Fayyum villages. 12 The record for each parcel contains three records from different times. The first is the record copied from land registers of the Circassian period, the second is the survey record of 923/ 1527–8, and the third is the record of the mid-sixteenth century. For the process of compilation of the Register of the Army and its contents, see Michel 1996; Kumakura 2009. 13 The depth of the lake is 30 meters below sea level, while La¯hu¯n village, located at the entrance of the Fayyum basin, is about 30 meters above sea level. ˙

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The overriding feature of the province is its irrigation system. The Nile basin was generally irrigated by the so-called ‘Basin Irrigation System’ that utilizes the rise and fall of the Nile. When the water level rose in summer, water was brought into land criss-crossed by dykes called jisr (pl. jusu¯r), and the water covered the land for about 45 days.14 However, in Fayyum province, this system was adopted only in the area around the entrance to the basin and in the Gharaq area located in the south of the basin15. The remaining areas were irrigated by canals, with water wheels to raise the water.16 Furthermore, a regulating dam was placed in La¯hu¯n village to prevent water flowing back into the Nile during the retreat ˙ season. Therefore, Fayyum could be irrigated even when the flow of the Nile decreased.17 These irrigation features brought about another characteristic of the area’s agriculture. In basin irrigation areas, it was difficult to cultivate summer crops on a large scale, since most of the land was covered with water during the flood season. Hence, basin irrigation areas mainly yielded winter crops, the cultivation of summer crops being limited to high land not covered with water, such as on dykes and next to residential areas. It was however possible to cultivate both winter and summer crops in Fayyum since it was irrigated throughout the year without any direct influence of the flooding and retreat of the Nile. This is a prominent feature of agriculture in Fayyum province. As I show in Table 2, the estimated tax revenue from Fayyum province in the fifteenth century was not as high as from other provinces. Nevertheless, Fayyum province, where summer crops and fruit could be cultivated without any restriction in irrigation, must have occupied an important position, considering that the cultivation of summer crops was limited by the flooding of the Nile on most Egyptian land, except for the Fayyum basin and the oases. In this regard, Fayyum province would have been a special area for rulers in the past in terms of food supply and the economy. Therefore in the final part of the article will consider whether the results obtained from this study can be applied to other provinces of Egypt. 14 For the structure of the basin irrigation system, the most detailed explanation can be found in Nagasawa’s recent work. See also Borsch 2000; Kato 2010; Kumakura 2013, 49–50; Nagasawa 2013, 251–269. 15 The ‘Register of Dykes in Upper Egypt’ shows Fayyum had five sulta¯nı¯ dykes and two baladı¯ ˙ entrance of the Fayyum dykes in the sixteenth century. Jisr Manyal al-Ghı¯ta¯n, located at the basin, was connected to two baladı¯ dykes: the Jisr˙ in Hawwa¯ra ‘Ajla¯n village and the Jisr in Dimashqı¯n al-Basal village. Another sulta¯nı¯ dyke in La¯hu¯n village was located to the north of these dykes. On ˙the other hand, there˙ were three sulta¯nı¯ dykes in the Gharaq area. See ˙ reg. 3001–001905, 2v–4r. 16 For the areas of the basin irrigation system and the canal irrigation system in Fayyum province in the Ayyubid period, see Rapoport and Shahar 2012, 16. The Register of Dykes indicates that the geographical distribution over the two areas did not change in the Ottoman period. See reg. 3001–001905, 2v–4r. 17 See Su¯rat al-Ard, 147; Ta’rı¯kh, 11–12; Nuzha, 230; Sato 1986, 266. ˙ ˙

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Table 2: Estimated Tax Revenues in Egyptian Provinces in the Late 15th Century. Province Cairo and Environs Qalyu¯bı¯ya

Estimated Tax Revenue (dı¯na¯r jayshı¯) 135,075 419,850

Number of Villages (*1) 20 59

Sharqı¯ya Daqahlı¯ya

1,411,875 596,571(*2)

380 217

Damietta and Environs Gharbı¯ya

11,600(*3) 2,144,080(*4)

12 471

Minu¯fı¯ya Ibya¯r, Jazı¯ra Banı¯ Nasr ˙ Buhayra ˙ Fuwwa

574,629 114,132 (*5)

232 46

741,294 56,846

222 16

Nastara¯wa Alexandria and Environs

43,500 11,000

6 8

Jı¯zı¯ya Itfı¯h¯ıya ˙ ˙ Fayyu¯m Bahnasa¯wı¯ya

[62,000](*6) 143,997 (*7)

N.A 50

164,050 1,302,642

97 256

Ushmu¯nayn 762,040 103 Asyu¯t 323,920 32 ˙ ˙ Ikhmı¯m 243,925 26 Qu¯s 414,663(*8) N.A ˙ Notes: *1 The data cannot be obtained from MS. Hunt 2. Therefore it refers to Tuhfa. *2 In Tuhfa: ˙ data cannot ˙ 596,071. *3 In Tuhfa: 21,100. *4 In Tuhfa: 1,844,080. *5 In Tuhfa: 100,232. *6 The ˙ ˙ ˙ be obtained from MS. Hunt 2. Therefore it refers to Tuhfa. *7 In Tuhfa: 1,043,997. *8 In ˙ ˙ Tuhfa: 414,663. ˙

The System for Maintaining Irrigation Facilities In basin irrigation areas, the most significant irrigation facilities were dykes that made cultivated land into basin-like shapes to store water. The dykes were divided into two types, sulta¯nı¯ dykes for multiple villages and baladı¯ dykes for a ˙ single village. Sulta¯nı¯ dykes were maintained by the government, while baladı¯ ˙ dykes were maintained by the inhabitants of the villages where the baladı¯ dykes

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were located.18 Figure 1 shows the estimated location of sulta¯nı¯ dykes in ˙ Gharbı¯ya province of the Nile Delta in the sixteenth century. These dykes were huge constructions that played an important role as dams when the Nile flooded. Around 20 to 30 villages were irrigated by each sulta¯nı¯ dyke. Hence, ˙ constructing and maintaining the dykes was the most crucial thing in basin irrigation areas.

Fig. 1. Estimated Locations of Sulta¯nı¯ Dykes in Gharbiya Province (the area enclosed by the dotted line). Note: The black line ˙indicates the estimated locations of sulta¯nı¯ dykes. Villages ˙ coloured in the same color were irrigated by the same dyke. Source: Kumakura, 2014.

18 For the categorization and the definition of dykes, see Qawa¯nı¯n, 232; Subh III, 444–445; ˙ ˙ Zubda, 129.

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Fig. 2. Jisr Shaykh al-Ghadalla in Fayyum. Source: Kumakura, 2014.

In the Fayyum basin, most land was irrigated by canal irrigation. Dredging canals and ditches and water distribution were indispensable in canal irrigation areas, and these required human resources, manpower, and financial resources. Though details about how the people in Fayyum province maintained canals have not so far been clear, I will describe how they managed to raise funds to meet disbursements for the maintenance of irrigation facilities, and who was involved in this important maintenance work.

(1)

Maintenance Cost of Irrigation Facilities

a.

Communal canals irrigating multiple villages

In Fayyum province, several villages along a branch canal shared the canal, and each village irrigated its land based on the allocation of water. The ‘Register of the Amount of Water Taken from the Bahr Youssef in Fayyum Province’ shows us how the amount of water was allocated to each village. Table 3 gives the case of Maqsim al-Mas’u¯ba canal, and shows that the canal irrigated four villages: Ibshawı¯yat al-Rumma¯n Village, Bibı¯j Anshu¯ Village, Abu¯ Ksa¯ Village and al-‘Ajamiyı¯n Village. The numbers written down below the villages indicate the amount

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of water allocated to each. Na¯bulusı¯’s survey records also contain similar records of water allocation amounts. Table 3: A Record of Allocation of Water Seen in Reg. 3001–024267: 20. Maqsim al-Ma‘su¯ba Canal (bahr) ˙ a* ˙ 68 qabd ˙ In the Area of (bi-jiha) Ibshawı¯yat al-Rumma¯n Village Bibı¯j Anshu¯ Village 36 qabda ˙ Ibshawı¯yat al-Rumma¯n 24 qabda ˙

In the Area of (bi-jiha) Abu¯ Ksa¯ Village 20 qabda ˙

In the Area of (bi-jiha) al-‘Ajamiyı¯n Village 12 qabda ˙

Bibı¯j Anshu¯ 12 qabda ˙

And Added Based on the statement dated Safar 17th, 1104 (A.H) ˙ 8 qabda Total˙ qabda ˙ *Note: Qabda is a unit of the amount of water. It means ‘the length of a fist.’ The amount of ˙ water distributed to each village must have been measured by the length of the irrigation channel. See Sato 1986: 333–346; idem 1997: 222–225; Rapoport and Shahar 2012: 14–21.

To maintain such communal canals, the government assessed specific taxes on Fayyum villages. The Ka¯nu¯nna¯me-i Mısır stipulated that the ka¯shifs were in ˙ charge of collecting tax for the maintenance of dykes and dredging, as a custom inherited from the reign of the Mamluk Sultan Qa¯ytba¯y.19 Regarding taxes for the maintenance of irrigation facilities, the Cadastral Survey Registers show that there were special taxes called the ‘cost of the supervision of mud’ (kashf alturra¯b) and the ‘cost of the supervision of ruins’ (kashf al-khirab), which were assessed on Fayyum villages over and above the khara¯j (land tax), diya¯fa (tribute ˙ goods) 20 and others.21 Based on their names, we can surmise that these two were 19 ‘Apart from the tax (rüsumı küshufiyyet), ka¯shifs should collect the tax allocated to the construction and restoration of dykes as well as to dredging, as stipulated in the law operating in the reign of Qa¯ytba¯y. The tax should be spent on the construction and restoration of dykes, and on dredging. The remainder should be sent to the Treasury’. See Ka¯nu¯nna¯me, 361. ˙ and obliged to ‘Similar to the reign of Qa¯ytba¯y, each ka¯shif is completely responsible for, collect, what is imposed on the land under their control according to the Tax Register, and to send it to the Treasury. The law remains applicable at the present. What is required of each ka¯shif in the jurisdiction is ordering villages to farm fertile land, collecting what is assessed and the khara¯j according to accounts, and collecting and sending the khara¯j from all fertile land other than unirrigated land’. See Ka¯nu¯nna¯me, 360. ˙ submitted to iqta¯‘ holders as a provision under the 20 Diya¯fa was a tributary tax, which peasants ˙ iqta¯‘ system. For diya¯fa in the Mamluk period, see Niha¯˙ya 8, 245; Khitat 1, 88, 103; Poliak ˙ 106; idem 1939, ˙ 67; Sato 1986, 235; idem 1997, 149. In the ‘Tax Survey ˙ ˙ Records for the 1937, First Year of Ottoman Rule in Egypt’, domestic poultry such as chickens (daja¯j), geese (iwazz

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what the ka¯shifs were required to collect for the maintenance of irrigation facilities. Moreover, there are many cases where the ‘cost of the sultan’s dredging’ (aljarra¯fa al-sulta¯nı¯ya) was subtracted from the total sum of the khara¯j, diya¯fa and ˙ ˙ other resources including the ‘cost of the supervision of mud’ and the ‘cost of the supervision of ruins’. For instance, ‘Udwa Sı¯la¯ village, located in the northeast of Fayyum, had 1,043 fadda¯n of cultivated land, yielding winter wheat, spring wheat and broad beans, from which 230 dı¯na¯r was anticipated as annual revenue (irtifa¯‘). In the khara¯j year of 933, it yielded 159 dı¯na¯r as khara¯j and 147 dı¯na¯r from other resources, including 82 dı¯na¯r as the ‘cost of the supervision of ruins’.22 Expenditures such as a ‘fee for financial affairs (usta¯da¯rı¯ya)’ of 66 dı¯na¯r, a ‘payment for arab tribes (‘urba¯n)’23 of 50 dı¯na¯r and the ‘cost of the Sultan’s dredging’ of 76 dı¯na¯r were then subtracted from the total sum, and the balance was appropriated for government revenue.24 At the same time, the record of Fidı¯mı¯n village indicates that 83 dı¯na¯r was subtracted as the ‘cost of the sultan’s dredging’ from a total revenue of 884 dı¯na¯r, including 16 dı¯na¯r as the ‘cost of the supervision of ruins’. Half was allotted to dredging outside the village while the rest was allotted to Tubha¯r village in Fayyum.25 These records tell us that the ˙ financial resources for the maintenance of irrigation facilities were insured by means of the ‘cost of the sultan’s dredging’ that was raised from tax revenues, including the ‘cost of the supervision of mud’ and the ‘cost of the supervision of ruins’. Apart from these taxes, a special tax on water use was imposed on many villages. For instance, Daftar al-Tarbı¯‘ indicate that Naqa¯lı¯fa village paid 240 ˙ dı¯na¯r as ‘revenue from profits of grapes and water use’ (irtifa¯‘ tahta thaman al˙ kuru¯m wa tasrı¯f-hum fı¯ al-miya¯h) as well as 759 dı¯na¯r as khara¯j, 141 dı¯na¯r as ˙ diya¯fa and 42 dı¯na¯r as an agency fee for financial affairs ( jahbadha26).27 The ˙

21 22 23 24 25 26

baladı¯), sheep (ghanam), grain such as rice (aruzz mubyadd) and wheat (qamh), and pro˙ ˙ ¯ n mamlu¯h) were˙recorded as cessed foods such as sesame oil (shı¯raj) and salted olives (zaytu ˙ diya¯fa. ˙ reg. 3001–000113; 3001–000115. See Details of the other resources: ‘prices of protection and natron’ (57 dı¯na¯r), ‘cost of the supervision of ruins’ (82 dı¯na¯r), a gift (taqdima) and ‘fee for the secretariat (dawa¯da¯rı¯ya)’ (8 dı¯na¯r). This was usually recorded simply as ‘urba¯n’; otherwise the name of the tribe, such as ‘Faza¯ra’, was written down below it. In the record of ‘Udwa Sı¯la¯ village, ‘al-Tulma¯la¯t,’ which seems to be ˙ the name of a tribe or a family name, was recorded under the item. Reg. 3001–000113, no. 15. Reg. 3001–000113, no. 6. The jahbadha means a fee for jahbadh. Jahbadh (pl. jaha¯bidha) originated in the gahbadh under Sasanid administration, and refers to those who have enough knowledge about currencies to deal with financial administration such as the payment and receipt of money, exchange, and taxation. In a society where multiple currencies were circulated, the role of

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village’s records of the previous year tell us the details. The tax applied to fruit such as grapes, pomegranates and olives that were cultivated in eight orchards. The total price for each fruit was calculated in dirham, and then the total sum was calculated and exchanged for dı¯na¯r, and it was this that was finally written down as the special tax.28 In all cases, the tax on water use applied to orchard produce. Such taxation demonstrates that it was necessary to keep a balance between irrigation and agriculture in areas where an appropriate distribution of water distribution was crucial. b.

Canals irrigating areas within each village

On the other hand, a part of village revenue was allocated to expenditure to maintain irrigation facilities in the village according to need. The record shown below of Sanhu¯r and Dumwa al-Da¯thira villages in the tax survey records for the first year of the Ottoman rule indicates that the villagers paid the cost for repairs to the villages’ irrigation facilities. Sanhu¯r village and Dumwa al-Da¯thira village Most parts of the villages will not be irrigated in the khara¯j year of 924 in light of the current situation. This is due to the collapse of a wall surrounding the irrigation channels that lead water to the waqf of the late Qa¯nsu¯h al-Khamsmi’a. Those who are in ˙ charge of the villages are Yu¯nus b. Faya¯d b. Muhammad b. Khatta¯b, known through his ˙ ˙ ˙˙ grandfather, and Muhammad b. Zayd b. Ahmad, known through his grandfather. They ˙ ˙ are shaykhs of the villages and at the same time peasants. According to them, for the annual production of summer and winter crops, they are obligated to convey 120,000 dirham for the waqf to the daughter of Qa¯nsu¯h. And they reported that the khara¯j ˙ yielded from their cultivated land in the khara¯j year of 923 was 30,000 dirham since most of their land was not irrigated and they allocated the sum to reconstruct the villages’ wall and a dyke ( jisr).29

jahbadh was indispensable. Arabic papyri documents from between the ninth and tenth century frequently mention jahbadh and a fee for jahbadh (ma¯l al-jaha¯bidha, haqq al˙ Cahen jaha¯bidha), and was paid by taxpayers. For jahbadh, see Qawa¯nı¯n, 304; Okazaki 1961; 1962, 250–251 (n. 4); Fischel 1965; Shimizu 1998, 548. 27 Reg. 3001–000115, no. 8. 28 Reg. 3001–000113, no. 7. 29 MS. Ayasofya 2960, 175r. The transcription reads as follows. Na¯hiya Sanhu¯r Dumwı¯ya alDa¯thira: al-a¯n sana arba‘ wa ‘ashrı¯na wa tis‘mi’at al-khara¯jı¯ya bi ˙hukm ’anna al-na¯hiya al˙ ¯ h almadhku¯ra gha¯lib-ha¯ shara¯qı¯ fı¯ sana ta¯rı¯khi-hi bi suqu¯t ha¯’it-ha¯ allatı¯˙ ha¯sil zima¯m al-miya ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ja¯riyata¯n fı¯ waqf al-marhu¯m Qa¯nsu¯h Khamsmi’a, minma¯ tawalla¯ tawjı¯b-ha¯ Yu¯nus b. Faya¯d b. ˙ ˙ Muhammad b. Khatta¯b ˙‘urifa bi jiddi-hi wa Muhammad b. Zayd b. Ahmad ‘urifa bi jiddi-hi, ˙ ¯ ’ikh wal-falla ˙ ¯ya bi hukm ’anna˙˙¯ h¯ın bil-na¯hiya, wa dha¯lika˙shitwı¯ wa sayfı¯ bil-sanawı al-masha ˙ ˙ ˙ ¯ r ’ilay-hi ˙ huma¯ dhikr ’an al-muqarrar ‘alay-hima ¯ min ba¯b al-’adilla al-karı ¯ma ibnat al-masha min jumlat al-’asl ‘ala¯ al-na¯hiyatayn mablagh 120000, wa ma¯ dhikra¯ ’anna-hu yahsul min al˙ khara¯j min ma¯ ˙zuri‘a min ˙‘ara¯d¯ı-hima¯ li mughall sana thala¯th wa ‘ashrı¯n wa ˙tis‘mi’at al˙

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These villages were waqf lands of Qa¯nsu¯h al-Khamsmi’a (d. 908/1502), an amir of ˙ the Mamluk period.30 Two villagers, Yu¯nus and Muhammad, were in charge of ˙ responding to the inquiries of the tax examiners.31 They reported that their lands were not fully irrigated due to the collapse of the wall surrounding the irrigation channel, and that they had expended the year’s revenue, which was no more than one fourth of what had been expected, to repair the irrigation facilities. The Cadastral Survey Registers also include similar cases in which a part of the revenue from a village was allocated to the maintenance of village’s irrigation facilities.32 The maintenance method for irrigation facilities in Fayyum as discussed above may be summarized as follows. On the one hand, canals used communally by multiple villages were managed by the government, and associated expenditure was covered by the ‘cost of the Sultan’s dredging’ derived from the government revenue collected by the kashifs, which included the ‘cost of the supervision of mud’ and the ‘cost of the supervision of ruins’. On the other hand, canals for only a single village were managed by the villagers and the expenditure was covered by a part of the village’s revenue. In both cases, maintenance costs were covered by the revenue from the ordinary taxes collected from the villages. Focusing on the continuity from the Mamluk period, the allocation of a part of a village’s revenue to maintain the village’s irrigation facilities followed the same structure as the iqta¯‘ system, where iqta¯‘ holders maintained the irrigation fa˙ ˙ cilities from their iqta¯‘ revenue. Moreover, taxes for the maintenance of irrigation ˙ facilities for communal use which were collected by the kashifs existed in the Mamluk period, and the Ottomans inherited them.

(2)

Assignment of Maintenance and the Actors

We will next look at how irrigation facilities were maintained in practice in rural society. Unfortunately, no direct information has yet been obtained concerning the routine maintenance of canals, i. e. the Bahr Youssef and the branch canals, khara¯jı¯ya li shara¯qı¯ gha¯lib al- na¯hiyatayn wa huwa mablagh 30000, wa dhikra¯ ’an dha¯lika ’arsada¯-hu li ‘ima¯ra ha¯’it al-na¯hiya˙ ’aw jisr li tarid al-miya¯h ‘ala¯ ’ara¯d¯ı al-na¯hiya. ˙ one of the revenue resources for the˙ Dı¯wa¯n ˙Dhakhı¯ra, since ˙ been 30 The˙ waqf lands seem ˙to have the tax survey records for the first year of the Ottoman rule contain land records of the revenue sources for the bureau. 31 In the record, the responsibility was expressed as tawjı¯b, i. e. assignment. 32 For instance, in the case of Fidı¯mı¯n village, 63 dı¯na¯r out of the total revenue of 884 dı¯na¯r was paid for the village’s dredging, aside from the ‘cost of the Sultan’s dredging.’ Moreover, there are cases in which the ‘cost of piling soil’ (mudammasa), that is, to strengthen dykes and the sidewalls of canals, was paid as an expense. In al-Ak‘a¯bı¯ village, 6 dı¯na¯r was paid as the ‘cost of piling soil’ from the total revenue of 280 dı¯na¯r. See reg. 3001–000113, no. 12.

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though we can make conjectures from the case of the Nile Delta. There are detailed records on the maintenance of the Ashrafı¯ya Canal from the sharı¯‘a court registers of Damanhu¯r, the central city of Buhayra province. According to ˙ these records, the Ashrafı¯ya Canal, a significant canal connecting the Rosetta branch and Alexandria, was expediently divided into western and eastern areas for maintenance. In the eastern area, eight villages close to the canal were in charge of its supervision (darak).33 Probably in the case of the Bahr Youssef as well, maintenance work such as dredging must have been assigned to the villages close by. Who were involved in the maintenance work? Since, as we saw in the previous section, villagers managed their village’s irrigation facilities, I would like to focus on the maintenance of communal irrigation facilities. A distinctive point is that the structure was multilayered: a representative was selected from each unit, such as government, province, area (irrigation area) and village, and each supervised the area for which he was responsible. a.

Ka¯shif

The representative of the government was the ka¯shif al-jusu¯r al-sulta¯nı¯ya bil˙ Fayyu¯m wal-Bahnasa¯wı¯ya. The Ka¯nu¯nna¯me stipulated that the government ˙ appoint a ka¯shif for each province to keep the land in the best condition, collect the taxes completely, and maintain dykes and canals in the province.34 As far as we can ascertain from historical sources, those who were appointed as ka¯shif in the first half of the sixteenth century were amı¯rs from the Mamluk dynasty, such as Ja¯nim min Dawla¯t Ba¯y,35 who served from 923/1517 to 929/1523, and Ja¯nim min Qasru¯h,36 who served from an unknown date to 951/1544–5. The two Ja¯nims were ˙ concurrently appointed as amı¯r al-hajj, which shows the significance of the ˙ position of the ka¯shif of Fayyum province.37 33 The villages assigned the maintenance of the Ashrafı¯ya Canal were Surunba¯y village, al-‘Atf ˙ village, al-Shaykh village, Sana¯ba¯da village, Minı¯ya ‘At¯ıya village, al-Na¯sirı¯ya village, al˙ ˙ Makhzan village, and Bisinta¯wa¯y village. 34 In the case of Fayyum province, one ka¯shif was exceptionally appointed to both Fayyum and Bahnasa¯wı¯ya province (located next to Fayyum). For the roles of the ka¯shif, see Ka¯nu¯nna¯me, 360–363; Shaw 1962, 60; Winter 1992, 16; Kumakura 2013, 60. For instance, the˙ ‘Tax Survey Records for the First Year of the Ottoman Rule in Egypt’ shows that the ka¯shif of Fayyum himself inspected the villages with finance secretaries to investigate annual revenues and the condition of irrigation facilities. See MS. Ayasofya 2960, 172v–173r. 35 Ja¯nim min Dawla¯t Ba¯y (d. 929/1523) rose in revolt against the Ottomans with the ka¯shif of Gharbı¯ya province, ¯Ina¯l in 929/1523. The revolt was put down and Ja¯nim was killed. See Holt 1966, 47–48; Winter 1992, 14. 36 Ja¯nim min Qasru¯h (d. 954/1547–8) was from the Mamluk Corps of Sultan Ghawrı¯ (r. 906–22/ 1501–16) and ˙served Ghawrı¯’s son Muhammad as dawa¯da¯r (secretary). See al-Durar 1, 534. ˙ ¯r al-hajj from 926/1519–20 to 929/1523 while Ja¯nim 37 Ja¯nim min Dawla¯t Ba¯y was appointed amı ˙

102 b.

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The Witness of the Bahr Youssef

The representative from the province was called the ‘witness of the Bahr Youssef (sha¯hid al-Bahr al-Yu¯suf) ’. As far as I know, this personage first appears in the ˙ preface to the tax survey records of the first year of the Ottoman rule in Egypt’, where it is stated that the qa¯d¯ı Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n al-Qurashı¯, who was the witness of ˙ the Bahr Youssef at the time, was involved in a tax investigation.38 It describes him as ‘the witness of the Bahr Youssef and ‘udu¯l’. The witness (sha¯hid, pl. shuhu¯d) and ‘udu¯l can be indentified as al-shuhu¯d al-‘udu¯l or sha¯hid al-‘adl, a local person who accompanied the qa¯d¯ıs and gave witness and made confirmation.39 In fact, ˙ there is actually a record in the tax survey records in the first year of the Ottoman rule in Egypt’ making reference to Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n’s testimony.40 Moreover, as I will explain later, Daftar Irtifa¯‘ al-Miya¯h bi-Bahr Sayyid-na¯ Yu¯suf was compiled on ˙ the basis of the records of the amount of water that the sha¯hid of the Bahr Youssef had kept. These facts tell us that the same person took charge of keeping records both of taxation and the amount of water taken from the Bahr Youssef. c.

Khawlı¯

The Khawlı¯ played a significant role in supervising the maintenance of irrigation facilities as a representative of a village. Khawlı¯s appear in historical sources from the Ayyubid and Mamluk periods as persons who had knowledge of the land and were familiar with cultivated land and its classifications.41 In the basin irrigation area of Fayyum province, there were specific khawlı¯s to maintain the sulta¯nı¯ ˙ dykes, known as the ‘khawlı¯ of the sulta¯nı¯ dykes’.42 This was the same as the ˙ situation in the Nile Delta.

38 39

40 41 42

min Qasru¯h was appointed from 946/1539–40 to 951/1544–5. See Bada¯’i‘ 5, 355, 379, 394, 407, 443, 476;˙ al-Durar 1, 500, 503, 534. For the preface, see Kumakura 2015a, 118–117. The duties of ‘udu¯l in the Mamluk period were to witness contracts of trade and rental, confirming their validity and testifying to their authenticity, to autograph tax registers compiled by bureaucrats, and to give local information about land and peasants to officers who came to the province for cadastral surveys. For ‘udu¯l, see ‘Abd al-Rashı¯d 1999, 66–67; Michel 2012, 194–196. In the record of al-Ak‘a¯bı¯ village, the assessed tax of the past was confirmed by the testimony of Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n. See MS. Ayasofya 2960, 174r. For khawlı¯s in the Ayyubid and Mamluk periods, see Qawa¯nı¯n, 278; Shaw 1962, 54–55; ‘Abd al-Rah¯ım 1986, 50–54; Sato 1997, 186; ‘Abd al-Rashı¯d 1999, 61–62; Michel 2012, 197–203. ˙¯s were responsible for collecting the necessary tools for the restoration of dykes, such Khawlı as shovels ( jara¯rı¯f) and plows (muqalqila¯t) in the retreat season. In the flood season, they took charge of inspecting the opening of the dykes and preventing them from bursting. See Kumakura 2013, 59.

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On the other hand, in the canal irrigation area of the province, we can find no mention in the sources of a khawlı¯ who oversaw the communal canals and irrigation channels running through villages. This fact allows us to presume that a village’s khawlı¯ fulfilled his responsibility not only regarding the irrigation of his own village but also the maintenance of communal irrigation facilities on a daily basis. However, in reality, disputes over irrigation matters must have occurred between villages. For instance, we can find a long series of disputes between Tamı¯ya ˙ village and Ru¯da village. The two neighboring villages took water from a com˙ munal canal and and there was persistent friction between them over the amount of water taken. A statement dated 965/1558 copied in Daftar Jayshı¯ describes the beginning of the friction. According to the statement, which includes the signature of Muhammad b. Mustafa¯, the qa¯d¯ı of the sharı¯‘a court of Fayyum, ˙ ˙˙ ˙ Tamı¯ya village was a revenue source for a dashı¯sha waqf 43 at the time and the ˙ administrator (na¯zir) stated that the amount of water distributed to Tamı¯ya and ˙ ˙ Ru¯da villages was five qabda for each, as usual. However, water was not dis˙ ˙ tributed unless the basin of Ru¯da village filled at the diversion gate. In fact, there ˙ had been trouble at the time of Safar, the former qa¯d¯ı, when he had arbitrated ˙ ˙ that a new ditch should be placed on the west side of the diversion gate to irrigate Tamı¯ya village. However, the people of Ru¯da village stopped the flow into the ˙ ˙ ditch. The statement therefore urged that the irrigation facilities be inspected and a decree (mitha¯l) sent from Muhammad Ja¯wı¯sh, the ka¯shif, was read out in court ˙ in front of the shaykhs and peasants of the two villages. This decree ordered that five qabda be distributed to the ditch of Tamı¯ya village.44 Nevertheless, trouble ˙ ˙ seems to have continued between the villages. A decree copied in the Daftar Irtifa¯‘ al-Miya¯h bi-Bahr Sayyid-na¯ Yu¯suf in 1102/1691 ordered that 10 qabda be dis˙ ˙ tributed to Tamı¯ya village. Amı¯r Isma¯‘ı¯l, the qa¯’im maqa¯m of Tamı¯ya village, had ˙ ˙ asked Hasan Afandı¯, the qa¯d¯ı, to inspect the registers concerning the amount of ˙ ˙ water distributed to the village. As a result of the inspection of the court register (sijill) preserved in the sharı¯‘a court of Fayyum, it became known that five qabda ˙ had been distributed in 1081/1670–1, and a decree issued by the governor’s council in the same year ordered that 10 qabda be distributed to the village. ˙ Accordingly, Hasan Afandı¯ adopted the amount and recorded that the khawlı¯s of ˙ the villages maintain this amount. In this way, when disputes over water distribution occurred, the sharı¯‘a court of the province and the governor’s council intervened to solve them. And finally, the daily supervision of water distribution was entrusted to the khawlı¯s. 43 Dashı¯sha waqf is a waqf provide for the distribution of porridge (dashı¯sha) to the poor in Makka and Madı¯na. For dashı¯sha waqf, see Ito 2011, 32. 44 Reg. 3001–000106, 41r.

104 d.

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Arab tribes

The Ottoman cadastral survey records reveal the strong possibility that the Arab tribes were involved in maintaining irrigation facilities in Fayyum province. Yossef Rapoport and Ido Shahar’s recent study shows persuasively that in the Ayyubid period, a tribe was dwelling along a water system in the Fayyum basin to stabilize water distribution from upstream to downstream.45 This role can also be seen in the Ka¯nu¯nna¯me: the shaykhs of Arab tribes were required to act as ˙ assistants to the ka¯shifs.46 In addition, the cadastral survey registers demonstrate that most of the villages paid Arab tribes taxes such as the ‘customary’ (‘a¯da) tax or the ‘agency fee’ (niya¯ba)’, which suggests that each tribe played a certain role in a specific area.47 These are the main actors in the maintenance of irrigation facilities in Fayyum province. However, we cannot omit the beneficiaries from the land. They also played an essential role in the maintenance of irrigation. As seen in the dispute over water distribution between Tamı¯ya and Ru¯da villages, water-related prob˙ ˙ lems were often revealed by the complaints and actions of beneficiaries. They were wa¯qifs in the case of waqf lands, multazims and their representatives under the iltiza¯m system, and muqta‘s under the iqta‘ system. In addition, amı¯ns (tax ˙ ˙ collection officers) might have occupied this position in the transition period from the iqta‘ system to the iltiza¯m system. ˙ As we have seen so far, those who were in charge of actual maintenance work were ka¯shifs, village khawlı¯s, the witness of the Bahr Youssef, Arab tribes, and the beneficiaries from the land. It should be emphasized that the structure was multilayered, with a representative being selected from each social unit (government, arab tribes, local notables and villagers), and each supervised his own area of responsibility.48 This structure was inherited by the Ottomans without any drastic change, though the personnel may have changed somewhat according to changes in the land system and the political situation.

45 For the study, see Rapoport and Shahar 2012, 25–28. 46 The Ka¯nu¯nna¯me stipulated that shaykhs of Arab tribes take charge of maintaining land and ˙ irrigation facilities, ordering peasants to cultivate irrigated land, guard villages and collect the Sultan’s taxes, see Ka¯nu¯nna¯me, 363–364. ˙ 47 For instance, the above-mentioned example of ‘Udwa Sı¯la¯ village shows that 50 dı¯na¯r was paid to an Arab tribe called ‘al-Tulma¯la¯t.’ Moreover, in the record of Fidı¯mı¯n village, 12 dı¯na¯r out ˙ of a total revenue of 734 dı¯na¯r was paid to an Arab tribe as ‘niya¯ba (deputy)’. See reg. 3001– 000113, no. 6. 48 Such a structure was also seen in the maintenance work for sulta¯nı¯ dykes in basin irrigation ˙ see Kumakura 2013, 58–61. areas of the Nile Delta. For a study of irrigation in the Nile Delta,

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The Change in Record Management A change in record management for the maintenance of irrigation facilities became obvious around the mid- sixteenth century, The preface to Daftar Irtifa¯‘ al-Miya¯h bi-Bahr Sayyid-na¯ Yu¯suf embodies the way the Ottoman government ˙ tried to involve itself with the most significant concern in Fayyum, that is, irrigation. Duplicate (su¯ra) ˙ The Register of the amount of water taken from the Bahr Youssef—prayers and peace of Allah be upon Youssef—. This contains the allocation of the amount of water, taken from the Bahr Youssef and other irrigation channels, to the following villages belonging to Fayyum province, which is based on the register (daftar) of Abu¯ al-Fadl b. Shiha¯b al˙ Dı¯n al-Qurashı¯, the ‘witness of the Bahr Youssef ’. Dated Muharram 1st in 948/ April 27th 49 in 1541.

The preface indicates that the register was compiled based on the register that was kept by the witness of the Bahr Youssef, Abu¯ al-Fadl b. Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n al-Qurashı¯. ˙ His father’s name (nasab) allows us to conclude that this Abu¯ al-Fadl was the son ˙ of the qa¯d¯ı Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n al-Qurashı¯, who appeared in the tax survey records of ˙ the first year of the Ottoman rule as the witness of the Bahr Youssef. The relationship between the two witnesses of the Bahr Youssef tells us that the position of witness was inherited from father to son together with the records about the amount of water that Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n had been responsible for. In other words, the compilation of Daftar Irtifa¯‘ al-Miya¯h bi-Bahr Sayyid-na¯ Yu¯suf in 1541 marked a ˙ change in the record management system, in that the Ottoman government duplicated the records that the Qurashı¯ father and son had kept in their position as witness of the Bahr Youssef and put them under government management. At the same time, the government also compiled registers of dykes based on information that specific persons had kept for their management. The government carried out systematic surveys of dykes in Upper Egypt, including Fayyum, in 955/1548 and 956/154950. The surveys were undertaken by the ka¯shifs and his associates including local khawlı¯s who were in charge of supervising sulta¯nı¯ ˙ dykes (khawla¯’ bil-jusu¯r al-sulta¯nı¯ya). The surveys were carried out by means of ˙ investigating the records that the khawlı¯s had kept and copying them. Finally the 49 Reg. 3001–024267, 17. The transcription reads as follows. Su¯ra daftar irtifa¯‘ al-miya¯h min bahr ˙ ˙ hadra sayyid-na¯ Yu¯suf ‘alay-hi al-sala¯t wal-sala¯m min al-qabd a al-Yu¯sufı¯ya wa ghayri-hi min ˙nawa ˙ ¯ h¯ı tudhukar fı¯-hi ta¯bi‘ wila¯yat˙ al-Fayyu¯m bi mawjib daftar ˙ Abu¯ al-Fadl b. Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n ˙ al-hara¯m sana b. Nu¯r˙ al-Dı¯n al-Qurashı¯ sha¯hid al-bahr al-Yu¯sufı¯ al-wa¯qi‘ fı¯ ’awa¯’il Muharram ˙ ˙ ˙ 948. 50 The records kept in Daftar Jusu¯r Wila¯yat al-Wajh al-Qiblı¯ were the results of the surveys carried out in Bahnasa¯, Fayyu¯m, Ushumu¯nayn, Manfalu¯t and Asyu¯t. Only the survey of ˙ Ushmu¯nayn was made in 955/1548, the others were carried˙ out in 956/1549.

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records were preserved in the register that is one of our main sources: Daftar Jusu¯r Wila¯yat al-Wajh al-Qiblı¯. The Ottoman government started collecting the records on local water administration kept by local representatives such as the witness of the Bahr Youssef and khawlı¯s in order to compile new registers. A new record management system was thus established, one where the Ottoman government administered the records through the administrative authorities. The Ottoman collection of records and compilation of registers on water administration were linked to the centralization process that took place during the reign of Suleyman. Over the course of his reign, the ruling structure was established in the central part of the empire, while in the provinces the institutionalization of financial affairs, document administration and military affairs was carried out. Moreover, qa¯d¯ıs were sent to the provincial sharı¯a‘ courts to ˙ take on the role of the provincial administration of justice after the müla¯zemet system was established in 944/1537.51 Egypt was no exception in this process of centralization. The Ottoman government involved itself in judicial administration and land administration in Cairo, changing the method of record management,52 and, as we have seen, 20 years later, it reorganized the records concerning water management in Fayyum province. This ongoing reorganization of record management can be considered the active involvement of the Ottomans in the administration of Egypt through record management. The collection of various records concerned with administration and the compilation of registers spread from Cairo to the provinces. As a result, the records that specific local families and individuals had previously kept were placed under the government administration, which may have enabled the qa¯d¯ıs sent from the ˙ center of the Empire to refer to the records and carry out their task systematically. Therefore, the change of record management in Fayyum province demonstrates the process through which the Ottomans integrated Egypt and its provinces into their centralized administration system based on bureaucracy.

51 For the roles that provincial sharı¯a‘ courts played in administration, see Shaw 1962, 59; ElNahal 1979, 65–68. 52 From 927/1521, Suleyman’s orders were sent to Kha¯yrbak (r. 923–8/1517–22), the governor of Egypt, from Istanbul, which proceeded reorganization of judicial administration in Egypt. In the course of the reorganization, Suleyman ordered that the registers (dafa¯tir) that had been kept by the qa¯d¯ıs and witnesses be submitted to the deputy of the qa¯d¯ı al-‘askar. Around the ˙ same time, in˙929/1523, the governor Mustafa Pasha (r. 928–9/1522–3) ordered the Jı¯‘a¯n family, who had served as mustawfı¯ (book keeper) of the Dı¯wan al-Jaysh (the Army Bureau), to submit the land records they managed, which enabled the governor’s council to administer the records. For details, see Michel 2013, 252–258. For the Ottoman court system, see also Hanna 1995. And for the land record administration in the Mamlu¯k period, see Kumakura 2015b.

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Conclusion This chapter has focused on water administration in Fayyum province in order to examine the Ottoman attitude to the administration of Egypt at the beginning of their rule. It has been shown that changes were made in the way records were managed in the administration of irrigation, while the way in which financial resources were obtained for the upkeep of irrigation facilities and the system of the management were maintained. This change is viewed as a process of the centralization that occurred during the reign of Suleyman. Finally, I would like to ask if this type of continuity and change was seen in the other provinces of Egypt or if it was limited to Fayyum as a special case. In fact, most of the other provinces were integrated in the same way we saw in Fayyum. As I mentioned above, unlike the Fayyum basin, the areas along the Nile were irrigated by the basin irrigation system so that these areas did not have registers such as the Daftar Irtifa¯‘ al-Miya¯h bi-Bahr Sayyid-na¯ Yu¯suf. Rather, they had ˙ Daftar Jusu¯r that were compiled to maintain the irrigation dykes. They were compiled following the survey done in Qalyu¯bı¯ya (945/1539), Buhayra, Gharbı¯ya ˙ and Minu¯fı¯ya provinces (946/1539), ten years earlier than in Upper Egypt.53 Also in the same way as Upper Egypt, the surveys were carried by obtaining records from indigenous notables such as shaykhs and khawlı¯s. Such a change of record management in provincial water administration can be viewed as the process through which Egypt, not only Cairo but also its provinces, was integrated into the Ottoman bureaucratic ruling system. Moreover, it later brought changes to provincial administration in Egypt. First, basic information on water administration was collected and maintained by the government. Second, a method of record management was established which connected the Egyptian provinces with Cairo and Istanbul. This enabled the involvement of the central government in Istanbul and the governor’s council in Cairo in water administration in the provinces through reference to the records and the orders sent. Third, it also enabled people who were not familiar with local conditions in Egypt to grasp them by referring to the records. This led to systematic personnel transfers among ka¯shifs and qa¯d¯ıs who were not familiar with ˙ local conditions. Hence, the change in the sixteenth century can be viewed as the starting point of the record administration developed from the seventeenth century, connecting provincial sharı¯a‘ courts, the governor’s council and the Sublime Port, as well as the water administration based on it.

53 The reason why the survey in Upper Egypt was made later is probably because of uprisings by Arab tribes, mainly Banu¯ ‘Umar, over control of the region. For Arab tribes in the sixteenth century, see Winter 1992, 90–102; Aharoni 2003, 421–425.

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Studies ‘Abd al-Rah¯ım, ‘Abd al-Rah¯ım. 1986. al-Rı¯f al-Misrı¯ fı¯ al-Qarn al-Tha¯min ‘Ashar. Cairo: ˙ ˙ ˙ Maktaba Madbu¯lı¯ (Repr. Da¯r al-Kita¯b al-Ja¯mi‘ı¯, 2004). ‘Abd al-Rashı¯d, Majdı¯. 1999. al-Qarya al-Misrı¯ya fı¯ ‘Asr Sala¯t¯ın al-Mama¯lı¯k 648–923/ 1250– ˙ ˙ ˙ ¯ mma 1517. Cairo: al-Hay’a al-Misrı¯ya al-‘A lil-Kita¯b. ˙ Afı¯fı¯, Muhammad. 1991. al-Awqa¯f wal-Haya¯ al-Iqtisa¯dı¯ya fı¯ Misr fı¯ al-‘Asr al-‘Uthma¯nı¯. ˙ ˙ ˙ ¯ mma ˙lil-Kita¯b. ˙ Cairo: al-Hay’a al-Misrı¯ya al-‘A ˙ Aharoni, Reuven. 2003. “Bedouin and Mamluks in Egypt – Co-Existence in a State of Duality.” The Mamluks in Egyptian and Syrian Politics and Society. Michael Winter and Amalia Levanoni ed. Leiden: E.J. Brill: 407–434. Boak, A.E.R.. 1926. “Irrigation and Population in the Faiyûm, the Garden of Egypt.” The Geographical Review. XVI (3): 353–364. Borsch, Stuart J.. 2000. “Nile Floods and the Irrigation System in Fifteenth-Century Egypt.” Mamlu¯k Studies Review. IV: 131–145. Cahen, Claude. 1962. “Contribution à l’étude des impȏts dans l’Égypte médiévale.” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient. 5: 244–278. El-Nahal, Galal H.. 1979. The Judicial Administration of Ottoman Egypt in the Seventeenth Century. Minneapolis & Chicago: Bibliotheca Islamica. Fischel, W.J.. 1965. “DJAHBADH.” EI2 2: 382–383. Hathaway, Jane. 1997. The Politics of Households in Ottoman Egypt: The Rise of the Qazdagˇlıs. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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–. 2003. “Mamluk “Revivals” and Mamluk Nostalgia in Ottoman Egypt.” The Mamluks in Egyptian and Syrian Politics and Society. Michael Winter and Amalia Levanoni (ed.), Leiden: E.J. Brill: 387–406. –. 2008. The Arab Lands under Ottoman Rule, 1516–1800. Harlow: Pearson. Hanna, Nelly 1995. “The Administration of Courts in Ottoman Cairo.” The State and Its Servants: Administration in Egypt from Ottoman Times to the Present. Nelly Hanna ed. Cairo: American University Press. –. 2012. “Egyptian Civilian Society and Tax-Farming in the Aftermath of the Ottoman Conquest.” Conquête ottomane de l’Égypte (1517): arrière-plan, impact, échos. B. Lellouch and N. Michel ed. Leiden: Bril: 211–223. Hayashi, Kayoko. 2008. Osuman teikoku 500nen no heiwa, ko¯bo¯ no sekai shi 10 オスマン帝 国500年の平和 興亡の世界史第10巻 (The Ottoman Empire, 500 Years of Peace, A World History of Rise and Fall, Vol. 10). Tokyo: Kodansha. Holt, Peter M.. 1966. Egypt and the Fertile Crescent 1516–1922. New York: Cornell University Press. –. 1968a. “Ottoman Egypt (1517–1798): An Account of Arabic Historical Sources.” Political and Social Change in Modern Egypt: Historical Studies from the Ottoman Conquest to the United Arab Republic. London: Cambridge University Press: 3–12. –. 1968b. “The Pattern of Egyptian Political History from 1517 to 1798.” Political and Social Change in Modern Egypt: Historical Studies from the Ottoman Conquest to the United Arab Republic. London: Cambridge University Press: 79–90. Igarashi, Daisuke. 2010. “The Evolution of the Sultanic Fisc and al-Dhakhı¯ra during the Circassian Mamluk Period.” Mamlu¯k Studies Review. 14: 85–108. –. 2011 Chu¯sei Isuramu kokka no zaisei to kishin, Goki Mamuru¯kucho¯ no kenkyu¯ 中世イ スラーム国家の財政と寄進—後期マムルーク朝の研究— [State, Fiscal Administration, and Religious Endowments in Medieval Islam]. Tokyo: To¯sui shobo¯. I˙nalcık, Halil. 1973. The Ottoman Empire: The Classical Age 1300–1600. London: Praeger Publishers (Repr. London: A.D. Caratzas, 1989). Ito, Takao. 2011. “Surutaan=kaaitobaai no dashiisha wakufu”スルターン＝カーイトバ ーイのダシーシャ・ワクフ [Waqf ad-dasˇ¯ısˇa of Mamluk Sultan Qa¯ytba¯y]. Ajia Afurika gengo bunka kenkyu¯ (Journal of Asian and African Studies) 82: 31–60. Kato, Hiroshi. 2010. “Nairu o meguru shinwa to relkishi” ナイルをめぐる神話と歴史 (Mythology and History Concerning the Nile). Kankyo¯ to rekishigaku: Rekishi kenkyu¯ no shinchihei 環境と歴史学：歴史研究の新地平 [Environments and Historiography: The New Horizon of Historical Studies]. Tokyo: Bensei shuppan: 113–123. Kumakura, Wakako. 2009. “Mamuru¯kucho¯ tochi seidoshi kenkyu¯ ni okeru shin shiryo¯, Ejiputo kokuritsu monjokan shozo¯ Osumancho¯ [Gunmu daicho¯] マムルーク朝土地 制度史研究における新史料—エジプト国立文書館所蔵オスマン朝土地台帳『軍 務台帳 [A New Source for the Study of the Mamluk Land System: the Ottoman Land Register Daftar Jayshı¯ in the Egyptian National Archives]. Nihon Chu¯to¯ Gakkai nenpo¯ (Annals of the Japan Association for Middle East Studies) 25 (2): 59–81. –. 2013. “16seiki no Nairu kangai to sonraku shakai, Garubiiya-ken no jirei” 16世紀のナ イル灌漑と村落社会—ガルビーヤ県の事例— [Irrigation of the Nile and Rural Society in the Sixteenth Century— The Case of Gharbı¯ya Province]. Nairu deruta no kankyo¯ to bunmei II ナイル・デルタの環境と文明II [The Environments and Civilizations of the Nile Delta II] Kyo¯do¯ riyo¯ kyo¯do¯ kenkyu¯ kyoten Isuramu chiiki kenkyu¯

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kyoten, Waseda daigaku Isuramu chiiki kenkyu¯ kiko¯ (Joint Usage/ Research Center for Islamic Area Studies, Organization for Islamic Area Studies, Waseda University): 49–75. –. 2014. “To Where Have the Sultan’s Banks Gone? An Attempt to Reconstruct the Irrigation System of Medieval Egypt.” E-Journal of Asian Network for GIS-based Historical Studies. 2: 11–21. –. 2015a. “Na¯bulusı¯ cho [Faiyuumu no rekishi] ayasofia shahon ni heiroku sareta osumancho¯ ejiputo to¯chi shonen no tyo¯zei cho¯sa kiroku” ナーブルスィー著『ファイユ ームの歴史』アヤソフィア写本に併録されたオスマン朝エジプト統治初年の徴 税調査記録 [Tax Survey Records of the First Year of the Ottoman Rule in Egypt, contained in the Ayasofya Manuscript with Fakhr al-Dı¯n ‘Uthma¯n al-Na¯bulusı¯’s Ta’rı¯kh al-Fayyu¯m]. Ajia afurika gengo bunka kenkyu¯ (Journal of Asian and African Studies). 89: 79–118. –. 2015b. “Who Handed over Mamluk Land Registers to the Ottomans? A Study on the Administrators of Land Records in the Late Mamluk Period.” Mamlu¯k Studies Review. 18: 279–297. Lellouch, Benjamin. 2006. Les Ottomans en Égypte: Historiens et conquérants au XVIe siècle. Leuven: Peeters. Masters, Bruce. 2013. The Arabs of the Ottoman Empire, 1516–1918: A Social and Cultural History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Matsuo, Yuriko. 1996. “Osumancho¯ chu¯ki ni okeru Myuraazemetto (Kyo¯ju ho¯kan ko¯ho seido, ‘Rumeri Kazasukeri to¯rokubo o tegakari ni” オスマン朝期中期におけるミュ ラーゼメット（教授・法官候補）制度—『ルメリ・カザスケリ登録簿』を手が かりに [The Mulazemet System in the Ilmiye Organization in the Ottoman Empire (1520–1620): According to Candidate Registers (Rumeli Kazaskerligi Ruznamesi)]. Nihon Chu¯to¯ Gakkai nenpo¯ (Annals of the Japan Association for Middle East Studies), 11: 39–69. Michel, Nicolas. 1995. “Les Dafa¯tir al-g˘usu¯r, source pour l’histoire du réseau hydraulique de l’Egypte ottoman.” Annales Islamologiques. 29: 151–168. –. 1996. “Les rizaq ihba¯siyya, terres agricoles en mainmorte dans l’Égypte mamelouke et ˙ ottoman. Étude sur les Dafa¯tir al-ahba¯s ottomans.” Annales Islamologiques. 30: 105– ˙ 198. –. 2012. “Spécialistes villageois de la terre et de l’eau en Égypte (XIIe–XVIIe siècle).” Faire la prevue de la propriété. Droits et saviors en Méditerranée. École française de Rome (“Collection de l’École français de Rome” 452): 177–209. –. 2013. “«Les circassiens avaient brûlé les registres».” Conquête ottomane de l’Égypte (1517). Arrière-plan, impact, échos. Leiden: Brill: 225–268. Mikhail, Alan. 2010. “An Irrigated Empire: The View from Ottoman Fayyum.” International Journal of Middle East Studies. 42: 569–590. –. 2011. Nature and Empire in Ottoman Egypt: An Environmental History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Nagasawa, Eiji. 2013. Ejiputo no jigazo¯, Nairu no shiso¯ to chiiki kenkyu¯ エジプトの自画 像—ナイルの思想と地域研究— [Self-Portrait of Egypt, The Idea of the Nile and Area Studies]. Institute for Advanced Studies on Asia, University of Tokyo. Okazaki, Shoko. 1961. “Isuramu teikoku ni okeru zenkiteki shihonka no issokumen, toku ni Jafubazu ni tsuite イスラーム帝国における前期的資本家の一側面—とくに、

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ジャフバズについて— [A Sidelight on Islamic Financiers, especially the Jahbadh]. The Toyoshi-kenkyu, 20 (1): 23–45. Poliak, Abraham N. 1937. “Some Notes on the Feudal System of the Mamlu¯ks.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland: 97–107. –. 1939. Feudalism in Egypt, Syria, Palestine, and the Lebanon, 1250–1900. London: Royal Asiatic Society (Repr. Philadelphia: Porcupine Press, 1977). Rabie, Hassanein. 1972. The Financial System of Egypt, A.H. 564–741/ A.D. 1169–1341. London: Oxford University Press. Ramzı¯, Muhammad. 1994. Al-Qa¯mu¯s al-Jughra¯fı¯ li al-Bila¯d al-Misrı¯ya min ‘Ahd Qudama¯’ ˙ ˙¯ al-Misrı¯yı¯n ila¯ sana 1945. 4 vols. Cairo: al-Hay’a al-Misrı¯ya al-‘A mma lil-Kita¯b. ˙ ˙ Rapoport, Yossef and Ido Shahar. 2012. “Irrigation in the Medieval Islamic Fayyum: Local Control in a Large-Scale Hydraulic System.” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient. 55 (1): 1–31. –. online. Rural Society in Medieval Islam. http://www2.history.qmul.ac.uk/ruralsocie tyislam/ (last accessed date: 2015/02/15). Richards, Alan. 1982. Egypt’s Agricultural Development, 1800–1980: Technical and Social Change. Boulder: Westview Press. Sato, Tsugitaka. 1986. “Chu¯sei Isuramu kokka to Arabu shakai, Ikutaasei no kenkyu¯ 中世 イスラム国家とアラブ社会—イクター制の研究— [State and Society in Medieval Islam: Studies on the Iqta‘ System in Arabic Society]. Tokyo: Yamakawa shuppansha. –. 1997. State and Rural Society in Medieval Islam: Sultans, Muqta‘s and Fallahun. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Shafei, Ali. 1940: “Fayoum Irrigation as Described by Nabulsi in 1245 A.D. with a Discription of the Present System of Irrigation and a Note on Lake Moeris.” Bulletin de la société de géographie d’Égypte. 20 (3): 283–327. S¸ahin, Kaya. 2013. Empire and Power in the Reign of Süleyman: Narrating the SixteenthCentury Ottoman World. New York: Cambridge University Press. Shaw, Stanford. 1962. The Financial and Administrative Organization and Development of Ottoman Egypt 1517–1798. Princeton: Princeton University Press. –. 1968. “Turkish Source-Materials for Egyptian History.” Political and Social Change in Modern Egypt: Historical Studies from the Ottoman Conquest to the United Arab Republic. London: Cambridge University Press: 28–51. Shimizu, Kazuhiro. 1998. “Goki Abbasucho¯ no shiryo¯chi ni okeru kokko no toribun, ‘Saisho¯shi’ no kijutsu o chu¯shin ni 後期アッバース朝の私領地における国庫の取り 分—『宰相史』の記述を中心に— [The Right of the State Treasury on Private Estates in the Abbasid Period, Centering on the Description in the ‘Saisho¯shi’]. The Toyoshi-kenkyu, 57 (3): 520–551. Suzuki, Tadashi. 1993. Osuman teikoku no kenryoku to eriito オスマン帝国の権力とエリート [Authority and the Elite in the Ottoman Empire]. Tokyo: Tokyo daigaku shuppankai. –. 1997. Osuman teikoku to Isuramu sekai オスマン帝国とイスラム世界 [The Ottoman Empire and the Islamic World]. Tokyo: Tokyo daigaku shuppankai. Winter, Michael. 1992. Egyptian Society under Ottoman Rule 1517–1798. London and New York: Routledge. –. 1998a. “Ottoman Egypt, 1525–1609.” The Cambridge History of Egypt Volume Two. M.W. Daly ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press: 1–33.

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–. 1998b. “The Re-Emergence of the Mamluks following the Ottoman Conquest.” The Mamluks in Egyptian Politics and Society. Thomas Phillipp and Ulrich Haarmann ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press: 87–106.

Claudia Römer

An Attempt at Reconstructing the Ottoman Correspondence during Grand Vizier I˙bra¯hı¯m Pas¸a’s 1525 Mission to Egypt

As a consequence of the rivalry between I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha and Ahmed Pasha,1 which ˙ increased when I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha became Grand Vizier in 1523, Ahmed Pasha was ˙ appointed Beglerbegi of Egypt. He replaced Güzelce Ka¯sım Pasha,2 who was ˙ ordered to leave Cairo at the beginning of 1525.3 After a relatively short time Ahmed Pasha got involved in a major revolt, as a result of which he proclaimed ˙ himself el-melikü l-mansu¯r Sulta¯n Ahmed, had the hutba read in his name and ˙ ˙ ˙ ˘ ˙ coins minted, and even appointed his own viziers. He also conquered the fortress of Cairo. Eventually he was killed on 6 March 1524. Subsequently, Sultan Süleyma¯n sent I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha to Egypt to reform the administration of the relatively new province and to put an end to any further unrest. He arrived in early April 1525 and set out on his way back in June 1525.4 From a brief survey of some 16th-century Ottoman historians I had got the impression that it would be if not an easy, at least a feasible task to glean the approximate number of documents connected with this affair from the narrative sources. The original plan was to imitate Matuz5 and to draw up a list of documents. However, his Verzeichnis was based, among others, on a large number of defters. As there are no Mühimme Defterleri for the period in question, the main 1 On him and the details of his revolt and downfall, see, e. g., Özcan, Abdülkadir: Ahmed Pas¸a, Hain, in: DI˙A 2: 113. 2 Died after 1541. On his life and career, see, e. g., Sümer, Faruk: Kasım Pas¸a, Güzelce, in: DI˙A 24: 547. 3 Benjamin Lellouch, Les Ottomans en Égypte, Historiens et conquérants au XVIe siècle. Paris : Peeters 2006, 62. 4 On the details of Ahmed Pasha’s revolt and I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha’s mission to Egypt, see, e. g., Özcan, Abdülkadir: Ahmed˙ Pas¸a, Hain, in: DI˙A 2:113; Uzunçars¸ılı, I˙smail Hakkı, Osmanlı Tarihi, cilt 2, Türk Tarih Kurumu Yayınları, XIII. Dizi, – Sa. 16b3, Ankara TTK Basımevi, 1983, 218–221. For a discussion of contradictory dates of these events, see Humbsch, Robert: Beiträge zur Geschichte des osmanischen Ägyptens. Freiburg: Schwarz 1976, 217, S¸ahin, Kaya: Empire and Power in the Reign of Süleyman, Cambridge – New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013, 53–59. 5 Matuz, Josef: Herrscherurkunden des Osmanensultans Süleyma¯ns des Prächtigen. Ein chronologisches Verzeichnis. Schwarz: Freiburg 1971.

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sources are Ottoman historical texts by various authors. Some of these indicate more often than others when the sultan sent a decree or when any other person dispatched an order, a note, a petition, etc. Due to this situation all that is said here can only be tentative and preliminary, but it was a tempting idea to see to what extent historical sources may include hints at correspondence and therefore can be considered to be at least partially based on their authors’ insight into Ottoman chancery practice. This was also partly induced by a remark by Kaya S¸ahin that Cela¯lza¯de “reproduces ‘documents’”, especially the diploma appointing I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha ser‘asker for the Vienna campaign in 1529, as well as the Ottoman-Safavid correspondence prior to the treaty of Amasya of 1555.6

The sources The sources I searched for any mention of documents are listed below: Mustafa¯ Bosta¯n’s Süleyma¯nna¯me7 ˙˙ Cela¯lza¯de Mustafa¯’s Tabaka¯t ül-Mema¯lik ve Dereca¯t ül-Mesa¯lik8 ˙ ˙˙ ˙ ¯ Kema¯lpas¸aza¯de’s Teva¯rı¯h-i A l-i ʿOsma¯n (m. 1534) 9 ˘ Müns¸e’a¯t Ibra¯hı¯m Beg ibn Huda¯verdi el-Mihma¯nda¯r10 ˘ 6 S¸ahin, Kaya: Imperialism, Bureaucratic Conciousness, and the Historian’s Craft, in: Çıpa, Erdem – Emine Fetvacı (eds.): Writing History at the Ottoman Court. Editing the Past, Fashioning the Future. Bloomington – Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 2013, 41. 7 (ÖNB H.O. 42a), digitized under http://data.onb.ac.at/rec/AL00155294 (retrieved 1 March 2016). As I have been planning for many years to prepare a critical edition of several mss. of this text, I usually work with old microfilm copies of ÖNB H.O. 42a when using Bosta¯n. Hüseyin G. Yurdaydın corrected the erroneous notion that this text was composed by Süleyma¯n’s son Mustafa¯, who allegedly used the pen name of Ferdı¯. This is the name Hammer ˙ a major source for Süleyma¯n’s reign in his Geschichte des Osmanischen consistently cites˙as Reiches, vol. 3, Pesth: Hartleben, 1828. The author of the Sülyema¯nna¯me in reality was Mustafa¯ Bosta¯n (1498–1570), and only the copyist of ÖNB H.O. 42a can be assumed to be ˙ ˙ Mustafa¯; see Yurdaydın, Hüseyin G.: Bostan’ın Süleymannâmesi (Ferdî’ye Atfedilen Prince ˙ Eser), TTK˙Belleten, XIX/74 (1955), 137–202. On Bosta¯n, see also Nezihi Aykut, Bostan Çelebi, ˙ in DIA 6: 308, as well as Römer, Claudia: Bostan historiographe ottoman en tant que poète, Anatolia moderna 3 (1992), 237–246 and Römer, Claudia: The Language and Prose Style of Bostan’s Süleymanname, in: Humanism, Culture, and Language in the Near East. Studies in Honor of Georg Krotkoff, ed. by Asma Afsaruddin and A.H. Mathias Zahniser, Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns, 1997, 401–418. 8 Kappert, Petra: Geschichte Sultan Süleymân Kânûnîs von 1520 bis 1557 oder Tabaka¯t ül˙ Mema¯lik ve Dereca¯t ül-Mesa¯lik von Cela¯lza¯de Mustafa¯ genannt Koca Nis¸a¯ncı, ˙Wiesbaden: ˙ ˙˙ Steiner 1981. 9 Severcan, S¸efaettin: Tevârîh-i âl-i Osmân, Defter X. Türk Tarih Kurumu Yayıları 18. seri, 13: Ankara: TTK, 1996. 10 (ÖNB A. F. 239), digitized under http://data.onb.ac.at/rec/AL00231054 (retrieved 3 March 2015). The author of this ins¸a¯ was defterda¯r during Süleyma¯n’s reign and copied documents

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Ka¯nunna¯me-i Mısır11 ˙ ˙ Ahmed Süheylı¯, Ta¯rı¯h-i Mısr-ı cedı¯d. Müteferrika: Constantinople 1142 (1729/ ˙ 12 ˙ ˙ ˘ 30). ¯ lı¯’s Description of Cairo13 Mustafa¯ ‘A ˙˙ Özbaran, Salih: A Turkish Report on the Red Sea and the Portuguese in the Indian Ocean (1525) 14 Seyyid Muhammed es-Seyyid Mahmud, XVI. Asırda Mısır Eyaleti.15 Humbsch, Robert: Beiträge zur Geschichte des osmanischen Ägyptens.16 In 1525, a report by Selma¯n Re’ı¯s (d. 1528), the kapuda¯n of the Red Sea, reached ˙ I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha about Portuguese activities in the Indian Ocean. This has no direct connection to the Egyptian issue, but it is noteworthy because it is directed to “the Gate of Felicity”,17 in this case meaning I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha present in Egypt. Its contents reflect the Ottoman interest in the Portuguese, which, in the later years of Süleyma¯n’s reign increased due to Portuguese attacks on Ottoman ships as well as the call for help from the sultan of Aceh.18 One of the most unfruitful sources was Kema¯lpas¸aza¯de, who only gives a chapter heading, but does not seem to have written any text for this chapter:19 ….. ba‘dehu¯ zuhu¯r-ı hiya¯net-i Ahmed Pas¸a ve katl-i u¯ ve nehz˙at-i ˙Ibra¯hı¯m Pas¸a be-taraf˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˘ ı mema¯lik-i Mısr u S¸a¯m ˙ “….. then the rise of Ahmed Pasha’s treachery, his execution and I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha’s ˙ journey to the lands of Egypt and Syria”

After this headline, not a single event of I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha’s activities is mentioned, nor, of course, any document.

11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

from the Egyptian chancery. See Flügel, Gustav: Die arabischen, persischen und türkischen Handschriften der k.k. Hofbibliothek zu Wien, vol. 1, K.K. Hofdruckerei: Wien 1865, 280–281. Barkan, Ömer Lütfi: XV. ve XVI. Asırlarda Osmanlı ˙Imparatorlug˘unda Ziraî Ekonominin Hukukî ve Malî Esasları, Kanunlar, I, I˙stanbul: I˙stanbul Üniversitesi yayınları, 1943. Müteferrika: Constantinople 1142 (1729/30). Ahmed Süheylı¯ died after 1623. On him, see ˙ ˙ Unfortunately, this text did not yield any S¸erife Yalçınkaya: Süheylî, Ahmed, in DI˙A 38: 32–33. documents for 1525 (see fol. 53v–54v of the Müteferrika print). ¯ lı¯’s Description of Cairo of ˙1599: text, transliteration, translation, Tietze, Andreas: Mustafa¯ ‘A ˙ ˙ notes. Wien: Verlag der Österreichschen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1975. Arabian Studies 4 (1978), 81–88. I˙stanbul: Marmara Üniversitesi, Fen-Edebiyat Fakültesi Yayınları, I˙stanbul 1990. Freiburg 1976. Özbaran, Salih: A Turkish Report on the Red Sea and the Portuguese in the Indian Ocean (1525), Arabian Studies 4 (1978), 81. On this issue, see Römer, Claudia – Nicolas Vatin: Aceh et la Porte dans les années 1560, Turcica 46 (2015), 63–111. Severcan, S¸efaettin: Tevârîh-i âl-i Osmân, Defter X. Türk Tarih Kurumu Yayıları 18. seri, 13: Ankara: TTK, 1996, 44.

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¯ lı¯ in his Description of Cairo devotes only a short paragraph to Mustafa¯ ‘A ˙˙ ˙Ibra¯hı¯m Pasha’s mission and its background, including a poem on Ahmed Pa˙ sha’s downfall. He does not mention any documents. As a reason for the brevity of his account he says,20 Ha¯sıl-i kela¯m mezbu¯ruñ ‘azm-i ¸sa¯nı ˙ ˙ ve lutf u kerem u ihsa¯nı ˙ ˙ çün-ki a¯fa¯ka da¯sta¯n olmıs¸dur ˙ bu mikda¯r is¸‘a¯r-ile iktifa¯ müna¯sib görilüb kela¯mumuz faysal bulmıs¸dur ˙ ˙ “Since his grandezza and patronage, his munificence and generosity are world-famous we have contented ourselves with saying this much [about him] and our words are [herewith] completed”.21

Humbsch mentions six Ottoman documents that were issued during I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha’s stay in Egypt. The main bulk of correspondence is in Arabic, although with formulas adapted from Ottoman chancery practice.22 Müns¸e’a¯t Ibra¯hı¯m Beg ibn Huda¯verdi el-Mihma¯nda¯r (ÖNB A. F. 239) also ˘ proved less fruitful for finding original documents. Not all the documents of this th ins¸a¯ are from the 16 century, e. g., a Persian fethna¯me of Mehmed II for Prince ˙ ˙ Cem on his victory over Uzun Hasan in 878/1473 (begins on fol. 99r23). The ˙ collection also contains several Ottoman-Turkish tehnı¯yetna¯me, letters of congratulation for being promoted to a post. Whereas some do not mention who the addressee is (e. g. the one for a non-specified Grand vizier on fol. 51r), there is one explicitly written for I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha on the occasion of his wedding (fol. 46v).24 An important document in this collection, however, is the well-known bera¯t of 1529 for I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha (fols. 19v–22v).25 Although neither the document men20 The transliteration is adapted to the system used throughout this paper. However, the way Tietze rendered the rhymed prose is kept up. ¯ lı¯’s Description of Cairo of 1599, Wien: Verlag der Österreichi21 Tietze, Andreas: Mustafa¯ ‘A ˙ schen Akademie der˙Wissenschaften, 1975, 70, 158. 22 Humbsch, Robert: Beiträge zur Geschichte des osmanischen Ägyptens. Freiburg: Schwarz 1976, 100–103. 23 Here, I refer to the folio numbers written in red ink – there is also a different numbering written with a pencil, according to which it would be fol. 98r. Hammer in his Geschichte des Osmanischen Reiches refers to the documents of this collection, in particular also to this fethna¯me (Hammer, Joseph von: Geschichte des Osmanischen Reiches, vol. 9, Hartleben: Pest ˙ 354 (no. 215). 1833, 24 Hammer, Joseph von: Geschichte des Osmanischen Reiches, vol. 9, Hartleben: Pest 1833, 364 (no. 371). 25 On this bera¯t, see, e. g., S¸ahin, Kaya: Imperialism, Bureaucratic Conciousness, and the Historian’s Craft, in: Çıpa, Erdem – Emine Fetvacı (eds.): Writing History at the Ottoman Court. Editing the Past, Fashioning the Future. Bloomington – Indianapolis: Indiana University Press 2013, 41 (see also Kappert, Petra: Geschichte Sultan Süleymân Kânûnîs von 1520 bis 1557…., 179b–182b). See also Hammer, Joseph von: Geschichte des Osmanischen Reiches, vol. 9, Hartleben: Pest 1833, 366 (no. 397).

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tioned before nor this one has anything to do with I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha’s mission to Egypt, I would like to mention them shortly. The heading of the bera¯t written in red ink contains an interesting mistake: su¯ret-i bera¯t-i ˙Ibra¯hı¯m pa¯dis¸a¯h vezı¯r-i ˙ a‘zam “copy of the bera¯t of I˙bra¯hı¯m Padishah, grand vizier”. Under different ˙ circumstances one would think that it was just a lapsus calami, but with I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha it might have been written like this on purpose.26 A quick glance at the comparison between the versions in Ferı¯du¯n Beg and Cela¯lza¯de by Yılmaz reveals minor differences from both known versions.27

Decision making far away from the Porte One would expect I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha to have enjoyed greater liberty due to his unique position vis à vis the sultan, which eventually, in 1536, cost him his life. As far as the power to issue documents in the name of the sultan is concerned, an early case in Süleyma¯n’s reign is a firman of 1521 addressed to the Sancakbegi and the ˙ cadi of Jerusalem, issued in Damascus by the third vizier Ferha¯d Pasha, while Süleyma¯n was in Constantinople.28 I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha apparently was entitled to issue firmans in the sultan’s name during his mission to Egypt at least in one case, which deals with the affairs of Christian monks.29 He continued issuing firmans in blank during the campaign against the Safavids in 1534.30 The procedure of how I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha handled his own decisions on the spot is similar to a later practice in a region that was also a strategically important outpost of the Ottoman Empire, recently acquired and a constant zone of unrest. 26 On a discussion of I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha’s calling himself ser‘asker sulta¯n, see Procházka-Eisl, Gisela ˙ – Römer, Claudia: Osmanische Beamtenschreiben und Privatbriefe der Zeit Süleyma¯ns des Prächtigen aus dem Haus-, Hof- und Staatsarchiv zu Wien. Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2007, 15–19. There we argue that the use of this title was probably due to stylistic reasons, and the man who invented the title may very well have been Cela¯lza¯de. 27 Yılmaz, Mehmet S¸akir: “Koca Nis¸ancı” of Kanuni: Celalzade Mustafa Çelebi, Bureaucracy and “Kanun” in the reign of Süleyman the Magnificent (1520–1566), PhD Dissertation, Bilkent, 2006, 234–246. 28 Matuz, Josef: Ein “unkanzleimäßiger” Ferman Sultan Süleyma¯ns des Prächtigen: Acta Orientalia Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae. 38, 1984, 105–113. Arabic documents that were promulgated in the sultan’s name, but issued by viziers and governors of Egypt are known from Selim I’s time (Humbsch, Robert: Beiträge zur Geschichte des osmanischen Ägyptens, 84). 29 For this document, see Matuz, Josef: Eine ungewöhnliche osmanische Großwesirs-Titulatur, WZKM 77 (1987), 87–103. 30 Procházka-Eisl, Gisela – Römer, Claudia: Osmanische Beamtenschreiben und Privatbriefe der Zeit Süleyma¯ns des Prächtigen aus dem Haus-, Hof- und Staatsarchiv zu Wien. Denkschriften der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, phil.-hist.Kl., Bd. 357, Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2007, 17.

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In Mura¯d III’s time, soldiers in garrisons along the ever-changing OttomanHabsburg border could be appointed by the Beglerbegi of Buda without prior permission by the central authorities/the sultan. All the Beglerbegi had to do was to send a list of posts attributed to soldiers by him to the Porte.31 At the same time, the Ka¯nu¯nna¯me-i Mısır, promulgated by I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha himself with the help of ˙ ˙ Cela¯lza¯de Mustafa¯,32 invested the governor of Egypt with special rights and laid ˙˙ the foundation of a more independent provincial administration with a dı¯va¯n and a treasury of its own,33 much like the beglerbegilik of Buda after 1540. I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha himself, before leaving Egypt, independently appointed the next Beglerbegi of Egypt.34 On the other hand, the draft of the Ka¯nu¯nna¯me-i Mısır was ˙ ˙ first sent to the capital for approval by the sultan.35 31 On this issue, see Römer, Claudia: Osmanische Festungsbesatzungen in Ungarn zur Zeit Mura¯ds III., dargestellt an Hand von Petitionen zur Stellenvergabe. Schriften der BalkanKommission, Philologische Abteilung, Bd. 35, Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1995, 63–67, and more specifically, Römer, Claudia: On a Bureaucratic Reform Initiated by Üveys Pasha of Buda, 1578–1580, X. CIEPO Symposium, Ankara, 31. August – 5. September 1992, in: Römer, Claudia: Reading and Enjoying Ottoman Texts: Philological, Linguistic, and Historical Approaches. Analecta Isisiana, I˙stanbul: The ISIS Press, in preparation. 32 S¸ahin, Kaya: Empire and Power in the Reign of Süleyman, Cambridge – New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013, 55, quoting Cela¯lza¯de 121b–124b. For the yet unsolved question of whether I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha took Mamlu¯k documents as a basis for his reforms and especially for the Ka¯nu¯nna¯me-i Mısır or rather relied on oral communications, see S¸ahin, Kaya: Empire and ˙ in the Reign of˙ Süleyman, Cambridge – New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013, Power 56. What we do know is that he asked to see previous documentation on taxes and earlier law codes (Cela¯lza¯de, fol. 127a: Bas¸a-yi sa‘d-enca¯m bu ba¯bda ziya¯de ihtima¯mlar * edüb sinı¯n-i sa¯bıkada va¯kı‘ olan defa¯tir-i kadı¯meyi buldurub sela¯t¯ın-i Çera¯kiseden merhu¯m K ¸ a¯yıtba¯y-i ˙ ¯ y u˙ bihis¸t-me’va¯ zema ˙ ¯ nlarında * ma‘mu¯lün ˙ bih olan kava¯nı¯n-i ˙ ‘ada¯let-a¯yı¯ni cennet-ca getürdüb “The Pasha of eventual happiness took a lot of trouble in this˙ matter and had the old defters of bygone years searched for. He had the laws based on justice brought that had been used in the time of the late Ka¯yıtba¯y of the Çerkes, whose abode is in paradise and whose place is in heaven”). However, it is˙ not clear if any such documents eventually were available to him. On the different ideas on this issue, see, Benjamin Lellouch, Les Ottomans en Égypte, Historiens et conquérants au XVIe siècle. Paris : Peeters 2006, 65–66 and Michael Winter, Egyptian Society under Ottoman Rule, 1517–1798. London: Routledge, 16–17 (cited by S¸ahin, 56, note 24). 33 Hathaway, Jane – Karl Barbir: The Arab Lands Under Ottoman Rule: 1516–1800, London – New York: Routledge, 2013, 51. 34 Humbsch, Robert: Beiträge zur Geschichte des osmanischen Ägyptens, Freiburg: Schwarz 1976, 64. 35 S¸ahin, Kaya: Empire and Power in the Reign of Süleyman, Cambridge – New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013, 57 and note 29, giving as a reference Cela¯lza¯de fol. 127a. There it says: Mısırda olan cünu¯d ve ‘asker ümu¯rında * ve sa¯yir kaz˙a¯ya¯-yı vila¯yetde olan ahka¯m-i ‘ada¯letniz˙a¯m husu¯slarında a¯ra¯’-i sa¯yibeleri üzre* mufas˙sal ka¯nu¯nna¯me-i hüma¯yu¯˙n tahrı¯r edüb* ˙ ˙˙ ˙ ˙ ˘ ¯˙r-i˙ a‘la¯ya ‘arz˙ etdiler pa¯˙ye-i serı makbu¯l olub “Concerning the situation of the troops and ˙ soldiers in Egypt and orders full of justice about other issues of the country, he composed a detailed imperial ka¯nu¯nna¯me according to his sound opinions and submitted it to the lofty ˙ throne. It was accepted”.

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For each measure, I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha sends an ‘arz˙ to the sultan who accordingly issues a firman.36 This way of decision making also becomes evident from Bosta¯n ÖNB H.O. 42a, fol. 98a ve diya¯r-i Mısruñ eya¯letin dahı ol mahal S¸a¯m beglerbegisi olan cena¯b-i sa‘a¯det-me’a¯b ˙ ˙ ˘ Süleyma¯n Pas¸aya tevcı¯h edüb südde-i sa‘a¯dete ‘arz˙ eyledi. “Then he bestowed the eya¯let of Egypt on His happy Lordship Süleyma¯n Pasha, who was Beglerbegi of Syria. And [afterwards] he submitted [his decision] to the threshold of felicity”.

A more precise and differentiated description of how to proceed is found in the Ka¯nu¯nna¯me-i Mısır (Barkan Kanunlar I, 387). Only when swift action is vital, the ˙ ˙ Beglerbegi may decide without the sultan’s prior consent and is allowed to get his approval after having dealt with the situation. …. Te’h¯ırinden halel la¯zım gelmezse mufassalan beglerbegi ve na¯zır-i emva¯l derga¯h-ı ˙˙ ˙ ˘ ˘ ma‘delete ‘arz˙ eyleyeler emr-i celı¯lü l-kadr nice va¯rid olursa mu¯cebiyle ‘amel edeler ve ˙ eger te’h¯ıri ve tevk¯ıfinden nev‘a¯ z˙arar müterettib olmak la¯zım gelürse asla¯ te’h¯ır etmeyüb ˙ ˙ ˙ ˘ ˘ beglerbegi ve na¯zır-ı emva¯l hüsn-i ittifa¯kla fı¯ l-ha¯l ¸süru¯‘ edeler soñra ‘arz˙ edüb istikra¯rı ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ içün hükm-i ¸serı¯f irsa¯l olına ˙ “If there is no harm in a delay, the Beglerbegi and the na¯zır-i emva¯l shall submit it to the ˙ threshold of justice. In whatever way a lofty order will arrive, they shall act accordingly. But if any kind of harm will arise from its delay, they shall not delay it. The Beglerbegi and the na¯zır-i emva¯l together shall begin immediately. Subsequently, they shall submit ˙ [the affair] and a lofty order shall be sent for its corroboration”.

Note here that, although fı¯ l-ha¯l ‘immediately’ is of course important – they are ˙ supposed not to delay the matter any further – , the choice of words is motivated by the preceding na¯zır-i emva¯l, thus forming a rhyme and appealing to the ˙ literary taste of the time. We know that I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha was accompanied by none other than Cela¯lza¯de Mustafa¯, the great stylist and reformer of Ottoman chancery ˙˙ language.37 Cela¯lza¯de had been appointed re’ı¯sü l-kütta¯b precisely in 1525.38 A good example for the need of a quick decision is a period of bad weather that had prevented I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha’s progress on his way to Egypt by boat. Therefore 36 Barkan, Kanunlar I: LXI, n. 22. 37 On the importance attributed to ins¸a¯ by Cela¯lza¯de himself as a means to exhibit the grandeur of the sultan, see Yılmaz, Mehmet S¸akir: “Koca Nis¸ancı” of Kanuni: Celalzade Mustafa Çelebi, Bureaucracy and “Kanun” in the reign of Süleyman the Magnificent (1520–1566), PhD Dissertation, Bilkent 2006, 182. On the connection between style and ideology with regard to Cela¯lza¯de, see S¸ahin, Kaya: Empire and Power in the Reign of Süleyman, Cambridge – New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013, 57–58. 38 See Humbsch, Robert: Beiträge zur Geschichte des osmanischen Ägyptens, 64 and also S¸ahin, Kaya: Imperialism, Bureaucratic Conciousness, and the Historian’s Craft, in: Çıpa, Erdem – Emine Fetvacı (eds.): Writing History at the Ottoman Court. Editing the Past, Fashioning the Future. Bloomington – Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 2013, 42.

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he had to change plans and went along the land route, subsequently informing the sultan: bu vartadan hala¯s müyesser olıcak vezı¯r-i a‘zam ˙Ibra¯hı¯m Pas¸a hema¯n karadan gitmege ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˘ ˙ tasmı¯m-i ‘azm edüb husu¯s-i mezbu¯rı ulag˙-ıla derga¯h-i ciha¯n-pena¯ha ‘arz˙ eyleyüb ˙ ˙ ˙ “When they were saved from this abyss, I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha immediately engaged into the resolution of going on land. He reported the aforementioned matter with a messenger to the threshold, the refuge of the world”.39

Quotations from firmans? Sometimes it seems that the wording of a phrase or passage from a historical text may have been copied from an official document or even an original firman. Thus, even if there is no explicit mention of a decree, it can be conjectured that a passage may have been written on the basis of a document. Mehmed Beg, the vizier appointed by Ahmed Pasha, is sent to Istanbul:40 ˙ ˙

Ol sebeb-ile anda kayd ve bend olunub teftı¯¸s içün habs-ile La¯zikiyye kurbında vezı¯r-i ˙ ˙ ˙ a‘zam ˙Ibra¯hı¯m Pas¸anuñ huz˙u¯rına gelüb mezku¯ruñ ahva¯li tefahhus olundukda istika¯˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˘˘ ˙ meti ve sıdkı za¯hir ve ru¯¸sen olmag˙ın mezku¯rı tema¯m ri‘a¯yet eyleyüb Antalya iskelesinde ˙ ˙ ˙ gemi ile mahru¯se-i Mısra ma¯l z˙abtına ve memleket hıfzına gönderildi ˙ ˙ ˙ “For this reason he was tied up there. Near La¯zikiyye, he was brought before the Grand vizier I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha as a prisoner for investigation. When his situation was investigated his honesty and loyalty became clear and obvious. Therefore he showed utmost consideration for him. At the port of Antalya, he was sent to Cairo the well-protected in order to collect the money and protect the country”41

But it would be a premature conclusion if one were to see a quotation from a document wherever one meets stereotyped phrases known from documents. Stereotyped phrases and expressions form the backbone of Ottoman literary prose style. It is to be expected that situations usually discussed in documents require the same formulaic wording when they occur in other text genres.

39 Bosta¯n, ÖNB H.O. 42a, fol. 94v. 40 Ahmed Pas¸a, Hain, in: DI˙A 2, 1989, 113. Phrases that are often to be met with in documents are highlighted by non-italics in the transcription and by italics in the translation of this paragraph. 41 Bosta¯n ÖNB H.O. 42a, fols. 95a–b.

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Bosta¯n as a major source Mustafa¯ Bosta¯n’s Süleyma¯nna¯me gives a vivid and detailed account of Grand ˙˙ Vizier I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasa’s mission to Egypt in 1525 and the events that led to it.42 In the Süleyma¯nna¯me, a number of documents are mentioned, I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha’s decrees, his reports to the Porte, and firmans sent to him as well as to various other persons. Bosta¯n often sums up the contents of a document in a single sentence. Establishing a complete list of addresses and senders, including the contents of the documents, proved less easy than anticipated. For despite this apparent orderliness, in several instances Bosta¯n only says that a number of documents were sent by different people, thus making an exhaustive overview impossible. One example for this practice should suffice here: ikisinüñ dahı meva¯dd-i fesa¯dı ve hara¯b-i bila¯dı mütez˙ammın niçe ‘arz˙ları gelüb ˘ ˘ “Many petitions from both of them43 arrived, containing the details of the rebellion and the destruction of the country”.44

Conclusion Summing up, we can say that what had looked a relatively easy task from the outset turned out not to be feasible. The sources do indicate when firmans or reports were sent, when important people were appointed by a bera¯t. But most documents referred to are mentioned cumulatively or in an imprecise way, using expressions like “many” or “some”. As a first evaluation of our endeavor, we can at least give an overview of allusions to correspondence gleaned from the sources mentioned above. The first paragraph of this enumeration sums up the number of single documents to be found in the texts used: – 16 firmans, 7 ‘arz˙, 1 mektu¯b – An unspecified number of appointments (tevcı¯h, bera¯t) with subsequent ‘arz˙ by I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha – An unspecified number of ‘arz˙ by others – An unspecified number of ‘ada¯letna¯mes – An unspecified number of ‘arz˙ addressed to I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha as a consequence of the ‘ada¯letna¯mes 42 Ms. ÖNB H.O. 42a, fols. 80v–102r; I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha’s mission proper beginning on fol. 91r. 43 I.e. Ka¯sım Pasha and the na¯zir-i emva¯l Mehmed Beg. Note the rhyming words ending in ˙ ˙ ˙ –a¯d(d)ı. 44 ÖNB H.O. 42a, fol. 92r.

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– Defters of debtors, orphans, buildings in need of repair, etc. – An anonymized ins¸a¯ (forms of tehniyyetna¯me and ‘arz˙) – The Ka¯nu¯nna¯me-i Mısır beyond the seven firmans explicitly mentioned in it: ˙ ˙ should one count each of its twenty-four chapters or each of its forty-nine paragraphs as an individual firman? Despite this meagre outcome, searching for documents in historical texts was an enterprise worthwhile engaging in. During work on this subject, the earlier objective of establishing a pure list of documents nolens volens shifted to assessing Ottoman historical texts of this period. It appears that even authors who were well-informed and had access to chancery materials do not cite documents in a consistent way. More astonishingly, not even Cela¯lza¯de who as nis¸a¯ncı composed most of the documents himself and who moreover was present at I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha’s side during the latter’s mission to Egypt, included the complete documentation into his report. Thus we have to point out that historical texts cannot replace missing Mühimme Defterleri as far as exhaustive documentation is concerned. Although no substantially new facts have emerged, looking at Ottoman sources from this perspective does shed light on the status of Egypt as a province of the Ottoman Empire less than a decade after its conquest by Selim I. We justly can call this period a transition period, and at the same time, the events up to I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha’s departure from Egypt coincide with what Holt defines as the “phase of acquisition”.45 This period is also characterized by the way I˙bra¯hı¯m Pasha, relying on Cela¯lza¯de for the practical side of formulating the texts, interacted with Süleyma¯n, who was far away in I˙stanbul. If his decisions later on needed Süleyma¯n’s approval even if some were carried out immediately, we may assume that a lot more ‘arz˙ and firmans than we could identify as single documents or as an indistinct number of documents were sent back and forth between the two players.

45 Humbsch, Robert: Beiträge zur Geschichte des osmanischen Ägyptens, Freiburg: Schwarz 1976, 100, note 1, quoting Holt, P.M.: The Pattern of Egyptian Political History from 1517– 1798 (Change), in: Holt, P.M. (ed.): Political and Social Change in Modern Egypt, London: Oxford University Press, 1968, 80.

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Bibliography Sources Ahmed Süheylı¯. Ta¯rı¯h-i Mısr-ı cedı¯d. Müteferrika: Constantinople, 1142/1729–30. ˙ ˙ ˙ ˘ Barkan, Ömer Lütfi. XV. ve XVI. Asırlarda Osmanlı ˙Imparatorlug˘unda Ziraî Ekonominin Hukukî ve Malî Esasları, Kanunlar, I. I˙stanbul: I˙stanbul Üniversitesi Yayınları, 1943. Cela¯lza¯de see Kappert, Petra. Ferı¯du¯n Beg. Mecmu¯‘a-i müns¸e’a¯tü s-sela¯t¯ın. Constantinople, 1848. ˙ Humbsch, Robert. Beiträge zur Geschichte des osmanischen Ägyptens: nach arabischen Sultans- und Statthalterurkunden des Sinai-Klosters, Freiburg: Schwarz, 1976. Ibra¯hı¯m Beg ibn Huda¯verdi el-Mihma¯nda¯r. Müns¸e’a¯t, Ms. ÖNB A. F. 239, http://data.onb. ˘ ac.at/rec/AL00231054. Kappert, Petra. Geschichte Sultan Süleyma¯n Ka¯nu¯nı¯s von 1520 bis 1557 oder Tabaka¯t ül˙ ˙ Mema¯lik ve Dereca¯t ül-Mesa¯lik von Cela¯lza¯de Mustafa¯ genannt Koca Nis¸a¯ncı, Wies˙ ˙˙ baden: Steiner, 1981. Matuz, Josef. Ein “unkanzleimäßiger” Ferman Sultan Süleyma¯ns des Prächtigen: Acta Orientalia Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 38 (1984): 105–113. –. Eine ungewöhnliche osmanische Großwesirs-Titulatur, WZKM 77 (1987): 87–103. –. Herrscherurkunden des Osmanensultans Süleyma¯ns des Prächtigen. Ein chronologisches Verzeichnis. Freiburg: Schwarz, 1971. Mustafa¯ Bosta¯n. Süleyma¯nname, Ms. ÖNB H.O. 42a. http://data.onb.ac.at/rec/AL00155294. ˙˙ Procházka-Eisl, Gisela and Römer, Claudia. Osmanische Beamtenschreiben und Privatbriefe der Zeit Süleyma¯ns des Prächtigen aus dem Haus-, Hof- und Staatsarchiv zu Wien. Denkschriften der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, phil.-hist.Kl., Bd. 357, Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2007. Römer, Claudia. Osmanische Festungsbesatzungen in Ungarn zur Zeit Mura¯ds III., dargestellt an Hand von Petitionen zur Stellenvergabe. Schriften der Balkan-Kommission, Philologische Abteilung, Bd. 35, Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1995. Severcan, S¸efaettin. Tevârîh-i âl-i Osmân, Defter X. Türk Tarih Kurumu Yayınları 18. seri, 13: Ankara: TTK, 1996. ¯ lı¯’s Description of Cairo of 1599: text, transliteration, transTietze, Andreas. Mustafa¯ ‘A ˙˙ lation, notes. Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1975.

Studies Aykut, Nezihi. Bostan Çelebi. DI˙A 6: 308. Flügel, Gustav. Die arabischen, persischen und türkischen Handschriften der k.k. Hofbibliothek zu Wien, vol. 1, K.K. Hofdruckerei: Wien, 1865. Hammer, Joseph von. Geschichte des Osmanischen Reiches, vols. 3 and 9, Pesth: Hartleben, 1828, 1833. Hathaway, Jane and Barbir, Karl. The Arab Lands under Ottoman Rule: 1516–1800, London – New York: Routledge, 2013.

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Holt, P.M., The Pattern of Egyptian Political History from 1517–1798 (Change). In Political and Social Change in Modern Egypt, edited by Holt, P.M., 79–90. London: Oxford University Press, 1968. Lellouch, Benjamin. Les Ottomans en Égypte, Historiens et conquérants au XVIe siècle. Paris: Peeters, 2006. Özbaran, Salih. A Turkish Report on the Red Sea and the Portuguese in the Indian Ocean (1525). Arabian Studies 4 (1978): 81–88. Özcan, Abdülkadir (1989). Ahmed Pas¸a, Hain. DI˙A 2: 113. Römer, Claudia. Bostan historiographe ottoman en tant que poète. Anatolia moderna 3 1992: 237–246. –. The Language and Prose Style of Bostan’s Süleymanname. In Humanism, Culture, and Language in the Near East. Studies in Honor of Georg Krotkoff, edited by Asma Afsaruddin and A.H. Mathias Zahniser, 401–418. Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns, 1997. –. On a Bureaucratic Reform Initiated by Üveys Pasha of Buda, 1578–1580, X. CIEPO Symposium, Ankara, 31. August – 5. September 1992. In Römer, Claudia: Reading and Enjoying Ottoman Texts: Philological, Linguistic, and Historical Approaches.Collectanea Isisiana, I˙stanbul: The ISIS Press, in preparation. S¸ahin, Kaya. Imperialism, Bureaucratic Consciousness, and the Historian’s Craft. In Writing History at the Ottoman Court. Editing the Past, Fashioning the Future, edited by Çıpa, Erdem and Emine Fetvacı, 39–57. Bloomington – Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 2013. –. Empire and Power in the Reign of Süleyman. Cambridge – New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013. Seyyid Muhammed es-Seyyid Mahmud. XVI. Asırda Mısır Eya¯leti. I˙stanbul: Marmara Üniversitesi, Fen-Edebiyat Fakültesi Yayınları, I˙stanbul, 1990. Sümer, Faruk. Kasım Pas¸a, Güzelce. DI˙A 24: 547. Uzunçars¸ılı, I˙smail Hakkı. Osmanlı Tarihi, cilt 2, Türk Tarih Kurumu Yayınları, XIII. Dizi, – Sa. 16b3, Ankara TTK Basımevi, 1983. Yalçınkaya, S¸erife. Süheylî, Ahmed. DI˙A 38: 32–33. Yılmaz, Mehmet S¸akir. “Koca Nis¸ancı” of Kanuni: Celalzade Mustafa Çelebi, Bureaucracy and “Kanun” in the reign of Süleyman the Magnificent (1520–1566), PhD Dissertation, Bilkent, 2006. Yurdaydın, Hüseyin G. Bostan’ın Süleymannâmesi (Ferdî’ye Atfedilen Eser). TTK Belleten, XIX/74 1955: 137–202.

Michael Winter

The Conquest of Syria and Egypt by Sultan Selim I, According to Evliyâ Çelebi1

The aim of the present chapter is not to trace the history of the important Ottoman Sultan Yavuz Selim (r. 1512–1520) and the political and military events in which he took part. His dynamic personality in leading, even saving, the Ottoman Empire has been described in other, more reliable and accurate sources than Evliyâ Çelebi. Rather, my purpose is to document Evliyâ Çelebı¯’s unique approach as a mystic and a fascinating writer, who mixes the real Selim, as he was known to contemporary historians, with mysticism, imagination and naïve techniques that attribute the power of divination of future events (kashf), to historical figures, like famous Sufi saints. These events were known to Evliyâ Çelebi because he had the advantage of living a century and a half later than the sultan. His most daring device is to involve the Prophet himself, either in appearances in dreams, or in one case, when he speaks to Selim from his grave in Medina. Despite these literary devices, the figure of Selim emerges as credible. Not surprisingly, he appears to be very similar to Evliyâ Çelebı¯ himself. Both were deeply religious, with a tendency toward superstition. Selim respected and admired Muslim scholars; Kema¯lpas,azade Ahmed, his chief mufti, had a strong influence on him. At the same time, he had extreme faith in living and dead Sufis, regardless of their brand of mysticism. His admiration of the figure of the controversial mystic Muhyı¯ al-Dı¯n Ibn al-ʿArabı¯ is perhaps the best example of ˙ his obsession with Sufism. The tenth volume of Evliyâ Çelebi’s great travelogue Seya¯hatna¯me is mainly a ˙ detailed description of Egypt. He presents a panoramic view of the country as he saw it in the second half of the seventeenth century. As an Ottoman patriot and a deeply religious Muslim, the author was a keenly observant traveler who was a foreigner, but not a stranger to Egyptian culture. He paid attention to the local color, social and cultural subtleties, the rules, and the ways the country was governed by the Ottomans. In particular, he was interested in local practices of Islam. Despite often being inaccurate with his facts and figures, Evliyâ Çelebi 1 Kreiser, Evlı¯ya¯ Çelebı¯ ; Evlı¯yâ Çelebı¯ Seyahâtnamesi.

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compared many features of Cairo with Istanbul in a lively way. His descriptions include interesting information about Turkish enclaves in Cairo, with their separate Turkish religious congregations that were rarely observed by other contemporary writers. As Kreiser noted, “he clearly discriminates the Ottoman Ru¯m elite from the other subjects of the Sultan, a feature which is particularly noticeable in the tenth volume of the Seya¯hatna¯me focusing on Egypt.” ˙ The description of Egypt as Evliyâ Çelebi saw it is certainly a source for historians, notwithstanding its limitations. The chapters devoted to the career of Sultan Selim are of little use to the historian, but they make entertaining reading. His talent as a storyteller and his beautiful Turkish style are superb, as always. It remains unclear why this part of the tenth volume is wholly non-historical, and is drawn from imagination and legend, if not based purely on inventions of the author, or his sources. These sources are mostly undisclosed, except what his father, Dervis, Mehemmed Zillȋ, told him. In the early period (from the 14th through the late 16th centuries), the Ottomans practiced open succession, or what what historian Donald Quataert has described as “survival of the fittest, not eldest, son.”2 During their father’s lifetime, all of the adult sons of the reigning sultan would hold provincial governorships. Accompanied and mentored by their mothers, they would gather supporters while ostensibly following an ethos. Upon the death of their father, the sons would fight among themselves until one emerged triumphant. How remote the province a son governed was of great significance. The closer the region that a particular son was in charge of, the better the chances were of that son’s succeeding, simply because he would be told of the news of his father’s death and be able to get to first and declare himself Sultan. Thus a father could hint at whom he preferred by giving his favorite son a closer governorship, for instance, had to fight his brother in the 1480s for the right to rule. Occasionally, the half-brothers would even begin the struggle before their father’s death. During the reign of Süleyma¯n the Magnificent (1520–1566), strife between his sons Selim and Mustafa caused enough internal turmoil that Süleyma¯n ordered the death of Mustafa and Bayezid, leaving the sole heir.

Selim’s Early Career3 In his base in Trebizond, where he was in fact an independent ruler, Selim had a force of 20,000 men. He attacked in four directions. He raided Georgia (Gürcista¯n), Mikrilestan, and Dadyan. Within a period of seven or eight years, he seized 2 Quataert, The Ottoman Empire, 90–92. 3 EÇ X, 56–57.

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forty-five towns, including a few fortresses. He took a citadel called Ca¯nha. There ˙ he found 300 kantar of silver. He sent silver utensils as presents to his father, Sultan Bayezid. The sultan sent him precious robes of honor. He praised Selim’s zeal and courage, and told him that everything he might conquer would be legally his. Obviously, this generosity of the sultan to his son was valid as long as Selim stayed away from the capital, as the future proved. Selim also found gold. He ordered 100,000 gold pieces are minted with Sultan Bayezid’s name and the inscription “minted in Ca¯nha in the year ….”4 Selim became stronger through his victories, while Bayezid was busy fighting the Venetians in Morea. The Kizilbash Türkmens, who were adherents of the Shiʿa doctrines of Shah Isma¯ʿı¯l of Persia, invaded Anatolia. With the assistance of ʿAlaʾ al-Dawla, master of Dhuʾl Qadr, they occupied Tokad and Sivas, becoming stronger each day. The Kizilbash started to rob Sivas, calling it taxes. Selim understood that the Persians were a tough enemy. Selim left Ca¯nha and said to himself: “If with God’s help, I will ˙ become the sultan; my first gaza¯ will be against the Persians, the second against Dhuʾl Qadr, and the third against Egypt.” In the meantime, Selim’s son Süleyma¯n showed his talents and personality. The Sultan granted Selim’s wish to give his son the control of Kefe. Both father and son now controlled formidable armies and navies. Selim was determined to move nearer to the capital with his forces, with the excuse of fighting the infidels in the west. As I˙nalcik noted, the Sultan and his Grand Vizier preferred Ahmed, not Selim, as the next sultan.5 Selim was regarded as a rebel by the court. In a military encounter, Selim’s army was defeated by cannon and gunfire, and he escaped toward the Danube, arriving in Varna. Then he returned to his base in Trebizond. His deputies guarded the citadel of Ca¯nha for him.6 ˙ Selim moved his army, ostensibly to fight the Christians in Belgrade, but the Sultan decided to suppress his plans. Selim marched toward the capital. The two large armies met in the plain of Ҁorlu between Istanbul and Edirne. Most of the soldiers in the capital did not want Selim. Some reasonable people suggested convening a mes¸veret (consultation). Selim’s army came like a huge sea. So, at Ҁorlu, Bayezid lost the sultanate, and Selim became the Ottoman pâdis¸âh. According to Evliya Çelebi, Bayezid did not accept his dismissal lightly. Although he was ready to retire, we remember that Selim was the least wanted heir. The way he was forced to abdicate was humiliating. Evliya Çelebi leaves us a short speech that Bayezid delivered. It was a bitter message to the new sultan, full of curses, and wishing bad things to Selim and his army. Bayezid opens by saying: 4 The omission of the date and the high number of coins makes the veracity of the information suspicious. Have any of the coins ever been found? 5 I˙nalcik, “Selı¯m I.” 6 EÇ X, 57b.

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“Selim, you have taken from me the caliphate in the meadow of Ҁorlu by force and oppression. Your life will be short. Your sword will be sharp.” He mentions all the units of the army and administration. He curses all the military units of the Ottoman state.7 The deposed sultan left, and died soon afterwards. Once again, the short speech that Evliyâ Çelebi attributes to Bayezid is based on what the writer knew, especially about Selim’s short life, and the execution of his brothers by Selim. The authenticity of this speech is anybody’s guess. Evliyâ Çelebi’s version above is seriously inaccurate. Such a confrontation at Ҁorlu did take place, on 3 August, 1511, but the result was not Selim’s victory, but the opposite: Selim was defeated, and escaped to his son Süleyma¯n in Caffa. Because of the seriousness of the advance of the pro-Safavid Turkmans, whom only Selim seemed to be able to defeat, Bayezid reluctantly decided to invite Selim to Istanbul (early April 1512). Now Selim had the janissaries and the dignitaries on his side, and he came to court. The sultan had to relinquish power.8

“Selim the First Turns his Brothers and their Children into Shahı¯ds (Martyrs)”9 As noted above, Selim returned and began his maneuvers to take the Ottoman throne from his father and brothers. He did so with extraordinary shrewdness and ruthlessness. He forced his father Bayezid II to abdicate. Then he killed his two brothers, Ahmed and Korqud, and had them buried in Konya near the early ˙ sultans of the dynasty. Several princes tried to resist or escape, even to the Safavids. All were killed mercilessly. In order to ensure his full control of the empire, he ordered the execution of all the princes and their small children. According to Evliyâ Çelebi, two royal infants were taken to Istanbul, but they died of the plague. It is hard to accept this version, however. In the end, Selim had no opposition to worry about. Süleyma¯n, his only son, had already shown his remarkable abilities and character. During the campaign in Egypt, he was in charge of the Anatolian units. After Selim’s untimely death in September 1520, Süleyma¯n succeeded him without difficulty.10

7 8 9 10

EÇ X, 60b. I˙nalcik, “Selı¯m I.” EÇ X, 62–3. I˙nalcik, “Selı¯m I.”

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Selim Starts his Rule as the Sultan11 The ceremonies of the new sultan’s inauguration are described minutely by Evliya. The symbolism of Bektas¸i habits was observed. The troops swore to fight against the many enemies of the state, and Selim prepared to march to Anatolia. The ʿulamaʾ and the dignitaries in control of the treasury and the troops gave the sultan their bayʿa. The Christians kings living under Ottoman rule in the Balkans were horrified by Selim, and sent their emissaries with presents in order to renew the sulh (the temporary peace agreement with non-Muslims). ˙ ˙

Selim’s War against Sha¯h Isma¯ʿı¯l12 The Safavid king sent a provocative letter to Selim, challenging him to battle. Evliyâ Çelebi narrates a strange story that he had heard from his father about a chess game between Selim and Isma¯ʿı¯l in Isfahan. Now the shah threatened to avenge the defeat on the battlefield. When the two armies met at Chaldiran, Selim recalled that during the chess game it was agreed that in case of war between them, no cannons would be used. It was also agreed that one day the agreement might be broken. Selim said: “Now it is the day.” Selim gave the order, and the Ottomans won with cannon and gunfire. Evliyâ Çelebi tells that in seven hours the Safavid army was defeated and Isma¯ʿı¯l escaped. Much booty was carried to Istanbul. More than 200 beautiful women were taken to the Ottoman capital.

The Road to Marj Da¯biq Sultan Selim said: “God willing, there will be Gaza¯ to Egypt.” Kema¯lpas,azade recited the fa¯tiha. Selim summoned the ʿulama¯ʾ of Ru¯m and the chief qa¯d¯ıs of the ˙ ˙ four madhhabs to obtain fatwas authorizing the campaign by Muslim law. As is well known, the official legal school in the Ottoman Empire was the Hanafi School. Since the fatwas were meant for Egypt, the Ottomans needed all four madhhabs. The fatwa¯s accused the Qizilbash, and particularly the Safavids, of cursing the Rightly-Guided Caliphs. It was a duty incumbent on every Muslim (fard ʿayn) to remove these Shiʿis. It was necessary to kill them, take their women ˙ and their property. The essence of these documents was that the Mamluk Sultan was guilty of aiding and abetting the Qizilbash (bedmaas,). Selim sent the fatwas with twelve messengers to Qa¯nsawh al-Ghawrı¯, the Mamluk sultan. Al-Ghawrı¯, ˙ 11 EÇ X, 60b–61b. 12 EC X, 61.

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received the twelve messengers at his court. The fatwas were read. Then he reminded his courtiers that recently (June 1515) Selim had killed ʿAla¯ʾ al-Dawla, the prince of the Turcoman principality of Albistan, who was al-Ghawrı¯’s vassal, and who had prevented provisions from reaching the Ottoman army during the march against the Shah. Selim killed him and his sons, and sent their severed heads to the Mamluk sultan. These actions were crucial in the war against the Mamluks. Qa¯nsawh Al-Ghawrı¯ ordered ten envoys killed, and sent two with a message of ˙ war to Selim. He wrote that the killing of the ten envoys was revenge for the blood of ʿAla¯ʾ al-Dawla and his sons. He declared his determination to defend Egypt. “If you are a man, meet me at the plan of Marj Da¯biq below Aleppo.” Selim became furious. The ʿulamaʾ said: “In Islam, messengers are never killed, even if they are infidels. It is right to kill al-Ghawrı¯.” Selim made a pilgrimage (ziya¯ra) to Konya to the sepulcher of Emir Sultan, a famous Sufi saint and scholar from Bukhara, who had lived during the reign of Bayezid I. Selim addressed the tomb: “Peace be on you, the people of the graves!” A voice was heard from below: “And peace on you, the master of the sword and the pen. Enter Egypt in security!” All those who were present were astonished and perplexed. Then Kemalpas,azade, Selim’s most senior advisor on religious matters (later the chief mufti) said: “My Sultan, this is good news. It has been announced to you that you will conquer Egypt safely!” Selim proved that among the ruling family, he alone could save the state from the followers of the charismatic Shiʿi Shah Isma¯ʿı¯l, the Qizilbash, who threatened Ottoman rule in Anatolia. First, he massacred or imprisoned tens of thousands of them. Then, in August 1514, he defeated Shah Isma¯ʿı¯l himself on the plain of Chaldiran near Tabriz. The Ottomans’ superiority was clearly due to their possession of firearms. The Safavid threat was removed for the time being. Then Selim killed ʿAla¯ʾ alDawla. In the meantime, the prominent Sufis and other religious figures of Egypt, led by Abu¯ Suʿu¯d al-Ja¯rih¯ı and Marzu¯q al-Qifa¯fı¯, convened in secret to ˙ decide which power Egypt should support against Qa¯nsawh al-Ghawrı¯’s rule, ˙ which seemed both oppressive and unstable. Evliyâ Çelebi states that a number of alternatives were weighed and dismissed for religious, moral, and strategic reasons. They considered the Maghribis quarrelsome, greedy and not pure. India was far away and unable to act freely. The Persians were suspicious in their creed. The small states of the Kurds did not have stability or good reputation. They concluded that the Ottomans were the best, since they were monotheists and abided by the shariʿa law, they were favorable to the ʿulamaʾ and Sufis, and in war they were always victorious. They called three times: “Oh Selim, go and sit on your father’s throne! Ya Selim, taʿal! Ijlis ʿala taht abuk.”13 ˙ 13 EÇ X, 62.

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Far away, Sultan Selim and his commanders were relaxing in Amasye. Two pashas heard the call from Egypt. Selim remembered that when they called him, he was to go to Egypt. Selim decided that the time had come to prepare the campaign against Egypt.14 Selim prepared his army. A certain pasha was responsible for the capital. Crown Prince Süleyma¯n was appointed to be in charge of the officers of Ru¯m. The Sultan traveled quickly from his headquarters in Bursa to Konya to visit the sepulcher of Mevlâna, Jala¯l al-Dı¯n al-Ru¯mı¯, the founder of the Mevlevi Sufi order, in order to be blessed by his spirituality. Selim’s morale was greatly boosted by the loyalty and support of Halil Bey Ramazanog˘lu, the ruler of another dynasty state. He went out of his way to demonstrate his contribution to the Ottoman war effort. The reason must have been the fate of their neighbors, the Dulgadir of Albistan, whom Selim had put to death, and then incorporated their territory into the Ottoman Empire. Ramazanog˘lu promised to give the Ottomans incomes from awqa¯f and milk (private property). 80,000 elite troops would be sent to reinforce the Ottoman army. In addition, they would send 300 galleys (kadırgas) and 200 boats (s,aykas) that were used in the Black Sea. Also they brought ammunition and other supplies.15 Selim led 80,000 elite soldiers from Adana, crossing the Mamluk border. At this time, Adana was inside Egyptian territory. As he arrived at Marj Da¯biq, an old dervish appeared. He said to the sultan: “Oh, Selim, if you want victory, know that in this place Da¯wud slew Ja¯lu¯t and Allah gave him kingdom and wisdom [Qurʾa¯n 2: 251]. There stands Da¯wud’s tomb [maqa¯m, a saint’s tomb, or a small structure to commemorate a saint]. You must stay there before Sultan al-Ghawrı¯ arrives. Protect the place like Alexander’s wall.” The dervish disappeared. Selim entered the place and was guarded by four soldiers.

The First Defeat of al-Ghawrı¯ by Selim Al- Ghawrı¯ prepared a strong army, 200,000 men under arms. According to Evliyâ Çelebi, the Ottomans had 80,000 soldiers. His figures are famously inflated, but the estimate of the size of the Ottoman army is plausible. The fighting lasted seven hours, like Da¯wud and Ja¯lu¯t. Several historians said that al-Ghawrı¯ was killed in that battle, but this is not true, according to Evliyâ (No sources given by him!). He arrived in Egypt and gathered troops, so modern research proves. The soldiers who escaped to Egypt joined him. Selim stayed at 14 EÇ X, 63–4. 15 EÇ X, 63b.

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Marj Da¯biq for twenty days. He had a huge quantity of booty, and gave it to those who helped him. But much was concealed. Ja¯nbirdı¯ al-Ghazzalı¯, a senior emir, escaped. Later, he was appointed as the Ottoman governor of Damascus. Kha¯ʾir Bey, the governor of Aleppo under the Mamluks, who had been in secret correspondence with Selim before the war, withdrew his forces during the battle. Evliyâ Çelebi reports how after the victory at Marj Da¯biq all the Syrian cities were taken one by one by the Ottomans, without battle. The conquest of Damascus was Selim’s most significant acquisition in Syria. It was also achieved without bloodshed. It is remarkable that the short notice Evliyâ Çelebi writes about Selim’s conquest of Damascus, and his policy there, is dull, without substantial information. This is very different from his lively and important descriptions of cities and sites in Egypt, as he saw them in the seventeenth century. Clearly, our author was wholly unaware of the writings of Arab historians and chroniclers, especially Ibn Iya¯s in Cairo, and Shams al-Dı¯n Ibn Tu¯lu¯n of Damascus, who recorded the ˙ Ottoman conquest of Syria and Egypt as reliable witnesses. Ibn Tu¯lu¯n wrote many ˙ excellent chronicles and biographies in which Damascus is described in fine detail before and during the Ottoman conquest, with special attention to the personality and policy of Sultan Selim, his army and administration.16 On the other hand, Evliyâ Çelebi left a long list of leaders of the ʿurba¯n (Bedouin) tribes of greater Syria, who came to swear their obedience and loyalty to the Ottoman Sultan.17 They committed themselves to supply 400,000 loads of water on camels. Selim was moving from Gaza to Egypt on a road that was desert, and there was worry about scarcity of water.

The Grave of Ibn al-ʿArabı¯ in Damascus The figure of Muhyı¯ al-Dı¯n Ibn al-ʿArabı¯ was admired in Turkish religious circles ˙ for centuries. The monistic doctrines of this mystic thinker appealed to the Turks, but generally less so to the legalistic Arabs (with several notable exceptions). Ibn al-ʿArabı¯ was born in Spain, and died in 1240 in Damascus, and was buried in alSa¯lihiyya, outside the city walls. He spent some time in Konya. He was credited of ˙ ˙ prophesying the advent of the Ottoman Empire. His grave was neglected, since the orthodox Damascenes disapproved of his ideas. When the Ottomans conquered Damascus, Sultan Selim was determined to repair the ruined grave. However, it was Kema¯lpas,azade who initiated the search for the saint’s grave. While studying a book by Ibn al-ʿArabı¯, he came across an 16 See, in particular, Ibn Tu¯lu¯n , Mufa¯kahat al-Khila¯n. ˙ is not stated, but the list of the tribes is interesting. 17 EÇ X, 64–65. The source

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enigmatic Arabic statement: “When the letter sı¯n comes, then enters the letter shı¯n, then the letter mı¯m appears.” Kema¯lpas,azade interpreted this by jifr (Onomancy; i. e., divination based on names or letters). He decided that sı¯n stood for Selim, who entered shı¯n, al-Sha¯m, Damascus, and mı¯m stood for Muhyı¯ al˙ Dı¯n Ibn al-ʿArabı¯. This meant that Ibn al-ʿArabı¯’s grave would be revealed. In his dream, Ibn al-ʿArabı¯ spoke to the Sultan. The message was: “I have been expecting your arrival in Syria. I herald your Egypt campaign. Tomorrow you will ride a black horse that will carry you to me. Then build for me in al-Sa¯lihiyya a ˙ ˙ sepulcher, a Sufi convent, a mosque, a soup kitchen, a medrese, a children’s school, a bath, a law court, a hospital, a fountain with running water, and more.” That was quite a wish list from a saint who had died almost 300 years earlier. The following day, Selim rode a black horse to the gravesite. The Sultan saw a stone with the inscription: “This is the grave of Muhyı¯ al-Dı¯n.” The place was ˙ littered with refuse. People had decided that the mystic’s writings were contrary to the Muslim faith, and accused him of infidelity (takfı¯r). Selim summoned workers and builders to remove the garbage and start building the complex according to his plan. The Sultan himself participated manually in the clearing of the grave. According to Evliyâ, Selim became an ardent believer in the science of jifr. He asked several experts in this field to reveal the Egypt campaign’s chances of success. For example, a shaykh cited a saying attributed to Caliph ʿAlı¯: “It is certain that the Ottoman Sultan Selim will be the master of Ru¯m, ʿAjam, and then of Jazı¯rat al-ʿArab.” The shaykh interpreted the last term as referring to Egypt, citing an ancient Coptic leader. Koranic verses were also interpreted to give the Sultan hope. All other sources describe Selim as intelligent and learned. It is thus doubtful that he believed in these prophesies. The rebellion of Ja¯nbirdı¯ al-Ghazza¯lı¯, the former Mamluk emir whom Selim had appointed governor of Damascus, is worth mentioning at this juncture. He recklessly rebelled against young Sultan Süleyma¯n after Sultan Selim’s death. The revolt was suppressed quickly. But al-Ghazza¯lı¯ destroyed the dome of the newly constructed mosque of Ibn al-ʿArabı¯’s tomb, because it was a symbol of the Ottoman regime and an unpopular saint.18

The Ottoman Conquest of the Cairo Citadel The main force reached al-Sa¯lihiyya where there was a date orchard in which ˙ ˙ Çerakise (Circassians) were staying. All of them were put to death by the sword. Their weapons were given to the loyal Bedouins. The next battle between Tu¯˙ 18 EÇ X, 65–7; Masters, The Arabs of the Ottoman Empire, 117.

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ma¯nba¯y and Selim took place in the town of Bilbeys. Both armies suffered heavy casualties. Kha¯ʾir Bey fought valiantly; his exploits were recorded in the Egyptian annals. The janissaries used their handguns, and the Mamluk army was defeated. Selim ordered to move on to besiege Cairo. Here Kha¯ʾir Bey advised the sultan to let the army rest for three days, because the horses were tired and the soldiers exhausted. If they were pushed, it might result in rebellion (fitna). Again, the sultan heeded his advice, as he would in the future in regard to high policy decisions.19

Qa¯nsawh al-Ghawrı¯’s Death20 ˙ Selim promised Kha¯ʾir Bey that if he conquered Egypt, he would become an independent ruler. As a special favor, the sultan gave him a sanjak in Rumeli. ˙ Kha¯ʾir Bey, who was the governor of Aleppo under the Mamluks, introduced all the religious dignitaries, the military and the civil officials of Aleppo to the sultan. They gave Selim the keys of the city. Then, as was customary, the sultan visited the main mosques of the city. Another example proves that Evliyâ Çelebi distorted historical facts. In his description of the battle in which the Ottomans under Selim defeated the Mamluks in Marj Da¯biq, north of Aleppo, he insists that Qa¯nsawh al-Ghawrı¯, was ˙ not killed during the battle, “as some historians mistakenly claim,” but he escaped and continued organizing the Mamluk forces resisting the Ottomans. Ibn Iya¯s, a reliable chronicler, reports how the aged Sultan al-Ghawrı¯ was killed. He fell from his horse, stricken with apoplexy, and his body was not found. This may have fueled the legend that he survived. According to Evliyâ Çelebi, al-Ghawrı¯ was killed during a fierce battle between the Ottomans and the Mamluks in the desert plain of Bilbeys. Al-Ghawrı¯ was beheaded by a soldier, as he was praying in the field. His head was wrapped in his prayer rug, and was brought to Selim, but there were doubts whether this was al-Ghawrı¯. After seventeen years, his ring and an ear with a wound that had been made by a sword were found. A mekteb teacher found al-Ghawrı¯’s will.21 After al-Ghawrı¯’s death, the Mamluk military elite began discussing who his successor would be. This proves that Evliyâ’s strange version about the identity of the dead man in the Bilbeys battlefield as Qa¯nsawh al-Ghawrı¯ never happened. ˙ Some wanted to choose al-Ghawrı¯’s son, Muhammad; others argued that he was ˙ too young, and the Ottomans would despise them. Finally, it was decided that 19 EÇ X, 67b–68a. 20 EÇ X, 68. 21 EÇ X, 68a.

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Tu¯ma¯nba¯y would be the successor (khalı¯fa) under the sultanic title al-Malik al˙ Ashraf. He was popular, religious and modest, and had served as dawa¯da¯r kabı¯r, and other high positions.22 Tu¯ma¯nba¯y and other Mamluk officers tried to kill Selim, looking to locate him ˙ under the flag of Islam. They confused him with Ha¯dim Sinan Pasha, his Grand Vizier, because both were beardless and wore the same clothes. Next morning, the Ottoman army surrounded the citadel of Cairo. The chiefs of the loyal Bedouins (ʿurban) besieged Cairo closely from the bank of the Nile so that “even a bird could not fly in.”23 The battle of Rayda¯niyya was very hard. Evliyâ Çelebı¯ writes that the army at first did not use cannon and handguns, believing that “firearms are the infidels’ invention: Âtes,bazlık kâfir san’atdır.” Despite this sentiment, it was decided to win the battle by using firearms. Evliyâ Çelebi reports that the Ottomans remembered the war with Isma¯ʿı¯l, the Safavid ruler of Persia, where it was firearms that had defeated the Persians.24 The Ottomans started to attack the citadel with cannons. The Sultan, with his guards and officers, found himself on the top of the citadel in a kitchen. He was in danger of falling down, but an old blind Arab guard warned him, saying “shwoy, shwoy (slowly, carefully) Sultan Selim!” After he died, his descendants received pensions from the state treasury.25 The citadel was taken by units of the Ottoman army. The victory was announced by firing a heavy cannon (s,ahȋ) ball, and decorating the citadel with white flags of surrender to let the people of Cairo see. Evliyâ Çelebı¯ writes that alGhawrı¯ had a force of 12,000 black men. The Rumeli soldiers attacked and killed all of them, and their corpses were left in a square that has been known since then as Kara Meydânı, the Square of the Blacks.26 After the inner citadel was conquered, all the viziers, chief ministers (vekı¯ls), and all the state notables (aʿyân-ı devlet-ȋ dȋvân), received from Sultan Selim a magnificent robe of honor, each according to his rank. Kha¯ʾir Bey received the governorship of Egypt. Kemalpas,azade Ahmed Efendi was appointed as chief judge (kadiasker) of Rumeli. Next morning, which was Friday, all the Muslim army (ʿaskeri-i Islam) gathered in Qala¯ʾu¯n’s mosque in the citadel. The sermon was delivered by Kemalpas,azade who called Selim the Servitor of the Two Sanctuaries (kha¯dim alharamayn al-sharı¯fayn). This title was read before the Ottomans became the ˙ masters of Mecca and Medina. As the “miserable Circassians” learned that Kha¯ʾir 22 23 24 25 26

Holt, “Tu¯ma¯n Ba¯y.” ˙ EÇ X, 68b. EÇ X, 68a. EÇ X, 68b. EÇ X, 68b–69a.

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Bey had been appointed the vizier (governor) of Egypt, they closed the alleys and prepared water and provisions in their houses. The war against the Ottomans lasted seventy days. The Egyptians fought from the roofs and chimneys. The fighting went on night and day. The Egyptian people called in the sermons, “Allah, give victory to Sultan Tu¯ma¯nba¯y!” Women threw stones, dirty water and ˙ objects from the rooftops onto the fighters of Islam (Guzat-ı Müslimin). Sultan Selim allotted the women incomes (ulu¯fe) from the treasury as a means of appeasement. Finally, Selim ordered Kha¯ʾir Bey to get rid of Tu¯ma¯nba¯y.27 ˙

Tu¯ma¯nba¯y’s Death: Evliyâ Çelebi’s Version28 ˙ Another example of Evliyâ Çelebi’s vivid imagination has to do with the tragic (and well known) fate of Tu¯ma¯nba¯y, the last sultan of the Mamluk state. It was ˙ chronicled by Ibn Iya¯s, an eyewitness to the events before and after the Ottoman conquest of Egypt. All the chroniclers of the period, as well as modern historians, describe him as a courageous, religious and just ruler. His weakness was that he was unable to control the hotheads among his emirs, and was unable to stop unwise measures that could have prevented the complete destruction of the Mamluk state, and perhaps his own hanging at Selim’s order. Even Evliyâ Çelebi agrees with early sources that he was a noble man.29 After several hopeless attempts to continue fighting the Ottomans, Tu¯ma¯nba¯y fled with the Arab shaykh ˙ of the Buhayra to whom he had sworn his loyalty. The shaykh betrayed him, and ˙ Selim ordered him hung at the Zuwayla Gate. So far, this narrative adheres to the traditional version of Tu¯ma¯nba¯y’s per˙ sonality and death. What makes Evliyâ Çelebi’s version fantastic and bizarre is the way Tu¯ma¯nba¯y is described as meeting the Sultan. Selim ordered Kha¯ʾir Bey ˙ to destroy him. He bestowed rewards and presents on Ibn Khabı¯r, the Arab chief in whose house Tu¯ma¯nba¯y was hiding. Ibn Khabı¯r informed Selim about Tu¯˙ ˙ ma¯nba¯y. The Prophet Muhammad appeared in one of Tu¯ma¯nba¯y’s dreams. He ˙ ˙ told him that for the sake of his honor he should go to Selim. The Prophet would soon be with him; i. e., Selim too would die soon. Tu¯ma¯nba¯y woke up, prayed, and ˙ rode to the officer who was charged to arrest him. Selim also saw the Prophet in his dream. He said: “Oh Selim, send Tu¯ma¯nba¯y to ˙ me. Prepare his funeral. By your pledge, make Egypt waqf for me. When you get to Istanbul, you also will be with me.” Selim asked: “To whom will I leave Egypt?” The Prophet assures him that Egypt will be in God’s trust; Selim should not worry. 27 EÇ X, 69a. 28 EÇ X, 69–70. 29 Holt, “Tu¯ma¯n Ba¯y”. ˙

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If around the year 1003 AH, Egypt’s conditions become unstable, Selim must not worry. His dynasty will control Egypt. When Selim woke up and completed his prayers, Tu¯ma¯nba¯y arrived. Here ˙ Evliyâ Çelebı¯ cites a conversation between the Sultan and his prisoner. The exchange of accusations and arguments between them is narrated as follows. Tu¯ma¯nba¯y complains that the Ottomans called the Circassians of Egypt infidels ˙ in their fatwas. They stole their property and harmed the Muslims. Selim responded that the Mamluks should be killed for helping the Persians, a charge vehemently denied by Tu¯ma¯nba¯y. Selim says that the Egyptians killed his mes˙ sengers. Tu¯ma¯nba¯y explains that the messengers whom al-Ghawrı¯ executed ˙ spoke insolently in his presence; the two who behaved well were allowed to go free. Selim asks: “Why have you fought us so violently?” Tu¯ma¯nba¯y: “You at˙ tacked our families and took their property.” Selim: “Why have you come to me?” Tu¯ma¯nba¯y: “The Messenger of God told me to come.” Selim realized that all ˙ Tu¯ma¯nba¯y’s words were true. Finally: “Why did the people call out to you ‘May ˙ God give victory to Sultan Tu¯ma¯nba¯y’?” Tu¯ma¯nba¯y: “I treated the poor with ˙ ˙ justice. If you do justice, and stop making war, they will also follow you.” Selim signaled to Kha¯ʾir Bey, and Tu¯ma¯nba¯y was hanged at the Zuwayla Gate. ˙ Ibn Iya¯s witnessed the execution, and presents a touching description of his courage. According to Evliyâ, he was taken down after seven hours. Sultan Selim walked at the funeral, and even carried the coffin on his shoulders for a while. ¯ diliyya madrasa in an impressive building with Tu¯ma¯nba¯y was buried at the ʿA ˙ a high dome and a nice mosque nearby. It was surrounded by buildings for guests. A tall, spacious building, like a palace, was later used by emirs who came to Cairo, staying there for three days, and leaving in a parade. High officials on their way back to Istanbul did the same. They stopped at Tu¯ma¯nba¯y’s tomb to be ˙ inspired by its holiness. The tomb became a popular pilgrimage and excursion site. Nevertheless, there was still unrest in Cairo. More armed clashes followed, because the rule of al-Ghawrı¯ and Tu¯ma¯nba¯y was great. Kha¯ʾir Bey acted as a ˙ guide for the Ottomans to take them to Egypt, and was responsible for Tu¯˙ ma¯nba¯y’s execution.

Sultan Selim’s Voyage to Dimya¯t, Rashı¯d and Alexandria30 ˙ The royal flotilla set out of the port of Bulaq toward the seaports of Egypt. The glorious and decorated convoy consisted of 200 ships and 10,000 soldiers. Huge cannons shot cannon balls and gunshots were sounded. Selim made pilgrimages to the tombs of local saints. The town people accepted all kinds of gifts from the 30 EÇ X, 72–73.

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state treasury. The town notables arrived to welcome the Sultan. As usual, the keys of the citadel were handed to the Sultan. The highlight of the state visit was the huge citadel of Alexandria. In the past, when Sultan al-Ghawrı¯ learned of Sultan Selim’s rise to power, he called all the experts in the arts of divination, soothsaying, and the science of letters (ʿilm-ı huru¯f), astrology, and similar esoteric sciences. They let him know ˙ that he would not benefit from their services. Sultan al-Ghawrı¯ decided to use more practical methods. He ordered many cargo boats that carried money, food, provisions and precious merchandise be prepared, and put the goods in the storerooms of the citadel of Alexandria. Because of al-Ghawrı¯’s brotherhood with Sultan Yaʿqu¯b, he decided to move these treasures to the Maghreb in order to conceal all of them from the Ottomans. However, as the Arabic saying has it, “Man plans, and Allah decides” (al-ʿabd yudabbir, wa-Allah yuqaddir). Before Sultan Selim attacked Egypt, his vizier Kara Piri Pas,a appointed a deputy in Istanbul, and himself appeared with 700 ships to besiege Alexandria. Al-Ghawrı¯ perished, and Sultan Selim conquered Alexandria. He found there 57,000 Egyptian purses, in addition to the many that he had taken after the battle of Marj Da¯biq. Among the spoils of war, there was a flag of the Prophet, with a figure of a lion and a sign nasr min Allah on it. Among the relics was a tooth that the Prophet lost in the battle of Uhud, as well as a part of his garments and sandals. Of special note is a knife that the prophet Yu¯suf used when he was in prison in Egypt to let him know the times of prayer. The list of remnants of the sultans’ belongings is quite long. All these relics and treasures were intended to be shipped to Istanbul.

Selim Introduces his Laws for Egypt After visiting Alexandria and the other ports, Selim returned to Cairo in order to introduce his laws for Egypt. He convened a large rally in Cairo to announce the ¯ s in basics of his policy for Egypt. It took place at the mosque of ʿAmr ibn al-ʿA ˙ Old Cairo. Abu¯ al-Suʿu¯d al-Ja¯rih¯ı and Marzu¯q al-Qifa¯fı¯, the most illustrious Sufis, ˙ whom Evliyâ Çelebı¯ had mentioned several times before, were present. They allowed a preacher to deliver a sermon in which the Sultan’s entire list of titles was declared. Selim heaped much honor and many titles and gifts on Kha¯ʾir Bey for his services to the Sultan and the Egyptian campaign. He appointed him vizier and the deputy of the land. Selim declared that he had no wish to take anything from Egypt. All the produce of Egypt would be waqf for the Prophet, and Kha¯ʾir Bey was appointed as the trustee to the waqf. Kema¯lpas,azade, Selim’s chief religious guide, is named in the sermon as Mısır Mola¯sı, the chief qa¯d¯ı of Egypt. If this text ˙ is genuine, it is strange, as the Sultan and his religious guide were about to return

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home. He is charged with registering many Egyptian villages to send funds to the Haramayn al-Sharifayn. Another point of interest concerning religion is the mention by the Sultan of four madhhabs in Egypt. It is not surprising, but it refutes the rumors that the Ottomans intended to abolish the three law schools and leave only the Hanafi one. ˙ Selim ordered the appointment of numerous competent servants and personnel, among them one hundred Circassian Beys. (Clearly, Selim wanted to establish trust with his former enemies.) The sultan instigated a weekly routine of divan sessions, modeled after the divan in Istanbul. The personnel were entitled to rations of food, as decreed by the Sultan. Egypt was divided into districts (aqa¯lı¯m) administrated by eighteen governors (kushsha¯f) who received their allotted food from the divan. Much was said about the preparation of the kiswa for the kaʿba and the collection of money from the villages of Egypt for the people of the holy cities in the Hijaz. The function of amı¯r al-hajj, the commander of the pilgrims’ caravan, is also discussed. The various ˙ military units, the infantry and the cavalry are listed. Their income was to be taken from the Egyptian treasury. The income for soldiers and their orphans was to be paid as jawa¯lı¯, the taxes imposed on the religious minorities for the sake of soldiers or pious Muslims. The minorities mentioned are Jews, Copts, Armenians and Europeans (Franks).31

Conclusion The subject of the present article is the history of Sultan Selim (the Grim, Yavuz) from his rise to the Ottoman throne, and his eliminating the Shiʿi revolt in Anatolia and repelling the threat of the Safavid Shah of Persia. By overthrowing the Mamluk Sultanate and annexing Syria and Egypt to the Ottoman Empire, Selim created a vastly extended and unified Sunni state between the Shiʿis in the east and the Christian forces in the west. In the tenth volume of his famous travelogue Seyahatnȃme, Evliyȃ Çelebi devotes only 20 pages, each printed in two columns, to Selim. The whole volume comprises 537 pages that are mostly about Egypt (and some on Abyssinia and the Sudan), all printed in very small letters. I have discussed only those parts that are of a historical nature, although as I have tried to show above, they are often far from straight history. Here I have left out chapters that were pure fantasy, although the author’s imagination and mystical inclinations makes some of them entertaining reading. 31 EÇ X, 73–75.

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It is truly difficult to decide how serious our author was in his historical writing. It is hard to argue about chapters that are openly mystical, although the appearance of Prophet Muhammad could test the limits of a believing person. In one case, not included here, the Prophet himself comes to Selim’s rescue, not in a dream, as usual, but in person. The author was careful not to claim that he saw the Prophet himself, but leaves the reporting to a friend. Yet his historical writing often simply does not make sense. The fate of Qa¯nsawh al-Ghawrı¯, the last effective Mamluk sultan, is well known from the ˙ evidence of Ibn Iya¯s. He was an old man and fell from his horse stricken with apoplexy. Evliyȃ Çelebi insists that he did not perish on the battlefield of Marj Da¯biq, as some historians claim by mistake. According to (unnamed!) historians and based on research (!), he made it to the south and helped resist the Ottomans. However, while he was praying, a soldier cut off his head. Only seventeen years later were the remains of his body found, with a note saying “I am al-Ghawrı¯.” No matter what one thinks of Evliyȃ Çelebi as a historian, he was a great storyteller with an excellent command of language, and it is fun to read his stories. As I mentioned several times, he had imagination and style. Kreiser is right that his writing contributes much to historians, although he was not one himself. Finally, it would be worth trying to trace the sources of his history of Sultan Selim. Much of it must have been his invention, but he may have benefitted from oral or written traditions. Although one cannot learn from Evliyȃ about Sultan Selim, we can get acquainted with one of the wittiest Ottoman Turkish travelers and storytellers

Bibliography Sources Evliyâ Çelebi b. Dervis Mehemmed Zıllî. Evlı¯yâ Çelebi Seyahâtnamesi. Eds. Yücel Dag˘lı, ˙ Seyit Ali Kahraman and Robert Dankoff. Istanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2003–2007. Abbreviated in footnotes as EÇ X [all quotes for this article are from Part Ten, hence X followed by page numbers of this edition.] Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Shams al-Dı¯n Muhammad, Mufa¯kahat al-Khila¯n fı¯ al-zama¯n; ta¯rı¯kh Misr wa-‘l˙ ˙ Sha¯m. Ed. Muhammad Mustafa¯. Cairo, 1962–64. 2 vols. ˙ ˙˙

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Studies Holt, P. M. Egypt and the Fertile Crescent, 1516–1922; a political history. Ithaca NY: Cornell University Press, 1966. –. “Tu¯ma¯n Ba¯y.” Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. BrillOnline Reference Works Tel ˙ Aviv University Sourasky Library. 18 June 2015. ˙Inalcık, Halil, “Selı¯m I.” Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. BrillOnline Reference Works, Tel Aviv University Sourasky Library. 5 June 2015. Kreiser, Klaus. “Evlı¯yȃ Çelebi (b. 1611; d. >1683).” Historians of the Ottoman Empire. https://ottomanhistorians.uchicago.edu/en/historian/evliya-çelebi, accessed 9 May 2016. Masters, Bruce. The Arabs of the Ottoman Empire, 1516–1918; A Social and Cultural History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013. Quataert, Donald. The Ottoman Empire, 1700–1922, 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005.

Syria

Linda T. Darling

Investigating the Fiscal Administration of the Arab Provinces after the Ottoman Conquest of 1516

An order to the Ottoman qadi of Haleb (Aleppo province), Mevlana Salih Çelebi, states: I order you now to go to Egypt together with the qadi of Egypt, Mevlana Muhyiddin, in order to inspect some matters related to the imperial revenue in Egypt. When this order arrives, do not lose a moment. When you reach Damascus, the aforesaid qadi of Egypt is staying there, and I have written an order that your needs must be seen to by the governor of S¸am. When you get there don’t delay, get together and go to Egypt with your suite of attendants and fulfill your appointed service. Thus may you know, [may you put your trust in the imperial seal].1

This order is one of a series of thirty-eight register entries on a case of financial malfeasance found in the oldest extant mühimme register, a register of important affairs from the Topkapı Saray Archive dated 1544–45, twenty-eight years after the Ottoman conquest.2 The records of this complex case detail not only the taxes 1 Topkapı Sarayı Ars¸ivi H.951–952 Tarihli ve E-12321 Numaralı Mühimme Defteri, ed. Halil Sahilliog˘lu (Istanbul: IRCICA, 2002), #9 (hereafter TKS; register entries are cited by entry number rather than page number to facilitate cross-referencing with the original document). Haleb Kadısı Mevlana Salih Çelebi’ye bir hüküm ki: Haliyen mahruse-i Mısır’da hassa-i hümayunuma mute‘allık ba‘z-ı hususların teftis¸i içün Mısır kadılıg˘ı ‘inayet olunan Mevlana Muhyiddin ile sen dahi Mısır’a bile varmak emridüb buyurdum ki: Hükm-i hümayunum vardukda bir [an] te’ahhür etmeyüb mahruse-i S¸am’a varub anda müs¸arun ileyh Mısır kadısına tevakkuf eyleyesin ki S¸am beglerbegisine lazım olan maslahatınuz görülmek içün hüküm yazılmıs¸dır. Ol vurdukda te’ahhür etmeyüb ma‘iyyetiyle varub Mısır’a mülakı olub memur oldug˘unuz hizmeti eda eyleyesin, ¸söyle bilesin . . . In this paper the term “Syria” refers to what is known as Greater Syria, “S¸am” to the Ottoman province of Syria, and Damascus to its capital. “Haleb” refers to the province of northern Syria, “Aleppo” to its capital; similarly with “Egypt” and “Cairo.” Names and terms are transliterated in the Turkish fasion, because these are Turkish sources, but that does not mean that all the people mentioned were ethnically Turks or came from Istanbul. In the Arabic script in either the Ottoman or the Arabic language, it is impossible to distinguish Muhammad from Mehmed. 2 The relevant entries, in order of date, are numbers 6, 97, 98, 99, 100, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 72, 7, 8, 9, 10, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 127, 128, 129, 92, and 93. The published mühimme registers were used here because of the timing of the conference; further interesting and enlightening episodes may be found in the unpublished registers as well

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and revenues collected by the Ottomans but also the chief treasury personnel and the documents they created, some of which are still available to us today. The mühimme registers contain an abundance of information on provincial finances that can illuminate the administrative adjustment of the Arab lands to Ottoman rule and that suggest further research projects on that subject. Stanford Shaw used these registers, which date from 1554, together with finance registers dating from 1595 in his study of the financial organization of Ottoman Egypt from the 16th through the 18th century, and Adnan Bakhit employed them and the finance registers in discussing conditions on the ground in 16th-century Syria, but neither scholar took advantage of them to investigate the processes through which those conditions were negotiated and arranged.3 This chapter examines the information provided in these registers on fiscal practices and personnel, both for what light they shed on Syria’s administrative transition between the two empires and also for the additional sources they point to that could take this research further. Understanding Syria’s administrative reorientation is not just a technical matter. It illuminates what lies behind the practices that have often been dismissed as stemming from a generalized Ottoman oppression of the conquered territories, clarifying the Arab-Ottoman relationship in its inception. Moreover, it challenges the paradigm of the “golden age of Süleyman,” in contrast to which the subsequent period is seen as one of corruption and mismanagement, and it addresses Syria’s place in the larger imperial and global transformations of the period. After describing the above episode in some detail, as well as the procedures and documents it mentioned or to which it gave rise, the chapter examines the fiscal problems mentioned in other entries on Syria in the published mühimme registers between the years 1558 and 1572. This examination gives a sense of the typical issues and problems and their frequency, and it introduces the financial documents to which they refer. Whether the specific documents pertaining to these particular register entries survive is not yet known; some of them well may, since similar documents for other regions are still extant. Most of this documentary material has yet to be examined for what it can tell us about Syria’s transition to Ottoman rule in terms of administration, taxation, and personnel. Unfortunately, most of the fiscal documents from the first half of the 16th century do not seem to have been preserved in the Ottoman archive, the Bas¸bakanlık as in the finance documents in the archives. I thank Heather Ferguson and Malissa Taylor for comments on an earlier draft of this article. 3 Stanford J. Shaw, The Financial and Administrative Organization and Development of Ottoman Egypt, 1517–1798. Princeton Oriental Studies, 19. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1961; Muhammad Adnan Bakhit, The Ottoman Province of Damascus in the Sixteenth Century (Beirut: Librarie du Liban, 1982); see also Benjamin Lellouch, Les Ottomans en Égypte: historiens et conquérants au XVIe siècle (Paris, Dudley, MA: Peeters, 2006).

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Osmanlı Ars¸ivi in Istanbul, but survey (tahrir) registers still exist, and there may be other early documents waiting to be located. From the 1550s onward, more such documents survive. On the provincial level, it appears that the documents of Syria’s provincial governments have also been lost, and the court registers that do exist cover later dates. Many of Egypt’s finance documents do still exist, although again, whether they belong to this specific case is not known. Relevant or parallel documents may yet be discovered in the Topkapı Saray archives in Istanbul, the National Library of Egypt, or the Ottoman archives in the Bulgarian National Library in Sofia, all major repositories of Ottoman documents. These records and the procedures they embody offer directions for further studies on provincial administration. Along with military development in the area of artillery warfare and defense, the expansion of commerce and craftsmanship, and the growing role of religious ideology in governance, the growth and enhancement of provincial governance was one of the trends that marked the first half of the sixteenth century. The Ottomans began the century with two provinces (Rumeli and Anadolu), both governed from Istanbul. In the second half of the century the empire comprised 34 provinces, most with their own provincial staffs and treasuries, and considerable control over their funds and personnel.4 At the same time, as the central government bureaucracy, the road network, and provincial officialdom expanded, the government gained increasing control (in early modern terms) over the flows of information and money between the provinces and the capital, and eventually, between the provinces themselves. Simultaneously with the transition of the Arab lands to Ottoman rule, moreover, the Ottomans themselves were transitioning from a medieval, “feudal” (in the broad sense), compact dynastic state to a major world empire, one of the two Great Powers of the 16th-century Mediterranean world.5 Syria and Egypt, then, had a double transition to cope with, one whose effects have barely begun to be noticed. This larger transformation forms the background against which the transition of Syria took place, from a bulwark against the Mongols, to an uncertain position between the Mamluks and the Safavids, and finally to a crossroads of global commerce (some of that trade stolen from Egypt) by the end of the sixteenth century.

4 Douglas A. Howard, “From Manual to Literature: Two Texts on the Ottoman Timar System,” Acta Orientalia Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 61.1–2 (2008): 91. 5 Linda T. Darling, “Rethinking Europe and the Islamic World in the Age of Exploration,” The Journal of Early Modern History 2 (1998): 221–46. My works cited in these notes provide a fuller bibliography for these ideas.

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Financial Malfeasance and Its Documentary Traces The particular episode represented by the order quoted above provides a wealth of detail about provincial finance organization and fiscal record-keeping in the transitional period that is relevant to Syria and Egypt, and perhaps to all the provinces, at a time when very few fiscal registers have survived. Although the Syrian governor was in charge of the investigation, this case relates to Egyptian rather than Syrian finances; nevertheless, the revenues and documents mentioned appear similar to those generated by Ottoman administration elsewhere, and they can be readily compared with those of the Mamluk regime (1250–1517). The tone of the orders more generally, however, suggests that there had been an administrative change since the Mamluk period; there is nothing definite in them to mark this change, but it was the impression they left, and it coincides with the military and political, if not the financial, realities of the period. It is this: while under the Mamluks the natural expectation would be that Egyptian officials would be sent to deal with a problem in Syria, very soon after the conquest the order of importance of these provinces seems to have switched, Syria becoming more central and Egypt more peripheral. Episodes like this one may even have contributed to such a shift. This series of orders also reveals very clearly the priorities of Ottoman fiscal administration and the processes by which provincial officials tried or failed to implement those priorities. In the age of Süleyman, administrative rectitude was clearly a central goal of Ottoman governance, although just as clearly, there were problems in achieving it. As background to this set of orders, the provincial governor (beylerbeyi) of Egypt from 1526/7 to 1534/5 was Hadım Süleyman Pas¸a, and the governor from 1535/6 to 1536/7 was Hüsrev Pas¸a; both men subsequently became Ottoman grand viziers.6 By 1544 both were out of office, and after his dismissal Hüsrev wrote to the Porte a long list of complaints about Süleyman. This list was so long that it was not called a letter (mektub), as was customary, but a defter or register.7 This defter, which was presented to the Sultan, may still exist in the Topkapı Saray Archive.8 In the mühimme register the orders are not listed chronologically, because they were not written into an already-created book but onto large folded pieces of paper called sections (cüz’), which would become the quires or groups of pages that were sewn together to make the register. These sections seem to have been sewn, or resewn if the register was rebound, out of order. Although the individual orders are not dated, the editor has determined the probable se6 TKS, #6. On the history of the Egyptian treasury after the conquest see Shaw, Financial and Administrative Organization, 14–19; that study also explains the various taxes and personnel mentioned in these orders. 7 The term defter is retained for this document to distinguish it from the mühimme register. 8 At the time this article was researched, the Topkapı Saray Archive was closed.

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quence, and the first part of this chapter discusses the entries related to this episode in chronological order based on the chart he supplied. Even without access to Hüsrev’s defter of complaint we know in general what was in it, because most of the resulting orders on this case in the mühimme register detail what to do about specific complaints in the defter. These complaints underwent an elaborate process of verification, and the instructions for this process refer to the different finance registers that had to be checked. The reason for the investigation is revealed in the first order on this subject. This initial order, dated 24 December 1544, tells us that in investigating Hüsrev’s complaints, the officials at the Porte found that they did not have the detailed finance registers for Süleyman’s tenure as governor of Egypt; they had only received the summaries.9 The clear implication is that Süleyman was trying to hide something. However, that did not mean that Hüsrev was innocent, because they did not have Hüsrev’s detailed registers either; thus, for the first ten years after the provincial reorganization of 1525 no detailed finance registers for Egypt had reached the Porte. Moreover, according to the summary accounts, while Süleyman had sent his remittances regularly (the entry lists the amounts), in both years of Hüsrev’s tenure as governor his remittances had been deficient; in fact, a total of 140,106 gold pieces were missing from the revenues of those two years. That circumstance casts considerable doubt on all his accusations against Süleyman. The authorities at the Porte must have felt such a doubt, because they provided meticulous instructions for a separate verification of every accusation Hüsrev made. The next four orders chronologically are dated 25 December 1544. Most of the rest were issued on 26 December, with some in January of 1545. The following mühimme is not extant, as far as I know, so we may never know what happened after that. From several orders we learn that while Hüsrev had sent a defter to the Porte exposing Süleyman’s alleged crimes, Süleyman had also petitioned regarding financial irregularities on the part of Hüsrev, and that petition might possibly be extant as well.10 Reading it could be interesting; it certainly sounds as if Hüsrev were trying to cast the blame on Süleyman for the discrepancies in his own accounting.

9 TKS, #6. On the remittances of Egypt under these two governors see Shaw, Financial and Administrative Organization, p. 284; on the fiscal system (salyane) applied to Egypt and similar provinces see Salih Özbaran, “The Salyâne System in the Ottoman Empire as Organized in Arabia in the Sixteenth Century,” Osmanlı Aras¸tırmaları 6 (1986): 39–45. For a preliminary study on provincial account registers, see Linda T. Darling, “Ottoman Provincial Treasuries: The Case of Syria,” Mélanges Halil Sahilliog˘lu, Arab Historical Review for Ottoman Studies, no. 15–16 (1997): 103–10. 10 TKS, #75, #81, #97. It would be interesting to know whether these two men belonged to rival patronage networks at the capital.

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The initial order also explained that an inspection team had been appointed consisting of the chief qadi of Haleb, Salih Çelebi, the former chief qadi and previously mufti of Egypt, Muhyiddin, the current governor of Egypt, Davud, and the nazır-ı emval (supervisor of revenue) of Egypt, Mehmed; later orders dated the first of January 1545 added to the team Ali Çelebi, the mukataaci of Damascus, who had formerly held the offices of mukataaci (supervisor of tax farms and their revenue) and ruznameci (keeper of the daily books) of Egypt; filled his place with the current mukataaci of Egypt, confirming the rank order of the two provinces; and informed the defterdar (chief financial official) of “Arabistan” in Aleppo of these changes.11 The treasury of Haleb, the “Arap” or “Arabistan” defterdarlık, was initially the chief treasury for the Arab lands and eastern Anatolia, but in 1567 the treasuries of Damascus and the other Arab capitals were made independent of the one in Aleppo.12 Most of the orders in this case were addressed to the inspection team as a whole or to members of it. The order of 24 December told them to compile detailed registers from the originals in the Cairo treasury (which had never before been accountable to anyone) showing total revenue collected, the sources of revenue both in cash and in kind, whether from the land tax (harac) or tax farms (mukataas), if from a tax farm, how much it was sold for, whether it yielded less or more than that amount, the revenue from the exchange of currency (Egyptian para to Ottoman akçe), and the reasons for any increases or decreases.13 They were also to compile detailed records of expenditures, salaries, and purchases, whether ordered by the sultan or otherwise necessary, and how much remained, as well as what was spent on the fleet to India. It was particularly important to account for the missing 140,106 gold pieces. If the council (divan) of Egypt had a detailed register, then who had lost or destroyed the Porte’s copy? If such a register did exist, they were to make a copy of it, seal it, and send it immediately to Istanbul. If not, they had to compile one based on the existing registers. They were to get the former mufti of Egypt, Muhyiddin, to sign a statement saying how much money was sent when he was in office. The finance officer of Egypt should inspect all hüccets ( judges’ documents verifying legal transactions) submitted by tax collectors and their registers. If they had gone to Yemen or India their registers must be inspected and their names and descriptions sent to the Porte. No one could be protected. Several other entries refer to a complaint by Hüsrev about a special tax Süleyman Pas¸a imposed on Egypt when he campaigned to India that amounted to 11 TKS, #97, #127, #128, #129. Egypt’s nazır-ı emval would elsewhere have been called a defterdar. 12 Bakhit, Ottoman Province of Damascus, 145. 13 On the monetary system of Ottoman Egypt see Shaw, Financial and Administrative Organization, 65; and S¸evket Pamuk, A Monetary History of the Ottoman Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 94.

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two years’ worth of Egypt’s income, which was all lost on the campaign – perhaps not illegal but certainly incompetent.14 The orders say that the sultan commanded the registers to be inspected to determine how much Süleyman actually took on campaign in cash and in kind, what was submitted to the treasury and what was expended, and what were the salaries and expenses of the campaign. In addition, I˙brahim Pas¸a on the Persian campaign had been ordered to send 150,000 gold pieces to officials in Egypt and Mecca and the heads of the Arab tribes in Upper Egypt (Sa’id), and what had become of those amounts? If there were losses, they should be written in a register and sent to the Porte. Other orders specified that since to conduct this inspection the qadi of Haleb had had to leave his post (and thus his salary) to another, he should be paid 200 akçe (the Ottoman small silver coin) per day plus an allotment of grain, and added that for each qadi a çavus¸ (messenger) had been appointed who should be paid 10,000 akçe.15 Why were there multiple orders with the same information? In this case, one was addressed to the qadi of Haleb to encourage him, telling him that because of his piety and trustworthiness and scrupulosity and integrity the sultan was relying on him and urging him to work quickly and diligently.16 Others were addressed to the whole team and raised the issue of the money taken to India, and additionally ordered each member to appoint a representative (or perhaps spy, vekil), to post with each of the other members, so that nobody could inspect without the others knowing what was going on.17 One order was addressed only to the governor of Egypt to insure that he knew what Salih Çelebi was supposed to receive and why, while one addressed to the governor of S¸am added that he should see that the inspection team had enough men with them and to report when they left Damascus and when they should get to Egypt.18 On 26 December a long series of orders was written regarding each of Hüsrev’s complaints about Süleyman and how the team should investigate them. The complaints include Süleyman’s grants of money to the government of Gujarat out of the treasury (beytülmal, money devoted to the poor); missing tax farming revenues that had not been written into the daily income register (ruzname); his fictitious purchase for fourteen paras (small Egyptian coin worth two akçe) of 50,000 ardeb (about 198 liters each, nearly 10 million liters in total) of grain which 14 TKS, #98, #99, #100, #101. One wonders about this immense transfer of funds: was it merely a bribe to keep Egypt quiet in the absence of its governor? On Ottoman policies in the Red Sea and Indian Ocean see Giancarlo Casale, The Ottoman Age of Exploration (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010); Salih Özbaran, Ottoman Expansion toward the Indian Ocean in the 16th Century (Istanbul: I˙stanbul Bilgi University Press, 2009). 15 TKS, #97, #99, #106. 16 TKS, #97. 17 TKS, #98, #100. 18 TKS, #99, #104.

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he then sold to Europeans at great profit; the diversion of the output of the state sugarhouses to his own expenses; the breaking of tax farming contracts to the detriment of the revenue; the sale of state-owned horses in the Sudan while feeding them with the state’s fodder; his trading in state grain on behalf of himself and his men; unnecessary expenditures on the construction of buildings in Mecca, Medina and Jidda and a magnificent governor’s palace in Cairo; his possession of a debt of 90 purses of state funds (and how did he have that much money?); the execution of the tribal leader (s¸eyhülarab) of Upper Egypt (the Sa’id) and his replacement by a rapacious deputy (kethuda); the execution of the equally rapacious former nazir-i emval and agent (‘amil) and the confiscation of their excessive gains for himself; the execution of a number of tribal leaders and dignitaries just when they had a lot of state funds; and finally, that although in the first four years of his tenure Süleyman’s treasury accounts balanced, in the fifth year the income simply went missing, with the excuse that it got mixed up with the sixth year’s income, which was impossible since it was collected on the annual harvest.19 Then there is a statement that the former mukataacı I˙brahim, one of the people who knew a great deal about the treasury of Egypt, had been executed, but that was not attributed directly to Süleyman and seems to have happened more recently; it may be an attempt to implicate a later governor.20 Lastly, there is an accusation that seems to implicate Muhyiddin. In the time of the Mamluks, the qadis’ stipends came out of the land tax (harac), but at the conquest, the qadis’ stipends were switched to the fees collected for writing hüccets and dividing inheritances. Apparently the then chief qadi of Egypt, Leyszade or Ibn Layth, tried to collect both, and Hüsrev estimated that Leyszade had twenty-four purses of money that he should not have. Muhyiddin, who was then chief mufti, investigated, but a petition and register sent to the Porte went unanswered, and when that register was searched for at the Porte, it was somehow not found.21 The sultan’s instructions for investigating these accusations were very detailed and fascinating, but they are somewhat repetitious. The examples presented here are limited to two, but all of them point toward registers and documents that can shed light on provincial finances and fiscal operations, as well as their impact on economic and social problems. The first example deals with Egypt’s sugarhouses in the context of the transition from Mamluk to Ottoman tax farming.22 This is an order to the whole inspection team, and it begins by stating that Hüsrev gave a defter notifying the Porte that the sugarhouses of Egypt belonged to the imperial treasury, and that while excessive money was collected, Süleyman Pas¸a caused it 19 TKS, #66, #67, #68, #69, #73, #74, #80, #81, #78, #71, #72, #79, #76. The purse, or kise, was equivalent to 500 gold pieces, or even more in Egypt. 20 TKS, #77. 21 TKS, #70. 22 TKS, #69.

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all to be diverted to himself; the state sugarhouses were completely removed (from the state’s income, presumably). The sugar presses in the subdistrict (nahiye) of Kalyub also belonged to the treasury, but while only a third of the sugarcane being pressed went to the treasury, Süleyman somehow gained possession for himself and collected the tax. The sultan therefore ordered that the team inspect the situation “in its proper place” (yerli yerinden), on site, right on the spot. They should find out how many sugarhouses there were; how much the Mamluk sultans had collected before the conquest; if that was what had been collected after the conquest as well, and if not, had it fallen into the hands of others; how long the treasury had possessed them after the conquest; how they had been extracted from the treasury’s income; with what documentation they were held and for how long; and how Süleyman had acquired them. Both those others and Süleyman should bring their title certificates (mulknames) and documents and the team should inspect them. If Süleyman took possession from those people, how long ago did it happen? How many presses? And how much material (nesne, presumably sugar) was produced each year? The order commanded the team to write all this in detail in a register and send it to the Porte together with their inspection register. It also related that Hüsrev had claimed that Süleyman held a lot of other properties in Egypt, most of which were actually treasury properties. The treasury properties, especially the presses, must be inspected, and the team must investigate in full detail how Süleyman got them. Did he take/get/buy them (the verb used, almak, means all those things) from the treasury, and if not, if he got them from the people who bought them from the treasury, how did they come to own them? The team must request the title certificates and documents of both parties: what were their original properties, houses and shops, rooms and commercial buildings (hans), or presses, how many did they have, and from each one how much revenue was produced per year? For how many years had Süleyman been the owner? If these people possessed anything contrary to the shari‘a, and if it actually belonged to the treasury, they were to repossess it on behalf of the treasury, and whatever amount of material they had taken from the produce (of the presses) since the starting date, the team should have that repossessed for the treasury as well, and report the final result in detail. The second example deals more closely with the finance documents of the Ottoman state and suggests the research possibilities offered by their study. This order is also addressed to the whole inspection team, and it also begins, “Hüsrev Pas¸a gave a defter.”23 He claimed that Süleyman, while governor of Egypt, broke the contracts (tahvils) of the tax farms every year “when it became another year,” at the turn of the year. Since the revenue from every tax farm came out lower than 23 TKS, #73.

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the contracted amount, the treasury’s income was completely destroyed. So the sultan ordered that the mukataa registers at the divan of Egypt be carefully examined. Were the contracts of the tax farms really broken every year at the turn of the year, did the revenue come out low, how long had this been going on, what was the original amount of the tax farms in those years, who did they belong to, how much below the contracted amount did each tax farm come out, how much money was missing in total, and what was the reason for it? The investigative team was to identify year by year the original amounts and the detailed transactions, make an exact copy of the mukataa registers, and compile an inspection register. Hüsrev also complained that Süleyman had sent qadis and deputy judges (naibs) to some ruined places to inspect them and write a register of their conditions, making them into tax farms. From some of them, after causing them to come out below the contracted amount, he again subtracted some amount, bringing them in even lower (this transaction is rather mysterious in the order). The team was ordered to summon local experts and unbiased Muslims to testify about this. Hüsrev also claimed that in the houses of Süleyman and his men there were a plethora of things bought with state funds, which could be found in the registers of state purchases (hassa harc defterleri). The team was to investigate how much state money had been spent on these houses and was it necessary, were they the state’s houses, were the repairs made on them necessary, were they done by official order, how much did they cost, and how much money was spent altogether and when? On the same day as these and a number of other orders to the team on similar issues for investigation, several orders were written to the governor of Egypt. One commanded him to investigate the pious foundations (evkaf) to make sure they were all founded legally and to see what the revenue was. It also commanded the nazır-ı emval to investigate closely the missing gold pieces.24 Another reiterated that Hüsrev’s remittances came up short, and that the nazır-ı emval and the ruznameci Hasan could no longer deny it or find excuses for it; the governor should make them disclose whatever they knew about it and conceal nothing.25 It commanded the governor to dismiss the nazır but to send the ruznameci to the Porte. An order to the whole team reiterated the necessity not to conceal what they found out but to report it immediately.26 About two weeks later, on 11 January, came an order to the nazır-ı emval accusing the chief treasurer of Egypt, Canım Hamzavi, as well as his son Yusuf and Yahya Hamzavi and somebody named Kasru and some deputies of villages, of turning in deficient remittances, and accusing the former mufti Muhyiddin, when he was the qadi of Egypt, of 24 TKS, #102. 25 TKS, #105. 26 TKS, #103.

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giving hüccets validating those remittances. You, it told the nazır, have been one of the experts for a long time, serving in those places and knowing all the officials and bureaucrats and everything to do with the taxes; you wrote the registers sent by Hüsrev. It ordered him with much Persianate vocabulary and many impressive expressions, marking the centrality of these issues to the Ottoman self-concept, to inspect the registers from Hüsrev’s time together with others and report what they found to the Porte.27 If we could find the inspection team’s register, we could no doubt answer some, if not all, of the questions in these orders. Or we could retrace, at least in part, the team’s investigation if we could locate copies of the ruznamçe and mukataa registers for the period 1526–1536. The hassa harc register, if extant, would also be helpful. The Bas¸bakanlık Ottoman Archive holds such registers, but not for the period before the 1550s; the National Archive of Egypt holds documents from the provincial archive; some relevant documents may also be found in the Ottoman Archive of the National Library of Bulgaria.28 Even if these early registers are unavailable, any of the extant mukataa or ruznamçe registers for the mid-16th century could contain references to the Mamluk period and/or the transition process. They could reveal increases and decreases in the revenues collected, alterations in officialdom, changes in the value of tax farms and in the identities of their holders, and other interesting information. Hüsrev’s other accusations also point to documents that would illuminate the fiscal and economic changes caused by the Ottoman conquest. The detailed finance registers that the governors were supposed to send to the Porte every year provide an overview of where the revenue was coming from and where the expenditures went.29 Registers sent to the Porte when problems occurred, like the inspection registers, should give a much closer look at the financial transactions of state officials and the procedures affecting provincial people. The daily income register (ruzname) lists all the incoming revenues, who brought them to the treasury, and to which tax collector they should be attributed. Military salary 27 TKS, #92. Whether this was the same nazır (undismissed) cannot be determined with certainty, as his name is not given, but if he wrote Hüsrev’s registers it probably was the same man. 28 See Bas¸bakanlık Osmanlı Ars¸ivi Rehberi (Ankara: T.C. Bas¸bakanlık Devlet Ars¸ivleri Genel Müdürlüg˘ü, 1992), Bas¸bakanlık Osmanlı Ars¸ivi Katalogları Rehberi (Ankara: T.C. Bas¸bakanlık Devlet Ars¸ivleri Genel Müdürlüg˘ü, 1995), I˙smet Binark, Necati Aktas¸, and Seyit Ali Kahraman, Bulgaristan’daki Osmanlı Evrakı (Ankara: T.C. Bas¸bakanlık Devlet Ars¸ivleri Genel Müdürlüg˘ü, 1994). 29 According to Shaw (Financial and Administrative Organization, 352), the summary registers do not survive from the years before 1004/1595–6. Two such registers have been published for other provinces, Cyprus and Yemen: Halil Sahilliog˘lu, “Osmanlı I˙daresinde Kıbrıs’ın I˙lk Yılı Bütçesi,” Belgeler 4.7/8 (1967): 1–33; idem, “Yemen’in 1599–1600 Yılı Bütçesi,” in Yusuf Hikmet Bayur’a Armag˘an (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basımevi, 1985), 287–319.

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registers show where much of the money went. Construction registers (like those Barkan published for the Süleymaniye complex) give details of expenditures on building materials and transportation as well as worker’s salaries and upkeep.30 Grain registers (zahire) show grain bought and sold or stored in state granaries. There are also registers of debts, usually of officials who were behind in remitting taxes.31 These and other types of registers are worth detailed study to see in more detail how Syria adjusted to Ottoman rule. We have stories like this one of Ottoman and Mamluk officials who attempted to take advantage of the chaos of the time and the change of regime to enrich themselves at the expense of the treasury and the taxpayers. Here in these orders, however, we also see the regulatory mechanisms of the Ottoman state, the care taken to collect revenue in adherence to the registers, and the efforts expended to prevent misuse of power on the part of the state’s own officials, as well as gaining insight into a vast array of source material on provincial organization and governance.

Revenue Collection in Syria: Issues and Records The financial administration of the Syrian provinces (S¸am, Haleb, Trablus, Sayda) in a slightly later period, as well as its officials and documents, are frequently referred to in the published mühimme registers from the years 1558– 1572. The issues in the entries dealing with Syria can be divided into three broad areas: money (taxes and their collection, arrears, fiscal oppression, expenditures, money transfers); men, that is, the military (timar-holders [cavalrymen], Janissaries, the Yemen and Cyprus campaigns); and administration (appointments and related fees, promotions, registers, inspections). The best-known aspect of provincial administration is tax collection, although judging by its representation in Ottoman chronicles, money was the least important of the three; the chroniclers saw Syria primarily as a place of appointment and recruitment.32 Here, however, the discussion of money comes first, as it serves to organize the approach to the other two sets of issues. Of the orders in these registers dealing with the collection of taxes, almost none are about collecting revenue directly from the taxpayers (reaya). In the 30 See Ömer Lütfi Barkan, Süleymaniye Cami ve ˙Imareti ˙Ins¸aatı (1550–1557), 2 vols. (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1972). 31 See Halil Sahilliog˘lu, “Bir Mültezim Zimem Defterine göre XV. Yüzyıl Sonunda Osmanlı Darphane Mukataaları,” ˙Istanbul Üniversitesi ˙Iktisat Fakültesi Mecmuası 23 (1962–3): 145– 218. 32 Linda T. Darling, “The Syrian Provinces in Ottoman Eyes: Three Historians’ Representations of Bilad al-Sham,” ARAM: The Mamluks and the Early Ottoman Period in Bilad al-Sham: History and Archaeology 9–10 (1997–1998): 347–55.

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17th century, outgoing orders from the finance department were recorded in separate registers called ahkam defterleri, and many of these entries concerned revenue collection at the individual or village level.33 In the 16th century such issues were apparently recorded separately as well, although we do not have the registers. Moreover, since most of the agricultural land in Syria was divided into timars (land revenue assignments for cavalrymen), many taxes were collected by timar-holders or the revenue collectors of evkaf without state intervention except in the case of problems. Some taxes were farmed, and cizye (the poll tax on nonMuslims) was collected by state-appointed officials. So was avarız (occasional taxation), but in this period that tax was collected only once every four or five years. The registers of these diverse tax collectors, some of which survive in the Ottoman archives, and the general registers compiled from them, will give details about the fiscal situation of Syria’s towns and villages and the issues besetting their inhabitants. The collection issues in the mühimme registers, in contrast, relate mainly to the accumulation of revenues in the provincial treasury. Most often, these orders commanded various officials to obtain the revenues due from tax collectors who had not yet deposited the money they owed and who each kept an individual register of taxes due and taxes collected (a few of which can be found in the archives). One entry relates that the qadi of Haleb increased the total amount owed by the province without specifying by whom it was to be paid, and it was not known whether these moneys had been collected or by whom; the governor was ordered to confer in person with each emin (revenue collector on a tax farm or on the sultan’s has, land whose revenues were dedicated to sultanic expenses), presumably examining their registers, and create a detailed register showing the results of his inquiry (this register might still exist somewhere in the archives).34 Another reveals that the qadis of Trablus and Sermin had been ordered to inspect the accounts of a mültezim (contractor/collector for a tax farm), but nothing had been heard from them; the governor was ordered to look into this affair in person, inspect the account registers, and send these registers to the Porte with a çavus¸ (imperial messenger; these registers might still be in the Basbakanlık or Topkapı archives, which holds numerous registers connected with tax farming).35 A few years later, several orders recorded that ever since the conquest, the tax farms of S¸am and Haleb had been intermingled, but that with the separation of the provincial treasuries of these two provinces, it had become 33 Linda T. Darling, Revenue-Raising and Legitimacy: Tax Collection and Finance Administration in the Ottoman Empire, 1560–1660 (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1996), 246–80. 34 3 Numaralı Mühimme Defteri (966–968/1558–1560), Özet ve Transkripsiyon (Ankara: T.C. Bas¸bakanlık Devlet Ars¸ivleri Genel Müdürlüg˘ü, Osmanlı Ars¸ivi Daire Bakanlıg˘ı, 1993), #678 (hereafter Register 3). 35 Register 3, #1209. On the punishment of a tax farmer who had not turned in his receipts see Sahilliog˘lu, “Bir Mültezim Zimem Defteri.”

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difficult to collect what was due, as even the Venetian bailo at court complained; the Haleb defterdar was consequently ordered to collect the revenues from Trablus, Hims, and Hama that were designated for the Haleb treasury and not to allow the defterdar of S¸am to interfere (details of this problem should appear in the mukataa registers).36 Such entries reveal the role of qadis in setting tax levels and verifying collections, that of the governor in ensuring revenue collection and transmission, and the interactions between central and local officials entailed by taxation. Other orders indicate that a significant cause of tax arrears was discrepancies between the amounts that officials were ordered to collect and the actual capacity of the taxpayers to pay, which could be checked through the survey registers. A major problem in taxation was keeping track of the taxpayers and their wealth (or lack thereof). An example is the response to a petition from Safed claiming that out of 100 taxpaying households, some twenty had become vacant or unable to pay (the word used is harab, ruined), while in Hendek some households were ruined and others no longer had non-Muslim taxpayers in them, leaving only thirteen households to pay the full tax; the sultan’s order called this a matter of justice and commanded collection according to sultanic law (kanun) and Islamic law, shari‘a.37 A complaint from Trablus indicated that in some 80 villages the reaya (taxpayers, usually peasants) had left; the governor had requested an order to look into this, and here he was commanded to find out the reason for their departure, how long ago it had occurred, and where they had gone.38 Another reason for non-payment was the incorrect recording of taxpayers and taxes in the registers. Some entries record complaints from villagers in Karalar and townspeople in Safed about the fact that while they had an agreement to pay their cizye in a lump sum (maktu‘), they had been assessed as separate individuals in the 36 7 Numaralı Mühimme Defteri (975–976/1567–1569), Özet – Transkripsiyon – ˙Indeks (Ankara: T.C. Bas¸bakanlık Devlet Ars¸ivleri Genel Müdürlüg˘ü, Osmanlı Ars¸ivi Daire Bakanlıg˘ı, 1998), #356, #641, #677, #678 (hereafter, Register 7). See also Register 3, #138, #347, #537, #549; 5 Numaralı Mühimme Defteri (973/1565–1566), Özet ve ˙Indeks (Ankara: T.C. Bas¸bakanlık Devlet Ars¸ivleri Genel Müdürlüg˘ü, Osmanlı Ars¸ivi Daire Bakanlıg˘ı, 1994), #521, #522,# 619 (hereafter Register 5); 6 Numaralı Mühimme Defteri (972/1564–1565), Özet – Transkripsiyon ve ˙Indeks (Ankara: T.C. Bas¸bakanlık Devlet Ars¸ivleri Genel Müdürlüg˘ü, Osmanlı Ars¸ivi Daire Bakanlıg˘ı, 1995), #410, #1017 (hereafter Register 6); Register 7, #732, #820, #1032, #1638, #1967, #2202, #2587; 12 Numaralı Mühimme Defteri (978–979/1570–1572), Özet – Transkripsiyon ve ˙Indeks (Ankara: T.C. Bas¸bakanlık Devlet Ars¸ivleri Genel Müdürlüg˘ü, Osmanlı Ars¸ivi Daire Bakanlıg˘ı, 1998), #351, #389, #863, #911, #937 (hereafter Register 12). Whether or not these revenues were paid and possibly in what circumstances could be learned by checking the relevant collection and arrears registers still existing in the archives. For the relationships among the treasuries, see n. 7 above. The interest of foreigners in Syria’s finances doubtless stems from their presence in Aleppo as merchants. 37 Register 6, #78. 38 Register 7, #420.

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most recent survey registers.39 In another case, a mixup had occurred when the former defterdar of Haleb brought his account registers to the Porte and on the way back some tax collectors at Adana gave him 5,000 gold pieces in additional receipts, which he recorded not in the account registers (which he had just submitted) but in his own daybook, and which he deposited in the Haleb treasury, where they were apparently spent and all trace of their true origin was lost; the qadi of Haleb and the new defterdar were ordered to inspect the detailed registers and, if the money was not lost, determine how to account for it and send a petition with these facts to the Porte.40 Finally, there is a complaint by the qadi of Baalbek that it was impossible to collect taxes in the region between Jerusalem and Trablus because the inhabitants were feuding, killing each other and stealing their money; the governor was ordered to arrest “those disturbers of the peace, pertinacious in rebellion and insubordination” and bring them to justice for preventing the orderly collection of taxes, and he was to send a list of their names and a copy of the qadi’s judicial record (sicill) to the Porte.41 Routine inquiries about tax payments, then, often provide further information on the conditions of the peasants, the acts of administrators, and negotiations between the two groups, as well as the economic health of different parts of the region, information that could be assembled to provide a picture of the economic welfare of the countryside. One of the really important affairs, according to the writers of these orders, was oppression of the reaya by tax collectors. The reason for its crucial significance was that it struck not only at the sultan’s budget but at the legitimacy of his rule, since he and his officials were ultimately supposed to provide justice.42 In later years, complaints about oppression multiplied in the registers; it is interesting to see that they appear as well at the height of Süleyman’s reign, and are thus not a product – or a cause – of the decline of the empire. Officials and tax collectors had many opportunities to commit oppression, and what is remarkable is how often they were found out and punished. Offending officials in these registers included the district governor (sancakbey) of Safed, who took possession of all income sources not recorded in the tax registers; the subas¸ıs (subordinates of beys) who entered has lands for various reasons; the translators 39 TKS, #547, #548. 40 TKS, #549; see also Register 12, #976. 41 Register 12, #821; isyan ve tug˘yanlarında musırr olan müfsidler. For another like this, see Register 3, #1395. 42 Linda T. Darling, A History of Social Justice and Political Power in the Middle East: The Circle of Justice from Mesopotamia to Globalization (London: Routledge Press, 2013); Heather Lynn Ferguson, “The Circle of Justice as Genre, Practice, and Objectification: A Discursive ReMapping of the Early Modern Ottoman Empire” (PhD diss., University of California at Berkeley, 2009).

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working with the subas¸ıs; the Samaritan scribes (Samiri Yahudi in the register) also working with the subas¸ıs; the emin of the sultan’s has in Haleb; the emin of Sermin; the emin of Kisrawan together with the nephew of the Beirut landholder (zaim) Qaytbay; the supervisor (mütevelli) of the soup kitchen of Jerusalem; and the deputy judge (naib) of the Hanbali qadi of Damascus.43 Bandits and robbers, of course, also caused oppression, even during the reign of Süleyman, and precautions were taken against them, but there were few reports of bandits in the registers, as they were usually taken care of by the provincial governor.44 Only the most serious cases came to the attention of officials in Istanbul. A couple of cases of oppression are worth mentioning in detail for what they tell us about provincial organization and the possibility of additional source material. One minor example was what happened to a tax farm in the area of Sayda, including the has of the district governor and the bad-i hava (the so-called windfall taxes), which was subject to an increase of 5,000 gold pieces, divided evenly between the two revenue sources, to be collected from the mountains (behind Sayda).45 The tax of the has was paid properly, but the bad-i hava, instead of being paid to the tax farmer, was paid to the district governor, as it had formerly been, and was thus in arrears to the state. Subsequently, the house of the emin of the has was broken into; his men were killed, and both the state revenues and his own possessions were plundered. Besides the increase in the tax farm an avarız (occasional tax) was levied, and when people came to complain they were also killed (the entry does not say by whom). Now the country was ruined, more than 200 people appeared at court to complain, and the qadi wrote to say that if things remained in this condition there was sure to be a rebellion. The emins and reaya together agreed to the total increase in the tax farm but requested that the district (i. e., has) part of the tax be lifted (presumably so that such a confusion would not occur again). Here the judge, the emin, and the taxpayers seem to be on the same side, possibly against the tax farmer (the circumstances are not perfectly clear, and additional documentation from the mühimme register, the court records, or the tax farming documents might prove very helpful). The qadi was ordered to lift the tax, investigate the situation, and jail the people responsible for the killing. This case indicates that, in addition to the finance registers, a fruitful place to look for additional information would be the court records; usually the 43 For the sancakbey, TKS, #227, #484, #502; for the subas¸ıs, Register 3, #355, Register 5, #1039, Register 7, #1663, Register 12, #917; for the translators, Register 3, #1198; for the Samaritans, Register 5, #470, Register 7, #1537; for the emin of the sultan’s has, TKS, #471; for the emin of Sermin, Register 5, #721; for the emin of Kisrawan and Qaytbay, Register 6, #732, #1194; Register 12, #911; for the mütevelli of the soup kitchen, Register 5, #1017; and for the Hanbali naib, Register 7, #2087. Records of ordinary crimes are not included here. 44 Register 7, #2010; see also Register 6, #15, #16; for confiscation of guns see Register 7, #2587. 45 Register 7, #1728.

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two types of sources are researched separately by different scholars, but there might be considerable benefit to looking at both together.46 A much more significant case involved the whole province of S¸am and officials from other provinces as well.47 The governor of S¸am, Lala Mustafa Pas¸a, was appointed to lead the campaign to Yemen in 1568, but he only went as far as Egypt. After eight or nine months of vacillating in Cairo, he was recalled. On his return to S¸am, the reaya petitioned against him, stating that he had taken their properties and those of the evkaf and committed oppression. The district governor of Bursa (Hüdavendigar), Abdurrahman Bey, was ordered, together with the qadis of Damascus and Medina, to make a general inspection of the province and specifically of the complaints against Mustafa Pas¸a. He was told to survey the province, collect the revenues of the governor’s has, and investigate Mustafa’s financial situation with the cooperation of the province’s defterdar. To do so, he was granted the right to request as many men as he needed from among the Janissaries and çavus¸es of S¸am. Since the Bursa district governor had previously been commissioned to make a new survey of his own province, he was now instructed to turn over his registers to the qadi of Kestel, and let him and a scribe complete that survey. The qadis were warned not to allow witnesses to withdraw from the case on the pretext that they had either retired or been reconciled to the former governor. Shortly thereafter, an order to the qadi of Medina urged him to hurry and get to Syria for the investigation because people were already withdrawing their complaints against Lala Mustafa Pas¸a (and the sultan must have wanted him tried); this order was repeated to the qadi of Damascus.48 Numerous entries concerned remedies for the injustices uncovered by the investigation.49 There were also a number of entries regarding problems consequent on the survey.50 Once again, the court registers might yield further information about the investigation; together with the finance registers, they would enable us to add many details about provincial administration and Ottoman efforts at control. While the central government records enable us to develop a more complete picture of provincial finance organization, the mühimmes and court records bring this picture alive by showing how the administrative system worked in individual cases and how central and provincial officials negotiated with imperial subjects to find resolutions that all could live with. The expenditure of money from the provincial treasury was another of the important affairs of the Ottoman state. Normally each province paid its own 46 Amy Singer found this to be the case for the survey and court registers: Amy Singer, “Tapu Tahrir Defterleri and Kadı Sicilleri: A Happy Marriage of Sources,” Tarih 1 (1990): 95–125. 47 Register 7, #1959, #960, #1965, #1979, #2011, #2012, #2013, #2014, #2045, #2198, #2286. 48 Register 7, #2034, #2035. 49 Register 7, #2036, #2038, #2039, #2044, #2046. 50 Register 7, #2256, #2267, #2512, #2521 (this entry ended the investigation).

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expenses out of its tax receipts, and entries in the mühimme registers were only made when something went wrong, as when two fortresses on the pilgrimage road in northern Syria failed to receive pay for the troops and notified the Porte.51 The provincial treasury also had to pay for the purchase of supplies and the repair of fortifications, ships, and other infrastructural items. Examples in these registers include the purchase of gunpowder, as well as repairs to the Payas fortress in Adana, a bathhouse in Hama owned by the state, and the Katran cistern in Aclun.52 Such expenditure items were reported more fully in the account registers sent to the Porte by the provincial governors, while the mühimme entries detail the difficulties and problems they gave rise to and the allocation of responsibility for handling them. An often tricky aspect of money-handling was the transfer of funds, either to the imperial treasury or to other treasures and enterprises in the region. Unlike today’s electronic transfers, these fund transfers were made in bullion, heavily guarded against the risks and dangers that accompanied the carrying of money over roads infested with robbers, tribesmen, and rebels. In these registers, transfers were made from the provincial treasuries of S¸am, Haleb and Egypt to the central treasury, which absorbed the surpluses from wealthy provinces for distribution to provinces that were needier.53 Transfers were also made from the treasury of Haleb to the Ottoman forces at Basra, Baghdad, Erzurum, Egypt, and Yemen;54 and from the treasury of S¸am to Medina for the salaries of Qur’an readers, and to Hims for fortifications on the pilgrimage road.55 These entries highlight the specialization of the Haleb treasury on military affairs and of the S¸am treasury on religious affairs. Once again, the financial side of these transfers was recorded in the provincial account registers, but the mühimme entries detail the physical movement of the money and the recruitment of guard forces to accomplish it. The story told of Ottoman rule is often one of unalleviated oppression and extortion, as it is narrated from the point of view of peasants whose lives had been upset by conquest and administrative change and who continually paid taxes but rarely saw the results of their efforts, or that of disgruntled former officials and 51 Register 12, #552. 52 For gunpowder, Register 3, #785; Register 7, #2091; fortress repairs, Register 7, #372, #1375, #1429, #2272; bathhouse repair, Register 3, #794; cistern repair, Register 7, #2317, #2588; other repairs, Register 12, #113, #413, #431, #978. 53 S¸am: Register 7, #2387, profits on evkaf; Register 12, #359, avarız; Haleb: Register 3, #377, #378; Egypt: Register 3, #547, #548, Register 7, #1438. 54 For Basra, Register 3, #765, #766; Baghdad, Register 5, #1966, 1968; Erzurum, Register 3, #531, #739, and Register 6, #436, #532, #533; Egypt, Register 7, #2269; Yemen, Register 7, #1253, #1254. Register 7, #1248, specified that the treasury of Damascus did not have any spare funds to send to Yemen. 55 For Medina, Register 7, #401; Hims, Register 12, #552.

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religious personnel. A more detailed look at provincial organization and finance can modify this picture by revealing not only the problems faced by the new administrators but the efforts and negotiations employed in dealing with them, not only the taxes raised from the population but the infrastructure and accomplishments they funded, not only oppression by officials but their pursuit of justice as well. The fact that both the oppression and the attempts to mitigate it took place during Süleyman’s reign helps to temper the glowing image of the era conveyed by the narrative sources. These episodes also provide material for comparisons with other provinces in this period, with the goal of creating a fuller picture of the variations in Ottoman provincial administration over space, time, and circumstance. Moreover, taking part in these negotiations was one way for provincial inhabitants to enhance their standing with the Ottoman administration and within their communities. The reaya who negotiated with the emin and qadi of Sayda were not necessarily peasants; they could have been local notables of the region seeking to impress Ottoman officials with their judiciousness and acumen in order to obtain opportunities for advancement and enrichment through participation in the province’s financial affairs. The mühimme registers can provide greater insight into areas of interaction between the imperial and the provincial that are more often viewed from the local angle.

Human Resources: Tracing the Military Military affairs, while not strictly fiscal, were an aspect of resource extraction. Judging by the chronicles, even more important than the collection of tax revenue was the recruitment of men for the military. For all the studies of the great families of Syria and Lebanon by such authors as Salibi, Winter, and Abu-Husayn, however, little attention has been paid to the lower-level military forces.56 With the replacement of the Mamluk system by the Ottomans’ diversified military groups, military recruitment changed significantly. The mühimme registers do not make a direct comparison between the two systems, but they include mention of some soldiers with Mamluk names and raise issues for investigation. Some of Syria’s troops were recruited outside the province, but a substantial number were of local origin. For the purpose of holding the province after its conquest, it was divided into timars according to the Ottoman practice, which were initially assigned to cavalrymen from the older provinces of Rumeli 56 Kamal S. Salibi, The Modern History of Lebanon (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1065; Delmar, NY: Caravan Books, 1993); Stefan Winter, The Shiites of Lebanon under Ottoman Rule, 1516–1788 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010); Abdul-Rahim Abu-Husayn, Provincial Leaderships in Syria, 1575–1650 (Beirut: American University of Beirut, 1985).

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and Anadolu. The Mamluk role in the timar system after the rebellion of 1525 is unknown, but after the first generation, it appears that timar-holders were recruited from among the sons of previous timar-holders, the sons of local elites, even Mamluks, and the Janissaries and other military forces, both local and extraprovincial, engaged in campaigns or stationed in the province. In addition to the survey conducted by the district governor of Bursa in 1568, the timars of the Syrian provinces were surveyed and re-surveyed several times in the 16th century.57 Register 7 contains a series of orders regarding the post-survey redistribution of the timars of S¸am both before and after Lala Mustafa Pas¸a was ousted from the provincial governorship.58 Haleb and Hims were also surveyed at that time, but the survey of Trablus was postponed so that the qadi of Trablus could assist in the problematic redistribution of the timars of S¸am.59 It would be interesting to trace changes in the proportion of timar-holders with Mamluk or Arab names (see the zaim Qaytbay mentioned above, or the lesser official whose name in Turkish is spelled Kansu); although the Arab names would overlap with the names of Muslims from the older provinces, there may be spelling differences. The summary survey registers (icmal defterleri) contain the names and assignments of all timar-holders in the province, and the daily records of timar bestowals (timar ruznamçe defterleri) provide details on the origins and accomplishments of the awardees.60 Equally as important as the timar-holders was a body of Janissaries stationed in Damascus, with some scattered throughout the province. These men were available to be used in a variety of ways. The primary one was as a mobile fighting force; one of the first things we learn about them is that 1,000 Janissaries of Damascus were ordered to go with the governor and a force of cavalrymen and volunteers on the campaign to Yemen in 1568.61 S¸am’s Janissaries were ordered to 57 Bakhit, The Ottoman Province of Damascus, 297–98; he did not attempt to track the composition of the military forces. See also Dror Ze’evi, An Ottoman Century: The District of Jerusalem in the 1600s (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1996). 58 Register 7, #821, #953, #954, #1394, #1398, #2267, #2512, #2589, #2679, #2684. 59 For Haleb, Register 7, #2134, #2381; for Hims, Register 7, #1718; for Trablus, Register 7, #952. 60 For an empire-wide analysis of the icmal defterleri in terms of the numbers of timars in the 16th and 17th centuries and the identities of their holders, see Linda T. Darling, “Nasîhatnâmeler, ˙Icmal Defterleri, and the Ottoman Timar-Holding Elite in the Late Sixteenth Century,” Osmanlı Aras¸tırmaları 43 (2013): 193–226; eadem, “Nasîhatnâmeler, ˙Icmal Defterleri, and the Ottoman Timar-Holding Elite in the Late Sixteenth Century: Part II, Including the Seventeenth Century,” Osmanlı Aras¸tırmaları 45 (2015): 13–35. Clearly, the Mamluks of Syria were not eradicated quite as thoroughly as Ayalon thought; see David Ayalon, “The End of the Mamlu¯k Sultanate (Why Did the Ottomans Spare the Mamlu¯ks of Egypt and Wipe Out the Mamlu¯ks of Syria?),” Studia Islamica 65 (1987): 125–48. 61 Register 7, #614, and many other orders in that register which there is not enough space in this article to discuss. For the background to this mobilization see J. Richard Blackburn, “The Collapse of Ottoman Authority in Yemen, 968/1560–976/1568,” Die Welt des Islams, n.s. 18

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Cyprus in 1571 for the conquest of that island, although at first S¸am had only been ordered to supply grain.62 Janissaries from S¸am were also sent to Van, Bitlis, Safed, and Aclun for duties connected with fiscal administration, and they were employed to transport waqf revenues to Istanbul.63 The Janissary salary registers in the Bas¸bakanlık archive would provide greater detail on the assignments and remuneration of individual Janissaries, and the provincial accounting registers would show where their support came from and how it was allocated, while the mühimme registers give information on their conditions and their place in the larger policies of the empire. Janissaries were also highly important to the safety and administration of the province where they were stationed, and the Janissaries of Damascus garrisoned the fortresses on the pilgrimage road. Probably for that reason, a number of orders commanded the prompt filling of vacancies in the corps.64 Others mandated the appointment of men from Rumeli and Anatolia rather than Arabs and Kurds, who may have been viewed as less trustworthy given their recent conquest and rebellion.65 One such order from 1568 talks about Arabs who were given places in the Janissary corps of S¸am in return for their financial support as tax farmers, and who then used their Janissary positions to obtain timars, leaving their Janissary positions to be filled by their young sons, who as children were unable to carry out their duties.66 Most of the Janissaries’ functions were actually not marked by orders in the mühimme registers, since they were commanded in person by the provincial governor, with a few exceptions such as orders to collect the revenues of the imperial imaret in Damascus and to help with a survey.67 Some entries do mention Janissaries of Damascus who were sent to serve the provincial treasuries of the defterdar of Haleb and the nazır of S¸am; those sent to Haleb amounted initially to sixty but were reduced to forty when the two treasuries were separated, while another order set the period of rotation they were subject to.68 Orders also commanded that those assigned to collect the taxes of S¸am not be assigned other duties, such as guarding the province; the provincial

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(1979): 119–76. The defterdar of S¸am was ordered to provide one year’s salary and supplies for these men, and if its funds were insufficient, to draw on the treasury of Haleb; Register 7, #1249. Register 12, Janissaries: #508, #509; other troops, #195, nüzül: #c.44, #397. Register 7, #791, #1983; Register 12, #88, #423; Register 7, #2385, #2387. Register 7, #553, #2328, #2621; Register 12, #597. Register 5, #991, #1121; Register 12, #1008. The reason may simply have been that they knew neither Turkish nor the Balkan or Caucasian languages spoken by the Janissaries. Compare Michael Winter, “The Re-Emergence of the Mamluks Following the Ottoman Conquest,” in The Mamluks in Egyptian Politics and Society, ed. Thomas Philipp and Ulrich Haarmann (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 95. Register 7, #2198. Register 7, #1638, #2012. Register 7, #33; Register 3, #190.

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officials were ordered to mark those men in the registers so that they would not be reassigned in error.69 Such errors were not uncommon; in 1571 the Janissaries of S¸am in service to the Haleb treasury had requested timars and had been awarded them while still serving the treasury; later, since they had not come to reside on their timars, they were about to be taken away, the men’s service to the Haleb treasury having been forgotten in the intervening period. On the petition of the defterdar of Haleb, however, an order came down from the Porte to let them keep their timars.70 Lesser bodies of troops, such as volunteers (gönüllüyan) and footmen (kavvas), also appear in the mühimme registers, although their exploits are largely unsung in the literary sources. Along with salary registers (if they were paid) and appointment registers (which usually focus on the more important offices), the mühimme register entries tell us how these troops were recruited and assigned and inform us of their fate. Thus, through the mühimme registers we discover how the empire’s military manpower took care of its fiscal administration as well, and we can see their contributions not only to the war machine but to the communication, transportation, fundraising, and policing functions of the state.

Provincial Administration and Its Traces From the registers of outgoing orders we can learn a great deal about the structures of provincial administration. The opening greetings to the addressees provide the names of the governors, qadis, and defterdars. Sancakbeys are also frequently mentioned and sometimes addressed. These entries help to sort out the internal organization of the province, as they mention provincial military and finance officials and their responsibilities. We learn which ones were obedient or disobedient, and we sometimes find out their salaries or something about their households. The names and titles of individuals to whom the orders were given for delivery can often provide information about the subordinates of governors and great men. For example, in Register 3 orders were handed for delivery to Murad, the steward (kethüda) of the governor of Haleb, Hasan, the steward of the governor of S¸am, Hurrem, the steward of the defterdar of Haleb, and Dervis¸, the steward of the governor of Egypt; this tells us that these four men were important functionaries in the households of the great, and more generally, that one of the responsibilities of a kethüda was to present letters and petitions to the Porte in 69 Register 7, #922, #923. 70 Register 12, #837; see also #915, a dispute over when their pay should start, from the award date or from the date of commencement.

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person and return the answers to their employers.71 Appointments and promotions were occasionally announced in the mühimme registers; for example, an order went out promoting Mehmed, the muhasebeci (person who kept the provincial accounting registers) of Haleb, to the post of muhasebeci of Anadolu in place of Ahmed, who had died.72 Moreover, fees were charged for berats of appointment, and if these fees went unpaid there could be a notice, as in the case of the unpaid fee of the new qadi of Hama.73 Infrequently mentioned in the orders were the çavus¸es or messengers who brought petitions and letters to Istanbul and orders back. Çavus¸es were usually recruited by the same means as Janissaries, through the devs¸irme, and one reason for the growth in numbers of “Janissaries” that the Ottoman advice writers described as corruption may have been the empire’s growing demand for troops both to campaign and to garrison the provinces, and simultaneously for messengers and agents as the empire expanded and the provinces grew more tightly knit together and more closely bound to the center. Another mark of this growing closeness was the central administration’s dependence on the provincial registers for information. The opening episode of the paper revealed the central government’s need for detailed registers from the provinces: only by sending an inspection team could it compensate for missing registers, reconstruct the activity of the province over the previous year or years, and discover what had happened to the money it should have received. There were other instances of missing registers; at the same time that Egypt’s registers went missing, the registers of Syria were missing as well. Entries in the earliest mühimme register notified the “Arabistan” defterdar that the detailed registers of the S¸am treasury for the previous year had not reached the Porte, along with the avarız, muhasebe, and mukataa registers for Arabistan and the registers for the Ekrad sancak.74 Without these registers, the central government could not make up its own accounts of income and expenditures for the year.75 In another episode of missing registers, the defterdar was notified that the mütevelli of the 71 Register 3, #728, #1395, #355, #547. 72 Register 6, #805. Other notices of promotion did not include the names of the awardees; see Register 3, #137, #138, #139, and Register 12, #93. 73 Register 3, #1539 on fee levels see Register 7, #528; on who should be charged, Register 7, #1173, #1267. 74 TKS, #390, #520, #546, #336. 75 On the central government’s account registers see Ömer Lütfi Barkan, “H. 933–934 (M. 1527– 1528) Malî Yılına ait bir Bütçe Örneg˘i,” ˙Istanbul Üniversitesi ˙Iktisat Fakültesi Mecmuası 15 (1953/54): 251–329; idem, “954–955 (1547–1548) Malî Yılına âit bir Osmanlı Bütçesi,” ˙Istanbul Üniversitesi ˙Iktisat Fakültesi Mecmuası 19 (1957/58): 219–76; idem, “H. 974–975 (M. 1567– 1568) Malî Yılına âit bir Osmanlı Bütçesi,” ˙Istanbul Üniversitesi ˙Iktisat Fakültesi Mecmuası 19 (1957/58): 277–332; and on central government accounting procedures, Darling, RevenueRaising and Legitimacy, 213–45.

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Haremeyn waqf had not sent his accounts to his supervisor, Abdülkerim, the timar registrar of S¸am.76 A few years later, the mütevelli of the Sultan Süleyman evkaf in S¸am went off to serve in Egypt without turning in his registers, leaving a school unbuilt because, he said, the construction of the water fountain used up all the money; stone, lead, and other building materials had been ordered but only partially used and possibly not paid for, along with other problems. The governor and qadi were ordered to confront him in person, obtain his registers, investigate in detail the various problems he had left, and notify the Porte of their findings.77 As we have seen above, the return of Lala Mustafa Pas¸a to S¸am and the discovery of his depredations also demanded a major investigation to uncover all the consequences of his negligence and oppression.78 In a more general sense, these entries exhibit aspects of the provinces’ relations with the capital and with each other. For one thing, the considerable traffic in messages and reports between the provinces and Istanbul indicates that the officials and bureaucrats in Istanbul did not know what was happening in the provinces except through incoming information, and they had to develop a finely honed sense of when to trust the messages and documents they received from the provinces and when to demand checks and inspections. The default position was trust, and for that reason men from the ruler’s own household were increasingly employed in important provincial positions (and severely punished for failures of trustworthiness). For another, the bureaucracy was obviously still too small to keep careful track of all the provinces, as they responded to the absence of detailed registers only when it was called to their attention by problems that arose. The center’s “control” over the provinces took the form of control over the men in charge, as was typical for a pre-modern empire. When problems occurred, the state tightened the reins on the provincial officials, and the registers present a number of instances of that intensification of inspection and control. Beyond the Syrian officials’ commission to examine affairs in Egypt, there was surprisingly little administrative traffic between Egypt and Syria in this period, given their long centuries of association. Istanbul ruled each province as a separate entity. There were, however, associations among the Syrian provinces that continued beyond their initial fiscal integration as the province of “Arabistan.” Although they were separated politically after 1525, the treasuries remained unified until 1567, by which time interchanges among them had become the standard way of operating. In particular, the treasuries of Sayda and Trablus contributed to S¸am’s responsibility for funding the pilgrimage, and the treasuries of S¸am and Haleb were allowed to draw on each other as necessary. This fact by 76 Register 3, #306, #307. 77 Register 7, #1643. 78 Register 7, #1959, #2034, #2035, #2036, #2038, #2039, #2044, #2046, #2521.

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itself may have necessitated more central intervention in Syria’s financial affairs. While the mühimme registers do not provide a sense of the day-to-day operation of provincial administration, they do furnish a picture of the complex web of interactions through which it operated and carried out the injunctions of the center. Clearly, though, the lack of information or documents is not just a problem for modern researchers. Ottoman state authorities were also dependent on registers and complaints for their knowledge of conditions outside Istanbul.79 It is a truism that the sinews of war may be money, but that peace relies on paperwork. Istanbul might conquer on its own initiative, but it could only govern on the basis of reports and petitions from the provinces, both from its own officials and from local notables, city and village residents, peasants and tribesmen. Submitting a petition was thus a political act, and the same could be said for submitting a register. The absence of this paperwork represented a flaw in the state of peace and a problem for Ottoman administrators which they spent a great deal of money and effort attempting to rectify. Orders often repeated that submitting one’s registers was one of the “important affairs” of the empire; archives then were both the evidence of and the act of submission.

Conclusion Emerging vividly from these examples is the extensive process of negotiation that Ottoman conquest generated. Far from a top-down imposition of power, ruling a conquered province was a constant balancing act between the authority and impotence of the distant state, the impulses to obedience or self-aggrandizement of its officials, and the conquered people’s level of tolerance as well as their ability to intervene in the process. Much of this negotiation took place in the arena of fiscal administration, which thus constitutes an ideal site for investigating its typical procedures and contingencies and discovering what was atypical. To what extent did procedures and processes developed in Anatolia and Rumeli work in the Arab lands, and where did adjustments have to be made? What was valuable enough in the existing administrative arrangements of Syria and Egypt to be retained or even transferred to other locations? How did these interactions between officials and populations influence ongoing practices and attitudes in the provinces? How was their relationship affected by changes in the demands either

79 Linda T. Darling, “The Finance Scribes and Ottoman Politics,” in Decision Making in the Ottoman Empire, Caesar E. Farah (ed.) (Kirksville, MO: Thomas Jefferson University Press and University Press of America, 1993), 89–100; Heather Ferguson, personal communication.

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of the state or of the population? Were there areas of contention that remained unresolved? Lying behind the initial episode described in this chapter is the subordination of Egypt to Istanbul, and even to Syria, because of the Ottoman conquest. That loss of status must have reverberated throughout Egyptian society in ways that have not yet been sufficiently explored. Likewise, Syria’s gain in importance and centrality, visible in the administrative arrangements for investigating Egypt’s fiscal problems, has not yet become a topic of research except with respect to its role in the pilgrimage. Syria’s connections to Anatolia and Iraq made it also a staging ground for military expeditions and a terminus of trade routes in the 16th and 17th centuries, eliminating its frontier zones, boosting its economy, and attracting outsiders from elsewhere in the empire and from Europe and Iran. This must have had a stimulating effect on provincial economy, culture, and identities.80 Meanwhile, Egypt changed from a center for political and religious leadership of the region to a location of self-aggrandizement for Ottoman officials. These vast changes are reflected in miniature in the case of financial malfeasance discussed above. The fact that for so many years after the conquest Cairo did not send detailed registers to Istanbul could be related to an unwillingness on the part of lower officials to accept the Mamluk territories’ loss of independence and Egypt’s subordination, as much as to a sense on the part of the governors that Cairo was far from Istanbul and poorly supervised.81 It is not yet known how different the Ottoman fiscal procedures were from those of the Mamluks. The uneven preservation of documents makes it difficult to draw direct comparisons, but that does not mean there is nothing to learn from the documents that do exist. This brief excursion into the mühimme registers shows that even from these few registers we can gain a fairly rich picture of Syrian provincial administration and fiscal issues only a few decades after the conquest. Each of the topics mentioned in the second part of the paper could be rounded out by a detailed study of relevant registers in the Ottoman archives. Comparison with a picture drawn from late 16th- or early 17th-century registers, and if possible with information from the Mamluk period as well, would give us a deeper appreciation of the transition as experienced at the provincial level and would reveal how the Syrian provinces were gradually assimilated, financially and ad80 See also Thomas Philipp, “The Economic Impact of the Ottoman Conquest of Bilad al-Sham,” in Syria and Bilad al-Sham under Ottoman Rule: Essays in Honour of Abdul-Karim Rafeq, ed. Peter Sluglett and Stefan Winter (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 101–14. For a study of Syrian attitudes toward Istanbul in a later period see Malissa Anne Taylor, “Fragrant Gardens and Converging Waters: Ottoman Governance in Seventeenth-Century Damascus” (PhD diss., University of California at Berkeley, 2013). 81 Lala Mustafa Pas¸a’s use of Cairo as a place to hide from his responsibilities in Yemen seems to indicate that that feeling had not diminished much in the intervening decades.

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ministratively, into the Ottoman Empire. In addition, the comparison of administrative and fiscal similarities and differences across time might open the possibility of a tentative estimation of the relative effectiveness of Mamluk and Ottoman governance in Syria. We should not think, however, only of resource extraction. Supplies of money and materials also came into the province with the Ottoman troops and were used not only for building palaces and fortifications for the elite but for fountains, schools, cisterns, and bathhouses for ordinary people as well as for the protection of the pilgrimage. The Ottoman elites sent to govern their new conquests settled in and localized, becoming new and well-connected members of their communities and linking them to a larger imperial society. In later periods, as we know, they sponsored commercial and cultural activity; where was their money invested in the early 16th century? As a subordinate yet significant province in both empires, Syria could even function as a crucial test case for larger historical concepts and their application to the world of the eastern Mediterranean. The transition from Mamluk to Ottoman rule coincided with an era of significant political and administrative development that was widely shared across the Eurasian world and that altered the nature of the Ottoman state and its relationship to its provinces.82 The first half of the 16th century saw a tightening of the bonds between the provinces and the center that is reflected in the mühimme registers. Through its demands for registers, inspections of officials, and appointments of agents, the government sought to centralize the administration of provincial affairs under its own control, just as European governments in this period were doing. The inventions and developments of the era – military, political, and organizational – resulted in governments that were larger, more stable, more centralized, wealthier, and more capable than those of the medieval period. The Ottoman government at this time was acquiring such early modern characteristics along with the European states, and the incidents and costs of this process can be counted through the mühimme registers.

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Alev Masarwa

Performing the Occasion: The Chronograms of Ma¯mayya ar-Ru¯mı¯ (930–985 or 987/1534–1577 or 1579)*

Next to military strength, an effective and lasting system of communication has to be considered a prerequisite of a hegemonic order like the Ottoman Empire of the 16th century. However, the communication systems of a major power were generally complex and demanding and of course the loss of a great deal of information always had to be taken into account. Also, the mechanisms to encode and decode communication were highly conventionalized often representing the symbolic order of the Empire. To complicate things further, communication was always transmitted via verbal and non-verbal channels. In a period of transition, like that from Mamluk to Ottoman rule, on the one hand one might expect at least a disturbance in the local and conventionalized communication systems, on the other hand an energetic imperial activity of establishing and adjusting new communication channels (i. e. in order to create a new universal language of power and order).1 Taking poetic chronograms2 as an example, I want to connect two seemingly disparate areas that are nevertheless interwoven regarding the types of their communication channels reflecting the symbolic order of the empire: the ‘im* I would like to thank Ronald Mayer-Opificius and Nefeli Papoutsakis for proofreading the English text and their helpful suggestions. 1 For the communication systems of empires, see Ulrich Leitner, Imperium: Geschichte und Theorie eines politischen Systems (Frankfurt a. M.: Campus Verlag, 2011), esp. p. 190 (Clifford Ando’s approach). 2 A chronogram is the art of recording dates by adding the numerical values of the letters in a word or a phrase (see EI2, “Hisa¯b al-D̲j̲ummal” (Colin), III:468). On the history and usage of ˙ in European literature, mostly written in capital letters, see chronograms (chronostichons) Veronika Marschall, Das Chronogramm: Eine Studie zu Formen und Funktionen einer literarischen Kunstform. Dargestellt am Beispiel von Gelegenheitsgedichten des 16. bis 18. Jahrhunderts aus den Beständen der Staatsbibliothek Bamberg (Frankfurt a.M.: Peter Lang, 1977), esp. pp. 20–34. An extensive compilation of chronograms in different languages gives James Hilton, Chronograms. 5000 and More in Number Excerpted out of Various Authors and Collected at Many Places (London: Elliot Stock, 1882), esp. pp. 537–545 for Arabic, Persian and Hebrew chronograms. References for chronograms in Oriental languages, see note 5 in this paper.

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perial’ poetry of architecture and the ‘imperial’ architecture of poetry. The first belongs to the non-verbal realm of communication as it is expressed in buildings, like mosques, tombs, fountains, palaces or madrasas. The second belongs to the realm of verbal communication as it is expressed e. g., in panegyrics about rulers and the elites of a province, in dı¯wa¯n-literature, in insˇa¯’-writings, anthologies, tadkira-literature, dedications and imperial chronicles (ta¯’rı¯h, silsile-na¯me, fe¯ ˘ tihna¯me / g˙azawa¯t). This overlap is particularly notable in poetic chronograms ˙ that were turned into commemorative inscriptions (kita¯ba) on religious buildings, wells, tombs, fountains, schools and of course in the autonomous poetic genre of at-ta¯’rı¯h asˇ-sˇiʿirı¯ (or the hisa¯b al-gˇummal, ramz). A consequence of this ˙ ˘ mutual relationship is that on the one hand the stone may speak, while on the other hand a poem may be petrified. A striking figure of the Damascene literary scene in the 16th century, whose work reflects and communicates this imperial order – as seen from the periphery – was the poet Ma¯mayya ar-Ru¯mı¯ (930/1534–985/1577 or 987/1579).3 He gained a reputation as a master of the chronogram and was known for nothing less than being the “Sultan of this art when other poets failed to produce such a device”, as Ibn Ayyu¯b states.4

Chronograms and the Value of Letters The most simplified chronogram is based on the value of the letters that form the basis of the Arabic alphabet in the abgˇad system similar to the one used in Hebrew, Aramaic or Syriac.5 It denotes the Higˇrı¯-year in which the event that is 3 Muhammad b. Ahmad Ibn ʿAbdalla¯h ar-Ru¯mı¯, also known as Qayyim asˇ-Sˇa¯m Ma¯mayya (born ˙ ca. 930/1524, died˙985/1577 or Du¯ l-Higˇgˇa 986 or Muharram 987/January or February 1579), see ¯ ˙ Ibn Ayyu¯b, ar-Rawd al-ʿa¯tir fı¯-ma¯ tayassara min ah˙ba¯r ahl al-qarn as-sa¯biʿ ila¯ hita¯m al-qarn ˙ ˙ ˘ fol. 254a (hereafter Ibn Ayyu ˘ ¯ b, fol.). Ibn al-ʿa¯ˇsir, Ms. Wetzstein II 289, fol. 251a–255b, citation, Ayyu¯b (948–1000/1541–1592), a contemporary biographer and anthologist, member of a line of ˇsa¯fiʿı¯ qa¯d¯ıs, covers in his work the biographies of emirs, judges, scholars, merchants etc. in a ˙ time span from 745/1344 to 998/1590. On the many orthographic variants see the section on his biography in this paper, pp. 159–160. 4 The main contemporary source on Ma¯mayya ar-Ru¯mı¯ is his colleague and friend Ibn Ayyu¯b with his ar-Rawd al-ʿa¯tir; see also the partial edition of this work in Ahmet Halil Günes¸, Das ˙ ¯ tir ˙des Ibn Aiyu¯b: Damaszener Biographien des 10./16. Jahrhunderts. BeKita¯b ar-raud al-ʿa ˙ ˙ schreibung und Edition (Berlin: Schwarz-Verlag, 1981), pp. 82–95 (Arabic section; hereafter Günes¸, p.), quotation from p. 91 and from Ibn Ayyu¯b, fol. 254a. 5 As Thomas Bauer indicates, the beginnings of composing chronograms remain unclear (see Thomas Bauer, “Vom Sinn der Zeit. Aus der Geschichte des arabischen Chronogramms”, in: Arabica 50 (2003), pp. 501–531, here p. 506, n. 10). There are different views about the earliest chronograms, as the abgˇad system was established much earlier than composing chronograms. However, some early chronograms are recorded from the eight century Higˇra onwards. They flourished in (prose and poetry) in the ninth century, and reached their peak in the 12th century

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commemorated by the chronogram took place. In most cases such a chronogram is initiated by a signal (ta¯’rı¯h or any form of the verb arraha) in the last half-line ˘ ˘ of a poem.6 Since a chronogram is not considered to be a riddle (lug˙z:‫ ﻟﻐﺰ‬or (Higˇra) in all Oriental languages, and also in Latin. As Karabey states, it emerged from the Persian literature from the 6th century Higˇra onwards and found its way into the Arab and Latin world. The earliest works dealing with chronograms as a device of literature were written in Persian (see Turgut Karabey, Türk Edebiyatında Tarih Düs¸ürme (unpublished doctoral thesis at the Atatürk Üniv. Fen-Ed. Fak. Türk Dili ve Ed. Bölümü, Erzurum,1983), pp. 292–354. – I am grateful to have profited from Turgut Karabey’s thesis, which he kindly sent me without hesitation. An-Na¯bulusı¯ is the first recorded Arab author, who integrated the chronogram into the catalog of rhetorical figures, perhaps simply ignoring, that more than a century earlier Damascene and Ottoman poets had been writing chronograms (see for an-Na¯bulusı¯ the entry of Carl Brockelmann, GAL, G II, 345, S II, 473). For the Arabic chronogram as a device of art, see an-Na¯bulusı¯, ʿAbd al-G˙anı¯ Ibn Isma¯ʿı¯l (1641–1731), Nafaha¯t al-azha¯r ʿala¯ nasama¯t al-asha¯r fı¯ ˙ armadh an-nabı¯ al-muhta¯r (Dimasˇq: Matba‘at Nahgˇ as-S˙awa¯ b, 1299/1882), pp. 495–498; ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˘ Ra¯fiʿı¯, Mustafa¯ Sa¯diq. Ta¯rı¯h a¯da¯b al-ʿarab. 3 vols. (Bayru¯t: Da¯r al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 1421/ ˙˙ ˙ Sˇayhu¯, Lu¯wis “Fı¯ t-ta¯rı¯h asˇ-sˇiʿrı¯”, in Magallat al-Masˇriq 6 (1903), pp. 986– 2000), III:293–297; ˘ ˘ in: Mu’allafa¯t Ma¯ru¯n ʿAbbu¯d. al-Magˇmu¯ʿa al993; Ma¯ru¯n ʿAbbu¯d, “Ruwwa ¯ d an-nahda”, ˙¯ d, 1986), pp. 55–64. The only secondary studies for ka¯mila. Vol. 2 (Bayru¯t: Da¯r Ma¯ru¯n ʿAbbu Arabic chronograms are those by Thomas Bauer, “Vom Sinn der Zeit”, cf. above and by Kenan Demirayak, “Osmanlı Dönemi Arap Edebiyatında Tarih Düs¸ürme S¸iirleri ya da S¸iirlerle Tarih Düs¸ürme”, in: S¸arkiyat Mecmuası 25 (2014), pp. 87–122. For the history of chronograms in Persian and Urdu, see the articles “Ma¯dda Ta¯rik”; “Abjad”; “Chronograms” and “Jafr” in: ¯ Encyclopedia Iranica [http://www.iranicaonline.org/], see also Mehr Afshan Farooqi, “The Secret of Letters: Chronograms in Urdu Literary Culture”, in: Edebiyat 13 (2003), pp. 147–158; Gernot L. Windfuhr, “Spelling the Mystery of Time”, in: Journal of the American Oriental Society 110 (1990), pp. 401–416; Shams Anwari-Alhosseyni, Log˙az und Mo’amma¯: Eine Quellenstudie zur Kunstform des persischen Rätsels (Berlin: Klaus Schwarz Verlag, 1986), pp. 194–195 and Qeyamuddin Ahmad, “The art of chronograms”, in: Islamic Culture 46 (1972), pp. 163–169. During the last two decades the great corpus of chronograms in Ottoman literature attracted considerable academic research; there is an increasing literature about single works and authors. An overview of the emergence and usage of chronograms throughout the Ottoman period in different literary genres is given in Turgut Karabey, Türk Edebiyatında Tarih Düs¸ürme; I˙smail Yakıt, Türk-Islâm Kültüründe Ebced Hesabı ve Tarih Düs¸ürme (Istanbul: Ötüken, 1992), p. 37ff. (hereafter Yakıt, Ebced hesabı, p.). Single studies analyzing chronograms are e. g. Pervin Çapan’s study with brief information about the different styles in composing chronograms: “S¸efik Dîvanı Örnekleminde Manzum Tarih Düs¸ürme Geleneg˘i”, in: Prof. Dr. Mine Mengi Adına Türkoloji Sempozyumu (20–22 Ekim 2011) Bildirileri (Adana: ?, 2012), pp. 69–85; Rıdvan Canım, “Klâsik Türk Edebiyatında Tarih Düs¸ürme Sanatı ve Bir Ebced Ustası: Adanalı Sürûrî”, in: Atatürk Üniversitesi Sosyal Bilimler Enstitüsü Dergisi 13 (2009), pp. 105–120 and Haluk I˙pekten and M. Kemal Özergin, “Sultan Ahmed III. Devri Hâdiselerine Âid Tarih Manzûmeleri”, in: ˙I.Ü. Ed. Fak. Tarih Dergisi 9 (1958), pp. 133–150 and 10 (1959), pp. 125–146. Rıza Og˘ras gives a chronoglogical overview of poets who composed chronograms for their death starting˙with Kemalpas¸azâde (d.1534), see his “Türk Edebiyatında Ölümlerini Tarihleyen S¸airler”, in: Türkiye Sosyal Aras¸tırmalar Dergisi 10 (2007), pp. 133–139. On chronograms composed for the completion of books, see also Rıza Og˘ras¸, “Türk Edebiyatında Kitap Yazımına ve Basımına Tarih Düs¸ürme Geleneg˘i”, in: Turkish Studies 2 (2007), pp. 647– 669. 6 According to the Eastern Arabic tradition of the abgˇad system, the numerical values of the letters are:

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muʿamma¯: ‫)ﻣﻌ ّﻤﻰ‬, the demands on the reader are only of secondary importance. It is the poet who is challenged: only the values of the grapheme are counted, not phonetical values, while a poet has to follow the (phonetical) rules of the meter (al-ʿaru¯d), which cannot be changed except for codified licenses. To give a rather ˙ simple example from Ma¯mayya’s chronograms, in which he delivers a poetical performance for the occasion of the building of a fountain by the su¯fı¯ ˇsayh ˙ ˘ Ahmad b. asˇ-Sˇayh Sulayma¯n (d. 1005/1597):7 ˙ ˘ ‫َﻫ َﺬﺍ ﺍﻟ َّﺴ ِﺒﻴ ُﻞ ﺍ َﻷ ْﺣ َﻤ ِﺪ ْﻱ ﻟﻠ ِﻪ َﻣﺎ ِﻓﻴ ِﻪ َﺧ َﻔﺎ‬ َ‫َﻳﺎ َﻗﺎ ِﺭﺋًﺎ ﺗَﺎ ِﺭﻳ َﺨـــــ ُﻪ ﺍ ْﺷ َﺮﺏ َﻫ ِﻨﻴﺌًﺎ َﺑ ْﻞ ِﺷﻔﺎ‬

This Ahmadı¯ fountain, / what excellent things it hides! ˙ Oh reader, its date is (in the phrase): / Drink, may it benefit your health. [982/1574]

The last hemistich yields the year 982/1574 by adding the numerical value of the words ’i-sˇ-r-b=503, h-n-y-’=66, b-l=32 and ˇs-f-a¯=381.

Language of Poetics and the Language of Numerals Using chronograms challenges the poet on another level. The challenge concerns the realms of ambiguous and unambiguous speech, which are contrasted – in our case – by using letters in poetic speech and in the language of numerals. Poetic speech employs a deliberately ambiguous language as it is a language of art.8 The language of numerals, in contrast, is decidedly unambiguous. The combination of letters and numerals (Arabic arqa¯m) is rather uncommon in classical poetry. The numeric system can of course be expressed in letters (Arabic arqa¯m lafziyya) ˙ but the complicated iʿra¯b-rules in the Arabic numeral system narrow the options 200\100) ‫ ﻗﺮﺷﺖ‬،(90\80\70\60) ‫ ﺳﻌﻔﺺ‬،(50\40\30\20) ‫ ﻛﻠﻤﻦ‬،(10\9\8) ‫ ﺣﻄﻲ‬،(7\6\5)‫ ﻫﻮﺯ‬،(4\3\2\1) ‫ﺃﺑﺠﺪ‬ . (1000\900\800) ‫ ﺿﻈﻎ‬،(700\600\500) ‫ ﺛﺨﺬ‬،(400\300\ The Western tradition has the same values except for ‫( ﺹ‬60); ‫( ﻉ‬70); ‫( ﻑ‬80); ‫( ﺽ‬90); ‫( ﺱ‬300); ‫ﻅ‬ (800); ‫( ﻍ‬900) and ‫( ﺵ‬1000). For this Western tradition, see I˙smail Yakıt, Ebced Hesabı, p. 37ff. Duplications, like the ˇsadda on ˇsamsı¯-letters and the Dagger-Alif are irrelevant in the hisa¯b al˙ gˇummal. 7 For the Qa¯dirı¯-Sˇayh Ahmad Ibn Sulayma¯n, see Günes¸, p. 45. The poem (meter: ragˇaz) is not ˘¯ n. ˙See Ibn Ayyu¯b, fol. 201b and fol. 48b–49a; see also Günes¸, p. 85 (Arabic included in the dı¯wa section) and p. 45 (no: 100) and Muhammad Amı¯n al-Muhibbı¯, Ta¯rı¯h Hula¯sat al-atar fı¯ aʿya¯n ¯ ˙ ˙ ˘ ˘ ˙ I:207f. al-qarn al-ha¯dı¯ ‘asˇar, 4 vols. (al-Qa¯hira: al-Matbaʿa al-Wahbiyya, 1284/1866), See also ˙ ˙ Clifford Edmund Bosworth, “A Janissary Poet of Sixteenth-Century Damascus: Mâmayya alRûmî”, in: The Islamic World, from Classical to Modern Times. Essays in Honor of Bernard Lewis / ed. C. E. Bosworth, p. 464, n. 24 (hereafter Bosworth, “Janissary Poet”, p.). 8 For the fundamental analysis of the culture of ambiguity, see Thomas Bauer, Die Kultur der Ambiguität. Eine andere Geschichte des Islams (Berlin: Verlag der Weltreligionen, 2011).

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of using them in a verse which has to satisfy the demands of meter, as stated above, and those of rhetoric. Simply speaking, the long years would occupy too much space in a line, without incorporating hardly any specific rhetorical device. This combination occurs rather frequently but it is not considered to be of high artistic value in poetry. Using the abgˇad system, where the letters just refer to numerals, enables the poet to compose a verse without much restraint. This creates some form of balance, yet requires concessions from both sides. They start to overlap and subvert each other: the unambiguity of the numerals decreases while the ambiguity of poetic language is diminished, by allowing itself to be pinned down to a specific year.9 Despite these challenges chronograms were highly regarded during the Ottoman period. Modern literary critics denigrated chronograms as well as the whole genre of occasional literature. Such an approach not only ignores premodern literary traditions but also restricts our possibilities of understanding political, religious, social and communicative developments – regardless of the chronograms’ aesthetic values. Since chronograms were composed for enthronements, political events like victories, defeats and peace treaties as well as on the occasion of taking up or leaving an office (for ima¯ms, sultans, wa¯lı¯s, qa¯d¯ıs), ˙ they are relevant to political history. Chronograms are also relevant to social history: there are welcoming chronograms, congratulatory chronograms for weddings, circumcisions, the birth of children or for building a house, completing a book, as well as apologizing chronograms e. g., for a scholarly dispute. As chronograms are often used for commemorative inscriptions, they are important for the history of architecture and give new insight into the imperial communication systems and the intertwined fields of architecture and poetry, prestige and belonging as will be shown with examples in this paper.

Ma¯mayya ar-Ru¯mı¯ The poet’s full name is Muhammad b. Ahmad b. ʿAbdalla¯h Ma¯mayya ar-Ru¯mı¯ al˙ ˙ Inkisˇa¯rı¯.10 The name Ma¯mayya – with several variants in the copies of his dı¯wa¯n and in the later biographical accounts e. g., Ma¯ma¯ya (‫)ﻣﺎﻣﺎﻳﺔ‬, Ma¯maya (‫)ﻣﺎﻣﻴﺔ‬, 9 The abgˇad system was also a major tool for the divinatory arts in Islamic occult sciences (e. g. ʿilm al-gˇifr, ʿilm al-huru¯f). However, the poetic chronogram uses a more domesticated ˙ to numerals and letters. method of giving sense 10 The main Arabic sources for the reception and biography of Ma¯mayya are Sˇaraf ad-Dı¯n Ibn Ayyu¯b (948–1000/1541–1592), Kita¯b ar-rawd al-ʿa¯tir, see notes 3 and 4 in this paper; also Ahmad ibn al-Qa¯d¯ı (d. 1025/1616), Durrat ˙al-higˇa¯˙l fı¯ g˙urrat asma¯’ ar-rigˇa¯l /ed. Allouche ˙ sˇ), (Rabat 1934–1936), ˙ ˙ ¯ s (1570–1628), an-Nu¯r as-sa¯fir fı¯ ahba¯r al(ʿAllu II: no: 883; al-ʿAydaru ¯ qarn al-ʿa¯ˇsir (Bayru¯t: Da¯r al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 1985), pp. 263–268; Nagˇm ad-Dı˘¯n Mu-

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Ma¯miya (‫)ﻣﺎ ِﻣﻴﺔ‬, Ma¯miyh (‫)ﻣﺎﻣﻴﻪ‬,11 was considered to be of Aramaic origin. Bosworth doubted this with good reason.12 Although the poet never refers to his origin, it is very likely that he descended from the Nogaic-Kipchak clan of the Ma¯miyh. Born in 930/1534 in Istanbul, he came to Damascus when he was a child. He died there in 985/1577 or 987/1579 and was buried at the Ba¯b al-Fara¯dı¯s, near the graves of Abu¯ l-Fath al-Ma¯likı¯ (d. 976/1568) 13 and the poet Ibn al-Mulayk (d. ˙ 917/1512) 14. Ma¯mayya had a non-Arabic, perhaps even non-Muslim background, which provoked some of his contemporaries into composing mocking verses, although it is obvious that he was at least a third generation Muslim. However, he seems never to have felt inferior nor succumbed to these verbal assaults because he too was known and feared for his mockery, wit, and sharp tongue.15

11

12 13

14

15

hammad Ibn Muhammad al-G˙azzı¯ (d. 1061/1651), al-Kawa¯kib, III:45–46; Sˇiha¯b ad-Dı¯n ˙ mad Ibn Muhammad ˙ Ah al-Hafa¯gˇ¯ı (d. 1069/1659), Rayha¯nat al-alibba¯’ wa-zahrat al-haya¯t ˙ ˙ ˙ ¯ ya fı¯-ma¯ fı¯-r-rigˇa¯l min al-baqa ˙ ¯ ya¯, ad-dunya¯, I:158–159 and his ˘(Ms. Sofia), Haba¯ya az-zawa ˘ anbalı¯ = Ibn al-ʿIma¯d, (1032–1089/1622–1679), fols. 31a–32a; ʿAbd al-Hayy Ibn Ahmad al-H ˙ t: al-Maktaba at-Tigˇa¯riyya li-t-Tiba¯ʿa wa-nSˇadara¯t ad-dahab fı¯ ah˙ ba¯r man d˙ahab (Bayru ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ˘ Nasˇr wa-t-Tawzı¯, 1931–1932), VIII:413–414 (hereafter Ibn al-ʿIma¯d, Sˇadara¯˙t,˙ p.). For se¯ condary studies, see Bosworth, “Janissary Poet”; Bauer, “Vom Sinn der Zeit”; Martin Hartmann, Das arabische Strophengedicht (Weimar: Emil Felber, 1897), p. 66–97 and Martin Hartmann, “Referate”, in: Deutsche Literaturzeitung (1901), pp. 1045–1047. All these variants occur also in historiographic writings, which either refer to Ma¯mayya asSayfı¯, the third dawa¯da¯r at the court of the Mamluks, or to various persons from the NogaicKipchak area and Crimea; among them is the leader of the western area of the Dest-i Kipçak, Mamai/y, who had been defeated by Dimitri Donskoy in the battle at the Kulikovo field (1380). Mamai/y fled to the Crimea but was assassinated there. His rival Toktamıs¸, leader of the White Horde, extended his control over the entire Golden Horde. Mamai/y is considered to be of the lineage of the Uzbeks from the line of the Kıyat. In the modern day Adige area of the Caucasus and even among the Circassian people of Turkey the clan of the Mamiyh is highly regarded. For the historical background, see Mustafa Kafalı, Altın-Orda Hanlıg˘ı’nın Kurulus¸ ve Yükselis¸ Devirleri (I˙stanbul: Edebiyat Fakültesi Matbaası, 1976), p. 103 and I˙lyas Kamalov, Altın Orda ve Rusya. Rusya Üzerindeki Türk-Tatar Etkisi (I˙stanbul: Ötüken Nes¸riyat 2009), p. 10. Bosworth suggests that Ma¯mayya descended from the Haya¯lı¯-family (known as shadowplayers) on the maternal lineage, as al-Hafa¯gˇ¯ı points out˘in his entry on Ma¯mayya. See his ˘ “Janissary Poet”, p. 453 and n. 7. Rayha¯nat al-alibba¯’, I:158 and Bosworth, ˙ ammad asˇ-Sˇillı¯ al-Yama¯nı¯, Sana¯’ al-ba¯hir bi-takmı¯l an-nu¯r as-sa¯fir / Ed. Ibra¯hı¯m alSee Muh Maqhafı˙¯ (Sana¯’: Maktabat al-Irsˇa¯d, 1425/2003), pp. 612–620 giving also the chronogram for ˙ ˙ Abu¯ l-Fath. However, al-Yama¯nı¯ is wrong in dating his death to 995 H. and in the death of ˙ addition the text of the chronogram given in the edition is incomplete. According to the dı¯wa¯n it should be “ma¯ta Abu¯ l-Fath a¯h!” = 976, see Ma¯mayya, Wetzstein II 243, fol. 149a and the ˙ See also Günes¸, p. 76–82 (Arabic section), giving the correct same, Wetzstein II 171, fol. 41b. text of the chronogram (p. 81). For Ibn Mulayk, a scholar and poet from Ha¯ma, who later moved to Damascus, see Brokkelmann, GAL, II:23 and S II:13. Ma¯mayya’s ˙neighboring Ibn Mulayk and Abu¯ l-Fath – even in ˙ poets of death – is significant because all three of them are considered to be the most gifted their time (according to Ibn Ayyu¯b in Günes¸, p. 81). See Ma¯mayya’s satirical response (a horseradish poem) to a mockery against him by the poet al-Ag˙a¯ Qansu¯h, in which he teases Ma¯mayya’s (Christian) ancestors for eating pork, cited in ˙

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Ma¯mayya joined the Janissary16 corps in 960/1553 but later on, after performing the hagˇgˇ with them, he abandoned the class of the sayfiyya in favor of the ˙ qalamiyya. He started off as a poet and adı¯b immediately after returning from Mecca.17 He became a disciple of Sˇams ad-Dı¯n Abu¯ l-Fath al-Ma¯likı¯ at-Tu¯nisı¯ ˙ (901–75/1495–1567) in adab and then of Sˇiha¯b ad-Dı¯n ibn Badr ad-Dı¯n al-G˙azzı¯, 18 ¯ gˇuru¯miyya. with whom he studied the A Ma¯mayya also worked as a civil servant and held the post of a dragoman at the mahkama as-sa¯lihiyya, then at the chief mahkama (al-kubra¯) al-gˇawziyya ˙ ˙˙ ˙ ˙ (twice) and finally at the mahkamat al-qisma (a court dealing with inheritances). ˙ He lost his post several times and had to sustain some hardship. As a favor of fortune, he was present at the inauguration of the new chief-judge Sˇams ad-Dı¯n Muhammad Ibn Muhyı¯ ad-Dı¯n Muhammad al-Hanafı¯ Çivı¯za¯deh (died 995/1587) ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ upon his office in ca. 977/1569.19 Their encounter might be a significant example for the nonformal requirements for a civil post in those times: Ma¯mayya must have praised Çivı¯za¯deh in such a pleasing way that the new qa¯d¯ı asked him: “How ˙ many posts (gˇiha¯t) did you hold?” Ma¯mayya replied: “All the six directions (gˇiha¯t, i. e. I am multitalented)!” The qa¯d¯ı smiled and asked: “Which dı¯wa¯ns and ˙ adab-works have you written?” Ma¯mayya replied: “Poverty made them disappear”. And the new qa¯d¯ı asked: “What do you demand?” Ma¯mayya asked ˙ straightforward for the targˇamat al-kubra¯, and the qa¯d¯ı granted him this post, ˙ from which he was dismissed before by a man whose name was Amralla¯h.20 Immediately after his appointment he composed a poem celebrating his triumph over Amralla¯h:21

16

17 18 19 20 21

Günes¸, pp. 71–72 (Arabic section). Further references to the habits of Ma¯mayya and his status as a Janissary, see in Günes¸, p. 64, and see also Bosworth, “Janissary Poet”, p. 451. Ibn Ayyu¯b, fol. 250b: “wa-gˇuʿila lahu¯ ʿulu¯fatan fı¯ kulli yawmin hamsatu ʿutma¯niyya” (he was ¯ given five ʿulu¯fa [akçe] per day as sold). About the Janissary˘recruitment and Selı¯m’s (II) decree of 979/1571 – at a time when Ma¯mayya had already left the corps – to dismiss the local intruders from the corps, see EI2, “Devshirme” (Ménage), II:210–212; Nawfa¯n Ragˇa¯ alHumu¯d, al-ʿAskar fı¯ bila¯d asˇ-Sˇa¯m fı¯ l-qarnayn as-sa¯dis ʿasˇar wa-s-sa¯biʿ ʿasˇar al-mila¯diyayn ˙ ˇ adi¯da, 1401/1981), p. 42–43; Muhammad Adnan Bakhit, The Otto¯ fa¯ q al-G (Bayru ¯ t: Da¯ r al-A man Province of Damascus in the Sixteenth Century (Beirut: Librairie du Liban, 1982), pp. 96– 97; Bosworth, “Janissary Poet”, p. 453 and see also Uriel Heyd, Ottoman Documents on Palestine 1552–1615, pp. 68–69. Ma¯mayya was never called by the title al-ha¯gˇgˇ, so we can assume that he was just there for the ˙ security of the pilgrims on their way to Mecca. For both scholars see Bosworth, “Janissary Poet”, p. 455, p. 464, n. 25; see also Günes¸, p. 83 and p. 93 (Arabic section) and al-G˙azzı¯, al-Kawa¯kib, III:51. For the famous father of the latter Badr ad-Dı¯n al-G˙azzı¯, see Ibn Ayyu¯b, fol. 239a (no: 277) and Günes¸, p. 71 (German section). For Çivı¯za¯deh, see Ibn al-ʿIma¯d, Sˇadara¯t, VIII:436–37; EI2, “Çiwi-za¯de” (Ménage) and Bos¯ worth, “Janissary Poet”, p. 463, n. 19. See Bosworth, “Janissary Poet”, p. 463 n. 19; Günes¸, p. 70 (German section). Ibn Ayyu¯b, fol. 251b; Günes¸, p. 84 (Arabic section); meter: sarı¯ʿ. See a slightly differing text in al-G˙azzı¯, al-Kawa¯kib, III:45.

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ِّ ‫ﺻ َﺒ َﺢ َﻣ ْﺨ ُﺬﻭ ًﻻ‬ ‫َﻭﺍﻟ‬ ‫ﺍﻟ َﺤ ْﻤ ُﺪ ﻟﻠ ِﻪ َﺑﻠَ ْﻐ ُﺖ ﺍﻟ ُﻤ َﻨﺎ‬ ْ َ‫ﻀ ُّﺪ َﻗ ْﺪ ﺃ‬ َ ‫َﻭ ِﻧﻠْ ُﺖ َﻣﺎ ُﻛ ْﻨ ُﺖ ﻟَ ُﻪ َﺭﺍ ِﺟ ًﻴﺎ َﻭ َﻛﺎ َﻥ ﺃ ْﻣ ُﺮ ﺍﻟﻠ ِﻪ َﻣ ْﻔ ُﻌﻮ ًﻻ‬ Thanks God, I attained my wishes / and the adversary became abandoned. I have achieved what I wished / and ‘God’s command was executed’.” [Q:2:47; tawriya: “Amralla¯h was done (i. e. screwed)”].

Thanks to his last post at the targˇamat al-qisma he gained considerable wealth and could build himself a splendid house. Ma¯mayya expressed his fortune in a short chronogram, not hesitating to insert an allusion to the concept of belonging and the sense of homeland (watan):22 ˙

َ ‫ﺻﺎ ِﺣ ِﺐ ﺍ ِﻹ ْﻳ َﻮﺍ ِﻥ‬ َ ‫ُﻣ ِﻨﻴ ُﺖ ِﺑﺎﻟ َّﺪﺍ ِﺭ ﺍﻟّ ِﺘﻲ َﻓﺎ َﻗ ْﺖ َﻋﻠَﻰ ﺇِ ْﻳ َﻮﺍ ِﻥ ِﻛ ْﺴ َﺮﻯ‬ َ َ ّ َ ُ ُ ‫َﻭ ِﻋ َﻤﺎ َﺭﺓ ﺍﻷ ْﻭﻃﺎ ِﻥ ِﺑﺎﻟ ّﺴﻜﺎ ِﻥ‬ ‫َﻭ َﺳ َﻌﺎ َﺩ ُﺓ ﺍ ِﻹ ْﻗ َﺒﺎ ِﻝ ِﻓﻲ ﺗَﺎ ِﺭﻳ ِﺨ ِﻪ‬

I was allotted a house, which surpasses / the ¯Iwa¯n of Kisra¯. The bliss of good fortune lies in its date: / the well-being of homes lies in their inhabitants.23

The tasˇbı¯h (simile) of his house with the ¯Iwa¯n offers an admontion for the addressees. While the smaller house of Ma¯mayya is newly built and inhabited, the great ¯Iwa¯n, as its entire antithesis, is a ruin and an emblem of decay and desertedness. Accordingly, the chronogram phrase reveals more than a mere wordplay in order to gain the year of completion. It offers a proposal: a decay can always be avoided, when people feel secure and live in welfare. Then they feel at home. Ma¯mayya probably knew no other home than Damascus. Contrary to his contemporaries, he never returned to Istanbul, and though he was fluent in Ottoman it bears emphasizing that his Dı¯wa¯n contains only one Turkish poem – a remarkable contrast to, for example, the later poet Mangˇak Pasha (1007/1598– 1080/1669) who was a native of Damascus but not only wrote Turkish poems but also integrated formal specifics of Turkish poetry into his work.24 22 Meter: ragˇaz. See Ma¯mayya, Wetzstein II 243, fol. 160a; a variant in al-G˙azzı¯, al-Kawa¯kib, III:45. The chronogram results in 981/1573. 23 The chronogram hemistich is a quotation from a proverb which was cited by Ibn ʿArabı¯ (see his Futuha¯t, 3:76), while discussing Qur’a¯n 50:30 and the hadı¯t of a debate (muʿa¯rada) ¯ ˙ 5087. ˇ anna, No: between ˙hell and paradise (Muslim, Sah¯ıh: Kita¯b al-G It is striking that ˙al˙ ˙ ˙ Muqrı¯ uses this phrase daringly in his elegy on the death of Ibn Taymiyya (4th line: ‫ﺍﻥ ﺍﻭﺣﺸﻮﺍ‬ ‫) ﻧﻈﺮﻱ ﻓﻘﻠﺒﻲ ﻣﻮﻃﻦ ﻭﻋﻤﺎﺭﺓ ﺍﻻﻭﻃﺎﻥ ﺑﺎﻟﺴﻜﺎﻥ‬, who was opposed to the adherents of Ibn ʿArabı¯. See as˙ Sa¯lihi, Abu¯ ʿAbdalla¯h, al-ʿUqu¯d ad-durriyya min mana¯qib ˇsayh al-isla¯m Ibn Taymiyya / ed. ˙ ˙ ulwa¯nı¯ (Bayru¯t 2002), 2002, p. 384. ˘ Al-H ˙ ibbı¯, Hula¯sat al-atar fı¯ a‘ya¯n al-qarn al-ha¯dı¯ ‘asˇar, IV:409–423; for some of his Turkish 24 al-Muh ¯ ˙ ˙ ˘ ˙

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Ibn Ayyu¯b points out that Ma¯mayya’s poetry was completely malhu¯n ˙ (rhythmic, dialectal poetry) and sah¯ıf (frivolous/lightweight).25 After having ac˘ quired knowledge of nahw and ʿaru¯d, he tore a great part of his dı¯wa¯n apart and ˙ ˙ started to revise it according to the rules of ʿaru¯d, where he could. However, his ˙ poetry remains defective and many of the surviving copies are corrupt with 26 regard to diction, grammar and meter. Ma¯mayya acquired his reputation as an adı¯b and poet mostly thanks to his excellence in the genres of zagˇal, muwasˇˇsah ˙ and mawwa¯l poetry. In those genres he surpassed all the poets in the literary scene of Damascus and Egypt. Like in performative rap-battles of our times, he duelled successfully with combatants from Egypt in public (in the Yalbug˙a¯ asSayfı¯ mosque). The audience was completely enraptured and started to chant and dance when Ma¯mayya performed his poems. Ma¯mayya’s success in vernacular poetry, for which he was rewarded by the great scholars of Damascus, was regarded as a victory of the whole of Syria over Egypt.27 Certainly due to his career as a civil servant and his earlier profession as a Janissary with five ulu¯fe salary per day (every 3rd month), his training as a guard as well as his ties to local authorities Ma¯mayya’s self-confidence seems to have been very firm. It is said that even when Ma¯mayya lost his posts, he composed eulogies on his contemporaries and no one, as Ibn Ayyu¯b states, had the courage to withhold a donation, because he was “foul-mouthed” (habı¯t al-lisa¯n) and his ˘ ¯ language was like the “venom of vipers”.28 In this, he was perhaps only second to his teacher Abu¯ l-Fath, who was also famous for his sharp tongue. After the death ˙ of his main teacher and friend (Abu¯ l-Fath), he became a protégé of Sˇayh al-Isla¯m ˙ ˘ ʿIma¯d ad-Dı¯n b. ʿIsma¯ʿı¯l Ibn Ahmad an-Na¯bulusı¯ (a noted sˇa¯fiʿı¯ scholar).29 ˙

25 26 27 28 29

poems, see Recai Kızıltunç, “Arap Edebiyatında Türkçe Yazan bir S¸air: Emir Mencek Pas¸a ElYusûfı¯”, in: S¸arkiyat Mecmuası 20 (2012–1) 33–48. Günes¸, p. 83. See Günes¸, p. 83; al-G˙azzı¯, al-Kawa¯kib, III:45 and Ibn al-ʿIma¯d, Sˇadara¯t, VIII:413–414. ¯ Günes¸, p. 83 (Arabic section). Günes¸, p. 84 (Arabic section). ʿIma¯d ad-Dı¯n Isma¯ʿı¯l b. Ahmad an-Na¯bulusı¯ ad-Dimasˇqı¯ asˇ-Sˇa¯fiʿı¯ (957/1531–993/1582), see ˙ ¯ b, fol. 63a–65a, Günes¸, p. 61; al-G˙azzı¯, al-Kawa¯kib, III:130–135. the entry on him in Ibn Ayyu According to al-G˙azzı¯, one of the post of the waqfiyya of Darwı¯ˇs Pasha was assigned to Isma¯ʿı¯l an-Nabulusı¯ and to his descendants for as long as they remained Sˇa¯fiʿites, which confirms the support of the Ottomans also for the local schools of law, see Nagˇm ad-Dı¯n Muhammad Ibn ˙ Muhammad al-G˙azzı¯, Lutf as-samar wa-qatf at-tamar: min tara¯gˇim aʿya¯n at-tabaqa al-u¯la¯ ¯¯ min˙ al-qarn al-ha¯dı¯ ʿasˇar˙ / ed. Mahmu¯d asˇ˙-Sayh, 2 vols. (Dimasˇq: Wiza¯rat ˙at˙-Taqa¯fa wa-l¯ ¯ ˙ ˙ ˘ ˙ azzı¯, Lutf) and Çigˇdem Kafesciogˇlu, “‘In Irsˇa¯d al-Qawmı¯, 1981–1982), II:192 (hereafter al-G the Image of Ru¯m’: Ottoman Architectural Patronage in˙ Sixteenth-Century Aleppo and Damascus”, in: Muqarnas 16 (1999), pp. 70–96 (here p. 78 and n. 49) (hereafter Kafesciogˇlu, “In the Image of Ru¯m”).

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Ma¯mayya’s Poetical Works Ma¯mayya’s substantial dı¯wa¯n is called Rawdat al-musˇta¯q wa-bahgˇat al-ʿusˇˇsa¯q ˙ (Garden of the ardent yearner and the joy of the lovers).30 In 971/1563 the author himself completed an early redaction, in which he omitted the satirical verses. Ma¯mayya offers a chronogram for the completion with an iqtiba¯s from the Qur’a¯n (2:189: ‫) َﻭﺃْﺗُﻮﺍ ﺍ ْﻟ ُﺒ ُﻴﻮ َﺕ ِﻣ ْﻦ ﺃَ ْﺑ َﻮﺍﺑِ َﻬﺎ‬, which results in 971/1563.31 Yet several of the surviving copies diverge from this. Berlin Wetzstein II 171/Ahlwardt 7946 for example contains chronograms with the date 983/1575, so there must have been an expanded redaction of his dı¯wa¯n. Another work of his – albeit surviving incompletely – is the Burha¯n al-Burha¯n, a dı¯wa¯n exemplifying the various kinds of tropes (Berlin Wetzstein II 124/Ahlwardt 72 82).

The Compositional Specifics of Ma¯mayya’s Dı¯wa¯n The dı¯wa¯n – as represented in the manuscript Berlin Wetzstein II 243 – has a very short preface (dı¯ba¯g˘a) and hardly any explanatory remarks or headings, but displays a wide range of topics that are of course not limited to malhu¯n poetry. ˙ They make up 30 to 40 % of the entire work. Added to this are numerous qasa¯’id, ˙ epigrams, riddles, chronograms, g˙azals, and tahmı¯sa¯t (a long one on the Burda of ˘ Bu¯s¯ırı¯ and of course to Ibn al-Fa¯rı¯d). Ma¯mayya elaborates on a wide range of ˙ ˙ poetic sujets such as: age, love, drugs, praise of the prophet, city panegyrics (mainly Damascus), epigrams about grey hair, epigrams about professions, coffee, tobacco, sufsim, riddels on personal names, moral admonitions, elegies and reflective poems on poverty, wealth, death, materialism, time, fate, separation etc., self-praise and poems with specific rhetorical devices – to name just a few of his topics. Many of his poems are addressed to friends, local officials and members of the House of ʿUtma¯n, mainly Süleyma¯n, Selı¯m II, Abu¯ Suʿu¯d and ¯ Mura¯d III. Through these addressees (that is the members of the imperial elites) and these poetic topics Ma¯mayya reveals his participation in the contemporary hegemonial discourse of the Empire, transmitting and establishing it in his Damascene environment.

30 Alternative titles: Bahgˇat al-ʽusˇˇsa¯q wa-rawdat al-musˇta¯q (Munich 533) or simply Dı¯wa¯n ˙ (Gotha A 2320). 31 See e. g. diba¯gˇa of the Dı¯wa¯n Ma¯mayya, Wetzstein II 243, fol. 2a and Ibn al-ʿIma¯d, Sˇadara¯t, ¯ VIII:414.

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Chronograms for the Sultans The examination of the chronograms enables a fundamental analysis of the dı¯wa¯n’s structure. They directly indicate the period in which Ma¯mayya poetizes about. The timeframe of the chronograms provides clues about the main events of the period and about the poet himself, with regard to his poetical and personal interest. Counting only those that contain the traditional signal word: ta¯’rı¯h, ˘ arraha and the like, there are more than fifty chronograms in his dı¯wa¯n. Not all of ˘ them are comprehensible, either because the quality of the copy is inferior or because the context of the performed occasion is missing. But they range from the year 960 H. up to 983 H., most of them being from the 970ies. However, the chronograms are also covering topics like marriage, birth, death, religious feasts, epidemics etc. A further examination of his chronograms will offer us a deeper insight into the social architecture of the society Ma¯mayya lived in. A common figure of speech in chronograms is the tawriya (double entendre) – in the following poem playing with salı¯m (safe) and the sultan’s name Selı¯m. The chronogram starts after the signal word ta¯rı¯huhu, so that the sum of the words of ˘ the second half-line results in 982/1574, which is the year of Selı¯m’s death:32 (meter: ramal) ‫ﺿ ْﻴ ًﻔﺎ َﻋﻠَﻰ ﺑَﺎ ِﺏ ﺍﻟ َﻜ ِﺮﻳ ْﻢ‬ َ ‫َﻓﺎ َﺭ َﻕ ﺍﻟ ُﻤ ْﻠ َﻚ َﺳﻠِﻴ ُﻢ ﺍﻟ ُﻤ ْﺠ َﺘ َﺒﻰ َﻭ َﻏ َﺪﺍ‬ ‫َﻭﺃَ َﺗﻰ ِﻓﻲ ﺍﻟ ُّﺸ َﻬ َﺪﺍ ﺗَﺎ ِﺭﻳ ُﺨ ُﻪ َﺭ ْﺣ َﻤ ُﺔ ﺍﻟﻠ ِﻪ َﻋﻠَﻰ َﺣ ٍّﻲ َﺳﻠِﻴ ْﻢ‬ Selı¯m, the chosen one, left his empire / he became a guest at the gate of the (most) Generous. (And he is now) among the martyrs; his date is: / God’s mercy upon one alive and safe [Selı¯m]. [648/66/110/18/140=982/1574]

The dı¯wa¯n contains two chronograms on the enthronement of Sultan Mura¯d III:33 (meter: ka¯mil) ‫ﺻ َﺒ َﺢ َﺟﺎﻟِ ًﺴﺎ َﻣﻠِ ٌﻚ ِﺑ ِﻪ َﺭ ِﺣ َﻢ ﺍ ِﻹﻟَ ُﻪ ِﻋ َﺒﺎ َﺩ ُﻩ‬ ْ َ‫ِﺑﺎﻟﺒَ ْﺨ ِﺖ َﻓ ْﻮ َﻕ ﺍﻟ َّﺘ ْﺨ ِﺖ ﺃ‬ َ َ َ ‫َﺣﺎ َﺯ ﺍﻟ ّﺰ َﻣﺎ ُﻥ ِﻣ َﻦ ﺍﻟ ُّﺴ ُﺮﻭ ِﺭ ُﻣ َﺮﺍ َﺩ ُﻩ‬ ‫َﻭ ِﺑ ِﻪ َﺳ ِﺮﻳ ُﺮ ﺍﻟ ُﻤﻠْ ِﻚ ُﺳ َّﺮ ﻓﺄ َّﺭ ُﺧﻮﺍ‬ By a stroke of good fortune a king ascended to the throne. / With him God showed his mercy upon his servants.

32 Ma¯mayya, Wetzstein II 243, fol. 133b. 33 Ma¯mayya, Wetzstein II 243, fol. 133b.

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And the throne of the kingdom rejoiced because of him. Thus they dated: / Time obtained as much joy as it could wish. [982/1574]

The second is composed in the meter ragˇaz and again with a tawriya of mura¯d:34 ‫ِﺑ َﻌ ْﺪ ِﻝ ُﺳ ْﻠ َﻄﺎ ِﻥ ﺍﻟ ِﻌ َﺒﺎﺩ‬ ‫َﻗ ْﺪ َﻣ َّﻬ َﺪ ﺍﻟﻠ ُﻪ ﺍﻟﺒِ َﻼﺩ‬ ‫َﻭﺍﻟ َﻜ ْﻮ ُﻥ َﻧﺎ َﺩﺍ) َﻧﺎ َﺩﻯ( ُﻣ ْﻨ ِﺸ ًﺪﺍ َﺗﺎ ِﺭﻳ ُﺨ ُﻪ َﻫ َﺬﺍ ﺍﻟ ُﻤ َﺮﺍﺩ‬ God has paved the lands / with the justice of the ruler of the servants. And the cosmos is chanting / his date is: This is the desired one [mura¯d]. [982/1574]

Chronograms for Pious Buildings As to the combination of stone, letters and numerals, the dı¯wa¯n contains several poems commemorating the completion of buildings in Damascus. Besides their literary value those chronograms are highly relevant to the history of architecture. Due to the varying textual traditions of the dı¯wa¯n the dates obtained from these poems may not always be consistent with those known from other literary and epigraphical sources. This should be taken as an opportunity to reconsider some dates of completion for certain buildings or to reconsider some features of the dı¯wa¯n. Ma¯mayya was witness to a period of time, in which besides the sultanic patronage the wa¯lı¯s too were major patrons of public buildings, and despite their short governorships they gave a lasting imprint on Syria. These are Ahmed Sˇemsı¯ ˙ Pasha (d. 1580, gov. 962–963/1554–1556 in Damascus) 35, La¯la¯ Mustafa¯ Pasha (d. ˙˙ 34 Ma¯mayya, Wetzstein II 243, fol. 133b. 35 Jean-Paul Pascual, Damas à la fin du XVIe siècle d’après trois actes de waqf ottomans. Tome I (Damas: Institut Français de Damas, 1983), p. 107 and n. 3 (hereafter Pascual, Damas); different dates are given in Enver Çakar, “XVI. Yüzyılda S¸am Beylerbeyilig˘inin I˙dari Taksimatı”, in: Fırat Üniversitesi Sosyal Bilimler Dergisi 13 (2003), pp. 351–374, here p. 364, n. 111, according to the Mühimme defterleri, Ahmed Sˇemsı¯ Pasha governed 1555–1560; Ibn Tulu¯n gives 959/1551–962/1555 (see Laoust, Les˙ Gouverneurs de Damas sous les Mamlouks ˙et les premiers ottomans (658/1156–1260/1744). Traduction des Annales d’Ibn Tûlûn et d’Ibn Gum’a (Damascus: Institut Francais De Damas, 1952), p. 185). These dates were also given in Abdülhamit Tüfekçiog˘lu, “Üsküdar ve S¸am Arasındaki Köprü: S¸emsi Ahmed Pas¸a ve Mimarî Eserleri”, in: Üsküdar Sempozyumu, I (2 3–2 5 M ayıs 2 0 0 3): Bildiriler II /ed. by Zekeriya Kurs¸un et. al., pp. 9–17 (here p. 11); Çig˘dem Kafesciog˘lu, “In the Image of Rum”, p. 93, n. 25 gives 1552–1555. These two last references give an outline of the impressive building activities of Ahmed Sˇemsi Pasha. Apart from this Ahmad Sˇamsı¯ Pasha is also author of several works of ˙ li S¸emsi Pas¸a”, “I˙tikadname”, “Tercüme-i Sˇürüt-i prose˙ and poetry, like “Tercümetü’l-Vikayye

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1580, gov. 1563–1568 in Aleppo and Damascus) 36, Mura¯d Pasha (gov. and d. 976/ 1568–1569 in Damascus) 37, Darwı¯sˇ Pasha Ibn Rustam ar-Ru¯mı¯ (gov. 979/1571– 981/1573 or 982/1574 in Damascus) 38 and Sina¯n Pasha (1506–1596, gov. 1586– 1587 and again in 1588 in Damascus) 39 to name just the most active who left

36

37 38

39

salât” and “S¸ehname-i Sultan Murad (Tarih-i Dilara)”. In the Vikayye, which is a poetic translation of a Hanafı¯ juridical work of Mahmu¯d bin Ahmed (d. 679/ 1274), the author added ˙ ˙ of numerous silsile-na¯mes, written a 50-verse poem˙ in accordance with the literary tradition for the sultans and for members of the court. In this work he traces himself back to Ha¯lid b. ˘ Vol. Walı¯d, though being of Albanian origin. See I˙smail Hakkı Uzunçars¸ılı, Osmanlı Tarihi. III: XVI. Yüzyıl Ortalarından XVII. Yüzyıl Sonuna kadar (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1954), 9–15; Hasan b. Muhammad al-Bu¯rı¯nı¯, Tara¯gˇim al-a’ya¯n fı¯ abna¯’ az-zama¯n / ed. Sala¯h ad-Dı¯n ˙ ˇ gˇid, 2 vols. ˙ (Dimasˇq: al-Magˇmaʿ al-ʿIlmı¯ al-ʿArabı¯, 1959), I:188–89 gives ˙ ˙ some al-Munag details on his work, however he does not seem to have doubted Ahmad Sˇemsi’s genealogy, for he ˙ b. al-Walı¯d. See also Muhittin begins his targˇama with Sˇamsı¯ Pasha’s descendance from Halid ˘ Eliaçık, “S¸emsi Pas¸a’nın Manzum ve Muhtasar Vikâyetü’r-Rivâye Tercümesi”, in: S¸arkiyat ˙Ilmi Aras¸tırmalar Dergisi 2 (2009), pp. 15–49. La¯la¯ Mustafa¯ Pasha was the la¯la¯ (tutor) first to Ba¯yezı¯d and then to Selı¯m II, from 971/1563 to 976/1568˙ ˙he was the beg˘lerbeyi of Aleppo and Damascus. Sokollu Mehmed Pasha, the Grand ˙ Vizier, constantly impeded his aims to become a grand vizier and dispatched him to suppress a rebellion in Yemen as a serda¯r (chief commander) in 975/1567–1568. However, this time the adversary of Sina¯n Pasha thwarted his plans. Sina¯n Pasha himself led the campaign against Yemen and for his success he was remembered in history as the Fa¯tih of Yemen. Back in Istanbul, La¯la¯ Mustafa Pasha convinced Selı¯m II to lead a campaign˙against Cyprus (see chapter Capture of˙ ˙Cyprus in this paper). The successful capture strengthened his position against Sina¯n Pasha and reconciled him with Sokollu Mehmed Pasha. With the support of the latter, he led the campaign against Georgia and Sˇirva¯n˙ in 985/1578. Finally, three months before his death, after the death of Ahmed Sˇemsı¯ Pasha (former wa¯lı¯ of Damascus), he became grand vizier of Sultan Mura¯d ˙III. See DI˙A, “Lala Mustafa Pas¸a”, 27:73–74 (Bekir Kütükog˘lu) and S¸erafettin Turan, “Lala Mustafa Pas¸a Hakkında Notlar ve Vesikalar”, in: Belleten 22 (1958), pp. 551–593. During Mustafa¯ Pasha’s wila¯ya in Damascus several famous judges and bureaucrats were appointed there˙ ˙– like e. g. ʿAlı¯ Efendı¯ Qınalı-za¯deh (d. 979/1571, qa¯d¯ı of Damascus, author of an influential work of ethics) and Mustafa¯ ʿAlı¯ Gelibolulu, one of ˙ ˙ of La¯la¯ Mustafa¯ Pasha. the˙most active and distinguished writers of his time and a loyal friend ˙ ˙ Ottoman For Gelibolulu ʿAlı¯, see Cornell H. Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual in the Empire: The Historian Mustafa Ali (1541–1600) (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986), esp. pp. 39–108. For his patronage and building activities, see references above and Mehmet Özakarcı, “Gaziantep Lala Mustafa Pas¸a Külliyesi”, in: Vakıflar Dergisi 25 (1995), pp. 39–66. Pascual, Damas, p. 35, n. 6, see also al-G˙azzı¯, al-Kawa¯kib, III:205–206. al-G˙azzı¯, Lutf, I:100. For Darwı¯ˇs Pasha, see al-G˙azzı¯, Lutf, I:192 and n. 4: ‘In 974/1566 Darwı¯sˇ Pasha held the˙ post of the niya¯ba of Tripolis and then of˙ Damascus, from which he was dismissed in 982/1574. He died in Diya¯rbakır in 987/1579’. See also al-G˙azzı¯, al-Kawa¯kib, III:150; Ibn al-ʿIma¯d, Sˇadara¯t, ¯ VIII:413. Different dates for his wila¯ya (1571–1573) are given in Enver Çakar, “XVI. Yüzyılda S¸am Beylerbeyilig˘inin Idari Taksimatı”, in: Fırat Üniversitesi Sosyal Bilimler Dergisi 13 (2003), p. 365, n. 116. This is consistent with the dates given in Laoust, Les gouverneurs de Damas, pp. 187–188. For his building activities, see also Kafesciogˇlu, “In the Image of Ru¯m”, p. 74. Pascual, Damas, pp. 32–35. For Sina¯n Pashas building activities, see Nurcan Yazıcı, “Osmanlı Mimarlıg˘ında XVI. Yüzyılın Önemli Bir Bânisi: Yemen Fatihi Gazi Sinan Pas¸a ve Camileri”, in: Uluslararası Sosyal Aras¸tırmalar Dergisi 4 (2011), pp. 437–456; Kafesciogˇlu, “In the Image of Ru¯m”, p. 74 and pp. 76–79 and Sadi Bayram, “Yemen Fatihi Gazi Sinan Pas¸a’nın Kahire ve S¸am Vakfiyeleri”, in: Tarih ve Medeniyetler Tarihi/ ed. by Zeki Dilek et. al. ICANAS (Inter-

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monumental architectural imprints in almost every province they were appointed to. In her study of the architectural styles of these buildings Kafesciog˘lu concludes: “The foundations of governors, which were more thoroughly embedded in the social and spatial fabric of the cities than the sultanic foundations, could be interpreted as acts of mediation between the central authority and local population. The juxtaposition of Ottoman and Syrian styles in the buildings they sponsored can be read as a formal embodiment of this mediation.”40

Such activities could increase the prestige of the wa¯lı¯s in their provinces, as well as at the court. Apart from this, governors were trained to act for the welfare of the people and they had of course undeniable pious motives. Damascus was an important gathering place and staging station for pilgrims, before they set forth for Mecca or returned to their homes. Securing the routes of pilgrims was always a challenge for the powers in Syria. Much of the energy that was put into the welfare of pilgrims had positive effects on the economy and the wealth of the cities, themselves emitting this radiant energy to the periphery. Therefore, the Ottomans could not have demonstrated and communicated their grandeur in their entire territory more effectively than in Damascus in this period. The following poems survived in different textual traditions. The first one pertains to a sabı¯l (public fountain) of Darwı¯sˇ Pasha. Darwı¯sˇ Pasha (died 987/ 1579) was one of several governors in this period, who were keen on establishing themselves and the Ottoman order through their building activities. The sabı¯l was built according to the chronogram of Ma¯mayya in 983/1575, which – if true – exceeds his wila¯ya in Damascus according to some historiographical sources.41 It belongs to a complex founded in 1573 and consisting of a mosque, tomb, madrasa, three public fountains, and the Ha¯n al-Harı¯r.42 (meter: ka¯mil) ˙ ˘ ُ ‫َﺩ ْﺭ ِﻭﻳ‬ ‫ﺶ َﺑﺎ َﺷﺎ َﺩﺍ َﻡ ِﻓ ْﻌ ُﻞ َﺟ ِﻤﻴﻠِ ِﻪ‬ ‫ ﺍﻟﻠ ُﻪ َﺧ ْﻴ ُﺮ َﺳ ِﺒﻴﻠِ ِﻪ‬:‫َﺗﺎ ِﺭﻳ ُﺨ ُﻪ‬

‫ﺗَﺎ ِﺭﻳ ُﺦ ِﻋ َﻤﺎ َﺭ ِﺓ َﺳ ِﺒﻴ ِﻞ َﺩ ْﺭ ِﻭﻳﺶ ﺑَﺎ َﺷﺎ‬ ْ َ‫ﺃ‬ ‫ﺿ َﻬﺎ ﺑِ َﺴ ِﺒﻴﻠِ ِﻪ‬ َ ‫ﺿ َﺤﻰ ِﺩ َﻣ ْﺸ َﻖ َﻭﺃَ ْﺭ‬ ‫َﻗ ِﺒ َﻞ ﺍﻟ َﻜ ِﺮﻳ ُﻢ َﺛ َﻮﺍ َﺑ ُﻪ ﻟَ َّﻤﺎ ﺃَ َﺗﻰ‬

Damascus and its land is blazed with his fountain / Darwı¯ˇs Pasha, may his good deed persist (forever). May God accept his pious deed, for which the date is: / May God be beneficent [?] to his path (fountain). [983/1574–5 = 66+810+107] national Congress of Asian and North African Studies) 10–15 Eylül 2007. Bildiriler, Vol. 2. (Ankara: Atatürk Kültür, Dil ve Tarih Yüksek Kurumu Bas¸kanlıg˘ı, 2012) pp. 705–711. 40 Kafesciog˘lu, “In the Image of Rum”, p. 91. 41 See note 38 in this paper. 42 Ma¯mayya, Wetzstein II 243, fol. 180a.

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Ibn Ayyu¯b notes that this poem was an inscription at the sabı¯l itself. But he transmits a slightly different text, which also affects the output of the chronogram resulting in 982 H. However, this text matches the meter and could be the more correct date (differences to the first poem are underlined):43 ُ ‫ﺃَ ْﺣ َﻴﺎ ِﺩ َﻣ ْﺸ َﻖ َﻭﺃَ ْﻫﻠَ َﻬﺎ ِﺑ َﺴ ِﺒﻴﻠِ ِﻪ َﺩ ْﺭ ِﻭﻳ‬ ‫ﺶ َﺑﺎ َﺷﺎ َﺩﺍ َﻡ ِﻓ َﻌ ُﻞ َﺟ ِﻤﻴﻠِ ِﻪ‬ ‫ ﻟﻠ ِﻪ َﺧ ْﻴ ُﺮ َﺳ ِﺒﻴﻠِ ِﻪ‬:‫َﻗ ِﺒ َﻞ ﺍﻟ َﻜ ِﺮﻳ ُﻢ َﺛ َﻮﺍ َﺑ ُﻪ ﻟَ َّﻤﺎ ﺃَ َﺗﻰ َﺗﺎ ِﺭﻳ ُﺨ ُﻪ‬ Darwı¯ˇs Pasha revived Damascus and its inhabitants with his fountain / [ditto]. [Ditto] / How great is the benefit of his fountain (path). [982/1574–5 = 65+810+107]

Another sabı¯l of Darwı¯sˇ Pasha, in the vicinity of the tomb of Sˇayh Halı¯l, was ˘ ˘ poetized by Ma¯mayya in the following chronogram, which yields 980/1572:44 (meter: munsarih) ˙ ‫َﻳ ْﺸ ِﻔﻲ َﻏﻠِﻴ ًﻼ َﻳ ْﺸ ِﻔﻲ َﻋﻠِﻴ َﻼ‬ ‫َﻫ َﺬﺍ َﺳ ِﺒﻴ ٌﻞ َﺑ ْﻞ َﺳ ْﻠ َﺴ ِﺒﻴ ٌﻞ‬ ‫َﻭ ْﺯ َﻣﺰ ٌﻡ ﺍﻟ َﻤﺎ ُﺀ ِﻓﻴ ِﻪ َﻳ ْﺠ ِﺮﻱ ﻟَ َﺪﻯ َﻣ َﻘﺎ ٍﻡ َﺣ َﻮﻯ َﺧﻠِﻴ َﻼ‬ ُ ‫َﺩ ْﺭ ِﻭﻳ‬ ‫ﺶ َﺑﺎ َﺷﺎ َﺑ َﻨﺎ َﺳ ِﺒﻴ َﻼ‬ ‫ﺃَ ْﺟ َﺰﺍ ُﻩ ﺃَ ْﺟ ًﺮﺍ َﻓﺄَ َّﺭ ُﺧﻮﻩ‬ This is a fountain (a path) or rather a well in Paradise / which cures thirst [also: malice] and heals the ill. The purest (zamzam-like) water runs in it, next to a place that encompasses a friend [Halı¯l/Abraham]. ˘ May God reward him for it, thus they dated it in the phrase: / Darwı¯ˇs Pasha built a fountain. [520+304+53 (‫ ) َﺑ َﻨﺎ‬/ 62 (‫)ﺑﻨﻰ‬+103=980/989]

The following two chronograms were perpetuated as they can be found both in inscriptions at the doors of buildings and in the authors’ dı¯wa¯n. The fact that 43 Ibn Ayyu¯b, fol. 126b, and equally al-G˙azzı¯, al-Kawa¯kib, III:135. Ma¯mayya, Wetzstein II 171, fol. 40a has the same verse but the copyist counts 983 on the margin wrongly. 44 The chronogram is cited in Ibn Ayyu¯b, fol. 126b; the same in al-G˙azzı¯, al-Kawa¯kib, III:135 but it is not included in the Dı¯wa¯n (Wetzstein II 243). The copyist of Ibn Ayyub remarks, that ‘ ‫ﺑﻨﻰ‬, if written with an alif would give the correct date, which must be 981/1573’, but nevertheless it yields 980. The edition of al-G˙azzı¯’s, al-Kawa¯kib, p. 135 gives the orthography of bana¯ with alif maqsu¯ra, which results in 989 H. al-ʿAydaru¯s gives another two chronograms of Ma¯mayya, ˙ I could not find in his dı¯wa¯n. The first is about a hamma¯m built by Darwı¯ˇs Pasha (last which ˙ the state of impurity of the body”) line: “hamma¯m rafʿa al-hadat” (981 H.) = “A bath removes ¯ ˙ which˙is in part a hadı¯t-quotation from and the second to the mosque built by the same Pasha ¯ (last line: “lil–la¯hi˙fa-sgˇud wa -qtarib bi-gˇannati” = Prostrate yourselves before God and come nearer to Paradise). This last chronogram results in 982 H. (see al-ʿAydaru¯s, an-Nu¯r as-sa¯fir, p. 318).

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Alev Masarwa

Ma¯mayya was chosen to make the stone speak (i. e. for the communication arts of a building) shows the degree of his recognition as a poet. As in the previous example, the following chronograms offer an ambiguity both in the textual tradition and the transmitted dates of the wila¯ya of the governors in historical accounts. The first concerns the inscription at the gate of the mosque of Mura¯d Pasha. The text of the inscription contains a fourth line, which is not included in the dı¯wa¯n-version. Its ending (-mı¯n) indicates, that this is an additional line unique to this inscription for this specific occasion. What concerns us here is the clear engraving of the numerals of the year in the middle of the two last hemistiches which is 981/1573, but the value of the chronogram’s text results in 982/1574. In this case the stone speaks two different languages, contradicting each other, but further: the stone delivers a different text than the text in the dı¯wa¯n. The text of the inscription is as follows:45 (meter: bası¯t?) ˙ ‫َﻣﺎ ِﻣ ْﺜﻠُ ُﻪ َﻗ ْﺪ ُﺑ ِﻨ َﻲ ِﻓﻲ ﺍﻟﺒِ َﻼ ِﺩ‬ ‫ُﻣ َﺮﺍ ُﺩ َﺑﺎ َﺷﺎ ﺑَ َﻨﻰ َﺟﺎ ِﻣ ًﻌﺎ‬ َ ‫َﻭ َﺳ ْﻮ‬ ‫ﻑ َﻳ ْﺠ ِﺰ ْﻳ ِﻪ َﻳ ْﻮ َﻡ ﺍﻟ َﻤ َﻌﺎ ِﺩ‬ ‫َﺗ َﻘ َّﺒ َﻞ ﺍﻟﻠ ُﻪ ُﺳ ْﺒ َﺤﺎ َﻧ ُﻪ‬ ‫ﺼﻰ ُﻣ َﺮﺍ ِﺩ‬ ‫ﺻ َّﺢ َﺗﺎ ِﺭﻳ ُﺨ ُﻪ‬ َ ‫ َﻧﺎ َﻝ ِﺑ َﺠ ّﻨَ ٍﺔ ﺃَ ْﻗ‬۹۸۱ َ ‫َﻭ َﻣ ْﻮﺗُ ُﻪ‬ ً ً َ َ َ َ ‫َﺭ ِﺣ َﻤ ُﺔ ﺍَﻟﻠ ُﻪ ﺗ َﻌﺎﻟﻰ َﺭ ْﺣ َﻤﺔ َﻭﺍ ِﺳ َﻌﺔ َﻳﺎ َﺭ ّﺏ ﺍﻟ َﻌﺎﻟ ِﻤﻴﻦ‬

1) 2) 3) 4)

The text in the dı¯wa¯n contains three verses, with slightly different wording (underlined) but again its chronogram hemistich yields 982 H. and not 981 H.:46 (meter: sarı¯ʿ) ‫ُﻣ َﺮﺍ ُﺩ َﺑﺎ َﺷﺎ َﻗ ْﺪ َﺑ َﻨﻰ َﺟﺎ ِﻣ ًﻌﺎ َﻣﺎ ِﻣ ْﺜﻠُ ُﻪ َﻗ ْﺪ ُﺑ ِﻨ َﻲ ِﻓﻲ ﺍﻟ ِﺒ َﻼ ِﺩ‬ َ ‫َﻭ َﺳ ْﻮ‬ ‫ﻑ َﻳ ْﺠ ِﺰﻳ ِﻪ َﻳ ْﻮ َﻡ ﺍﻟ َﻤ َﻌﺎ ِﺩ‬ ‫َﺗ َﻘ َّﺒ َﻞ ﺍﻟ َّﺮ ْﺣ َﻤ ُﻦ ُﺳ ْﺒ َﺤﺎﻧَ ُﻪ‬ َ َ ْ ْ َ ّ َ ‫ﺼﻰ ﺍﻟ ُﻢ َﺭﺍ ِﺩ‬ َ ‫ﺗَﺎ ِﺭﻳ ِﺨ ِﻪ [ﺁ ِﺧﺮَ؟] َﻭﺇِ ْﻥ ﺗ َﺴﻞ ِﺑ َﺠﻨ ٍﺔ َﻧﺎﻝ ﺃﻗ‬ ِ ]*‫* َﺗﺎ ِﺭﻳ َﺨ ُﻪ [ﺃَ ّﺭ ْﺥ‬ Mura¯d Pasha built a mosque / there was never built anything similar to it. May The Merciful accept (his good deed) / and may (God) reward him when the Time comes. If you ask … its date is: / Paradise is the utmost goal [mura¯d]. [455+81+201+245=982 H. without considering the article “al-”of mura¯d]

The second chronogram decorates another gate of the Mura¯diyya-mosque resulting in 983/1575 or at best in 982/1574 if we ignore the prolonging alif in the verb. The text is as follows:47 (meter: hafı¯f) ˘ 45 Image of the inscription: [URL: http://naim-almadani.com/cc/showthread.php?t=3789]. 46 Ma¯mayya, Wetzstein II 243, fol. 172b: ‫ﺗﺎﺭﻳﺦ ﻋﻤﺎﺭﺓ ﺟﺎﻣﻊ ﻣﺮﺍﺩ ﺑﺎﺷﺎ‬. 47 Ma¯mayya, Wetzstein II 243, fol. 172b–173a.

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193

‫َﺷﺎ َﻉ ِﻓﻲ َﺷ ْﺮ ِﻗ َﻬﺎ َﻭ ِﻓﻲ ﺍﻟ َﻐ ْﺮ ِﺏ‬ ‫ﺇِ َّﻥ َﻫ َﺬﺍ ﺍﻟ َﺠﺎ ِﻣ َﻊ َﻓ ْﺮ ٌﺩ‬ ِ ‫ﻧﺎ َﻝ ِﻣ ْﻦ َﺭﺑّ ِﻪ ُﻣ َﻨﻰ ﺍﻟ ُﻘ ْﺮ ِﺏ‬ ‫َﻗ ْﺪ َﺑ َﻨﺎ ُﻩ ُﻣ َﺮﺍ ُﺩ َﺑﺎ َﺷﺎ َﺑ ْﻞ‬ َ ‫َﺳ ُﻮ‬ ‫ﺺ َﺟﺎ َﺀ ِﻓﻲ ﺍﻟ ُﻜ ْﺘ ِﺐ‬ ُّ ‫ﺼ ًﺮﺍ ﺑِ َﺠ ّﻨَﺎ ٍﺕ َﻫ َﻜ َﺬﺍ ﺍﻟ َّﻨ‬ ْ ‫ﻑ ُﻳ ْﺠ َﺰﻯ َﻗ‬ َ ّ‫ﺼﻠَﻮ َﺓ( ﻟِﻠ َّﺮ ِﺏ‬ ‫َﺷﺎ ِﻫ ُﺪﻭﺍ ُﺣ ْﺴ َﻨ ُﻪ ِﺑ َﺘﺎ ِﺭﻳ ِﺦ‬ َّ ‫َﻭﺃَ ِﻗﻴ ُﻤﻮﺍ ﺍﻟ‬ َ ‫ﺼﻼ َﺓ )ﺍﻟ‬ This mosque is unique / it is on everyone’s lips in its east and the west. Mura¯d Pasha has built this (mosque), through it he attained his (wish) to be in (His) nearness. He will earn through it a palace in the Paradise / as the text states in the books. Testify to its beauty on the date: perform prayers [Q:2:11; 4:77,103] to God. [978/983= 164 [163]+557 [552 ‫]ﺍﻟﺼﻼﺓ‬+ 262]

Whereas the inscription reads as follows:48 ‫َﺷﺎ َﻉ ِﻓﻲ َﺷ ْﺮ ِﻗ َﻬﺎ َﻭ ِﻓﻲ ﺍﻟ َﻐ ْﺮ ِﺏ‬ ‫ﺇِ َّﻥ َﻫ َﺬﺍ ﺍﻟ َﺠﺎ ِﻣ َﻊ َﻓ ْﺮ ٌﺩ‬ ِ ‫َﻧﺎ َﻝ ِﻣﻦ َﺭﺑّ ِﻪ ُﻣ َﻨﻰ ﺍﻟ ُﻘ ْﺮ ِﺏ‬ ‫َﻗ ْﺪ َﺑ َﻨﺎ ُﻩ ُﻣ َﺮﺍ ٌﺩ َﺑﺎ َﺷﺎ ﺑِ ْﻚ‬ ‫ﺺ َﺟﺎ َﺀ ِﻓﻲ ﺍﻟ ُﻜ ْﺘ ِﺐ‬ ُّ ‫ﺼ ًﺮﺍ ﺑِ َﺠ ّﻨَﺎ ٍﺕ َﻫ َﻜ َﺬﺍ ﺍﻟ َّﻨ‬ ْ ‫َﻛ َﺘ ُﺒﻮﺍ َﻭ ُﻳ ْﺠ َﺰﻯ َﻗ‬ َ ‫ﺼﻠﻮ َﺓ ﻟِﻠ َّﺮ ِﺏ‬ ‫َﻓﺎ ْﺩ ُﺧﻠُﻮﺍ َﻭﺍ ْﻧ ُﻈ ُﺮﻭﺍ ﻟ َّﺘﺎ ِﺭﻳ ِﺦ‬ َّ ‫َﻭﺃَ ِﻗﻴ ُﻤﻮﺍ ﺍﻟ‬

1) 2) 3) 4)

Capture of Cyprus A remarkable set of chronograms celebrates the capture of Cyprus from the Venetians.49 The immediate poetic condensation of major historical events concerning the fate of the empire reflects the preposed topic of imperial architecture of poetry – even in the ‘margins’. This is perhaps even more notable if we keep in mind that the Ottomans were still in the process of establishing their hegemony in Syria. However, if we consider the number of Syrians participating in that conquest, it is quite obvious, why poets were concerned with this event. The conquest was successfully led by the serda¯r (commander-in-chief) La¯la¯ Mustafa¯ Pasha,50 once the La¯la¯ of Selı¯m II, during his time as ˇsehza¯de, and then ˙˙ governor of asˇ-Sˇa¯m from 971/1563–1564 until 976/1567–68. The provinces did their part for the campaign. Among the participants, the number of Syrians and 48 Image of the inscription: [URL: http://naim-almadani.com/cc/showthread.php?t=3789]. 49 For a general overview of the capture and the battle at Lepanto, on the basis of western sources, see the substantial work of Kenneth Meyer Setton, The Papacy and the Levant, 1204– 1571. Vol. IV: The Sixteenth Century (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1984), esp. ch. 21ff. and George Hill, A History of Cyprus. Vol. III: The Frankish Period 1432–1571, (Cambridge: University Press, 1948). 50 See note 36 in this paper for him and his tensions with Sokollu Mehmed Pasha.

194

Alev Masarwa

wa¯lı¯s connected with Syria is remarkably high.51 In addition to La¯la¯ Mustafa¯ ˙˙ Pasha, Wa¯lı¯ Darwı¯sˇ Pasha of Aleppo and their troops made up a substantial part of the invasion forces. It was a long-lasting and bloody conquest with both sides suffering severe casualties.52 Kâtip Çelebi (Mustafa¯ b. ʿAbdalla¯h, Hagˇgˇi Halfa, 1609–1657) provides us with ˙ ˙˙ ˘ a detailed historiographical account of the conquest in his Tuhfetü l-kibâr fı¯ esfâri l-bihâr. As usual, before the conquest, the Sˇayh al-Isla¯m Abu¯ Suʿu¯d was asked for ˘ a legal opinion (fatwa¯) about the legitimacy of a campaign when both parties, the Venetians and the Ottomans, were bound by a treaty. Kâtip Çelebi cites the full text of the fatwa¯, where Abu¯ s-Suʿu¯d justifies breaking a treaty when it is not or no longer beneficial to all Muslims.53 On 20 Safar 978/July 24 1570, the Ottoman fleet reached Cyprus near Tuzla at ˙ Larnaka. Larnaka, Limasol and Lefkosia were conquered first. Kâtip Çelebi mentions that during the capture of Kyrenia and Paphos, after fierce resistance, 200 infidels were captured and 200 ‘became prey to the swords’, a metaphor which is employed by Ma¯mayya in a similar manner. The capture of Famagusta proved to be more problematic for the Ottomans and this siege lasted till August 1571. After the town had been captured and Marcantonio Pragadino had been publicly flayed, La¯la¯ Mustafa¯ Pasha left the island to receive honors from Selı¯m. ˙˙ Kâtip Çelebi concludes his account of the conquest with two chronograms (in 54 prose): “iki fa¯tih qibris feth etdı¯ler”: two fa¯tı¯hs conquered Cyprus. ˙ ˙ ˙ “aldı qıbrıs a¯tasın ˇsa¯h Selı¯m (978!) bu fethin ta¯rı¯hleridir”: Sˇa¯h Selı¯m took the island of ˙ ˙ ˘ Cyprus, these are the chronograms for the conquest (which dates: 978/1570). 51 According to the listing of Kâtip Çelebi the following wa¯lı¯s and their troops were mobilized: La¯la¯ Mustafa¯ Pasha (serda¯r; 5/6th Vizier); I˙skender Pasha (Beg˘lerbeyi of Anatolia); Hasan ˙ ¸, ˙ ˙˘ lerbeyi of Qaraman); Behram Pasha (Wa¯lı¯ of Sivas); Mustafa¯ Pasha (Vali of Marʿas Pasha (Beg ˙ ˙ charged with Famagusta, later governor); Darwı¯sˇ Pasha (Beg˘lerbeyi of Halab); Maʿzu¯l Mu˙ zaffer Pasha (Sˇehrizu¯l); Piya¯le Pasha (3rd Vizier); Kapudan ʿAlı¯ Pasha; Kara Hoca (sent by ˙Uluç ʿAlı¯ of Algiers); interim: Arap Ahmet (of Rhodes, later governor of Cyprus); interim: ˙ fleet); some ʿumara¯ of Rumelian sangˇaqs: Tırhala, Pertev Pasha (2nd Vizier; chief of imperial ¯ ˙ ya¯; Yanya, Mora, Ilbasa¯n, Prizrin; some ʿaskariyya; 5000 Janissaries with their colonel Yah ˙ ˙ infantry men, artillerymen, cavalry troops. For the full text on the conquest and this listing, see Eftihios Gevriel, “The Conquest of Cyprus”, in: Ottoman Cyprus / ed. Michalis N. Michael et al. (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2009), pp. 25–48. A list of Ottoman governors of Cyprus can be found at the end of the same volume, pp. 359–363. 52 See Gevriel, “The Conquest of Cyprus”, p. 32. The conquest was accomplished on 1st August 1571 with the capture of Famagusta. Earlier to that (9th September 1570) Muzaffar Pasha was ˙ given the beg˘lerbeyilik of the island, then after the official capture it was assigned to Sina¯n Pasha. It bears emphasizing that Tarsus and Tarablus were attached to the island for a while in order to boost the island’s economy (see Recep Dündar, “Kıbrıs’ın Fethi” pp. 667–678). 53 See Gevriel, “The Conquest of Cyprus”, pp. 32–33. 54 See Gevriel, “The Conquest of Cyprus”, p. 31 (Ottoman-transcription) and p. 36 (translation).

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In his study Gevriel states correctly, that the first chronogram does not result in 978,55 whereas the second has to accept grammatical deficiencies in order to reach the correct year. Similar chronograms are cited in the historiographic work of Sela¯niki almost at the same time, but some are also attributed to Niya¯zi.56 The capture of Cyprus is the subject of three poems in Ma¯mayya’s dı¯wa¯n. All of them offer the scope of narrating historical events according to the rules of poetic speech but with confined possibilities of prose. In two cases there is an additional confinement of rhetorical devices in using also a chronogram. Finally they show that the poetic image produced in such chronograms had a lasting impact on prosaic speech. They perpetuate significant narrational features of an event for the common Ottoman historical memory.57 The first poem (see appendix) is addressed directly to Selı¯m II. There are also several quotations (iqtiba¯s and tadmı¯n) from the Qur’a¯n and the Hadı¯t and ˙ ¯ ˙ wordplays with Muzaffar Pasha, Mustafa¯ La¯la¯ Pasha and the Prophet. It contains ˙ ˙˙ seven verses emphasizing the Sultan’s firm determination to realize the offensive and praising the victory over the infidels. Here Ma¯mayya uses an extraordinarily phrased metaphor (prey to the sword ~ sword as a mihra¯b for the heads), which ˙ was used by Kâtip Çelebi in a similar manner as stated above: (meter: ragˇaz) ُ ‫ﺼ َﻄ َﻔﻰ ﺇِ َﻣﺎ ُﻣ ُﻬﻢ َﻭﺍﻟ َّﺴ ْﻴ‬ ‫ﺱ َﺗ ْﺴ ُﺠ ُﺪ‬ ْ ‫( َﻭ َﻛ َّﺒ ُﺮﻭﺍ َﻭﺍﻟ ُﻤ‬5) ٍ ‫ﻒ ِﻣ ْﺤ َﺮﺍ ُﺏ ُﺭ ُﺅﻭ‬ They shouted ‘Alla¯hu akbar’ (takbı¯rs), with al-Mustafa¯ as their leader (ima¯m) ˙˙ [a tawriya with La¯la¯ Mustafa¯ Pasha and the Prophet];/ ˙˙ with the sword like a prayer niche (mihra¯b) for heads which bowed down in prostration.58 ˙ 55 The author alludes to Mustafa¯ Pasha and Sultan Selı¯m II with the “two fa¯tihs”. A similar ˙ he praises ˙¯˙ mayya’s first poem on Cyprus (see appendix), where allusion can be found in Ma the Sultan and Mustafa¯ (verses 1,2, 5–7). ˙ p. 92 gives examples of Niyazi (“Aldı Kıbrıs adasın S¸âh Selı¯m” (=978)) 56 Yakıt, Ebced hesabı, and Selâniki (“Hamdü li’llâh yine alındı hisarı Kıbrıs’ın” (=978)). The same citations are to be found in Belagât-ı ʿutmaniyya of Cevdet [URL: http://farsedebiyati.blogspot.de/2008/05/ ¯ ahmet-cevdet-pasann-belagat.html]; see also Muharrem Mercanlıgil, Ebced Hesabı (Ankara: Dog˘us¸, 1960), p. 40 (for Niya¯zı¯). About Selâniki, see DI˙A, “Selaniki, Mustafa Efendi” (I˙ps¸irli), 36:357–359. 57 The Sultans and the court members sought to be kept in remembrance. A huge segment of the court was engaged in narrating and visualizing the deeds of the actual emperor, princes or was commissioned by the viziers to commemorate their own activities. One of these is a Selimnâme, composed by Seyyid Lokman, the official historian (s¸ehnâmeci) from 1569–1595 in Persian verse, including some detailed illustrations of the capture of Cyprus and the punishment of Pragadino. See Emine Fetvacı, “The production of the S¸ehna¯me-I Selı¯m Ha¯n”, in: ˘ Muqarnas 26 (2009), pp. 263–315. On Lokman, see also Hilal Kazan, “Farklı Açıdan Bir Bakıs¸la S¸ehnameci Seyyid Lokman’ın Saray I˙çin Hazırladıg˘ı Eserler”, in: The Journal of Ottoman Studies / Osmanlı Aras¸tırmaları 35 (2010), pp. 117–136. 58 Bosworth’s translation slightly modified; see appendix in this paper.

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As Selı¯m II never attended any military campaign, Ma¯mayya has to mediate artistically between the real conqueror (La¯la¯ Mustafa¯ Pasha, 5th verse) and the ˙˙ Sultan (1st and 7th verse) in a mode of narrating the event as a hadı¯t-like tradition ˙ ¯ (6th verse).59 The conquest is merely announced to the Sultan in the 7th verse, ending with the chronogram on 978 H. (cf. Kâtip Çelebi: “aldı qıbrıs a¯tasın sˇa¯h ˙ Selı¯m”): ‫ﺱ ُﻣ َﺤ َّﻤ ُﺪ‬ َ ‫( َﻭ ِﻗﻴ َﻞ ﻟِﻠ ُّﺴﻠْ َﻄﺎ ِﻥ ِﻓﻲ ﺗَﺎ ِﺭﻳ ِﺨ ِﻪ ﺃَ ّﻫ َﻞ َﻓ ْﺘ َﺢ ُﻗ ْﺒ ُﺮ‬7) The sultan was told about its date (in the phrase): / “Muhammad has made the conquest of Cyprus possible.” ˙ [yields 36+488+362+92=978/1570–1571].

The second ode has 28 verses and focuses much more on the details of the conquest from the perspective of a Damascene. Instead of starting with the Sultan, this time Ma¯mayya chooses allusive qur’a¯nic verses to capture the attention of the reader. (meter: ramal) 60

ِ ‫ﺱ ِﻓﻲ ﺃَ ْﺳ َﻨﻰ ﺍﻟ ّﺴ ِﻨﻴ ْﻦ‬ ُ ‫ﺼ ُﺮ ﺍﻟﻠ ِﻪ َﻭﺍﻟ َﻔ ْﺘ ُﺢ ﺍﻟ ُﻤ ِﺒﻴ ُﻦ ُﻓ ِﺘ َﺤ ْﺖ ُﻗ ْﺒ ُﺮ‬ ْ ‫( َﺟﺎ َﺀ َﻧ‬1)

God’s victory and the clear conquest came along; / Cyprus was conquered in the noblest [lit.: gleaming, brilliant] of years.

The same phrase is also used in an Ottoman first-hand account of the conquest (in prose):61 “[…] epey savas¸ıp sonunda yüce padis¸ahın hayır duasıyla burçlarındaki ug˘ursuzluk gösteren sancakları indirilip yerine ˙Islam sancag˘ı dikildi; ˙Innâ fetehnâ leke fethen mübînen ayeti ile fetih kapıları açılıp […].” “After a lot of fighting their banners of bad luck at their towers were taken down with the prayers for the supreme Sultan and the banner of Islam was planted instead. With the prayer “I˙nnâ fetehnâ leke fethen mübînen” the gates of conquest were opened […].” 59 Selı¯m II, whose nickname was sarhos¸ (the drunkard) was criticized for this, see Emine Fetvacı, “Sehna¯me-i Selı¯m Ha¯n”, p. 289. ˙ Q:110:1: ‫ ﺇ َﺫﺍ ﺟﺎﺀ َﻧﺼﺮ ﺍﻟ˘ﻠَّـﻪ ﻭﺍ ْﻟ َﻔ ْﺘﺢ‬and Q: 48:1: ‫ﺇ َّﻧﺎ َﻓ َﺘﺤ َﻨﺎ ﻟَ َﻚ َﻓ ْﺘﺤﺎ ُﻣﺒﻴ ًﻨﺎ‬. 60 Cf. ْ ُ َ ِ ُ ْ َ َ ِ ِّ ً ِ 61 Muhittin Eliaçık, “Lefkos¸e Kalesinin Fethini I˙lk Elden Anlatan Mühim Bir Mektup” in: Türkiyat Aras¸tırmaları Dergisi 21 (2009), pp. 21–38, here p. 28. A similar source is given in Numan Külekçi / Turgut Karabey, “Fetihnâme-i Kıbrıs”, Atatürk Üniversitesi Türkiyat Aras¸tırmaları Enstitüsü Dergisi 2 (1995), pp. 81–102. For an overview of the genre of g˙azawa¯tna¯mes/fetihna¯mes, including the capture of Cyprus, see Kürs¸at S¸amil S¸ahin, “Gazavâtnâmeler ˙Üzerine Yapılan Çalıs¸malar Hakkında Bir Bibliografya Denemesi”, in: International Periodical For The Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic 7 (2012), pp. 997–1022.

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Though he does not offer a chronogram in this poem, Ma¯mayya refers to the year of the conquest in the second hemistich of the first verse (asna¯ as-sinı¯n). Furthermore, he hints at the hara¯gˇ-state of the island, because it was conquered by ˘ the sword. Accordingly – and this is the unfolding of the topic of gˇiha¯d – the warriors fallen in this battle are considered martyrs. The fortitude of the Muslim forces is a Leitmotif of the poem (verses 2, 7–10), which bridges the passage of the heroic deeds of the Syrians (verse 21) by using a tawriya (verbal qa¯siyu¯n vs. gˇabal Qa¯siyu¯n, where many saha¯ba (companions of the prophet) are said to be buried): ˙ ˙

‫( َﻭ ِﺭ َﺟﺎ ُﻝ ﺍﻟ َّﺸﺎ ِﻡ ِﻓﻲ َﺣ ْﺮ ِﺑ ِﻬ ُﻢ َﻗﺎ ِﺳ ُﻴﻮ َﻥ ﺍﻟ َﻘﻠْ َﺐ ِﻣ ْﻨ ُﻬ ْﻢ َﻻ َﻳﻠِﻴ ْﻦ‬21)

The warriors of Syria were hardening their hearts (qa¯siyu¯n al-qalb) in their assault [also: anger] and some of them never relented at all.

Highlighting the Syrian share of this conquest is Ma¯mayya’s last topic before he elaborates on his final praise of the Sultan. There are seven verses in the praise section, of which the 26th is the one revealing the Damascene allegiance to the House of ʿUtma¯n. It presents him – not phonetically but lexically – in a reverse ¯ order in the line of the rightly guided caliphs ʿUtma¯n/ʿAlı¯ and ʿUmar/Abu¯ Bakr ¯ as-Siddı¯q: ˙ ˙ ِ ‫ﺻ ّﺪ ْﻳ ُﻖ ﺍﻟ َﻴ ِﻘﻴ ْﻦ‬ ِ ‫( َﻧ ْﺴ ُﻞ ُﻋ ْﺜ َﻤﺎ َﻥ َﻋﻠِ ٌّﻲ ِﻓﻲ ﺍﻟ َﻮ َﻏﺎ ُﻋ َﻤ ُﺮ ﺍ َﻷ ْﺣ َﻜﺎ ِﻡ‬26)

The progeny of ʿUtma¯n is exalted (ʿAlı¯) in battle [or ‫ﺍﻟﻮﺭﻯ‬: among the people], / ¯ the devoted follower of the divine law (ʿUmar), attesting the truth (siddı¯q, i. e., Abu¯ Bakr) ˙ of the certain faith.

The connection of the house of ʿUtma¯n to the greater realm of Islam is a dis¯ tinctive feature of Ma¯mayya’s poems. There is also a set of poems, including chronograms, for Sultan Süleyma¯n linking him and his empire as an undisputed successor to canonized figures of Islamic history up to the pre-Islamic prophets, while ignoring the Oghuzan lineage of the Ottomans. This is of course not to deny the real Ottoman origin, but – as in the case of Ma¯mayya and his contemporaries – a more integrative and conciliatory approach of presenting the Ottomans as legal successors on the basis of religion and power not on the basis of ethnic lineage only. Likewise this kind of composition corresponds completely to the expanding Ottoman literary genre of chronograms as well as to silsile-na¯mes for the Ottomans at the same time.62 In an age of transition (from Mamluk to 62 See DI˙A, “Süleymannâme”, 38:124–127 (Abdurrahman Sag˘ırlı) gives a detailed overview of this genre. See also, Erdal Tas¸bas¸, “Klasik Dönem Osmanlı Tarih Yazarları ve Eserlerine Kısa Bir Bakıs¸”, in: Mediterranean Journal of Humanities 1 (2012), pp. 213–223. On the Selimnâmes, including those for Selı¯m II, see Mustafa Arguns¸ah, “Türk Edebiyatinda Se-

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Ottoman as in the case of Syria) one cannot but understand those works as programmatic for gaining and granting legitimacy of the newly established power. The sources give the impression that nothing has been changed substantially, moreover they suggest a state of continuity. The third and last poem is a short chronogram composed for the same occasion. The hemistich of the chronogram verse links the phrasing of the previous two longer poems and also the second chronogram of Kâtip Çelebi’s quotation. The result of the last hemistich is either 978 or 979 H. which is the year of the official capitulation of Venetians. Nevertheless, the copies are not consistent in this verse and the meter might be defect:63 (meter: sarı¯ʿ?) ‫ﺱ‬ َ ‫َﻭﻟَ ُﻪ َﺗﺎ ِﺭﻳ ُﺦ َﻓ ْﺘ ِﺢ ُﻗ ْﺒ ُﺮ‬ َ ‫ﺼ َﺮ ﺍﻟﻠ ُﻪ ُﺟ ُﻴﻮ‬ ‫ﺵ ﺍﻟ ُﻬ َﺪﻯ ]ﺍﻟ ُﻬ َﺪﺍ[ َﻋﻠَﻰ ُﻃ َﻐﺎ ٍﺓ َﺷ ْﺄ ُﻧﻬ ُﻢ ُﻗ ْﺒﺢ‬ َ ‫َﻗ ْﺪ َﻧ‬ [‫ﺱ ﺍﻟ َﻔ ْﺘ ُﺢ ]ﻟِ ُﻤ ُﺪ ِﻥ‬ ‫ُﻓ ِﺘ َﺤ ْﺖ ﻓﺎﻻ ِﺣﻴﻦ َﺗﺎ ِﺭﻳ ُﺨ ُﻪ‬ َ ‫َﺟﺎ َﺀ ﺍﻟ ُﻤ ُﺪ َﻥ ُﻗ ْﺒ ُﺮ‬ God made the armies of righteousness vanquish the brutes, whose habits are hideous. It was conquered (…) and its date was: “The conquest came upon the cities of Cyprus”. a) (gˇa¯’) 4+ (al-mudun) 125+ (qubrus) 362+ (fath) 489=979 H. (without “al-”) ˙ b) gˇa¯’ li-muduni qubrusa fath= 978 ˙ c) gˇa¯’ li-muduni qubrusa al-fath=1010 ˙

Conclusion It is possible to state about Ma¯mayya that the imperial grandeur of the Ottomans allows him to confirm his Ottoman identity in his panegyrics; at the same time he felt as an Arab in Damascus despite being born in Istanbul. His main concern seems to have been to be regarded as a native or Damascene. Although most of his biographers appreciated his poetic performance in Arabic, they also stress that, like e. g. al-Hafa¯gı¯ states: “He never had been nourished by the suckling of the Arab ˘ language.”64 Because of this, he might have not used Turkic in his poetry though being fluent in the Ottoman language. The specific topics of Ma¯mayya’s dı¯wa¯n, especially his panegyrics with and of course without chronograms, testify to the poet’s belonging to the greater realm of the Ottoman Empire. This, I would argue, he never questioned essentially. The lı¯mnameler”, in: Turkish Studies 4 (2009), pp. 31–47, quoting also those written in Arabic and those including chronograms (pp. 43–44). 63 Ma¯mayya, Wetzstein II 243, fol. 145a; see also Copenhagen, fol. 190b; Chester Beatty Ar. 4633, fol. 81a. 64 Ibn al-Hafa¯gˇ¯ı, Rayha¯nat al-alibba¯’, I:158–159; see also Bosworth, “A Janissary Poet”, p. 456. ˙ ˘

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poems show an awareness of periphery while simultaneously emphasizing the ideological connection to the imperial center. The direction of the panegyrics offers evidence for this while the chronograms commemorate significant local as well as imperial events.

Appendix Conquest of Cyprus Collated Mss. of the Dı¯wa¯n: – Leithandschrift: Berlin, Wetzstein II 243, fol. 88b. [A] – Manchester 468, fol. 53b. [M] – Gotha 2320, fol. 72b. [G] – Berlin, Petermann 645, fol. 84a. [P] – Copenhagen Cod. Arab. 281, fol. 119a. [C] – London, British Museum ADD 7581, fol. 112a. [B] – Cairo 1091, fol. 79b. (own pag.) [Q]

1. Ode (meter: ragˇaz):65 ‫ﻭﻗﺎﻝ ﻓﻲ ﺗﺎﺭﻳﺦ ﻓﺘﺢ ﻗﺒﺮﺱ‬ ‫ﺍﻟ َﻌﺎ ِﺩ ُﻝ ﺍﻟ ُﻤ َﻈ َّﻔ ُﺮ ﺍﻟ ُﻤ َﺆ َّﻳ ُﺪ‬ ‫( ﺇ َّﻥ َﺳﻠِﻴ َﻢ ﺍﻟ َّﺸﺎ ِﻥ َﻭ ْﻫ َﻮ ﺍ َﻷ ْﻣ َﺠ ُﺪ‬1 Indeed, the one who is secure in his exalted position (salı¯m asˇ-sˇa’n, sc. Selı¯m II) the most glorious, the just, the victorious, the one whose power is perpetually supported (by God), ‫َﻭ َﺭﺍ َﺳ ُﻬ ْﻢ َﻭ ْﻫ َﻮ ﺍﻟ َﻮ ِﺯﻳ ُﺮ ﺍﻟ ُﻤ ْﺴ َﻌ ُﺪ‬ ‫ﺼ ِﺮ ِﻩ‬ ْ ‫ﺶ َﻧ‬ ِ ‫( ﻟ َّﻤﺎ َﻏ َﺰﺍ ﺍﻟ ُﻜ ْﻔ َﺮ ِﺑ َﺠ ْﻴ‬2 when he raided the (land of) unbelief with a conquering army, and led them into battle as their leader, the one led by God on the right course, ‫ﺶ ﺍﻟ َّﺮ ِﺣﻴ ُﺐ ﺍﻟ َﻔ ْﺪ َﻓ ُﺪ‬ َ ‫َﻭ‬ ‫ﺼ ًﺮﺍ ﺑِ ِﻪ‬ ْ ‫ﺻ َﺮ ُﻫﻢ َﺣ َّﺘﻰ َﺷ َﻜ ْﻮﺍ َﺣ‬ َ ‫( َﺣﺎ‬3 ِ ‫ﺿﺎ َﻕ ِﺑﺎﻟ َﺠ ْﻴ‬ he pressed them hard, until they complained (volubly) of being driven into a tight corner by him, and the hard, open plain became narrow with his army. ‫َﻭﺍُ ْﺳﺘُ ْﺸ ِﻬ ُﺪﻭﺍ ِﻓﻲ َﻳ ْﻮ ِﻡ َﻏ ْﺰ ٍﻭ ُﻳ ْﺸ َﻬ ُﺪ‬ ‫( َﻭﺍ ْﺳ َﺘ ْﻔ َﺘ ُﺤﻮﺍ َﻭ َﺧﺎ َﺏ َﺟ َّﺒﺎ ٌﺭ َﻃ َﻐﻰ‬4 They sought victory (from God), and every overbearing tyrant fell into despair [Q: 14:15]; they (the Muslim warriors) fell as martyrs in battle on the (memorable) day of attack. ُ ‫َﻭﺍﻟ َّﺴ ْﻴ‬ ‫ﺱ َﺗ ْﺴ ُﺠ ُﺪ‬ ‫ﺼ َﻄ َﻔﻰ ﺇِ َﻣﺎ ُﻣ ُﻬﻢ‬ ْ ‫( َﻭ َﻛ َّﺒ ُﺮﻭﺍ َﻭﺍﻟ ُﻤ‬5 ٍ ‫ﻒ ِﻣ ْﺤ َﺮﺍ ُﺏ ُﺭ ُﺅﻭ‬ They shouted ‘Alla¯hu akbar’ (takbı¯rs), with al-Mustafa¯ as their leader (ima¯m) [a tawriya ˙˙ with La¯la¯ Mustafa¯ Pasha and the Prophet]; with the sword like a prayer niche (mihra¯b) for ˙˙ ˙ heads which bowed down in prostration.[Cf. Kâtip Çelebi] 65 The translation of the first and second ode according to the Manchester ms. is given in Bosworth, “Janissary Poet”, pp. 459–462. Due to a lack of variants, Bosworth could not present the Arabic text. The collated texts presented here caused some minor emendations of the original translation.

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Alev Masarwa

‫ﺼ ِﺮ َﺣ ِﺪﻳ ٌﺚ ُﻣ ْﺴ َﻨ ُﺪ‬ ‫ﺱ‬ ْ ‫َﻭ َﺷﺎ َﻉ ِﺑﺎﻟ َّﻨ‬ َ ‫( َﻭ َﻋ ْﻨ َﻌ ُﻨﻮﺍ ِﻓﻲ ﺍﻟ َﻜ ْﻮ ِﻥ ﺃَ ْﺧ َﺬ ُﻗ ْﺒ ُﺮ‬6 They handed down from mouth to mouth [hadı¯t musnad: a fully authenticated report] the ˙ ¯ story of the capture of Cyprus amongst all other creation and a fully authenticated report of the victory has been spread abroad. [rhetoric figure of tawgˇ¯ıh] 67 ‫ﺱ ُﻣ َﺤ َّﻤ ُﺪ‬ ‫( َﻭ ِﻗﻴ َﻞ ﻟِﻠ ُّﺴﻠْ َﻄﺎ ِﻥ ِﻓﻲ ﺗَﺎ ِﺭﻳ ِﺨ ِﻪ‬7 َ ‫ﺃَ ّﻫ َﻞ َﻓ ْﺘ َﺢ ُﻗ ْﺒ ُﺮ‬ The sultan was told about its date (in the phrase): “Muhammad has made the conquest of ˙ Cyprus possible.” [yields 36+488+362+92=978/1570–1571].68 66

2. Ode (meter: ramal): ‫ﻀﺎ‬ ً ‫ﻭﻓﻲ َﻓ ْﺘ ِﺤ َﻬﺎ ﺃﻳ‬ ‫ﺱ ِﻓﻲ ﺃَ ْﺳ َﻨﻰ ﺍﻟ ِّﺴ ِﻨﻴ ْﻦ‬ ‫ﺼ ُﺮ ﺍﻟﻠ ِﻪ َﻭﺍﻟ َﻔ ْﺘ ُﺢ ﺍﻟ ُﻤ ِﺒﻴ ُﻦ‬ ُ ‫ُﻓ ِﺘ َﺤ ْﺖ ُﻗ ْﺒ ُﺮ‬ ْ ‫( َﺟﺎ َﺀ َﻧ‬1 God’s victory and the clear conquest came along; Cyprus was conquered in the noblest [lit.: gleaming, brilliant] of years. ‫َﻛ َّﺒ َﺮ ْﺕ ِﻓﻴ َﻬﺎ ِﻛ َﺒﺎ ُﺭ ﺍﻟ ُﻤ ْﺆ ِﻣ ِﻨﻴ ْﻦ‬ ‫ﻒ َﻗ ْﻬ ًﺮﺍ َﻋ ْﻨ َﻮ ًﺓ‬ ِ ‫( ﺃُ ِﺧ َﺬ ْﺕ ِﺑﺎﻟ َّﺴ ْﻴ‬2 It was taken by the sword, with violence and force; the great ones of the believers raised their takbı¯rs there. 69 َ َ ‫( ﺃَ ّﻳَ َﺪ ﺍﻟ َّﺮ ْﺣ َﻤ ُﻦ َﺟ ْﻴ‬3 ‫ﺶ ﺍﻟ َﻤﺎ ِﺭ ِﻗﻴ ْﻦ‬ ‫ﺼ َﻄ َﻔﻰ‬ ْ ‫ﺶ ﺍﻟ ُﻤ‬ ِ ‫َﻭ َﺳ َﺒﻰ ﺃ ْﺣ َﺰﺍ َﺏ َﺟ ْﻴ‬ The Merciful One gave aid to al-Mustafa¯’s army [a tawriya with the chosen army of the ˙˙ prophet and of La¯la¯ Mustafa¯ Pasha], and it took captive the hosts of the heretical ones’ ˙˙ army. 70 ‫َﻭﺍ ْﺳ َﺘ َﻬﻠُّﻮﺍ ﺑِ ِﻨ َﺪﺍ ُﻫ ُﻢ َﻓ ِﺮ ِﺣﻴ ْﻦ‬ ‫( َْﺣ َﺰﻧُﻮﺍ ﺍﻟ ُﻜ َّﻔﺎ َﺭ ﻟَ َّﻤﺎ َﻫﻠَّﻠُﻮﺍ‬4 They inflicted grief upon the unbelievers when they shouted the tahlı¯l and raised their voices with their cries, rejoicing. 71 ‫ﺃُ ْﺩ ُﺧﻠُﻮ َﻫﺎ ﺑِ َﺴ َﻼ ٍﻡ ﺁ ِﻣ ِﻨﻴ ْﻦ‬ ‫َﻓ َّﺘ ُﺤﻮﺍ ﺍ َﻷ ْﺑ َﻮﺍ َﺏ ِﻣ ْﻨ َﻬﺎ َﻭ َﺗﻠَ ْﻮﺍ‬ (5 They threw open the gates of Cyprus, and recited, “Enter it, in peace and security!” [Q: 15:46 ‫]ﺍﺩﺧﻠﻮﻫﺎ ﺑﺴﻼﻡ‬ ُ 72 ‫ﻟ َﺠ َﻮﺍ ِﺭﻱ َﻛﺎﻟ ّﻄ ُﻴﻮ ِﺭ ﺍﻟ َّﻄﺎ ِﺋ ِﺮﻳ ْﻦ‬ [°89a]‫َﻃﺎ َﺭ َﻋ ْﻘ ُﻞ ﺍﻟ ُﻜ ْﻔ ِﺮ ﻟَ َّﻤﺎ َﺷﺎ َﻫ ُﺪﻭﺍ‬ (6 The minds of the infidels were thrown into confusion when they came face to face with horses of noble breed, (rushing forward) like birds flying through the air. ‫( َﻭ ِﺑ َﻬﺎ َﻛﺎ ُﻷ ْﺳ ِﺪ ُﺗ ْﺮ ٌﻙ َﺗ َﺮ ُﻛﻮﺍ‬7 ‫ِﻓﻲ َﺳ ِﺒﻴ ِﻞ ﺍﻟﻠ ِﻪ ﺃَ ْﻫ ًﻼ َﻭ َﺑ ِﻨﻴ ْﻦ‬ In Cyprus, like the lion-like Turks, they left behind, for the sake of God, wives (families) and children. 73 ‫ِﻓﻲ ِﺟ َﻬﺎ ِﺩ ﺍﻟ َﻤﺎ ِﺭ ِﻗﻴ َﻦ ﺍﻟ َﻜﺎ ِﻓ ِﺮﻳ ْﻦ‬ ‫ﺲ َﺣﺘَّﻰ ﺑَﺎ َﻳ َﻌ ْﺖ‬ َ ‫( َﺟﺎ َﻫ ُﺪﻭﺍ ﺍ َﻷ ْﻧ ُﻔ‬8

66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73

[‫ ] ُﻣﺴﻨﺪ‬M ‫ ]ﺍﻫﻞ[ ;ﺑﺴﻨﺪ‬P:‫ﺱ[ ; ﺍﻛﻤﻞ‬ َ ‫ ] ُﻗ ْﺒ ُﺮ‬C: ‫ﺱ‬ ٍ ‫ ُﻗ ْﺒ ُﺮ‬. [‫ ]ﺃَ ّﻫ َﻞ‬B/G/B:‫ ; ﺍﻫ ّﻞ‬P: ‫ﺍﻛﻤﻞ‬. Bosworth’s translation is only possible if we ignore the meter. He translates: “The troops conquering Cyprus are to be highly praised.” [‫ ] َﺳ َﺒﻰ‬G/B: ‫ﺳﺒﺎ‬. [‫ ]ﻫﻠﻠﻮﺍ‬G: ‫ﻫﻠﻜﻮﺍ‬. P: line is missing. [‫ ]ﺍﻟ َّﻄﺎ ِﺋ ِﺮﻳ ْﻦ‬G: ‫ﺍﻟﻄﺎﻳﺮﻳﻦ‬. [‫ ]ﺣﺘﻰ‬M:‫ ﺣﻴﻦ‬.

Performing the occasion: The chronograms of Ma¯mayya ar-Ru¯mı¯

201

They waged a struggle against their souls until they (their souls) pledged their allegiance in carrying war against the heretics and infidels. ‫ﺃَ ّﻧَ ُﻬ ْﻢ ِﻣ ْﻦ ُﺷ َﻬ َﺪﺍ ٍﺀ َﻓﺎﺋِ ِﺰﻳ ْﻦ‬ ‫( َﺷﺎ َﻫ ُﺪﻭﺍ ﺑِﺎﻟ َﻘﻠْ ِﺐ ﺇِ ْﻥ ُﻫ ُﻢ ُﻗ ِﺘﻠُﻮﺍ‬9 They bore witness with their hearts that, if they should be killed, they would be martyrs, (securing a heavenly reward). 74 ‫َﻭ َﺣ ّﺒُﻮﺍ ﺃَ ْﺯ َﻭﺍ َﺟ ُﻬﻢ ُﺣﻮﺭﺍ ﻭ ِﻋﻴ ْﻦ‬ ‫( َﻓﺎ َﺭ ُﻗﻮﺍ ﺃَﻭ َﻻ َﺩ ِﻭﻟْ َﺪﺍ ٍﻥ ﻟَ ُﻬ ْﻢ‬10 They left behind their wealth and their progeny, and preferred as their consorts houris and wide-eyed maidens [i. e., in Paradise]. 75 ‫َﻭ َﺧ َﺰ ْﻭ ُﻫ ْﻢ ِﻓﻲ ﻟِ َﻘﺎ َﺣ ْﺮ ٍﺏ ُﻣ ِﻬﻴ ْﻦ‬ ‫( َﻭ َﺣ ُﺰﻭ ُﻫ ْﻢ ِﺑﺄَ ِﺳ ّﻨَﺎ ِﺕ ﺍﻟ َﻘ َﻨﺎ‬11 They chased (the enemy) with the points of their spear-shafts, and humiliated [gˇina¯s with haza¯ and haza¯] them in battle encounters which laid them (the enemy) low. ˙ ˘ 76 ‫َﻭ َﺣ َﺒﺎ ُﻫ ُﻢ ُﻗ ْﻄ ُﺐ َﻋ ْﻮ ِﻥ ﺍ َﻷ ْﺭ َﺑ ِﻌﻴ ْﻦ‬ ‫( َﻗ َّﻄ ُﺒﻮﺍ ِﻓﻲ ﺍﻟ َﺤ ْﺮ ِﺏ ﻟَ َّﻤﺎ ُﺟ ِﺮﺣﻮﺍ‬12 They displayed grim faces (qattabu¯) when they were wounded, (and) when there came to ˙˙ them the succor of the pole (qutb) of the forty saints. [head of a hierarchy of saints is ˙ identified with the Prophet, as being the Perfect Man; gˇina¯s with qattabu¯ and qutb] ˙˙ 77 ُ ‫( َﻧ َﺪ َﺏ˙ﺍ ُﻷ ْﺳ ُﻘ‬13 ‫َﻭ َﺑ َﻜﻰ ﺍﻟﺒَ ْﺘ َﺮ ُﻙ ِﺑﺎﻟ َﻘﻠْ ِﺐ ﺍﻟ َﺤ ِﺰﻳ ْﻦ‬ ‫ﻒ َﻭ ْﻫ َﻮ ﺍ َﻷﻗﻔﺴﻲ‬ The [catholic] bishop, the ignobly born one [gˇinas: al-usquf al-aqfas] lamented, and the [orthodox] patriarch wept with a grieving heart. ِ 78 ‫ِﺣﻴ َﻦ َﻫ ُّﺪﻭﺍ ُﺭ ْﻛ َﻦ َﺟﺎ ِﻩ ﺍﻟ َﺠﺎ ِﻫﻠِﻴ ْﻦ‬ ‫( َﻭﺃَ َﻗﺎ ُﻣﻮﺍ ِﻋ َّﺰ ِﺩﻳ ٍﻦ َﻗﻴّ ٍﻢ‬14 They established firmly the might of the true faith [sc. Islam] when they pulled down the supporting column of the lofty state of the ignorant ones. 79 ‫ﺾ َﻭﻟَّ ْﻮﺍ ِﺷ ْﺒ َﻪ ُﺣ ُﻤ ٍﺮ َﺟﺎ ِﻓﻠِﻴ ْﻦ‬ ‫ﺻ َﻔ َﺮ ِﺑﺎﻟـ‬ ْ ‫( َﺳ َّﻮ ُﺩﻭﺍ َﻭ ْﺟ َﻪ َﺑ ِﻨﻲ ﺍ َﻷ‬15 ِ ‫ـ ِﺒ ْﻴ‬ They rendered black [sawwadu¯, i. e., reduced to a state of shame and humiliation] the faces of the Pale Ones (Banu¯ l-asfar) with their gleaming sword (al-bı¯d) blades, running away like ˙ ˙ winced (humur) donkeys. ˙ 80 َ ‫َﺟ ْﻮ َﻫ َﺮ ﺍ َﻷ ْﺭ َﻭﺍ ِﺡ ِﺑﺎﻟ ِﻌ ْﻘ ِﺪ ﺍﻟ ّﺜ ِﻤﻴ ْﻦ‬ ‫( َﻗﻠَّ ُﺪﻭﺍ ﺃَ ْﺳ َﻴﺎ َﻓ ُﻬ ْﻢ ِﻓﻲ ﻧَ ْﺤ ِﺮ ِﻫﻢ‬16 (With) their swords in their (the enemies’) necks, they decorated the essence [lit.: jewels] of souls with a precious necklace. ِ ‫ﻑ ﺍﻟ َﻘﺎﺗِﻠِﻴ ْﻦ‬ ‫ﺿﺎ‬ َ َ‫( َﻫ َﻄﻠَ ْﺖ ُﺳ ْﺤ ُﺐ ﺍﻟ ّﺪ َﻣﺎ ﻟَ َّﻤﺎ ﺃ‬17 ِ ‫ﻟَ ْﻤ ُﻊ َﺑ ْﺮ ٍﻕ ِﻣﻦ ُﺳ ُﻴﻮ‬ Rain clouds of blood sent down their showers when the lightning gleam of the warriors’ swords shone forth. ‫ﺻﺎ ُﺑﻮﺍ ُﻛ َّﻞ َﺷ ْﻴ َﻄﺎ ٍﻥ ﻟَ ِﻌﻴ ْﻦ‬ ‫( َﻛ ْﻢ َﺭ َﻣ ْﻮ َﻫﺎ ِﺑ ِﺸ َﻬﺎ ٍﺏ َﺛﺎ ِﻗ ٍﺐ‬18 َ ‫َﻓ َﺄ‬ How often did they assault them with a gleaming meteor-shaft [qur’a¯nic 37/10: piercing flame], and hit the target of every accursed devil. 81 ْ َ‫ـ َّﺪ ُﻡ َﻛﺎﻟﺒَ ْﺤ َﺮ َﻓﺄ‬ ‫ﺿ َﺤﻮﺍ َﻏﺎ ِﺭ ِﻗﻴ ْﻦ‬ ‫( َﻫﺎ َﺟ ُﻤﻮ ُﻫﻢ َﻫﺎ َﺝ َﻣ ْﻮ ُﺝ ﺍﻟ ْﺤﺮ ِﺏ َﻭﺍﻟـ‬19

74 [‫ ]ﺃﻭﻻﺩ ﻭﻟﺪﺍﻥ ﻟ ُﻬﻢ‬M: ‫ ;ﺃﻣﻮﺍﻟﻬﻢ ﺃﻭﻻﺩﻫﻢ‬P: ‫ ;ﻭﻟﺪﺍﻥ ﻭﻻﺩ ﻟﻬﻢ‬C/B/Q: ‫ ]ﻭﺣﺒﻮﺍ ﺃﺯﻭﺍﺟﻬﻢ[ ;ﺃﻭﻻﺩﺍ‬M: ‫ ;ﻭﺍﻫﺒﻮﺍ ﺯﻭﺟﻬﻢ‬C:‫ﺍﺣﺒّﻮﺍ‬ ‫ [ ; ﺯﻭﺍﺟﻬﻢ‬A: ‫ ] ُﺣﻮ َﺭ ﻭ ِﻋﻴ ْﻦ‬G: ‫ﺣﻮﺭﺍ ﻭﻋﻴﻦ‬. 75 [A: ‫ ] َﻭ َﺧ ُﺰﻭ ُﻫ ْﻢ ِﺑﺄَ ِﺳﻨَّﺎ ِﺕ‬C: ‫ﻭﺍﺻ ّﺢ ; ﻭﺟﺰﻭﻫﻢ‬B: ‫ ] َﻭ َﺧ َﺰ ْﻭ ُﻫ ْﻢ ِﻓﻲ[ ;ﺣﺰﻭﻫﻢ‬C:‫ﻭﺧﺰﻭﻫﻢ‬. 76 [‫ ]ﻭﺣﺒﺎﻫﻢ ﻗﻄﺐ ﻋﻮﻥ ﺍﻷﺭﺑﻌﻴﻦ‬M: ‫ ; ﻫﻴﻦ ﺟﺎﻫﻢ ﻋﻮﻥ ﻗﻄﺐ ﺍﻷﺭﺑﻌﻴﻦ‬Q: ‫ﻋﻮﻥ ﻗﻄﺐ ﺍﻷﺭﺑﻌﻴﻦ‬. 77 [‫ ]ﻧﺪﺕ ﺍﻷﺳﻘﻒ ﻭﻫﻮ ﺍﻷﻗﻔﺴﻲ‬M/G/P/C/B/Q: ‫ ﻓﻘﺴﻲ‬-‫ﻧﺪﺏ ﺍﻷﺳﻘﻒ ﻭﻫﻮ ﺍﻷ‬. 78 [‫ ]ﺟﺎﻩ‬M: ‫ﺟﺎﺀ‬. 79 [‫ ] َﻭﻟَّ ْﻮﺍ‬C: ‫ﻭﻟﻮ‬. 80 [‫ َﺟ ْﻮ َﻫﺮ‬-‫ ] َﻧ ْﺤ ِﺮ ِﻫﻢ‬C: ‫ ; ﺑﺤﺮﻫﺎ ﺟﻮﻫﺮ‬B: ‫ ] َﺟ ْﻮ َﻫﺮ[ ;ﻧﺤﺮﻫﺎ‬B: ‫ ﺧﻮﺍﻫﺮ‬. Allusions to the works of al-Agˇlu¯nı¯: ‫ﻋﻘﺪ‬ ‫ ﺍﻟﺠﻮﻫﺮ ﺍﻟﺜﻤﻴﻦ ﻓﻲ ﺍﺭﺑﻌﻴﻦ ﺣﺪﻳﺜﺎً ﻣﻦ ﺍﺣﺎﺩﻳﺚ ﺳﻴﺪ ﺍﻟﻤﺮﺳﻠﻴﻦ‬and al-Fa¯sı¯: ‫ﺍﻟ ِﻌ ْﻘﺪ ﺍﻟﺜﻤﻴﻦ ﻓﻲ ﺗﺎﺭﻳﺦ ﺍﻟﺒﻠﺪ ﺍﻷﻣﻴﻦ‬. 81 P: line is missing. [A:‫ ] َﻣ ْﻮ ُﺝ ﺍﻟ َﺒ ْﺤ ِﺮ‬Q: ‫ ;ﻧﻴﻮﺡ ﺍﻟﺤﺮﺏ‬B/M: ‫ ;ﻳﻨﻮﺡ ﺍﻟﺤﺮﺏ ﻭﺍﻟﺪﻡ‬C: ‫ﻫﺎﺝ ﻣﻮﺝ ﻭﺍﻟﺪﻡ‬.

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Alev Masarwa

They (the Muslims) attacked them; all those engaged in the battle clashed together [?], and blood flowed like the sea, so that they were drowned. َ ‫ﺹ َﻭ َﺷ ْﻴ َﻄﺎ ٍﻥ ُﻳ ِﺸﻴ ْﻦ‬ ‫ﺻﻮﺍ‬ ُ ‫ﺻ ٍﺔ َﻛ ْﻢ َﻏ َّﻮ‬ ٍ ‫ُﻛ ّﻞ َﻏ َّﻮﺍ‬ َ ‫( َﻭ َﻋﻠَﻰ َﻣﺎ َﻏ ْﻮ‬20 How many drownings, how many times did they drown everyone who plunged in (into the fight) and every disgraced devil! 82 ‫َﻗﺎ ِﺳ ُﻴﻮ َﻥ ﺍﻟ َﻘﻠْ َﺐ ِﻣ ْﻨ ُﻬ ْﻢ َﻻ َﻳﻠِﻴ ْﻦ‬ ‫( َﻭ ِﺭ َﺟﺎ ُﻝ ﺍﻟ َّﺸﺎ ِﻡ ِﻓﻲ َﺣ ْﺮ ِﺑ ِﻬ ُﻢ‬21 The warriors of Syria were hardening their hearts (qa¯siyu¯n al-qalb) in their assault [also: anger] and some of them never relented at all. ‫ﺻ ُﺮ ﺍﻟ َّﺸ ْﺮ ِﻉ ُﻣ ِﺒﻴ ُﺪ ﺍﻟ َﻔﺎ ِﺟ ِﺮﻳ ْﻦ‬ ‫( َﻭ َﺳﻠِﻴ ُﻢ ﺍﻟ َّﺸﺎ ِﻥ ُﺳ ْﻠ َﻄﺎ ُﻥ ﺍﻟ َﻤ َﻼ‬22 ِ ‫َﻧﺎ‬ And the one who is secure (salı¯m) in his exalted position [Sultan Selı¯m II], the sultan of all people, the one who renders victorious the Holy Law, the destroyer of the evildoers, 83 ‫ﺻﻴ ْﻦ‬ ِ ‫[ َﻫ ْﻴ َﺒ ٌﺔ َﻗ ْﺪ َﺯ ْﻋ َﺰ َﻋ ْﺖ ِﻫ ْﻨ ًﺪﺍ َﻭ‬°89 b] ‫( َﻭ ْﻫ َﻮ َﺭﺍ ِﻋﻲ ﺍﻟ َﺒ ْﺨ ِﺖ ِﻓﻲ ﺍﻟ َّﺘ ْﺨ ِﺖ ﻟَ ُﻪ‬23 And who is the protector/guardian of good fortune seated on the throne (al-baht fı¯ t-taht), ˘ ˘ possessing an awesomeness, which has made India and China quake with fear. َ ‫َﺟﺎ ِﻣ ُﻊ ﺍﻟ َﻔ ْﺨ ِﺮ ﺇِ َﻣﺎ ُﻡ ﺍﻟ َﻌﺎ ِﺩﻟِﻴ ْﻦ‬ ‫ﺼ ِﺮ َﻋﻠَ ْﻴ ِﻪ َﺧ َّﻴ َﻤ ْﺖ‬ ْ ّ‫( ُﻗ َّﺒ ُﺔ ﺍﻟﻨ‬24 The pavilion of victoriousness has been erected over him, the one who unites all deeds of pride, the ima¯m of the just ones. ‫َﻗﺎ َﻝ ﺁ ِﻣ ْﻴ َﻦ َﺟ ِﻤﻴ ُﻊ ﺍﻟ َﻌﺎﻟَ ِﻤﻴ ْﻦ‬ ‫ﺺ ﻟَ ُﻪ‬ ٌ ‫( ﺇِ ْﻥ َﺩ َﻋﺎ ِﻓﻲ َﻣ ْﺤ َﻔ ٍﻞ َﺷ ْﺨ‬25 If any person in any assembly of people invokes God’s blessing on him in prayer, the whole of creation will add “Amen!” ِ 84 ‫( َﻧ ْﺴ ُﻞ ُﻋ ْﺜ َﻤﺎ َﻥ َﻋﻠِ ٌّﻲ ِﻓﻲ ﺍﻟ َﻮ َﻏﺎ‬26 ‫ﺻ ّﺪ ْﻳ ُﻖ ﺍﻟﻴَ ِﻘﻴ ْﻦ‬ ِ ‫ُﻋ َﻤ ُﺮ ﺍ َﻷ ْﺣ َﻜﺎ ِﻡ‬ The progeny of ʿUtma¯n is exalted (ʿAlı¯) in battle [or ‫ﺍﻟﻮﺭﻯ‬: among the people], the devoted ¯ follower of the divine law (ʿUmar), attesting the truth (siddı¯q, i. e., Abu¯ Bakr) of the certain ˙ faith. 85 ‫ـﺎﻣ ِﺮ ﺑﺎﻟ َﻌ ْﺪ ِﻝ َﻣﻠِﻴ ُﻚ ﺍﻟ ُﻤ ْﺴﻠِ ِﻤﻴ ْﻦ‬ ‫( ُﻫ َﻮ ُﻗ ْﻄ ٌﺐ َﻇﺎ ِﻫ ٌﺮ ِﻓﻲ َﺑﺎ ِﻃ ِﻦ ﺍﻟـ‬27 He is an apparent pole [explicit focus of spirituality (qutb az-za¯hir)] in the ulterior (hidden) ˙ ˙ world; by ruling with justice, he is the emperor of the Muslims. َ ْ ‫َﺩﺍ ِﺋ ًﻤﺎ َﻭﺍ ْﺣ َﻔﻈ ُﻪ ِﺑﺎﻟ َﻬﺎ ِﺩﻱ ﺍﻷ ِﻣﻴ ْﻦ‬ ‫ﺵ ُﻛ ْﻦ َﻋ ْﻮ ًﻧﺎ ﻟَ ُﻪ‬ ِ ‫( َﻳﺎ ﺇِﻟَ َﻪ ﺍﻟ َﻌ ْﺮ‬28 O God of the Divine Throne, be his helper perpetually, and keep him safe through the faithful guide (through the guidance of the prophet Muhammad)! ˙

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Toru Miura

Transition of the ʿUlamaʾ Families in Sixteenth Century Damascus

The purpose of this chapter is to re-examine and relocate the changes in the urban society of Damascus at the transition from Mamluk to Ottoman rule in the sixteenth century. Before doing so, I would like to recall a larger framework of comparison for how urban society was ruled in the Mamluk and Ottoman periods. Ira M. Lapidus wrote in 1967, “They [the Mamluks] became the focus of patronage ties which extended to every class of the society. The Mamluks governed not by administration, but by holding all of the vital social threads in their hands.”1 Indeed, the Mamluks provided the cities and citizens with foodstuffs from surrounding rural regions, collected in the form of taxes in their capacity as landlords, and with security, defending them against the attacks of nomads (Bedouin) as well as from foreign invaders like the Crusaders and the Mongols. Furthermore, they created patronage ties with the two urban strata of notables and the common people. They gained the support of, and legitimation for, their rule by the notables by providing them with religious endowments (waqf) and administrative posts, and attracted the common people by giving them money and gifts at ceremonies celebrating successions to the throne, appointments to posts, and military victories. This ‘triangular’ relationship of the Mamluk governors, the notables and the common people formed the basis of urban politics from the Seljukid period to the Mamluk period, and further down to the Ottoman period in Egypt, Syria and Iraq.2 Social groups were organized by three kinds of ties: familial/tribal, religious (including madhhab) and regional (origin or neighborhood). Professional ties existed, but did not function in a strong way. Social and popular movements were organized by ad-hoc networking for a common goal or consciousness.

1 Lapidus, Muslim Cities in the Later Middle Ages, 187. 2 A similar triangular paradigm can be found in Rafeq, The Province of Damascus 1723–1883; Schilcher, Families in Politics: Damascene Factions and Estates of the 18th and 19th Centuries, etc.

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Changes in Urban Society at the End of the Mamluk Period In my previous papers,3 I identified the socio-political changes in Damascus at the end of the Mamluk period, following the reign of Sultan al-Ashraf Qa¯ytba¯y (r. 872–901/1468–96), as follows: 1. Due to the financial crisis of the Mamluk State, the Sultan introduced a new policy of imposing taxes on private property and waqf, and reducing the salaries of military officials. 2. The governors and the chief qadis organized jama¯ʿas (factions, households) to carry out taxation and legal administration. These new taxes, as well as frequent confiscations and bribery, were criticized as injustice by the historians among the ʿulamaʾ. 3. The activities of the zuʿr (outlaws) and their influence were strengthened in the major quarters: for example, they collected money from merchants and the inhabitants of the quarters in exchange for protection (hima¯ya) and rose ˙ in revolt against the governors. 4. Religious institutions began to decay due to the embezzlement of waqf properties by the na¯zirs and other officials. ˙ The provincial governors, amirs, high officials, and the zuʿr all formed their own factions ( jama¯ʿa) to strengthen their domains and to achieve their own interests. They struggled against each other using force. Here, in fact, the three strata of mamluks/military, ʿulamaʾ, and the common people had already dissolved and lost their bases as social strata as well as political actors. They all began to move into the factions. Such social mobilization was seen as decline and depravity or corruption on the one hand, and as disorder on the other. In this chapter I will attempt, based on narrative and archival sources, to examine whether such a change to the jama¯ʿa continued or ceased under Ottoman rule. The main source is the journals of Ibn Tu¯lu¯n (d. 953/1546) and Ibn al˙ Himsı¯ (d. 934/1528).4 These are detailed diary-like chronicles which give us clues ˙ as to how the inhabitants behaved in the face of external political and economic pressures and how they developed new networks as the era ended, even though this behavior was often implicit in, and concealed behind, the apparent disturbances. A second source is the waqf and milk survey registers compiled under 3 See Miura,“Urban Society in Damascus as the Mamluk Era was Ending”; Dynamism in the Urban Society of Damascus: The Sa¯lihiyya Quarter from the Twelfth to the Twentieth Centuries, ˙ ˙ Chapter 4. 4 See the biography of Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Miura, Dynamism, 137, note 2. Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ahmad Ibn al˙ ˙ Hims¯ı was born in 851/1447–48 or 853/1449–50 in Damascus and appointed Shafiʿi deputy ˙ ˙ (qadi) by Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ibn al-Furfur and he preached sermons (khutba) at the Umjudge ¯ ˙ ¯ t, VIII, 201). mayyad Mosque on behalf of Walı¯ al-Dı¯n al-Furfu¯r (Kawa¯kib, I, 98; Shadhara

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Ottoman rule in the sixteenth century, which give us ample information on the economic resources of the leading families, while a third is the bibliographical dictionaries of the sixteenth century such as Ibn al-ʿIma¯d al-Hanbalı¯’s Shadhara¯t ˙ al-dhahab and Najm al-Dı¯n al-Ghazzı¯’s al-Kawa¯kib al-sa¯ʾira.

The Emergence of Jama¯ʿas and the Change of Administration Facing financial crisis, the Mamluk government took up a new policy of imposing taxes on private property and waqf, and on the inhabitants of the quarters. The provincial governors and the chief qadis organized jama¯ʿas to levy taxes and carry out legal administration. Administration was conducted not by an official bureaucracy, but by influential persons and their networks. Usually there existed influential persons such as ʿAbd al-Ba¯sit na¯zir al-jaysh (Controller of the Army, ˙ ˙ d. 854/1450) and Ibn Muzhir ka¯tib al-sirr (d. 893/1488), who were able to wield great power in the ninth/fifteenth century, whatever their official post was.5 Such figures exercised real powers of appointment and amassed enormous wealth during their lifetimes. Another example is two Shafiʿi chief judges of the Furfu¯r (or Farfu¯r) family, Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ahmad b. Mahmu¯d (d. 911/1505) 6 and his son ˙ ˙ Walı¯ al-Dı¯n Muhammad (d. 937/1531).7 Both monopolized the office of Shafiʿi ˙ chief judge in Damascus for thirty-five years from 886/1481, and Walı¯ al-Dı¯n was also appointed Hanafi chief qadi under Ottoman rule in 924/1518. They formed ˙ an organization called jama¯ʿa (faction) or ba¯b (household), composed of subordinates such as usta¯da¯r (majordomo), na¯ʾib, wakı¯l, naqı¯b and so on. Subordinates could gain personal profit through their work, whether or not it was carried out in a fair manner.8 Military governors, too, organized jama¯ʿas that were attached to their name. The governor’s jama¯ʿa was composed of three different groups. The first was subordinate officials such as the usta¯da¯r, dawa¯da¯r, kha¯zinda¯r (grand treasurer), 5 ʿAbd al-Ba¯sit: al-Maqrı¯zı¯, Sulu¯k, IV, 1146, 1155–1156, 1159, 1168–1169; al-Sakha¯wı¯, Dawʾ, IV, ˙ awʾ, XI, ˙ 24–27. Ibn Muzhir: Ibn Iya¯s, Bada¯ʾiʿ, III, 255; Ibn al-Sayra¯fı¯, Inba¯ʾ al-hasr, 288, 297; D ˙ ˙ ˙ 88–89. 6 Dawʾ, II, 222–223; Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Quda¯t Dimashq, 180–181; Kawa¯kib, I, 141–145; Shadhara¯t, VIII, ˙ ˙ ˙ 49. 7 Kawa¯kib, II, 22–24; Shadhara¯t, VIII, 224–225. The Furfu¯r family had originally lived in Aleppo. ʿIma¯d al-Dı¯n Isma¯ʿı¯l b. Ibra¯hı¯m (d. 757/1356) served Tankiz, governor of Damascus, and worked at the offices of the scribes and finances in Damascus (Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqala¯nı¯, Durar ˙ job of witness and his al-Ka¯mina, I, 212). Muhammad b. Sadaqa (d. 801/1398–99) took the grandfather was a scribe˙of the dı¯wa¯n˙ in Aleppo (Daw’, VII, 270; Muhammad Sharı¯f ʿAdna¯n al˙ Ahmad’s father, ˙Mahmud b. ʿAbd Alla¯h (d. Sawwa¯f, Mawsu¯ʿat al-asar al-dimashqiyya, II, 255). ¯ ˙ ˙ al-Bu¯rı¯nı¯, Tara¯jim ˙871/1476) took the office of qadi of Safad and na¯zir al-jaysh (Daw’, X, 137; ˙ ˙ ˙ al-aʿya¯n, II, 121). 8 On the jama¯ʿa of the Furfu¯r family, see Miura, Dynamism, 137–141.

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bardada¯r (literally, “curtain holder”), and mihmanda¯r (host manager), the same posts that can be found in the central government of Egypt. The second group executed public policy: the balla¯s¯ı and naqı¯b carried out the commands of the ˙ governor and the dawa¯da¯r.9 The third group was mercenaries, such as the ʿabı¯d (black slaves) and the zuʿr. Both were hired for wages and worked as private soldiers of the governors, equipped with firearms, especially in the civil war against the sultan. They were also employed to collect taxes from citizens and to provide security.10 The sultan conferred upon such influential persons the administrative authority to conduct state affairs and they transferred this authority to their subordinates or their followers. Thus administrative networks emerged, linked together by the conferring of authority, to implement state administration.

The Furfu¯r Family: Walı¯ al-Dı¯n Muhammad ˙ Here I will examine the leading households of ʿulamaʾ in the transition period, focusing on the Furfu¯r family, which continued to occupy a leading position under Ottoman rule. Walı¯ al-Dı¯n’s conduct before and after the surrender of Damascus to the Ottoman Sultan Selim in 922/1516 was noted. After the defeat of the Mamluk army at Marj Da¯biq and that of its fleet in Egypt, Walı¯ al-Dı¯n conducted the Friday sermon (khutba) at the Umayyad Mosque in the name of the Ottoman Sultan on 29 ˙ Shaʿban/27 September 1516, and on 7 Ramadan/4 October he did it there again in the presence of Sultan Selim. who conferred a great deal of money on him.11 Furthermore, Walı¯ al-Dı¯n conducted the prayers in the manner of the Hanafi ˙ school at the Umayyad Mosque on the occasion of the ʿı¯d festival on 1 Shawwal 922/ 4 October 1516, though he belonged to the Shafiʿi school.12 In Ramadan 923/ October 1517, he went to meet Sultan Selim when he returned to Damascus after his conquest of Egypt.13 Walı¯ al-Dı¯n went to the Sa¯lihiyya quarter to buy land to ˙ ˙ construct a new ja¯miʿ at the tomb of Ibn al-ʿArabı¯ (d. 638/1240), a famous scholar 14 of mysticism, at the order of Sultan Selim. When his conversion to the Hanafi ˙ school finally became open knowledge among the people of Damascus, he justified 9 On the naqı¯b: Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Mufa¯kahat, I, 215. Balla¯s¯ı: Mufa¯kahat, I, 251–252, 257; Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, ˙ ˙ ˙ Iʿla¯m, 159. 10 On the ʿabı¯d’s wages: Mufa¯kahat, I, 263. Guns: Mufa¯kahat, I, 201. Private mercenaries: Iʿla¯m, 99, 105. Exploitation: Mufa¯kahat, I, 280. Police: Mufa¯kahat, I, 260. 11 Mufa¯kahat, II, 29, 32; Ibn al-Hims¯ı, II, 290. ˙ ˙ 12 Mufa¯kahat, II, 37. 13 Mufa¯kahat, II, 67. 14 Mufa¯kahat, II, 68.

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it as being due to the fact that the Ottomans belonged to that school.15 On 24 Muharram 924/5 February 1518, Walı¯ al-Dı¯n conducted the Friday sermon at the Sultan’s new mosque (Ja¯miʿ Shaykh Muhyı¯ al-Dı¯n) in the Sa¯lihiyya quarter in the ˙ ˙ ˙ latter’s presence, and he was appointed chief qadi of Damascus under whom four 16 judges were placed. He regained the post of chief qadi due to his speedy switch to the Hanafi school and his approach to Sultan Selim. ˙ ʿImād al-Dīn Ismāʿīl b. Ibrāhīm (d. 757/1356) ʿAbd Allāh b. Maḥmūd b. ʿAbd al-Raḥmān b. ʿAbd al-Karīm

Maḥmūd (d. 871/1476)

Muḥammad

Shihāb al-Dīn Aḥmad (d. 911/1505)

Badr al-Dīn Muḥammad (d. 936/1529)

Walī al-Dīn Muḥammad (d. 937/1531) Zayn al-Dīn ʿAbd al-Raḥmān (d. 992/1584-85)

Muḥammad (d. 984/1577)

Muḥammad

ʿAbd Allāh Yūsuf (d. 995/1586)

Shihāb al-Dīn Aḥmad (d. 1037/1627)

Muḥammad (d. 1022/1613)

ʿUmar (d. 1033/1623) ʿAbd al-Wahhāb (1073/1662)

Walī al-Dīn (d. 1072/1662)

Fig. 1. Family Tree: Furfu¯r Family (author).

In Safar 926/January 1520, Walı¯ al-Dı¯n went to Sayda¯ʾ (Sidon) to investigate his ˙ iqta¯ʿ there and departed for Bila¯d al-Ru¯m (the Ottoman lands). The reason for his ˙ trip was rumored to be conflict between him and the governor of Damascus, Ja¯nbirdı¯. In fact, the governor declared his control over the lands ( jiha) of Walı¯ alDı¯n, who sent a letter to confer upon his jama¯ʿa and na¯ʾibs what they held, and his lands upon the governor.17 Walı¯ al-Dı¯n then became the chief Shafiʿi qadi of Aleppo, and sent a messenger to Damascus in Shaʿban 926/July 1520. He insisted to the governor of Damascus upon his right to the waqf and milk properties listed in a certain document, and the governor agreed to his claims other than those properties that were in his own hands.18 In the same month, the Sultan issued a decree confiscating eight thousand dinars from Walı¯ al-Dı¯n due to debt, but it was soon cancelled.19

15 16 17 18

Mufa¯kahat, II, 71. Mufa¯kahat, II, 80, 82. Mufa¯kahat, II, 94, 96–97: Ibn al-Hims¯ı, III, 15. Mufa¯kahat, II, 115. The governor˙ had˙ gained the waqf properties at the Sha¯miyya Madrasa inside the city wall, the Ja¯miʿ Tankiz, the two Na¯siriyya Madrasas, and the Sharkasiyya ˙ Madrasa (Mufa¯kahat , II, 102, 108). 19 Mufa¯kahat, II, 118–119.

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When Ja¯nbirdı¯ al-Ghazza¯lı¯ revolted against the Ottoman Sultan at the beginning of 927/1521, Walı¯ al-Dı¯n returned to Damascus with the Ottoman army. It defeated Ja¯nbirdı¯ in Damascus and Walı¯ al-Dı¯n was appointed chief qadi of Damascus in Safar 927/February 1521.20 He held this post again for about six years from 930–936/1524–1530.21 He constructed a market (su¯q) near the Jı¯ru¯n gate in the Qaymariyya quarter in 932/1526, as well as his tomb near the Arsla¯n Shrine (qubba) in 934/1527–28. Furthermore, he built a gorgeous mansion (qasr) ˙ near the Fara¯dis gate, with an underground cellar and a connecting corridor over the Barada River to the Umayyad Mosque in 935/1528–29.22 Finally, in Shaʿban 936/April 1530 he was dismissed from the office of chief qadi, and he and the members of his jama¯ʿa (wakı¯l, scribe, etc.) were imprisoned in the citadel of Damascus and his properties confiscated.23 On 19 Shawwal 936/16 June 1530, an order announced: “Those who have rights (huqu¯q) owed by him (Walı¯ al-Dı¯n) or his jama¯ʿa, whether it be a debt, a house, an ˙ orchard, or anything taken by them, should come to sue him.” After fifteen hearings were held, Walı¯ al-Dı¯n’s real estate, books, clothes and horses were sold to pay compensation.24 He died on 30 Jumada I 937/19 January 1531 in the prison of Citadel of Damascus.25 He had continued to hold office, as well as his jama¯ʿa and private properties, from the fall of the Mamluk dynasty into the early Ottoman period.

Waqf Properties of the Furfu¯r Family Regarding the waqf property of the Furfu¯r family, Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ahmad Ibn al˙ Furfu¯r left three waqf documents in the waqf survey registers of the Ottoman period (Tapu Tahrir Defteri). The first document donates twenty-three agricultural properties, firstly for the benefit of his son and other descendants, and to revert later, after his line would died out, for the benefit of the two holy cities of Mecca and Medina (al-Haramayn), the Nu¯rı¯ Hospital in Damascus and the ˙ Umayyad Mosque. The revenue from these twenty-three properties reached in total the huge amount of 53,306 akçe.26 The second document is a donation of urban properties, including thirteen shops in Damascus, for the benefit of his son 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Hawa¯dith Dimashq, 124–125; Ibn al-Hims¯ı, III, 27. ˙¯ dith Dimashq, ˙ Hawa 175, 193, 199, 205, 209, 231. ˙ ˙ ˙ Hawa¯dith Dimashq, 192, 205, 218. ˙ awa¯dith Dimashq, 231–234. H ˙ awa¯dith Dimashq, 234–235. H ˙ Hawa¯dith Dimashq, 241–242. ˙ TTD 602, 140; TTD 656, 117. Ten villages were located in Sayda¯ʾ in Iqlı¯m al-Tuffa¯h and one ˙ ˙ village in Wadi al-Taym.

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Walı¯ al-Dı¯n and his descendants.27 These documents were copied in 916/1510, after his death, and recorded in the Ottoman register. However, we have no record of waqf and private property by Walı¯ al-Dı¯n. His properties, even waqf property, may have been confiscated by the government at the time of his dismissal in 936/1530. We find waqf documents of other members of the Furfu¯r family in the registers, such as Badr al-Dı¯n Muhammad (d. 936/1529) and Muhibb al-Dı¯n b. ˙ ˙ Sharaf al-Dı¯n. The former was a cousin of Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n, a Hanafi chief qadi.28 ˙ The latter held many kinds of waqf and milk (private property) registered in TTD. First, in 864/1459–60 he donated four villages and one hamlet in order to distribute 500 dirhams per year to the imams at the Mosque of the Prophet in Medina and at the Holy Mosque in Mecca and added two villages and two hamlets for the same distribution in 894/1488–89, on the condition that the rest should be given to his daughter Maryam and other descendants.29 In the same year of 894/ 1488–89, he donated ten villages and three hamlets for the benefit of his wife Fa¯tima and his descendants, as well as six lots for his daughters and wife.30 He ˙ owned seven villages and one hamlet in 867/1462–63, 874/1469–70 and 877/1472– 73.31 Most of the private property and waqfs were located in Sayda¯ʾ.32 He held the ˙ post of intendant of the army bureau (sa¯hib dı¯wa¯n al-jaysh), in charge of the ˙ ˙ granting of the iqta¯ʿ, and was ordered to be imprisoned at the citadel with his ˙ brother Baha¯ʾ al-Dı¯n on the matter of the poll tax in Jumada II 883/September 1478. He died on 19 Rabiʿ II 900/17 January 1495, leaving 220 dinars, though he was rumored to have accumulated a great deal of money.33 He seemed to have a talent for administration, similar to the chief qadi Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ahmad, which ˙ enabled him and his family to acquire waqf and private properties, as recorded in the waqf and milk survey registers.

27 28 29 30

TTD 602, 242. Shadhara¯t, VIII, 147; Quda¯t, 230, 235–237, 239. In 902/1496–97 (TTD 656, 189). ˙ TTD 602, 1; TTD 656, 237. TTD 602, 11–12; TTD 656, 237. He donated for his brother and sisters as well as his children in 888/1483–84 and 891/1486–87 (TTD 602, 12; TTD 602, 11; TTD 656, 237). 31 TTD 393, 200; TTD 602, 15, 17. 32 Tara¯jim al-aʿya¯n, II, 123. 33 Mufa¯kahat, I, 28, 38; II, 262: Ibn Tawq, III, 1319; Ibn al-Hims¯ı, I, 224, 374. ˙ ˙ ˙

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Walı¯ al-Dı¯n Muhammad’s descendants ˙ Walı¯ al-Dı¯n had two sons, one of whom, Zayn al-Dı¯n ʿAbd al-Rahma¯n (d. 992/ ˙ 1584–85), took the office of qadi in Shayzar, and was known as an imam and 34 poet. ʿAbd al-Rahma¯n’s grandson, Muhammad (d. 1022/1613) took the office of ˙ superintendent (na¯zir) of the Furfu¯r family, but was dismissed by the qadi be˙ cause of a conflict over waqf, and his cousin ʿUmar (d. 1033/1623, a Hanafi qadi) ˙ was appointed in his place.35 Among the other branch of Walı¯ al-Dı¯n’s descendants, Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ahmad ˙ b. Muhammad (d. 1037/1627), a grandson of Walı¯ al-Dı¯n, was a professor at the ˙ 36 Qassa¯ʿiyya Madrasa in Damascus. His two sons, ʿAbd al-Wahha¯b (d. 1073/1662) ˙˙ and Walı¯ al-Dı¯n (d. 1072/1662) both held the high offices of qadi and mufti, but they had a bad reputation among the people.37 However, the Furfu¯r family did not then have the strong political power in Damascus that they had in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries. This lineage has survived to the present time, and Shaykh Sa¯lih Furfu¯r (d. 1407/1986) has compiled a history of the Furfu¯r ˙ ˙ family.38

The Muflih Family, a Hanbali Family ˙ ˙ In contrast to the Shafiʿis and Hanafis, the most influential law schools in the ˙ Mamluk period, the Hanbalis in Damascus built a unique position for them˙ selves, holding eleven madrasas in Damascus. The ʿUmariyya Madrasa, founded by the Quda¯ma family of the Hanbalis in the Sa¯lihiyya quarter, became one of the ˙ ˙ ˙ largest madrasas in Damascus, financially supported by a great number of waqf properties. However, by the middle of the fifteenth century, the ʿUmariyya Madrasa was forced to open to all four law schools owing to a financial crisis caused by increasing expenses for the staff and students there. Due to this open policy, the ʿUmariyya Madrasa was able to gain waqf endowments not only from the Hanbalis but also from the Shafiʿis and Hanafis, with fifty-eight new waqf ˙ ˙ endowments in the latter half of the fifteenth century, making a total of 250 endowments, according to the waqf survey registers of the sixteenth century.39 34 Shadhara¯t, VIII, 427; Tara¯jim al-aʿya¯n, II, 311–315; Sa¯lih Furfu¯r, al-Durr al-manthu¯r, 68–77; ˙ ˙ Mawsu¯ʿat al-asar, II, 258. 35 al-Muhibbı¯, IV, 166–168; Mawsu¯ʿat al-asar, II, 259. 36 al-Muh˙ ibbı¯, II, 299–300; al-Durr al-manthu¯r, 50–57. 37 al-Muh˙ ibbı¯, II, 100–101; IV, 462; al-Durr al-manthu¯r, 36–48, 57–58; Mawsu¯ʿat al-asar, II, 258. 38 al-Durr˙ al-manthu¯r ʿala¯ al-diya¯’ al-mawfu¯r fı¯ aʿya¯n Banı¯ Furfu¯r li-Muhammad Jamı¯l al˙ ˙ Shatt¯ı, Damascus, 1962. ˙ ˙ 39 See Miura,“The Salihiyya Quarter of Damascus at the Beginning of Ottoman Rule: The

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However, the power of the Quda¯ma family declined in the fifteenth century. Instead, the Muflih family became so influential that Najm al-Dı¯n ʿUmar (d. 919/ ˙ 1514), his son Burha¯n al-Dı¯n Ibra¯hı¯m (d. 917/1512) and his grandson Sharaf alDı¯n ʿAbd Alla¯h (d. unknown) occupied the post of chief Hanbali qadi from 884/ ˙ 1479–80 to 922/1516, i. e. until the end of the Mamluk dynasty, other than a very short period when the post was assumed by Baha¯ʾ al-Dı¯n Muhammad Ibn Qu˙ da¯ma (d. 910/1504).40 Their houses were located in the Sa¯lihiyya quarter and they ˙ ˙ were buried at the tomb of al-Rawda to the west of that quarter, but Najm al-Dı¯n ˙ once moved to a house near the Rukniyya Madrasa inside the city wall of Damascus in 900/1494.41 Najm al-Dı¯n was fined one thousand dinars after imprisonment in the citadel in Muharram 886/March 1480.42 Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, a local scholar living in Sa¯lihiyya, ˙ ˙ ˙ wrote about Burha¯n al-Dı¯n’s appointment as the Hanbali chief qadi in Muharram ˙ 910/June 1504 that he was ridiculed for his weak knowledge despite being from a family of knowledge (ʿilm).43 Sharaf al-Dı¯n was also imprisoned twice at the citadel during 927/1520–21.44 He was involved in Ja¯nbirdı¯ al-Ghazza¯lı¯’s revolt, together with the common people of the quarters, against the Ottoman Sultan in 927/1520–21.45 Burha¯n al-Dı¯n donated one piece of land, two lots, two fields and three plants (ghira¯s) for the benefit of his descendants, and the Muzaffarı¯ Ja¯miʿ as ˙ well as two pieces of land and two fields for the benefit of the Umayyad Mosque 46 and the ʿUmariyya Madrasa in 873/1468–69. The Muflih family were not simply ˙ scholars but had economic and political power, similar to the Furfu¯r family, which enabled them to attain high office. In the biographies, some descendants of the Muflih family can be found: ʿAbd al-Qa¯dir b. ʿUmar (d. 957/1550–51) was a ˙ deputy judge in local courts such as the Mayda¯n and Sa¯lihiyya courts, and ʿAbd ˙ ˙ al-Karı¯m b. Ibra¯hı¯m (d. 965/1558) was a clerk in the central court of Damascus.47 The influence of the Muflih family seemed to decline. ˙

40

41 42 43 44 45 46 47

Ambiguous Relations between Religious Institutions and Waqf Properties,” 281; Dynamism, 186. Najm al-Dı¯n: Mufa¯kahat, I, 3, 5, 15, 41, 175, 272, 275, 285, 289; Quda¯t, 303; Kawa¯kib, I, 285–286; ˙ ¯ kib, I, 109. Sharaf al-Dı¯n: Shadhara¯t, VIII, 92. Burha¯n al-Dı¯n: Ibn al-Hims¯ı, II, 223; Kawa ˙ ˙ Mufa¯kahat, I, 289, 379; Quda¯t, 305; Ibn al-Hims¯ı, III, 30; there is no mention in Kawa¯kib and ˙ ˙¯ t, I, p. 18; Mufa¯kahat, I, p. 175, 201, 203, 217, ˙ Quda¯ma: Shadhara Shadhara¯t. Baha¯ʾ al-Dı¯n Ibn 225, 275–276. Mufa¯kahat, I, 161. Ibn al-Hims¯ı, I, p. 258. ˙ ˙ I, 279. Mufa¯kahat, Hawa¯dith Dimashq, 128. ˙ awa¯dith Dimashq, 122–123. H ˙ TTD 393, 49; TTD 602, 207; TTD 656, 227. Another qadi, of the Muflih family, Burha¯n al-Dı¯n ˙ be identified which Ibra¯hı¯m (816–884/1413–79), is mentioned in Quda¯t, 300–302. It cannot ˙ made the donations in 873/1468–69. Kawa¯kib, II, 173, 176.

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The Branches of the Quda¯ma Family Among the lineage of the Quda¯ma family, two branches were renowned: the Zurayq family and the ʿAbd al-Ha¯dı¯ family. The first person known by the name of the Zurayq family in the biographical dictionaries is Na¯sir al-Dı¯n Muhammad ˙ ˙ b. ʿAbd al-Rahma¯n (d. 803/1401–02), the eighth generation from Abu¯ ʿUmar ˙ (d. 607/1210) of the Quda¯ma family, founder of the ʿUmariyya Madrasa. He learned under the shaykhs of the Sa¯lihiyya quarter and excelled in the arts of ˙ ˙ hadith and calligraphy.48 His nephews, Na¯sir al-Dı¯n Muhammad b. Abu¯ Bakr ˙ ˙ (812–900/1410–95) 49 and Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ahmad (830–891/1426–27–1486),50 were ˙ described as being born in the Sa¯lihiyya quarter and learning much from many ˙ ˙ scholars. Na¯sir al-Dı¯n was appointed a deputy judge for Niza¯m al-Dı¯n Ibn Muflih ˙ ˙ ˙ and others and taught at the ʿUmariyya Madrasa, and Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n was also called qadi, being permitted to issue fata¯wa¯ (legal opinions). Na¯sir al-Dı¯n became ˙ a superintendent (na¯zir) of the ʿUmariyya Madrasa and responsible for its ˙ 51 administration. In 888/1483, he was summoned to Cairo with the Hanbali chief ˙ qadi Najm al-Dı¯n Ibn Muflih, because of a disturbance at the ʿUmariyya Madrasa ˙ in Ramadan 887/October 1483. He was summoned to Cairo again in 889/1485–85, due to a claim by beneficiaries of the madrasa, and was tortured and suffered his property being confiscated.52 He was described by a local chronicler, Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, as ˙ being determined to destroy the madrasa, in cooperation with his brother Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n, selling the waqf properties and hiring robbers (hara¯miyya) to protect ˙ themselves from the governors.53 It seems strange that the descendants of the Quda¯ma family abused the ʿUmariyya Madrasa and its waqf properties, although the brothers were recognized scholars and qadis. However, it shows that the ʿulamaʾ, even the Hanbalis, were forced to privatize waqf properties to survive ˙ against the jama¯ʾas of the military and the zuʿr at the end of the Mamluk period. Regarding their waqf and milk properties, Ha¯jj Muhammad b. Anas of the ˙ ˙ Zurayq family donated a field for the benefit of the ʿUmariyya Madrasa in 853/ 1449–50, while ʿAlı¯ and three other members owned one garden in Sayda¯ʾ in 953/ ˙ 1546–47.54 Jama¯l al-Dı¯n Yu¯suf b. Hasan of the ʿAbd al-Ha¯dı¯ family known as Ibn ˙ al-Mibrad (d. 909/1503), donated in 885/1480–81 four lots, three plants and one mansion for the benefit first of his descendants and then for poor people in the Sa¯lihiyya quarter; his son ʿAla¯ʾ al-Dı¯n ʿAlı¯ donated a garden for the same purpose ˙ ˙ 48 49 50 51 52 53 54

Dawʾ, VII, 300–301; Shadhara¯t, VII, 36: Mawsu¯ʿat al-asar, I, 719. ˙ awʾ, VII, 169–171; Shadhara¯t, VII, 366; Ibn al-Hims¯ı, 380. D ˙ awʾ, I, 255; Shadhara¯t, VII, 351. ˙ ˙ D ˙ awʾ, VII, 170. D ˙ ¯ kahat, I, 57, 60; Ibn al-Hims¯ı, 278, 282, 285; Dawʾ, VII, 170. Mufa ˙ 101. ˙ Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Qala¯ʾid, 179–180. ˙Cf. Miura, Dynamism, ˙ TTD 602, 219; TTD 656, 40; TTD 393, 239.

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in 923/1517–18.55 Of the Quda¯ma family, Kama¯l al-Dı¯n donated one lot and three plants for the benefit first of his descendants and finally for the Muzaffarı¯ Ja¯miʿ ˙ in 894/1488–89, and Najm al-Dı¯n Muhammad donated one lot for the benefit of ˙ the Mosque of the Prophet in Medina in 933/1526–27.56 The famous Hanbali families survived into the sixteenth century, but other ˙ than the Muflih family their power became weaker than ever, in terms of their ˙ official posts and economic resources. Even members of the Muflih family ˙ cannot be found in the biographical dictionary of the seventeenth century.

Conclusion: Continuity and Fluctuation Did Ottoman rule bring no serious changes to the notable families in Damascus? Before reaching a conclusion, I would like to examine how the local chroniclers regarded the change to Ottoman rule. Both Ibn Tu¯lu¯n and Ibn al-Hims¯ı reported the new orders of the Ottoman ˙ ˙ ˙ central government, such as the appointment of a Hanafi chief qadi as well as ˙ deputy judges for each of the four schools and for the major quarters as well,57 the surveys of waqf institutions in 923/1517 and in 928/1522,58 and taxation on waqf and private properties in 930/1524 and in 938/1531.59 They described the problems caused by the new orders, but did not criticize Ottoman rule itself. In Safar 927/January-February 1521 Ja¯nbirdı¯ al-Ghazza¯lı¯ called the ʿulamaʾ, merchants, notables (aʿya¯n) and shaykhs of the quarters to the Umayyad Mosque to swear obedience to him and fight with him against the new Ottoman Sultan, Sulayma¯n. However, Ottoman troops numbering 62,000 fighters easily defeated Ja¯nbirdı¯’s revolt. The chroniclers reported that thousands of persons, including common people, were killed and the Ottoman soldiers attacked women assembling at Muzaffarı¯ Ja¯miʿ and the ʿUmariyya Madrasa in the Sa¯lihiyya quarter and stripped ˙ ˙ ˙ off their clothes. Nevertheless, there was no criticism of the actions of the Ottoman army.60 The Ottoman government did introduce its administrative system to Damascus. While it oppressed and punished those who revolted against Ot-

55 56 57 58 59

TTD 393, 67. TTD 393, 33; 141. Mufa¯kahat, II, 41, 82, 106, 108, 121. Mufa¯kahat, II, 73–75; Ibn al-Hims¯ı, III, 40. Hawa¯dith Dimashq, 169, 246:˙ Ibn˙ al-Hims¯ı, III, 61, 63. For administrative reform by the ˙ ˙ Ottoman ˙ Ottoman government, see al-Bakhit, The Province of Damascus in the Sixteenth Century. 60 Hawa¯dith Dimashq, 120–125; Iʿla¯m, 259–260, 263, 266; Ibn al-Hims¯ı, III, 26–27. The outlaws ˙ the quarters, called shaba¯b (youth), participated in the revolt. ˙ ˙ of

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toman rule, it caused local notables to accept their regime by conferring official posts upon them, such as in the case of Walı¯ al-Dı¯n Furfu¯r. The notable ʿulamaʾ families of Damascus described here strove to keep their status and power in the transition period and survived to the end of the sixteenth century, even though weaker than ever. Linda Schatikowski Schilcher, examining four thousand persons belonging to two hundred families in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Damascus, illustrates the formation of the leading families of military men, ʿulamaʾ, ashra¯f and sufis based on official and semi-official posts, economic resources and regional strongholds. Most of the fifteen notable ʿulamaʾ families did not originate prior to the Mamluk period, but emerged after the seventeenth century.61 Why did local notable families prosper and decline in urban society, and not maintain constant status? Their resources were the conferment of official posts with administrative authority and tax farming by the state. They strove to leave their properties to their descendants by means of the waqf, but even waqf properties were appropriated by the ruling powers at the time. The state organization for conferring authority continued from the Mamluk to the Ottoman period, but the actors changed, as some families declined and others emerged, as seen in sixteenth-century Damascus. This assumption should be further tested by a study of families in seventeenth-century Damascus.

Bibliography Sources Tapu Tahrir Defteri: Damascus Province at the Bas¸bakanlık Ars¸ivi (Archive of the Prime Minister’s Office) in Istanbul, No. 393 (no date); No. 602 (990/1582–83); No. 656 (982– 1003/1574–95) al-Bu¯rı¯nı¯, al-Hasan b. Muhammad (d. 1024/1615). Tara¯jim al-aʿya¯n min abna¯ʾ al-zama¯n, ˙ ˙ ed. Sala¯h al-Dı¯n Munajjid, 2 vols. Damascus, 1959–63. [Tara¯jim al-aʿya¯n] ˙ ˙ al-Ghazzı¯, Najm al-Dı¯n Muhammad b. Muhammad (d. 1061/1651). al-Kawa¯kib al-sa¯’ira bi˙ ˙ a‘ya¯n al-miʾa al-ʿa¯shira, ed. Jibra¯ʾı¯l Sulayma¯n Jabbu¯r, 3 vols. Beirut, 1945–59; 2nd ed. 3 vols. in 2, Beirut, 1997. [Kawa¯kib] Ibn al-Hims¯ı, Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ahmad b. Muhammad (d. 934/1528). Hawa¯dith al-zama¯n wa˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ wafaya¯t al-shuyu¯kh wa-al-aqra¯n, ed. ʿUmar ʿAbd al-Sala¯m Tadmurı¯, 3 vols. Beirut, 1999. Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqala¯nı¯, Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ahmad b. ʿAlı¯ (d. 852/1449). al-Durar al-ka¯mina fı¯ ˙ ˙ a‘ya¯n al-miʾa al-tha¯mina, ed. Muhammad Sayyid Ju¯d al-Haqq, 5 vols. Cairo, 1966–67; ˙ ˙ ed. ʿAbd al-Wa¯rith Muhammad ʿAlı¯, 4 vols. Beirut, 1997. [Durar-Beirut] ˙ 61 Schilcher, 114–124, 156–193. The Bakrı¯, Ghazzı¯ and Maha¯sin families existed from the ˙ fourteenth century.

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Ibn al-ʿIma¯d al-Hanbalı¯, Abu¯ al-Fala¯h ʿAbd al-Hayy b. Ahmad (d. 1089/1679). Shadhara¯t ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ al-dhahab fı¯ akhba¯r man dhahaba, 8 vols. Beirut, n.d. [Shadhara¯t] Ibn Tawq, Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ahmad b. Muhammad (d. 915/1509). al-Ta‘lı¯q: Yawmiyya¯t Shiha¯b ˙ ˙ ˙ al-Dı¯n Ahmad b. Tawq, ed. Ja‘far al-Muha¯jir, vols. 1–4. Damascus, 2000–07. ˙ ˙ Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Shams al-Dı¯n Muhammad b. ʿAlı¯ (d. 953/1546). Hawa¯dith Dimashq al-yaw˙ ˙ ˙ miyya: Ghada¯t al-ghazuʾ al-ʿuthma¯nı¯ lil-Sha¯m 926–951 hijrı¯, ed. Ahmad Ibesh. Dam˙ ascus, 2002 [Hawa¯dith Dimashq]. Repr. under the title Taʾrı¯kh al-Sha¯m fı¯ matlaʿ al-ʿahd ˙ ˙ al-ʿuthma¯nı¯. Abu Dhabi, 2010. –. I‘la¯m al-wara¯ bi-man wulliya na¯’iban min al-atra¯k bi-Dimashq al-Sha¯m al-Kubra¯, ed. Muhammad Ahmad Dahma¯n. Damascus, 1964; 2nd ed. 1984 [I‘la¯m]; ˙ ˙ –. Mufa¯kahat al-khilla¯n fı¯ hawa¯dith al-zama¯n, ed. Muhammad Mustafa¯, 2 vols. Cairo, ˙ ˙ ˙˙ 1962–64 [Mufa¯kahat]; 2nd ed. Beirut, 1998. –. al-Qala¯ʾid al-jawhariyya fi taʾrı¯kh al-Sa¯lihiyya. ed. Muhammad Ahmad Dahma¯n, 2 ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ vols. Damascus, 1949–56; 2nd ed., Damascus, 1980; ed. Ibra¯hı¯m al-Husayn, Amman, ˙ 2014. [Qala¯ʾid] –. Quda¯t Dimashq al-thaghr al-bassa¯m fı¯ dhikr man wulliya qada¯ʾ al-Sha¯m, ed. Sala¯h al˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Dı¯n al-Munajjid. Damascus, 1956. [Quda¯t] ˙ Ibn Iya¯s, Muhammad b. Ahmad al-Jarkası¯ (d. ca. 930/1524). Bada¯’i‘ al-zuhu¯r fı¯ waqa¯’i‘ al˙ ˙ duhu¯r, ed. Muhammad Mustafa¯, 5 vols. Wiesbaden, 1960–75; 2nd ed. Cairo, 1982–84. ˙ ˙˙ [Bada¯ʾiʿ] Ibn al-Sayrafı¯, ʿAlı¯ b. Da¯ʾu¯d al-Jawharı¯ (d. 900/1495). Inba¯ʾ al-hasr bi-abna¯ʾ al-ʿasr, ed. ˙ ˙ Hasan Habashı¯. Cairo, 1970. [Inba¯ʾ al-hasr] ˙ ˙ ˙ al-Maqrı¯zı¯, Taqı¯ al-Dı¯n Abu¯ al-‘Abba¯s Ahmad b. ʿAlı¯ (d. 845/1442). Kita¯b al-sulu¯k li˙ ma‘rifat duwal al-mulu¯k, ed. Muhammad Mustafa¯ Ziya¯da et al., 4 vols. Cairo, 1939–73. ˙ ˙˙ [Sulu¯k] al-Muhibbı¯, Muhammad Amı¯n b. Fadl Alla¯h (d. 1111/1699). Khula¯sat al-athar fı¯ a‘ya¯n al˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ qarn al-ha¯dı¯ ‘ashar, 4 vols. Beirut, n. d. ˙ al-Sakha¯wı¯, Shams al-Dı¯n Abu¯ al-Khayr Muhammad (d. 902/1497). al-Dawʾ al-la¯miʿ li-ahl ˙ ˙ al-qarn al-ta¯siʿ, 12 vols. Cairo, 1934–37. [Dawʾ] ˙ Sa¯lih Furfu¯r, Muhammad b. ʿAbd Alla¯h (d. 1407/1986). al-Durr al-manthu¯r ʿala¯ al-diya¯’ al˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ mawfu¯r fi aʿya¯n Banı¯ Furfu¯r li-Muhammad Jamı¯l al-Shatt¯ı. Damascus, 1962. ˙ ˙˙

Studies al-Bakhit, Muhammad Adnan. The Ottoman Province of Damascus in the Sixteenth Century. Beirut, 1982. Lapidus, Ira M. Muslim Cities in the Later Middle Ages. Cambridge, Mass., 1967; student edition, Cambridge, 1984. Miura, Toru. “Urban Society in Damascus as the Mamluk Era was Ending.” MSR 10–1, 2006. –. “The Sa¯lihiyya Quarter of Damascus at the Beginning of Ottoman Rule: The Ambiguous ˙ ˙ Relations between Religious Institutions and Waqf Properties.” In Syria and Bilad alSham under Ottoman Rule: Essays in Honour of Abdul-Karim Rafeq, ed. Peter Sluglett with Stefan Weber. Leiden, 2010.

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–. Dynamism in the Urban Society of Damascus: The Sa¯lihiyya Quarter from the Twelfth to ˙ ˙ the Twentieth Centuries. Leiden, 2016. Rafeq, Abdul-Karim. The Province of Damascus 1723–1883. Beirut, 1966. al-Sawwa¯f, Muhammad Sharı¯f ʿAdna¯n. Mawsu¯ʿat al-asar al-Dimashqiyya: Taʾrı¯khuha¯, ˙ ˙ ansa¯buha¯, aʿla¯muha¯. Damascus, 2008. Schilcher, Linda Schatikowski. Families in Politics: Damascene Factions and Estates of the 18th and 19th Centuries. Stuttgart, 1985.

Torsten Wollina

Sultan Selı¯m in Damascus: The Ottoman Appropriation of a Mamluk Metropolis (922–924/1516–1518)

The present chapter shall provide one small step towards refining our understanding of the Mamluk-Ottoman transition, through a micro-historical study of the very earliest Ottoman policies of architectural patronage – and Damascene reactions to them.1 The temporal scope of this study is restricted to those oneand-a-half years between Selı¯m’s conquest of Damascus and his return to Istanbul (Ramada¯n 922–Rabı¯ʿ I 924/Sept. 1516–Mar. 1518). Still, it is concerned ˙ with the question in how far the conquest can be considered a paradigmatic shift or rather a swerve (bringing about and coinciding with subtle changes that appear decisive only in retrospect). With regard to the issue at hand, there are at least two sides to this question. After all, dynastic succession has always moved at a different pace than the establishment and intensification of commercial and economic ties or even the administrative penetration of conquered territories, to which the cases of Syria and Egypt amply testify.2 The Ottoman 16th century is commonly regarded as period of prosperity and economic and demographic growth within the region, which is said to have followed a period of decline under the late Mamluks. Heghnar Watenpaugh speaks of a “tremendous urban and commercial development”.3 Thomas Philipp 1 First of all, I would like to express my gratitude for valuable advice in the production of this article to Astrid Meier and Kristina Richardson. 2 See e. g. the different contributions to Michael Winter and Amalia Levanoni, The Mamluks in Egyptian and Syrian Politics and Society, The Medieval Mediterranean (Leiden; Boston, MA: Brill, 2004); for Syria in particular see Muhammad ‘Adna¯ n Ba¯khı¯t, The Ottoman Province of Damascus in the Sixteenth Century (Beirut:˙Librairie du Liban, 1982); Kenneth Cuno, “Was the Land of Ottoman Syria Miri or Milk? An Examination of Juridical Differences Within the Hanafi School”, Studia Islamica 81 (1995): 121–152; for Egypt see Thomas Philipp and Ulrich Haarmann, The Mamluks in Egyptian Politics and Society (Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998); Benjamin Lellouch and Nicolas Michel, Conquête Ottomane De L’Égypte (1517) Arrière-plan, Impact, Échos (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2013); James E Baldwin, “Islamic law in an Ottoman context: Resolving disputes in late 17th/early 18th-century Cairo” (PhD dissertation, Ann Arbor, 2010). Also, on other Ottoman conquests see Halil Inalcik, “Ottoman Methods of Conquest”, Studia Islamica 2 (1954): 103–129. 3 Heghnar Watenpaugh, The City’s Edge: Rethinking Sources and Methods for the Study of

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argues that the conquest of the former Mamluk realm “created in one stroke an enormous free trade zone” which opened up new markets for Syrian merchants and “caused initially a considerable boom”.4 And Muhammad Bakhı¯t ascribes ˙ this boom mostly to the positive effect of Ottoman construction projects: During the period under consideration, Damascus experienced a time of construction and repair. Schools, mosques, convents, bakeries, baths, bridges, markets and caravanserays were either built or repaired. Every class of society and travellers alike benefitted from this upsurge.5

In the long term, these statements are to the point but I would argue that the initial Ottoman presence in Damascus had, in fact, quite the opposite effect. Damascus did not experience an instant apotheosis once it had become ‘Ottoman’. Food prices skyrocketed and remained high during both the Syrian and Egyptian campaigns. Furthermore, military spending provoked the new authorities to devaluate, both the Mamluk gold dinars and the copper coins used in daily small-scale transactions.6 New taxes created a feeling of uncertainty and inhibited any fast upsurge.7 As has been already stated, the economic recovery came at a slower pace and any positive outcome of the new “free trade zone” was, in fact, only to be expected in the second half of the century, after large-scale investments had been made by Selı¯m’s son Sulayma¯n and the Ottoman governors who ruled over the city after him. The shift to be witnessed in these initial years of Ottoman rule was not one from ‘decline’ to ‘recovery’. Rather, a deliberate visual appropriation took place by means of Ottoman dress, Ottoman coins, the public distribution of Ottoman food, and, most importantly, an architectural re-organization and appropriation of the built landscape of Damascus. Against my own presumptions, I have to admit that on this level there occurred paradigmatic changes even during Selı¯m’s two short-term stays. He restructured both the legal status quo and the sacred landscape of the city in such a profound way that the governor Ja¯nbirdı¯ al-Ghaza¯lı¯ could do nothing to undo them during his revolt following the sultan’s death. This article sets out to describe these changes. First, I will introduce my sources and give a summary of the city’s transition from Mamluk to Ottoman

4 5 6 7

Urban Peripheries, Dossier: L’exercice du pouvoir à l’âge des sultanats : Production, manifestation, réception, ed. Irene A Bierman and Sylvie Denoix, Annales islamologiques (2012), 129–144, here: 130. Thomas Philipp, “Bila¯d Al-Sˇa¯m in the Modern Period: Integration Into the Ottoman Empire and New Relations with Europe”, Arabica 51, 4 (2004): 401–418. Ba¯khı¯t, Ottoman Province, 115. Shams al-Dı¯n Muhammad Ibn ʿAlı¯ Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Mufa¯kahat al-khilla¯n fı¯ hawa¯dith al-zama¯n: ˙ ¯ m, ed. Muhammad Mus ˙ tafa¯ (Cairo: al-Muʾassassa al-Mis ˙ riyya al-ʿA ¯ mma, Ta¯rı¯kh Misr wa-l-Sha ˙ ˙ 58–60, especially 65. ˙˙ ˙ 1964), 2:42, Ibid., 77, 81.

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rule following the battle at Marj Da¯biq. On the remaining pages, I will elaborate on Selı¯m’s visual policies with regard to three aspects: 1) dress, 2) the ottoman appropriation of the Damascene cityscape through architectural activity, and 3) the role of ostentatious charity within this appropriation. One last point should be addressed here. As I have mentioned before, the following study focuses on the changes. Especially with regard to religious architecture, it should be understood that an intricate interplay between change and continuity is always at play. Precedent is an important prerogative for any site of devotion. However, I will not dwell too much on this aspect, but rather emphasize the elements of qualitative change which the Ottomans brought to such places in Damascus.

The Sources My main witness is the prominent Hanafi scholar Muhammad Ibn Tu¯lu¯n al-Sa¯lih¯ı ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ (d. 953/1546), who related the transition of rule in his chronicle Mufa¯kahat alKhilla¯n fı¯ Hawa¯dith al-Zama¯n (Conversation between friends about the events of ˙ the age).8 As early as 1929, upon the publication of Richard Hartmann’s first edition of Ibn Tu¯lu¯n’s Mufa¯kaha, Herbert Jansky of the University of Vienna ˙ remarked that while this text might not offer a new perspective on the political events that led to the successful conquest,9 it allows us valuable glimpses at how the population of Damascus experienced these events – and, I want to add here, the transition of rule and administration that followed the conquest. Admittedly, Ibn Tu¯lu¯n’s view point is not necessarily representative for all ˙ contemporary Damascenes. As a successful scholar with considerable wealth he belonged to a small circle of Damascenes with very specific notions of right and wrong. Moreover, he had a somewhat unusual pedigree, his paternal family going back to the Mamluk Khuma¯rwayh Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, while his mother Azzda¯n had come ˙ 8 On his biography see: idem, Al-fulk al-mashahu¯n fı¯ ahwa¯l Muhammad Ibn Tu¯lu¯n. Sı¯ra dha¯tiyya ˙ kita¯ban, ˙ li-l-muʾallif wa-baya¯n bi-muʾallafa¯tihı¯ al-ba˙¯ lig˙a (753) ed. Muh˙ammad Khayr Ra˙ ulun (d. 955/1548): mada¯n Yu¯suf (Beirut: Da¯r Ibn-Hazm, 1996); Stephan Conermann, “Ibn T ¯ ¯ ˙ Review 8, 1 (2004): 115–139. ˙ Life˙ and Works”, Mamluk Studies 9 “Damaskus, der Wohnsitz Ibn Tülün’s, war damals eine, allerdings sehr bedeutende, Provinzstadt, nicht aber ein Zentrum der großen Politik und wir werden es daher nicht verwunderlich finden können, wenn uns seine Chronik über die dem Kriege vorausgehenden politischen Vorgänge wenig zu berichten weiß.” Jansky saw the chronicle’s main value in that it would allow to check dates that he had gathered from Ibn Iya¯s. Herbert Jansky, “Die Chronik des Ibn Tu¯lu¯n als Geschichtsquelle über den Feldzug Sultan Selı¯m’s I. gegen die Mamluken. Mit ˙ Bemerkungen zum Problem der Quellen für die Geschichte jener Epoche im Allgemeinen”, Der Islam 18 (1929): 24–33; Richard Hartmann, Das Tübinger Fragment der Chronik des Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, ˙ Dt. Schriften der Königsberger Gelehrten Gesellschaft Geisteswissenschaftliche Klasse (Berlin: Verl.-Ges. für Politik und Geschichte, 1926).

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from Ottoman lands (she is called a ru¯miyya).10 Also, his Hanafi convictions ˙ certainly added to his benevolent stance towards the new Hanafi rulers. One ˙ point in case was the registers, the Ottomans started compiling of all properties, and endowments (waqf) in particular. In contrast to the Sha¯fiʿi scholar alNuʿaymı¯, who denied the census takers access to his work Tanbı¯h al-ta¯lib wa-l˙ da¯ris ʿala¯ baya¯n mawa¯diʿ al-fa¯ʾidat kudu¯r al-qurʾa¯n wa-l-hadı¯th wa-l-mada¯ris11 ˙ ˙ to clarify the names of certain madrasas, Ibn Tu¯lu¯n readily replied to their in˙ quiries about the names of certain endowers: “we gave them most of the desired information in order to legally establish (ithba¯t) the awqa¯f of the madrasas before the qa¯d¯ı of the ru¯mı¯s.”12 Yet, within his own limits, Ibn Tu¯lu¯n shows a keen ˙ ˙ – and often sympathetic – eye on how other parts of Damascene society reacted to the Ottoman arrival and their politics in the following years. In contrast to Stephan Conermann’s statement that the Ottoman conquest “does not seem to have represented a break for our author[’s biography]”13 I would argue that Ibn Tu¯lu¯n’s account indicates rather the opposite. He saw it ˙ clearly as a moment in which fortunes could be made or lost, and he perceived his own position a favorable one. Firstly, he belonged to the Hanafi rite, which ˙ profited more than any other rite from the Ottoman conquest, supplanting the Sha¯fiʿis as the dominant madhhab. Secondly, his family connections became an asset once the Ottomans had arrived. His paternal uncle Jama¯l al-Dı¯n Yu¯suf (d. 937/1530–31), who was very influential in his upbringing and education, enjoyed friendly relations (suhba) with “al-Mulla¯ Idrı¯s al-Ru¯mı¯ al-Hanafı¯”, an ˙ ˙ ˙ Ottoman scholar in Selı¯m’s retinue, since they had met on the pilgrimage in Mecca.14 Ibn Tu¯lu¯n could immediately build on these connections after the oc˙ cupation of Damascus, when he was allowed to visit the Ottoman camp, meet the Hanafi teachers accompanying the sultan, and even engaged with “the ru¯mı¯ ˙ qa¯d¯ı” on several occasions.15 It also earned him the appointment as khat¯ıb, ima¯m ˙ ˙ and teacher at the mosque Selı¯m would build in Sa¯lihiyya.16 ˙ ˙

10 Conermann, “Life and Works”: 115–116. 11 This work could be identical with his major opus, Al-da¯ris fı¯ ta¯rı¯kh al-mada¯ris (Cairo: Maktabat al-Thaqa¯fa al-dı¯niyya, 2006). 12 “fa-saʾalana¯ ʿan asma¯ʾ jama¯ʿa min wa¯qifı¯ al-mada¯ris, fa-akhbarna¯hu mura¯dahu, li-ajl ithba¯t al-awqa¯f li-l-mada¯ris ʿinda qa¯d¯ı al-arwa¯m”; Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Mufa¯kaha, 2:73, quote: 74. ˙ 13 Conermann, “Life and Works”:˙ 119. 14 On the other hand, Jama¯l al-Dı¯n’s own daughter was married to the naqı¯b al-jaysh ʿAla¯ʾ adDı¯n Ibn Ta¯lu¯. The family Ibn Tu¯lu¯n was thus prepared for either outcome of the Mamluk˙ ¯ kaha, 2:11. Ottoman ˙struggle. Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Mufa ˙ to his uncle’s pilgrimage in 922. This allows for speculations on 15 Ibn Tu¯lu¯n probably refers ˙ informal diplomacy and espionage, in particular because Idrı¯s was apparently close to the Ottoman sultan. Ibid., 4, 59. 16 Ibid., 76.

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Furthermore, as I see it, the early Mamluk-Ottoman transition period was a major focal point of Ibn Tu¯lu¯n’s later historical writings, many of which relied, at ˙ least in part, on material he had already recorded in the Mufa¯kaha. Therefore, I would argue that the conquest indeed constituted a rupture for him, which is why he traced the actions of the Ottomans in Damascus carefully.

The Ottomans Arrive Following their victory at Marj Da¯biq, the Ottoman host slowly moved south to finally reach Damascus on 1 Ramada¯n 922 (28 Sept. 1516). They set up camp east ˙ of the city in al-Mastaba close to Qa¯bu¯n, which had long been the site for ˙˙ gathering armies under the Mamluks before their departure to the northern borders. Ibn Tu¯lu¯n uses this occasion to ponder on Selı¯m’s genealogy, which he ˙ traces back to origins similar to his own: In the morning of Saturday, 1 Ramada¯n [922], the king of Ru¯m Salı¯m Kha¯n b. Ba¯yazı¯d ˙ Kha¯n b. Muhammad Kha¯n b. Mura¯d Bak b. Muhammad b. Ba¯yazı¯d b. Mura¯d Bak b. ˙ ˙ Ardakha¯n b. ʿAlı¯ b. Sulayma¯n b. ʿUthma¯n – ʿUthma¯n was one of the mamluks of Ahmad ˙ Ibn Tu¯lu¯n the ruler of Egypt; it was said [he was even] of the mamluks of al-Maʿmu¯n – ˙ arrived to al-Mastaba, adjacent to al-Qa¯bu¯n al-Fawqa¯nı¯. [He came] with a huge army, ˙˙ the likes of which have not been seen. It was said that it numbered 130,000, consisting of Ru¯mı¯s, Armenians, Tatars, the men of [Sha¯h] Suwa¯r [of Dhu¯lqa¯dir], Franks and others.17

After an impressive camp had been set up, the sultan received representatives from the city to accept their allegiance. However, the process of transition had begun well before the Ottomans were ante portas. Selı¯m had sent Muslih (‘peacemaker’) Mı¯za¯n as his envoy to Dam˙ ˙ ascus on 28 Shaʿba¯n to negotiate the townsfolk’s willingness to surrender the city. Expecting this course of events, a gathering on this question had taken even before his arrival: Before that day [on which the Ottoman envoy arrived – TW] our shaykh ʿAbd al-Nabı¯, shaykh Husayn al-Jinna¯nı¯,18 shaykh Muba¯rak al-Qa¯bu¯nı¯19 and a crowd assembled in the ˙ 17 “Wa-fı¯ bukrat yawm al-sabt mustahill Ramada¯n minha¯, wasala malik al-Ru¯m Salı¯m Kha¯n b. ˙ Ba¯yazı¯d Kha¯n b. Muhammad Kha¯n b. Mura¯d˙ Bik b. Muhammad b. Ba¯yazı¯d b. Mura¯d Bik b. ˙ ˙ ¯ dha¯ min mama¯lı¯k Ahmad b. Tulun Ardakha¯n b. ʿAlı¯ b. Sulayma ¯ n b. ʿUthma¯n, wa-ʿUthma¯n ha ¯ ¯ sa¯hib Misr, wa-qı¯la min mama¯lı¯k al-Maʾmu¯n, ila¯ al-mastaba las¯ıq al-Qa¯bu¯n ˙al-Fawqa¯˙nı¯, fı¯ ˙ ˙¯ kir ʿaz ˙ ¯ıma lam nara mithlaha¯, wa-yuqa¯lu inna ʿiddataha ˙ ˙ ¯ miʾat˙ alf wa-thala¯thı¯na alfan, ma¯ ʿasa ˙ ¯ m wa-Arman wa-Tatar wa-Suwa¯riyya wa-Ifranj wa-ghayr dha¯lika.” Ibid., 30. bayna Arwa 18 At least his son was of the Saʿdiyya/Jaba¯wiyya order, a sub-order of the Rifa¯ʿiyya dating back to 13th/14th-century Jaba¯ in the Hawra¯n. It gained ground in Damascus in the second half of ˙ the 15th century with its own chanting circle (halqa) in the Umayyad Mosque and then with ˙

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Musalla¯ in Mı¯da¯n al-Hasa¯. Them and the shaykhs of the quarters agreed on surren˙ ˙ ˙ dering the city (…) and they sent the amı¯r Isma¯ʿı¯l Ibn al-Akram to the commander of the citadel, but he declined to surrender it. The populace wanted them to surrender the city (balad), and they entered it [the citadel] and opened its gates. But it has stayed closed for them since Saturday.20

It is notable here that none of the chief judges seems to have taken part in these deliberations. Rather, Ibn Tu¯lu¯n stresses the presence of the three sufi shaykhs he ˙ lists first. It was them who gathered the support of the quarters and other segments of Damascene society, before informing the remaining Mamluks of the decision. It is possible, if not probable that Ibn Tu¯lu¯n omitted any involvement of ˙ the judges due to hindsight: all four chief judges would be replaced by the Ottomans even before the arrival of the sultan. During the days following the city’s surrender, Ottoman dignitaries continued to arrive in Damascus to prepare the sultan’s great entrance. First, Khayirbak, the former governor of Aleppo who had shifted his allegiance to the Ottomans in the midst of the battle at Marj Da¯biq, arrived “in Ottoman attire”.21 Next, the newly appointed governor Yu¯nus Ba¯sha¯ entered the city and took up residence on the Marja, west of the site of the old Mamluk Qasr al-Ablaq. In cooperation with ˙ Khayirbak he was able to convince the reluctant na¯ʾib al-qalʿa ʿAlı¯ Ba¯y to surrender the citadel.22 Finally, after the whole city had been secured and the khutba ˙ ¯ bidı was held in the name of Selı¯m, the Ottoman qa¯d¯ı al-ʿaskar Zayn al-ʿA ¯n ˙ immediately reshuffled the judicial system in favor of the Ottomans: all four chief justices were replaced and the responsibilities, income and number of the Damascene notaries (sha¯hid/shuhu¯d) were restricted.23 Through these measures,

19 20

21 22 23

the establishment of a za¯wiya in Qubayba¯t, allegedly by Selı¯m himself; see Richard Blackburn, Journey to the Sublime Porte. The Arabic Memoir of a Sharifian Agent’s Diplomatic Mission to the Ottoman Imperial Court in the Era of Suleyman the Magnificent, Beiruter Texte und Studien 109 (Beirut: Orient Institut Beirut, 2005), 63, fn166. Ibid., 66, fn 171.; Ba¯khı¯t, Ottoman Province 7, fn 30. On this local sufi shaykh, see also my forthcoming article in the proceedings for the international conference: “Mamluk Historiography Revisited – narratological perspectives” (Bonn, 18–20 December 2014). “Qad ka¯na ijtamaʿa qabla ha¯dha¯ al-yawm shaykhuna¯ ʿAbd al-Nabı¯, wa-l-shaykh Husayn al˙ asa¯, waJinna¯nı¯, wa-l-shaykh Muba¯rak al-Qa¯bu¯nı¯, wa-khalq, fı¯ al-Musalla¯ bi-Mı¯da¯n al-H ˙ ˙ ittafaqu¯hum wa-masha¯yikh al-ha¯ra¯t ʿala¯ taslı¯m al-balad, (…) fa-wajjahu ¯ al-amı¯r Isma¯ʿı˙¯l b. al˙ Akram ila¯ na¯ʾib al-qalʿa, fa-imtanaʿa min taslı¯miha¯, fa-sallamathum al-na¯s al-balad [sic!], wa-dakhalu¯ ilayha¯, wa-fatahu¯ abwa¯baha¯, wa-ka¯na laha¯ min yawm al-sabt mughlaqa.” Ibn ˙ Tu¯lu¯n, Mufa¯kaha, 2:28. ˙ “ʿalayhi liba¯s al-ʿuthma¯niyya”; ibid., 29. “thumma khalaʿa al-na¯ʾib ʿala¯ na¯ʾib al-qalʿa khilʿa ʿala¯ ziyyihim bi-kufu¯f dhahab, wa-albasa li-jama¯ʿatihı¯ li-kull wa¯hid minhum khilʿa […].” Ibid., 29. ˙ The revenue of the notaries was reduced significantly. It should in no case exceed 25 dirham per case. The order to restrict the number of notaries to eighty is once more repeated in the year 923, probably due to resistance on their part. Interestingly, Zayn instantly pushed the present Sha¯fiʿi chief justice Walı¯ al-Dı¯n Ibn al-Furfu¯r to the side, who had held the first khutba ˙

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the Ottomans decisively changed the balance of power between the different local madhhabs to their own advantage. Their promotion of the Hanafites over the ˙ Sha¯fiʿites began almost instantly, as is reflected in the order in which Ibn Tu¯lu¯n ˙ lists the newly appointed judges: First the Hanafi judge Ibn al-Bahnası¯, then the ˙ 24 Sha¯fiʿi al-Ramlı¯ and the Ma¯liki Ibn al-Khuyu¯t¯ı. ˙ Selı¯m himself made sure to demonstrate his new subjects their impotence in the face of the Ottoman imperial might as soon as he had reached Damascus. In contrast to the usual protocol, he did not grant any of the local grandees an audience during his entry to the city. He let the four chief judges wait an entire night until he finally accepted their subservience. The na¯ʾib al-qalʿa, formerly honored with Ottoman robes, was imprisoned. When the above-mentioned sufi shaykh ʿAbd al-Nabı¯ tried to approach Selı¯m a few days later among a group of scholars and students, he was likewise refused an audience, whereas the consul of the local Venetian colony was readily allowed to see the sultan.25 I presume the addressee of these ostentatious breaches of etiquette was the whole of the population of Damascus. The Ottoman sultan did on purpose forego the Mamluk chains of hierarchy from the start in order to show all Damascenes that they were now part of the Ottoman riʿa¯ya. And he used visual means most of all to communicate this shift. The locals, and Ibn Tu¯lu¯n among them, kept a keen ˙ eye on the sultan’s public appearances during the following months, whenever Selı¯m prayed in the Umayyad Mosque, made circuits to visit religious sites, met with members of the local establishment, attended funerals or other festivities. Selı¯m stayed in Damascus for the remainder of the year, while parts of his army ousted the Mamluks from southern Bila¯d al-Sha¯m. At the beginning of the following year, he embarked on his campaign against Egypt. After his final victory he returned to Damascus (Ramada¯n 923/Sept.–Oct. 1517) and stayed ˙ until the opening of the Salı¯miyya complex (Muharram 924/Febr. 1518), he had ˙ ordered to construct over the grave of the famous sufi shaykh Muhyı¯ al-Dı¯n Ibn ˙ al-ʿArabı¯. Two months later, he left Damascus to return to Istanbul.

in Selı¯m’s name and hosted Zayn himself, when he arrived in Damascus. It deserves mentioning in this context that the Ottoman did not fully accept his hospitality (fa-ata¯ ilayhi bimashru¯b fa-lam yashrabhu¯, wa-bi-maʾku¯l fa-lam yaʾkulhu). Ibid., 29–30, 41. 24 The order of the judges is also rearranged at the beginning of the year 923, the first full year of Ottoman rule. Ibid., 41. 25 Ibid., 30–32.

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Ottoman Dress To the Damascenes, the Ottomans arriving in the entourage of Selı¯m were the Other in many respects – as was the sultan himself. Ibn Tu¯lu¯n regularly refers to ˙ him by the Persian title khonka¯r or sometimes by malik (king). He never uses the term sulta¯n. Selı¯m seemed a less accessible ruler than the Damascenes were used ˙ to from Mamluk times. For his first visit to the Umayyad Mosque, it was closed to the public – and that on a Friday during Ramada¯n! Also, when the first Ottoman˙ built mosque was completed in Sa¯lihiyya and large amounts of food were dis˙ ˙ tributed, the sultan did not take any part in its consumption (see below). Among the Mamluk sultans, banquets had had a rather public character.26 On visiting the Ottoman camp soon after the army’s arrival, Ibn Tu¯lu¯n was ˙ impressed that a total of 36 exclusively Hanafi teachers (mudarrisu¯n) were ac˙ companying the sultan, but he was also disenchanted for he could not communicate with them: They were not speaking Arabic and he did not know Turkish.27 The ru¯mı¯s, as Ibn Tu¯lu¯n usually calls the members of the Ottoman army and its ˙ entourage, even prayed and illuminated mosques differently.28 Most frequently, the issue of Ottoman dress appears as a point of controversy, in particular when paragons of the old regime exchanged their customary attire for Ottoman robes. Damascus was saved from the same fate as Cairo where the Mamluks and awla¯d al-na¯s were killed when they were found by Ottoman soldiers wearing the decisively Mamluk headgears of the takhfı¯fa or zamt.29 But the ˙ Ottomans were resolute to extinguish this aspect of the Mamluk past most quickly. As was mentioned above, already Khayirbak arrived in Damascus in “Ottoman attire”. In the months to follow, many dignitaries followed suit. When, however, the naqı¯b al-jaysh Ibn al-Ta¯lu¯ and two amirs accepted Ottoman robes ˙ and turbans on 8 Ramada¯n 922 (5 Oct. 1516), this provoked a full-scale riot in the ˙ city (11 Ramada¯n/8 Oct.). The Ottomans retaliated with undiscerning force, ˙ evicting even pregnant women from their houses. This state prevailed for at least five days. Many people had no choice but to seek refuge in the mosques and madrasas. Ibn Tu¯lu¯n was also a victim of the retaliations: “I was evicted from my ˙ house and my books were thrown out. They did not go easy on anyone, neither

26 Amalia Levanoni, “Food and Cooking During the Mamluk Era. Social and Political Implications”, Mamluk Studies Review 9,2 (2005): 201–222. 27 “wa fı¯hi dhahabtu […] qa¯sidan al-ijtima¯ʿ bi-l-mudarrisı¯n alladhı¯n maʿahu … fa-lam ya˙ tayassar dha¯lika li-ʿadam al-maʿrifa bi-lisa¯nihim”; Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Mufa¯kaha, 2:31. ˙ and can thus stand in both for the 28 Ibid., 39, 65. Al-Ru¯m refers to the old Byzantine territories area around Istanbul or for (western) Anatolia in general. 29 Albrecht Fuess, “Sultans with Horns. The Political Significance of Headgear in the Mamluk Empire”, Mamluk Studies Review 12, 2 (2008): 71–94.

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the old nor the young, not the people of the Quran nor the scholars nor the sufis, nor anyone else.”30 The Ottomans also forced their style of dress upon the local population and on dignitaries especially. When Selı¯m was on campaign in Egypt, the daftarda¯r Nu¯h ˙ al-Ru¯mı¯ had it announced that henceforth so-called sirwa¯l trousers were mandatory, and whoever would leave his house without them would be castrated. Only the intervention of the Ottoman qa¯d¯ı stopped the measure from being put ˙ into action: “He reproached said daftarda¯r and gave (back) the people the choice to wear drawers or not.”31 Such a forceful application of the Ottoman dress code was apparently controversial among the Ottoman leadership. But it was also one way to demonstrate Ottoman sovereignty over the newly conquered city. It signified that the Ottomans were the new elite and were not willing to grant the old elites their “former exclusive social status” which was symbolized by specific pieces of clothing.32 Therefore, it is not surprising that one of the first decrees of the rebel governor Ja¯nbirdı¯ al-Ghaza¯lı¯ reinstated the Mamluk dress code.33 While Selı¯m could persuade local and Mamluk leaders to take his robe, the dress code was no way to gain silent support, let alone loyalty, from the majority of his new subjects. To these ends, he applied other incentives, namely the sponsorship for projects of construction or renovation and the distribution of charity at such places. In this, he followed in a long tradition of conquest and appropriation.

Appropriating a Muslim City The architectural politics of Selı¯m did not aim at undiscerned “construction and repair”, but were very selective when it came to funding architectural projects, which embodied his claims of legitimate rule and support of a certain judicial status quo. In this endeavor, the Ottomans applied an age-old strategy that, in the Muslim context, can be traced back at least to the Umayyads (681–750).34 Not only was the 30 “wa-ukhrijtu min baytı¯ wa-rumiyat kutubı¯, wa-lam yuwaqqaru¯ ahadan, la¯ saghı¯ran wa-la¯ ˙ kabı¯ran, wa-la¯ ahl al-qurʾa¯n, wa-la¯ ahl al-ʿilm, wa-la¯ al-su¯fiyya, wa-la¯˙ ghayrahum.” Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, ˙ ˙ Mufa¯kaha, 2:34. 31 “fa-ghawwasha ʿala¯ al-daftarda¯r al-madhku¯r wa-khayyara al-na¯s fı¯ libs al-liba¯s wa-ʿadamihi.” Ibid., 59. Ibn Tu¯lu¯n even authored a treatise on this piece of clothing, which is unfortunately ˙ lost: “ʿArju¯n al-Hila ¯ l fı¯-ma¯ warada fı¯ al-Sirwa¯l”; Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Fulk, 41. ˙ 32 Fuess, “Sultans with Horns”: 83. 33 Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Mufa¯kaha, 2:124. 34 The ˙role of monumental architecture in asserting the claims of a (new) dynasty have been long acknowledged in our field. From among recent publications, see e. g. Heghnar Waten-

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sight of major congregational mosques and the sultans’ palaces imposing, visually reflecting and thereby cementing their hierarchical visions of medieval societies. These structures were used as “an obligatory vehicle for the representation of sultanic power” by all Muslim dynasties.35 The various facilities attached to mosques and other religious institutions assured that they were seen by most residents on a daily basis, reminding passers-by both of the power and the benevolence of their respective founder. Markets, fountains, hospitals complemented these religious structures and thereby emphasized their centrality in the urban fabric of cities all over the Near East, and also made them major instruments for urban development.36 In this way, they served the Mamluks and the Ottomans, both of whose “[ j]ustification of [their] rise and continued existence was always couched in terms of their active role for Islam”,37 albeit in quite different terms.38 Richard van Leeuwen describes in detail how the Umayyad sultans made their claims over the, then mostly Christian, city of Damascus – not by an over-all overhaul of its sacred landscape, but by converting the central church into their

35 36

37 38

paugh, The Image of An Ottoman City: Imperial Architecture and Urban Experience in Aleppo in the 16th and 17th Centuries, The Ottoman Empire and its Heritage. Politics, Society and Economy 33 (Leiden: Brill, 2004); Élodie Vigouroux, “Les Banu¯ Mangˇ ak à Damas. Capital social, enracinement local et gestion patrimoniale d’une famille d’awla¯d al-na¯s à l’époque mamelouke”, in Dossier: l’exercice du pouvoir à l’âge des sultanats : Production, manifestation, réception. Edited by Irene A Bierman and Sylvie Denoix, Annales islamologiques (2012): 123–159; Marianne Boqvist, “Building An Ottoman Landscape: The Complexes of Sinân Pasha on the Imperial Roads of Syria”, Turcica 43 (2011): 363–387; Yehoshua Frenkel, “Awqa¯f in Mamluk Bila¯d Al-Sha¯m”, Mamluk Studies Review 13, 1 (2009): 149–166; Cigdem Kafescioglu, “‘In the Image of Rum’: Ottoman Architectural Patronage in Sixteenth-Century Aleppo and Damascus”, Muqarnas 16 (1999): 70–96; Stefan Weber, “Damaskus – Gesellschaft, Struktur und Architektur einer nahöstlichen Metropole”, in Orte & Zeiten, 25 Jahre Archäologische Forschung in Syrien 1980–2005. Edited by Deutsches Archäologisches Institut. Damascus, 2005. Watenpaugh, “The City’s Edge”: 129. See e. g. Toru Miura’s study on Sa¯lihiyya: “The Sa¯lihiyya Quarter in the Suburbs of Damascus. ˙ Ayyubid and Mamluk Periods”, Bulletin ˙ the ˙ ˙ Its Formation, Structure, and Transformation in ¯ ¯ d’Etudes Orientales 47 (1995): 129–181, Richard Van Leeuwen, Waqfs and Urban Structures: The Case of Ottoman Damascus (Leiden: Brill, 1999). Madeline C Zilfi, The Politics of Piety: The Ottoman Ulema in the Postclassical Age (1600– 1800) (Minneapolis, MN, U.S.A.: Bibliotheca Islamica, 1988), 25. For differences between the Mamluk and the Ottoman concepts of the sultanate, or aspects ˇ iha¯d: Two Arms on the Same thereof, see e. g. Albrecht Fuess, “Ottoman G˙azwah – Mamluk G Body”, in Everything is on the Move: The Mamluk Empire as a Node in (trans-)regional Networks, ed. Stephan Conermann (Göttingen, 2014), 269–282; Guy Burak, “Between the Ka¯nu¯n of Qa¯ytba¯y and Ottoman Yasaq: A Note on the Ottomans’ Dynastic Law”, Journal of ˙ Islamic Studies 26, 1 (2015): 1–23; idem: , The Second Formation of Islamic Law : The Hanafi School in the Early Modern Ottoman Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015); idem, “The Abu¯ Hanı¯fah of his time? Islamic Law, Jurisprudential Authority and Empire in ˙ the Ottoman Domains (16th-17th Centuries)” (PhD Thesis, New York University, 2012).

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eponymous mosque. Unlike in Egypt, where the Muslim invaders built their own settlement from scratch (misr), the Umayyads opted in their imperial center for a ˙ highly complex and symbolic interplay of continuity of place and rupture of (sacred) space, placing their place of worship in the very center of the city and the conquered community: [By] appropriating the Basilica of St. John and turning it into a mosque, the caliph in the first instance chose for a policy of continuity, based on the material and spiritual conditions of the city and building on existing structures. These structures were not left intact, however, but were modified to accommodate the exigences of the new dominant community. With the building of the Umayyad Mosque, the material and symbolic structures were integrated into a new system, dominated by a new ruler, and the values accumulated in its location were absorbed to serve a new social and administrative setup.39

Based on this precedent, the appropriation of urban – and rural – space by means of monumental religious architecture became an omnipresent pattern, whenever and wherever Muslim dynasties established themselves in a new (especially nonMuslim) territory. In an almost contemporary case to the one treated here, the Ottomans would apply a similar strategy in Cyprus, where the major congregational mosque in the capital Lefkosia/Nicosia still betrays its origin as a cathedral, despite some of distinctly Ottoman architectural features. The situation was, of course, different when this territory already had been ruled and in majority inhabited by Muslims before. After all, a Muslim sacred landscape was already in place. The madı¯na of Damascus in particular was filled with larger and smaller religious institutions at the time of the Ottomans’ arrival, most of which clustered around the Umayyad Mosque. So how did Selı¯m use architecture to make Damascus an Ottoman city? In their claim for power, both the Ayyubids and the Mamluks had focused on supplanting royal buildings associated with an older dynasty. Jo Van Steenbergen has described how the Ayyubids stripped Cairo’s central area bayn al-qasrayn ˙ from physical remains of the sovereignty of their Fatimid predecessors while ˙ retaining, adapting and relying on its importance as a ritual space and “a meaningful topographical marker”;40 but at the same time they constructed the Cairene citadel which, as “Egypt’s [new] military headquarters, royal residence, and center of government”, soon “totally eclipsed the original functions of the nearby city of Cairo”.41 Likewise, the Mamluk sultan Baybars constructed the 39 Van Leeuwen, Waqfs, 7. 40 Jo Van Steenbergen, “Ritual, Politics, and the City in Mamluk Cairo: The Bayna l-Qasrayn as a Dynamic ‘Lieu De Mémoire’, 1250–1382”, in Court Ceremonies and Rituals of ˙Power in Byzantium and the Medieval Mediterranean. Comparative Perspectives, ed. Alexander Beihammer, Stavroula Constantinou and Maria Parani (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2013), 245. 41 Ibid., 229.

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Qasr al-Ablaq in Damascus in 1264.42 It lay outside the city, “between the two ˙ rivers” (bayn al-nahrayn), setting the new rulers apart from their subjects but still, very much like the Cairene citadel, creating a high degree of visibility for this symbol of Mamluk sovereignty. It remained the residence for visiting sultans up to the end of the Mamluk era. In day-to-day politics, however, the Qasr did not ˙ play a central role. Here, the Mamluks continued Ayyubid custom and held their court sessions (maza¯lim) at the Da¯r al-ʿAdl (palace of justice), located next to the ˙ citadel of Damascus, another symbol of continuity between Ayyubid and Mamluk state power.43 However, the Ayyubids had been perceived as saviors from the crusaders, as the Mamluks from the Mongols. Selı¯m did not apply the same strategy. He mostly left the royal structures alone, but chose to leave his mark only in the form of a religious complex, the Takiyya al-Salı¯miyya.

Architectural Policies During the short period under study here, only one major Ottoman structure was constructed in Damascus: Selı¯m’s mosque, which would later be extended into the Takiyya al-Salı¯miyya, at Ibn al-ʿArabı¯’s shrine in Sa¯lihiyya. As Astrid Meier ˙ ˙ has elaborated in a recent article, the Salı¯miyya symbolizes the beginning of Mamluk-Ottoman transition, as the Takiyya al-Sulayma¯niyya, constructed on the site of the Qasr al-Ablaq, signifies its end.44 The Salı¯miyya still very much appears ˙ like a local structure, whereas the second one already embodies the “iconic Ottoman style with a central hemispherical dome, pencil-shaped minaret, and porticoes”, which came to be proliferated in Bila¯d al-Sha¯m in the second half of the sixteenth century and “was both recognizable and distinct from the idiom of past and contemporary Muslim dynasties.”45 The Salı¯miyya was finished only at the end of the period under study here. Yet, even before the construction of large-scale complexes, Selı¯m set to work to reorganise the political and sacred landscape of Damascus. However, he did not use a direct approach with regard to the royal Mamluk structures. Although 42 Michael Meinecke, Die Mamlukische Architektur in Ägypten Und Syrien: 1: Genese, Entwicklung Und Auswirkungen Der Mamlukischen Architektur (Glückstadt: Augustin, 1992), 29–31. 43 Nasser Rabbat, “The Ideological Significance of the Da¯r Al-ʿAdl in the Medieval Islamic Orient”, International Journal of Middle East Studies 27, 1 (1995): 3–28. 44 Astrid Meier, “For the Sake of God Alone? Food Distribution Policies, Takiyyas and Imarets in Early Ottoman Damascus”, in Feeding People, Feeding Power. Imarets in the Ottoman Empire, ed. Nina Ergin, Christoph K Neumann and Amy Singer (Istanbul, 2007), 121–150. 45 Watenpaugh, “The City’s Edge”: 133.

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properties of the former Mamluk governor were confiscated to create revenue for the Salı¯miyya, these buildings were mostly neglected by Selı¯m’s politics of reconstruction. Neither did he take his seat in the old palace of sultan Baybars,46 nor did he permit the looting of the Mamluk amirs’ houses.47 Instead, most of his measures aimed at a reorganization of the sacred landscape, perhaps to dissolve the old patronage networks that tied much of Damascene society to the old order. Through this, Selı¯m sought to achieve three aims: to discourage opposition through show of force and generous handouts, to redirect funds from the awqa¯f to the state treasury, and to promote the Hanafi madhhab over the other three ˙ Sunni rites, most notably the then dominant Sha¯fiʿis.48 The measures can be grouped into three distinct types: 1) the neglect of madrasas and the reassignment of their awqa¯f; 2) a symbolic appropriation of sacred places (and therefore sacred space); 3) the refurbishment or construction of madrasas, mosques and sacred places. For the first group, Ibn Tu¯lu¯n mentions the case of the ʿAdhra¯wiyya madrasa, ˙ just behind the Da¯r al-Saʿa¯da, which was turned into a stable by Selı¯m’s soldiers.49 Its position right next to the old center of Mamluk government and jurisprudence should not be underestimated with regard to the symbolic choice of that place, especially because it supported both Hanafi and Sha¯fii teachers.50 ˙ Unfortunately, Ibn Tu¯lu¯n omits any remarks on the immediate effects of the ˙ Ottoman surveys of waqf properties on other mosques and madrasas, apart from his statement that it inspired terror among the beneficiaries of foundations when “everyone, who had a deed for the waqf of a congregational mosque, madrasa, neighborhood mosque, turba or kha¯nqa¯h, should present it”.51 With regard to the second group, already the dismissal of the old and the appointment of new chief judges point to the changes Selı¯m aimed at making 46 Only on his victorious return from Egypt did he stay “in the qasr al-za¯hirı¯ on the Mı¯da¯n alAkhdar”, but soon moved back into his first residence in the city.˙ Ibn˙Tu¯lu¯n, Mufa¯kaha, 2:67, ˙ ˙ 70–71. 47 Ibid., 59. 48 Cuno, “Was the Land of Ottoman Syria Miri or Milk”; Meier, “For the Sake of God Alone?”; Burak, “Ka¯nu¯n of Qa¯ytba¯y and Ottoman Yasaq”; Burak, “The Abu¯ Hanı¯fah of His Time?”. ˙ ˙ Al-Busrawı¯ reports 49 It is uncertain whether that madrasa was still functioning at the time. ˙ Ibn Qa¯d¯ı severe damage due to a fire in 871/1467. Although one member of the prominent ˙ ʿAjlu¯n family held a teaching position there, it rarely appears in Ibn Tawq’s text, although he ˙ enjoyed quite intimate relations to that family. ʿAla¯ʾad-Dı¯n ʿAlı¯ Ibn Yu¯suf al-Busrawı¯, Ta¯rı¯kh ˙ H li-g˙a¯yat Al-Busrawı¯ safaha¯t majhu¯la min ta¯rı¯kh Dimashq fı¯ ʿasr al-mama¯lı¯k (min sanat 871 ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ 904 H). Edited by Akram Husain al-ʿUlabı¯ (Damascus: Da¯r al-Maʾmu¯n li-t-Tura¯t, 1988), 25. ¯ ˙ 50 It also shows a certain pragmatism to use it as an addition to the royal stables in the governor’s seat. Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Mufa¯kaha, 2:35; Nuʿaymı¯, Da¯ris 373–382. 51 “nu¯diyya ˙bi-an kull lahu mustanad ʿala¯ waqf ja¯miʿ aw madrasa aw masjid aw turba aw kha¯nqa¯h, bi-hadrih”; Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Mufa¯kaha, 2:65. For the census, see ibid., 33–34, 36–39, 65, ˙ “Was the Land of Ottoman Syria Miri or Milk?”. ˙ also Cuno, 68, 70, 74, 75;˙ see

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within the judicial structure – as does the naming of the Hanafi chief justice in the ˙ first position. Guy Burak has recently argued that, in contrast to the Mamluks, the Ottoman sultans interfered personally in legal debates, “determining the content of Islamic law”,52 because “the Ottoman legal corpus and practices […] drew their legitimacy from […] the Ottoman sultan and, more generally, the Ottoman dynasty”.53 The appointment of the new judges upon their arrival was certainly based on their willingness to accept the new status quo. Selı¯m soon followed up with reassigning prayer spaces in the Umayyad Mosque, restricting the Sha¯fiʿis’ prayer space to the maqsu¯ra and changing the order of entry among the rites. On ˙ 10 Shawwa¯l 922 (6 Nov. 1516), this caused some discontent between “the ru¯mı¯s and some Sha¯fiʿis”, because the latter wanted to enter the Umayyad Mosque before the Hanafis, as was custom.54 Under their new chief judge, who had ˙ received his post from Selı¯m, the Sha¯fiʿis were in no way able to defend their former privileges. Even their former chief judge Walı¯ al-Dı¯n Muhammad Ibn al˙ Furfu¯r (d. 937/1531) preferred to arrange himself with the new order. He delivered to the sultan beautiful sermons “according to the Hanafı¯ rite” and even ˙ ‘converted’ to receive once again the position of the – now Hanafi – chief justice ˙ of Damascus.55 Ibn al-Furfu¯r also made himself useful as a tool in Selı¯m’s construction of the Salı¯miyya (see below). If grudgingly, the Sha¯fiʿis of Damascus accepted the new state of affairs and would not even rally behind Ja¯nbirdı¯ alGhaza¯lı¯ to renew the old dominance of their madhhab. Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, of course, paid the most attention to new construction and re˙ construction projects. Selı¯m’s first investment was the renovation of the Hanafi ˙ Nu¯riyya madrasa, which lay at the center of the waqf cluster west of the Umayyd Mosque. Ibn Tu¯lu¯n calls it “a beautiful building”, when it was renovated in ˙ Shawwa¯l 922 (Nov. 1516), and it became the first nucleus of the Ottoman presence in Damascus, with the treasury stored there and the sultan residing just next door. For these reasons, the whole mahalla was cleared of its residents, the alley ˙ to a close-by hamma¯m was kept closed to the public, and the Qawwa¯sı¯n qay˙ sariyya was turned into the royal kitchens.56 Next, the Kalla¯sa madrasa, residence 52 Burak, “The Abu¯ Hanı¯fah of His Time?”: 8. 53 Burak, “Ka¯nu¯n of ˙Qa¯ytba¯y and Ottoman Yasaq”: 6. ˙ 54 The Ottomans also took over (at least temporarily) the Sha¯fiʿi mashhad which “is nowadays known as the mashhad of Shaykh Taqı¯ al-Dı¯n Ibn Qa¯d¯ı ʿAjlu¯n”, one of the foremost Sha¯fii ˙ public figures in the city at the time. Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Mufa¯kaha, 2:38, 73; for Ibn Qa¯d¯ı Ajlu¯n, see ˙ Qa¯mu¯s ʿa¯mm li-kull fann wa-mat˙lab, (Beirut: Fuʾa¯d Afra¯m al-Busta¯nı¯, Da¯ʾirat al-Maʿa¯rif: ˙ Ibn Tawq [s.n.], 1960), 3: 446; Torsten Wollina, “Zwanzig Jahre Alltag: das Journal des Ahmad als Selbstzeugnis” (PhD. diss. Free University Berlin, 2012). 55 IbnTu¯lu¯n, Mufa¯kaha, 2:36, 70–73, 82}. For a short discussion on the Furfu¯r family, see Miura ˙ “Urban Society in Damascus As the Mamluk Era Was Ending”, Mamluk Studies Review Toru, 10, 1 (2006): 157–193. 56 Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Mufa¯kaha, 2:34, 39, 70–71. ˙

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of the sufi shaykh al-Balkhashı¯, received access to drinking water.57 In the sultan’s absence, the restoration of al-Rabwa, which “had lain in ruins for a while”, was ordered in Rabı¯ʿ II 923 (May 1517).58 Al-Rabwa was the name a promenade or park on the river Barada¯, which encompassed “shops of butter merchants, ice makers (bu¯wa¯rdiyya), providers of quasi-alcoholic drinks (aqsama¯wı¯ wa-fuq˙ qa¯ʿı¯), bakeries, a baking oven (tannu¯r), and four butchers and cooks”.59 It sported also four masjids, one ja¯miʿ, one madrasa and one bath house. It is most probable that the initial reconstruction pertained to the madrasa, which included a Hanafı¯ ˙ teaching position and accommodation for students.60 However, it seems that the work was never started, for Ibn Tu¯lu¯n remarks again in 926 that “it has been ˙ derelict for five years now”.61

Selı¯m’s Mosque Upon his return from Egypt, Selı¯m was, however, not content with repairing the old structures of Mamluk or Ayyubid origin. He now could afford to leave his own footprint on the sacred landscape of the city. Today we know that this came to be the Takiyya al-Salı¯miyya, but at the time the choice of Ibn al-ʿArabı¯’s grave was far from certain, even though the Ottoman leaders held him in high regard; on his first visit, the qa¯d¯ı al-ʿaskar Rukn al-Dı¯n even “took some of the soil with ˙ him, as a present for his kha¯dima Umm Muhammad”.62 In fact, Selı¯m dedicated ˙ quite some time to find an appropriate site for his mosque complex. On Friday, 14 Ramada¯n 922 (11 Oct. 1516), he visited sites in al-Rabwa, al-Nayrab al-Aʿla¯ and ˙ al-Jisr al-Abyad, and on the following Monday, he inspected the mausoleum ˙ (qubba) of Yilbugha¯.63 Shortly before the end of the year, “it is said that he visited most of the shrines of Damascus in these days, such as Barza, Shaykh Rasla¯n, Ba¯b al-Saghı¯r, and everywhere he distributed dirhams.”64 ˙ 57 Ibid., 40. 58 “wa-ka¯na lahu mudda khara¯ban”; ibid., 61. 59 Shams al-Dı¯n Muhammad Ibn ʿAlı¯ Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, “Wasf Rabwat Dimashq”, Majallat al-Majmaʿ ˙ drinks, see Paulina Lewicka, Food and al-ʿIlmı¯ al-ʿArabı¯ ˙2 (1922): 147–152. For˙the alcoholic Foodways of Medieval Cairenes: Aspects of Life in An Islamic Metropolis of the Eastern Mediterranean, (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 465–482. 60 Ibid., 147. Otherwise, this reconstruction could well have been one of the founding stones of the new culture of leisure observed in Early Ottoman Damascus. Georgina Hafteh, “The Garden Culture of Damascus: New Observations Based on the Accounts of ‘Abd Alla¯h AlBadrı¯ (d. 894/1489) and Ibn Kanna¯n Al-Sa¯lih¯ı (d. 1135/1740)”, Bulletin d’Etudes Orientales , ˙ ˙ 61 (2013): 297–325. 61 Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Mufa¯kaha, 2:106. 62 Ibid.,˙ 40. 63 Ibid., 36. 64 “wa-yuqa¯lu innahu fı¯ ha¯dha¯ al-yawm za¯ra gha¯lib maza¯ra¯t dimashq ka-barza wa-l-shaykh

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Selı¯m ordered a congregational mosque to be built next to Ibn al-ʿArabı¯’s grave immediately after his return from Cairo, allegedly on instigation by his closest consort, his khas¯ıs65 Halı¯m Shalabı¯ (Çelebı¯): “It was said that he was his ˙˙ ˙ ima¯m and his shaykh, [and the] the reason for the construction of al-Khonka¯r’s mosque at al-Muhyawı¯ Ibn al-ʿArabı¯”.66 The planning phase began immediately ˙ after Selı¯m’s return around 20 Ramada¯n 923 (6 Oct. 1517). He left the task of ˙ acquiring the land and supervising the construction for the most part to two pillars of the old regime: the above-mentioned Walı¯ al-Dı¯n Ibn al-Furfu¯r and the muʿallim al-sulta¯n Ahmad Ibn al-ʿAtta¯r.67 On the 24th, they went to Sa¯lihiyya for ˙ ˙ ˙˙ ˙ ˙ the first time and “planned (handasu¯) the construction of a mosque cum 68 khutba”. Work started in earnest on the next two days, and within two weeks one ˙ residential building and one bath house (hamma¯m) had been purchased and a ˙ masjid (the recent restoration of which is mentioned nonchalantly by Ibn Tu¯lu¯n) ˙ was demolished to extend the space for the new mosque.69 Even though the Ottoman sultan was in general careful not to apply illegal means to foster his project and therefore had appointed 10.000 dinar for the whole enterprise, the construction would not be halted on legal grounds either. Perhaps the small neighborhood mosque was not acquired by altogether legal means,70 and could also be considered an early victim of the surveys of religious foundations.71 Likewise, later that year, when a dome was to be erected over Ibn al-ʿArabı¯’s grave, the workers proceeded in a clandestine way: “They dug up a number of graves and [khasha¯khı¯sh]. In their place they built its foundations. They did that during the night, fearing an outrage (kala¯m) from the people, and

65 66 67

68 69 70 71

arsla¯n wa-l-ba¯b al-saghı¯r wa-farraqa dara¯him ʿinda kull minha¯”; Ibid., 40; Ibn Tu¯lu¯n later ˙ ˙ both Ibn al-ʿArabı¯ and Shaykh Arsla¯n; idem: “Al-Natq al-Munabbiʾ wrote biographies of ʿan ˙ Tarjamat al-Shaykh al-Muhyawı¯ Ibn al-ʿArabı¯” (Berlin 10098); idem: Gha¯yat Al-baya¯n Fı¯ Tarjamat Al-shaykh Arsla¯n,˙ (Süleymaniyye U Kütüphanesi, Esat Effendi no. 1590). Maybe it is a mistranslation from Persian “khas¯ı” for eunuch? ˙¯ na al-sabab fı¯ ʿima¯rat al-Khonka¯r ʿinda al“wa-yuqa¯lu ima¯mahu wa-shaykhahu, al-ladhı¯ ka Muhyawı¯ bin al-ʿArabı¯”; Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Mufa¯kaha, 2:72. ˙ He seems to have inherited the˙ office from his father Muhammad Ibn al-ʿAtta¯r, who worked ˙˙ on the restoration of the Umayyad Mosque after the 1479˙fire. Doris Behrens-Abouseif, “The Fire of 884/1479 at the Umayyad Mosque in Damascus and An Account of Its Restoration”, Mamluk Studies Review 8, 1 (2004): 279–97. “handasu¯ha¯ li-bina¯yat ja¯miʿ bi-khutba bi-isha¯rat al-khonka¯r”; Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Mufa¯kaha, 2:68. ˙ ˙ Ibid., 68–70. For other legal purchases, see Meier, “For the Sake of God Alone”: 126. Said masjid had been renovated by a certain Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ibn al-Samı¯d¯ı (d. 29 Safar 903) ˙ a˙ Sha¯fiʿi notary ˙ who, according to Ibn Tawq, in whose Taʿlı¯q he appears regularly, was and ˙ belonged to the wider network of the Shaykh al-Isla¯m Abu¯ Bakr Ibn Qa¯d¯ı ʿAjlu¯n. For the death ˙ ¯n Ahmad Ibn Tawq. date, see Sˇiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ahmad Ibn Tawq, Al-Taʿlı¯q. Yawmiyya¯t Sˇiha¯b al-Dı ˙ ˙ ¯jir ˙ ¯ r al-Muha Mudhakkira¯t kutibat bi-Dimashq fı˙¯ awa¯khir al-ʿahd al-mamlu¯kı¯, ed. Shaykh Jaʿfa (Damascus: IFPO, 2007), 4:1551.

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since they believed that nobody would notice it this way.”72 Indeed, work still proceeded as planned. At the end of Dhu¯ al-Qaʿda 923 (Dec. 1517), columns, taken from the royal stables at the Da¯r al-Saʿada, were erected in the mosque.73 In late Muharram 924 (Feb. 1518), the minbar was finally installed, and the mosque ˙ was completed, which was celebrated with a large feast with another sermon by Ibn al-Furfu¯r.74 On the same day, Selı¯m announced the building of a takiyya to the north, whose completion, however, falls outside the scope of this article.75 The site of Selı¯m’s mosque had already during construction become a major vehicle for the integration of Damascus into a wider imperial Ottoman imaginaire.76 In the following, I will demonstrate how the Ottomans used charity at this site (and their other sites) for a rearrangement – and Ottomanization – of the sacred landscape of Damascus.

Sites of Sultanic Charity A recent volume was devoted to the Ottoman ʿima¯rets, public kitchens on a hitherto unknown scale regarding the number of beneficiaries they fed and the amounts of food they served. Of course, the Ottomans did not invent the charitable distribution of food nor the public kitchen as such.77 But they brought it to a new scale, as they did with the complexes, where these meals were served. Usually situated within a religious-commercial complex (takiyya), featuring a mosque, colleges, an inn (kha¯n),78 shops, and often stables for travellers, the ostentatious 72 “fa-hafaru¯ ʿaddat qubu¯r wa-khasha¯khı¯sh, wa-banu¯ maka¯nahum asa¯sa¯taha¯, wa-faʿalu¯ dha¯lika ˙ khawfan min kala¯m al-na¯s wa-zunnan minhum anna dha¯lika la¯ yutliʿa ʿalayhi ahad.” laylan ˙ ˙ ˙ Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Mufa¯kaha, 2:72. ˙ 73 Ibn Tu¯lu¯n depicts this transfer as just, for the Mamluk governor Ja¯n Bula¯t, who had built the ˙ had taken them from a turba in the first place. Ibid., 75. ˙ stables, 74 Ibid., 79–80. 75 The takiyya is treated in more detail in his book on Sa¯lihiyya: idem, Al-Qala¯ʾid al-jawhariyya ˙ ˙¯ n (Damascus: Majmaʿ al-Lugha alfı¯ ta¯rı¯kh al-Sa¯lihiyya, ed. Muhammad Ahmad Duhma ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ʿArabiyya, 1980). 76 I have borrowed this expression from Meier, “For the Sake of God Alone?”, 123. 77 For once, the renowned merchant Ibn al-Muzalliq had endowed the “matbakh al-jashı¯sha” ˙ ¯n Ibn Hamza close to the Ba¯b al-Barı¯d of the Umayyad Mosque. The sharı¯f Kama¯l al-Dı likewise included a public kitchen in a waqf he endowed on 10 Muharram 903. Ahmad ˙Ibn al˙ 114; Ibn Hims¯ı, Hawa¯dith Al-zama¯n Wa-wafayya¯t Al-shuyu¯kh Wa-l-aqra¯˙n (Beirut, 2000), ˙ ˙ Al-Taʿlı T˙awq, ¯q, 4:1534. ˙ Paulina Lewicka has pointed out to me, the combination of lodgings and food might have 78 As marked the most important innovation in relation to the medieval period. ‘Classical’ caravanserays did not offer food to their guests, but Ottoman imarets did. See Paulina Lewicka, “Restaurants, Inns and Taverns That Never Were: Some Reflections on Public Consumption in Medieval Cairo.” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 48, 1 (2005): 40– 91.

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piety of the Ottoman ruling class (and foremost, dynasty) was visible to all attendants. The kitchen in the Sulayma¯niyya would later serve hundreds of people on a daily basis, providing both simple meals to commoners and virtual feasts to high personalities, often on the sojourn from the core lands of the empire.79 Moreover, this type of charity became the sole privilege of the royal family, and therefore served to create dependencies between – and loyalties – between the populace and the state/dynasty.80 Food distribution only entered the picture (with one exception) towards the end of the short period under consideration here, during the construction of and the festivities for the completion of the sultan’s mosque (see below). In the initial stages of Ottoman rule, the distribution of cash was a more prevalent means for convincing the Damascene population of Ottoman benevolence. Like food distribution, these handouts were the seen as a prerogative of the Ottoman dynasty. On one end of the spectrum, the former Sha¯fiʿi chief judge Ibn al-Furfu¯r received in one instance 30,000 ʿuthma¯nı¯ (silver dirham) for a beautiful sermon on 7 Ramada¯n 922 (4 Oct. 1516), while the muezzins of the Umayyad Mosque ˙ received 15,000 each and even the porter (bawwa¯b) of the maqsu¯ra was awarded ˙ 1,000 ʿuthma¯nı¯; in addition to 100 heads of sheep to be divided among them.81 In the same month, Selı¯m distributed money to all the employees and beneficiaries of all the mosques and madrasas in Damascus and its suburbs for three days.82 On a visit to the Hamawı¯ bath house, his barber and the head of the house received ˙ 500 dirham each for their services.83 After an audience with a Hanafı¯ sufi shaykh, ˙ resident in the Umayyad Mosque, the sufi (fuqara¯ʾ) residents of the mosque received about twenty dinar (ashrafı¯).84 On the other end, virtually everybody in the city could receive some money from Selı¯m during Selı¯m’s public appearances. The statement “he distributed many dirhams” is an integral part of Ibn Tu¯lu¯n’s accounts of those events. The ˙ distribution of money was soon tied to specific places and should be seen as part of a political strategy of Ottomanization. Even within the first year of the Ottoman occupation and before the completion of the first Ottoman mosque, the site around Ibn al-ʿArabı¯’s grave became the dominant site for sultanic charity, perhaps second to the Umayyad Mosque. The sultan himself visited the site twice to inspect the progress of constructions, every time distributing vast sums of money.85 His second visit, 79 80 81 82 83 84 85

Meier, “For the Sake of God Alone?”, 129–132. Boqvist, “Building An Ottoman Landscape”, 365. Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Mufa¯kaha, 2:33. Ibid.,˙ 35. Ibid., 32. Ibid., 36. On 2 Shawwa¯l and 8 Dhu¯ al-Hijja 923. The first time, he is said to have distributed “many ˙

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which fell shortly before the ʿı¯d al-adha¯ʾ, he also distributed large numbers of ˙˙ animals for slaughter. Ibn Tu¯lu¯n relates a curious episode from that day which ˙ indicates that the Ottoman promotion of the site was having success: “That day the people saw a column of light on the Eastern minaret of said mosque, and some said: ‘This an angel.’ Others said: ‘It is in service with al-Khonka¯r’.”86 As it turned out, the phenomenon had been caused by plumes of smoke rising from some bath houses nearby, which had reflected the sunlight in a peculiar way, but even Ibn Tu¯lu¯n had to concede that “only God knows the truth” (Alla¯h aʿlam).87 ˙ In the light of such readiness of believe in supernatural agency at the site, it is not surprising that the site of the new mosque was used from the start for funerals and as a burial site for Ottoman grandees. In the first instance, when the governor of Bursa died at the end of Shawwa¯l 922 (Nov. 1516), the festivities still focused on the Nu¯riyya madrasa, where the ru¯mı¯s “ascended the minarets and prayed for the prophet [invocation] in their own way and announced his death”, but the deceased was already “buried in the turba of Ibn al-Zakkı¯, north of the (shrine of) al-Muhyawı¯ Ibn al-ʿArabı¯”.88 Recitations lasted for three quarters of the night, ˙ and, again, money was distributed. Almost exactly one year later, both the abovementioned Halı¯m Çelebi and his brother Hasan died within one month. The ˙ ˙ former’s death was decried from the minarets of the Umayyad Mosque, and both processions to Sa¯lihiyya attracted masses of people. They were buried “at the feet ˙ ˙ of Ibn al-ʿArabı¯” on either side of “Shaykh Muhammad al-Balkhashı¯ in said ˙ turba of al-Muhyawı¯”.89 ˙ The greatest celebrations, however, took place when the mosque was completed: On Friday, the 24 [Muharram 924/5 Feb. 1518], al-Malik al-Muzaffar Salı¯m Kha¯n Ibn ˙ ˙ ʿUthma¯n came to Sa¯lihiyya and entered said mosque to pray. Al-Luʾluʾı¯ Ibn al-Furfu¯r ˙ ˙ held the sermon and with him were so many people that most of the su¯qs of Damascus stayed closed this day. The fuqara¯ʾ (sufis or poor), beggars and women hurried towards him [i. e. Selı¯m] to beg for alms. Then al-Khonka¯r returned to his residence after the prayer, while this crowd petitioned him. They had been uneasy about his departure from Damascus. Then the women

86 87 88 89

dirhams” (farraqa huna¯ka dara¯him kathı¯ra). On the second occasion, Ibn Tu¯lu¯n is somewhat ˙ more precise and speaks of “50.000 ʿuthma¯nı¯”. Ibid., 70, 75. “wa-raʾat al-na¯s h¯ınaʾidhin ʿumu¯dan min nu¯r ʿala¯ al-miʾdhana al-sharqiyya bi-l-ja¯miʿ almadhku¯r, fa-qa¯la˙baʾaduhum: ha¯dha¯ malak; wa-qa¯la baʿaduhum: ha¯dha¯ istikhda¯m maʿa al˙ Khonka¯r.” Ibid., 75–76.˙ Ibid., 76. “wa-talaʿat al-arwa¯m ila¯ maʾa¯dhiniha¯ wa-sallu¯ ʿala¯ al-nabı¯ ʿala¯ tarı¯qatihim wa-aʿlamu¯ bi˙ […] wa-dufina shama¯lı¯ al-Muhyawı ˙ ¯ bin al-ʿArabı¯ bi-turbat ˙ ibn al-Zakkı¯”; ibid., 39. mawtih ˙ al-ʿArabı¯”; “wa-dufina ila¯ ja¯nib al-shaykh Mu“wa-dufina ʿinda rijlay al-Muhyawı¯ Ibn ˙ bi-turbat al-Muhyawı¯ al-madhku¯r”. Ibid., 70, 72. Shaykh hammad al-Balkhashı¯ min al-qibla ˙ al-Balkhashı ¯ was a Hanafi sufi, resident in the Kalla¯sa˙ madrasa, next to the Umayyad Mosque. When still alive, he˙was visited by Selı¯m; ibid., 36.

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occupied said mosque and the men the Qaymarı¯ hospital. Among all of them bags of Damascene silver dirhams (fidda) were distributed, some with 4 or 6, others with 10, 20, ˙˙ 30 coins. Allegedly, he gave almost 10.000 dirham to the preacher. The crowd was pressing so hard that some were killed. The supervisor of the Umayyad Mosque, the new mosque and the Takiyya had cooked (…) a number (alwa¯n) of meals but al-Khonka¯r did not eat one morsel. But his subordinates ate. Allegedly, the reason for his abstinence was that the dishes hold little importance for him. His intention was that more should be left (for everyone else).90

Ibn Tu¯lu¯n’s account points out the importance of the event in several regards, ˙ three of which I will elaborate on. First, it shows that Selı¯m was regarded by his Damascene subjects as their true and rightful ruler to whom they addressed their grievances (which, on that day at least, he promptly answered). It should not be forgotten that many common people were indeed dependent on charity at this time. The local economy had suffered from the longtime presence of the huge Ottoman army, new taxes, and the debasement of the currency, leading to rising food prices and, at times, even scarcity. Bored soldiers increased public violence immensely, fighting in the streets, evicting people from their houses, and harassing women. In the face of these hardships, they turned to the sultan as the source of justice. Second, the Salı¯miyya was established as one of the foremost sacred sites of the city. Its importance rested now only partly on Ibn al-ʿArabı¯ but was redefined through its connection with the Ottoman sultan. The site was the foremost symbol of Selı¯m’s charity, piety, and royal justice, for whose completion he had extended his stay in Damascus by far. And by announcing the addition of a public kitchen, he emphasized these notions even more. The opening was a town-wide event, for which even “most of the markets of Damascus stayed closed”, and already at this early point it was second only to the Umayyad Mosque. Third, Selı¯m’s mosque had achieved this exalted status in such a short term, because it was intricately linked to royal charity. And Ibn Tu¯lu¯n remarks upon the ˙ qualitative shift, now the mosque was finished. The distribution of food had joined that of cash in the Ottoman charitable repertoire. This time, not only animals for slaughter, but complete dishes were distributed among large numbers of people from all strata of society, and Selı¯m even announced the con90 “thumma rajaʿa al-khonka¯r ila¯ manzilihi ʿaqib al-sala¯t, wa-ha¯dhihi al-khalq da¯ʿiyya lahu, wa˙ qad hamm ʿala¯ al-rah¯ıl min dimashq, thumma jalasat al-nisa¯ʾ bi-l-ja¯miʿ al-madhku¯r, wa-l˙ rija¯l bi-l-ma¯rista¯n al-qaymarı ¯, wa-farraqa ʿala¯ kull minhum jara¯ban min fidda dimashqiyya, ˙ ˙ aʿta¯ al-khat¯ıb ma¯ bayna arbaʿa wa-sitta wa-ʿashara wa-ʿishrı¯n wa-thala¯thı¯n, wa-yuqa¯lu inhu nahw al-ʿasharat a¯la¯f dirham, wa-ka¯na al-na¯s an yaqtulu baʿadahum baʿadan min˙ shiddat ˙al˙¯ miʿ al-mujaddad ˙ zah˙a¯m, wa-ka¯na tabakha na¯zir al-ja¯miʿ al-umawı¯ (…) [wa-]l-ja wa-l-takiyya ˙ ˙ ˙ aydan ʿaddat alwa¯n min al-taʿa¯m, fa-lam yaʾkul al-khonka¯r minha¯ shayʾan, wa-akala man du¯˙nahi, wa-qı¯la sabab ʿadam˙ aklihi annahu istaqalla al-taʿa¯m, wa-ka¯na al-qasid takthı¯rah.” ˙ ˙ Ibid., 79–80.

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struction of a building that would perpetuate this service beyond his own presence in Damascus.91 Through a rededication of funds from the Ottoman treasury, annulled local endowments, and former Mamluk iqta¯ʿ lands, the site of Ibn al-ʿArabı¯’s shrine ˙ was thus recreated as a new, distinctly Ottoman site of devotion, which was second to none in the city.

Conclusion The present article set out to examine in how far the Ottoman conquest and the early transition period were understood a turning point by its Damascene contemporaries. It was demonstrated that indeed already the earliest years saw paradigmatic shifts in the city, both in its sacred and political landscape and in its judicial organization. The early phase of Ottoman rule did not yet see the economic boom, the fruits of which would only be harvested in the later decades of the 16th century. It was not even a shift from ‘Mamluk decline’ to ‘Ottoman recovery’. Damascus did not experience an instant apotheosis now it had become ‘Ottoman’. Rather, it was still being made ‘Ottoman’. Even though the overall effect of Selı¯m’s building activities should not be overstated and the greatest distinctly Ottoman mosque complexes were yet to be constructed following the city’s re-conquest by his son Sulayma¯n, the shifts his actions evoked within the local sacred landscape were paradigmatic and prepared the stage for a thorough Ottomanization of Damascus. Before these years, the Mamluk (and Ayyubid) endowments had clustered around the Umayyad Mosque, whereas their royal buildings created an axis, ranging from the Qasr al-Ablaq on the Marja through the citadel and governor’s ˙ seat to the prison at the Postal Gate (ba¯b al-barı¯d) of the Umayyad Mosque (see figure 1). From its exalted position on the slopes of mount Qa¯syu¯n, Selı¯m’s mosque created a powerful counter point to the Umayyad Mosque itself, replacing or redefining the former royal axis as a religious one, which was later emphasized through the addition of the Sulayma¯niyya at the expense of the Qasr ˙ al-Ablaq and the demolition of the Da¯r al-Saʿa¯da (see figure 2). In this, Selı¯m seems to have actually followed the same method, the Ayyubids and Mamluks had applied to bayn al-qasrayn in Cairo, albeit in a more centralized effort. At the ˙

91 On a minor note, Selı¯m’s unwillingness to partake in the local dishes and his declaration to construct an Ottoman public kitchen, could be related. Meier points out that later takiyyas would serve distinctly Ottoman food. Meier, “For the Sake of God Alone”, 143.

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same time, the impact of the Salı¯miyya also diminished the importance of the intra muros clusters.

Fig. 1. Axis of Mamluk Royal Buildings and Religious Cluster around Umayyad Mosque.

Fig. 2. Axis of Ottoman-built Religious Institutions. Both maps from Mathieu Eychenne “Toponymie et Résidences urbaines à Damas au XIVe siécle”, Bulletin d’etudes orientales 61 (2012), p. 268. Reproduced with permission of the Institut français du Proche-Orient (Ifpo). The color figures on the maps by the author.

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Sultan Selı¯m’s policies during his short time in Damascus, created new facts which could not be undone easily. The former Mamluk amir turned Ottoman governor of Damascus, Ja¯nbirdı¯ al-Ghaza¯lı¯, attempted to turn back the clock during – and even before – his unsuccessful rebellion following Selı¯m’s death. AlGhaza¯lı¯ restored the old Da¯r al-Saʿa¯da and its stables, had the rivers Thawra and Yazı¯d cleaned from rubbish, and finally finished the restoration of al-Rabwa. He invested heavily in restorations of the Umayyad Mosque, had the Za¯hiriyya al˙ Juwa¯niyya and the Ata¯bakiyya madrasas whitewashed, and put pressure on administrators to restore their institutions.92 These measures were meant not only to increase his prestige among the populace, but also to counter the impact of the Salı¯miyya. Most notably in this respect is the restoration of the old Abu¯ ʿUmar madrasa in its close vicinity, which al-Ghaza¯lı¯ celebrated with a great procession and a robe for one of the builders. However, the costs for the face-lift proved too great, and the supervisor had to sell several waqf properties, so that “it could provide bread only two or three times a month”.93 In the end, not even al-Ghaza¯lı¯’s last solution to close down the public kitchen of Selı¯m’s complex could diminish the value, in which Damascenes already held the site. It was too deeply embedded in local devotional life. In the 18th century, it was still a major sacred site in Damascus. When on certain Fridays Ottoman governors would lead a procession to the shrine of Ibn al-ʿArabı¯ after the prayer in the Umayyad Mosque, it was even “considered an alternative site to the Umayyad Mosque itself.”94

Bibliography Sources al-Busrawı¯, ʿAla¯ʾ-ad-Dı¯n ʿAlı¯ Ibn Yu¯suf, Ta¯rı¯kh Al-Busrawı¯. Safaha¯t Majhu¯la Min Ta¯rı¯kh ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Dimashq Fı¯ ʿasr Al-mama¯lı¯k (min Sanat 871 H Li-g˙a¯yat 904 H). Edited by Akram Husain ˙ ˙ al-ʿUlabı¯. Damascus: Da¯r al-Maʾmu¯n li-t-Tura¯t, 1988. ¯ Ibn al-Hims¯ı, Ahmad. Hawa¯dith Al-zama¯n Wa-wafayya¯t Al-shuyu¯kh Wa-l-aqra¯n. Beirut, ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ 2000.

92 Ba¯khı¯t, Ottoman Province 26–27; Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Mufa¯kaha, 2:85, 100, 103, 106, 110, 113, 114, 116– ˙ 18. 93 “wa-sa¯ra la¯ yukhbiza la-ha¯ ila¯ kull shahr marratayn aw thala¯tha”; ibid., 117. ˙ Pantic, “Faith and the Common Man. A Damascene Barber and Popular Religion, 94 Nikola 1741–1763” (Doctoral Thesis, Budapest, 2014), 107.

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Studies Baldwin, James E. “Islamic Law in An Ottoman Context: Resolving Disputes in Late 17th/ early 18th-century Cairo.” Ann Arbor: ProQuest, UMI Dissertations Publishing, 2010. Behrens-Abouseif, Doris. “The Fire of 884/1479 at the Umayyad Mosque in Damascus and An Account of Its Restoration.” Mamluk Studies Review 8, 1 (2004): 279–97. Blackburn, Richard. Journey to the Sublime Porte. The Arabic Memoir of a Sharifian Agent’s Diplomatic Mission to the Ottoman Imperial Court in the Era of Suleyman the Magnificent. Beiruter Texte und Studien. Beirut: Orient Institut Beirut, 2005. Boqvist, Marianne. “Building An Ottoman Landscape: The Complexes of Sinân Pasha on the Imperial Roads of Syria.” Turcica 43 (2011): 363–387. Burak, Guy. “The Abu¯ Hanı¯fah of His Time? Islamic Law, Jurisprudential Authority and ˙ Empire in the Ottoman Domains (16th-17th Centuries).” PhD Thesis New York University, 2012. –. “Between the Ka¯nu¯n of Qa¯ytba¯y and Ottoman Yasaq: A Note on the Ottomans’ Dynastic ˙ Law.” Journal of Islamic Studies 26, 1 (2015): 1–23. –. The Second Formation of Islamic Law: The Hanafi School in the Early Modern Ottoman Empire. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015. Conermann, Stephan. “Ibn Tu¯lu¯n (d. 955/1548): Life and Works.” Mamluk Studies Review 8, ˙ 1 (2004): 115–139. Cuno, Kenneth. “Was the Land of Ottoman Syria Miri or Milk? An Examination of Juridical Differences Within the Hanafi School.” Studia Islamica 81 (1995): 121–152. Eychenne, Mathieu. “Toponymie et Résidences urbaines à Damas au XIVe siécle” Bulletin d’etudes orientales 61 (2012): 245–270.

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Frenkel, Yehoshua. “Awqa¯f in Mamluk Bila¯d Al-Sha¯m.” Mamluk Studies Review 13, 1 (2009): 149–166. ˇ iha¯d: Two Arms on the Same Body.” In Fuess, Albrecht. “Ottoman G˙azwah – Mamluk G Everything Is on the Move: The Mamluk Empire As a Node in (trans-)regional Networks. Edited by Stephan Conermann. Göttingen, 2014. –. “Sultans with Horns. The Political Significance of Headgear in the Mamluk Empire.” Mamluk Studies Review 7, 2 (2008): 71–94. Hafteh, Georgina. “The Garden Culture of Damascus: New Observations Based on the Accounts of ‘Abd Alla¯h Al-Badrı¯ (d. 894/1489) and Ibn Kanna¯n Al-Sa¯lih¯ı (d. 1135/ ˙ ˙ 1740).” Bulletin d’Etudes Orientales, 61 (2013): doi:10.4000/beo. Hartmann, Richard. Das Tübinger Fragment der Chronik des Ibn Tu¯lu¯n. 1. Aufl., ed. ˙ Schriften der Königsberger Gelehrten Gesellschaft Geisteswissenschaftliche Klasse. Berlin: Dt. Verl.-Ges.für Politik und Geschichte, 1926. Inalcik, Halil. “Ottoman Methods of Conquest.” Studia Islamica 2 (1954): 103–129. Jansky, Herbert. “Die Chronik des Ibn Tu¯lu¯n als Geschichtsquelle über den Feldzug Sultan ˙ Selı¯m’s I. gegen die Mamluken. Mit Bemerkungen zum Problem der Quellen für die Geschichte jener Epoche im Allgemeinen.” Der Islam 18 (1929): 24–33. Kafescioglu, Cigdem. “‘In the Image of Rum’: Ottoman Architectural Patronage in Sixteenth-Century Aleppo and Damascus.” Muqarnas 16 (1999): 70–96. Lellouch, Benjamin, and Nicolas Michel. Conquête Ottomane De L’Égypte (1517) Arrièreplan, Impact, Échos. Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2013. Levanoni, Amalia. “Food and Cooking During the Mamluk Era. Social and Political Implications.” Mamluk Studies Review 9/2 (2005): 201–222. Lewicka, Paulina. Food and Foodways of Medieval Cairenes: Aspects of Life in An Islamic Metropolis of the Eastern Mediterranean, Leiden: Brill, 2011. –. “Restaurants, Inns and Taverns That Never Were: Some Reflections on Public Consumption in Medieval Cairo.” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 48, no. 1 (2005): 40–91. Meier, Astrid. “For the Sake of God Alone? Food Distribution Policies, Takiyyas and Imarets in Early Ottoman Damascus.” In Feeding People, Feeding Power. Imarets in the Ottoman Empire. Edited by Nina Ergin, Christoph K. Neumann and Amy Singer. Istanbul, 2007. Meinecke, Michael. Die Mamlukische Architektur in Ägypten und Syrien: 1: Genese, Entwicklung und Auswirkungen Der Mamlukischen Architektur. 2 vols. Glückstadt: Augustin, 1992. Miura, Toru. “The Sa¯lihiyya Quarter in the Suburbs of Damascus. Its Formation, Structure, ˙ ˙ and Transformation in the Ayyu¯bid and Mamlu¯k Periods.” Bulletin d’Etudes Orientales 47 (1995): 129–181. Pantic, Nikola. “Faith and the Common Man. A Damascene Barber and Popular Religion, 1741–1763.” PhD Thesis Budapest, 2014. Philipp, Thomas. “Bila¯d Al-Sˇa¯m in the Modern Period: Integration Into the Ottoman Empire and New Relations with Europe.” Arabica 51, 4 (2004): 401–418. Philipp, Thomas and Ulrich Haarmann. The Mamluks in Egyptian Politics and Society. Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Rabbat, Nasser. “The Ideological Significance of the Da¯r Al-ʿAdl in the Medieval Islamic Orient.” International Journal of Middle East Studies 27, 1 (1995): 3–28.

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Toru, Miura. “Urban Society in Damascus As the Mamluk Era Was Ending.” Mamluk Studies Review 10, 1 (2006): 157–193. Van Leeuwen, Richard. Waqfs and Urban Structures: The Case of Ottoman Damascus. Leiden: Brill, 1999. Van Steenbergen, Jo. “Ritual, Politics, and the City in Mamluk Cairo: The Bayna L-Qasrayn ˙ As a Dynamic ‘Lieu De Mémoire’, 1250–1382.” In Court Ceremonies and Rituals of Power in Byzantium and the Medieval Mediterranean. Comparative Perspectives. Edited by Alexander Beihammer, Stavroula Constantinou and Maria Parani. Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2013, 227–276. Vigouroux, Élodie. “Les Banu¯ Mangˇ ak À Damas. Capital Social, Enracinement Local Et Gestion Patrimoniale D’une Famille D’awla¯ d Al-na¯s À L’époque Mamelouke.” In Dossier : L’exercice Du Pouvoir À L’âge Des Sultanats : Production, Manifestation, Réception. Edited by Irene A Bierman and Sylvie Denoix. (Annales islamologiques 46). 2012: 123–159. Watenpaugh, Heghnar. “The City’s Edge: Rethinking Sources and Methods for the Study of Urban Peripheries.” In Dossier : L’exercice Du Pouvoir À L’âge Des Sultanats : Production, Manifestation, Réception. Edited by Irene A Bierman and Sylvie Denoix. (Annales islamologiques 46). 2012, 129–144. Watenpaugh, Heghnar Zeitlian. The Image of An Ottoman City: Imperial Architecture and Urban Experience in Aleppo in the 16th and 17th Centuries. The Ottoman Empire And Its Heritage. Politics, Society And Economy. Leiden: Brill, 2004. Weber, Stefan. “Damaskus – Gesellschaft, Struktur Und Architektur Einer Nahöstlichen Metropole.” In Orte & Zeiten, 25 Jahre Archäologische Forschung in Syrien 1980–2005. Edited by Deutsches Archäologisches Institut. Damascus, 2005. Winter, Michael and Amalia Levanoni. “The Mamluks in Egyptian and Syrian Politics and Society.” In The Mamluks in Egyptian and Syrian Politics and Society. The Medieval Mediterranean. Leiden; Boston, MA: Brill, 2004. Wollina, Torsten. “Zwanzig Jahre Alltag: Das Journal Des Ahmad Ibn Tawq Als Selbstzeugnis.” Ph.diss. Freie Universität Berlin, 2012. Zilfi, Madeline C. The Politics of Piety: The Ottoman Ulema in the Postclassical Age (1600– 1800). Minneapolis, MN, U.S.A.: Bibliotheca Islamica, 1988.

Mamluks-Ottomans

Timothy J. Fitzgerald

Rituals of Possession, Methods of Control, and the Monopoly of Violence: The Ottoman Conquest of Aleppo in Comparative Perspective

In recent years the 16th-century Mamluk-Ottoman transition in the Middle East has started to receive the attention it has long deserved. For many years prior, interest was largely limited to the diplomatic and military dimensions of the Ottoman conquest of Arabic-speaking lands. This was, after all, one of the most dramatic and consequential moments in the expansion of the classical Ottoman Empire, perhaps second only to the conquest of Constantinople. Consideration of how the also-rising Safavids and Portuguese were entangled in Mamluk-Ottoman relations added to this history and gave it global proportions. Within this perspective, attention gravitated to the experience of Egypt (and Cairo). As the large, wealthy, and strategically-located former center of the Mamluk Empire (and seat of the Abbasid caliphate) this made sense. Egypt is also comparatively rich in source material with which to trace the history of this period. Against this backdrop, other parts of the Arab world have tended to fade from view. Even the attention granted old centers of Islamic history like Damascus and Jerusalem has remained surprisingly exiguous – not to speak of the remainder of North Africa, Arabia, the Levant, and Mesopotamia, including areas beyond the major urban concentrations. One reason for such unevenness and neglect appears to be the sticky assumption that Ottoman conquest proceeded in a more or less uniform fashion and was easily accomplished. There was, by most accounts, little initial resistance, a striking reality given the scope of Selim the Grim’s (r. 1512–20) campaign and the importance of his acquisitions. Rebellion occurred in Damascus and Cairo in the 1520s, but in a manner suggesting disaffection within the former Mamluk elite, not the broader public. Even Ahmed Pasha al-Kha’in’s revolt has seemed to be more the outgrowth of political rivalry emanating from Istanbul than an “Egyptian” insurgency. Moreover, by this time, the Ottoman conquest ritual – Ottoman “methods of conquest” – was well-rehearsed.1 Military victory was 1 The classic formulation remains Halil I˙nalcık, “Ottoman Methods of Conquest,” Studia Islamica 2 (1954): 103–29.

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followed by the garrisoning of soldiers and the appointment of an Ottoman judge and governor who enacted Ottoman authority and, in principle, checked each other’s power. Then a survey of local lands, resources, and peoples was conducted and legal codes (qa¯nu¯nna¯mes) promulgated that instantiated an Ottoman tax regime and disseminated the empire’s self-justifying ideology. Along the way, local elites were courted with promises of position and prosperity in the ascendant imperial order – a process that often preceded the physical annexation of new territories, as it clearly did in the demise of the Mamluk Empire. Again, Egypt was a special case. The Ottomans did not apply the tı¯ma¯r system there. A vigorous response to Ottoman political, legal, and tax arrangements, exhibiting both accommodation and resistance, was visible from the start. And the mamlu¯k system itself experienced kinds of continuity in Egypt that it did not experience elsewhere.2 But is it fair to assume that Ottoman methods of conquest played out according to plan in the rest of the former Mamluk world? Or that sound military victory presaged a smooth transition and ready acceptance of “Ottomanization” in places like Bilad al-Sham?

Early Ottoman Aleppo: Subdued? An excellent place to test such assumptions is the northern Syrian city of Aleppo. This cosmopolitan urban center had been important to the Mamluks for reasons of geopolitics and commerce – given its location near the frontier that included southern Anatolia and the northern Fertile Crescent and its identity as a node of long-distance trade. The history of this region had grown more complex during the Mamluks’ last decades, and events there were likely among the proximate causes for Sultan Selim’s march South. The emergence of the Shiʿi Safavid Empire under Shah Ismaʿil (r. 1501–24) further augmented the importance of Aleppo as a hub from which to project political and military influence. Leslie Peirce has observed that the city was a favorite winter layover for Sultan Sulayman (r. 1520– 66) during his eastern campaigns.3 In view of such circumstances, it is unsurprising that the Ottomans attempted to control the city and its environs tightly from the start. There was even a long period during which Aleppo’s chief 2 For a nuanced understanding of Mamluk continuity in Egypt, the work of Jane Hathaway is essential; see, inter alia, her “Mamluk ‘Revivals’ and Mamluk Nostalgia in Ottoman Egypt,” in The Mamluks in Egyptian and Syrian Politics and Society, ed. Michael Winter and Amalia Levanoni (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 387–406. 3 Leslie Peirce, “Süleyman in Aleppo,” in Turkish Language, Literature, and History: Travelers’ Tales, Sultans, and Scholars Since the Eighth Century, ed. Bill Hickman and Gary Leiser (London: Routledge, 2016), 308–22. Sulayman’s three visits were in 1535, 1548–49, and 1553– 54.

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treasury official (defterda¯r) supervised financial matters across Bilad al-Sham, underlining the city’s power.4 What is surprising is how little effort has been expended to study Aleppo in the 16th Century. Late Mamluk Aleppo has received some attention, including work by German and Arab scholars; this is helpful for laying a foundation and appreciating continuities and discontinuities across the conquest divide.5 But early Ottoman Aleppo has met only scattered study, which does not become focused and sustained until the end of the 16th Century when the city appears as a player in empire-wide upheaval and transformation that continues into the following century. One reason for this is the assumption of pacific Ottomanization. Another involves the source material, which is dispersed and challenging linguistically. Aleppo’s Ottoman law court records, a favorite corpus for Ottomanists, are among the richest in the Arab world, but they date mainly to the 1540s, and they are irregular and hard to exploit systematically in this earliest period. To understand those first few decades, one must look elsewhere, to sources like Ottoman law codes and cadastral surveys, local biographical and chronicle literature, and travel accounts. One especially valuable source is the copious biographical dictionary of Rad¯ı ˙ al-Dı¯n Muhammad Ibn al-Hanbalı¯ (d. 1563), a well-connected Aleppine scholar ˙ ˙ and a keen observer of the Mamluk-Ottoman transition.6 Ibn al-Hanbalı¯ noted a ˙ variety of developments that, at first glance, seem in accord with conventional assumptions about both Ottoman methods and the local response. In his entry on Sultan Selim, he describes the conqueror’s first actions in Aleppo. After entering the city in 1516 and securing its citadel, the sultan issued a series of commands that combined heavy-handed extraction with tolerant accommodation.7 Selim squeezed the city’s merchants for a large indemnity, which, Ibn alHanbalı¯ notes, was paid with artificial cheer due to underlying fear.8 The sultan ˙ then dug deeper by ordering a forceful search and seizure of Mamluk wealth (wada¯’iʿ al-jara¯kisa) that had been entrusted with local inhabitants. At the same 4 Muhammad Adnan Bakhit, The Ottoman Province of Damascus in the Sixteenth Century (Beirut: Librairie du Liban, 1982), 143–7; cf. Bruce Masters, s.v. “Aleppo (Ottoman Period),” EI3 1 (2014), 18; B. Lewis, s.v. “Daftarda¯r,” EI2. 5 James B. Evrard, Zur Geschichte Aleppos und Nordsyriens im letzten halben Jahrhundert der ¯ dil ʿAbd al-Ha¯fiz Hamza, Niya¯bat Mamlukenherrschaft (872–921) (Munich: Trofenik, 1974); ʿA ˙ ˙ al-Misriyya Halab fı¯ ʿasr sala¯t¯ın al-mama¯lı¯k (1250–1517M / 648–923H), 2 vols. (Cairo:˙ al-Hay’a ˙ ¯ mma ˙li-al-Kita ˙ ¯ b, 2000). See also Ira Lapidus, Muslim Cities in the Later Middle˙ Ages al-ʿA (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1967); Anne-Marie Eddé, s.v. “Aleppo (Pre-Ottoman),” EI3 4 (2013), 45–50. 6 Rad¯ı al-Dı¯n Muhammad b. Ibra¯hı¯m Ibn al-Hanbalı¯, Durr al-habab fı¯ ta¯rı¯kh aʿya¯n Halab, ed. ˙ ¯ rı¯ and Yahya¯ ʿAbba¯ra (Damascus: ˙ ˙ mu¯d al-Fa¯khu Mah Wazarat˙ al-Thaqa¯fa, 1972–4). ˙ ˙ vol. 1, pt. 2, 663–8. ˙ 7 Ibid., 8 Ibid., 664. “…yabdhilu¯nahu bi-tayyib al-nafs li-khawfihim yawma’idhin ʿala¯ al-nafs.” ˙

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time, Ibn al-Hanbalı¯ is impressed that Ottoman armies camped around Aleppo ˙ did not harm the food supply, and he observes that Selim prevented members of his entourage, including his military judge (qa¯d¯ı ʿaskar), from housing them˙ selves in the city. Such were the Ottoman ruler’s initial measures before departing to complete his campaign against the Mamluks.9 But Selim was not quite done with Aleppo. Three years later, he ordered the removal of sixty merchants in “one night” to be resettled in Trabzon on the Black Sea, a city Selim had governed while a prince. A separate order deported Aleppo’s Persian residents (al-aʿa¯jim) to Istanbul, suggesting mounting anxiety in the conflict with the Safavids. Also relocated to the Ottoman capital were families living in the citadel who were accused of concealing Mamluk Sultan al-Ghawrı¯’s (r. 1501–16) treasure (khiza¯nat ma¯l al-Ghawrı¯).10 In these resettlements, one sees the variety of purposes for which deportation (sawq, sürgün) was used, from enhancing the economy elsewhere, to tightening security and control, to punishing deviant behavior. Along with appointing officials and conducting surveys, such population policies were an integral part of Ottoman methods of conquest.11 Ibn al-Hanbalı¯’s picture of the Ottoman arrival gains added depth in his ˙ description of two of Selim’s first appointees to Aleppo: its governor and its Hanafi judge. He casts them in a favorable light. The first Ottoman governor, Karaca Pasha (d. 1521), is characterized as just (ʿa¯dil) and learned (min ahl alʿilm).12 While the first Ottoman judge, Çömlekçizade Kemal Çelebi, is presented as admirably committed to upholding divine law.13 This vanguard of Ottoman 9 For a full account of Selim’s activities in Aleppo, other sources should supplement Ibn alHanbalı¯, including the Egyptian Muhammad Ibn Iya¯s’s Bada¯’iʿ al-zuhu¯r fı¯ waqa¯’iʿ al-duhu¯r, ˙ Muhammad Mustafa¯ (Wiesbaden: ˙ Franz Steiner, 1961), vol. 5, 73ff. Ibn Iya¯s adds detail ed. ˙ 1) Aleppine ˙ ˙ hostility toward the retreating Mamluks after the Battle of Marj Da¯biq, regarding 2) Selim’s famous encounter with the Abbasid Caliph and the defeated regime’s chief judges, when the former was told he would be returned to Baghdad and the latter were upbraided for their corruption, 3) the sultan’s seizure of the citadel and the astounding quantity and variety of treasures therein, 4) Selim’s praying at the al-Utru¯sh Mosque and the prayers offered and ˙ candles lit for him throughout the city and surrounding districts, 5) the sultan’s guaranteeing security while threateningly commanding the surrender of Mamluk assets held by Aleppines, 6) the sultan’s bathing at an unnamed bathhouse, 7) mention by name of those cooperating with the Ottoman ruler and those killed for resistance (in battle or otherwise). Still other sources highlight Selim’s designation in Aleppo as the “Servitor of the Two Holy Sanctuaries” (kha¯dim al-haramayn al-sharı¯fayn) – see Muhammad Ra¯ghib al-Tabba¯kh, Iʿla¯m al-nubala¯’ ˙ ¯ l (Aleppo: Da¯r al-Qalam ˙ ˙ al-shahba¯’, ed. Muhammad Kama bi-ta¯rı¯kh Halab al-ʿArabı¯, 1988), ˙ ¯, Nahr al-dhahab fı¯ ta¯rı¯kh Halab, ed. Shawqı¯ Shaʿath vol. 3, 141;˙ Ka¯mil ibn Husayn al-Ghazzı ˙ and Mahmu¯d Fa¯khu¯rı¯˙, 2nd ed. (Aleppo: Da¯r al-Qalam al-ʿArabı¯, 1999), vol. 3, 198. 10 Ibn al-H˙anbalı¯, Durr al-habab, vol. 1, pt. 2, 667–8. ˙ ˙ 11 R. Murphey, s.v. “Sürgün,” EI2; Hüseyin Arslan, Osmanlı’da Nüfus Hareketleri (XVI. Yüzyıl): Yönetim, Nüfus, Göçler, Iska¯nlar, Sürgünler (Üsküdar, Istanbul: Kaknüs Yayınları, 2001). 12 Ibn al-Hanbalı¯, Durr al-habab, vol. 1, pt. 1, 210–12. ˙ 2, pt. 1, 67–8. “ka ˙ ¯ na…miqda¯man ʿala¯ ijra¯’ ahka¯m al-sharʿ” (68). 13 Ibid., vol. ˙

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judicial authority asserted Ottoman Hanafism, as expected, but in an adaptable way. Ibn al-Hanbalı¯ relates that his uncle, Muhammad b. Yu¯suf Kama¯l al-Dı¯n ˙ ˙ (d. 1549), a Shafiʿi judge under the Mamluks,14 grew close to Çömlekçizade and was instructed by the latter to adjudicate according to his native Shafiʿi legal tradition (madhhab).15 Tension would bubble to the surface, here as in other former Mamluk cities, with regard to the new marriage tax (resm-i ʿaru¯s), but this did not preclude cooperation across madhhab lines.16 Other dimensions of the Ottoman conquest ritual proceeded apace. The earliest Ottoman law codes for the district of Aleppo make clear that a certain Qara¯ Qa¯d¯ı began conducting a land-and-tax survey of the region within years of ˙ the Ottoman arrival.17 Various codes and surveys – detailed and summary – then appeared at loosely predictable intervals across the ensuing decades.18 Ibn alHanbalı¯ indicates that Qara¯ Qa¯d¯ı, who had served as judge in Hama¯h, was ˙ ˙ ˙ commissioned to inspect and record the province’s religious endowments and private properties and to supervise the sultan’s holdings (al-nazar ʿala¯ al-amwa¯l ˙ al-sulta¯niyya).19 Ottoman imperium, perhaps, had arrived with just the right mix ˙ of force and suasion to take hold without stirring widespread resentment. One might even surmise that Aleppines, like other former Mamluk subjects, were relieved to be rid of their rapacious and corrupt Circassian overlords – a conclusion supported by well-worn narratives of Mamluk decline.20

14 Ibid., vol. 2, pt. 1, 337ff. 15 Ibid., vol. 2, pt. 1, 67. “alzamahu bi-niya¯bat al-hukm bi-ba¯bihi ʿala¯ qa¯ʿidat madhhab al-Ima¯m ˙ Muhammad b. Idrı¯s al-Sha¯fiʿı¯.” ˙ vol. 1, pt. 2, 649–50; Abdul-Karim Rafeq, “The Syrian ʿUlama¯’, Ottoman Law, and 16 Ibid., Islamic Sharı¯ʿa,” Turcica 26 (1994): 9–32. 17 Ahmed Akgündüz, ed., Osmanlı Kanunnâmeleri ve Hukukî Tahlilleri (Istanbul: Fey Vakfı, 1992), vol. 5, 646, 653; cf. 651, 656; cf. Ömer Lûtfi Barkan, XV ve XVIinci Asırlarda Osmanlı ˙Imparatorlug˘unda Ziraî Ekonominin Hukukî ve Malî Esasları, vol. 1, Kanunlar (Istanbul: Bürhaneddin Matbaası, 1943), 207; Robert Mantran and Jean Sauvaget, Règlements fiscaux ottomans: Les provinces Syriennes (Beirut: Institut Français de Damas, 1951), 100. It appears ʿAbd al-Karı¯m Çelebi b. ʿAbdalla¯h Pasha was first appointed to this task by Sultan Selim, though it is not clear what became of him – Ahmad b. Lutf Alla¯h Munajjim Ba¯shı¯, Ja¯miʿ al˙ ˙ duwal, ed. Ghassa¯n b. ʿAlı¯ al-Ramma¯l (Mecca: al-Shafaq, 2009), vol. 2, 686; cf. Ka¯mil al-Ghazzı¯, Nahr al-dhahab fı¯ ta¯rı¯kh Halab, vol. 3, 198. ˙ 18 Margaret Venzke, “The Ottoman Tahrir Defterleri and Agricultural Productivity: The Case for Northern Syria,” Osmanlı Aras,tırmaları 17 (1997): 1–61, esp. 11; cf. Enver Çakar, “H. 931 (M. 1524–1525) Tarihli ve 125 Numaralı Halep I˙cmal Defteri” (Master’s Thesis, Fırat University, 1992), 1–5. 19 Ibn al-Hanbalı¯, Durr al-habab, vol. 1, pt. 1, 233, vol. 1, pt. 2, 935. ˙ 20 There is˙ evidence for Aleppines’ exhaustion by Mamluk governance. They blocked retreating Mamluks from entering the city after Marj Da¯biq and sought violent revenge (tha’ar) in other ways – Ibn Iya¯s, Bada¯’iʿ al-zuhu¯r fı¯ waqa¯’iʿ al-duhu¯r, vol. 5, 73.

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Violence and Unrest, and Their Persistence Alas, Aleppo was not nearly as calm and content as this picture suggests. According to Ibn al-Hanbalı¯, in the spring of 1528, Qara¯ Qa¯d¯ı was surrounded by a ˙ ˙ large, angry crowd as he finished Friday prayer at the city’s Umayyad Mosque. He was stripped of his clothing and beaten to death with sandals and stones – so that no one assailant could be held responsible. Also killed, and viciously butchered, was Ahmad Ibn al-Maʿarrı¯, one of Qara¯ Qa¯d¯ı’s local associates and the acting ˙ ˙ supervisor of pious endowments that supported the Two Holy Sanctuaries, Mecca and Medina (na¯zir awqa¯f al-haramayn al-sharı¯fayn). Their mutilated ˙ ˙ corpses were dragged through the streets before a pious few intervened and offered furtive burial. Later Ottoman chronicles that note the uprising suggest still other followers of Qara¯ Qa¯d¯ı were murdered, perhaps eight or nine total.21 In ˙ the following year, the Ottoman governor ʿIsa Pasha (d. 1543) – son of Grand Vizier Ibrahim Pasha (d. 1536) – led an intense investigation that shook Aleppo from top to bottom. The city’s elite of all kinds (scholars, merchants, ima¯ms, neighborhood shaykhs, etc.) were corralled and interrogated, and a group including a number of ʿulama¯’ was led in shackles to the citadel for imprisonment. In the end, over twenty suspects were executed and others were deported to the Aegean island of Rhodes.22 What should we make of this violent episode, which targeted the primary representative of Ottoman conquest on the ground and took place over a decade after Aleppo’s formal submission? 23 Was this an exceptional paroxysm, reflecting the residual effects of Mamluk rule (the lens through which Ja¯nbirdı¯ al-Ghaza¯lı¯’s rebellion in Damascus is sometimes viewed)? Or was this an indication of deeper systemic trouble with the construction of Ottoman imperial order? The variety and number of people involved in Qara¯ Qa¯d¯ı’s murder point to ˙ more systemic unrest, as does Ibn al-Hanbalı¯’s indication of causes. Apparently ˙ Qara¯ Qa¯d¯ı had been zealously recording and controlling resources on behalf of ˙ the Ottoman state. And not only is inscription an act of possession, as Leslie Peirce would have it, but many were finding their properties subject to new

21 Ibrahim Peçevi, Tarih-i Peçevi (Istanbul: Enderun Kitabevi, 1980), pt. 1, 127–8; Munajjim Ba¯shı¯, Ja¯miʿ al-duwal, vol. 2, 726. Peçevi adds that Aleppines had complained about Qara¯ Qa¯d¯ı ˙ but to no avail. 22 Ibn al-Hanbalı¯, Durr al-habab, vol. 1, pt. 1, 232–34, vol. 1, pt. 2, 935–6, 1056–60; cf. Ka¯mil alGhazzı¯,˙Nahr al-dhahab ˙fı¯ ta¯rı¯kh Halab, vol. 3, 201–203; Najm al-Dı¯n Muhammad al-Ghazzı¯, ˙ al-ʿa¯shira, ed. Jibra¯’ı¯l Sulayma¯n Jabbu ˙ r (Beirut: Da¯r alal-Kawa¯kib al-sa¯’ira bi’aʿya¯n al-mi’a ¯ Afa¯q al-Jadı¯da, 1979), vol. 1, 130. 23 For a full study of the Qara¯ Qa¯d¯ı affair, see my “Murder in Aleppo: Ottoman Conquest and the Struggle for Justice in the Early˙ Sixteenth Century,” Journal of Islamic Studies 27 (2016): 176– 215.

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financial levies.24 Aleppo’s earliest law codes reveal an especially intense and protracted debate over the applicability of the tithe (ʿös¸ür) to endowed (vakf) and freehold (mülk) properties.25 On the subject of taxes, it should be added that many Aleppines, and in particular Aleppine ʿulama¯’, were as irked as their colleagues in Damascus and Cairo about the imposition of new marriage contract fees and the requirement that Shafiʿi judges seek permission from the Ottoman Hanafi judge to register such contracts.26 And Qara¯ Qa¯d¯ı, reflecting the will of his ˙ sultanic patron, offended in a madhhab register as well. He had implemented an order to redirect the inheritances of heirs in the female line to the public treasury, but this only applied to Shafiʿis.27 As if all of this was not enough, Qara¯ Qa¯d¯ı was ˙ also accused of preventing the sale of wheat in the sultan’s imperial storehouses during a time of drought and manipulating the price of salt for the treasury’s benefit, and likely his own.28 While Qara¯ Qa¯d¯ı might have been a distasteful ˙ figure, it is noteworthy that many of his offenses reflected wider Ottoman policies and not simply personal corruption or avarice. Plainly, there was not seamless acceptance of Istanbul’s governance in northern Syria. The Qara¯ Qa¯d¯ı affair also illustrates the Ottomans’ concern with that basic ˙ prerogative of all states: the monopoly of violence.29 Clearly Istanbul, acting through governor ʿIsa Pasha, felt compelled to match the violent spectacle of Qara¯ Qa¯d¯ı’s gruesome communal murder with a violent spectacle of its own. ˙ Though this was perhaps the most dramatic incident of its kind, it was not an isolated event. Early Ottoman Aleppo was a rough and volatile town, certainly more so than is typically assumed. Public executions and a related struggle to control the legitimate use of force – which might be labeled shawka, siya¯sa, shurta, or shihna authority, each with different nuances in Islamic discourse – ˙ ˙ pervade the city’s history in this period. 24 Leslie Peirce, Morality Tales: Law and Gender in the Ottoman Court of Aintab (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), 279–285. 25 Akgündüz, Osmanlı Kanunnâmeleri, vol. 5, 651, 656; Margaret Venzke, “Special Use of the Tithe as a Revenue-Raising Measure in the Sixteenth-Century Sanjaq of Aleppo,” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 29, no. 3 (1986): 239–334; eadem, “Aleppo’s Ma¯lika¯ne-Dı¯va¯nı¯ System,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 106, no. 3 (1986): 451–69. 26 See above, n. 16. 27 Ibn al-Hanbalı¯, Durr al-habab, vol. 1, pt. 2, 935 – “akhraja hukman sulta¯niyyan bi-manʿ ˙ al-sha¯fiʿiyya bi-khusu¯sihim wa dabat ˙ a al-tarika ˙ li-bayt al-ma¯l;” tawrı¯th ˙dhawı¯ al-arha¯m min ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Ka¯mil al-Ghazzı¯, Nahr al-dhahab fı¯ ta¯rı¯kh Halab, vol. 3, 205. According to al-Ghazzı¯, this ˙ measure remained in place for nearly two decades. 28 Ibn al-Hanbalı¯, Durr al-habab, vol. 1, pt. 2, 935. ˙ ˙ 29 Max Weber, From Max Weber: Essays in Sociology, trans. H. H. Gerth and C. Wright Mills (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1948), 77–8. Charles Tilly defines states as “coercionwielding organizations that are distinct from households and kinship groups and exercise clear priority in some respects over all other organizations within substantial territories,” Coercion, Capital, and European States, AD 990–1990 (Cambridge: Basil Blackwell, 1990), 1.

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In another revealing episode, Ibra¯hı¯m al-Qarama¯nı¯ (d. 1557), an Anatolian newcomer (nazı¯l) to the city and a wealthy and powerful merchant (ahad aʿya¯n ˙ al-tujja¯r), hanged one of his slaves from a gate in the central market area.30 The merchant believed this slave had stolen from him. When a second slave came under similar suspicion, al-Qarama¯nı¯ sought the Ottoman governor’s permission to have him killed, too. The governor refused. But al-Qarama¯nı¯ persisted and had the accused tied to the back of a horse and dragged to death through the city’s streets. The vengeful trader then schemed for the demise of yet another alleged accomplice. Only the intervention of a woman from the imperial family, who had arrived in Aleppo while on pilgrimage, spared this last potential victim.31 Here a merchant involved then disregarded, or at least prevailed upon, the city’s highestranking Ottoman official in a decision to implement the most severe criminal penalty – a prerogative ruling regimes typically guard with extreme jealousy. That al-Qarama¯nı¯’s victims were his own slaves likely mitigated the perception that he was appropriating the governor’s power. It is also possible that the governor passed off the events as resulting from his own decision (this cannot be known). But the publicity of the lynchings and al-Qarama¯nı¯’s shady reputation point back to the merchant’s arrogation of authority. Kristina Richardson has brought to my attention a late sixteenth-century source that suggests al-Qarama¯nı¯ was a protosha¯hbandar (“master of the port”) in Aleppo, reflecting his prominence in the merchant community and perhaps some measure of official standing.32 This position, which came to carry judicial privileges (such as serving as an expert

30 Ibn al-Hanbalı¯, Durr al-habab, vol. 1, pt. 1, 88. The phrase used to describe the slave’s ˙ is “salabahu makhnu ˙ execution ¯ qan” – on the connection between salb (typically, “cruci˙ fying”) and “hanging,” which was also apparent in Ottoman qa¯nu¯n, see˙ Uriel Heyd, Studies in Old Ottoman Criminal Law, ed. V. L. Ménage (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1973), 260. 31 Ibn al-Hanbalı¯, Durr al-habab, vol. 1, pt. 1, 88–90. Some of the details in this story remain ˙ ˙ identity of the elite Ottoman female (ihda¯ al-khawa¯tı¯n dhawa¯t alunspecified, including the ˙ Gu¯har Maliksha¯h, one of ja¯h min qibal al-ba¯b al-ʿa¯lı¯) who foiled al-Qarama¯nı¯. Could it be Sultan Bayezid II’s (r. 1481–1512) granddaughters who died in Aleppo in 1552? See Ibn alHanbalı¯, Durr al-habab, vol. 2, pt. 1, 69; cf. Heghnar Z. Watenpaugh, The Image of an Ottoman ˙ ˙ City: Imperial Architecture and Urban Experience in Aleppo in the 16th and 17th Centuries (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 47. For a close study of al-Qarama¯nı¯, which emphasizes his business practices, see Charles L. Wilkins, “Ibrahim b. Khidr al-Qaramani (d. 1557), A Merchant and Urban Notable of Early Ottoman Aleppo,” in Living in the Ottoman Realm: Empire and Identity, 13th to 20th Centuries, ed. Christine Isom-Verhaaren and Kent F. Schull (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2016), 137–49. 32 This source is a rare find: an Aleppine silk-weaver named Kama¯l al-Dı¯n’s untitled diary dated to the late 1580s-early 1590s – Gotha MS orient. A114. On folio 19b, al-Khawa¯ja Ibra¯hı¯m alQarama¯nı¯ is described as having been “like a sha¯hbandar in Aleppo” (ka-sha¯hbandar biHalab) before Sayyidı¯ Khawa¯ja Marʿı¯ al-Halabı¯, known as Ibn al-ʿUlabı¯, was in Kha¯n ˙ Khayrbak, which could imply the latter was˙ the first formal sha¯hbandar – cf. James Tracy, “Syria’s Arab Traders as Seen by Andrea Berengo, 1555–1556” Oriens 37 (2009), 170.

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witness in court), gained prominence in the 17th Century.33 Yet again, at this stage, one remains struck by how al-Qarama¯nı¯’s actions blur the line between statesanctioned execution of the death penalty and private justice. In Ibn al-Hanbalı¯’s ˙ telling, both the Ottoman governor and due process were set aside. One could accumulate still more evidence of death and violence, and assertions of authority to counter disorder. Elsewhere, Ibn al-Hanbalı¯ describes a ˙ jarring event in which a Shiʿi attacked the sermonizer of Aleppo’s Umayyad Mosque while he was preaching. Apparently, just as Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ahmad, ˙ known as Ibn Hima¯ra (d. 1546), mentioned the Companions of the Prophet (al˙ saha¯ba), he was assaulted with lethal intent. The Sunni congregants subdued the ˙ ˙ attacker and carried him before the governor, Khusraw Pasha, who ordered his execution. The people then killed the Shiʿi by burning him alive.34 This event, which dates to the early 1530s, shows how incendiary sectarian identities could be.35 Ibn al-Hanbalı¯ concludes the tale by noting the public immolation marked a ˙ memorable day that delighted the Sunnis, “may God Almighty increase their 36 numbers!” Beyond the sectarian element, it is worth underlining that the Ottoman governor ordered the execution, but it was carried out by “the people” (alna¯s). In a different kind of example, Grand Vizier Ibrahim Pasha, when passing through Aleppo in the mid-1520s, executed a deputy judge (na¯’ib) who was known for oppressive behavior (zulm), taking bribes, and arriving at court ˙ smelling of wine.37 The message was clear: Ottoman justice would not tolerate such corruption and public immorality. Normative order called for strident enforcement. What is also clear is that coercion required local cooperation. The sultan’s representatives – who were often short-term or episodic visitors like Ibrahim – did not have perfect knowledge or free rein, whatever their aspirations. Aleppines were intimately involved in the deployment of violence in their hometown.

33 Bruce Masters, The Origins of Western Economic Dominance in the Middle East: Mercantilism and the Islamic Economy in Aleppo, 1600–1750 (New York: New York University Press, 1988), 57–60. 34 Ibn al-Hanbalı¯, Durr al-habab, vol. 1, pt. 1, 116. ˙ anbalı¯ does not˙date the event. Though his biography of Khusraw Pasha notes the 35 Ibn al-H ˙ was transferred from Aleppo to Egypt in 1534–5 – Durr al-habab, vol. 1, pt. 2, 584. governor Muhammad al-Tabba¯kh indicates Khusraw was appointed governor˙ of Aleppo in 1531–2, ˙ al-nubala¯’˙bi-ta¯rı¯kh Halab al-shahba¯’, vol. 3, 148. Iʿla¯m ˙¯ na yawman mashhu¯dan surra bihi ahl al-sunna kaththarhum 36 Ibid., vol. 1, pt. 1, 116 – “ka Alla¯h taʿa¯la¯.” 37 Ibn al-Hanbalı¯, Durr al-habab, vol. 1, pt. 1, 107; vol. 1, pt. 2, 727; cf. al-Ghazzı¯, Nahr al-dhahab ˙ The judge was an “Ottoman” (ru¯mı¯) named Muhammad b. Hamza. fı¯ ta¯rı¯kh˙ Halab, vol. 3, 201. ˙ ˙ in the Reign ˙ On Ibrahim’s activities in Aleppo, see also Kaya S¸ahin, Empire and Power of Süleyman: Narrating the Sixteenth-Century Ottoman World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 55–6.

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Nonetheless, centrally-designated coercive authorities – as a category – persisted along with the unrest that warranted their presence. Ibn al-Hanbalı¯ intently ˙ noted the variety of governors, military commanders, and police figures that continued to affect life in his city. Many appeared as direct continuations of previous Mamluk positions, such as citadel wardens and law court bailiffs.38 Sometimes these security personnel deliberately acted in the manner of their Circassian predecessors, a point Ibn al-Hanbalı¯ added, it seems, to cast an in˙ dividual in either a severe or an ironic light. ʿIsa Pasha, the governor charged with rectifying Qara¯ Qa¯d¯ı’s murder, was known to scratch his hands when angered ˙ until they bled, and it took the shedding of blood from the one who caused his ire to calm him. The governor signaled his state of mind by wearing red clothing on days when he was angry, as was customary among the Circassians.39 A later governor, Quba¯d Pasha, was described with nomenclature reminiscent of the Mamluk era as Aleppo’s “Commander of Commanders” (amı¯r al-umara¯’). He conducted himself likewise, observing “Circassian protocol” (uslu¯b al-jara¯kisa) upon arriving in the city.40 Quba¯d’s successor, Farha¯d Pasha (d. 1560–1) demonstrated his authority by habitually patrolling Aleppo’s streets (ta¯fa bi-sha˙ wa¯riʿiha¯) with a security detail. In this way he could best know and control his jurisdiction.41 While European visitors to the city did not generally notice Mamluk continuities or discontinuities, they often commented on Aleppo’s security posture – even as its commercial identity gained salience. The city’s imposing walls, gates, towers, and citadel, and the soldiers garrisoning these, visually enacted a concern for control, both within and radiating from the urban center.42 Palmira Brummett

38 The commander of the citadel (du¯zda¯r, dizda¯r) was not unlike the Mamluk na¯’ib al-qalʿa – Ibn al-Hanbalı¯, Durr al-habab, vol. 2, pt. 1, 58, 61. Ibn al-Hanbalı¯ writes explicitly that the ˙ law court bailiff˙ (al-muhdir ba¯shı¯) was, under the ˙Circassians, called the “naqı¯b alOttoman ˙ ˙42. rusul,” Durr al-habab, vol. 1, pt. 1, 39 Ibn al-Hanbalı¯, ˙Durr al-habab, vol. 1, pt. 2, 1057. ˙ 2, pt. 1, 57. ˙ 40 Ibid., vol. 41 Ibid., 14. 42 See, for example, Pierre Belon, Voyage au Levant: les observations de Pierre Belon du Mans de plusieurs singularités & choses mémorables, trouvées en Grèce, Turquie, Judée, Égypte, Arabie & autres pays étranges (1553), ed. Alexandra Merle (Paris: Chandeigne, 2001), 414, 415. Belon was in Aleppo in the late 1540s – cf. Stephane Yerasimos, Les voyageurs dans l’empire ottoman (XIVe-XVIe siècles): bibliographie, itinéraires et inventaire des lieux habités (Ankara: La Société Turque d’Histoire, 1991), 205–7. See also a Venetian description of the city, dated 1556, rendered in French, and included in the published account of Ambassador d’Aramon’s Levantine voyages – Jean Chesneau, Le voyage de Monsieur d’Aramon, ambassadeur pour le roy en Levant, ed. Ch. Schefer (Geneva: Slatkine Reprints, 1970), 249–51. And see A Spanish Franciscan’s Narrative of a Journey to the Holy Land, ed. Harry Charles Luke (London: The Palestine Exploration Fund’s Office, 1927), 12 – the editor has determined that this anonymous work was written between 1553 and 1555 (v).

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has called the fortress the “quintessential marker of space and sovereignty.”43 And Aleppo’s mighty citadel certainly held such significance in the minds of rulers, locals, and visitors alike. Heghnar Watenpaugh has noted that “the citadel was stamped with the first Ottoman architectonic sign in Aleppo: a tower bearing a Sultanic inscription.”44 The fortress also loomed large in Nasu¯h al-Matra¯kçı¯’s ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ famous account of Sulayman’s “two Iraqs” campaign during the mid-1530s 45 (Fig. 1). This orientation toward security, at least in intent, is not surprising. Recall Aleppo’s location as a major staging area for military campaigns in the East. Wars against the Safavids in Iran and Mesopotamia, and against their supporters in Ottoman domains, stretched across the 16th Century.46 Ottoman sultans and viziers frequently passed through Aleppo as part of such campaigning. While there, they demonstrated their power for audiences foreign and domestic.47 The pioneering English merchant Anthony Jenkinson (d. 1611) witnessed Sultan Sulayman’s huge military procession, “most pompous to behold,” into the city on 4 November 1553. Jenkinson described the soldiers in vivid detail, noting their dress, weaponry, numbers, and organization. Sulayman himself displayed “wonderful majesty” in gesture and appearance as he proceeded toward his lodging in Aleppo’s “goodly castle, situated upon a high mountain.” The army, Jenkinson knew, was “marching towards Persia against the Great Sophie [Shah Tahmasp, r. 1524–76].”48 Yet, for all the performed and rhetorical emphasis on security and good governance, Aleppines of the early sixteenth century were not spared a painful 43 Palmira Brummett, Mapping the Ottomans: Sovereignty, Territory, and Identity in the Early Modern Mediterranean (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 6–7, 128–86. 44 Watenpaugh, The Image of an Ottoman City, 40; the inscription dates to December 1521 and is associated with Sultan Sulayman (39–41). 45 Nasu¯h al-Matra¯kçı¯, Beya¯n-ı mena¯zil-i sefer-i ʿIra¯keyn-i Sulta¯n Süleyma¯n Ha¯n, ed. Hüseyin G. ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ 105b, 111–12, ˙ Yurdaydın (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1976), 282–3. ˘Sulayman entered Aleppo on his return to Istanbul in 1535. Cf. Yerasimos, Les voyageurs dans l’empire ottoman, 183–6. For more on Aleppo’s citadel, see Shawqı¯ Shaʿath, Qalʿat Halab: dira¯sa fı¯ ta¯rı¯kh al˙ Asʿad Talas, al-A ¯ tha¯r qalʿa wa a¯tha¯riha¯ (Aleppo: Da¯r al-Qalam al-ʿArabı¯, 1996); Muhammad ˙ fı¯ Suriyya, ¯ tha¯r al-ʿA ¯ mma al-isla¯miyya wa al-ta¯rı¯khiyya fı¯ Halab (Damascus: Mudı¯riyyat˙al-A ¯ ˙ d, al-ʿAskar fı¯ Bila¯d al-Sha¯m fı¯ al-qarnayn al-sa¯dis ʿashar 1956), 35–42; Nu¯fa¯n Raja¯ al-Hammu ¯ ˙ ¯ fa¯q al-Jadı¯da, 1981), 36–7. wa al-sa¯biʿ ʿashar al-mı¯la¯diyayn (Beirut: Da¯r al-A 46 Jean-Louis Bacqué-Grammont, Les Ottomans, les Safavides et leurs voisins: Contribution à l’histoire des relations internationales dans l’Orient islamique de 1514 à 1524 (Istanbul: Nederlands Historisch-Archaeologisch Instituut te Istanbul, 1987); Adel Allouche, The Origins and Development of the Ottoman-Safavid Conflict (906–962/1500–1555) (Berlin: Klaus Schwarz Verlag, 1983). 47 Peirce, “Süleyman in Aleppo.” 48 Richard Hakluyt, Hakluyt’s Collection of the Early Voyages, Travels, and Discoveries, of the English Nation, New ed. (London: 1809–1812), vol. 2, 225–7. For more on Jenkinson, see Stephan Schmuck, s.v. “Jenkinson, Anthony,” Encyclopaedia Iranica, http://www.irani caonline.org/articles/jenkinson-anthony (accessed 27 September 2015).

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Fig. 1. Aleppo’s Citadel and Environs (mid-1530s). Nasu¯h al-Matra¯kçı¯, Beya¯n-ı mena¯zil-i sefer-i ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ 5964, ʿIra¯keyn-i Sulta¯n Süleyma¯n Ha¯n, Istanbul University Library, ms. 105b. Reproduced with ˙ ˘ permission of˙the Istanbul University Library.

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irony: those appointed to guarantee order were often its greatest threats. While this dilemma was hardly limited to northern Syria, it is striking that it so pervaded a region set out for firm control and presumed to be stable. Soldiers, governors, and myriad henchmen, often by violent means, seized property and took life. In Ibn al-Hanbalı¯’s telling, Aleppines suffered in near equal measure under both ˙ Qara¯ Qa¯d¯ı and ʿIsa Pasha. Indeed many of the city’s early Ottoman governors ˙ appeared heavy-handed and ill-tempered – perhaps the post was considered a good match for such personality types. One Husayn Bey (d. 1542) not only took ˙ bribes and cared little for proper legal sanction (sijill sharʿı¯), he seemed to relish brutality. Ibn al-Hanbalı¯ describes him as a governor who frequently shed blood ˙ in vile ways (ʿala¯ su¯ra qabı¯ha), which included breaking limbs (taksı¯r al-atra¯f) ˙ ˙ ˙ and burning victims alive. With suffering and corruption unchecked, only thieves (lusu¯s) benefitted from Husayn’s presence in Aleppo.49 ˙ ˙ ˙ An image of widespread oppression, which extended into the city’s rural hinterlands, is reinforced by a petition Aleppines submitted to Grand Vizier Ibrahim Pasha in the early 1530s.50 This rich document catalogues a disturbing list of abuses at the hands of soldiers, tı¯ma¯r-holding cavalrymen (sipa¯hı¯s), and sundry lackeys who requisitioned food and animals, quartered themselves by force in peoples’ homes, attacked women, abducted boys, tortured and killed opponents, etc. The petitioners pleaded vigorously to the sultan, asking him to mete out justice and restore order. The current governor, Khusraw Pasha, had done little to control the situation, they argued. Indeed conditions were so grievous that Aleppines submitted they would rather be annihilated altogether than continue suffering such devastation.51 This dire statement echoes the exasperation articulated years earlier by ʿAlı¯ b. ʿAtiyya al-Hı¯tı¯, known as Shaykh ˙ ʿAlwa¯n (d. 1530).52 Shaykh ʿAlwa¯n, an influential Sufi from Hama¯h who had close ˙ ties to Aleppo, penned an advice treatise for the Ottoman ruler, perhaps Selim I.53 49 Ibn al-Hanbalı¯, Durr al-habab, vol. 1, pt. 2, 557–8; cf. al-Tabba¯kh, Iʿla¯m al-nubala¯’, vol. 3, 163. ˙ ˙ 50 Muhammad Adnan Bakhit closely studied this letter, ˙ which he dates to 1533–34; see his “Aleppo and the Ottoman Military in the 16th Century (Two Case Studies),” al-Abha¯th 27 ˙ ¯ d, (1978/1979), 27–30, 35–38 – these last pages reproduce the Arabic text. Cf. Nu¯fa¯n al-Hammu ˙ al-ʿAskar fı¯ Bila¯d al-Sha¯m, 140–3 – al-Hammu¯d follows Bakhit’s work and continues the story ˙ th Century. of military unrest (shaghab) into the 17 51 If order cannot be restored, they asked for “a decree [dustu¯r] commanding the destruction of all the people of the country so that they might find rest, for death is preferable [fa-inna mawtatan atyab]…,” Bakhit, “Aleppo and the Ottoman Military,” 37. ˙ ¯, Durr al-habab, vol. 1, pt. 2, 961–78; Najm al-Dı¯n al-Ghazzı¯, al-Kawa¯kib al52 Ibn al-Hanbalı ˙ ˙ sa¯’ira, vol. 2, 206–13. 53 ʿAlı¯ b. ʿAtiyya al-Hı¯tı¯ al-Hamawı¯ [Shaykh ʿAlwa¯n], al-Nasa¯’ih al-muhimma li-al-mulu¯k wa al˙ ˙ ˙ ¯, 2000); Abdul-Karim Rafeq, a’imma, ˙ed. Nashwa al-ʿAlwa ¯ nı¯ (Damascus: Da¯r al-Maktabı “Hama¯h fı¯ matlaʿ al-hukm al-ʿuthma¯nı¯: nasa¯ʾih li-al-sulta¯n wa iltiza¯m bi-al-sharı¯ʿa wa ˙ ¯ yush sukka¯nı ˙ ˙ ¯,” in Nahr taʿa al-haya¯h fı¯ takrı¯m ˙Na¯z˙im Kalla¯s˙1925–1994 bi-muna¯sabat muru¯r ʿaqdayn ʿala¯ wafa¯tih, ed. Muh˙ammad Muhaffil, ˙Khayriyya Qa¯simiyya, and ʿAbd al-Karı¯m ˙ ˙

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In it, he lamented the many offenses against public morality now rampant in the sultan’s new lands. ʿAlwa¯n emphasized state agents’ disregard for the sanctity of life, alluding to unregulated torture, mutilation, and use of the death penalty. He also criticized the seizure of animals, brandishing of weapons, hitting boys, forced entry into homes, enslavement of free people, and extortive “protection fees” (hima¯ya, hawta).54 For Shaykh ʿAlwa¯n and many others, these were ˙ ˙ ˙ dreadful distortions of the state’s coercive power, which should be exercised justly and in accordance with religious law. While the quotidian precariousness of life and property is often sketched as a feature of the decaying Mamluk state, one might recognize continuity along these lines, too, in the early Ottoman period.

A Balanced and Comparative Perspective Of course, the pendulum should not be swung too far. There is ample evidence of good governance, functioning institutions, and normal life in early sixteenthcentury Aleppo. One should keep in mind that narrative sources (e. g., chronicles) often highlight the extraordinary in a way that, without a critical filter, distorts perception of the represented reality. More mundane, bureaucratic sources (e. g., law court records) can serve as an antidote.55 And Aleppo’s earliest law court records do reveal ordinary economic and social life in abundance. Charles Wilkins’s study of Ibra¯hı¯m al-Qarama¯nı¯, noted above, shows him frequently interacting with the court and fellow Aleppines in ways both routine and profitable.56 But one wonders if it is mere coincidence that Aleppo’s law court records do not remain from the city’s first three Ottoman decades.57 In an intriguing parallel, Watenpaugh has noticed that “the imposition of visually distinctive Ottoman mosque complexes in the city was delayed significantly:” the first was that associated with former governor Khusraw Pasha, the Khusrawiyya

54 55 56 57

Ra¯fiq (Damascus: Mu’assasat al-Rika¯bı¯, 2014), 79–105, esp. 81–6; idem, “The Syrian ʿUlama¯’, Ottoman Law, and Islamic Sharı¯ʿa,” 27–8; Mohannad al-Mubaidin, “How the Mamluk Historians Welcomed the Ottomans,” World Applied Sciences Journal 30 (2014): 1925–31, esp. 1925–6. al-Hamawı¯, al-Nasa¯’ih al-muhimma, 133–7, 143, 151–4, 164ff. ˙ T. Darling ˙has˙ advanced a similar argument in this volume with reference to the Linda sixteenth-century mühimme registers – see her chapter, “Investigating the Fiscal Administration of the Arab Provinces after the Ottoman Conquest of 1516.” Wilkins, “Ibrahim b. Khidr al-Qaramani (d. 1557).” The oldest extant mühimme register also dates to the mid-1540s: Topkapı Sarayı Ars¸ivi H. 951–952 Tarihli ve E-12321 Numaralı Mühimme Defteri, ed. Halil Sahilliog˘lu (Istanbul: IRCICA, 2002).

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complex, completed in 1546.58 Other great Ottoman complexes would be constructed in Aleppo’s “Madina” across the ensuing decades – including the ¯ diliyya (1555), the Kha¯n al-Gumruk complex (1574), and the Bahra¯miyya ʿA (1583).59 This inauguration of the city’s “monumental corridor” could signify a turning-point in the city’s history: a pivot away from the uncertainty and insecurity of a protracted transition toward a more stable and prosperous period of consolidation.60 The Venetians, who were well-attuned to Levantine trade and politics, might have sensed a similar shift in circumstances. In 1548, their consul’s residence moved from Tripoli to Aleppo, where it stayed until 1675.61 Yet even this mid-1540s turning-point did not mark permanent or total transformation. Security would continue to ebb and flow. Scholars have noted widespread military unrest in the late 16th and early 17th centuries. This was connected to both local particularities (e. g., Damascene janissaries’ involvement in tax collection around Aleppo) and wider upheaval (e. g., war with the Safavids and “Celali” rebellions).62 The Ottoman state’s monopolization of legitimate violence 58 Watenpaugh, The Image of an Ottoman City, 39, 60–77; Câhid Baltacı, XV–XVI. Asırlar Osmanlı Medreseleri (Istanbul: I˙rfan Matbaası, 1976), 255–6. This stands in stark contrast to the immediate Ottoman architectural stamp in Damascus, where Sultan Selim renovated the tomb of Ibn al-ʿArabı¯ and constructed a complex (takiyya) near it in 1517–18. Çig˘dem Kafesciog˘lu has argued that such prompt sultanic patronage signified Damascus’s more elevated status in Ottoman consciousness, “’In the Image of Ru¯m:’ Ottoman Architectural Patronage in Sixteenth-century Aleppo and Damascus,” Muqarnas 16 (1999), 71, 73–4. If so, this did not necessarily also signal a smooth transition to Ottoman prosperity in Damascus – see Torsten Wollina’s chapter, “Sultan Selim in Damascus: The Ottoman Appropriation of a Mamluk Metropolis (922–924/1516–1518),” in this volume. 59 Watenpaugh, The Image of an Ottoman City, 50–4, 77–114; André Raymond, “Les grand waqfs et l’organisation de l’espace urbain à Alep et au Caire à l’époque ottomane (XVIe-XVIIe siècles),” Bulletin d’études orientales 31 (1979): 113–28. 60 Leslie Peirce located the end of transition for nearby Aintab to circa 1540, which opened a new “imperializing phase,” Morality Tales, 277. For Aleppo, even evidence of early population growth could suggest instability in the wider region. André Raymond noted a significant increase in Aleppo’s population between 1516 and 1537 – “The Population of Aleppo in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries according to Ottoman Census Documents,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 16, no. 4 (1984): 447–60. But this was mainly expressed in the expansion of suburban/extramural neighborhoods, which could reflect, at least in part, migration from surrounding lands as people sought security in the provincial capital. 61 Masters, The Origins of Western Economic Dominance, 14–15. 62 Bakhit, “Aleppo and the Ottoman Military,” 30–4; al-Hammu¯d, al-ʿAskar fı¯ Bila¯d al-Sha¯m, 107ff., 140–3; Abdul-Rahim Abu Husayn, “Janissary ˙Insubordination in the Province of Aleppo at the Turn of the Sixteenth Century as Depicted in Ottoman Documents,” in Actes du VIe Congrès du C.I.E.P.O. tenu à Cambridge sur les provinces arabes à l’époque ottomane, ed. Abdeljelil Temimi (Zaghouan: Centre d’Études et de Recherches Ottomanes et MoriscoAndalouses, 1987), 33–8; William J. Griswold, The Great Anatolian Rebellion: 1000–1020 / 1591–1611 (Berlin: Klaus Schwarz Verlag, 1983); Abdul-Karim Rafeq, “The Revolt of ʿAlı¯ Pasha Ja¯nbu¯la¯d (1605–1607) in the Contemporary Arabic Sources and Its Significance,” in VIII. Türk Tarih Kongresi, Ankara: 11–15 Ekim 1976, vol. 3 (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1983), 1515–34.

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– like the provision of effective governance generally – was not to be accomplished in a single stroke. Rather, these were foundational challenges engaged in the ever-unfolding process of imperial rule. And no part of the empire was immune. It is illuminating to compare sixteenth-century Ottoman methods of conquest, and the responses engendered, with those of other contemporary empires. This was, after all, the onset of global early modernity, and imperial formation was a key feature of this period.63 The Ottomans were not alone in their ideological ambitions, governing approaches, or real-world limitations. Ottoman “ceremonies of possession” established Istanbul’s right to rule in the vernacular of Ottoman politics, which worked for them but was not universally understood or accepted by new subjects and imperial rivals. In Aleppo, the seizure of the citadel, communal prayer for the new ruler, and architectural patronage might have been easily recognized conquest rituals, but other acts (e. g., cadastral surveys and population transfers) were more perplexing and unwelcome. This resonates with what Patricia Seed has argued about rituals and discourses used by Europeans who were seeking to possess parts of the New World in this same period. Speeches, processions, maps, and fencing reflected distinctive accents in Spanish, French, Dutch, Portuguese and English cultures and were now repurposed for imperial conquest. Accordingly, these acts of possession were not always intelligible beyond their cultures of origin.64 Confusion and conflict typically ensued. At the same time, indigenous peoples, from the Americas to East Asia, were not voiceless or impotent. They frequently put forth significant counterclaims, showing an effective capacity for “legal resistance” via the same 63 This observation has been made by many, and there is now a vast literature on early modern empire. For an introduction, one could begin with Charles H. Parker, Global Interactions in the Early Modern Age, 1400–1800 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010); Jane Burbank and Frederick Cooper, Empires in World History: Power and the Politics of Difference (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010); John Darwin, After Tamerlane: The Global History of Empire Since 1405 (New York: Bloomsbury Press, 2008). For emphasis on Europe and the Atlantic world, see Anthony Pagden, The Burdens of Empire: 1539 to the Present (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015); idem, Lords of All the World: Ideologies of Empire in Spain, Britain and France c. 1500-c. 1800 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995); J. H. Elliott, Empires of the Atlantic World: Britain and Spain in America, 1492–1830 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006); David Armitage, ed., Theories of Empire, 1450–1800 (Aldershot, England: Ashgate, 1998). For the Islamic world, see Douglas E. Streusand, Islamic Gunpowder Empires: Ottomans, Safavids, and Mughals (Boulder, Colorado: Westview Press, 2011); Stephen F. Dale, The Muslim Empires of the Ottomans, Safavids, and Mughals (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010); Linda T. Darling, “Political Change and Political Discourse in the Early Modern Mediterranean World,” Journal of Interdisciplinary History 38, no. 4 (2008): 505–31; Sanjay Subrahmanyam, “A Tale of Three Empires: Mughals, Ottomans, and Habsburgs in a Comparative Context,” Common Knowledge 12, no. 1 (2006): 66–92. 64 Patricia Seed, Ceremonies of Possession in Europe’s Conquest of the New World, 1492–1640 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995).

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institutional mechanisms and justifying discourses deployed by European colonizers.65 Aleppines, too, mounted such resistance. Also in a comparative vein, Lauren Benton has likened the Ottomans to European colonial powers who sought to streamline legal pluralism – the variety of legal traditions and systems maintained by subject communities – in moving from a “multicentric legal order” toward a “state-centered” one. In her view, “jurisdictional politics” signified cultural difference, constituted identity, and shaped the exercise of power in fundamental ways.66 While Benton has the Islamic law/state fiat (sharı¯ʿa/qa¯nu¯n) dynamic and non-Muslim legal systems mostly in mind, her framework resonates with the inter-madhhab tensions that have been long associated with the Ottoman annexation of Arab lands and the articulation of a more nuanced Sunni Islamic imperial identity.67 For Benton, a useful comparison is with contemporary Spain, where the monarchy struggled both in Iberia and in its expanding empire abroad with non-Christian legal communities and the need to balance ideological commitment with practical governance.68 The picture that emerges, then, is to some extent obvious: to achieve their ends, empires faced similar challenges and employed similar strategies. Population transfer, for example, was not an Ottoman innovation. It was an ancient imperial tool, which also was being put to extensive use by European powers across the Atlantic at just this time – and would remain in use well into the modern period.69 A useful comparative framework, however, requires multiple perspectives, especially when examining an entity as multifarious as empire. A focus on ritual, law, sanctioned coercion, and the related bureaucratic sources used by historians can have a warping effect on perceptions of order. Not only do sources generated by the imperial center and its representatives in the provinces tend to justify, they also omit and sanitize. If one were limited to Ottoman Aleppo’s law codes, one might imagine that any unhappiness in the city across the first half century of Ottoman rule was limited to vigorous but mostly polite juristic debate over the 65 Adam Clulow, “The Art of Claiming: Possession and Resistance in Early Modern Asia,” American Historical Review 121, no. 1 (2016): 17–38; Saliha Belmessous, ed., Native Claims: Indigenous Law Against Empire, 1500–1920 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012). 66 Lauren Benton, Law and Colonial Cultures: Legal Regimes in World History, 1400–1900 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 1–30, 102–114, 124–6. See also Karen Barkey, “Aspects of Legal Pluralism in the Ottoman Empire,” in Legal Pluralism and Empires, 1500– 1850, ed. Lauren Benton and Richard Ross (New York: New York University Press, 2013), 83– 107. 67 Guy Burak, The Second Formation of Islamic Law: The Hanafı¯ School in the Early Modern ˙ 2015). Ottoman Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 68 Benton, Law and Colonial Cultures, 31–45, 81–102. 69 Joseph Schechla, “Ideological Roots of Population Transfer,” Third World Quarterly 14, no. 2 (1993): 239–75.

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applicability of various taxes. Qara¯ Qa¯d¯ı’s death is noted only to indicate his ˙ replacement. No matter how much reading “against the grain” one does, the full scope of the Qara¯ Qa¯d¯ı affair is not available in the Ottoman central archives. ˙ Such important documentation must be supplemented by local accounts and nongovernmental genres. Moreover, imperial rule was a messy, fraught, and typically violent affair, even in areas that had at first submitted peacefully to new masters. To see subsequent resistance as aberrant risks adopting the perspective of the hegemon – perhaps in overreliance on the records and rationalizations crafted by the same. Again, comparison is provocative. The Spanish effort to annex and govern “New Spain” in the Americas is often noted for its exceptional brutality, a dynamic shaped by the avarice of the conquistadors but also by disease, technology, and a pervasively-held constellation of prejudices that dehumanized those newly subjected. One would not argue that anything approaching this scale of destruction occurred in the 16th-century Ottoman world, but it is worth recalling that the Ottomans and their neighbors were part of an “age of confessionalization” too. While much fluidity endured, there was also a certain hardening of corporate identities. Real tension expressed itself among Arabs, Turks, and Persians as such, and between Muslims and non-Muslims and, especially, Shiʿis and Sunnis.70 And many of these identities converged in frontier areas such as the one anchored by Aleppo. To manage such tensions, empires continued to have ready recourse to lethal violence. Benjamin Lellouch has drawn sobering attention to the massacring of Kizilbash and Mamluk prisoners that occurred as part of Sultan Selim’s campaigns, campaigns invariably identified as “wars of extermination” in Ottoman chronicles.71 The bloody demonstration of sovereign power and justice propelled conquest and undergirded empire-building here as it did elsewhere. ʿIsa Pasha’s response to Qara¯ Qa¯d¯ı’s murder sprung from a similar impulse. At the same time, ˙ such acts could be taken to reflect anxiety, more than confidence, regarding the state’s capacity to extend control and monopolize violence in the post-conquest 70 Derin Terziog˘lu, “How to Conceptualize Ottoman Sunnitization: A Historiographical Discussion,” Turcica 44 (2012–2013): 301–38; Tijana Krstic´, Contested Conversions to Islam: Narratives of Religious Change in the Early Modern Ottoman Empire (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2011). 71 Benjamin Lellouch, “Puissance et justice retenue du sultan ottoman: les massacres sur les fronts iranien et égyptien (1514–1517),” in Le massacre, objet d’histoire, ed. David El Kenz (Paris: Gallimard, 2005), 171–82, 452–7; idem, “La politique mamelouke de Selı¯m Ier,” in Conquête ottomane de l’Égypte (1517): Arrière-plan, impact, échos, ed. Benjamin Lellouch and Nicolas Michel (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 165–210. See also David Ayalon, “Mamlu¯k Military Aristocracy During the First Years of the Ottoman Occupation of Egypt,” in The Islamic World from Classical to Modern Times: Essays in Honor of Bernard Lewis, ed. C. E. Bosworth, et al (Princeton: Darwin Press, 1989), 413–31, esp. 414–15; idem, “The End of the Mamlu¯k Sultanate (Why did the Ottomans Spare the Mamlu¯ks of Egypt and Wipe Out the Mamlu¯ks of Syria?),” Studia Islamica 65 (1987): 125–48.

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order. Early Ottoman Aleppo reveals just how well-founded such concerns were. Work on contemporary Europe suggests parallel development. Monarchy was often formed and perpetuated by murderous conquest.72 Yet centralized royal power was not everywhere victorious, dominating the means of coercion and guaranteeing security of life and property. Blood feuds, dueling, and other forms of private warfare persisted, not as relics of a less “civilized” medieval period but as pervasive indications that early modern states were just as constituted by violent struggle as their predecessors.73 While Ottoman absolutism was sometimes admired by the empire’s neighbors, its extent in the sultan’s domains was just as mythic as the Hobbesian state was in Europe.74 More broadly, “cultures of violence” contended at home and abroad, physically and discursively, and well after the opening conquest moment.75 The argument here does not reject toleration, flexibility, and accommodation as useful lenses on the Ottoman experience. To be sure, there were many who warmed to Ottoman rule, including Ibn al-Hanbalı¯ and his family. Concepts like ˙ negotiation, patronage, and network formation remain essential to capturing provincial politics – and even the politics of protest – in the fullest sense.76 Nor should one revive the discredited tropes of nationalist historiographies in the Middle East that prefer to describe restiveness and suffering under the alien rule imposed by Istanbul. But there should be balance: in the source material mined and in the analytical frameworks deployed. Comparative study, both within and beyond the Ottoman world, adds beneficial perspective. In this light, what transpired in early Ottoman Aleppo is revealing. Istanbul’s conquest of this major regional center was in some ways prompt and firm and in other ways slow and unsure. Annexation proceeded by various means, along a range of indices, at 72 See, for example, José Javier Ruiz Ibáñez and Gaetano Sabatini, “Monarchy as Conquest: Violence, Social Opportunity, and Political Stability in the Establishment of the Hispanic Monarchy,” Journal of Modern History 81 (Sept. 2009): 501–36. 73 Stuart Carroll, Blood and Violence in Early Modern France (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006); Jeppe B. Netterstrøm and Bjørn Poulsen, eds., Feud in Medieval and Early Modern Europe (Aarhus, Denmark: Aarhus University Press, 2007). Moreover, the early modern state’s claim to monopolize legitimate force has deep medieval roots – see Warren C. Brown, Violence in Medieval Europe (Harlow, England: Longman, 2011). 74 For recent challenges to the sultanic mythos, which emphasize “constitutional” structures, see Hüseyin Yılmaz, “Containing Sultanic Authority: Constitutionalism in the Ottoman Empire before Modernity,” Osmanlı Aras¸tırmaları 45 (2015): 231–264; Baki Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire: Political and Social Transformation in the Early Modern Period (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010). 75 Matthew Jennings, New Worlds of Violence: Cultures and Conquests in the Early American Southeast (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 2011). See also José Rabasa, Writing Violence on the Northern Frontier: The Historiography of Sixteenth-Century New Mexico and Florida and the Legacy of Conquest (Durham, North Carolina: Duke University Press, 2000). 76 Karen Barkey, Empire of Difference: The Ottomans in Comparative Perspective (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008).

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different paces – and its terms were not dictated unidirectionally from the imperial center. One senses these conditions most clearly when studying the decades-long period of insecurity that followed Marj Da¯biq, a battle that has long appeared to signify decisive incorporation. It remains in vogue, for good reason, to speak of “encounter” and “cultural exchange” unfolding on the heels of military conquest. Ottomanists, like many of their colleagues in Middle Eastern and Islamic studies, instinctively resist the idea that cultures (or civilizations) clash. But the Mamluk-Ottoman transition was not only a smooth melding of long familiar peoples. It had collisional elements too, which would not be sorted out easily or quickly. If this was true in Aleppo, it was certainly true elsewhere. Much work remains to be done.

Bibliography Sources Barkan, Ömer Lûtfi. XV ve XVIinci Asırlarda Osmanlı ˙Imparatorlug˘unda Ziraî Ekonominin Hukukî ve Malî Esasları. Vol. 1. Kanunlar. Istanbul: Bürhaneddin Matbaası, 1943. Belon, Pierre. Voyage au Levant: les observations de Pierre Belon du Mans de plusieurs singularités & choses mémorables, trouvées en Grèce, Turquie, Judée, Égypte, Arabie & autres pays étranges (1553), ed. Alexandra Merle. Paris: Chandeigne, 2001. Chesneau, Jean. Le voyage de Monsieur d’Aramon, ambassadeur pour le roy en Levant, ed. Ch. Schefer. Geneva: Slatkine Reprints, 1970. al-Ghazzı¯, Najm al-Dı¯n Muhammad. Al-Kawa¯kib al-sa¯’ira bi’aʿya¯n al-mi’a al-ʿa¯shira, ed. ˙ Jibra¯’ı¯l Sulayma¯n Jabbu¯r. 3 Vols. Beirut: Da¯r al-Afa¯q al-Jadı¯da, 1979. Hakluyt, Richard. Hakluyt’s Collection of the Early Voyages, Travels, and Discoveries, of the English Nation. New ed. London: 1809–1812. al-Hamawı¯, ʿAlı¯ b. ʿAtiyya al-Hı¯tı¯ [Shaykh ʿAlwa¯n]. Al-Nasa¯’ih al-muhimma li-al-mulu¯k ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ wa al-a’imma, ed. Nashwa al-ʿAlwa¯nı¯. Damascus: Da¯r al-Maktabı¯, 2000. Ibn al-Hanbalı¯, Rad¯ı al-Dı¯n Muhammad b. Ibra¯hı¯m. Durr al-habab fı¯ ta¯rı¯kh aʿya¯n Halab, ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ed. Mahmu¯d al-Fa¯khu¯rı¯ and Yahya¯ ʿAbba¯ra. 2 Vols., 4 Parts. Damascus: Wazarat al˙ ˙ Thaqa¯fa, 1972–4. Ibn Iya¯s, Muhammad. Bada¯’iʿ al-zuhu¯r fı¯ waqa¯’iʿ al-duhu¯r, ed. Muhammad Mustafa¯. ˙ ˙ ˙˙ 5 Vols. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner, 1961. Kama¯l al-Dı¯n. Untitled. Gotha MS orient. A114. 63 folios. Mantran, Robert, and Jean Sauvaget. Règlements fiscaux ottomans: Les provinces Syriennes. Beirut: Institut Français de Damas, 1951. al-Matra¯kçı¯, Nasu¯h. Beya¯n-ı mena¯zil-i sefer-i ʿIra¯keyn-i Sulta¯n Süleyma¯n Ha¯n, ed. Hüseyin ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˘ G. Yurdaydın. Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1976. Munajjim Ba¯shı¯, Ahmad b. Lutf Alla¯h. Ja¯miʿ al-duwal, ed. Ghassa¯n b. ʿAlı¯ al-Ramma¯l. 3 ˙ ˙ Vols. Mecca: al-Shafaq, 2009.

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Lapidus, Ira. Muslim Cities in the Later Middle Ages. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1967. Lellouch, Benjamin. “La politique mamelouke de Selı¯m Ier.” In Conquête ottomane de l’Égypte (1517): Arrière-plan, impact, échos, ed. Benjamin Lellouch and Nicolas Michel, 165–210. Leiden: Brill, 2013. –. “Puissance et justice retenue du sultan ottoman: les massacres sur les fronts iranien et égyptien (1514–1517).” In Le massacre, objet d’histoire, ed. David El Kenz, 171–82, 452– 7. Paris: Gallimard, 2005. Lewis, Bernard. “Daftarda¯r.” EI2. Masters, Bruce. “Aleppo (Ottoman Period).” EI3 1 (2014). –. The Origins of Western Economic Dominance in the Middle East: Mercantilism and the Islamic Economy in Aleppo, 1600–1750. New York: New York University Press, 1988. al-Mubaidin, Mohannad. “How the Mamluk Historians Welcomed the Ottomans.” World Applied Sciences Journal 30 (2014): 1925–31. Murphey, Rhoads. “Sürgün.” EI2. Netterstrøm, Jeppe B., and Bjørn Poulsen, eds. Feud in Medieval and Early Modern Europe. Aarhus, Denmark: Aarhus University Press, 2007. Pagden, Anthony. The Burdens of Empire: 1539 to the Present. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015. –. Lords of All the World: Ideologies of Empire in Spain, Britain and France c. 1500-c. 1800. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995. Parker, Charles H. Global Interactions in the Early Modern Age, 1400–1800. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Peirce, Leslie. Morality Tales: Law and Gender in the Ottoman Court of Aintab. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003. –. “Süleyman in Aleppo.” In Turkish Language, Literature, and History: Travelers’ Tales, Sultans, and Scholars Since the Eighth Century, ed. Bill Hickman and Gary Leiser, 308– 22. London: Routledge, 2016. Rabasa, José. Writing Violence on the Northern Frontier: The Historiography of SixteenthCentury New Mexico and Florida and the Legacy of Conquest. Durham, North Carolina: Duke University Press, 2000. Rafeq, Abdul-Karim. “Hama¯h fı¯ matlaʿ al-hukm al-ʿuthma¯nı¯: nasa¯ʾih li-al-sulta¯n wa ilti˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ za¯m bi-al- sharı¯ʿa wa taʿa¯yush sukka¯nı¯.” In Nahr al-haya¯h fı¯ takrı¯m Na¯zim Kalla¯s 1925– ˙ ˙ 1994 bi-muna¯sabat muru¯r ʿaqdayn ʿala¯ wafa¯tih, ed. Muhammad Muhaffil, Khayriyya ˙ ˙ Qa¯simiyya, and ʿAbd al-Karı¯m Ra¯fiq, 79–105. Damascus: Mu’assasat al-Rika¯bı¯, 2014. –. “The Revolt of ʿAlı¯ Pasha Ja¯nbu¯la¯d (1605–1607) in the Contemporary Arabic Sources and Its Significance.” In VIII. Türk Tarih Kongresi, Ankara: 11–15 Ekim 1976. Vol. 3, 1515–34. Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1983. –. “The Syrian ʿUlama¯’, Ottoman Law, and Islamic Sharı¯ʿa.” Turcica 26 (1994): 9–32. Raymond, André. “Les grand waqfs et l’organisation de l’espace urbain à Alep et au Caire à l’époque ottomane (XVIe-XVIIe siècles).” Bulletin d’études orientales 31 (1979): 113– 128. –. “The Population of Aleppo in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries according to Ottoman Census Documents,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 16, No. 4 (1984): 447–60.

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Yehoshua Frenkel

The Ottomans and the Mamlu¯ks through the Eyes of Arab Travelers (in 16th–17th Centuries)

Traveling across boundaries was not unfamiliar to inhabitants of either side of the lines that separated Mamlu¯k Bila¯d al-Sha¯m from Anatolia.1 At the White Bridge (Ak-Köprü),2 they crossed the Ceyhan/Pyramos River, which served as the border of the Mamlu¯k Sultanate ( jara¯kisa; Çerkezler).3 Yet, prior to the Ottoman conquest the traffic over the Ceyhan River was mainly southwards to the religious and cultural centers of the pre-modern Abode of Islam. Muslims from Anatolia (al-Ru¯m) traversed Bila¯d al-Sha¯m on their way to fulfill the duty of the hajj, or ˙ stayed in al-Sha¯m visiting Jerusalem and other holy shrines.4 The following report illuminates this reality: When Baha¯ʾ al-Din Walad (Baha¯-e Valad) died [quitted the ephemeral world (ʿa¯lam fa¯nı¯) to the realm of permanence (ba¯qı¯)], two years later Mawla¯na¯ [Jala¯l al-Dı¯n al-Ru¯mı¯, d. 1272] set out for Syria (bi-ja¯nib sha¯m) to pursue the external sciences (ʿulu¯m za¯hir) ˙ and to raise his perfection to the ultimate degree. It is said that this was his first journey. 1 I.e. Asia Minor north to Little Armenia, that was seized from the Armenians by the sultan Baybars al-Mansu¯rı¯. On the eve of the Ottoman onslaught against the Mamlu¯ks, these Taurus ˙ regions of Anatolia (bila¯d al-ru¯m) were ruled by the Turkoman emirate of the Qaramanids (Qarama¯n Og˘luları; Karamanog˘ulları Beylig˘i; 1256–1487). See Abu¯ al-ʿAbba¯s Ahmad b. ʿAlı¯ al˙ Qalqashandı¯ (756–821/1355–1418), Subh al-aʿshá fı¯ sina¯ʿa¯t al-insha¯ʾ (Cairo: al-Mu’assasa al˙ ˙ 4: 131 (quoting ˙ misrı¯ya al-ʿa¯mma lil-ta’lı¯f, 1963; 14 vols.), Ibn Fadl Allah al-ʿUmarı¯), 133; for a ˙ ˙ summary of Qaramanid (Karaman) history, see Metin Kunt, “The Emergence of the Ottomans”, in Michael Jones (ed.), The New Cambridge Medieval History vol. 6 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 842–43, 851–53, 857. 2 Badr al-Dı¯n Muhammad al-Amı¯rı¯ al-Ghazzı¯ al-Dimashqı¯ (1499–1577), al-Mata¯liʿ al-badrı¯yah ˙ ¯ mı¯yah ed. Mahdı¯ A. al-Rawwad¯ıyah (Abu Dhabi: Da¯r al-Suwaydi ˙ ¯ lil-Nashr fı¯ al-mana¯zil al-ru ˙ wal-Tawzi¯a, 2004), 89, 99. 3 Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ahmad b. Muhammad Ibn al-Hims¯ı (841–934/1458–1528), Hawa¯dith al-za˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ¯z Harfu¯sh (Beirut: Da¯r al-Nafa ma¯nwa-wafaya¯t al-shuyu ¯ kh wal-aqra ¯ n ed. ʿAbd˙al-ʿAzı ¯ ʾis, 1421/ ˙ 2000), 502. 4 Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Abu¯ al-ʿAbba¯s Ahmad Ibn Hijjı¯ al-Saʿdı¯ al-Hisba¯nı¯ al-Dimashqı¯ (751–815/1350– ˙ ¯ t 796–815/1393–1413 ˙ 1414), Ta’rı¯kh ibn hijjı¯: hawa¯dith˙ wa-wafaya ed. A. al-Kundari (Beirut: Da¯r ˙ ˙ al-Hazam, 2003; 2 vols.), 1: 183 (798/1396), 199 (799/1396); Taqı¯ al-Dı¯n Ahmad b. ʿAlı¯ al˙ ¯zı¯ (766–845/1364–1441), al-Sulu¯k li–maʿrifat duwal al-mulu¯k ed. S. ʿA.˙ ʿA ¯ shu¯r (Cairo: Maqrı Matbaʿat Da¯r al-Kutub, 1427/2007; 3 parts in 12 vols.), 4: 371.

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And when in auspiciousness he arrived at the city of Aleppo he stayed at the Madrasa-ye Hala¯viyyah.5 Several companions from among his father’s disciples attended upon him ˙ and he resided there for a while. It happened that the King of the Commanders (malik al-ʾumara¯ʾ) of Aleppo, Kama¯l al-Dı¯n b. ʿAdı¯m,6was the ruler of the realm (malikmulk) of Aleppo.7

The biographer continues his hagiographic narrative and tells that Mawla¯na¯ Jala¯l al-Dı¯n continued his miraculous journey across the Syrian lands. He even is said to have visited the city of Hebron (masjı¯d-e khalı¯l al-rahman) in southern Pal˙ estine, which is far away from Aleppo.8 Travel northwards was much more limited.9 It seems that apart from diplomatic embassies, only merchants traveled to and fro across the sultanate’s borderlands, carrying various commodities, including slaves, to the centers of this unique military régime.10 Indeed, only a handful of Sha¯mi authors wrote about their experiences in the Ottoman territories in the years before the crushing victories of Salı¯m (Selim I) in 1516–17.11 A case in point is the report by Ibn Hijja al-Hamawı¯ (767–837\1366–1434),12 ˙ ˙ who accompanied the sultan al-Muʾayyad Shaykh, while this Mamlu¯k sultan led a military expedition deep into Anatolia (al-Bila¯d al-Ru¯mı¯yah) in summer 820/ 1417.13Ibn Hijja al-Hamawı¯ was keen to project the image of a littérateur. He ˙ ˙ aspired to portray himself as a man of letters, a strict follower of the highly admired Arabic literary tradition who travels along the paths paved by earlier erudite scholars. To build up this self-representation, he claimed that Jama¯l al5 The name of this Sufi order pops up in several travel records; it will be mentioned again further below. 6 Clement Huart identifies him with the well-known historian of Aleppo (1192–1262): Les saints des derviches tourneurs [Récits traduits du persan et annotés] (Paris: E. Leroux, 1918– 1922), 1: 62–634; idem, A History of Arabic Literature (New York: D. Appleton and company, 1903), 199–200. 7 Shams al-Dı¯n Ahmad al-Afla¯kı¯ (d. 761/1360), Mana¯qib al-ʿa¯rı¯fin (Ankara: Türk Tarih Ku˙ 1: 77; John O’Kane (trans.), The Feats of the Knowers of God (Leiden: Brill, rumu, 1959–1961), 2002), 57. 8 al-Afla¯kı¯, Mana¯qib al-ʿa¯rı¯fin, 1:78; O’Kane, The Feats of the Knowers of God, 58, 59. 9 One of the few who traveled from Syria to Anatolia is Ibn Battu¯tah, who narrates that he sailed ˙˙ The ˙ Adventures of Ibn Battuta from Latakia to Alanya (in 1330 or 1332). See Ross E. Dunn, (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2012), pp. 137–145. 10 Ibn Hijjı¯, Ta’rı¯kh ibn hijjı¯, 381. ˙ al-Hims¯ı’s note˙ on a diplomatic mission to the Ottomans. The historian incorporates 11 Cf. Ibn ˙ ˙ his own evaluation of the differences between Qa¯nsawh al-Ghawrı¯ and Yavuz in the narrative ˙ Salı¯m. Ibn al-Hims¯ı, Hawa¯dith al-zama¯n, 494. ˙ ˙ ˙ 12 On him, see G. J. H. van Gelder in Julie Scott Meisami, and Paul Starkey (eds.), Encyclopedia of Arabic Literature (London: Routledge, 1998; 2 vols.), 1: 334. 13 Al-Muʾayyad Shaykh departed Cairo and encamped in Syria on three occasions in the years 817, 818, 820/1414, 1415, 1417. Cf. al-Maqrı¯zı¯, al-Sulu¯k, 4: 253 (815/1413), 268 (816/1413), 369 (on the deportation of Mamlu¯k emirs to Ottoman lands in 818/1416), 375, 399 (information that reached Cairo on Ottoman conquests).

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Dı¯n ibn Nuba¯ta’s14 account of his journey motivated him to produce a similar work.15 It is worth mentioning that although Ibn Hijja al-Hamawı¯’s expedition ˙ ˙ report posed as a private letter, nevertheless it was performed publically. The best-known scholar of those days, Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqala¯nı¯, read aloud it in two ˙ Cairene mosques in 813/1416.16 A rare example of a visit to Turkish Anatolia by a Syrian traveler is the following story. The assumed account tells of a Sufi who called at Konya, where the guardians of al-Ru¯mı¯’s shrine-tomb interrogated him: The much admired Chalabı¯ asked him: Where is your home and where have you come from? The dervish replied: from the realm of Syria (malk-e sha¯m). I have come in love of Mowla¯na¯ of Ru¯m to rub my face (ru¯-m) with the dust [of his grave (kha¯k)] and to pay him a visit (ziya¯rat-e u¯). For many years I lived in blessed Jerusalem (qudus muba¯rak) as a pious resident (muja¯wir) and I attended upon [the sepulchral shrine] of his eminence Abraham al-Khalı¯l al-Rahman [in Hebron]. And he spoke at great length about the ˙ magnificence of that region (diya¯r) and the delightful aspects of that sepulchral shrine 17 (maza¯r).

The story goes on to tell of the miraculous arrival of four envoys who carried Abraham’s coffin from the Cave of the Patriarchs in Hebron to Konya and placed it in al-Ru¯mı¯’s shrine. The legend projects a common vision of a united Islamdom, to use Marshall Hodgson’s vocabulary. It is sound to deduce from it, as from other reports that were presented in this section, that Shami and Anatolian Muslims shared a combined imaginative space. I shell return to this point in due course. With the Ottoman victory at Marj Da¯biq in 1516 and the integration of the Mamlu¯k territories into the expending Ottoman Sultanate, the old center of power, Cairo, was replaced by a new one, Istanbul (da¯r al-sultanah). The change ˙ in the geography of power reshaped travel patterns. Istanbul attracted Arab visitors, who were keen to cement friendly relations with the seat of power.18An

14 On him see Thomas Bauer, “Ibn Nuba¯tah al-Misrı¯ (686–768/1287–1366): Life and Works- Part ˙ I: The Life of Ibn Nuba¯tah”, Mamluk Studies Review 12 (2008): 1–35. 15 While visiting Jerusalem, this famous Mamlu¯k author wrote a journey account (rihla), des˙ cribing his experiences in the city. Taqı¯ al-Dı¯n Abu¯ Bakr Alı¯ Ibn Hijja al-Hamawı¯ (767–837/ ˙ ˙ 1366–1434), Thamra¯t al-awra¯q ed. Muhammad A. Ibra¯hı¯m (Beirut: al-Maktaba al-ʿAsriyyah, ˙ ˙ 1426/2005), 244. 16 We should follow al-Maqrı¯zı¯’s timeline of events, namely that the reading took place in 820/ 1417. See al-Sulu¯k, 4: 417. 17 al-Afla¯kı¯, Mana¯qib al-ʿa¯rı¯fin, 2: 922–923; Huart (trans.), Les saints des derviches tourneurs, 2: 371; O’Kane (trans.), The Feats of the Knowers of God, 645–646. 18 Abu¯ al-Wafa¯ ʾ b.ʿUmar al-Halabi¯ al-‘Urd¯ı (993–1071/1585–1661), Maʿa¯din al-dhahab fı¯ al˙ Halab ed.˙ Muhammad al-Tu¯ njı¯ (Aleppo: Da¯ r al-Mila¯ h, 1407/ a‘ya¯n al-musharrafah bi-him 1987), 53, 54, 61, 69, 70, 71, 100,˙106, 151, 164, ˙227 (fa-ittakhada qustantiniyata kaʿbata˙arabihi ˙ ˙ wa-manbaʿa talabihi), 228. ˙

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early example of this new trend is Badr al-Dı¯n Muhammad al-Amı¯rı¯ al-Ghazzı¯ al˙ Dimashqı¯ (1499–1577),19 who states that he departed from Damascus on 18 Ramadan, 936/16 May, 1530.20

Continuous History This chapter aims at analyzing several travelogues that were written during the 16th and 17th centuries by Arabs who visited Istanbul (al-Qunstantiniyah). These ˙ ˙ texts shed light on the image of the Ottoman Turks and their representation in early modern Arabic writing from Bila¯d al-Sha¯m and Arabia, as well as on the authors’ political attitudes. The texts produced by them contribute to our efforts to reconstruct the political and administrative history of the Ottoman state, as well as to our interpretation of the representation of this new regime in Arab political discourse at that period. Heavy influence by earlier norms of travel accounts, of technique and topics characterized Arab travelogues from the Early Ottoman period. This is recognizable in the employment of stylistic conventions, the prevalent use of rhymed prose (sajʿ) and long quotations from past works. The effects of this weight of the past are also visible in the frequent naming of authors and titles. However, this literariness of these narratives should not lead us to reject their historical value altogether. These travel accounts notably reflect the social-political positions of the Arab ʿulama¯ʾ of 17th- and 18th-centuries Syria and northern Arabia. Moreover, the documents produced by those members of the religious apparatus who traveled to Istanbul can be read as ego-documents. Thus, for example, al-Muhibbı¯ describes his meetings with ʿulama¯ʾ in Istanbul, as well as major mosques ˙ of that city he visited.21 I shall return to this point in few lines. The narratives produced by the travelers reflect a vision of an unbroken Islamic history. They envisioned Islam as a unifying force connecting Muslims of the past and present, fashioning a cohesive abode that stretched from Anatolia to Arabia, from Rumeli to Syria and Egypt. In their world vision, these features of the civilization of Islam linked diverse ethnic components and remote locations. Travelers often strengthened this picture by reporting on praying in the great congregational mosque and by mentioning that they spent nights in local ma19 On him see Muhyi al-Dı¯n IbnʿArabı¯, A Prayer for Spiritual Elevation and Protection [al-Dawr ˙ al-aʿla¯ (Hizb al-wiqa ¯ ya)] trans. and ed. Suha Taji-Farouki (Oxford: Anqa Publishing, 2006), 28–30. ˙ 20 Badr al-Dı¯nal-Ghazzı¯, al-Mata¯liʿ al-badrı¯yahfı¯ al-mana¯zil al-ru¯mı¯yah, 23. ˙ 21 Fadl Alla¯h b. Muhibb Alla¯h al-Muh ibbı¯ al-Dimashqı¯ (1031–1082/1621–1671), al-Rihlata¯n al˙ al-Sala¯m Raʾuf (Damascus: Da¯r al-Zama¯n, 2012), ˙ 77–90, Ru¯˙mı¯yah wal-Mis˙rı¯yah ed. ʿed. ʿAbd ¯ ˙ 92–96.

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drasas or za¯wiyas. In addition, they also often report on meetings with scholars and other men of religion.22 In their account these a-historic bonds created the united Ummah of Believers. Hence, it is not surprising to discover that the authors, all of whom were learned Muslim scholars, depicted a holistic picture of the world of Islam. Moreover, we should interpret the naming of past authors and the titles of their works,23 as well as quotations from these earlier works,24 as an additional connecting node that was used in an attempt to depict an imagined picture of a continuous Islamic history and to paint a homogeneous and timeless chain of transmission of knowledge. Badr al-Dı¯n al-Ghazzı¯, who was already mentioned above, provides his readers, in a diary (taʿlı¯q) that he wrote en route, with details of his journey from Damascus to Istanbul. In these lines he describes the long road that connected the Syrian lands with the Ottoman capital.25 He tells his audience about the flora and fauna along the road, about scholars and institutions of learning, about rituals and Sufism. On almost every page he incorporates poems or verses. Hence the text is more than a travelogue, rather it is an intellectual itinerary. It seems that the author aspired to construct a self-image of religiosity and scholarship.26 These features of his journey account can also be traced in other contemporary travelogues. Certainly the documentation studied here does not reflect the position of the vast majority of the Arabic-speaking Muslim population of Bila¯d al-Sha¯m during the two first centuries of Ottoman rule.27 We should bear in mind that the ac22 It should be emphasized that this highlighting of combined traits was not a new development that first appeared in travelogues written during the period investigated here. Without doubt these elements are visible in earlier periods. A salient early example of this descriptive jargon is the account by Ibn Battu¯tah, who visited the Mamlu¯k Sultanate and Anatolia during the 14th ˙ ammad Ibn Battu¯tah al-Tanjı¯ (703–779/1304–1377), Tuhfat alcentury. Abu¯ʿAbd Allah˙˙Muh ˙ ˙˙ ed. ˙ Abd˙ al-Hadi al-Tazi (Rabat, 1417/1997), ˙ nuzza¯r fı¯ ghara¯ʾib al-amsa¯r wa-aja ¯ ʾib al-asfa¯rv 2: ˙ ˙ ˙ 160–163; eds. And trans. C. Defremery and B. R. Sanguinetti as Voyages d’Ibn Battuta (Paris: Imprimerie nationale, 1893), 2: 255–258. ¯ bidı¯n Muhammad b.‘Abd Alla¯h Kibri¯t al-Husayni¯ al-Mu¯ sawi¯ (1012–1070/1603– 23 Zayn al-ʿA ˙ ¯’ wal-sayf ed. M. S. al-Tanta¯˙wı¯ (Beirut: al-Maktab al-Isla¯mi¯, 1385/ 1660), Kita¯b Rihlat al-shita ˙ ˙ ˙ 1965), 148 (al-Maqrı¯zı¯), 162, 192 ˙(al-Suyu¯t¯ı), 188 (al-Qazwı ¯nı¯). ˙ 24 A case that illustrates this narratological strategy is the reference to Maqama¯t al-Hariri. See ˙ Ibra¯him b.ʿAbd al-Rahma¯n al-Khiya¯rı¯ al-Madanı¯ (1037–1083/1628–1672), Rihlat al-Khiya ¯ri¯ : ˙ ˙ ¯ rat al-ThaTuhfat al-udaba¯ʾ wa-salwat al-ghuraba¯ʾ ed. R. M. Al-Sa¯marra¯’ı¯ (Baghdad: Wiza ˙ wal-Afah wa1389/1969; 3 vols.), 1: 338. qa¯fah 25 Badr al-Dı¯n al-Ghazzı¯, al-Mata¯liʿ al-badrI¯yah fı¯ al-mana¯zil al-ru¯mI¯yah, 21. ˙ 26 Ralf Elger, “Der Raum als Zeichen göttlicher Macht und des Wirkens der Zeit im LibanonReisebericht al-manâzil al-mahâsiniyyafî r-rihlaat-tarâbulusiyya des Yahyâ al-Mahâsinî (st. 1053/1643)”, in Roxane Haag-Higuchi, Christian Szyska (eds.), Erzählter Raum in Literaturen der islamischen Welt (Wiebaden Harrassowitz, 2001), 74. 27 See Ayalon’s note on historiography in early Ottoman Egypt. David Ayalon: “The End of the Mamluk Sultanate (Why did the Ottomans spare the Mamluks of Egypt and wipe out the

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counts illuminate the position towards the ruling Ottomans of small groups that were keen to cultivate friendly relations with the governing echelon in Istanbul.28 The travelogues analyzed in this study were written by authors who depended, politically and economically, on the Ottomans. This affected the picture created by their pens. Moreover, the sample of texts studied by me is rather small and it is almost impossible to deduce from them a general conclusion as to the political mood of the Arabic-speaking rank and files in the Ottoman domains. Al-Ghazzı¯, for instance, traveled to fortify his social-political position within the Ottoman religious establishment. This may be seen in his account of the arrest of the judge Ibn Farfu¯r in Aleppo, and of the maneuvers by Ibn Isra¯fı¯l, the new qa¯dı¯ of Damascus.29 This deduction as to the motives that drove travelers to provide accounts of the roads taken by them and their literary style is also supported in the writings of Kibrı¯t al-Madanı¯ (visited Istanbul in 1039/1630), who uses his flattering tongue to praise the sultan Mura¯d IV (r. 1623–1640).30 Al-Khiya¯rı¯ (d. 1083/1672), to provide another 17th-century example to illuminate my argument, tells his readers that during his stay in Yenı¯ Shahir (Yenis¸ehir) he read the Qurʾa¯n and Tafsı¯r al-Bayda¯wı¯ with the Sheikh al-Islam, who ˙ happened to visit the place, and even got an ija¯zah from him.31 This sense of communal identity is expressed even more strongly in his description of Egypt. He opens his account of the Nile Delta by picturing the towns of Bilbays and alKha¯nakah.32 Arriving in Cairo on Friday, he says that he hurried to visit the tomb of al-Sha¯fiʿı¯.33 There he met with the guardian (qayyim) of the shrine, whom he presented with a special gift, poems that he wrote in praise of the great ima¯m.34 The next day he had a meeting with Muhammad al-Bakrı¯, whom he had met ˙ earlier in Arabia.35 At the Azhar mosque he met with ʿAlı¯ al-Shabra¯mallisi¯ (d. 1082), whom he depicts as “Light of the Universe and Islam”.36 Al-Khiya¯rı¯ also

28 29

30 31 32 33 34 35 36

Mamluks of Syria?)”, Studia Islamica 65 (1987): 144–47; a point there is dismissed by Benˇ uzʾ’ perdu des ‘Bada¯ʾIʿ al-Zuhu¯r’ d’Ibn Iya¯s à la lumière jamin Lellouch, ”Le douzième ‘G d’une chronique turque d’Égypte”, Arabica 45/1 (1998): 89. Fadl Allah al-Muhibbı¯, al-Rihlata¯n, 101 (laqaytu biha aʿya¯na baladina¯ al-sha¯mı¯yin). ˙ ˙ al-Dı¯nal-Ghazzi, ˙ aliʿ al-badrı¯yahfı¯ al-manazil al-rumı¯yah, 278; Najm al-Di¯n Badr al-Mat ˙ Muhammad al-Ghazzi¯ al-Dimashqı ¯ al-Sha¯fiʿı¯ (977–1061/1570–1651), al-Kawa¯kib al-sa¯ʾirah ˙ bi-aʿya¯n al-miʾah al-ʿa¯shirah ed. Khalı¯l al-Mansu¯r (Beirut: Da¯r al-kutub al-ʿilmı¯yah, 1418/ ˙ 1997), 2: 22; cf. Abdul-Karim Rafeq, “Relations Between the Syrian ’’Ulama¯’’ and the Ottoman State in the Eighteenth Century”, Oriente Moderno, n.s. 18 (79/1) (1999): 67–70. Kibrı¯t, 143–145, 151. al-Khiya¯rı¯, Tuhfat al-udaba¯ʾ, 1: 306, 310–11. ˙ al-Khiya¯rı¯, 3: 5–8. al-Khiya¯rı¯, 3: 9. al-Khiya¯rı¯, 3: 19–21. al-Khiya¯rı¯, 3: 28 (in Muharram 1065/November 1654). ˙ al-Khiya¯rı¯, 3: 40.

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visited the tomb of Ibn al-Fa¯rid37 and was among the participants of the annual ˙ festival celebrating the departure of the mahmal from Cairo.38 As expected, he ˙ often inserts quotations from earlier sources, such as Husan al-muha¯dara by al˙ ˙ Suyu¯t¯ı (849–911/1445–1505), into his description of Cairo. ˙ Time and again travelers report on past events that are connected to the places that they visited during their Anatolian adventures. The a-historic nature of their compositions is often emphasized by their editorial strategy. Often they quote earlier works that tell of past achievements by Muslim warriors and rulers. The naming of these cited works is a clear indication of the popular reception of geohistorical accounts. In the collective memory these achievements were connected, presumably, with the places that were the subjects of the accounts. They were highly admired by their contemporary Ottoman-era audiences. Along their way, travelers called at shrines of renowned Muslims, schools, and Sufi brotherhoods and their lodges. Throughout the accounts of the journeys we come across descriptions of mosques, tombs, markets, caravanserais and other urban and rural constructions that are generally identified as “Islamic architecture”.39 The reports often tell of their authors’ participation in religious rituals. Al-Muhibbı¯ informs his readers that at the Sultan Ahmet [Ahmad] ˙ ˙ Mosque in Istanbul he attended the Prophet’s birthday festival (mawlid alnabı¯).40 Navigating the Anatolian highways and visiting Istanbul, the Arab travelers called at several lieux de memoire.41 These locations and buildings commemorated the imagined shared past that was said to provide a sense of forces uniting all Muslims. These were connecting elements that served a supplementary linking node which united the Arab lands with the heart of the Ottoman sultanate. No wonder they are often mentioned by the writers. Those travelers who were familiar with the history of the Ottoman dynasty42 extolled venerated Muslim heroes, who occupied a visible place in Turkish collective memory. They mention various monuments that were built by Ottoman sultans and governors.43 A case in point is the account of mawla¯na Khinkar (Jala¯l al-Dı¯n al-Ru¯mı¯) and his shrine in Konya (Qunya).44 Praising the sultan (mawla¯na) Sulayman, al-

37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44

al-Khiya¯rı¯, 3: 113. al-Khiya¯rı¯, 3: 120. al-Khiyarı¯, Tuhfat al-udaba¯ʾ, 1: 261, 263, 272. ˙ lata¯n al-Ru¯mı¯yah wal-Misrı¯yah , 90 (it was celebrated on 10 Rabı¯ ʿ I 1051/ al-Muhibbı¯, al-Rih ˙ ˙ 19 June 1641). ˙ Pierre Nora, ”Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Mémoire”, Representations 26 (1989): 7–24. Kibrı¯t, 147–152. al-Muhibbı¯, al-Rihlata¯n, 52–53 (Yavuz Selim). ˙ ¯rı¯, Tuhfat al-udaba¯ʾ, 1: 211–12 (visited the place on 8 Rabiʿ II 1080/4 September 1669). al-Khiya ˙

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Khiya¯rı¯ mentions the magnificent mosque the he has built in Bayla¯n (Belen).45 While al-Muhibbı¯ describes the caravanserai (kha¯n) that Bayram Ba¯sha¯ (d. 940/ ˙ 1533), who headed the sultanate administration in the days of Salı¯m and Sulayman, built near Adana.46 Al-Khiya¯rı¯ reports his experiences while taking part in the yearly festival that commemorates the Prophet’s mystical night journey (laylat al-isra¯ wal-miʿra¯j).47 Al-Ghazzı¯ narrates his visit to [Mu¯sá] Muslih al-Dı¯n ˙ ˙ [b.] Mustafá, known as “Merkez Efendi” (d. 959/1551),48 a Sufi sheikh of the ˙ 49 Khalwatı¯yah, an order that became very popular during the days of sultan Bayazid II (d. 1512). The tomb of the Umayyad epic hero al-Sayyid Batta¯l al-Gha¯zı¯ (Seyit Battal ˙˙ Gazi Külliyesi) 50 is another example to this combining narrative that connects the early history of the Islamic caliphate with the topography of sixteenth century Ottoman Anatolia. This popular roman de chevalerie is well researched. It is accepted that the first strata of the geste circulated already in the early Abbasid period.51 The Turkish layer of it is said to be connected to the Danishmendid ghazi principality in the region of Malatya.52

45 al-Khiya¯rı¯, Tuhfat al-udaba¯ʾ, 1: 192 (visited on Friday, 25 Rabı¯ʿ I 1080/23 August 1669). ˙ Actually Süleymân I built a caravanserai in 1550, to which Selîm II added a small mosque in 1566–1574. See Heghnar Zeitlian Watenpaugh, The Image of an Ottoman City Imperial: Architecture and Urban Experience in Aleppo in the 16th and 17th Centuries (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 113. 46 al-Muhibbı¯, al-Rihlata¯n, 49. ˙ ¯rı¯ was at the ˙ time on his way back to Damascus from Istanbul. Tuhfat al-udaba¯ʾ, 3: 47 al-Khiya ˙ 52–54 (27 Rajab 1080/21 December 1669). ¯ 48 al-Ghazzı¯, al-Mata¯liʿ al-badrIyah, 215. ˙ 49 Helvetiyye in Turkish; an order that was established by the Persian Sufi ʿin T Khalwatı¯ (d. Tabriz, 800/1397). See M. Winter, “Egyptian and Syrian Sufis Viewing Ottoman Turkish Sufism: Similarities, Differences, and Interactions”, in Eyal Ginio and Elie Podeh (eds.), The Ottoman Middle East: Studies in Honor of Amnon Cohen (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 108–109. 50 Suraiya Faroqhi, “Sayyid Gazi Revisited: The Foundation as seen through Sixteenth and Seventeenth century”, Turcica: Revue d’Études Turques 13 (1981): 90–122; Filiz Yenis¸ehirliog˘lu, “The Tekke of Sayyid Battal Gazi”, Anadoluve Çevresinde Ortaçag˘ 2 (Ankara, 2008): 121–164. 51 Abu¯ Jaʿfar Muhammad b. Jarı¯r al-Tabarı¯ (224–310/838–923), Ta’rı¯kh al-rusul wal-mulu¯k ed. M. A. Ibrahim ˙(Cairo: Da¯r al-Maʿa¯˙rı¯f, 1386/1967), 7:191 (A. H. 122/740); Abu¯ al-Qa¯sim ʿAlı¯ IbnʿAsa¯kir (499–571/1106–1176), Taʾrı¯kh madı¯nat dimashq wa-dhikr fadluha¯ wa-tasmiyat ˙ ¯ ed. M. al-ʿed. M. man hallaha¯ min al-amathil au ijtazá bi-nawahiha¯ min waridiha¯ aw ahaliha ˙ ˙ (ʿAbd Allah Abu¯ Yahyá, 3647); this bio(Damascus: Da¯r al-Fikr, 1415/1995), 33: 401–408 ˙ al-ʿUmarı¯ (700– graphy is transmitted verbatim by the Mamlu¯k encyclopedist Ibn Fadl Allah ˙ 750/1301–1349). Franz Taeschner (ed.), Al-‘Umarı¯’s Bericht über Anatolien: in seinem Werke Masa¯lik al-absa¯r fi mama¯lik al-amsa¯r (Leipzig: O. Harrassowitz, 1929), 64–68; Guy Le ˙ ˙ Strange, The Lands of the Eastern Caliphate (Cambridge, University press, 1905), 152. 52 Yorgos Dedes (ed. and trans.), Battalname (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1996), 1: 1–25.

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Already in the thirteenth century Arab geographers mention the site on the eastern slopes of Üçler Hill that is over looking Seyit Gazi. Al-Harawı¯,53 whose description is also transmitted by Ya¯qu¯t,54 says: “The tomb of Abu¯ Muhammad ˙ al-Batta¯l is atop a hill at the boundaries of the land”.55 In the Mamlu¯k period the ˙˙ 56 popular war epic of al-Batta¯l was performed in public. The travelers discussed in ˙˙ this paper visited these structures on the slopes of the hill at Seyit Battal Gazi.57 Al-Batta¯l’s venerated shrine functioned as a communal and historical node. This ˙˙ location, like that of the tomb of his companion the saha¯bı¯ʿ ʿAbd al-Wahha¯b ˙ ˙ Gha¯zı¯ in Siwas,58 connected Muslims from different periods and places and created a feeling of a mystical historical continuum.59 The 16th–17th centuries travelogues, as well as contemporary architectural evidence, illuminate the social role of popular Arabic and Turkish war epics during the early Ottoman period. A similar mood is reflected in al-Muhibbı¯’s report of his visit to Istanbul ˙ (Isla¯mbu¯l). This section of his account incorporates a long paragraph that describes the shrine of another famous companion (sahabı¯) of the Prophet: “his ˙ ˙ holiness (hadrat) Abu¯ Ayyu¯b [(Ayup) al-Ansa¯rı¯]”.60 He honors him with a short ˙ ˙ ˙ poem: We crossed smoothly a land with no conspicuous or expected [encounters] Only the enemies of our community (milla), running dogs or pigs. Expecting that the victorious armies of Islam (dı¯n allah) will tomorrow govern it61

The story of Hoca Nasr al-Dı¯n (in modern Turkish Hoca Nasrettin), that was not ˙ ˘ unfamiliar to Mamlu¯k audiences, and his tomb in Aq-Shahir (Aks¸ehir, the white town; a Karamanid (Qarama¯n)-Ottoman border town) were very popular in

53 Abu¯ al-Hasan ʿAlı¯ b. Abı¯ al-Bakr al-Harawı¯ (d. 611/1215), Kita¯b al-isha¯ra¯t ilá maʿrifat al˙ A. ʿUmar (Cairo: Maktabat al-Thaqa¯fa al-diniyyah, 1423/2002), 55. ziya¯ra¯t ed. 54 Ya¯qu¯t al-Hamawı¯ al-Ru¯mı¯ (1179–1229), Muʿjam al-bulda¯n ed. F. Wüstenfeld (Leipzig: F. A. Brockhus,˙ 1869), 4: 861 (s.v. Niqı¯yah). 55 J. Meri, A Lonely Wayfarer’s Guide to Pilgrimage: ʿAlı¯ ibn Abı¯ Bakr al-Harawı¯’s ”Kita¯b alisha¯ra¯t ila¯ Maʿrifat al-ziya¯ra¯t” (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004), 152. 56 Moshe Perlmann, “Samauʾal al-Maghribı¯, Ifha¯m al-Yahu¯d [Silencing the Jews written c. 565/ 1169–1170]”, Proceedings of the American˙ Academy for Jewish Research 32 (1964): 100 (Arabic); Abu¯ al-Fida¯ Isma¯ʿı¯l Ibn Kathı¯r (701–774/1301–1373), al-Bida¯yaw al-niha¯ya ed. ʿAbd Allah b. ʿAbd al-Muhsin al-Turkı¯ (Cairo: Hajar, 1998), 13: 110–116 (esp. 115). ˙ 57 al-Khiya¯rı¯, Tuhfat al-udaba ¯ ʾ, 1: 223. ˙ 58 Marius Canard, “Les principaux personnages du roman de chevalerie arabe Da¯t al-Himma ¯ wa-l-Batta¯l”, Arabica 8/2 (1961): 166. ˙ ˙ 59 On this role of the book see Y. Frenkel, “The Mamluks among the Nations: A Medieval Sultanate in its Global Context” in Stephan Conermann (ed.), Everything is on the Move: The Mamluk Empire as a Node in (Trans-)Regional Networks (Bonn University Press: Mamluk Studies, vol.7, 2014), 61–79. 60 Fadl Allah al-Muhibbı¯, al-Rihlata¯n, 74. ˙ 61 al-Khiya ¯rı¯, Tuhfat˙ al-udaba¯ʾ,˙1: 285. ˙

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Ottoman Eastern Anatolia.62 The story, which according to some opinions has its roots in the Na¯sir al-Dı¯n Jukha¯ Arabic folk tales from the Abbasid period,63 was ˙ known to the 16th- and 17th-centuries Arab travelers who passed through Asia Minor. They visited the shrine that is believed to be the tomb of an admired personality and reported on their experiences there.64 Narrating the story of Na¯sir al-Dı¯n Khawja¯, al-Muhibbı¯ mentions a work on this literary hero by the ˙ prolific late Mamlu¯k writer Ibn Tu¯lu¯n al-Dimashqı¯, and directs the reader to ˙ consult this text.65 The journey accounts studied in the present project reflect a vision of social continuity, despite changes in dynasties and capital cities. Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, for instance, ˙ refers in his account of Sultan Yavuz Salı¯m’s (Selim) to the advances of the 66 victories of the king (malik) of Ru¯m, a geographical label and not an ethnic one. This might reflect his admiration of the new political order that overcame his hometown. Due to this attitude he refrains from employing ethnic terminology. Not only the Mamlu¯k regime ( jara¯kisah) was viewed as “dawlat al-atra¯k”, but in certain quarters of the Ottoman elite, the term Turk held a negative image of a rustic boor.67 The Mamlu¯k past is not presented in the journey reports as a remote land, a forgotten chapter in history that ended with the Ottomans’ achievements. According to these authors, the Mamlu¯ks’ fame did not vanish from the collective memory of the Arabs of Syria. The Ottoman Turks’ regime was envisioned as a continuation or even as a renewal of the Mamlu¯k Circassian ( jara¯kisah) Sultanate. Al-Ghazzı¯, for example, reports on his meeting with an offspring of the mamlu¯k sultan al-Ashraf Ina¯l, who lived in Istanbul.68 He mentions the lineage of this royal household, but says nothing on Ina¯l’s failure, or that of other Mamlu¯k sultans, to hold back the Ottomans. Moreover, Anatolia is said to be connected with Syria not only by symbolic knots but also with actual ties, as we can deduce from the accounts of the Lala Mustafa Pasha Complex (Külliyesi) in Ilgin (984/1576). It is said that this in-

62 Ulrich Marzolph, “Timur’s Humorous Antagonist, Nasr eddin Hoca”, Oriente Moderno 15/2 ˘ (1996): 489 (quoting Evliya Çelebı¯ in 1058/1064). 63 See Ibn al-Jawzı¯, Akhba¯r al-hamká wal-mughaffilin ed. ʿAbd al-Amir Muhanna¯ (Beirut: Da¯r ˙ 46–48. al-Fikr al-Lubnani, 1410/1990), 64 al-Khiya¯rı¯, Tuhfat al-udaba¯ʾ, 1: 217. ˙ 65 al-Muhibbı¯, al-Rih lata¯n, 57. ˙ ˙ ammad b. ʿAlı¯ Ibn Tu¯lu¯n al-Sa¯lih¯ı (1473–1546/880–953), Iʿla¯m al-waráb 66 Shams al-Dı¯n Muh ˙ an min al-atra¯k bi-dimashq ˙ ˙ ¯ m al-kubrá ed. Muhammad Ahmad ˙ al-sha biman wulliya na¯ʾib ˙ ˙ Duhma¯n (Damascus: Da¯r al-Fikr, 1964/1984), 229–31. 67 Benjamin Lellouch, “Qu’est-cequ’unTurc? (Égypte, Syrie, XVIe siècle)”, European Journal of Turkish Studies [Online] (16 December2013)URL: http://ejts.revues.org/4758. 68 al-Ghazzı¯, al-Mata¯liʿ al-badrı¯yah, 273. ˙

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stitution was supported by a pious charity (waqf) that the founder had established in Damascus.69

Common Interests and Court Societies It has already been said that the Arab travelers who visited the Ottoman capital during the 16th and 17th centuries were busy searching for patrons. The accounts of their travel across Anatolia and of their stay in Istanbul reflect acquaintance with local scholars and even friendship. Often they mention their meetings with religious functionaries who served in locations they visited. Certainly they were not turban- crowned altruists. They cultivated amity in the hope that it might generate financial rewards that material benefits might ensue from encounters with Ottoman officials in Istanbul.70 It is evident that Badr al-Dı¯n al-Ghazzı¯ was keen to collect potential favors and that he expected to join those scholars and members of the religious establishment whom the ruling echelon favored. No wonder that he states that he departed Damascus (Ramadan 936/May 1530) and traveled northward to Bila¯d al-Ru¯m during the days of the sultan Sulayma¯n the Magnificent (the Lawgiver),whom he acclaimed as “Sulayma¯n al-zama¯n wa-Iskandar al-ʿasr wal-awa¯n”.71 These words ˙ echoed the imperial image that the sultan and his court cultivated.72 Al-Khiya¯rı¯, to add another example, describes warm, welcoming and friendly receptions.73 The travelers who reported on meetings with Ottoman officials depicted them as devout Muslims who took care of the believers’ well-being.74 Al-Khiya¯rı¯ expresses warm sentiments as his caravan encounters the royal convoy of the sultan Mehmet IV “the Hunter”(Mehmet Dördüncü Avcı; r. 1648–1687), who was on his 69 al-Muhibbı¯, al-Rihlata¯n, 55. ˙ ¯n al-Ghazzı¯, al-Mata¯liʿ al-badrı¯yah, 135–136; cf. Ralf Elger, “Badr al-Dı¯n Mu70 Badr al-Dı hammad al-Ghazzı¯”, in Roger˙ M. A. Allen, Joseph Edmund Lowry, Devin J. Stewart (eds.), ˙ Essays in Arabic Literary Biography: 1350–1850 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2009), 98– 102. 71 al-Qalqashandı¯, Subh, 6: 35; al-Ghazzı¯, al-Mata¯liʿ al-badrı¯yah, 21. On the use of these titles ˙ ˙ see C.E. Bosworth, “Lak˙ab”, EI2 5: 629a. Already Baybars bore the tile among Turkish rulers ˙ inscriptions de Baybars dans le Bilad al-Sˇam. “Alexander of his time”: see Denise Aigle, “Les Une expression de la légitimité du Pouvoir”, Studia Islamica 97 (2003): 57–85; Reuven Amitai, “Some remarks on the inscription of Baybars at Maqam Nabi Musa”, in David J. Wasserstein and Ami Ayalon (eds.), Mamluks and Ottomans: Studies in Honour of Michael Winter (London: Routledge, 2006), 54–66. 72 Cornell H. Fleischer, “The Lawgiver as Messiah: The Making of the Imperial Image in the Reign of Süleyman”, in Gilles Veinstein (ed.), Soliman le Magnifiqueet son temps (Paris: La Documentation Française, 1992), 159–178. 73 al-Khiya¯rı¯, Tuhfat al-udaba¯ʾ, 1: 273, 281–82 (1080/October 1669), 309. 74 al-Khiya¯rı¯, Tuh˙ fat al-udaba¯ʾ, 1: 213. ˙

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way to games.75 The sub-text of these accounts unmistakably depicts the Ottoman Sultanate as a rich and powerful entity that every Muslim should be proud of.76 The special affinity that the Arab travelers had with the Ottoman sultans is visible in the respect for the Ottomans’ military achievements that they demonstrated. They congratulated the armies of jiha¯d and uttered anti-Christian feelings.77 Thus for example al-Khiya¯rı¯ praises Mehmet the Conqueror (al-sulta¯n ˙ al-gha¯zı¯ Muhammad kha¯n). He tells of the great army of the sultan Mura¯d, who ˙ visited Iskenderun and built there a bridge (kubrı¯) many years before our traveler himself crossed over it (in 1072/1661).78 He also eulogizes the sultan Mehmet III (r. 1595–1603), who constructed a magnificent caravanserai between al-Masisah and Adana.79 Likewise he expresses great esteem for the Ottoman armies that he observed marching to and from the battlefields.80 An additional case in point is his report on the conquest of the island of Crete (Candia) by Köprülü Zade Fazil Ahmed Pasha in 1669.81 Moreover, the section on Istanbul in al-Ghazzı¯’s travelogue could create among his audience the impression that they are reading a chapter in the “praise of location (fada¯ʾil al-balad) literature.82 In line with the rules of this genre, the ˙ author does not limit himself to the description of the urban landscape but also reports the merits of the new Islamic center in the Mediterranean basin. In addition, he provides a long list of people he met in Istanbul.83 Indeed, his account of his experiences in Istanbul and his reports of meetings with highranking Ottoman officials, some of whom served previously in Damascus, looks more like an academic curriculum vitae (mashyakha) than a portrait of the landscapes that he visited.84 Moreover, the flattering language employed by the travelers is salient throughout their accounts.85 Hence we should not be surprised that only seldom do they employ anti-Ottoman tones.86 Furthermore, this praising of the Otto75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83

al-Khiya¯rı¯, Tuhfat al-udaba¯ʾ, 1: 285. al-Khiya¯rı¯, Tuh˙ fat al-udaba¯ʾ, 1: 274. al-Khiya¯rı¯, Tuh˙ fat al-udaba¯ʾ, 1: 84–85. al-Khiya¯rı¯, Tuh˙ fat al-udaba¯ʾ, 1: 193, 197. al-Khiya¯rı¯, Tuh˙ fat al-udaba¯ʾ, 1: 267. al-Khiya¯rı¯, Tuh˙ fat al-udaba¯ʾ, 1: 343. al-Khiya¯rı¯, Tuh˙ fat al-udaba¯ʾ, 1: 316–318. ˙ a¯liʿ al-badrı¯yah, 121. al-Ghazzı¯, al-Mat ˙ fat al-udaba¯ʾ, 1: 290–304 (lam nazal da¯ʿı¯n ra¯jı¯n in 1080/November 1669), See al-Khiya¯rı¯, Tuh ˙ 335 (“I collected al-bara ¯ ’a al-sulta¯nı¯ya”). ˙ 263. See also in Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n ʿAbd al-Hayy Ibn al-ʿIma¯d 84 al-Ghazzı¯, al-Mata¯liʿ al-badrı¯yah, ˙ M. al-Arana’ut ˙ al-Hanbalı¯ (1623–1679), Shadhara¯t al-dhahab fı¯ akhba¯r man dhahab ed. ¯ ˙ ˙ (Beirut: Da¯r Ibn Kathı¯r, 1413/1992), 10: 364. 85 al-Muhibbı¯, al-Rihlata¯n, 71. ˙ ¯, al-Mata¯˙ liʿ al-badrı¯yah, 133. 86 al-Ghazzı ˙

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mans was not, it should be said, restricted to the writings of those who traveled to their capital, thus for example al-Nahrwa¯lı¯—the historian of Mecca—extols the great sultan Sulayma¯n Kha¯n and the sultan Mura¯d III.87 This positive attitude towards the Ottomans is even more visible in the history of Yavuz Salı¯m’s (Selim I) conquest of Cairo that a Meccan historian wrote in the 17th century.88 Opening his account with praises of the Ottoman dynasty and a mytho-history of the Turks from the days of the Saljuqs, the author provides a story of wars, plots and adventures. In rich and vivid words he narrates the story of Salı¯m and the pursuit of Tu¯ma¯n ba¯y, the last Mamlu¯k sultan in 1517. Quite clearly, the Ottomans are the ˙ heroes of the day in this historical story.

Changes Despite what I said above about the political position behind the travelogues’ accounts, it is appropriate to say that now and then the reader stumbles upon mild nostalgic sounds, which should not be read as critical ones or as an antiOttoman voice. Badr al-Dı¯n al-Ghazzı¯, for example, complains that the intellectual production in Maʿrat al-Nuʿma¯n during his days cannot be compared with the intellectual activity the town witnessed in the days of the historian Ibn alWardı¯.89 Describing a river crossing, he quotes an inscription (maktu¯b) that said: “This [bridge] was constructed by our Master the sultan Qa¯ytba¯y, may God have mercy on him and forgiveness”.90 Moreover, despite this rapprochement between the Arabs and the Ottoman Turks, changes can be traced. They are clearly visible in the use of Turkish (allugha al-rumı¯yah) that replaces the Persian elements that were employed in the Arabic of the Mamlu¯k court. Quite often, Turkish words are utilized to describe the landscape. Thus for example al-Khiya¯rı¯ speaks of bridges (kubri),91 woods (orman bil-turkiya),92 ports, (iskale) 93 straits (bughaz),94 and villages (koi – 87 Qutb al-Dı¯n Muhammad bn Ahmad al-Nahrwa¯lı¯ al-Hanafı¯ (911–990/1511–1582), al-Iʿla¯m bi˙ al-haram [Die ˙ Chroniken der Stadt ˙ aʿla¯˙ m bayt alla¯h Mekka] ed. Ferdinand Wüstenfeld ˙ (Leipzig: F. A. Brockhous, 1857), 5–6 (amı¯r al-mu’minı¯n aladhı¯ jalasa ʿalá kursı¯ al-khila¯fa). ¯ simı¯ al-Sha¯fiʿı¯ al-Makkı¯ (1049–1111/1639–1699), Samt al88 ʿAbd al-Malik b.Husayn al-ʿA ˙ ¯ ’ al-awa¯’il˙ wal-tawa¯lı¯ (Beirut: Da¯r al-kutub al-‘ilmi¯yah, 1419/1998; ˙ 4 nuju¯m al-‘awa¯lı¯fı¯anba vols.), 4: 66–85 (quotes al-Nahrwa¯lı¯ on p. 83). 89 al-Ghazzı¯, al-Mata¯liʿ al-badrı¯yah, 58. 90 al-Ghazzı¯, al-Mat˙a¯liʿ al-badrı¯yah, 81. 91 al-Khiya¯rı¯, Tuhfat˙ al-udaba¯ʾ, 1: 197, 198, 264, 270; Taysi¯r Khalaf (ed.), Mawsu¯ʿat rihla¯t al-ʿal-l ˙ wal-muslimi¯n ˙ila´ Filasti¯n (Damascus: Da¯r Kan‘a¯ n, 2009; 8 vols.), 3: 63, 65. ˙ 92 al-Khiya¯rı¯, Tuhfat al-udaba¯ʾ, 1: 222. 93 al-Khiya¯rı¯, Tuh˙ fat al-udaba¯ʾ, 1: 236. ˙ 94 Badr al-Dı¯n al-Ghazzı ¯, al-Mata¯liʿ al-badrı¯yah, 247 (yenice). ˙

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koyat).95 Reporting the arrest of Ibn Farfu¯r, al-Ghazzi describes the arrival of an u¯lqa¯n (messenger) carrying the detention order.96 I am not arguing that the travelogues obliterate altogether the differences between the past and the present, between Turks and Arabs. An example of such differences is a remark on the varying praying styles of the Turks (ʿa¯dat alru¯mı¯yah) and the Arabs.97 Al-Ghazzi’s text reflects a clear vision of us (Arab Muslims) and them (Turkish Muslims). Despite the frequent remarks on praying in Anatolian mosques and visits to schools and Sufi lodges, he also distances himself from practices and rituals that he came across during his journey. An example that supports this deduction is his account of the city Aq-Shehir (Aks¸ehir),98 where the grave of Khawja¯ Nas¯ıral-Din is.99 “They consider him” he ˙ writes “a passionate saint about whom numerous funny stories are told, accounts that reveal his confusion and troubles”.100 Similar to this is his report on the Friday prayer in the mosque of Qara-Hisa¯r (Karahisar/Afyon), where after the ˙ ˙ noon prayer the public sang hymns in Turkish and Arabic, adding that the preacher performed “unorthodox” service during this event.101 Writers even voiced what can be interpreted as direct critical views, albeit rarely. Waiting tensely in Istanbul to be received by some high dignitaries, Badr al-Dı¯n al-Ghazzı¯ blames the Ottomans (arwa¯m) for failing to pay attention to those who wish to communicate with them (la yaʿrifuna miqdar ahadinwa-la¯ ˙ yaltafituna ilá man sadara aw warada).102 ˙

Conclusion In the writings studied by me, early accounts of the conquest of the Mamlu¯k lands do not reflect any sign of the local populations’ resentment. Salı¯m’s victorious advances southward and his defeat of the Mamlu¯k armies are not portrayed as a conquest by an alien force. The interpretation of history advanced by the 16th- and 17th-century Arab authors did not maintain that with the Ottomans’ achievements, the Arabs were subjugated by a foe.

95 al-Khiya¯rı¯, Tuhfat al-udaba¯ʾ, 1: 285, 286 (we crossed villages: wa-mararrna bi-koyat; pro˙ koi amir), 335 (koi min koyat al-nasara). sperous village: ˙¯n al-miʾah al-ʿa¯shirah, 2: 22. 96 Najmal-Di¯n al-Ghazzi¯, al-Kawa¯kib al-sa¯ʾirah bi-aʿya ¯ 97 al-Khiya¯rı¯ in Mawsu¯ʿat rihla¯t al-ʿal-l wal-muslimin ila´ Filasti¯n, 3: 64. ˙ ¯yah, 104. ˙ 98 al-Ghazzı¯, al-Mata¯liʿ al-badrı ˙ see above. 99 al-Muhibbı¯, 56; and ˙ ¯, al-Mata¯liʿ al-badrı¯yah,105. 100 al-Ghazzı 101 al-Ghazzı¯, al-Mat˙a¯liʿ al-badrı¯yah,106. 102 al-Ghazzı¯, al-Mat˙a¯liʿ al-badrı¯yah, 135, 209, 210. ˙

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This picture is in line with the official travel report of Yavuz Sultan Selim, which gives the impression of an advance through al-Sha¯m towards Misr, with ˙ regular visits to sanctuaries, holy shrines and mosques and meetings with local religious dignitaries. This is not surprising. Yet, it should be emphasized that the travelogues studied by me construct a similar picture. By using an elaborated narratological technique, the Arab travelers represented an unbroken line of scholarly life and created a unifying historical narrative. Indeed, some may reject this reading on the grounds that the travelers were occupied by the prospects of jobs and rewards, and were carful not to anger their hosts. Yet I believe that the thesis that the authors assumed that the Mamlu¯ks and the Ottomans had a great deal of similarity is not without basis. The politics of power of those two dynasties explains, at least partially, why the authors of the travelogues saw similarity instead of deep differences. This political explanation is based upon the general resemblance between the Mamlu¯k atra¯k and the Ottoman Turks polities. Both sultanates were bureaucratic states. Mamlu¯k Cairo and Ottoman Istanbul were governed by court societies. In both cases the ruling royal elite lived apart from the common people over whom it ruled. Foreign soldiers were the backbone of these two regimes. Manumitted “Turkish” slaves in the case of the Mamlu¯k Sultanate, and gathered boys (devshirme) in the case of the Ottoman Empire. The religious establishment played the role of go-between the ruling court and the commoners. To maintain their families, this urban class of learned Muslim scholars depended heavily on the ruling elite, which provided them with financial resources. Due to this political-economic dimension of the links between the rulers and the religious establishment, a great degree of similarity between the inhabitants of the Qalʿa and the dwellers of the Top Kapı Sarai can be noticed. The travelogues reveal the attitude of a small echelon among the Arab-Muslim learned elite towards the Ottomans in the first two centuries of their rule over Syria and Arabia. They are a source for the study of polity, social interests and of public mood, at least to a certain degree.103 The Ottoman conquest did not change the basic pattern of connections between the Mamluk rulers and the religious apparatus. The approach of these Arab authors, and perhaps that of the vast majority of the population, was pragmatic. They perceived the sultans who resided in Istanbul as legitimate Muslim leaders. This attitude is reflected by the Egyptian historian al-Jabarti, who states that: 103 The travelers who departed from the territories that were governed by the Mamlu¯k sultans and called at the sultans’ courts in Istanbul were joined by travelers from other parts of the early modern Arab world. Such travelers, for example those who sailed from the Maghreb to Istanbul, are beyond the scope of this study.

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At the outset of their reign, the Ottomans were among the best to rule the Nation of Islam (umur al-ummah) since the Rightly-Guided Caliphs. They were the strongest defenders of religion and opposers of unbelievers, and for this reason their dominions expanded through the conquests which God gave to them and to their deputies. They controlled the best inhabited regions on earth.”104

This version of history is at odds with the contemporary rhetoric of the Arab nation state. However, the clarification of these conflicting representations of the past is beyond the present study. The story of Ottoman failure and their delegitimization should be discussed in a different context.

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Ibn Battu¯tah, Abu¯ʿAbd Allah Muhammad al-Tanjı¯ (703–779/1304–1377). Tuhfat al-nuzza¯r ˙ ˙ ˙˙ ˙ ˙ ˙˙ fı¯ ghara¯ʾib al-amsa¯r wa-aja¯ʾib al-asfa¯rv ed. Abd al-Hadi al-Tazi (Rabat, 1417/1997) [C. ˙ Defremery and B. R. Sanguinetti as Voyages d’Ibn Battuta (Paris: Imprimerie nationale, 1893)]. Ibn Hijja al-Hamawı¯, al-Dı¯n Abu¯ Bakr Alı¯ (767–837/1366–1434). Thamra¯t al-awra¯q ed. ˙ ˙ Muhammad A. Ibra¯hı¯m (Beirut: al-Maktaba al-ʿAsriyyah, 1426/2005). ˙ ˙ Ibn Hijjı¯, Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Abu¯ al-ʿAbba¯s Ahmad al-Saʿdı¯ al-Hisba¯nı¯ al-Dimashqı¯ (751–815/ ˙ ˙ ˙ 1350–1414). Ta’rı¯kh ibn hijjı¯: hawa¯dith wa-wafaya¯t 796–815/1393–1413 ed. A. al-Kun˙ ˙ dari (Beirut: Da¯r al-Hazam, 2003; 2 vols.). ˙ Ibn al-Hims¯ı, Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ahmad b. Muhammad (841–934/1458–1528). Hawa¯dith al˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ zama¯nwa-wafaya¯t al-shuyu¯kh wal-aqra¯n ed. ʿAbd al-ʿAzı¯z Harfu¯sh (Beirut: Da¯r al˙ Nafa¯ʾis, 1421/2000). Ibn al-ʿIma¯d, Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n ʿAbd al-Hayy al-Hanbalı¯ (1623–1679). Shadhara¯t al-dhahab fı¯ ˙ ˙ akhba¯r man dhahab ed. M. al-Arana’u¯t (Beirut: Da¯r Ibn Kathı¯r, 1413/1992). ˙ Ibn al-Jawzı¯, Akhba¯r al-hamká wal-mughaffilin ed. ʿAbd al-Amir Muhanna¯ (Beirut: Da¯r al˙ Fikr al-Lubnani, 1410/1990). Ibn Kathı¯r, Abu¯ al-Fida¯ Isma¯ʿı¯l (701–774/1301–1373). al-Bida¯yaw al-niha¯ya ed. ʿAbd Allah b. ʿAbd al-Muhsin al-Turkı¯ (Cairo: Hajar, 1998). ˙ Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Shams al-Dı¯n Muhammad b. ʿAlı¯ al-Sa¯lih¯ı (1473–1546/880–953). Iʿla¯m al-waráb ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ biman wulliya na¯ʾiban min al-atra¯k bi-dimashq al-sha¯m al-kubrá ed. Muhammad ˙ Ahmad Duhma¯n (Damascus: Da¯r al-Fikr, 1964/1984). ˙ al-Jabartı¯, ʿAbd al-Rahman (1167–1237/1754–1822), Aja¯ʾib al-a¯tha¯r fı¯ al-tara¯jim wal˙ akhba¯r (Cairo: Da¯r al-kutub al-misrı¯yah, 1997). ˙ al-Khiya¯rı¯, Ibra¯him b.ʿAbd al-Rahma¯n al-Madanı¯ (1037–1083/1628–1672), Rihlat al˙ ˙ Khiya¯ri¯: Tuhfat al-udaba¯ʾ wa-salwat al-ghuraba¯ʾ ed. R. M. Al-Sa¯marra¯’ı¯ (Baghdad: ˙ Wiza¯ rat al-Thaqa¯ fah wal-Afah wa1389/1969; 3 vols.). ¯ bidı¯n Muhammad b.‘Abd Alla¯ h al-Husayni¯ al-Mu¯ sawi¯ (1012–1070/1603– Kibri¯t, Zayn al-ʿA ˙ ˙ 1660). Kita¯b Rihlat al-shita¯’ wal-sayf ed. M. S. al-Tanta¯wı¯ (Beirut: al-Maktab al-Isla¯ mi¯, ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ 1385/1965). al-Maqrı¯zı¯, Taqı¯ al-Dı¯n Ahmad b. ʿAlı¯ (766–845/1364–1441), al-Sulu¯k li–maʿrifat duwal al¯ shu¯˙r (Cairo: Matbaʿat Da¯r al-Kutub, 1427/2007; 3 parts in 12 vols.). mulu¯k ed. S. ʿA. ʿA al-Muhibbı¯, Fadl Alla¯h b. Muhibb Alla¯h al-Dimashqı¯ (1031–1082/1621–1671), al-Rihlata¯n ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ al-Ru¯mı¯yah wal-Misrı¯yah ed. ʿed. ʿAbd al-Sala¯m Raʾu¯f (Damascus: Da¯r al-Zama¯n, ˙ 2012). al-Nahrwa¯lı¯, Qutb al-Dı¯n Muhammad b. Ahmad al-Hanafı¯ (911–990/1511–1582). al-Iʿla¯m ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ bi-aʿla¯m bayt alla¯h al- haram [Die Chroniken der Stadt Mekka] ed. Ferdinand Wüs˙ tenfeld (Leipzig: F. A. Brockhous, 1857). al-Qalqashandı¯, Abu¯ al-ʿAbba¯s Ahmad b. ʿAlı¯ (756–821/1355–1418). Subh al-aʿshá fı¯ si˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ na¯ʿa¯t al-insha¯ʾ (Cairo: al- Mu’assasa al-misrı¯ya al-ʿa¯mma lil-ta’lı¯f, 1963; 14 vols.). ˙ al-Tabarı¯, Abu¯ Jaʿfar Muhammad b. Jarı¯r (224–310/838–923), Ta’rı¯kh al-rusul wal-mulu¯k ˙ ˙ ed. M. A. Ibrahim (Cairo: Da¯r al-Maʿa¯rı¯f, 1386/1967; 10 vol.). Ya¯qu¯t al-Hamawı¯ al-Ru¯mı¯ (1179–1229), Muʿjam al-bulda¯n ed. F. Wüstenfeld (Leipzig: F. A. ˙ Brockhus, 1869).

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Studies Aigle, Denise. “Les inscriptions de Baybars dans le Bilad al-Sˇam. Une expression de la légitimité du Pouvoir”, Studia Islamica 97 (2003): 57–85. Amitai, Reuven. “Some remarks on the inscription of Baybars at Maqam Nabi Musa”, in David J. Wasserstein and Ami Ayalon (eds.), Mamluks and Ottomans: Studies in Honour of Michael Winter (London: Routledge, 2006), 54–66. Ayalon, David. “The End of the Mamluk Sultanate (Why did the Ottomans spare the Mamluks of Egypt and wipe out the Mamluks of Syria?)”, Studia Islamica 65 (1987): 144–47. Bauer, Thomas. “Ibn Nuba¯tah al-Misrı¯ (686–768/1287–1366): Life and Works- Part I: The ˙ Life of Ibn Nuba¯tah”, Mamluk Studies Review 12 (2008): 1–35. 2 Bosworth, C.E. “Lakab”, EI 5: 629a. ˙ Canard, Marius. “Les principaux personnages du roman de chevalerie arabe Da¯t al-Himma ¯ wa-l-Batta¯l”, Arabica 8/2 (1961): 166. ˙˙ Dedes, Yorgos (ed. and trans.), Battalname (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1996), 1: 1–25. Dunn, Ross E. The Adventures of Ibn Battuta (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2012). Elger, Ralf. “Badr al-Dı¯n Muhammad al-Ghazzı¯”, in Roger M. A. Allen, Joseph Edmund ˙ Lowry, Devin J. Stewart (eds.), Essays in Arabic Literary Biography: 1350–1850 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2009), 98–102. Elger, Ralf. “Der Raum als Zeichen göttlicher Macht und des Wirkens der Zeit im LibanonReisebericht al-manâzil al-mahâsiniyyafî r-rihlaat-tarâbulusiyya des Yahyâ al-Mahâsinî (st. 1053/1643)”, in Roxane Haag-Higuchi, Christian Szyska (eds.), Erzählter Raum in Literaturen der islamischen Welt (Wiebaden Harrassowitz, 2001). Faroqhi, Suraiya. “Sayyid Gazi Revisited: The Foundation as seen through Sixteenth and Seventeenth century”, Turcica: Revue d’Études Turques 13 (1981): 90–122. Fleischer, Cornell H. “The Lawgiver as Messiah: The Making of the Imperial Image in the Reign of Süleyman”, in Gilles Veinstein (ed.), Soliman le Magnifiqueet son temps (Paris: La Documentation Française, 1992), 159–177. Frenkel, Y. “The Mamluks among the Nations: A Medieval Sultanate in its Global Context” in Stephan Conermann (ed.), Everything is on the Move: The Mamluk Empire as a Node in (Trans-)Regional Networks (Bonn University Press: Mamluk Studies, vol.7, 2014), 61– 79. van Gelder G. J. H. in Julie Scott Meisami, and Paul Starkey (eds.), Encyclopedia of Arabic Literature (London: Routledge, 1998; 2 vols.), 1: 334. Huart, Clement. A History of Arabic Literature (New York: D. Appleton and company, 1903), 199–200. Khalaf, Taysi¯r (ed.), Mawsu¯ʿat rihla¯t al-ʿal-l wal-muslimi¯n ila´ Filasti¯n (Damascus: Da¯ r ˙ ˙ Kan‘a¯n, 2009; 8 vols.). Kunt, Metin. “The Emergence of the Ottomans”, in Michael Jones (ed.), The New Cambridge Medieval History vol. 6 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 842–43, 851–53, 857.

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ˇ uzʾ’ perdu des ‘Bada¯ʾIʿ al-Zuhu¯r’ d’Ibn Iya¯s à la Lellouch, Benjamin. “Le douzième ‘G lumière d’une chronique turque d’Égypte”, Arabica 45/1 (1998): 89. Lellouch, Benjamin. “Qu’est-cequ’ un Turc? (Égypte, Syrie, XVIe siècle)”, European Journal of Turkish Studies [Online] (16 December2013)URL: http://ejts.revues.org/4758. Marzolph, Ulrich. “Timur’s Humorous Antagonist, Nasr eddin Hoca”, Oriente Moderno ˘ 15/2 (1996): 489 (quoting Evliya Çelebı¯ in 1058/1064). Nora, Pierre. “Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Mémoire”, Representations 26 (1989): 7–24. Perlmann, Moshe. “Samauʾal al-Maghribı¯, Ifha¯m al-Yahu¯d [Silencing the Jews written c. ˙ 565/1169–1170]”, Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research 32 (1964): 100 (Arabic). Rafeq, Abdul-Karim. “Relations Between the Syrian ’’Ulama¯’’ and the Ottoman State in the Eighteenth Century”, Oriente Moderno, n.s. 18 (79/1) (1999): 67–70. Rogan, Eugene. The Arabs: A History (New York: Basic Books, 2009). Le Strange, Guy. The Lands of the Eastern Caliphate (Cambridge: Cambridge University press, 1905). Taeschner, Franz (ed.), Al-‘Umarı¯’s Bericht über Anatolien: in seinem Werke Masa¯lik alabsa¯r fi mama¯lik al-amsa¯r (Leipzig: O. Harrassowitz, 1929). ˙ ˙ Watenpaugh, Heghnar Zeitlian. The Image of an Ottoman City Imperial: Architecture and Urban Experience in Aleppo in the 16th and 17th Centuries (Leiden: Brill, 2004). Winter, M. “Egyptian and Syrian Sufis Viewing Ottoman Turkish Sufism: Similarities, Differences, and Interactions”, in Eyal Ginio and Elie Podeh (eds.), The Ottoman Middle East: Studies in Honor of Amnon Cohen (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 108–109. Yenis¸ehirliog˘lu, Filiz. “The Tekke of Sayyid Battal Gazi”, Anadoluve Çevresinde Ortaçag˘ 2 (Ankara, 2008): 121–164.

Cihan Yüksel Muslu

“Nomadic” Borders of Ottoman Provinces during the Mamluk-Ottoman Imperial Transition1

[S¸a¯h Velı¯] used to utter meaningless words and senseless statements such as [“] I am the Mehdı¯ of the age and the caliph of the time [.”][These statements] gave doubt and suspicion to many people who had no sense as well as from the Turkmen communities [.] [T]herefore S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey brought this scoundrel to the circle of punishment and in front of him [,] having placed a stool[,] sitting down he ordered so that [S¸a¯h Velı¯’s] inverted neck was hit with a sharp sword and fire-scattering saber so that those doubtful and suspicious ones saw with their own eyes that [S¸a¯h Velı¯’s] unfortunate head which [supposedly] arrows cannot touch and swords cannot cut was severed from his unfortunate body like a fresh cucumber plant and a snake whose head is cut off [,] and [while] feeding [S¸a¯h Velı¯’s] unclean corpse to the snakes and ants[,][S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey] dispatched his head to the sultan and reported his words and actions [ . . .].2 1 I am thankful to Erdem Çıpa, T.J. Fitzgerald, and the workshop participants whose comments helped me revise this paper. I am equally grateful to Alex Simons (M.D.Anderson Library, UH) and Joshua Been (M.D.Anderson Library, UH), who guided me through the intricacies of map making. I also acknowledge my debt to the following studies of history and anthropology: Frederic Barth, “Introduction,” Ethnic Groups and Boundaries: The Social Organization of Cultural Difference (Boston: Little and Brown, 1969), 9–37; Frederick Barth, “Boundaries and Connections,” in Signifying Identities: Anthropological Perspectives on Boundaries and Contested Values, ed. Anthony Cohen (London, 2000), 17–36; Robert Bartlett and Angus MacKay, eds., Medieval Frontier Societies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989); Peter Burke, “Civilizations and Frontiers,” in Early Modern History and the Social Sciences: Testing the Limits of Braudel’s Mediterranean, ed. John A. Marino (Kirksville: Truman State University Press, 2002), 123–141; Kathryn Edwards, Families and Frontiers: Re-creating Communities and Boundaries in the Early Modern Burgundies (Boston: Brill, 2002); Peter Sahlins, Boundaries: The Making of France and Spain in the Pyrenees (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989). For the term “Nomadic Borders,” see Tatiana Zhurzhenko, “Borders and Memory,” in Ashgate Research Companion to Border Studies, ed. Doris Wastl-Walter (London: Ashgate, 2011), 65. 2 Author’s translation. For the original passage, see Abdurrahman Sag˘ırlı, “Kes¸fî Mehmed Çelebi: Selim-Nâme veya Bag˘-ı Firdevs-i Guzat ve Ravza-i Ehl-i Cihâd” (master’s thesis, Istanbul University, 1993), 132; Jean-Louis Bacqué-Grammont, “Études Turco-Safavides, III: Notes et Documents sur la Révolte de S¸âh Velî b. S¸eyh Celâl,” Archivum Ottomanicum VII (1982): 59– 60, 60n127: “…..mehdı¯-i devra¯n ve halı¯fe-i zama¯num deyü la¯f-ı bı¯-ma‘na ve suhen-i ma¯–la¯˘ bı¯-‘akl ü idra¯küñ ve güru¯h-ı etra¯küñ niçesine ˘ ya‘na söylerdi ve istima¯‘ eden ta¯’ife-i s¸ekk ü ˙ ol dun-ı ser-nigunı siya¯set meyda¯nına getürüb s¸übhe verirdi ol sebebden S¸ehsüva¯r og˘lı ‘Alı¯ Beg ¯ ¯ ve kendü kars¸usında iskemli koyub oturub buyurdı ki imtiha¯n-gu¯ne gerden-i nigu¯nuna bir tı¯g˙˙ ˙ ˙

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This passage on the execution of the rebellion leader S¸a¯h Velı¯ in 1520 encapsulates how the former Ottoman-Mamluk borderland3 where this uprising was taking place became caught between the ambitions of the Ottomans, Mamluks, and Safavids, along with the cravings of local agents for greater autonomy.4 The timing of this unrest four years following the Ottoman conquest from 1516 to 1517 reveals that residents of the former Mamluk region were undergoing a turbulent adjustment period.5 The towns of Darende, Divrig˘i, Malatya, Gerger, Kâhta, Hısn-ı Mansur (today’s Adıyaman), and Besni (also known as Behisni) were not at the center of this aforementioned uprising, but as part of the contested territory they felt its impact. This paper conducts a preliminary study of these complex imperial transition years between 1516 and 1530 in light of Ottoman surveys (tahrı¯rs) of these towns and narrative accounts. These towns are ˙ treated as a group in this paper because they appeared in one volume (defter) of the 1530 survey as a regional unit.6 Most modern residents of these towns would likely experience difficulty imagining their hometowns ruled by an empire centered in Cairo versus a power centered in Istanbul or Ankara. Out of the entire Mamluk domain these towns

3

4

5

6

i abda¯r ve bir s¸ims¸¯ır-i a¯tes¸-ba¯r urdılar s¸öyle ki ol s¸ekk ü s¸übhe kılanlar cümle gözleriyle gördiler ol ok batmayub kılıç kesmeyen kelle-i bı¯-devleti ser-bürı¯de-i˙ ma¯r ve ta¯ze hiya¯r gibi ten-i bı¯˙ ˘ ¯ r hazretlerine sa‘a¯detinden du¯r˙ve les¸-i na¯-pa¯kini g˙ıda¯-yı ma¯r ü mu¯r kılub bas¸ını hüda¯vendiga ˙ ˙ ˙ ˘ irsa¯l ve takrı¯r-i ahva¯l ü akva¯l kıldı.” ˙ ˙ use the˙ words ˙ border, borderlands, boundaries, and frontier zones. For a I interchangeably select list of relevant studies addressing related concepts see footnote 1, and Cemal Kafadar, Between Two Worlds: Construction of the Ottoman State (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999); Daniel Power and Naomi Standen, eds., Frontiers in Question: Eurasian Borderlands (Houndmills: MacMillan, 1999). For the Mamluk borderlands, see Reuven AmitaiPreiss, “Northern Syria between the Mongols and Mamluks: Political Boundary, Military Frontier, and Ethnic Affinities,” in Frontiers in Question: Eurasian Borderlands, 128–153. For the most comprehensive study of this uprising, see Bacqué-Grammont, “Études TurcoSafavides, III.” For others, see Adel Allouche, The Origins and Development of the OttomanSafavid Conflict (Berlin: Klaus Schwarz Verlag, 1983), 128–29; Yunus Koç, “Yozgat,” DI˙A 43: 560–61; Mücteba I˙lgürel, “Celali I˙syanları,” DI˙A 7: 252–53; Faruk Sümer, “Bozok Tarihine Dair Aras¸tırmalar,” in Cumhuriyetin 50.Yıldönümünü Anma Kitabı (I˙stanbul, 1974), 320–321; Faruk Sümer, Safevi Devletinin Kurulus¸u ve Gelis¸mesinde Anadolu Türklerinin Rolü (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1999), 73–74. For primary sources, see Celâl-zâde Mustafa Çelebi, SelimNâme, ed. Ahmet Ug˘ur and Mustafa Çuhadar (Ankara: Kültür Bakanlıg˘ı, 1990), 214–219, 446– 48; Hoca Sadettin Efendi, Tacü’t-tevarih, ed. I˙smet Parmaksızog˘lu (Ankara: Kültür Bakanlıg˘ı, 1978), 4: 348–49. For a recent study of the Mamluk to Ottoman imperial transition in Aleppo, see T.J. Fitzgerald, “Murder in Aleppo: Ottoman Conquest and the Struggle for Justice in the Early Sixteenth Century,” Journal of Islamic Studies 27 (2016): 176–215. For the same phenomenon in Anteb but after 1530s, see Leslie Peirce, Morality Tales: Law and Gender in the Ottoman Court of Aintab (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003). Ersin Gülsoy and Mehmet Tas¸temir, 1530 Tarihli Malatya, Behisni, Gerger, Kâhta, Hısn-ı Mansur, Divrig˘i ve Darende Kazâları Vakıf ve Mülk Defteri (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 2007).

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were located geographically closest to the Ottoman center of Istanbul (after the region of Cilicia). Nor would these residents know much regarding the complex past of these locations caught between webs of imperial conflicts, local sensitivities, shifting allegiances, and socio-economic complaints along with diverse political, ideological, and religious sympathies. These towns have been part of the Ottoman Empire and then the Turkish Republic for too long, and memory of this region as a part of a Mamluk Empire is too remote. However, the sixteenthcentury events that unfolded following the Ottoman conquest such as the aforementioned S¸a¯h Velı¯ uprising suggests that the transition of these locations to Ottoman administration was not instantaneous. This region underwent multiple phases of reorganization in addition to experiencing multiple unrests and incidents reflecting local residents’ reactions to Ottoman restructuring efforts. S¸a¯h Velı¯’s messianic claims, including being invulnerable, provide a glimpse into the simmering impact of Safavid propaganda.7 Once Sha¯h Isma¯‘ı¯l’ came to power the Anatolian lands located geographically closer to the Safavid domain became exposed to propaganda. The Safavid message found a sympathetic ear, particularly among the semi-nomadic Turkmen tribes who displayed strong Alewite tendencies, also disliked interference with their lifestyles as well as the sedentarization attempts of any central political authority. Other socio-economic, political, and ideological reasons for local dissatisfaction also come to the surface in primary sources.8 That S¸a¯h Velı¯ was executed by S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey (d.1522) instead of by any other high-ranking Ottoman commander dispatched to suppress this movement, combined with the manner in which he was executed (siya¯set), provides a glimpse into these other sources of dissatisfaction.9 S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey had history in the region as the descendant of Dulkadirid overlords.10 His ancestors established 7 For the Safavid-Ottoman relations, see Allouche, Ottoman-Safavid Conflict; Jean-Louis Bacqué-Grammont, Les Ottomans, les Safavides et leurs Voisins (Istanbul: Nederlands Historisch-Archaeologisch Instıtuut te Istanbul, 1987). 8 Bacqué-Grammont, “Études Turco-Safavides, III”: 5–7. 9 For the concepts of siya¯set and siya¯set-i ¸ser‘iyye as the particular discretionary authority of Muslim rulers for the punitive jurisdiction, see Yunus Apaydın, “Siyâset-i S¸er‘iyye,” DI˙A 37: 299–304; C.E. Bosworth, I.R. Netton, and F.E. Vogel, “Siya¯sa,” EI2 9: 693–696; Christian Lange, Justice, Punishment, and the Medieval Muslim Imagination (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 42–44, passim.; Bernard Lewis, “Siya¯sa,” in Quest of an Islamic Humanism: Arabic and Islamic Studies in Memory of Mohamed al-Nowaihi, ed. A. H. Green (Cairo: American University Press, 1984), 3–14. On this concept under the Ottomans, Fitzgerald, “Murder in Aleppo”: 193–203; Uriel Heyd, Studies in Old Ottoman Criminal Law, ed. V.L. Menage (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1973), 198–204; Peirce, Morality Tales, 313–318, and passim. For the delegation of this “sultanic prerogative” to the local governors (i. e. S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey), see Peirce, Morality Tales, 322–323. 10 For S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey’s career, see Margaret L. Venzke, “The Case of a Dulgadir-Mamluk

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themselves during the early fourteenth century.11 Although the boundaries of Dulkadirid authority were frequently in flux, they controlled a confederation of semi-nomadic Turkmen tribes while occasionally shifting centers between Elbistan and Maras¸.12 Their interests at times clashed with other local actors such as the Karamanids in Konya and Karaman as well as the Ramazanog˘ulları in Adana. The Dulkadirids traditional range was located within the Mamluk sphere of influence, yet they also often forcefully negotiated with and defied this great power’s will. After the Ottomans began penetrating this region during the late fourteenth century the Dulkadirids skillfully maneuvered between the Mamluk and Ottoman courts. Local events following the Ottoman conquest reveal the continuing significance of such local agents in understanding the region’s history, and suggest that at least one segment of the local population experienced difficulty accepting their new Ottoman conquerors in part due to deeply rooted network and vassalage ties with local Dulkadirid lords.13 Another facet was the long history of dynastic competition that sowed the seeds of factionalism among various tribes of the Dulkadirid confederation. This rivalry among kin was often either provoked or compounded by interference from both Mamluk and Ottoman imperial politics. For example, the father of the aforementioned S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey, S¸ehsüva¯r (r.1466–1472) lost his authority and life in part to such rivalry. He had been intermittently supported by the Ottoman sultan Mehmed II (r.1444–1446 and 1451–1481) during his quest for ˙ power in Dulkadirid lands between 1465 and 1472, but was ultimately ousted by his brother S¸a¯hbudak (r. 1472–1480) who defeated him thanks to Mamluk sup˙ port. S¸ehsüva¯r was finally captured by the Mamluk commander Amı¯r Yashbak in the castle of Zamantı near Kayseri. Although he negotiated for his life with the

Iqta¯‘: A Re-Assessment of the Dulgadir Principality and its Position within the Ottoman˙ Mamluk Rivalry,” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 43 (2000): 402–407, 432–434, 458–459 (among other locations); Refet Yınanç, Dulkadir Beylig˘i (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1989), esp. 99–105 (among other locations). 11 For general works on the Dulkadirids, see Arifi, “Elbistan ve Maras¸’da Zulkadir (Dulkadir) og˘ulları Hükümeti” Tarih-i Osmani Encümeni Mecmuası 5 (1912): 358–377, 419–431, 509–12, 535–552, 623–629, 692–697, 767–768 and 6 (1916): 89–96; Barbara Kellner-Heinkele, “The Turkomans and Bila¯d asˇ-Sˇa¯m in the Mamluk Period,” in Land Tenure and Social Transformation in the Middle East, ed. Tarif Khalidi (Beirut: American University of Beirut, 1984), 169–180; Venzke, “The Case of a Dulgadir-Mamluk Iqta¯‘”; Refet Yınanç, Dulkadir Beylig˘i. ˙ the Ottoman conquest, see Arifi, 12 For the borders of Dulkadirid territory at the time of “Elbistan ve Maras¸’da Zulkadir (Dulkadir) og˘ulları Hükümeti,” 35: 696–697; I˙brahim Solak, XVI. Asırda Maras¸ Kazâsı (Kahramanmaras¸: Dulkadirog˘lu Belediyesi, 2014), 29–30. 13 For the argument that the people of Antep also located along the Mamluk borderland “did not construct their identities in relation to the regimes that ruled them,” see Peirce, Morality Tales, 36 and 39–40.

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Mamluk envoy in Zamantı, he was executed soon after his transfer to Cairo in 1472.14 S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey appears in Ottoman sources following his father’s execution.15 His brief tenure under the Ottomans provides us with a lens helping navigate both local power dynamics and the complications of transitional “ownership” of these towns. He was initially appointed to the sancak or liva¯ ˙ (subprovince) of Çirmen in the Balkans situated in the opposite direction from his ancestral lands. Previously this sancak served multiple members of Dulka˙ dirid family who sought Ottoman support and protection from Dulkadirid dynastic conflicts.16 During the Ottoman ruler Selı¯m I’s (r. 1512–1520) campaign to the Safavid lands ‘Alı¯ Bey distinguished himself by conducting a successful maneuver against the Safavid camp in addition to his exceptional performance during the battle of Çaldıran (1514).17 Selı¯m accordingly appointed S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey as the new Ottoman governor over parts of former Dulkadirid lands. The fate of the aforementioned towns along with the remaining Dulkadirid lands thereafter became closely entangled with S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey’s career. His role in this transformational time along with the impact of his sudden demise in 1522 further supports the thesis that these towns did not necessarily settle under new rule comfortably.

Geographical Background Darende, Divrig˘i, Malatya, Gerger, Kâhta, Hısn-ı Mansur, and Besni were dispersed into a buffer zone between northern Syria and central to southeastern Anatolia. Some of these towns had a long past as frontier zones, such as the old Byzantine town Malatya established as an awa¯sim town (frontier town) as early ˙ 14 For S¸ehsüva¯r’s career, see Venzke, “The Case of a Dulgadir-Mamluk Iqta¯‘”; Yınanç, Dulkadir ˙ S¸a¯hsuva¯r and Amı¯r Beylig˘i, esp. 62–76 (but also in other places). For the negotiations between ˙ Yashbak’s ambassadors see Ibn Aja¯, Tarikh al-Amir Yashbak al-Zahir, ed. Abd al-qadir Ahmad Tulaymat (Cairo, 1974); Stephan Conermann, “Ibn Ag˘a¯s (st.881/1476) “Ta’rı¯h al-Amı¯r ˘ ¯ ken: Yasˇbak az-Za¯hirı¯” – Biographie, Autobiographie, Tagebuch oder Chronik?” in Die Mamlu ˙ ˙ihrer Geschichte und Kultur, ed. Stephan Conermann and Anja Pistor-Hatam Studien zu (Hamburg: EB-Verlag, 2003), 123–179. 15 For the claim that ‘Alı¯ Bey sought refuge with the Ottoman lands because he was offended by his uncle ‘Ala¯’üd-devle’s choice of his own son as the Dulkadirid successor, see I˙smail Altınöz, Dulkadir Eyâletinin Kurulus¸u ve Gelis¸mesi (Kahramanmaras¸: Ukde, 2009), 37. 16 Yınanç, Dulkadir Beylig˘i, 62, 78, 96. 17 Celâl-zâde, Selim-Nâme, 145–147, 151–152, 375–76, 380; Hoca Sadettin Efendi, Tacü’t-tevarih, 4: 189, 195–97, 199; S¸ükrî-i Bidlisî, Selîm-Nâme, ed. Mustafa Arguns¸ah (Kayseri: Erciyes Üniversitesi, 1997), 157, 158–61, 173, 180.

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as the Abbasid era.18 Their histories display the typical but complex characteristics of borderlands. On the one hand, due to their distance from imperial center(s) they were spared from overbearing imperial scrutiny, and they often bred their own local overlords.19 For instance, Divrig˘i enjoyed the relatively longlasting presence of Mengücekog˘ulları rule between the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, while Besni frequently changed hands between Armenian and Ayyubid lords. Although the Danis¸mendog˘ulları (r. 1071–1178) had a strong claim in Malatya they were at times replaced by the local Armenian, Ayyubid, and Seljuk forces. The continuing presence of such considerable local actors, including the Dulkadirids who were often recognized and at times appointed by the Mamluks in Cairo, is a testament to the relative autonomy these towns enjoyed. On the other hand, these centers suffered from regional instability and lack of protection by the imperial armies; they were frequently caught between the almost incessant clashes among the multiple powers involved within the region. Primary sources include multiple references to the destruction of both personal and public property during waves of incursions. During the early thirteenth century the region survived marches of Ilkhanids who curbed the authority of the Anatolian Seljuks. Following the Mamluk sultan Baybars’s (r. 1260–1277) Anatolian campaign challenging Ilkhanid authority from 1276 to 1277 the Mamluks of Egypt and Syria gradually established a presence in these towns that would form the northern tip of Mamluk borderlands.20 Following the Mamluk sultan Barqu¯q’s (r.1382–1389 and 1390–1399) death in 1399 some of these towns (most likely Malatya, Darende, Divrig˘i, and Besni) were temporarily acquired by the Ottomans,21 but during the chaotic aftermath that the campaigns of Timur (r. 1370–1405) these towns were soon reclaimed by the Mamluks. Some of these towns were attacked by the Aqqoyunlus during the second half of the fifteenth 18 Göknur Gög˘ebakan, XVI. Yüzyılda Malatya Kazası (Malatya, 2002), 11; Hakkı Dursun Yıldız, “Avâsım,” DI˙A 4: 111–112. 19 For introductory information, see Göknur Gög˘ebakan, “Malatya,” DI˙A 27: 468–473; Mehmet Tas¸demir, “Besni,” DI˙A 5: 540–544; Abdülkadir Balgamıs¸, “Divrig˘i,” DI˙A 9: 452–454; Mehmet I˙ps¸irli, “Kayseri,” DI˙A 25: 96–101. 20 Amitai-Preiss, “Northern Syria between the Mongols and the Mamluks”; Reuven Amitai, Mongols and Mamluks (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996, reprint), 157–214. 21 For Malatya, Divrig˘i, and Besni, see As¸ıkpas¸azade, Die Altosmanische Chronik des As¸ıkpa¸sazade, ed. Friedrich Giese (Leipzig: Otto Harrassowitz, 1929), 67; Mevlânâ Mehmed Nes¸rî, Cihânnümâ, ed. Necdet Öztürk (I˙stanbul: Çamlıca,2008), 154. For Malatya, Darende, Divrig˘i, and Besni, see Oruç Bey, Oruç Bey Tarihi, ed. Necdet Öztürk (I˙stanbul: Çamlıca, 2007), 37; Anonymous, Anonim Osmanlı Kronig˘i, ed. Necdet Öztürk (I˙stanbul: Türk Dünyası Aras¸tırmaları Vakfı, 2000), 42. While I˙nalcık also adds Elbistan and Kâhta to this list, Halil Yınanç claims that Bayezid entered Elbistan but later left it to the Dulkadirid ruler Nâsirü’d-dı¯n ˙ Hısn-ı Mehmed Bey (r. 1399–1442). However, Yınanç also adds that Kâhta, Gerger, and ˙ Mansur must have entered under the Ottoman suzerainty. See Halil I˙nalcık, “Bayezid I,” DI˙A 5: 233; Mükrimin Halil Yınanç, “Bayezid I,” ˙IA 2: 379.

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century, while others were subject to Safavid aggression in 1507 to 1508; these occasions were explicitly referenced in Ottoman surveys.22 They also endured destruction at the hands of local contenders; towns including Darende were sacked in 1468 as part of the succession competition between two Dulkadirid brothers: S¸ehsüva¯r and S¸a¯hbudak.23 Under Ottoman rule this region continued to ˙ remain within close proximity of the Ottoman-Safavid borderlands while losing its characteristics as an active frontier. Despite this almost endemic political instability and vulnerability these towns also functioned as a contact zone between greater powers, local political agents, residents, and travelers.24 The region served as a route for passing travelers, merchants, travelling scholars, and students. Both local overlords and distant rulers left their marks on the region via endowments and architectural projects which endured for centuries. Despite their modest sizes these towns boasted an impressively diverse population from Greeks to Armenians, from settled townspeople to semi-nomadic Turkmen tribes, from Muslims to Jews, and Turkish-speakers to Kurdish- and Arabic-speakers. When the Ottomans acquired this region for the second time from 1516 to 1517 they were faced with its complicated past, including strong ties to both local overlords and tribal structures.

First Experiments of the Transition: Rise of S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey The general patterns of Ottoman immediate post-conquest efforts for establishing administrative, legal, and financial organization can be mapped out quickly, but both the specific details of these efforts and motivations behind them are surrounded by ambiguity. Soon after acquiring Mamluk territories the Ottomans organized them under newly-established provinces (called eya¯let, vila¯yet, or beylerbeyilik). Neither primary sources nor secondary studies unanimously agree on either the number or boundaries of these provinces. Scholars generally assume that the Ottomans initially organized former Mamluk lands into at least two provinces, Arab and Dulkadirid, while some believe that the 22 Gülsoy and Tas¸temir, Vakıf ve Mülk Defteri, XXVIII. 23 In the first available register for the towns of Malatya, Darende, and Divrig˘i at least one entry mentions that ‘Alı¯ Bey’s father S¸ehsüva¯r burned the market of Darende while struggling to seize power from his rival S¸a¯hbudak. Although Darende is not mentioned as being present at ˙ his followers, the memory of this episode in the minds of the headquarters of either S¸a¯h Velı¯ or these communities seems fresh enough to be mentioned during the first Ottoman survey. Ersin Gülsoy, Malatya, Divrig˘i ve Darende Sancakları’nın ˙Ilk Tahriri (1519), (Ankara, 2009), 51, 60, and particularly 112. For the historical context, see Yınanç, Dulkadir Beylig˘i, 68. 24 Amitai-Preiss, “Northern Syria between the Mongols and the Mamluks,” 142–144.

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Dulkadirid principality (as an emirate versus a province) continued to exist until 1522.25 However, the inconsistency between some archival evidence and the assumption that a separate Dulkadirid province was established allows only the following conclusion: the majority of Mamluk lands were initially organized under at least one province, Arab.26 The root of this assumption that a separate Dulkadirid province was established following the conquest is a series of administrative decisions Selı¯m made between 1514 and 1515 concerning S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey. The Ottoman ruler Selı¯m granted the Dulkadirid prince the sancak of Kayseri in return for his impressive service during the Safavid ˙ campaign.27 The town had historically been affiliated with Mamluk borderlands and frequently subject to power struggles between the local lords including the Karamanids, Dulkadirids, and Ramazanog˘ulları. It came under Ottoman control in 1474 and had been a part of the Karaman province. It is worth emphasizing that S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey had to face his own kin on at least three consecutive occasions immediately after his appointment to Kayseri. These encounters prove the continuation of the well-known factionalism within the confederation of Dulkadirid tribes. First, S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu eliminated his cousin Süleyma¯n (d. 1515) b. ‘Ala¯’üd-devle who was in charge of Bozok on Selı¯m’s orders following the battle of Çaldıran.28 Thereafter, he was accordingly granted the sancak of Bozok in addition to his earlier appointment to Kayseri.29 ˙ 25 For those who believe that Dulkadirid lands were established as a separate province under S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey immediately following the conquest, see I˙nalcık, “Eyalet,” DI˙A 11: 549. Bacqué-Grammont considers ‘Alı¯ Bey as the Beylerbeyi (Provincial Governor) of Dulkadirid province. For example see Jean-Louis Bacqué-Grammont, “Études Turco-Safavides, VI: Notes et Documents sur les Ottomans, les Safavides et la Géorgie, 1516–1521,” in Les Ottomans, les Safavides et La Géorgie, 1514–1524, ed. Jean-Louis Bacqué-Grammont and Chahryar Adle (I˙stanbul: ISIS, 1991), 58–59. For those who believe that principality (“emareti”) continued until the death of S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey and a separate province of Dulkadirid was founded only after his execution, see Altınöz, Dulkadir Eyâletinin Kurulus¸u; Solak, XVI. Asırda Maras¸ Kazâsı; Mükrimin Halil Yınanç, “Elbistan,” ˙IA 4: 229; Yınanç, Dulkadir Beylig˘i, 99–100; Yınanç, “Dulkadirog˘ulları,” DI˙A 9: 556. 26 At least two scholars, I˙smail Altınöz and I˙brahim Solak agree that the Dulkadirid province was not formed until 1531. Altınöz, Dulkadir Eyâletinin Kurulus¸u, 41–72; Solak, XVI. Asırda Maras¸ Kazası, 31–32. For another opinion suggesting that Dulkadirid Eyaleti was established no earlier than in 1527, see I˙lhan S¸ahin, “Dulkadir Eyaleti,” DI˙A 9: 552. I exclude Diyarbakır from this discussion, which Selı¯m also established as a province mostly consisting of Safavid borderlands in eastern and southeastern Anatolia, northern Iraq, and northeastern Syria. 27 For S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey’s role in the Safavid campaign and the battle of Çaldıran, see Celâlzâde, Selim-Nâme, 145–147, 151–152, 375–76, 380; Hoca Sadettin Efendi, Tacü’t-Tevarih, 4: 189, 195–97, 199. For S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu’s appointment to Kayseri see Celâl-zâde, Selim-Nâme, 160–61; S¸ükrî-i Bitlisî, Selîm-Nâme, 197–198. 28 S¸ükrî-i Bitlisî, Selîm-Nâme, 197–198. 29 Hoca Sadettin Efendi, Tacü’t-Tevarih, 4: 229; Celâl-zâde, Selim-Nâme, 160–161, 389; S¸ükrî-i Bitlisî, Selîm-Nâme, 197–198. For the Mamluk sultan Qansuh al-Ghawrı¯ (r. 1501–1516)’s

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We next see him in the Ottoman campaign against the Dulkadirids under the command of Ottoman Grandvizier Sina¯n Pas¸a in June 1515.30 It is telling that during the final battle between the Ottoman and Dulkadirid forces some Dulkadirid troops changed sides when they recognized the son of their former ruler (S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey) among the Ottoman ranks.31 S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu and his branch of the dynasty still clearly had followers or supporters in his ancestral lands. The Dulkadirid prince was further awarded with the “Dulkadirid lands” after the elimination of his uncle ‘Ala¯’üd-devle (d.1516).32 His authority was at once contested by his uncle’s surviving sons.33 After suffering a defeat these rivals escaped to the castle of Zamantı where S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey captured and eliminated them.34 However, sources use the word “Dulkadirid lands” almost generically without specifically defining the boundaries of this region as granted to S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey.35 Selı¯m likely granted only a portion of the former Dulkadirid principality to S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu, yet he had not necessarily established S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu’s sancaks as a ˙ separate province.36 In Ottoman bureaucracy such organizations were either first

30 31 32

33 34

35

36

discomfort regarding S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu’s appointments to Kayseri and Bozok as conveyed to Selı¯m via embassy see Hoca Sadettin Efendi, Tacü’t-Tevarih, 4: 233–34; S¸ükrî-i Bitlisî, SelîmNâme, 203–204. S¸ükrî-i Bitlisî, Selîm-Nâme, 208. Feridun Emecen, Yavuz Sultan Selim (I˙stanbul: Yitik Hazine Yayınları, 2010), 163. For S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu’s appointment to the Dulkadirid lands, see Celâl-zâde, Selim-Nâme, 168, 397; S¸ükrî-i Bitlisî, Selîm-Nâme, 197 and especially 211; S¸ahin, “Dulkadir Eyaleti”: 552–53. For S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu’s following military actions in Georgia, see Bacqué-Grammont, “Études TurcoSafavides V: Notes et Documents sur Mzé-Çâbûk, Atabeg de Géorgie Méridionale (1500– 1515), et les Safavides” in Les Ottomans, 44–48. For S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu’s various roles in Mamluk campaign, see Hoca Sadettin Efendi, Tacü’t-Tevarih, 3: 311, 327; Celâl-zâde, Selim-Nâme, 197, 427; S¸ükrî-i Bitlisî, Selîm-Nâme, 253, 256, 272, 275, 277, 281, 285. Yınanç, Dulkadir Beylig˘i, 99–100. For S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu’s following military actions in Georgia, see Bacqué-Grammont, “Études Turco-Safavides V: Notes et Documents sur Mzé-Çâbûk, Atabeg de Géorgie Méridionale (1500–1515), et les Safavides” in Les Ottomans, 44–48. For S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu’s various roles in Mamluk campaign, see Hoca Sadettin Efendi, Tacü’t-Tevarih, 3: 311, 327; Celâl-zâde, SelimNâme, 197, 427; S¸ükrî-i Bitlisî, Selîm-Nâme, 253, 256, 272, 275, 277, 281, 285. For an intriguing archival document describing the nature of S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu’s appointment and may change the conclusions in this paper, see Altınöz, Dulkadir Eyâletinin Kurulus¸u, 41n1. Unfortunately, Altınöz does not give the entire text of the document. Neither does he give its date. For information (that he did not establish a separate province) based on an archival document dated 1521 (before the death of S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey), see Ömer Lütfi Barkan, “H.933– 934 (M.1527–1528) Malî Yılına Ait Bir Bütçe Örneg˘i,” ˙Iktisat Fakültesi Mecmuası XV (1954): 303–307; Metin Kunt, Sancaktan Eyalete (I˙stanbul, 1978), 59; Tuncer Baykara, Anadolu’nun Tarihî Cog˘rafyasına Giris¸ I: Anadolu’nun ˙Idarî Taksimatı (Ankara, 1988), 88. At least two scholars, I˙smail Altınöz and I˙brahim Solak agree that the Dulkadirid province was not formed before 1531. Altınöz, Dulkadir Eyâletinin Kurulus¸u, 41–72; Solak, XVI. Asırda Maras¸ Kazası,

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documented or accompanied by tahrı¯r (cadastral surveys), a pillar of Ottoman ˙ provincial administration until the early years of the seventeenth century.37 Following a conquest the Ottomans almost immediately conducted a survey in order to determine their revenue sources and tax base with only a few exceptions.38 The chronicler I˙drı¯s-i Bidlı¯sı¯ (d.1520) mentions that the Ottoman ruler Selı¯m (r.1512–1520) gave orders to conduct surveys within Mamluk lands soon after their conquest.39 The earliest extant records for surveys conducted in these towns dates to 1519 and survives in three volumes (defters) with missing pages.40 In this survey the three sancaks of Malatya, Divrig˘i, and Darende appear ˙ together as a unit in both surviving defters,41 while Besni (sancak), Gerger-Kâhta ˙ (sancak), and Hısn-ı Mansur (kaz˙a¯’ under Besni) were treated together in an˙ ˙ 42 other defter. Of the towns covered in this paper only Besni (sancak), Gerger˙ Kâhta (sancak), and Hısn-ı Mansur were among the allocations granted to ˙ S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu according to the earliest extant survey record for these towns dating to 1519.43 In contrast, the registries for Malatya, Divrig˘i, and Darende

37 38 39 40

41

42

43

31–32. For another opinion suggesting that Dulkadirid Eyaleti was established no earlier than in 1527 see S¸ahin, “Dulkadir Eyaleti,” 552. Clues regarding these reorganizations are also found in local law codes (ka¯nu¯nna¯me), ap˙ available), and pointment registries (tevcı¯h defterleri), narrative sources, court records (if plentiful archival documents. For surveys as the first symbolic act of possession, see Fitzgerald, “Murder in Aleppo”: 179; Peirce, Morality Tales, 279–85. For the exceptions of salya¯neli and hükümet sancaks where ˙ surveys were not conducted, see Mehmet Öz, “Tahrir,” DI˙A 39: 426. ˙ I˙drı¯s-i Bidlı¯sı¯, ˙Idrîs-i Bidlîsî: Selim S¸ah-Nâme, ed. Hicabi Kırlangıç (Ankara: Kültür Bakanlıg˘ı, 2001), 377–379. Göyünç and Tas¸temir, both of whom worked extensively on this region’s surveys, consider the possibility that the Ottomans conducted a survey that both began and ended before 1519. Nejat Göyünç, “Memluk Devri’nde (Eski) Malatya’da Bir Aile,” in Bes¸inci Milletler Arası Türkoloji Kongresi, ˙Istanbul, 23–28 Eylül, 1985: Teblig˘ler, 246, 246n9 and n10; Mehmet Tas¸temir, XVI. Yüzyılda Adıyaman (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1999), 11. According to narrative sources a census was taken in the city of Damascus as soon as Selı¯m entered the city in 1516. Muhammad Adnan Bakhit, The Ottoman Province of Damascus in the Sixteenth Century (Beirut: Librairie du Liban, 1982), 36. For Divrig˘i, Darende, and Malatya, BBA (Bas¸bakanlık Ars¸ivi) MM (Maliyeden Müdevver) 3332 (this detailed or mufassal register combines the records of both evka¯f or endowments ˙˙ ˙ and 15450 (this and emla¯k or private properties, but the pages on Malatya are missing) summary or icma¯l register of state or mı¯rı¯ properties has sections on Malatya, but the section of Divrig˘i is not complete and one on Darende is missing). For a study of MM 3332 and 15450 see Gülsoy, Malatya, Divrig˘i ve Darende Sancakları’nın ˙Ilk Tahriri (1519); Zeki Arıkan, “Divrig˘i Kazası’nın I˙lk Sayımı (925/1519),” Osmanlı Aras¸tırmaları Dergisi 11(1991): 49–71. For Besni, Gerger-Kâhta, and Hısn-ı Mansur, BBA TTD (Tapu Tahrir Defteri) 71. For a study based on TD 71 in combination with other surveys of the same region, see Tas¸temir, XVI. Yüzyılda Adıyaman; Gög˘ebakan, XVI.Yüzyılda Malatya Kazası. Kaz˙a¯’ was an Ottoman ad˙ gradually became a subministrative term denoting the sphere of influence for a qadi, and category under sancak. See Tuncer Baykara, “Kaza,” DI˙A 25: 119–120. ˙ on studies by Mehmet Tas¸temir who worked extensively on the early This statement is based

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make no reference to S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey despite the fact that at least two of these towns (specifically Malatya and Darende) are historically closely associated with the Dulkadirid sphere of influence.44 The absence of any concrete reference to S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu in the defter of Malatya, Divrig˘i, and Darende leads us to conclude that the Dulkadirid prince likely inherited only a part of his ancestors’ lands rather than the entire Dulkadirid principality according to its pre-conquest borders. We also add Elbistan and/or Maras¸ appearing in the sources as the base for S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey’s troops to Besni, Gerger-Kahta, and Hısn-ı Mansur (and Kayseri and Bozok) as the locations under ‘Alı¯ Bey’s authority.45 These sources also fail to explain fully the administrative status of ‘Alı¯ Bey’s appointments within the larger Ottoman provincial organization. The Ottoman administration did not conduct a survey in Maras¸, Elbistan, or Bozok until at least after ‘Alı¯ Bey’s death. The differential treatment of the locations under ‘Alı¯ Bey’s authority suggests that his appointments displayed a mixed administrative character, and might have been defined in a status similar to ocaklık sancaks. ˙ ˙ ˙ Neither the primary sources nor scholarly research use this particular vocabulary for the lands assigned to S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey; however, circumstantial evidence indicates this possibility. Typically sancaks in this category were reserved for the ˙ members of local ruling families who either contributed to the Ottoman conquest registers of Besni, Gerger-Kâhta, and Hısn-ı Mansur (TD 71), claiming that Besni was the central sancak (“merkez sancak”) for all of these locations including the sancaks of Gerger˙ TTD 71 I Kâhta; see Tas˙¸temir, Adıyaman, 12. During my precursory examination of BBA noticed that there is a statement that the sancak of Besni was granted to an “‘Alı¯ Bey” (no ˙ reference to S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu) following the conquest. I could not find a similar statement concerning Gerger-Kâhta. See BBA TTD 71, 1 (I follow the pagination handwritten by the archive officers). Moreover, in the document dated 1521 (two years after the first survey registers) Barkan gives the name of Besni’s governor as Kutog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey (not S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu), as well as giving other names for Gerger-Kâhta. This suggests that perhaps S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu shared these towns’ resources and also perhaps their governances with these other appointees. It is also possible that he entirely lost his position in these towns after the uprising of S¸a¯h Velı¯, when this list was likely prepared. This would also explain the complete lack of his name in this list. However, I was not able to see the original of this document. Barkan, “Bütçe,” 306. 44 Gülsoy, Malatya, Divrig˘i ve Darende Sancakları’nın ˙Ilk Tahriri (1519), 115; BBA Maliyeden Müdevver 3332, 46 (I follow the pagination handwritten by the archive officers). An entry makes an indirect reference to “Du¯’l-ka¯dir,” likely referring to S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey. The ˙ entry states that there was a field within the district of Yeni il (na¯hiye) in Darende that ˙ unsettled. However, formerly belonged to an endowment (za¯viye) that had been left idle or later the “Du¯’l-ka¯dirlu” resettled on this field. The scribe is therefore noting that the field was not registered in˙ the Darende survey. This entry supports my idea that Darende was granted to ‘Alı¯ Bey, but not necessarily entirely (not as a hükümet, for instance). ˙¯ Bey began his maneuver in Elbistan. Hoca 45 During S¸eyh Cela¯l’s rebellion, S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı ˘ Sadettin Efendi, Tacü’t-tevarih, 4: 348. Additionally, the first survey for Maras¸ and Elbistan dates to 1522, after the death of the Dulkadirid Prince – which means that they were probably granted as hükümet. For Maras¸’s cadastral surveys, see Solak, XVI. Asırda Maras¸ Kazası, 24– ˙ 25 and 33–34.

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efforts or provided exceptional service to the Ottomans in other ways.46 The governors of these subprovinces were expected to render military services to the Ottoman army, yet also maintained hereditary and semi-autonomous rule of their sancaks. There were two sub-classifications under this main category: ˙ ocaklık-yurtluk and hükümet. While in hükümet sancaks the central admin˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ istration did not proctor a cadastral survey and its entire revenue was preserved for the appointed governor, the sancaks of ocaklık-yurtluk were subjected to the ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ cadastral survey system and distributed to additional tımar holders. These sancaks of ocaklık-yurtluk were attached to a province under a higher admin˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ istrative category, yet they were controlled by local rulers and their descendants almost as an autonomous unit. The Ramazanog˘ulları who had been the overlords of Adana and its vicinity under the former Mamluk regime presents an excellent case as contemporaries and peers of the Dulkadirids. Soon after Selı¯m’s conquest of the region they were appointed to their ancestral lands with the status of ocaklık.47 The rulers of a number of Kurdish tribes in Eastern Anatolia were ˙ ˙ similarly rewarded with the same status of ocaklık and therefore able to preserve ˙ ˙ their families’ autonomy at least as local lords. These concomitant cases indicate that S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey might have been also appointed as the governor of either ocaklık-yurtluk and/or hükümet sancaks.48 Under his authority towns of ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Besni, Gerger-Kahta, and Hısn-ı Mansur appeared under the newly established province of Arab; surveys were also conducted in these towns.49 In contrast, Maras¸, Bozok, and Elbistan did not appear under any provincial category until later and were likely defined as hükümet sancaks. ˙ ˙

46 For a detailed discussion of this classification see Nejat Göyünç, “Yurtluk-Ocaklık Deyimleri Hakkında,” in Prof. Dr. Bekir Kütükog˘lu’na Armag˘an (I˙stanbul, 1991), 269–277; Orhan Kılıç, “Ocaklık Sancakların Osmanlı Hukukunda ve I˙dari Tatbikatındaki Yeri,” Fırat Üniversitesi Dergisi XI (2001): 257–274; Orhan Kılıç, “Klasik Dönem Osmanlı I˙dari Sisteminde Hükümet Sancaklar,” XIV. Türk Tarih Kongresi XIV (2002): 703–720; Orhan Kılıç, “Ocaklık,” DI˙A 33: 317–318. For another inheritable subcategory of tıma¯r that was assigned to old families of Anatolia, see Ömer Lütfi Barkan, “Osmanlı Devrinin ‘Es¸kincülü Mülkler’i veya ‘Mülk Tımarlar’ı Hakkında Notlar,” in Zeki Velidi Togan’a Armag˘an (I˙stanbul, 1950–1955), 61–70; Irène Beldiceanu-Steinherr, “Loi Sur la Transmission du Tımar,” Turcica 11 (1979): 78–102. 47 Faruk Sümer, “Ramazanog˘ulları,” DI˙A 34: 444 and 445. 48 I suspect that some of the sancaks (probably Maras¸, Elbistan, and Bozok) were granted as ˙ available cadastral survey dates to 1522, after the death of hükümet (i. e. Maras¸ where the first ˙ Dulkadirid Prince). For Maras¸’s cadastral surveys, see Solak, XVI. Asırda Maras¸ Kazası, the 24–25 and 33–34. 49 For the status of five sancaks, see Barkan, “Bütçe,” 306. For Hısn-ı Mansur, see Tas¸temir, Adıyaman, 7; and BBA TTD ˙71, 275. Malatya, Darende, and Divrig˘i were also attached to the Arab province, whereas Kayseri appeared under the Province of Karaman.

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S¸a¯h Velı¯’s Uprising and Demise of S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey It is likely not a coincidence that S¸a¯h Velı¯’s uprising broke out at this critical juncture of history following the disappearance of the Mamluks as a major influence within the region’s dynamics, exposing parts of the region to signs of imperial possession in the form of surveys and other organizational efforts. In April 1519 S¸a¯h Velı¯ b. S¸eyh Cela¯l50 left his hometown Bozok and stationed himself ˘ within a cave in Turhal, attracting followers with his messianic message. When he additionally began harassing the surrounding regions and local residents with his 3000 to 4000 disciples the Ottoman administration was forced to act; S¸a¯h Velı¯ attacked multiple towns including Bozok and Sivas, defeating the Ottoman forces on at least one occasion, until the time he was caught and executed by S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey in either March or April of 1520. During these events Üveys Bey (S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey’s son who was the sancak beyi of Bozok) was wounded in ˙ addition to countless other Ottoman soldiers, provincial administrators, and local residents killed during these attacks and skirmishes. The captured followers of S¸a¯h Velı¯ were mostly executed, and the rebellion was brutally suppressed. Regardless of the questions concerning whether or not S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey was granted the entire Dulkadirid domain as well as the administrative and fiscal conditions surrounding his appointment, we know that as the descendant of a local dynasty he enjoyed a special status within the Ottoman administration. This reveals itself most clearly in S¸a¯h Velı¯’s uprising during which the Dulkadirid prince played a pivotal role. The manner by which Hüsrev Pas¸a, the governor ˘ general of Karaman, referred to S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey in their correspondence with the imperial capital clearly reveals S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu’s comparatively higher status versus a typical sancak governor (sancak beyi) or provincial governor ˙ ˙ (beylerbeyi).51 Likewise, in at least one document issued after the rebellion Sultan Süleyma¯n addressed S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu in a manner higher than a typical governorgeneral titulature.52 This exceptional titulatory treatment of S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey and the special status of some of his sancaks are among the reasons some ˙ scholars conclude that the Dulkadirid principality continued to exist until the

50 For the name of S¸ah Velı¯ b. S¸eyh Cela¯l instead of just S¸eyh Cela¯l (which most Ottoman ˙ historians˘ prefer), see Bacqué-Grammont, ˘ chronicles and modern “Études Turco-Safavides III”: 16–23. For the same name also see Faruk Sümer, “Bozok Tarihine Dair Aras¸tırmalar,” 320–21. 51 Bacqué-Grammont, “Études Turco-Safavides, III”: 41–42n96. 52 Ibid., 42n96; Feridun Bey, Müns¸eatü’s-Selatin, 1: 518 and 519. In this correspondence Süleyma¯n also refers to him as “Va¯li-i Vila¯yet-i Zu¯’l-kadr.” The word vila¯yet is used for provinces (eya¯let). This could be also one of the reasons why˙ many scholars thought that the Dulkadirid lands were established as a province immediately following the Ottoman conquest.

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execution of ‘Alı¯ Bey in 1522, while another chronicler claims that ‘Alı¯ Bey was granted the status of a vizier (with three standards).53 In addition to marking a significant point in ‘Alı¯ Bey’s career, this uprising’s quick spread and unexpected success against the armed Ottoman forces provides only a glimpse into the adjustment pains within the region. Although it arose and was suppressed within a year, S¸a¯h Velı¯’s revolt deeply shook the entire region. Judging from S¸a¯h Velı¯’s reported statements and the discussion of his background as the son of a spiritual leader (S¸eyh Cela¯l), it is clear that this movement ˘ had a strong ideological and messianic aspect that was likely connected to the Alewite movements in eastern Anatolia as well as influenced by Safavid propaganda. S¸a¯h Velı¯ b. S¸eyh Cela¯l was in correspondence with Sha¯h Isma¯‘ı¯l and likely ˘ received either his tacit approval or support in instigating unrest, although some sources also claim that S¸a¯h Velı¯ rivaled Sha¯h Isma¯‘ı¯l with some of his later claims.54 At least one Ottoman chronicler additionally claimed that these regions (i. e. Bozok) had a history of unrest and had long been “the hearth of bandits and robbers,” implying that S¸a¯h Velı¯’s uprising was merely a continuation of this historical pattern.55 In addition to its strong ideological tone this particular uprising could also have been instigated by a combination of factors related to the discontinuation or modification of old administrative and legal practices as well as the introduction of new practices during the conquest’s immediate aftermath.56 A preliminary examination indicates that a number of practices from the old Mamluk regime that seemingly continued under the Ottoman system include integrating regional codes of law (ka¯nu¯nna¯me) from the previous regimes.57 The physical manifes˙ tation of this well-known Ottoman disposition was visible in surveys for newly 53 For the claim that this principality continued, see Altınöz, Dulkadir Eyâletinin Kurulus¸u; Solak, XVI. Asırda Maras¸ Kazâsı; Mükrimin Halil Yınanç, “Elbistan,” ˙IA 4: 229; Yınanç, Dulkadir Beylig˘i, 99–100; Yınanç, “Dulkadirog˘ulları,” DI˙A 9: 556. For the claim of “üç tug˘lu vezir” see Alaaddin Aköz and I˙brahim Solak, “Dulkadirli Beylig˘i’nin Osmanlı Devletine I˙lhakı ve Sonrasında Çıkan I˙syanlar,” Türk Dünyası Aras¸tırmaları Dergisi 153 (2004): 43. 54 For the contact between Sha¯h Isma¯‘ı¯l and S¸a¯h Velı¯ see Bacqué-Grammont, “Études TurcoSafavides, III”: 19. For S¸a¯h Velı¯’s competing claims with Sha¯h Isma¯‘ı¯l, see Bacqué-Grammont, “Études Turco-Safavides, III”: 10–12 and 12n33; S¸ükrî-i Bitlisî, Selîm-Nâme, 298. 55 Celâl-zâde, Geschichte Sultan Süleyman Kanunis von 1520 bis 1557, ed. Petra Kappert (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1981), 22b–23a. For an interpretation of this passage, see Bacqué-Grammont, “Études Turco-Safavides, III”: 14n39. For a study on Bozok, see Yunus Koç, XVI. Yüzyılda Bir Osmanlı Sancag˘ının ˙Iskân ve Nüfus Yapısı (Ankara: Kültür Bakanlıg˘ı, 1989). 56 Aköz and Solak, “Dulkadirli Beylig˘i’nin Osmanlı Devletine I˙lhakı”: 45–47. 57 Ömer Lütfü Barkan, “Osmanlı Devrinde Akkoyunlu Hükümdarı Uzun Hasan Beye Ait Kanunlar,” Türk Tarih Vesikaları 7: 91–106 and 8: 184–97. The preservation of “ka¯nu¯n-ı kadı¯m” ˙ non-Muslim ˙ in newly conquered lands can be also be observed in lands conquered from rulers. See Nicoara Beldiceanu, Les Actes Des Premiers Sultans (Paris, 1964), 2: 53–74.

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conquered territories. Ottoman scribes often either directly incorporated the Mamluk and Dulkadirid codes of law or at a minimum made references to relevant practices between 1519 and 1530.58 These codes were generally used as a source of information for earlier conventions concerning agricultural land control and taxation; with time these rulings could undergo modifications bringing them gradually into line with Ottoman practices.59 Despite the initial Ottoman disposition toward preserving previous regime codes, the practice of conducting a survey could still trigger a wave of resentment and dissatisfaction. The ultimate goal of surveys was to determine the tax base, a practice that was likely not warmly welcomed in a region heavily populated with a semi-nomadic population well known for their dislike of and resistance against such imperial administration measures. The officers who conducted these surveys as well as other administrators appointed from imperial centers could also accrue ill feelings via their attitudes toward and treatment of local people.60 Although the Ottomans at least initially embraced an eclectic approach to taxation where they preserved some old taxes while eliminating, reducing, or increasing others, the full extent and the impact of these changes on residents must be investigated in a systematic manner.61 The new regime definitely implemented the principle of ma¯lika¯ne-dı¯va¯nı¯ that likely introduced new taxes on the revenues of private holdings and pious endowments that were previously established by the Mamluks or Dulkadirids.62 This system of ma¯lika¯ne-dı¯va¯nı¯ 58 For a number of regional codes of law from the relevant Mamluk-Ottoman frontier regions with occasioanl references to the previous regime’s practices see Ömer Lütfi Barkan, XV. Ve XVI. Asırlarda Osmanlı ˙Imparatorlug˘unda Zirai Ekonominin Hukuki ve Mali Esasları (I˙stanbul, 1943), 110–111, 111–115,117–118, 119–124, 124–129. For examples from other parts of Mamluk-Ottoman frontier, see Barkan, Osmanlı ˙Imparatorlug˘unda Zirai Ekonominin Hukuki ve Mali Esasları, 200–203 (Sis), 204–206 (Çukurova). For later reprints of some of these texts, see Yınanç, Dulkadir Beylig˘i; Heyd, Studies in Old Ottoman Criminal Law, 44–54. For the gradual displacement of these local law codes in the case of Antep, see Peirce, Morality Tales, 286–287 and 344–346. 59 A preliminary study of these law codes at least in Divrig˘i suggests a gradual movement from the continuation of old local practices to the gradual implementation of new rules promulgated by Ottoman administrators. See Zeki Arıkan, “Divrig˘i Sancag˘ı Kanunnameleri,” BELLETEN 200 (1987): 761–780. 60 Aköz and Solak, “Dulkadirli Beylig˘i’nin Osmanlı Devletine I˙lhakı”: 44–46. 61 For occasional references to the elimination, preservation, reduction, or increase of various older taxes, see Barkan, Osmanlı ˙Imparatorlug˘unda Zirai Ekonominin Hukuki ve Mali Esasları, 110–111, 111–114, 115–117, 117–118, 118–119, 119–124. For the reduction of tax rates following the Ottoman conquest in Antep, also a former Dulkadirid territory under Mamluk suzerainty, see Peirce, Morality Tales, 32–33. For another study showing that the Ottomans introduced new tithes in order to increase their revenues in the sancak of Aleppo later during the sixteenth century, see Margaret L. Venzke, “Special Use of Tithe as˙a RevenueRaising Measure in the Sixteenth-Century Sanjaq of Aleppo,” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 29 (1986): 229–334. 62 For references to ma¯lika¯ne-dı¯va¯nı¯ see Barkan, Osmanlı ˙Imparatorlug˘unda Zirai Ekonominin

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had precedence in earlier Muslim regimes, and was often used on territories newly conquered from other Muslim rulers in order to secure the functioning of pious endowments established by previous Muslim regimes while introducing taxes on these institutions.63 It preserved the property rights of individuals and pious endowment (vakıf) holders that previous regimes and legal systems had ˙ acknowledged, but also collected taxes from these resources’ revenues.64 On the one hand, these resources diverted from the hands of individuals and local benefactors could be also used for the needs of the local population.65 On the other hand, this practice can be seen as a way for the state to ensure income from sources that could have been easily classified as tax-free, and as such it could instigate resentment among individuals who experienced a loss in their revenues.66 Another issue that could plague relationships between the local population and conquerors is the classification of personal and public property rights which would directly impact taxation. In general surveys show that the property rights of individuals along with the inalienability of revenue sources previously allocated to pious endowments were recognized as long as their holders could prove these rights via documentation and/or witnesses.67 Paper documentation from previous Mamluk sultans, governors, or judges along with the statements of local witness played key roles in the transfer of rights under the Ottoman regime.68 In

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64 65 66 67

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Hukuki ve Mali Esasları, 110 (“iki bas¸lı ös¸ür alınagelüb bir bas¸ına cânib-i mâlikâne ve bir bas¸ına cânib-i divânîdirler…”), 115, 118. Ömer Lütfü Barkan, “Mâlikâne-Divânî Sistemi,” Türk Hukuk ve ˙Iktisat Tarihi Mecmuası 2 (1939): 119–184; Mehmet Genç, “Mâlikâne-Divanî,” DI˙A 27: 518–519; Margaret L. Venzke, “Aleppo’s Ma¯lika¯ne-Dı¯va¯nı¯ System,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 106 (1986): 451–469. For the precedence of this practice in other Muslim regimes, see Barkan, “MâlikâneDivânî Sistemi”; Irène Beldiceanu-Steinherr, “Fiscalité et Formes de Possession de la Terre Arable dans l’Anatolie Préottomane,” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 19 (1976): 233–322; Martha Mundy, “Ownership or Office? A Debate in Islamic Hanafite Jurisprudence over the Nature of the Military ‘Fief ’, from the Mamluks to the Ottomans,” in Law, Anthropology, and the Constitution of the Social: Making Persons and Things, ed. Alain Pottage and Martha Mundy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 142– 165. For mixed evidence about the Mamluk precedence for this practice in the sancak of ˙ Aleppo, see Venzke, “Aleppo’s Ma¯lika¯ne-Dı¯va¯nı¯ System”: 461–469. Venzke, “Aleppo’s Ma¯lika¯ne-Dı¯va¯nı¯ System”: 452. Peirce, Morality Tales, 241–242. Venzke, “Aleppo’s Ma¯lika¯ne-Dı¯va¯nı¯ System”: 454–455. The terms used in the sources for witnesses are ¸suhu¯d, ehl-i vuku¯f, and ‘udu¯l. See Arıkan, ˙ on documentary proof of “Divrig˘i Kazası’nın I˙lk Sayımı,” 51. For “the Ottomans’ insistence the legality of private properties and waqfs,” see Kenneth Cuno, “Was the Land of Ottoman Syria Miri or Milk? An Examination of Juridical Differences within the Hanafi School,” Studia Islamica 81 (1995): 121–152. For example, see Gülsoy, Malatya, Divrig˘i ve Darende Sancakları’nın ˙Ilk Tahriri (1519), 45; Gög˘ebakan, XVI. Yüzyılda Malatya, 81–86 (in various places); Gülsoy and Tas¸temir, Vakıf ve Mülk Defteri, 39–40, 41, 46, 50, 51, 57–58, 58–59.

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examining the 1519 survey it is very tempting to conclude that the Ottoman administration acknowledged all of the earlier ownership rights granted by the preexisting regime69 since there is no evidence challenging this conclusion as far as pious endowments are concerned found in this particular survey. The names of some local families, particularly property owners (mülk owners), also continue from one survey to the next.70 Some of the names that were either granted a property or excused from a number of obligations raise the possibility that the Ottomans rewarded locals or Turkmen who took the Ottoman side, similar to S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey’s case.71 It also includes occasional restitution cases of rights, property, or money for individuals who had been supposedly violated under the previous regime.72 However, surveys generally do not include a statement concerning disappropriated properties. The question concerning how many former official Mamluk appointees ( judges, military fief or iqta¯‘ holders, etc.) maintained their positions could also be a source of resentment. Evidence from registries shows that a number of individuals either remained in their positions or were appointed to approximate tasks,73 yet the proportion between continuations and dismissals is unclear. Nonetheless, this factor should also be taken into account since disgruntled individuals whose fiefs had been reallocated or who had lost their positions will have an impact on the events in this region after 1524. The agency of S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey and his branch of the Dulkadirid family versus other branches should be also taken into account among the reasons for unrest. This typical factionalism among dynasty members was likely mirrored in the population’s attitude. The fact that S¸a¯h Velı¯ chose his old home Bozok as the first target for his campaign before subsequently attacking the residence of the Ottoman Governor Üveys b. S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey and wounding him implies an unresolved dispute between the participants of this uprising and the S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu branch. In fact, archival documents indicate the presence of S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu’s relatives among the captives from S¸a¯h Velı¯’s followers.74 Either S¸a¯h Velı¯’s followers or S¸a¯h Velı¯ himself might have possessed lingering loyalties toward the ‘Ala¯’üd-devle’s faction; both would have been disgruntled by the fact that the new governors were involved in the elimination of their previous ruler ‘Ala¯’üd-devle as well as the manner by which the new administrators came to power under For example see Gülsoy, Malatya, Divrig˘i ve Darende Sancakları’nın ˙Ilk Tahriri (1519), 38–39. Ibid. For example, see ibid., 105, 108, 109. For example, see ibid., 101. For various examples of continuing appointments from Mamluk times, see ibid., 45; Gög˘ebakan, XVI. Yüzyılda Malatya, 56. S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey can provide another example for both the continuation and discontinuation of preexisting appointments. 74 Bacqué-Grammont, “Études Turco-Safavides, III”: 55, 57, and 59. 69 70 71 72 73

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conquerors. S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey’s particularly harsh treatment of S¸a¯h Velı¯ and his followers fits well with this scenario when considering the fact that S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey executed S¸a¯h Velı¯, by exercising his authority of siya¯set as the sultan’s appointed governor seemingly on his own volition.75 Following his remarkable success in suppressing S¸a¯h Velı¯’s uprising S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu was soon called to participate in the campaign against Canberdı¯ Gaza¯lı¯ (d. 1521) only days after Selı¯m I’s death in April 1520.76 Canberdı¯ Gaza¯lı¯ as the new Ottoman governor of Damascus and the old Mamluk commander sought greater autonomy in the aftermath of Selı¯m’s death and young Süleyma¯n’s enthronement, unsuccessfully attempting to convince S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey to join forces against the Ottomans. Although his uprising caused a major unrest in the region, the disturbance lasted only a few months before Canberdı¯ Gaza¯lı¯’s forces were defeated following a battle against the united Ottoman forces in January 1521 and its leader killed. Similar to the case of S¸a¯h Velı¯’s uprising, S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey successfully lead his men and gained further recognition among his comrades.77 The next time narrative sources mention S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey is concerning his execution on 21 July 1522.78 Different sources interpret this almost unexpected execution in different ways. Some claim that following his achievements during the revolts by S¸a¯h Velı¯ and Canberdı¯ Gaza¯lı¯ he began ambitiously craving autonomy.79 Some sources narrate that he ordered the punishment of tax officials who were sent from the capital to his sancaks either to conduct a land survey ˙ or investigate allegations regarding S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey’s (or his men’s) unjustified taxation of the local residents.80 75 For S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu’s discretion in executing S¸a¯h Velı¯ against Selı¯m’s orders to keep S¸a¯h Velı¯ alive, see ibid., 58–59. 76 Celâl-zâde, Geschichte, 28b–40a; Jean Bacqué-Grammont, Les Ottomans,les Safavides et leurs Voisins, 274–93; Hüseyin Gazi Yurdaydın, Kanunî’nin Cülûsu ve ˙Ilk Seferleri (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1961), 6–14; Bakhit, The Ottoman Province of Damascus, 19–34. 77 For S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu’s involvement in Canberdı¯ Gaza¯lı¯’s incident see Lütfi Pas¸a, Lütfi Pas¸a ve Tevârih-i Âl-i Osman, ed. Kayhan Atik (Ankara: Kültür Bakanlıg˘ı, 2001), 244–45; Yınanç, Dulkadir Beylig˘i, 103–104. 78 Jean Louis Bacqué-Grammont, “Trois Lettres de Ferhâd Pas¸a sur la Fin de S¸ehsüvâr Og˙lı ‘Alı¯ Beg, Beylerbey de la Zû-l-Kadriyye (1522),” Varia Turcica 19 (1991): 241–256. ˙ cynical interpretation of S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey’s character and 79 For a particularly critical and actions see I˙bn Kemal (Kemal Pas¸a-Zâde), Tevarih-i Âl-i Osman: X. Defter, ed. S¸erafettin Severcan (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1996), 141–143. Based on Celâl-zâde, Ahmed Yas¸ar Ocak, “Bozok,” DI˙A 6: 321–322. 80 Yınanç, Dulkadir Beylig˘i, 104 (based on Celâl-zâde); Aköz and Solak, “Dulkadirli Beylig˘i’nin Osmanlı Devletine I˙lhakı”: 44. For allegations of abuse and injustice by S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey see Solak-zâde Mehmed Hemdemî Çelebi, Solak-Zâde Tarihi, ed. Vahid Çabuk (Ankara: Kültür Bakanlıg˘ı, 1989), 2: 122. It is important to note that in the regional code of law for Besni (recorded in the survey of 1519) it is stated that during the time of this registry the residents have been complaining of governors’ (“beyler”) injustice and then this sancak had been ˙

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Perhaps this reported incident with the tax officials either presents or disguises an attempt by the central Ottoman administration to bring these regions under closer scrutiny through converting these locations from the category of hükümet (under which the local governor normally preserved rights over sancak ˙ ˙ revenues) to ocaklık-yurtluk (under which the governors maintained hereditary ˙ ˙ ˙ rule but they had less control over revenue). If so then the Dulkadirid prince might have interpreted this status change as an intrusion to his authority. Some argue that Ferha¯d Pas¸a, who had been also sent from Istanbul to deal with both S¸a¯h Velı¯ and Canberdı¯ Gaza¯lı¯, could not stomach the fact that he was eclipsed by this successful commander with noble Dulkadirid lineage (versus his devs¸irme background) and prepared a plot against him.81 Others claim that the aforementioned attack on tax officials was also organized by Ferha¯d Pas¸a who resolved to make ‘Alı¯ Bey appear to be a disobedient governor.82 Nonetheless, the young sultan Süleyma¯n ordered S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey executed at Ferha¯d Pas¸a’s encampment in Artukova where he had been invited along with his family members.83 According to I˙bn Kema¯l the vila¯yets under the executed commander’s control were “transformed into five sancaks”84 and redistributed to the ˙ Sultan’s “long-lasting” subjects without giving the names of these five sancaks.85 ˙

“Nomadic” Borders of the New Ottoman Province(s): Surveys from 1522–1524 and 1527–1530 The former Mamluk lands were reorganized and new surveys conducted soon after these three consecutive events of S¸a¯h Velı¯’s uprising, Canberdı¯ Gaza¯lı¯’s revolt, and S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey’s execution. As a result of this process the province of Arab was divided into the three main provinces of Egypt (Mısr), ˙

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granted to an “‘Alı¯ Bey” (no reference to S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu) following the conquest. Despite the lack of clarity it is important to consider this evidence. See BBA TTD 71, 1–2. The emphasis on the almost contrasting backgrounds of these two individuals is mine. In contrast to I˙bn Kema¯l’s accusatory tone towards S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey, Hoca Sa‘deddı¯n is more complimentary towards the executed prince and instead blamed Ferha˘¯ d Pas¸a’s jealousy. Hoca Sadettin Efendi, Tacü’t-tevarih, 4: 349. Among scholarly studies Venzke follows in the footsteps of Hoca Sa‘deddı¯n, while Yınanç interestingly voices both camps. ˘ Altınöz, Dulkadir Eyâletinin Kurulus¸u, 48n22. For the execution of S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey and his iqta¯‘ see Refet Yınanç, Dulkadirid Beyligi, 103–105; Venzke, “The Case of Dulkadirid-Mamluk Iqta,” 434ff. For the final years of S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey’s career, see Celâl-zâde, Geschichte, 67b–68b and 77a–77b. I˙bn Kemal, Tevarih-i Âl-i Osman: X. Defter, 146: “…ma‘mûre-i mezkûre bes¸ sanca¯g˙ oldı ve Ha¯ka¯n-ı heft kis¸veriñ kadîm bendelerine taksîm olundı.” ˙ that these five sancak ˙ s could be Maras¸ (Elbistan, Kars, and Zamantı ˘ ˙ I˙lhan S¸ahin believes Ibid. under Maras¸) and Bozok (Bozok and Kırs¸ehir˙ under Bozok). S¸ahin, “Dulkadir Eyaleti,” 552.

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Damascus (S¸a¯m), and Aleppo (Haleb).86 The towns of Malatya, Gerger-Kâhta, ˙ Besni, Hısn-ı Mansur, Divrig˘i, and Darende were also restructured during this time as manifested in part via the 1524 survey for these towns – the next available survey for this region following the one conducted during 1519.87 In this second survey these towns appear completely cut off from newly established provinces in the former Mamluk lands and placed under the old province of Ru¯m, more specifically under its subsection Ru¯m-ı Hadı¯s.88 They were also reduced to three ˙ main sancaks in the following manner: Malatya, Gerger, and Divrig˘i preserved ˙ their positions as sancaks; Gerger became the main sancak over Kâhta and Besni; ˙ ˙ Hısn-ı Mansur was placed under Besni; and Darende was attached to Divrig˘i. The reasoning behind these changes is not clearly stated anywhere. Although it is typical for Ottoman administration to conduct a survey following the ascension of a new ruler (in this case Süleyma¯n), this reorganization might have been related to S¸a¯h Velı¯’s uprising, S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey’s elimination from the former Mamluk-Ottoman frontier zone, and Canberdı¯ Gaza¯lı¯’s rebellion centered in Syria and Egypt. This act likely represents an attempt to divide up the old Dulkadirid power base and eliminate one of the lasting regional dynasties, as well as maintaining closer control over the Safavid border by breaking it into diverse provinces with new appointments from the imperial center.89 However, the short interval between the survey conducted during 1524 and the next in 1530 indicates that the reorganization of 1524 was not enough to bring peace to the region. Between 1525 and 1527 the eastern Ottoman provinces witnessed a second series of uprisings mostly centered in and around Cilicia, Sivas, Tokat, and Bozok under local leaders such as Süklenog˘lu Mu¯sa Bey (d. 1526), Baba Zünnu¯n (d. 1526) who likely came from the Dulkadirid family,90 and Kalender S¸a¯h (d. 1527) who claimed lineage to Hacı Bekta¯s¸ (d. 1271?).91 ˙ ˙ Similar to the previous S¸a¯h Velı¯ uprising these upheavals likely had affiliation

86 See I˙nalcık, “Eyalet,” 549. 87 For the survey of Besni, Gerger, Kâhta, and Hısn-ı Mansur in 1524, see BBA TTD 123. 88 Tayyib Gökbilgin, “15 ve 16. Asırlarda Eyâlet-i Rûm,” Vakıflar Dergisi 6 (1965): 52. However, he does not provide a date for this organization nor does he mention the establishment of the “Arab Eyaleti” following Selı¯m I’s conquests. 89 Aköz ve Solak, “Dulkadirli Beylig˘i’nin Osmanlı Devletine I˙lhakı”: 45–47. Also see Kaya S¸ahin, Empire and Power in the Reign of Süleyman (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 68–71. 90 For a general discussion of these chain events, see Celâl-zâde, Geschichte, 157b–172b. Also see Sümer, Safevi Devletinin Kurulus¸u ve Gelis¸mesinde Anadolu Türklerinin Rolü, 75–77; Sümer, “Bozok Tarihine Dair Aras¸tırmalar,” 321–322. For claims that this Baba Zünnu¯n belonged to the Dulkadirid family, see Sümer, Safevi Devletinin Kurulus¸u ve Gelis¸mesinde Anadolu Türklerinin Rolü, 75–77. For a brief treatment of these events, see Aköz ve Solak, “Dulkadirli Beylig˘i’nin Osmanlı Devletine I˙lhakı”: 47–48 91 Also see Mücteba I˙lgürel, “Kalender S¸ah,” DI˙A 24: 249.

“Nomadic Borders” of Ottoman Provinces

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with both Safavid and Alewite alignments, while maintaining a strong Dulkadirid component.92 The difficulties that provincial Ottoman forces experienced in suppressing these uprisings, including the earlier one by S¸a¯h Velı¯, show the tenuousness and limits of Ottoman control within this region even nearly a decade following the Ottoman conquest. Some provincial forces that suffered substantial losses were led by prominent Ottoman commanders such as the provincial governors of Anatolia, Karaman, and Ru¯m. After multiple inconclusive and then disappointing confrontations the Ottoman ruler Süleyma¯n decided to send his Grandvizier I˙bra¯hı¯m Pas¸a. In an impressive series of negotiations I˙bra¯hı¯m Pas¸a attempted to appease at least some participants of these unrests by addressing their complaints. Some of the participants in these movements between 1525 and 1527 were reacting to the execution of S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey. Chronicles specifically mention that I˙bra¯hı¯m Pas¸a invited both pro-Dulkadirid and Turkmen groups to his encampment by promising that they would have their fiefs (tıma¯r) returned – an indication that they must have been alienated during the aftermath of S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu’s execution if not before.93 The records from the 1530 survey conducted soon after these events document cases for a group of individuals reaffirming their rights based on earlier decisions of the now-deceased S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey in Hısn-ı Mansur, while a volume of imperial edicts proves the same act of restitution to the previous Dulkadirid holders of fiefs and properties.94 It is telling that the Ottoman troops were able to conclusively defeat Kalender S¸a¯h’s forces ˙ only after this gesture of goodwill. The presence of another Dulkadirid family member among the punished followers of Kalender S¸a¯h shows the continuing ˙ involvement of local factions with this movement.95 For the first and last time in the history of Ottoman surveys the towns of Darende, Divrig˘i, Malatya, Gerger, Kâhta, Hısn-ı Mansur, and Besni appear together as a unit within a single defter dedicated to surveying only the evka¯f and ˙ emla¯k in these locations.96 Although the preparation of a separate volume for 92 For additional motivations, see Jean Louis Bacqué-Grammont, “Un Rapport Inédit sur la Révolte Anatolienne de 1527,” Studia Islamica 62 (1985): 155–160. 93 Ilgürel, “Kalender S¸ah.” 94 For the cases in the 1530 survey, see Gülsoy and Tas¸temir, Vakıf ve Mülk Defteri, 286, 294, 297, 298 (three cases), 299 (2 cases), 300. For a reference to the Granvizier I˙bra¯hı¯m Pas¸a’s involvement in this process, see Gülsoy and Tas¸temir, Vakıf ve Mülk Defteri, 68–69. For the relevant imperial edicts, see Aköz ve Solak, “Dulkadirli Beylig˘i’nin Osmanlı Devletine I˙lhakı”: 48–50. For registers of surveys in the relevant locations between 1527 and 1530, see BBA TTD 156, BBA TTD 408, and BBA TTD 163. 95 For another treatment of these events, the political and religious nature of local resentments, and I˙brahim Pas¸a’s methods, see Peirce, Morality Tales, 253–258, 267–268, and 278. 96 For BBA TTD 156, see Gülsoy and Tas¸temir, Vakıf ve Mülk Defteri.

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pious endowments was typical for locations with large and numerous endowments, this defter presents the first case of such a volume for this region. There could be two reasons for this. First, when these towns were treated together for the first time in this particular survey, there may have been too many endowments to combine and therefore the surveys were prepared separately. Another possibility is that there might have been an increase in the number of endowments as a result of the restitution process, creating the need for a new defter. No further surveys or reorganization of regional borders took place until 1547.97

Historiography, Surveys, and Conclusions When the Ottomans conquered the Mamluk lands from 1516 to 1517 they reshaped the boundaries for a vast region comprising Egypt, Greater Syria, and parts of southern and southeastern Anatolia. Aspects of this transitional period have been investigated by researchers with a particular emphasis on major urban centers such as Cairo and Damascus.98 However, the Mamluk-Ottoman imperial transition for the towns addressed in this paper have so far escaped the attention of researchers. The fact that these locations were geographically located at the margins of the Mamluk Empire as well as including a substantial semi-nomadic population constituting an additional source of local authority likely plays some role in the current research conditions. It is possible to claim that Mamluk control in these territories was always slightly tenuous in part due to these complicating local actors.99 This region has arguably become a backwater of the Ottoman-Mamluk transformation literature as researchers’ attention has been primarily drawn to problems that the Ottoman administration and local population experienced in more central Mamluk lands versus the periphery. In contrast with this relative lack of interest there is still rich material available that can illuminate the local history, first and foremost from Ottoman surveys. In addition to shedding light onto various aspects of this transitional period, the surveys conducted during 1519, 1524, and 1530 also reveal the established history of Muslim presence in these lands ranging from references to the tombs of the first generation of Muslims to the various endowments and urban structures founded by previous Muslim rulers and residents of these towns. Divrig˘i – housing many endowments and establishments as the proud capital of one Mengücekog˘ulları branch – was nicknamed Da¯rü’l-Hayr in the earliest Ottoman ˙ 97 I did not include Maras¸, Elbistan, and Bozok. 98 For example, see Bakhit, The Ottoman Province of Damascus; Benjamin Lellouch, Les Ottomans en Égypte: Historiens et Conquérants au XVIe Siècle (Paris: Peeters, 2006). 99 For a similar assessment of Antep, see Peirce, Morality Tales, 39–40.

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cadastral surveys conducted during 1519.100 These surveys additionally emphasize the dual character of the local population between the townspeople and semi-nomadic communities such as those who promised their allegiance to the Dulkadirids. In addition to including separate sections on semi-nomadic communities these surveys also enable us to observe the process of urban change. While some towns lost their significance, others remarkably replaced them via growth and increases in economic wealth.101 Another visible pattern is the general increase in the Muslim population and occasional increase in the non-Muslim population following the Ottoman conquest. It is not clear yet if this is a true increase or a result of immigration.102 Attempts to connect every event that occurs within a peripheral region into an empire’s broader political agenda can be misleading and even dismissive of local factors.103 We should at least consider that a mixture of local factors, local market forces, and broader issues including ecological changes might have worked together. Yet these considerations often fall through the cracks while integrating the experience of these towns into the story of empires.104 For instance, Gülsoy believes that Darende was demoted from being a sancak because evidence from ˙ the 1519 survey suggests that Darende did not produce enough revenue to sustain a separate sancak beyi; during the next tahrı¯r in 1524 it was accordingly com˙ ˙ bined with Divrig˘i under the sancak beyi of Divrig˘i.105 He further supports this ˙ argument by highlighting the significant contrast between Malatya’s substantial revenues against the more humble ones of Darende. Another possibility for reassigning these towns to the province of Ru¯m and separating them from the other former Mamluk territories could be their relative closeness to both the imperial center and the provincial capital of Ru¯m; this move does indeed make practical sense. Most strikingly, this preliminary venture into the story of these towns demonstrates that we still do not have definite answers for most questions concerning this critical period even for a region located relatively closely to both the imperial 100 Ersin Gülsoy, “XVI. Asrın I˙lk Yarısında Divrig˘i Kazâsı Vakıfları,” ˙Ilmi Aras¸tırmalar I (1995): 107. 101 Hısn-ı Mansur is an excellent example for this phenomenon. While it was a kaz˙a¯’ under ˙ Divrig˘i it later became a district, surpassing the old superior. For another example see Gülsoy, Malatya, Divrig˘i ve Darende Sancakları’nın ˙Ilk Tahriri (1519), 25–6. The village of Zinisky used to be a prominent town, and then later changed status before the Ottoman arrival. Unfortunately, no reasons are given for this change. 102 Gülsoy, Malatya, Divrig˘i ve Darende Sancakları’nın ˙Ilk Tahriri (1519), 49. 103 For an example of a study emphasizing the strength and autonomy of local communities see Bethany Walker, “Imperial Transitions and Peasant Society in Middle and Late Islamic Jordan,” Studies in the History of Archeology of Jordan 10 (2009): 75–86. 104 For a similar assessment of Antep, see Peirce, Morality Tales, 31–32. 105 Gülsoy, Malatya, Divrig˘i ve Darende Sancakları’nın ˙Ilk Tahriri (1519), 40–41.

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and provincial centers of the Ottoman Empire. Tentatively, this paper argues that the Dulkadirid principality likely continued only in parts under the semi-autonomous leadership of S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey who had been promised his ancestors’ lands by Selı¯m. However, he was granted only a number of sancaks from ˙ the former Dulkadirid region, and the extent of his authority probably differed from sancak to sancak. ˙ ˙ Our lack of clear knowledge regarding some early decisions originates in part from the piecemeal nature of this conquest. Selı¯m advanced into the Mamluk territories in phases between 1514 and 1517. Without the privilege of knowing that their presence in the region would last, the Ottoman ruler and his administrators likely made organizational decisions in an ad-hoc manner that could be rescinded while adjusting to changing conditions. This ambiguity during the post-conquest phase, along with additional evidence discussed briefly in this paper, clearly reveals the actual delicacy of socalled Ottoman domination in contrast to the empire’s projected image of inevitable victory. To the best of our knowledge the Ottomans conducted surveys of these towns during the years 1519, 1524, 1530, 1548, and 1560 (1569 for Divrig˘i).106 Although the sixteenth century can be considered the age of tahrı¯r in Ottoman ˙ history, five separate surveys conducted within the first fifty years following the conquest suggests a pace that was not common for every location. For instance, the island of Limnos which was claimed by the Ottomans in 1457 underwent seven tahrı¯rs between 1489 and 1614. Although the Limnos surveys were also ˙ conducted during the sixteenth century, they were administered at longer intervals (1519, ca.1535, 1557, 1567, and ca.1595).107 While this unusual survey frequency could be also explained by the substantial number of pious endowments which the central administration might have felt the need to observe more closely, it likely reflects the difficult nature of this imperial transition for the Mamluk-Ottoman borderlands.108 A series of events including the Dulkadirid princes’ protests to their relative S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ‘Alı¯ Bey’s appointment and the uprising of S¸a¯h Velı¯, as well as the outbreaks of unrest between 1525 and 1527 led by Mu¯sa Bey, Baba Zünnu¯n, Kalender S¸a¯h, and similar rebels not only had serious repercussions for Ottoman ˙ imperial administrative politics such as the frequency of tahrı¯rs and “nomadic” ˙ provincial borders, but also share a commonality. Every single wave of these unrests had participants either from a faction of the Dulkadirid dynasty or from a mixture of dynastic members and tribal supporters. This strong Dulkadirid voice 106 For the surveys in Bozok, see Yunus Koç, “Yozgat,” DI˙A 43: 560. 107 Heath Lowry, “A Corpus of Extant Kanunnames for the Island of Limnos as contained in the Tapu-Tahrir Defter Collection of the Bas¸bakanlık Archives,” Osmanlı Aras¸tırmaları I (1980): 43. 108 For an explanation for this frequency, see Öz, “Tahrir,” 426.

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highlights how the local population reacted to the Ottoman methods of conquest while the Empire gradually absorbed this region. As the Ottomans gradually transformed this borderland into a relatively core area and uprooted the local power networks they implemented a more controlling style of ruling through their surveys, regional law codes, and changing taxation policies. Even when buffered by lasting regionalism, semi-nomadism, Turkmen factionalism, and Safavid influence the region gradually took its place within the Ottoman domain – a protracted process that would not be remembered by modern residents.

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Table 1 – Overview of Surveys and Administrative Divisions for Malatya, Divrig˘i, Darende, Kahta, Gerger, Besni, Hısn-ı Mansur (1519–1530).

Malatya

Divrig˘i

1519 1. Sancak ˙

1522–24 1. Sancak ˙

1530 Same

(under Province of ‘Arab)

(under the subsection of Province of Ru¯m / Ru¯m-ı Hadı¯s) ˙

TTD 156 (detailed register of emla¯k and evka¯f) ˙ TTD 408 TTD 163 (tıma¯r) Same

MM 3332 MM 15450 2. Sancak ˙ (under Province of ‘Arab) MM 3332 MM 15450

Darende

Kâhta

3. Sancak ˙ (under Province of ‘Arab) MM 3332 MM 15450 4. Sancak ˙ with combined Gerger (under Province of ‘Arab) TTD 71

Gerger

Besni /Behisni

Hısn-ı Mansur (today’s Adıyaman)

2. Sancak ˙ (under the subsection of Province of Ru¯m / Ru¯m-ı Hadı¯s) ˙

TTD 156 (detailed register of emla¯k and evka¯f) ˙ 408 TTD TTD 163 (tıma¯r)

kaz˙a¯’ – attached to Divrig˘i ˙ (under the subsection of Province of Ru¯m / Ru¯m-ı Hadı¯s) ˙

Same

kaz˙a¯’ – attached to Gerger ˙ (under the subsection of Province of Ru¯m / Ru¯m-ı Hadı¯s) ˙

Same

TTD 123

TTD 163 (tıma¯r)

3. Sancak over Kâhta and 4. Sancak ˙ with Besni ˙ combined Kâhta (under the subsection of (under ProvProvince of Ru¯m / Ru¯m-ı ince of ‘Arab) Hadı¯s) ˙

TTD 156 (detailed register of emla¯k and evka¯f) ˙

TTD 156 (detailed register of emla¯k and evka¯f) ˙ Same TTD 156 (detailed register of emla¯k and evka¯f) ˙ TTD 408 TTD 163 (tıma¯r) Same

TTD 71 5. Sancak ˙

TTD 123 kaz˙a¯’ under Gerger ˙

(under Province of ‘Arab)

(under the subsection of Province of Ru¯m – Ru¯m-ı Hadı¯s) ˙ TTD 123 kaz˙a¯’ under Besni ˙

TTD 156 (detailed register of emla¯k and evka¯f) TTD 163 (tıma˙¯ r) Same

(under the subsection of Province of Ru¯m – Ru¯m-ı Hadı¯s) ˙ TTD 123

TTD 156 (detailed register of emla¯k and evka¯f) ˙

TTD 71 kaz˙a¯’ under ˙ Besni (under Province of Arab) TTD 71

“Nomadic Borders” of Ottoman Provinces

321

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Baykara, Tuncer. “Kaza.” DI˙A 25: 119–120. –. Anadolu’nun Tarihî Cog˘rafyasına Giris¸ I: Anadolu’nun ˙Idarî Taksimatı. Ankara, 1988. Beldiceanu, Nicoara. Les Actes Des Premiers Sultans. Paris, 1964. Beldiceanu-Steinherr, Irène. “Fiscalité et Formes de Possession de la Terre Arable dans l’Anatolie Préottomane.” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 19 (1976): 233–322. –. “ Loi Sur la Transmission du Tımar.” Turcica 11 (1979): 78–102. Bosworth, C.E. I.R. Netton, and F.E. Vogel. “Siya¯sa.” EI2 9: 693–696. Burke, Peter. “Civilizations and Frontiers.” In Early Modern History and the Social Sciences: Testing the Limits of Braudel’s Mediterranean, edited by John A. Marino, 123– 141. Kirksville: Truman State University Press, 2002. Conermann, Stephan. “Ibn Ag˘a¯s (st.881/1476) “Ta’rı¯h al-Amı¯r Yasˇbak az-Za¯hirı¯” – Bio˙ ˙ ˘ graphie, Autobiographie, Tagebuch oder Chronik?” In Die Mamlu¯ken: Studien zu ihrer Geschichte und Kultur, edited by Stephan Conermann and Anja Pistor-Hatam, 123–179. Hamburg: EB-Verlag, 2003. Cuno, Kenneth. “Was the Land of Ottoman Syria Miri or Milk? An Examination of Juridical Differences within the Hanafi School.” Studia Islamica 81 (1995): 121–152. Edwards, Kathryn. Families and Frontiers: Re-creating Communities and Boundaries in the Early Modern Burgundies. Boston: Brill, 2002. Emecen, Feridun. Yavuz Sultan Selim. I˙stanbul: Yitik Hazine Yayınları, 2010. Fitzgerald, T.J. “Murder in Aleppo: Ottoman Conquest and the Struggle for Justice in the Early Sixteenth Century.” Journal of Islamic Studies 27 (2016): 176–215. Genç, Mehmet “Mâlikâne-Divanî.” DI˙A 27: 518–519. Gög˘ebakan, Göknur. XVI. Yüzyılda Malatya Kazası. Malatya, 2002. –. “Malatya.” DI˙A 27: 468–473. Gökbilgin, Tayyib. “15 ve 16. Asırlarda Eyâlet-i Rûm.” Vakıflar Dergisi 6 (1965): 51–61. Göyünç, Nejat. “Memluk Devri’nde (Eski) Malatya’da Bir Aile.” Bes¸inci Milletler Arası Türkoloji Kongresi, ˙Istanbul, 23–28 Eylül, 1985: Teblig˘ler 3 (1985): 245–50. –. “Yurtluk-Ocaklık Deyimleri Hakkında.” In Prof.Dr. Bekir Kütükog˘lu’na Armag˘an. I˙stanbul, 1991. Gülsoy, Ersin. Malatya, Divrig˘i ve Darende Sancakları’nın ˙Ilk Tahriri (1519). Ankara, 2009. –. “XVI. Asrın I˙lk Yarısında Divrig˘i Kazâsı Vakıfları.” ˙Ilmi Aras¸tırmalar I (1995): 107–130. Gülsoy, Ersin, and Mehmet Tas¸temir. 1530 Tarihli Malatya, Behisni, Gerger, Kâhta, Hısn-ı Mansur, Divrig˘i ve Darende Kazâları Vakıf ve Mülk Defteri. Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 2007. Heyd, Uriel. Studies in Old Ottoman Criminal Law. Edited by V.L. Ménage. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1973. I˙lgürel, Mücteba. “Celali I˙syanları.” DI˙A 7: 252–53. –. “Kalender S¸ah.” DI˙A 24: 249. I˙nalcık, Halil. “Bayezid I.” DI˙A 5: 231–234. –. “Eyalet.” DI˙A 11: 548–550. I˙ps¸irli, Mehmet. “Kayseri.” DI˙A 25: 96–101. Kafadar, Cemal. Between Two Worlds: Construction of the Ottoman State. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999.

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Gül S¸en

Ottoman Servant, Mamluk Rebel? Narrative Strategies in Sixteenth-Century Ottoman Historiography – the Example of Ja¯nbirdı¯ al-Ghaza¯lı¯’s Downfall1

Ja¯nbirdı¯ b. ʿAbd-Allah al-Jarkası¯, known as Ja¯nbirdı¯ al-Ghaza¯lı¯,2 ranks among the most prominent figures in Bila¯d al-Sha¯m during and after the Ottoman conquest of Egypt and Syria in 1516–1517. The former Mamluk viceroy and, thus once a valiant adversary served Selı¯m I (reg. 1512–1520) faithfully as governor of Damascus from the establishment of Ottoman sovereignty until the latter’s death, then rebelling against his successor in 1520. The question mark in the title of this chapter is meant to suggest that the conventional dichotomy in the perception of Ja¯nbirdı¯’s persona obstructs any adequate consideration of the historical context. In particular, it blots out the contemporary concepts of political loyalty and sovereignty as well as their relevance at a time of political transition. Ja¯nbirdı¯ was a figure of both the Mamluk and the Ottoman eras, which were not as fundamentally different from each other as a modern observer or, for that matter, a member of the Ottoman elite, might think. It is worth noting that both regimes, the old and the new, the Mamluk as well as the Ottoman, shared the commonality of Central Asian origin. Thus, the succession did not change the ethnic composition of the ruling elite in the eyes of the contemporary native Arab population (both are Turkish-speaking and of Central Asian origin). Indeed, as Ulrich Haarman remarks, “[I]n the perception of the Arabs, ‘the Turks’ (Arabic: al-Turk) existed as a more-or-less constant and homogeneous ethnic group through the centuries, in whatever different roles and under whatever different names they appeared in their own lands.”3 1 I would like to thank to Reuven Amitai, Dorothée Kreuzer and Haggai Mazuz for their comments on this paper. 2 There are different spellings of the name. I use Ja¯nbirdı¯ al-Ghaza¯lı¯ throughout my own text, depending on passages in Ottoman texts, Ca¯nberd-i G˙aza¯lı¯, or Ca¯nberd as well as Ca¯nberdı¯ in my translation from the original. 3 Ulrich W. Haarmann, “Ideology and History, Identity and Alterity: The Arab Image of the Turk from the ʿAbbasids to Modern Egypt,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 20 (1988): 177.

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Ja¯nbirdı¯’s rebellion has been the subject of scholarly discussions and is described as the first decisive event of the reign of Süleyma¯n I (r. 1520–1566). The facts and data have been intensively investigated within the framework of the Ottoman conquest of Arab lands.4 Yet several questions arise as to his persona as well as to the concept of authority that underlies contemporary Ottoman histories on the subject. To bring these aspects into sharper focus, I will briefly review the events, introduce the relevant chronicles of the sixteenth century, and finally concentrate on the narrated persona of Ja¯nbirdı¯ beyond historical fact by means of narratological analysis. This chapter analyzes the narrative strategies that are invoked in the treatment of Ja¯nbirdı¯’s persona and rebellion in coeval Ottoman historiography. While the details of the event are well documented, attention to the literary qualities of these texts provides insights into the political function of the accounts. Of particular interest is the opus magnum of the bureaucrat and historian Cela¯lza¯de Mustafa¯ (1490–1567), Tabaka¯t ül-mema¯lik ve derecat ül-mesa¯lik, a monumental ˙˙ ˙ source for the sixteenth century that provides us with the most detailed account of Süleyma¯n’s I reign and Ja¯nbirdı¯ al-Ghaza¯lı¯’s anti-Ottoman rebellion in 1521. The example of Ja¯nbirdı¯ al-Ghaza¯lı¯ as a figure of the transitional period of Mamluk-to-Ottoman rule in Bila¯d al-Sha¯m presents a case study of the challenge to sovereignty. The approach of the study that follows rests on the assumption that the conventional narrative of the former Mamluk amir who rebelled against Ottoman rule somewhere along the way is far too simplistic.

Ja¯nbirdı¯ al-Ghaza¯lı¯ and his Rebellion The main Arabic sources for Ja¯nbirdı¯ are texts by two frequently cited historians who bridge the late Mamluk and early Ottoman periods: the Egyptian chronicler Ibn Iya¯s (d. 1524) in his Bada¯’i ʿal-zuhu¯r fı¯ waqa¯ waqa¯ʾiʿi ʿal-duhu¯r,5 and the Damascene chronicler Ibn Tu¯lu¯n (d. 1546) in his Mufa¯kahat al-khilla¯n fı¯ hawa¯˙ ˙ dith al-zama¯n.6 These authors, both of whom lived through the period, are the 4 See the introduction of this volume. 5 Especially relevant is the fifth volume which covers the first years of the Ottoman rule from 922–928 to 1516–1522. Muhammad b. Ahmad b. Iya¯s, Bada¯ʾiʿ al-zuhu¯r fı¯ waqa¯ waqa¯ʾi al˙ Mustafa¯ (Wiesbaden: ˙ duhu¯r, vol. 5, ed. Muhammad Franz Steiner, 1961). On Ibn Iya¯s and his ˙ ˙˙ sources, see Sami Massoud, The Chronicles and Annalistic Sources of the Early Mamluk Circassian Period, (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 69–81; W.M. Brinner, “Ibn Iya¯s,” EI2 III: 812–13. 6 Shams al-Dı¯n Muhammad b. Tu¯lu¯n, Mufa¯kahat al-khilla¯n fı¯ hawa¯dith al-zama¯n (Ta¯rı¯kh Misr ˙ ed. Muh˙ammad Mustafa¯ (Cairo: al-Muʾassassa ˙ ˙ ¯ mma, wa-al-Sha¯m) 2 vols., al-Misriyya al-ʿA ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ 1964), vol. 2, 7–128. See also Henri Laoust, Les gouverneurs de Damas sous les Mamlouks et les ˘ um‘a premiers Ottomans (658–1 156/1260–1744). Traduction des annales d’Ibn Tu¯lu¯n et d’Ibn G ˙ (Damascus: Institut français de Damas, 1952), 151–59.

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main sources on the Ottoman conquest of the Mamluk Sultanate and the first years of the political transition, providing; the most detailed accounts of Ja¯nbirdı¯’s rebellion.7 Although no hard evidence for his biography has been found, most of the literature suggests that Ja¯nbirdı¯8 was a mamlu¯k of Sultan Qa¯itba¯y, rising quickly in the ranks. He became the governor (na¯ʾib) 9 of Hama¯h during the reign of ˙ Sultan Qansuh al-Ghawrı¯; later, he was Sultan Tu¯ma¯nba¯y’s10 governor of Dam˙ ˙ ascus. After conquering all the Mamluk territory, Sultan Selı¯m I split the Mamluk domain into two large provinces. Instead of commissioning two Ottoman officials from Istanbul to administer the territories, however, he appointed the former Mamluk viceroy of Aleppo, Khaʾı¯r Beg˘ (d. 1522),11 as governor of Egypt. Concurrently, he made Ja¯nbirdı¯, whose military performance in the battlefield of Marj Da¯biq had impressed him, governor12 of the southern Bila¯d al-Sha¯m (The Province of Damascus with its districts: Ajlun, Lajjun, Karak-Shobak, Safad, Nablus, Jerusalem, Gaza).13 7 On both sources, see David Ayalon, “The End of the Mamlu¯k Sultanate (Why did the Ottomans Spare the Mamlu¯ks of Egypt and Wipe out the Mamlu¯ks of Syria?),” Studia Islamica 65 (1987): 146–47. Another relevant Arabic source is the biographical dictionary of al-Ghazzı¯ (d. 1651): Najm al-Dı¯n Muhammad b. Muhammad Al-Ghazzı¯, al-Kawa¯kib al-sa¯ʾira bi-aʿya¯n ˙ al-miʾa al-ʿa¯shira. ed. Jibra¯˙ ʾı¯l Sulayma¯n Jabbu ¯ r, 3 vols., (Beirut: American Press, 1945–59). The rebellion has received attention so far: Muhammad Adnan Bakhit, The Ottoman Province of Damascus in the Sixteenth Century (Beirut: Librairie du Liban, 1982), 27–29, Ayalon, “The End of the Mamlu¯k Sultanate,” 136–43; P. M. Holt, Egypt and the Fertile Crescent. 1516–1922: A Political History (London: Longmans, 1966), 46–7; Benjamin Lellouch and Nicolas Michel (eds.), Conquête Ottomane De L’Égypte (1517) Arrière-plan, Impact, Échos (Leiden: Brill, 2013). 8 Bakhit notes that Ja¯nbirdı¯ received his surname (nisba) in the village of Minyat Ghaza¯l, where he was appointed superintendant (sha¯dd). See, Bakhit, Ottoman Province, 19, footnote 91. 9 On na¯ʾib, see H.A.R. Gibb and A. Ayalon,“Na¯ʾib,” EI2 III: 915–16. 10 On Tu¯ma¯nba¯y, see: P.M. Holt, “The Last Mamlu¯k Sultan: Al-Malik Al-Ashraf Tuman Ba¯y,” ˙ Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 25 (2001): 234–46. Holt states about Tu¯ma¯nba¯y’s defeat ˙ Ottomans was against the Ottoman forces: “His capacity for organizing resistance to the diminished by his lack of military experience except on the small scale of punitive expeditions and skirmishes with nomad tribesmen.” Ibid., 246. 11 On Khaʾı¯r Beg˘, see Seyyid Muhammed es-Seyyid, “Hayır Bey,” DI˙A 17: 49–50. 12 The sultan conferred to him all functions which were formerly exercised by the Circassians: hajib, dawa¯dar und d’amı¯r maisara. See Laoust, Les gouverneurs de Damas, 151. ˙ 13 Al-Ghazzı ¯, al-Kawa¯kib, vol. I, 170. P.M. Holt, “al-G̲h̲aza¯lı¯,” EI2 II: 1042, Bakhit, Ottoman Province, 19, Ayalon, “The End of the Mamlu¯k Sultanate,” 134–35, Jane Hathaway, “Mamluk “Revivials” and Mamluk Nostalgia in Ottoman Egypt,” in The Mamluks in Egyptian and Syrian Politics and Society, ed. Michael Winter and Amalia Levanoni (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 397; Jane Hathaway and Karl Barbir, The Arab Lands Under Ottoman Rule: 1516–1800, (Harlow: Pearson, 2008), 52–3; Benjamin Lellouch and Nicolas Michel, “Introduction,” in Conquête Ottomane De L’Égypte (1517) Arrière-plan, Impact, Échos, eds. Benjamin Lellouch and Nicolas Michel, (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 29; Laoust, Les gouverneurs de Damas, 151, Holt, Egypt and the Fertile, 43.

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Ja¯nbirdı¯ proved completely loyal to Sultan Selı¯m I; for instance, he reported having suppressed several Bedouin revolts to safeguard the pilgrimage routes.14 He launched his rebellion only after having learned of Selı¯m I’s demise. Even though the precise motivation for the rebellion remains nebulous, the concatenation of events makes it apparent that he chose a most propitious moment: the death of Selı¯m I on September 22, 1520; the accession of Süleyma¯n I on September 30, 1520; the conquest of the citadel in Aleppo on November 1, 1520, marking the overt beginning of the rebellion; and finally declaring himself sultan on February 2, 1521. In his last-mentioned demarche, he took the Mamluk regal title of al-Malik al-Ashra¯f (“the most noble king”),15 had the khutba read in his ˙ name, and had coinage minted with his name, all of which taken as evidence of his claim to sovereignty. His rebellion, however, was suppressed by a large Ottoman army and Ja¯nbirdı¯ himself was killed at the end of the battle in Mastaba.16 ˙ On February 7, 1521, Ferha¯d Pasha17 entered Damascus and took over until the governor (beg˙lerbeg˙i) of Anatolia, Aya¯s Pasha, was appointed the new governor of Damascus several weeks later (February 24, 1521).18

Sixteenth-Century Ottoman Historiographic Sources on Ja¯nbirdı¯’s Rebellion Researchers have assembled a number of Ottoman narratives dating back to the sixteenth century that deal with the rebellion. Both Jean-Louis Bacqué-Grammont and Benjamin Lellouch reference the following Ottoman narrative sources in their classic works:19 Haydar Çelebı¯’s (d. unknown) Ru¯zna¯me; Cela¯lza¯de ˙ Mustafa¯’s (d. 1567) Selı¯mna¯me; Sila¯hs¸ör’s Fethna¯me-i diya¯r-ı Arab; Süheylı¯ ˙˙ 14 15 16 17 18

Bakhit, Ottoman Province, 21. On Ja¯nbirdı¯’s policy, see ibid., 20–27. Ibid., 32. Ibid., 33; Ayalon, “The End of the Mamlu¯k Sultanate,” 139. On Ferha¯d Pasha, see Laoust, Les gouverneurs de Damas, 160–62. Bakhit, Ottoman Province, 33–5; Laoust, Les gouverneurs de Damas, 159–60. For David Ayalon, the two main features of the revolt are: “a) it was contemplated and prepared long before its actual outburst, so that it could take place at the very first opportunity; b) its aim was not just to free al-Gha¯za¯li‘s province from Ottoman yoke, but to restore Mamlu¯k rule, Mamlu¯k institutions and Mamlu¯k way of life over all the territories of the defeated and conquered Sultanate.” See Ayalon, “The End of the Mamlu¯k Sultanate,” 136. About the similar rebellions by Mamluk officials see: Hathaway and Barbir, The Arab Lands, 53–8. 19 See Jean-Louis Bacqué-Grammont, “Documents ottomans sur quelques mamlouks ralliés ou capturés au début de 1517,” Annales Islamologiques 20 (1984): 115–41. See also Benjamin Lellouch, “La politique Mamelouke de Selı¯m I”, in Conquête Ottomane De L’Égypte (1517) Arrière-plan, Impact, Échos, eds. Benjamin Lellouch and Nicolas Michel, (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 165–210. On the Arabic and Ottoman sources, see also the introduction of this volume Lellouch and Michel, “Introduction”, 4–9.

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Efendi’s (d. after 1623) Ta¯rih-i Mısr-ı kadı¯m (a translation of the Fath Misr of ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˘ Ahmad ibn ʿAli¯ Ibn Zunbu¯l); Diyarbekrı¯’s (d. after 1542) Tercüme en-nüzhe es˙ seniyye fi zikri l-hulefa¯ ve-l-mülu¯ki l-misriyye, and Hadı¯dı¯’s (d. 1523) Teva¯rı¯h-i ¯ ˙ ˘ a¯l-i ʿOsman. Bacqué-Grammont also presents some hitherto unpublished documents relating to the year 1517 and mentions four additional narrative sources on the rebellion. In a more recent study, Lellouch assembles the details of the war of conquest from the array of sources mentioned above but notes the Ja¯nbirdı¯ rebellion only in passing.20 The aforementioned works, however, are only a selection of sources from the sixteenth century, a period of particular importance for Ottoman historiography due to the political and cultural developments that it saw. Furthermore, the emergence of a variety of genres at that time, such as the classical selı¯mna¯me,21 the süleyma¯nna¯me,22 and new dynastic and universal histories, made writing history a cultural and political activity among the Ottoman elite.23 Histories were often written and dedicated to the sultan or a high-ranking official to attract attention to the author and thus promote his career.24 As for subject matter, sixteenthcentury historiography can be divided into two main groups. The first is comprised of official histories of the ¸sehna¯me type25 together with the selı¯mna¯me and süleyma¯nna¯me kinds, their commonality being elaborate narratives bolstered by miniature vignettes from the sultans’ military victories, yielding a contemporary history of sorts. The second group is composed of chronicle-style histories that produce a record of the past. The Teva¯rı¯h-i a¯l-i ʿOsma¯n (Histories of the House of ˘ Osman) are the oldest genre in this group, predating the sixteenth century and emerging after the accession of the Sultan Mura¯d II (r. 1421–1444 and 1446–

20 Lellouch, “La politique Mamelouke de Selı¯m I,” 165–210. 21 On selı¯mna¯mes, see especially the introduction by Ahmet Ug˘ur, The reign of Sultan Selı¯m I in the Light of The Selı¯m-na¯me Literature (Berlin: Dr. Klaus Schwarz, 1984), 1–27. 22 Matra¯kçı¯ Na¯suh and the Bosta¯n are the most well-known süleyma¯nname-writers. For ˙ ˙ see Claudia Römer, “The Language and Prose Style of Bosta¯n‘s Süleyma¯nna¯me,” in example, Humanism, Culture, and Language in the Near East. Studies in Honor of Georg Krotkoff, eds. Asma Afsaruddin and A.H. Mathias Zahniser (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1997), 401–18. 23 Petra Kappert (ed.), Geschichte Sultan Su¨leyma¯n Ka¯nu¯nı¯s von 1520 bis 1557 oder Tabaka¯t u¨l˙ tafa¯, genannt Koca Nis¸a¯ncı (Wiesbaden: ˙ ˙ Mema¯lik ve Dereca¯t u¨l-Mesa¯lik von Cela¯lza¯de Mus ˙ ˙ ˙ Franz Steiner Verlag, 1981), 16–7; Kaya S¸ahin, Empire and Power in the Reign of Süleyman: Narrating the Sixteenth-Century Ottoman World (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 162–65. ¯ lı¯ with his seventy works of 24 A prominent example is the bureaucrat and historian Mustafa¯ ʿA ˙˙ various genres. See Cornell H. Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual in the Ottoman Empire. The Historian Mustafa Âli (1541–1600) (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1986). 25 On a very instructive study on ¸sehnames, see Christine Woodhead, “Reading Ottoman s¸ehnames: Official historiography in the late sixteenth century,” Studia Islamica 104–5 (2007): 67–80; Bekir Kütükog˘lu, Vekayi’nüvis. Makaleler (I˙stanbul: I˙stanbul Fetih Cemiyeti, 1994), 43.

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1451).26 For our purposes, the most relevant dynastic and universal histories of this century are the three following texts: Künh ül-ahba¯r (The Essence of History) ˘ and Ca¯miʿ üt-teva¯rı¯h (Compendium of Histories), both of which are universal chronicles, and Teva¯rı¯h-i a¯l-i ʿOsma¯n by Lütfı¯ Pasha, a dynastic history.27 The ˙ ˘ aforementioned Tabaka¯t ül-mema¯lik ve dereca¯t ül-mesa¯lik is of a different nature ˙ altogether, and will be examined in greater detail below.28 The following table summarizes some of the characteristics of the histories under discussion with respect to Ja¯nbirdı¯: Table 1. Sixteenth-Century Chronicle-Type Universal or Dynastic Histories that Note Ja¯nbirdı¯’s Downfall (author)

Title

Author

Künh ül- Mustafa¯ ¯ lı¯˙ ˙ ahba¯r ʿA ˘ 1541– 1600

Profession Genre Bureaucrat Universal history

Chapter on the reign of Period Süleyma¯n covered (page numbers) Until 272–427 1596

Ja¯nbirdı¯’s downfall (page numbers) 274(a)– 274(b)

¯ s¸ıkpas¸aza¯de (d. 1484). On the most prominent 26 The first history of this genre was written by ʿA ˙ Ottoman history, see Die altosmanische edition of this source for the early period of the ¯ ˇsıkpasˇaza¯de, ed. Friedrich Giese (Leipzig: Otto Harrassowitz, 1929). The most Chronik des ʿA ˙ important and comprehensive one was written by the grand mufti and historian I˙bn Kemal also known as Kemalpas¸aza¯de (d. 1534). His ten-volume chronicle Teva¯rı¯h-i a¯l-i ʿOsma¯n ¯ ˘ not contain covers the period from the emergence of the Ottomans until 1527, however, does some events of the reign Selı¯m I. See S¸erafettin Turan, “Kemalpas¸azâde,” DI˙A 25: 238–40. 27 For this study, I use the following editions: Gelibolulu Mustafa Âlî, Künhü’l-Ahbâr, Dördüncü Rükn: Osmanlı Tarihi, C.1. Tıpkıbasım, (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basımevi, 2009), facsimile edition published by the Turkish Historical Society as No. Y/546; Mehmed Zaʾı¯m, ˙ ¸e Nur Sır, Câmi‘ü’t-Tevârîh, (202a–327b Giris¸-Tenkitli Metin–Sözlük-Dizin), vol. I., ed. Ays (PhD diss., Marmara Üniversitesi, 2007), a critical edition of the three manuscripts; Lütfi ¯ mire, 1923). Pas¸a, Teva¯rı¯h-i a¯l-i ʿOsma¯n, ed. ʿAlı¯ (Istanbul: Matbaʿa-i A ˙ ˘ I use the sole facsimile edition published 28 For this study, by Petra Kappert: Geschichte Sultan Su¨leyma¯n Ka¯nu¯ni¯s von 1520 bis 1557 oder Tabaka¯t u¨l-Mema¯lik ve Dereca¯t u¨l-Mesa¯lik von ˙ tafa¯, genannt Koca Nis¸a¯ncı, ˙ed. ˙Petra Kappert (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Cela¯lza¯de Mus ˙˙ Verlag, 1981). More chronicles˙from later times deal with the rebellion without attempting to be exhaustive: Mustafa Nuri Pas¸a, Netayic ül-Vukuat Kurumları ve Örgütleriyle Osmanlı Tarihi. vol. I., simplified by Nes¸et Çag˘atay (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basımevi, 1979) contains a short description of the rebellion, 85. By contrast, Solakza¯de, the historian of the seventeenth century, provides a detailed narrative of Ja¯nbirdı¯˙ and his rebellion, 423–38. He even mentions Ja¯nbirdı¯’s wife and children: Solakza¯de Mehmed Hemdemı¯ Çelebi, Ta¯rı¯h-i ˘ Solakza¯de (I˙stanbul: Mahmu¯d Beg˘ Matbaʿası, ˙1880), 438. ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙

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(Continued)

Title

Author

Ca¯mi‘ üt- Mehmed teva¯rı¯h Zaʾı¯˙m ˘ Efendi (1532– 1592) Tabaka¯t Cela¯lza¯de ˙ ül-memMustafa¯ ˙˙ a¯lik ve 1490– derecat 1567 ül-mesa¯lik Teva¯rı¯h-i Lütfı¯ ˙ a¯l-i ˘ Pasha ʿOsma¯n 1488?– ¯ 1564

Chapter on the reign of Period Süleyma¯n covered (page numbers) Until 274a–298a 1595

274b– 275b

Bureaucrat Administrative structure + reign of Süleyma¯n

1520– 1557

21a–526b

28b– 41a

Bureaucrat Dynastic history

1299– 1553

293–400

293– 296

Profession Genre Bureaucrat Universal history

Ja¯nbirdı¯’s downfall (page numbers)

All authors noted in the table above held high-ranking positions in the bureaucracy and seem to have been fascinated by writing history, choosing to spend their spare time turning out monumental tomes despite and beyond their official duties. As Ottoman civil servants, they were highly educated, trained in rhetoric, and well versed in Arabic and Persian. All four discuss Ja¯nbirdı¯’s rebellion as the first major event in the reign of Süleyma¯n I, although they do so to different lengths. The chronicles, despite their lengthy chapters on Süleyma¯n, devote a few pages at best to the event, which makes some sense given their universal scope. Contrastingly, the rebellion commands only the intensive interest of Cela¯lza¯de, which warrants a closer look at his narrative. In terms of language and style, only Lütfı¯ Pasha uses relatively modest rhetoric whereas his colleagues, eager to prove ˙ their literary prowess, write mellifluously.29 They reveal their literary aspirations at once by inserting lines of poetry throughout in the texts. I treat this feature below and return to these sources in the next section. First, however, I take a

¯ lı¯’s masterly rhyming prose in the Künh ül-ahba¯r, see Andreas Tietze, “Mustafa¯ 29 On Mustafa¯ ʿA ˙ ˙ ¯ lı¯ of ˙Gallipoli’s ʿA Prose Style,” Archivum Ottomanicum 5˘ (1973): 297–319. On Cela¯lza¯˙de’s prose style in the Tabaka¯t ül-mema¯lik , see Kappert, Geschichte Sultan Su¨leyma¯n, 36–40; for ˙ style in Teva¯rı¯h-i a¯l-i ʿOsma¯n, see Lütfı¯ Pas¸a, Lütfi Pas¸a ve Tevârih-i short survey of the literary ˙ Âl-i Osman, ed. Kayhan Atik (Ankara:˘Kültür Bakanlıg˘ı, 2001), 45–53, for a detailed investigation of literary features of Mehmed Zaʾı¯m, see Mehmed Zaʾı¯m, Câmi‘ü’t-Tevârîh, 81– ˙ ˙ 132.

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closer look at Cela¯lza¯de’s Tabaka¯t ül-mema¯lik as the most relevant source for the ˙ description of Ja¯nbirdı¯’s rebellion.

Cela¯lza¯de and his Tabaka¯t ül-Mema¯lik ˙ Cela¯lza¯de Mustafa¯ (1490–1567) had a brilliant scribal career that culminated in ˙˙ two stints in the paramount position of nis¸ancı (chancellor), in 1534–1556 and, briefly, in 1566–1567. Due to his lengthy service, he was known as “Koca Nis¸ancı”, ˙ the Great or Elder Chancellor. His best known texts are the epic Selı¯mna¯me and his opus magnum, Tabaka¯t ül-mema¯lik ve dereca¯t ül-mesa¯lik (Classes of the ˙ Empire and Ranks of the Military Routes).30 The Tabaka¯t ül-mema¯lik gives an ˙ overview of the administrative structure and administrative and military ranks in a table of contents of sorts, to which a history of the reign of Sultan Süleyma¯n as appended as Chapter 30. It covers the period from 1520 until 1557, i. e., Cela¯lza¯de writes about his own lifetime. It is a monumental source for the sixteenth century, providing the most detailed account of Süleyma¯n’s reign that exists.31 Cela¯lza¯de says that he wrote the text at his own initiative. Indeed, given his privileged position, he had exclusive access to documents and information. In her introduction to the facsimile edition of the work, Kappert credits the Tabaka¯t ˙ ül-mema¯lik as being the forerunner of court historiography (vakʿanüvı¯s or ve˙ ka¯yiʿnüvı¯s), its final redaction preceding the genesis of this institution in 1704 by ˙ 150 years.32 A general characterization of the text demonstrates that it is ambitiously elaborate, supplementing rhyming prose (ins¸a¯ʾ) across three languages with panegyrics, epithets, and pious invocations in Arabic as well as a profusion of

30 S¸ahin, Empire and Power, 173. According to S¸ahin, mama¯lik in his case refers to the lands of the Ottoman dynasty and mesa¯lı¯k relates to professional paths (i. e., professional groups). Thus, he translates the title of his recent study as “The Echelons of the Dominions and the Hierarchies of Professional Paths.” Kappert’s German translation reads “Die Klassen der Reiche und die Grade der Heerstraßen.” As the whole work addresses combines dynastic history with a geographical survey, I opt for Kappert’s translation as “Heerstraßen,” “military routes” in my translation, rather than “professional paths.” Kappert notes the similarity of Cela¯lza¯de’s work with the Kita¯b al-masa¯lik wa’l-mama¯lik genre of classical Arabic literature. See Kappert, Geschichte Sultan Su¨leyma¯n, 11. 31 For the position of this work within sixteenth century Ottoman historiography see Kappert, Geschichte Sultan Su¨leyma¯n, 11–35. 32 See Kappert, Geschichte Sultan Su¨leyma¯n, 35. For court historiography with particular focus on the first court chronicler Mustafa Naʿı¯ma¯ Efendi, see Gül S¸en, “Kompilation als Handwerk ˙ des Historiographen – Zur Narrativität in Naʿı¯ma¯s (gest. 1716) Hofchronik,” in Innovation oder Plagiat? Kompilationstechniken in der Vormoderne, ed. Stephan Conermann (Berlin: EB Verlag, 2015), 176–78.

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poetic fragments. Another outstanding feature of the text is the rich detail with which events are described.33 As for its structure, the text is composed of a general introduction followed by thirty chapters (tabaka¯t, “classes”) that are further divided into a total of 375 ˙ subchapters (derece, “ranks” or “grades”). Despite this elaborate organization, the first twenty-nine chapters give the appearance of a brief overview or a table of contents laid out for a monumental work in the making. The overall impression is of a somewhat unfinished work. The longest and today the most famous chapter is the thirtieth, recounting the reign of Süleyma¯n. It begins with a brief account of the reign of Selı¯m I and, interestingly enough ends with the completion of the Süleyma¯niye Mosque in 1557, not with the actual end of Süleyma¯n’s reign in 1566.34

Narrative Strategies in the Depiction of Ja¯nbirdı¯ The chapter on Sultan Süleyma¯n I in the Tabaka¯t ül-mema¯lik begins, after brief ˙ introductory words, with the subchapter on the revolt that has a caption of its own: “This derece [subchapter] retells the rebellion of Ca¯nberdi G˙aza¯lı¯, the arrival of Ferha¯d Pas¸a with the victorious army, and the suppression of arrogance, ¯ lı¯ chooses to this flame of fire, by the power of the shining sword.”35 Mustafa¯ ʿA ˙˙ speak only of “the first event” (vakıʿayı evvel) without further elaboration, as in ˙ his usual caption that introduces the events of each reign as “the events of the time” (ve ʿamma l-hava¯dı¯s fı¯ zama¯n).36 Mehmed Zaʾı¯m and Lütfı¯ Pasha do not ˙ ˙ ˙ embellish the event with an additional caption; they do, however, position their narrative about the rebellion at the very beginning of their chapter on the reign of Süleyma¯n I.37 A caption in historiographical literature can draw readers’ attention to the author’s point of view toward the event described and suggest how he evaluates it. In addition, even though the historian presents the events in their chronological sequence, with a lengthy caption he anticipates the outcome and attunes readers to what to expect before they have even begun to read the reportage. Finally, a caption defines the event as a memorable one. At the very beginning of the narrative in the texts under discussion, we are given more than just the bare facts about Ja¯nbirdı¯’s pre-Ottoman career. The 33 Kappert, Geschichte Sultan Süleyma¯n, 36–40. 34 See S¸ahin, Empire and Power, 177–8. ˙ aza¯lı¯niñ ʿisya¯nı ʿasa¯kir-i 35 Cela¯lza¯de, Tabaka¯t ül-mema¯lik, 28b–29a. Bu derece Ca¯nberd-i G ˙¯ -i tug˙ya¯nıdır. zafer mea¯sir ile ˙Ferha¯d Pas¸a varub ol na¯r-s¸era¯rıñ ta¯b-ı ¸sims¸ir-i a¯bda¯r ile itfa ˙ tafa¯ ʿA ˙ ˙ ¯ lı¯, Künh ül-ahba¯r, 274a. 36 Mus ˙ ˙ ˘ 37 Mehmed Zaʾı¯m, Ca¯mi‘ üt-teva¯rı¯h, 333. Lütfı¯ Pas¸a, Teva¯rı¯h-i a¯l-i ʿOsma¯n, 293. ˙ ˙ ˘ ˘

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Tabaka¯t ül-mema¯lik qualify Ja¯nbirdı¯: “From the Arab lands, the later governor of ˙ the lands of da¯rü-s-sela¯m S¸a¯m, Ca¯nberd-i G˙aza¯lı¯, was a mindless Circassian among the Circassian devils (Çera¯kese-i eba¯liseden bir Çerkes-i na¯kes).”38 Nevertheless, Selı¯m graced Canberdi with the highest rank: “governorship of the ˙ azze) along Province of Damascus (S¸a¯m), Jerusalem (Kuds-i ¸serif) and Gaza (G ˙ with all the districts that were left to the aforesaid Ca¯nberd-i G˙aza¯lı¯ and he was blessed with the grade of felicity.”39 The other histories present a more restrained version: the Cami üt-tevarih: “[…] a mindless Circassian from among the high-ranking Circassians, known as Ca¯nberd-i G˙aza¯lı¯, who obtained power in the Province of Damascus, the abode of peace, during the time of blessed Sultan Selı¯m Khan, mounted resistance against Sultan Süleyma¯n.”40 From an analeptic point of view that incorporates the past, Künh ül-ahba¯r adds the detail that Ja¯nbirdı¯’s oath of loyalty was accepted at ˘ Khaʾir Beg˘’s request (during the conquest).41 The most obvious narrative strategy employed by all authors is the amassing of pejoratives about various aspects of Ja¯nbirdı¯’s persona and the issue of sovereignty:

a)

Ja¯nbirdı¯ as the victim of his own limitations

The narrative in the Tabaka¯t ül-mema¯lik immediately launches into a description ˙ of the problem that culminates in the negative evaluation of Ja¯nbirdı¯’s character. Interestingly, he is firmly depicted in the Tabaka¯t ül-mema¯lik as a captive of his ˙ own limitations rather than a free agent: “Beyond doubt, beyond the reason of a son of mankind, inaccessible to the fullness of knowledge and wisdom, possibly overwhelmed by malignant ignorance.”42 His inner constraints aside, he is overwhelmed by outside forces: “The damned aforesaid, blind to the peace of the land, was kept from the path of virtuous by his lack of intelligence.”43 The universal history Künh ül-ahba¯r applies no specific negative appellation to ˘ Ja¯nbirdı¯. However, derogatory language is always used, either in modifiers preceding Ja¯nbirdı¯’s name or as nouns applying to him. Tabaka¯t ül-mema¯lik abound ˙ with examples: “the coward Ja¯nbirdı¯” (Ca¯nberd-i na¯merd), “the damned Ja¯n38 Cela¯lza¯de, Tabaka¯t ül-mema¯lik, 29b. ˙ 39 Ibid., 30a. 40 Mehmed Zaʾı¯m, Ca¯mi‘ üt-teva¯rı¯h, 333. Ümera¯-yı Çera¯kisenüñ bena¯mlarından merhu¯m Sul˘ S¸a¯m-ı da¯rü-s-sela¯m ile ka¯mya¯b olan Ca¯nberd-i G ˙ aza¯lı¯ ile ta¯n ˙Selı¯m Han zama¯nında eya¯let-i ˙bena¯m olan ˘ bí-‘ak¸l Çera¯kise […]. ¯ lı¯, Künh ül-ahba¯r, 274a. “[…]Hayır Beg˘ rica¯sıyla ita¯ʿati kabul buyrulub”. 41 Mustafa¯ ʿA ˙ ¯ de, Tabaka¯t ül-mema ˙ ¯-za¯˙de ki za¯d-ı ʿirfa¯n ve fe˘ ˘ ¯ lik, 30b. La¯-cerem 42 Cela¯˙ lza havz˙ala-i a¯demı ˙ ˙ z˙a¯ilden ha¯lı¯ ve tehı¯ olub cı¯fe-i cehl ile memlu¯ ola. ˘ Makhu¯r-ı mezbu¯r huz˙u¯r-u devlete makru¯r, kusu¯r- ı ʿakl ile nehc-i sava¯bdan du¯r ve 43 Ibid., 30b. ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˘ mehcu¯r düs¸üb.˙ ˙ ˙

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birdı¯” (Ca¯nberd-i makhur), “this rebel who met a bad end” (ol asi-i bed ferca¯m), ˙˙ “the lowly Circassian” (Çerkes-i ha¯kir), and so on. The epithets are also extended to Ja¯nbirdı¯’s supporters, e. g., in Künh ül-ahba¯r, “the mindless who remained ˘ from the time of the Circassian” (Çera¯kı¯ze zama¯nından kalma na¯kesler) and “the 44 ominous warriors” (ceys¸-i menhu¯s). Disparaging flourishes are even employed to create a contrast with characters who are favorably portrayed: “ʿAlı¯ Beg˘45 hurried like a blinding stroke of lightning with his Turkoman lion hearted warriors to hunt this evil.”46 Another example from the Ca¯mi‘ üt-teva¯rı¯h refers to ˘ “this permanently rejected and forever outcast” (ol merdu¯d-i ebed ve matru¯d-i 47 sermed). These recurring elements, sometimes in rhyming paraphrase as in the last instance, reinforce the author’s negative evaluation of Ja¯nbirdı¯ and his entourage as limited characters.

b)

Ja¯nbirdı¯’s act as an exemplum

In the Tabaka¯t ül-mema¯lik, the opening passage of the subchapter is immediately ˙ followed by a poem. For reasons of space, the last sequence of the poem will suffice to demonstrate the negative yet generalized implications of the rebellion. The moral is explicitly pointed out: The conquest of the land is the knowledge of the knowledgeable / The achievement is the wisdom of the honorable In the nature of the ignorant advantage and failure are the same / Obstinacy is to one’s own detriment If you want to avoid grief in this world/ Take heed to learn the lesson of Ca¯nberdı¯’s story The one who caused this rebellion is ignorant / He spilled the blood of countless Muslims.48

With his poem, the author makes it abundantly clear to his readers ab initio that there is a lesson to be learned. It is precisely this lesson, given its own caption and subchapter, that makes the event memorable. An unequivocal reminder is inserted in the middle of the story: “Look at the inequity that Ca¯nberdı¯ effected; learn a lesson from this evil end.”49 Lest the reader forget the message, it is ¯ lı¯, Künh ül-ahba¯r, 274b. Mustafa¯ ʿA ˙ ˙ ¯ rog˘lu ʿAlı¯ Beg˘ (d.1522) ˘ S¸ehsüva was governor of the Dulkadirid Principality. ¯ lı¯, Künh ül-ahba¯r, 274b. Mustafa¯ ʿA ˘ Meh˙ ˙med Zaʾı¯m, Ca¯mi‘ üt-teva ¯ rı¯h, 335. Cela¯˙ lza¯de, Tabaka¯t ül-mema¯lik , ˘30b. Memleket z˙abtını ʿakıllar bilür, ˙I¸s bas¸armag˘ını ka¯miller ˙ ˙ bilür; Ca¯hiliñ tabʿında birdir nefʿu z˙arr, Assı deyü˙ kendüye eyler z˙arar; Görmeyem dirseñ ˙ ˙ ˙ ciha¯nda g˙ussayı, Kıssa-ı Ca¯nberdı¯’den al hisseyi; Cehlidir ba¯ʿis olan ʿisya¯nına, Girdi anca ˙ ˙˙ ˙ müslimı¯niñ˙k˙ anına. ˙ 49 Ibid., 38a. Zulmi gör Ca¯nberd’e neyler ʿakıbet,ʿ ˙Ibret al fikr eyle sende ʿakıbet. ˙ ˙ ˙

44 45 46 47 48

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repeated yet again at the very end: “Let Ca¯nberdı¯’s state serve you as an example.”50 Within the time frame of the text, the lesson from the past links the present to the future. From the analytical point of view, it is the lesson that produces the narrative.

c)

A matter not of person but of principle

The message also determines the choice of literary tactics. It begins with a binary mise-en-scene: the realm of the “positive,” its splendor enhanced and highlighted by juxtaposition with a negative figure or a disruptive event. One obvious method of highlighting is the use of closely matched binary metaphors and attributes: the sultan with his positive epitheta, his rule associated with felicity and mercy, the Ottoman domain as a realm of the affirmative. Damascus and its positive qualities are brought to bear against Ja¯nbirdı¯ to accentuate even more his depravity: “From the Arab lands, then governor of the lands of da¯rü-s-sela¯m S¸a¯m, Ca¯nberd-i G˙aza¯lı¯, a mindless Circassian from among the Circassian devils (Çera¯kese-i eba¯liseden bir Çerkes-i na¯kes),”51 are pitted against “the hallowed ground of S¸a¯m” (ara¯z˙¯ı-i mukaddese-i S¸a¯m) and “the paradisiacal station of S¸a¯m” (S¸a¯m-ı ˙ behçet maka¯m) 52 or “the emerald green land of the rose garden” (zümürrüd reng˙ 53 i gülista¯ni). The oscillation between positive and negative rhetoric in the text pads the narrative and reinforces the agenda. The other texts pursue the same binary strategy of positive place and negative persona, e. g., the Künh ül-ahba¯r: ˘ “Over Holy S¸a¯m in the light of day, his complete chaos descended.”54 A second tactic is to expand the disobedience vis-à-vis the ruler toward the whole of the realm by replacing the word for rebellion (ʿisya¯n) with a series of ˙ synonyms that signify disorder in a variety of dimensions: tug˙ya¯n, fitne, ¸serr, ˙ fetret, inkıla¯b, zulm. This expansion of meaning through synonyms is partic˙ ˙ ularly evident in the first section of the poem in Tabaka¯t ül-mema¯lik: ˙ Civil war (fitne) came over the lands of S¸a¯m and spared none / The world (ʿa¯lem) was filled with strife and vileness (s¸err) Suffering and mourning became the daily bread (dirhem) / The people of the abuser (z˙ulm) vanquished and suppressed [all the people] 55

50 51 52 53 54

Ibid., 40a. Ha¯l-i Ca¯nberdı¯ saña örnek durır. Ibid., 29b. ˙ Ibid., 30a. Ibid., 33a. ¯ lı¯, Künh ül-ahba¯r , 274a. S¸a¯m-ı S¸erı¯f üzerine ru¯z-u ru¯¸sende tama¯m-ı g˙umum-u Mustafa¯ ʿA ˙ ˙ çöktü. ˘ zulmeti 55 Cela¯lza¯de, Tabaka¯t ül-Mema¯lik, 32b. Fitne düs¸di mülk-i S¸a¯m‘a ser-be-ser, Toldı ʿa¯lem ˙ a¯lib oldı ehl-i z˙ulm˙ etdi sitem. cümleten g˙avg˙a u˙ ¸serr; Sa¯h¯ıbine dirhem oldı hemm ü g˙am, G ˙ ˙

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¯ lı¯ uses the multidimensional pejorative fitne instead of a more obMustafa¯ ʿA ˙˙ jective/factual descriptive for rebellion (ʿisya¯n), such as (fitne-ü fesa¯d eyledi) or ˙ z˙ulm,to describe the situation and the event.56 Another prominent tactic is the use of Arabic proverbs and quotations from the Qurʾa¯n as well as rhyming poetry across three languages. Particularly in the Tabaka¯t ül-mema¯lik, fifteen Arabic insertions serve both to highlight by in˙ vocation positive figures such as the sultan (and other characters) as well as negative ones for his enemies.57 Most poetical insertions that depict Ja¯nbirdı¯’s rebellion recur in the Tabaka¯t ül-mema¯lik, thirteen of them as against only three ˙ couplets in the Künh ül-ahba¯r and only one, however comprising nine couplets, ˘ in the Teva¯rı¯h-i a¯l-i ʿOsma¯n. The Ca¯miʿ üt-teva¯rı¯h offers no poetry whatsoever. ˘ The rhymed style draws attention to the literary quality of the text rather than being a transparent vehicle for facts, e. g., in bı¯edeb-ʿaceb, pa¯dis¸a¯-hüma¯, eylemezeylemez.58 In most cases, however, the meaning of the poem suffers from the elaborate instrumentalization. The use of narrative strategies, the sprinkling of poetic elements and linguistic style devices (phrases, idioms, citations), and the composition of the plot provide clues as to the agenda of the historian. What the historian considers memorable is made abundantly clear: the juxtaposition of a malevolent individual to the realm of the positive, the sultan and his rule. Even the entertaining and lovingly detailed Tabaka¯t ül-mema¯lik, which poses as a factual text, is unequivocal in ˙ projecting the author’s agenda, value system, and cognitive mechanisms. The various narrative tools transform the historical fact of Ja¯nbirdı¯’s rebellion into a piece of literature that buries the event under layers of projection and reflection: The one without modesty thought rulership was a simple affair / Tried to become the shadow of God, the endeavor of God Because the sultan is at the top, at the height of felicity / A raven without wings does not fly The sublime God does not take a sparrow for a base59

56 Ibid., 274a. 57 This kind of insertion was used, for instance, as a positive one for Selı¯m I “May God perpetuate his realm and rule” (Khallada Alla¯h mulkihi wa sulta¯nihi) and as a negative one for ˙ Janbirdı¯’s army: “May God abandon them forever” (Khadhdhalahum Alla¯h ila¯ al-abad). Ibid., 31a and 35a. 58 On the using and function of poetical insertions in historiographical texts, see Gül S¸en “The Function of Poetry in Sixteenth Century Historiography: A Narratological Approach to the ¯ lı¯,” in The Pre-Modern Ottoman Poetry, eds. Stephan CoKünh ül-ahba¯r by Mustafa ʿA ˘ Christiane Czygan (Goettingen: V&R unipress/Bonn University Press), forthnermann and coming. 59 Cela¯lza¯de, Tabaka¯t ül-mema¯lik , 32a. S¸ehligi a¯sa¯n sanub ol bı¯edeb, z˙ıll-i Hakk olmag˙a saʿy etdi ˙ imis¸ çün pa¯dis¸a¯, Evc-i rifʿatde˙ olur ca¯yi hüma¯; Za¯g˙˙-ı ˙bı˙¯-perr aña perva¯z ʿaceb; Sa¯ye-i Allah eylemez, Hakk teʿa¯la¯ serçe-i ba¯z eylemez. ˙ ˙˙

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Conclusion The narratological strategies that make a moral tale out of a failed anti-Ottoman rebellion flow from a later bid for sovereignty by a transitional figure, the erstwhile Mamluk viceroy who then became an Ottoman governor. A closer look at individual subchapters of the texts affords insights on how literary devices turned an ostensible historical fact into a warning. Ja¯nbirdı¯’s factual historical existence serves as the material basis for a convincing moral lesson that is directed at a certain class of people: high-ranking governors of the Ottoman Empire and other officials in positions of authority. We encounter only the narrated persona in the historiographical texts. It is no coincidence that the narrative does not contain the barest fact about Ja¯nbirdı¯ as a living being. What matters to its author is not the person but the insurrection against the sultan; Ja¯nbirdı¯ serves as an example by negation to those who need to learn the lesson, the Ottoman governors. By considering the text as a narrative, we learn more about the conceptual framework of the period than any collection of facts and data could ever afford us – in particular, when it comes to the representation of sovereignty and the ways to serve the empire: drawing moral lessons from history.

Bibliography Sources Al-Ghazzı¯, Najm al-Dı¯n Muhammad b. Muhammad. al-Kawa¯kib al-sa¯ʾira bi-aʿya¯n al-miʾa ˙ ˙ al-ʿa¯shira, edited by Jibra¯ʾı¯l Sulayma¯n Jabbu¯r, 3 vols., (Beirut: American Press 1945–59). ¯ ¸sıkpas¸aza¯de. Die altosmanische Chronik des ʿA ¯ ˇsıkpasˇaza¯de, edited by Friedrich Giese. ʿA ˙ ˙ Leipzig: Otto Harrassowitz, 1929. Cela¯lza¯de, Mustafa¯. Geschichte Sultan Su¨leyma¯n Ka¯nu¯nı¯s von 1520 bis 1557 oder Tabaka¯t ˙ ˙ ˙˙ ˙ u¨l-Mema¯lik ve Dereca¯t u¨l-Mesa¯lik von Cela¯lza¯de Mustafa¯, genannt Koca Nis¸a¯ncı, edited ˙ ˙˙ by Petra Kappert. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1981. Ibn Iya¯s, Muhammad b. Ahmad. Bada¯ʾiʿ al-zuhu¯r fı¯ waqa¯ʾi al-duhu¯r, vol. 5, edited by ˙ ˙ Muhammad Mustafa¯. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner, 1961. ˙ ˙˙ Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Shams al-Dı¯n Muhammad. Mufa¯kahat al-khilla¯n fı¯ hawa¯dith al-zama¯n (Ta¯rı¯kh ˙ ˙ ˙ Misr wa-al-Sha¯m), 2 vols., edited by Muhammad Mustafa¯. Cairo: al-Muʾassassa al˙ ˙˙ ¯ Misriyya al-ʿAmma, 1964, vol. 2. ˙ Lütfı¯ Pas¸a. Lütfi Pas¸a ve Tevârih-i Âl-i Osman, edited by Kayhan Atik. Ankara: Kültür ˙ Bakanlıg˘ı, 2001. ¯ mire, 1923. Lütfi Pas¸a. Teva¯rı¯h-i a¯l-i ʿOsma¯n, edited by ʿAlı¯. Istanbul: Matbaʿa-i A ˙ ˘ Mehmed Za‘îm. Câmi‘ü’t-Tevârîh, (202a–327b Giris¸-Tenkitli Metin–Sözlük-Dizin, Vol. I., ˙ edited by Ays¸e Nur Sır. PhD diss., Marmara Üniversitesi, 2007.

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¯ lı¯, Künh ül-ahba¯r: Gelibolulu Mustafa Âlî. Künhü’l-Ahbâr, Dördüncü Rükn: Mustafa¯ ʿA ˙˙ ˘ Osmanlı Tarihi, C.1. Tıpkıbasım. Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basımevi, 2009. Mustafa Nuri Pas¸a. Netayic ül-Vukuat Kurumları ve Örgütleriyle Osmanlı Tarihi. Vol. I., simplified by Nes¸et Çag˘atay. Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basımevi, 1979. Solakza¯de, Mehmed Hemdemı¯ Çelebi. Ta¯rı¯h-i Solakza¯de. I˙stanbul: Mahmu¯d Beg˘ Mat˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˘ ˙ baʿası, 1880.

Studies Ayalon, David. “The End of the Mamlu¯k Sultanate (Why did the Ottomans Spare the Mamlu¯ks of Egypt and Wipe out the Mamlu¯ks of Syria?).” Studia Islamica 65 (1987): 146–47. Bacqué-Grammont, Jean-Louis. “Documents ottomans sur quelques mamlouks ralliés ou capturés au début de 1517.” Annales Islamologiques 20 (1984): 115–41. Bakhit, Muhammad Adnan. The Ottoman Province of Damascus in the Sixteenth Century. Beirut: Librairie du Liban, 1982. Brinner, W.M. “Ibn Iya¯s.” EI2 III, 812–13. Es-Seyyid, Seyyid Muhammed. “Hayır Bey.” DI˙A 17: 49–50. Fleischer, Cornell H. Bureaucrat and Intellectual in the Ottoman Empire. The Historian Mustafa Âli (1541–1600). Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1986. Gibb, H.A.R. and Ayalon, A.“Na¯ʾib,” EI2 III: 915–16. Haarmann, Ulrich W. “Ideology and History, Identity and Alterity: The Arab Image of the Turk from the ʿAbbasids to Modern Egypt.” International Journal of Middle East Studies 20 (1988): 175–96. Hathaway, Jane and Barbir, Karl. The Arab Lands Under Ottoman Rule: 1516–1800. Harlow: Pearson, 2008. Hathaway, Jane. “Mamluk “Revivials” and Mamluk Nostalgia in Ottoman Egypt.” In The Mamluks in Egyptian and Syrian Politics and Society, edited by Michael Winter and Amalia Levanoni 387–406. Leiden: Brill 2004. Holt, P. M. Egypt and the Fertile Crescent. 1516–1922. A Political History. London: Longmans, 1966. –. “The Last Mamlu¯k Sultan: Al-Malk Al-Ashraf Tuman Ba¯y.” Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 25 (2001): 234–46. Kütükog˘lu, Bekir. Vekayi’nüvis. Makaleler. Istanbul: Istanbul Fetih Cemiyeti, 1994. Laoust, Henri. Les gouverneurs de Damas sous les Mamlouks et les premiers Ottomans (658– ˘ um‘a Damascus: In1 156/1260–1744). Traduction des annales d’Ibn Tu¯lu¯n et d’Ibn G ˙ stitut français de Damas, 1952. Lellouch, Benjamin. “La politique Mamelouke de Selı¯m I.” In Conquête Ottomane De L’Égypte (1517) Arrière-plan, Impact, Échos, edited by Benjamin Lellouch and Nicolas Michel, 165–210. Leiden: Brill, 2013. Lellouch, Benjamin, and Nicolas Michel. Conquête Ottomane De L’Égypte (1517) Arrièreplan, Impact, Échos. Leiden: Brill, 2013. Massoud, Sami. The Chronicles and Annalistic Sources of the Early Mamluk Circassian Period. Leiden: Brill, 2007.

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Römer, Claudia. “The Language and Prose Style of Bosta¯n‘s Süleyma¯nna¯me.” In Humanism, Culture, and Language in the Near East. Studies in Honor of Georg Krotkoff, edited by Asma Afsaruddin and A.H. Mathias Zahniser, 401–418.Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1997. S¸ahin, Kaya. Empire and Power in the Reign of Süleyman: Narrating the Sixteenth-Century Ottoman World. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013. S¸en, Gül. “Kompilation als Handwerk des Historiographen – Zur Narrativität in Naʿı¯ma¯s (gest. 1716) Hofchronik.” In Innovation oder Plagiat? Kompilationstechniken in der Vormoderne, edited by Stephan Conermann, 169–218. Berlin: EB Verlag, 2015. –. “The Function of Poetry in Sixteenth Century Historiography: A Narratological Ap¯ lı¯.” In The Pre-Modern Ottoman Poetry, proach to the Künh ül-ahba¯r by Mustafa ʿA ˘ edited by Stephan Conermann and Christiane Czygan. Goettingen: V&R unipress/Bonn University Press, forthcoming. ¯ lı¯ of Gallipoli’s Prose Style.” Archivum Ottomanicum 5 (1973): Tietze, Andreas. “Mustafa¯ ʿA ˙˙ 297–319. Turan, S¸erafettin. “Kemalpas¸azâde.” DI˙A 25: 238–40 Ug˘ur, Ahmet. The reign of Sultan Selı¯m I in the Light of The Selı¯m-na¯me Literature. Berlin: Dr. Klaus Schwarz, 1984. Woodhead, Christine. “Reading Ottoman ¸sehnames: Official historiography in the late sixteenth century.” Studia Islamica 104–5 (2007): 67–80.

Bethany J. Walker

Early Ottoman/Late Islamic I/post-Mamluk: What are the Archaeological Traces of the 16th Century in Syria?”

Archaeological perspectives on political transitions frequently contrast with that of the strictly textual-historical. One speaks more of “transformations” than of ruptures and of socio-cultural continuity above all. This is particularly true on the local level of analysis, where it is clear that people generally continued to eat the same food, served from the same kinds of tableware, and in the same houses that they occupied before the new sultan arrived with his army and the Friday prayer was said in his name. Material culture is slow to change: the arrival of imports from new imperial capitals and from places with which the new regime has economic relations should not obscure that fact. The perspective on the 16th century illustrated in this paper is heavily informed by this character of material culture. The shift in emphasis in recent years to archaeological investigations of rural sites contributes, as well, to a particular view about the countryside less directly connected with imperial and provincial centers. The goal of this paper is to paint a picture of rural, southern Bila¯d alSha¯m, as it experienced the transition from Mamluk to Ottoman rule. The focus is peasant society – with the village (defined quite loosely) – as the centerpiece. Because they leave a more visible footprint in the physical landscape, and we are more familiar with their material cultures, peasants, rather than pastoral nomads, are the focus of this essay. The geographical coverage is deliberately limited, for good reasons, to the area south of Damascus to Aqaba and the Negev, and from the eastern Mediterranean coast to the basalt fields of the eastern Jordanian steppe – that is, Palestine and Transjordan. This region represents a distinctive cultural and historical unit, and it is underrepresented in the scholarly literature. For a variety of historical, cultural, and ecological reasons, it would have experienced imperial changes a bit differently than in northern Syria, Damascus, and Egypt. Southern Syria was the territory that one passed through; its textual visibility was generally marginal and connected to more politically important centers.1 The region has gained a particularly importance, however, 1 Bethany J. Walker, “Southern Syria in the Islamic Period: Political Periphery or Nexus?,”, in

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among archaeologists. One gets the impression that there are more archaeologists working in southern Bila¯d al-Sha¯m – and focusing on the medieval Islamic and Ottoman periods – than anywhere else in the Levant! 2 And the number of research projects focused on the study of rural society is growing proportionally. A few observations about periodization are appropriate at this point. Archaeologists today pay little attention to dynastic chronologies, for the reasons cited at the beginning of this paper. Chronologies based on centuries, as well, do not reflect well the slow pace of development in many genres of material culture. So we adopt here the archaeologists’ preference for a cultural periodization. “Middle Islamic” is roughly the 12th-15th centuries (or Seljuk-Ayyubid-Mamluk), and “Late Islamic” refers to the 16th-19th centuries (that is, the broad sweep of Ottoman history until the era of the Tanzimat) (Fig. 1).3 The 16th century falls on the cusp between the “Middle” and “Late” Islamic eras, a chronological ambiguity that speaks volumes about the archaeological character of this period. Archaeologically, it has been extremely difficult to differentiate between the 15th and 16th centuries: so we lump them together as “Late Islamic I”! This broad period represents a particular phase of cultural history in southern Syria, one of slow transition, in which combines characteristics of the material culture, settlement structures, and land use of the Mamluk and Ottoman eras. For the purposes of this essay, however, we will use the “16th century” and “Early Ottoman” as a matter of convenience. Political Ottoman

Cultural Late Islamic II

Christian calendar Early 16th c. to Early 20th c. A.D.

Mamluk Ayyubid

Middle Islamic II–Late Islamic I Middle Islamic I

Mid 13th c. to Early 16th c. A.D. Late 12th c. to Late 13th c. A.D.

Crusader

Middle Islamic I

Late 11th c. to Late 13th c. A.D.

One Hundred Years of American Archaeology in the Levant: Proceedings of the American Schools of Oriental Research Centennial Celebration, Washington, DC, April 2000, ed. Doug Clark and Victor Matthews. (Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research, 2003), 385–409. 2 As of 2014, there were 76 foreign missions working in Jordan alone (report by Dr. Monther Jamhawi, Director General, Department of Antiquities of Jordan, to the Jordan Dig Directors Consultation, Annual Meeting of the American Schools of Oriental Research, 20 November 2014). Of these, an estimated three quarters of the projects constitute American or Canadian teams (author’s files, Jordan Dig Directors Consultation Chair). 3 The cultural periodization of Early, Middle, and Late Islamic periods was developed by archaeologists working in Bila¯d al-Sha¯m and have gained currency among both archaeologists and many historians (see Donald Whitcomb, “Hesban, Amman, and Abbasid Archaeology in Jordan,” in The Archaeology of Jordan and beyond, essays in honor of James A. Sauer, ed. Larry E. Stager, Joseph A. Greene, and Michael D. Coogan. Winona Lake, IN: Harvard Semitic Museum Publications, 2000), 505–515.

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(Continued) Political Fatimid Abbasid

Cultural Early Islamic II–Middle Islamic I Early Islamic I–II

Christian calendar Mid 10th c. to Late 12th c. A.D. Mid 8th c. to Mid 10th c. A.D.

Umayyad Byzantine

Early Islamic I

Mid 7th c. to Mid 8th c. A.D. Early 4th c. to Mid 7th c. A.D.

Fig. 1. Cultural and Dynastic Periodizations Compared (author).

How to Define the 16th Century Until very recently, the 15th and 16th centuries were archaeologically invisible in this part of the Levant. Outside of urban centers, where building inscriptions, larger collections of coins, and a wider range of (datable) ceramic imports provide us with a relatively firm chronology, the rural assemblages of this period seemed indistinguishable from the “classical” Mamluk period, or 14th century.4 Ottoman ceramics, outside the most internationally distributed glazed wares were relatively unknown.5 This transitional period was defined more for what it was not than for what it could potentially be: it was not “Mamluk” (known primarily through 14th-century pottery and architecture), nor was it really “Ottoman” (meaning the material culture of the 17th-19th centuries) (Fig. 2). With few excavations of archaeological sites of the period, and given the generally poor stratigraphy and preservation of those that were investigated, it was often not possible to distinguish Mamluk from Ottoman levels. Nonetheless, assumptions about this enigmatic period abounded in the archaeological, and historiographical, literature, emphasizing a break with the internationalization and prosperity of the 14th and 15th centuries. Bedouin predations, according to these narratives, disrupted village life and ruined rural economies. The period was one of economic decline and political chaos. As a result, peasants abandoned an agricultural way of life and took up animal husbandry. One material correlate of this phenomenon was assumed to be decline in ceramic production: Early Ottoman handmade pottery, for example, tends to be

4 For a good reference to urban assemblages of the period, see Véronique François, Céramiques de la citadelle de Damas. Epoques mamelouke et ottoman. (Interactive CD, Aix-en-Provence, 2008). 5 The collection of studies in B.J. Walker, ed. Reflections of Empire: Archaeological and Ethnographic Studies on the Pottery of the Ottoman Levant (Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research, 2009) is beginning to address this lacuna in our knowledge of the pottery of this period.

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Fig. 2. Mamluk and Ottoman Material Culture from Jordan Compared (author).

made with a coarser fabric, the forms and decoration executed with less technical skill, and in a more restricted range of forms than the Late Mamluk ware. Turning to written sources of the period did not challenge such assumptions. The state of textual sources has particularly stymied attempts to study the 16th century in Transjordan. The rich court documents of the archives in Damascus, for example, hold little relevancy for villages south of the Hawran in this period. The contemporary Early Ottoman court registers of Jerusalem have only recently become available for study in print form, but reflect, unsurprisingly, a Jerusalem and Jerusalem-hinterland focus. Chronicles for the Mamluk-Ottoman transition abound, of course, for Damascus; they have been underutilized by archaeologists for the study of rural history beyond that provincial capital. Nonetheless, the scant references to villages we can cull from such narrative sources – while they are undoubtedly useful for documenting and mapping settlements – seldom describe in the detail the physical and functional attributes of villages and village life that archaeologists require to chart the processes of social change. What has been readily available to archaeologists with a bent towards textual sources, are the series of 16th-century Ottoman tax registers, which document expected income from various revenue streams, listed by settlement and by tribal group (in the case of nomads). They have been largely published for Transjordan and Palestine. Archaeologists have relied on them, perhaps too heavily and uncriti-

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cally, depending on them almost exclusively for an understanding of growth, decline, and abandonment of villages; economic capacity and agricultural regimes; and population size. Dependence on the published registers has, if anything, reinforced the image of imperially-sponsored growth, withdrawal and decline, and the “Bedouinization” of the hinterland.6

Archaeological Evidence of the 16th Century These assumptions about the 15th and 16th centuries are being slowly challenged. The last five to ten years have witnessed a surge in archaeological research designed specifically to investigate the settlement transformations of this period and to define more precisely its material culture. The larger questions about peasant resilience, the nature of village society, and traditional forms of natural resource management reflect a deeper desire to know this period and to better understand how, on the local level, political transitions were experienced. Governmental and non-governmental initiatives for architectural preservation, and a growing interest in the “Middle Islamic” (in political parlance, “Mamluk”) period in general, have been further factors driving these developments. Salvage excavations have produced a flood of new data on rural settlement and the material culture that supported it, at sites settled during the transition to Ottoman rule. We are coming to know more about late Mamluk and Early Ottoman Jerusalem and its hinterland and in the Galilee and the Golan, for example, as a result. I’d like to briefly summarize the current state of our knowledge about four components of the rural societies of 15th and 16th-century southern Syria, which are coming to define archaeologically the nature of this period: its material culture, and namely everyday pottery and vernacular architecture; and changes in settlement and land use.

Material Culture Ceramics Political transitions can pull local societies in opposite directions at the same time. The imposition of “empire” may help unify a region, with local industries gravitating towards common international markets, for example, and through 6 For a critical review of these sources, see Bethany J. Walker, Jordan in the Late Middle Ages: Transformation of the Mamluk Frontier (Chicago: Middle East Documentation Center, University of Chicago, 2011), 26ff.

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the application of a common administrative system. Alternatively, it can exacerbate trends towards localism in production and consumption, and regionalism in distribution and exchange. The most important characteristics of 16thcentury material culture in southern Bila¯d al-Sha¯m are the strong regionalisms, particularly in the ceramics record, and the revival of local and regional markets (with limited connections to international trade), a phenomenon also suggested by the tax registers of the time. 1.

Transjordan

The pottery of 16th-century Transjordan illustrates well these trends. It continues many of the traditions of the Mamluk period, but with glazed imports essentially disappearing from the archaeological record. This pattern is socially and historically relevant for two main reasons: without (well dated) imports, we lose an important chronological anchor; and the loss of imports could be tied to changes in communication and trade routes (rural areas being cut off from large, and more urban, markets and exchange networks) or migration and demographic change. Two local wares dominate the finds from rural sites of this period: handmade bowls and jars and green-glazed bowls.7 Together they represent the typical furnishings of a non-urban household, as these vessels were used for the daily serving of food and its consumption (dining). Understanding how these assemblages change over time (and, indeed, dating them to begin with), are important first steps in recreating the structure and daily life of the household; it is the foundation of household archaeology.8 The hallmark of both the Mamluk and Early Ottoman periods in rural Bila¯d alSha¯m as a whole is a category of coarse tableware known by its acronym HMGP, or “Handmade Geometrically-Painted” Ware. It is normally associated with agrarian communities – as “farmers’ dining ware” – although it is found in more urban sites and garrisons and castles, as well. It is a difficult ware to describe, geographically, chronologically, or technically. While it is found all over the Levant, it is most highly concentrated in southern Bila¯d al-Sha¯m, and may have originated in southern Transjordan.9 Variants of the ware were produced as early 7 For a survey of this pottery, see Bethany J. Walker, “Identifying the Late Islamic period ceramically: Preliminary observations on Ottoman wares from central and northern Jordan,” in Walker, Reflections of Empire, 37–66. For a technical study of these wares from Mamluk and Early Ottoman contexts at the site of Tall Hisban, see ibid, The Islamic Age,” in Hesban 11: The Pottery, ed. Larry Herr (Berrien Springs, MI: Andrews University Press, 2012), 507–594. 8 The literature on household archaeology is rapidly growing, and it is not the place in this article to review the literature. A fine survey article can be found in Bruce Routledge, “Household Archaeology in the Levant: A Review Article” Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 370 (2013): 207–19. 9 Marcus Milwright, The Fortress of the Raven: Karak in the Middle Islamic Period (1100–1650)

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as the 11th century and continued through the British Mandate era: that is 900 years of production, with only rudimentary measures for distinguishing “Crusader” from “Mamluk”, “Mamluk” from “Ottoman”, and “Ottoman” from modern within that long chronological span! 10 HMGP, moreover, appears to have been produced in both specialized workshops, under the hands of professional potters (many Mamluk-era vessels were turned on a kick wheel, for example), and at home in individual households, or by a family of potters in one rural community (their products are fully handmade and formed over a mold made of cloth sandbags – frequently leaving woven textile patterns on the insides of vessels).11 In short, they are the product of multiple industries, with regional and intra-regional distribution.12 In the latter case, the painted patterns might be associated with specific regions or villages, and may reveal tribal and other communal identities.13 For all of these reasons, HMGP is an important window on local economies, local identity, and village and rural market networks. It is, as well, the single-most important artifact associated with this period found on archaeological surveys, and is frequently our only evidence for 16th-century occupation in the region.

10 11

12

13

(Leiden: Brill, 2008). See also the unpublished dissertation of Robin Brown, Late Islamic Ceramic Production and Distribution in the Southern Levant: A Socio-Economic and Political Analysis (Binghamton State University, 1992, for an analysis of its distribution, and Micaela Sinibaldi, “The Pottery from the 11th–20th Centuries from the FJHP Survey. Ceramics, Settlement, and Pilgrimage at Jabal Ha¯ru¯n During the Later Islamic Periods,” in The Mountain of Aaron. The Finis Archaeological Project in Jordan. Vol III: The Archaeological Survey, Paula Kouki and Mika Lavento, (Helsinki: Societas Scientiarum Fennica, 2013), 169–192 for a recent study of the ware from southern Jordan. Jeremy Johns, “The Rise of Middle Islamic Hand-Made Geometrically-Painted Ware in Bilad al-Sham (11th-13th Centuries A.D.),” in Colloque international d’archéologie islamique, ed. R.-P. Gayraud. (Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, 1998), 65–93. See Hendricus J. Franken and J. Kalsbeek, Pottery of a Medieval Vullage in the Jordan Valley. Excavations at Tell Deir ʿAlla: A Medieval Tell, Tell Abu Gourdan, Jordan. (Amsterdam: North-Holland Publishing, 1975) for an illustrated description of the manufacturing technology. R. Smadar Gabrieli, David Ben-Shlomo, and Bethany J. Walker, “Production and Distribution of Geometrically-Painted (HMGP) and Plain Hand-Made Wares of the Mamluk Period: A Case Study from Northern Israel, Jerusalem and Tall Hisban.” Journal of Islamic Archaeology 1.2 (2014): 193–229. The association of surface decoration with tribal groups may not be limited to this class of ceramics. Colored glass bracelets (bangles), which archaeologists are relying on more as chronological markers, frequently bear patterns, as well, which resemble woven textiles and could reflect some aspect of communal identity, though at this stage the association is purely hypothetical. The most highly cited chrono-typological studies of Middle and Late Islamic bangles are Maud Spaer “The Islamic Glass Bracelets of Palestine: Preliminary Findings,” Journal of Glass Studies 34 (1992): 44–62 and her Ancient Glass in the Israel Museum: Beads and Other Small Objects (Jerusalem: Israel Museum, 2001).

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Because archaeologists have yet to independently date the ware from their excavations, the ceramicists have had to rely on the more formal characteristics of pottery itself to differentiate 16th-century vessels from Mamluk-era ones. These are surface decoration, form (shape of vessel and range of shapes), fabric (what the clay was made of), and assemblage (in other words, what percentage of all the pottery used at the same time in the same place did HMGP represent).14 By the 15th/16th centuries, potters included more grog (crushed pottery), quartz, and pebbles in their clay, as well as chaff, and most of the vessels appear to have been fired in outdoor kilns (a typical “cottage industry” technique leaving behind firing blushes on the vessel exterior, a sign uneven firing) (Fig. 3). The range of vessel forms in the 16th century was reduced to simple bowls and the occasional single-handled jar. As for the painted decoration, in the 16th century, the patterns seem to become less complex and more linear, the color range is limited to dark brown or black, the paint tends to flake off, less of the vessel is actually painted, and the vessel is less often slipped (Fig. 4).15 These changes reflect potentially important socio-cultural changes on the local level in the 16th century, including a reorientation to local markets and household production of objects for daily use (or “local production for local consumption”), and possible changes in diet, for which we have emerging evidence from paleobotanical and zooarchaeological studies. This is a point to which we will return shortly.

Fig. 3. Handmade Jar Fired in an Open Kiln – Field B “jar pit”, Tall Hisba¯n (courtesy Felicitas ˙ Weber and Aris Legowski, project archives).

Not all handmade pottery was painted. Recent petrographic studies of both painted and unpainted pottery in Transjordan and Palestine suggests that the wares belonged to different traditions of production. Plain handmade bowls have not yet been subjected to the same analysis as HMGP. It is an important ware that came to dominate the ceramic record of rural sites in the region from the 16th 14 Gabrieli et al, “Production and Distribution of HMGP”. 15 A slip is an undercoating of a diluted white clay applied to the vessel surface before painting or glazing.

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Fig. 4. Handmade Geometrically Painted Jar – Field M house, Tall Hisba¯n (courtesy Horn Mu˙ seum, Institute of Archaeology, Andrews University, project archives).

century. The most important unpainted handmade pottery of the period, however, was the cooking pot with elephant ear-shaped handles (Fig. 5). The form is a later development of a classical Mamluk form, which was covered in a burnished red slip and deeply globular in shape, to accommodate the cooking of stews, for example. The 16th-century form is often not burnished, is coarser in fabric, and unevenly fired, and the “elephant-eared” handles tend to be either higher in profile or closer to the body (developing into mere ledge-shaped handles). Changes in cooking pots can be related to changes in diet (perhaps a deeper bowl for a stew with greater meat content or for serving and consuming from the same vessel) or food preparation traditions (a different shaped handle might reflect changes in cooking time), which may be related to demographic shifts, as well. The ultimate meaning of these changes on the cultural level needs further investigation.16

Fig. 5. Elephant-eared Cookpot, Mamluk Period – Tall Hisba¯n (courtesy Horn Museum, Institute of Archaeology, Andrews University, project archives).˙

While glazed pottery largely disappears from Transjordan, at least for a while, after the Ottoman conquest, bowls with a dark green glaze continue to show up in the ruins of rural houses and plowed fields (the result of manuring) through the 16th century. Largely associated with the 14th century (the height of the Mamluk period) and widely distributed throughout Bila¯d al-Sha¯m, Anatolia, Greece, and the Jazira, variants of this ware continue to be produced and consumed in other 16 For an excellent discussion on steatite cooking vessels in this regard, see Alison Gascoigne, “Cooking pots and choices in the medieval Middle East,” in Pottery and Social Dynamics in the Mediterranean and Beyond in Medieval and Post-Medieval Times, ed. John Bintliff and Marta Caroscio (London: British Archaeological Reports, 2013), 1–10.

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regions of the Ottoman Empire (including today’s Turkey and Iraq) as late as the 20th century.17 It is very difficult to distinguish the Mamluk version of this kind of pottery from its Ottoman-era variant in southern Bila¯d al-Sha¯m. Fortunately, excavations of the historic village of Hubra¯s in northern Jordan – which was ˙ ˙ settled through the Mamluk and Early Ottoman periods – suggest ways the ware th developed in the 16 century in at least this region: the in-turned rim and carinated forms of the Mamluk form are replaced with a hemispherical form and straight or out-turned rim (Fig. 6); the ring base becomes “heavy”, with a squarish profile and stepped, sharply cut, or cushion form; and the glaze is either heavily applied and dark and glossy, or it is applied sparingly on white slip, with a tendency to bubble and crack. The changes in form in the 16th century may possibly be related to the gradual importation of Anatolian glazed wares in larger centers: the Transjordanian ware appears to imitate some of the glazed coarse wares produced in Istanbul in the same period and widely distributed through Ottoman territories.18 They are cheaper, locally produced versions of new imperial table wares, which follow traditions long popular in rural households of the region.

Fig. 6. Ottoman-Era Cup and Bowl Rims – misc. sites in Jordan (from Bethany J. Walker, “Identifying the Late Islamic period ceramically”, p. 130, Fig. 5.4). Reproduced with permission of the ASOR.

17 See review of literature in Walker, “Identifying the Late Islamic Period Ceramically”. 18 Hayes’ “Turkish coarse wares” – John W. Hayes, Excavations at Saraçhane in Istanbul Volume 2, The Pottery (Princeton: Princeton University, 1992).

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Handmade wares and green-glazed bowls also constituted the table wares of rural households in Palestine. Rural communities here, however, continued to participate in larger exchange networks after the Ottoman conquest, networks which disintegrated in Transjordan with the waning of the Mamluk Sultanate. As in Transjordan, imported fine wares largely disappear from Palestinian households, at least for a time and in certain regions, however a wider range of international wares were imitated and produced locally. The ceramic record of the Palestinian highlands, for example, largely parallels that of Transjordan for this period, but with its own local traditions of production.19 Excavations at the site of Zuq alFouqani in the upper Galilee, as well, have a produced pottery of the period that is essentially indistinguishable from that of Transjordan, with one exception: the retrieval here of an early version or prototype of Rushaya al-Fukhar Ware from 15–17th-century levels.20 The wheel-made jugs painted in red designs are imports from southern Lebanon and attest to the continued participation of this village in larger, regional distributions networks well into the 16th century. Other rural sites in northern Israel have produced a similar range of pottery for the period21. Urban hinterlands, however, present a different picture. Jerusalem, and the villages that supported it agriculturally, have become a focus of interest for the archaeology of the Late Mamluk and Early Ottoman period, the result of a recent surge of salvage excavations. While the excavations in the Old City have been spatially limited, they have produced some excellent archaeological contexts for the stratigraphic isolation of 16th-century ceramics.22 This pottery, the product of 19 Palestinian excavations at Ti‘innik, Zir‘ı¯n, and Tell Birzeit, largely in publication stage, have been informative about settlement history and the material culture of traditional Palestinian society during the transition to Ottoman rule (Ghada Ziadeh, “Ottoman Ceramics from Tiʿinnik, Palestine,” Levant 27 (1995): 209–245; Khaled Nashef and O. ʿAbd Rabu, “Abha¯th ˙ wa-Tanqı¯ba¯t fı¯ Khirbat Bı¯rzayt 1999,” Journal of Palestinian Archaeology 1.2 (2000): 4–12; Hamed Salem, “Bila¯d al-Sha¯m: The Mamluk and Early Ottoman Settlement System”, in Oxford Handbook of Islamic Archaeology, ed. Bethany J. Walker (Oxford: Oxford University Press, forthcoming). 20 Moshe Hartal, Moshe. “Zuq al-Fauqani,” Hadashot Arkheologiyot 120 (2008). http://www. hadashot-esi.org.il/report_detail_eng.asp?id=858&mag_id=114. The site is a rural house, which was occupied from the 14th through 19th centuries. 21 Personal communication, Dr. Edna Stern, Israel Antiquities Authority, Akko District. 22 This has not always been the case. In general, the stratigraphic contexts in the Old City have tended to be poor, the result of the city having been destroyed, rebuilt, and modified so often. Until recently, pottery of the later historical periods has been found in fill layers without clear association with architecture or floors. Among the recent excavations that have produced secure stratigraphic contexts for late Mamluk and Early Ottoman pottery are the Austrian Hospice, located off the Via Dolorosa and excavated in 2011–2012 (recovered from two floors, one of which was sealed by a meter of earthquake debris, separating 15th and 16th-century pottery); and the recent Ohel Yitzak synagogue excavations, near the Western Wall plaza (with

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local potter’s guilds, is of a local red clay and comes in the form of glazed carinated bowls (which imitate yellow-glazed, carinated bowls produced in northern Italy in the previous century), ibriqs (and other amphorae and jars, used for the transport of olive oil; the washing of hands before and after meals; and the serving of fruit juices, which were Ottoman customs), saucer lamps (differing from their Mamluk prototypes by the thickness of their walls, lack of glaze, and fabric), glazed chamber pots (with a ledge rim), and imitations of pottery produced at that time in Iznik. The retrieval of foreign imports from the same contexts helped to date the local wares to the 16th century.23 The same range of pottery is currently appearing in excavations of villages in the Jerusalem hinterland.24 One can infer many things about possible cultural change from this emerging ceramic record: 1. the larger towns (and their supporting villages) were pulled into the orbit of new trade centers, 2. diet and serving practices were gradually changing, and 3. these villages were active participants in Jerusalem’s culture of exchange and consumption.

Vernacular architecture The rural architecture of the period, however, is more difficult to interpret. Throughout the 16th century, the Ottoman state did very little to visually impose itself on the countryside, as no new towns were built in Palestine or Transjordan and few structures of “classical” Ottoman form were built anew locally, with the exception of the forts on Jordan’s Desert Highway. This “light footprint”, to use archaeological parlance, and the conservatism of local architectural traditions sealed contexts!) (personal communication Dr. Benjamin Dolinka, Research Archaeologist and Medieval Ceramics Specialist, Jerusalem District, Israel Antiquities Authority). 23 These include Ligurian blue-on-blue (imported from Savona and Genoa in the 16th century), 16th-century Italian majolicas, Green Miletus Ware, authentic Iznik pottery, and Ming porcelains (produced in Yingdezheh from the 15th century) (Benjamin Dolinka,“The Islamic Pottery,” in “Excavations at the Gloria Hotel in the Christian Quarter of the Old City, Jerusalem”, ed. A. Nagar, Hadashot Arkheologiyot, in process; ibid, “The Middle and Late Islamic Pottery from the Excavations at the Austrian Hospice (Old City, Jerusalem), 2011–2012,” ʿAtiqot, in process; ibid, “Ceramics and Daily Life in Medieval Jerusalem: Insights on International Trade and Local Production from Recent Excavations of the Israel Antiquities Authority,” Unpublished lecture, Graduate Seminar in Archaeology for the University of the Holy Land, Rothberg Institute (Hebrew University), 29 May 2013; ibid, “The Middle and Late Islamic Ceramics from Beit Musa Effendi, Arab Quarter, Old City of Jerusalem,” ’Atiqot, in process; ibid, “The Islamic Ceramics from Misgav Ladach 26 (Old City, Jerusalem),” Unpublished IAA report.). I am grateful to Dr. Dolinka for making these reports, unpublished at the time of writing this article, available to me. 24 Dan Storchan and Benjamin Dolinka. “Jerusalem, Bayit Va-Gan,” Hadashot Arkheologiyot 126 (2014).

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has made it difficult to date vernacular architecture, which changed little in form from the Crusader/Ayyubid through Mandate periods and practically never carry building inscriptions with dates of construction, restoration, or endowment.25 The point of focus is the village house, usually referred to as a “farmhouse” in archaeological literature, for want of a better term. The forms of these structures are indistinguishable from stables, oven houses, and storage facilities: it is the contents of the buildings that betray their function. Moreover, one cannot differentiate between village houses of the Mamluk or Ottoman periods by building form alone. The pottery found inside, which tends to be the very wares of ambiguous chronology discussed above, is, unfortunately, our primary means of dating the buildings. With these caveats in mind, we are nonetheless learning much about village life in this region in the 16th century through the study of these buildings. 1.

Transjordan

Excavations in the grain-producing, highland plateaus of central Jordan have uncovered the extensive remains of villages of the Mamluk period which continued to be occupied well into the Ottoman era. The ruins at Khirbat Fa¯ris on the Kerak Plateau, Dhiba¯n on the Dhiba¯n Plateau, and Tall Hisba¯n in the Madaba ˙ Plains suggest a common architectural tradition, one which spans the 13th centh tury to the early 20 : these are roughly rectangular, barrel-vaulted, one-room stone houses, built without foundations and with heavy, meter-thick walls and usually earthen floors (the beautiful plastered floors at Hisba¯n seem to be ex˙ ceptional) (Fig. 7).26 They range in size from 4x3 meters (at Faris) to twice that size (as at Hisba¯n) and are sometimes furnished with stone benches built into the ˙ walls. The construction is simple, the walls built of field stones and rubble and mud. The houses are clustered together, in what appear to be extended family units, with shared courtyards and cisterns. Like handmade pottery, it has been 25 Alison McQuitty, “Architectural Study of Beit Ras,” Archiv für Orientforschung 33 (1986): 153–155; ibid, “Khirbat Fa¯ris: Vernacular Architecture on the Karak Plateau, Jordan,” Mamluk Studies Review 11.1 (2007): 157–171; Alison McQuitty and C.J. Lenzen, “An Architectural Study of the Irbid Region with Particular Reference to a Building in Irbid,” Levant 21 (1989): 119–128. 26 McQuitty, “Vernacular Architecture”; Benjamin Porter, “Locating Middle Islamic Dhiban on the Mamluk imperial periphery,” Fondation Max von Berchem Bulletin 24 (2010): 5–7; Benjamin Porter, Bruce Routledge, Danielle S. Fatkin, William Zimmerle, John Hakes, Johanna Salvant, and Warren Schultz, “The Dhiban Excavation and Development Project’s 2005 Season,” Annual of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan 54 (2010): 9–34; Bethany J. Walker, “Planned Villages and Rural Resistance on the Mamluk Frontier: A Preliminary Report on the 2013 Excavation Season at Tall Hisban,” in History and Society during the Mamluk Period (1250–1517), ed. Stephan Conermann (Bonn: University of Bonn, 2014), 157– 192.

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difficult to isolate the specifically 16th century developments of this tradition. While Fa¯ris continued to be occupied well into the Ottoman era, Dhiba¯n and Hisba¯n were gradually abandoned over the course of the 16th, with seasonal and ˙ sporadic reoccupation of the ruins by pastoral nomads thereafter. At this time, what remained of the large village of Hisba¯n was reduced to what appear to be ˙ isolated farmhouses with stand-alone cisterns at the base of the tell. The houses of the upper slopes, which form a line parallel to the Citadel wall, had been in ruins, or otherwise reused as stables and areas of refuse disposal, for well over a century.27

Fig. 7. Late Medieval Farmhouse – Field O, Tall Hisba¯n (author). ˙

We fortunately have a rare textual confirmation of this architectural tradition in the Mamluk period, in a partially published waqfı¯yyah documenting the endowment of several rural properties throughout Syria by Sultan Shaʿba¯n in 777/ 1375.28 The document describes in rare detail the physical contours of the village

27 Walker, “Planned Villages”; Bethany J. Walker and Øystein LaBianca, “Hisban Cultural Heritage Project”, on the 2013 field season, pp. 645–6 in “Archaeology in Jordan, 2012 and 2013 Seasons,” ed. Donald R. Keller, Barbara A. Porter, and Christopher A. Tuttle, American Journal of Archaeology 118.4 (2014): 627–76; Bethany J. Walker, Robert Bates, Jeff Hudon, and Øystein LaBianca, “Tall Hisban 2013 and 2014 Excavation Seasons: Exploration of the Medieval Village and Long-Term Water Systems”, Annual of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan 59 (2015): in press. 28 Waqfiyyah 8/49; Yusuf Ghawanmeh, “al-Qaryah fı¯ Janu¯b al-Sha¯m (al-Urdun wa-Filast¯ın) fı¯ al˙

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– its lands, amenities, and industries – as well as the 83 houses there. These were stone constructions with barrel vaulted roofs and shared cisterns. The many caves in the vicinity were dedicated to grain storage, a tradition continued until relatively modern times. 2.

Palestine

The few excavations of contemporary settlements in Palestine have uncovered architecture of the same tradition.29 The houses of the central highland village of Khirbat Birzeit, located near Ramallah, were occupied from the Crusader/ Ayyubid through Early Ottoman periods. The village appears to have been divided by a street into two neighborhoods, each comprised of small one to tworoom houses with closed courtyards, lined along that thoroughfare and facing it. The one fully excavated house had a single room, 5–4 meters in size, and was built of stone with heavy, meter-thick walls, a plastered barrel vault, and a bench built into one wall, echoing the structure of the houses excavated at Tall Hisba¯n. The ˙ remains of several bread ovens, like those found at Khirbat Fa¯ris, were found outside. A monumental building of similar construction – perhaps the fortified residence of the village Shaykh – sets this site apart, however. In the 16th century, a room was added to the east side of the “Main Building”, as it is called by the excavators. The width of the pre-existing doorways was reduced, new floors were built, and part of the building was transformed into a cooking and storage area, suggesting that the function of the building changed at this time.30 The architecture of the period in northern Palestine reflects only a slightly different tradition. The village of Zuq al-Fauqani, described earlier in relation to the Lebanese imports, was occupied from the 14th through the 19th centuries.31 Excavations there of one house documented a distinctive phase of occupation for the 16th century (Phase III), when a new building was constructed on top of the earlier Mamluk one, but oriented a different direction. Its walls were built of mud-brick on stone foundations. Nothing of the superstructure, apparently, remained.

ʿAsr al-Mamlu¯kı¯ fı¯ Dawʾ Waqfiyyat Qaryat Adar,” Studies in the History and Archaeology of ˙ ˙ Jordan 1 (1982): 363–71. 29 Nashef and ʿAbd Rabu, “Khirbat Bı¯rzayt”. 30 Salem, “The Mamluk and Early Ottoman Settlement Systems”. 31 Edna J. Stern, “The Crusader, Mamluk and Early Ottoman-Period Pottery from Khirbat Dinʿila: Typology, Chronology, Production and Consumption Trends,” ʿAtiqot 78 (2014): 72– 112.

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Settlement and land use The16th century represents the culmination of trends that had been developing from a much earlier period. The transformation of the Mamluk iqta¯ʿ system, and the endowment craze that followed in its wake, were very important factors in restructuring the countryside; in patterning settlement, diversifying the exploitation of natural resources, and altering traditional power relations on the village level.32 Many of these processes have left an archaeological trace. As changes in settlement, land use, and land tenure cannot be separated from one another – they functioned as part of the same system – we treat them as a unit.

1.

Transjordan

By the end of the Mamluk period, the Transjordan, for example, experienced a 30–75 % decline in settlement. Certain regions were hit harder than others. Archaeological surveys document the large-scale abandonment of the highland plateaus and the Jordan River Valley. Placed against the backdrop of land use and landscape variables, an interesting pattern becomes clear: there was a general movement of people from regions reliant on state-funded irrigation and the rainfed plateaus dedicated to grains to better-watered lands where small-scale (and traditional systems) of run-off irrigation had been practiced. Parallel to this is another pattern: many of the newly settled regions were in lands that had been recently privatized and no longer under the control of the state. The new settlements were smaller, more ephemeral in construction, and connected to smaller fields, garden, and orchards. It is likely that a confluence of factors drove this migration of people from the larger villages to smaller ones: climatic, political, and economic change. The dispersal of settlement in Transjordan in the late Mamluk period may have been the combined result of new economic opportunities (such as the privatization of land), which pushed farmers further afield to live and farm; climatic trends (drier conditions favoring small-scale irrigation regimes and diversified agriculture); and the withdrawal of state investment from the rural sector, under which conditions smaller, more widely dispersed plots had a greater possibility to survive the new political and climatic conditions than the large, contiguous grain fields of the 14th century.33 This demographic pattern is usually described archaeologically as “settlement dispersal”. It is an important phenomenon in social history and one impacted by political systems and institutions, community structure, kinship, and land tenure 32 Walker, Jordan in the Late Middle Ages. 33 Ibid, 211–232.

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and use.34 Archaeological and ethnographic studies suggest that certain conditions are conducive for settlement dispersal: changes in land tenure and use (namely the opportunity for private land-holding and the changes in cropping that might go with it), changes in state structure that once controlled land (and more local control over land management and agricultural marketing), and the character of the local community (less reliance on communal labor and the dissolving of kinship ties, for example). Many of these conditions were in place by the sixteenth century. The catalyst for these changes may be found in the “waqfization” of the countryside, a theme that figures prominently in Mamluk scholarship of the last decade.35 In the Transjordan, agricultural land was acquired through various legal fictions from the State Treasury by Mamluk sultans and amirs and gradually privatized and subsequently endowed. It was not only the ruling elite that became active in the land-grab of the Burji Mamluk period, however: members of the rural elite – merchants, local officials, and tribal leaders – acquired in this manner agricultural lands, namely irrigated properties (namely gardens and orchards), dry-farmed fields of modest dimensions (for the cultivation of grains), and nothing in the open plains.36 At the time of the Ottoman conquest, it seems that, as in Egypt, a large proportion of the cultivable land was either in private hands or tied up in endowments, as attested in the tax registers of the period. Because the Ottomans required proof of purchase to support land claims, some information on local 34 Susan Buck Sutton, “Liquid Landscapes: Demographic transitions in the Ermionidha,” in Contingent Countryside: Settlement, Economy, and Land Use in the Southern Argolid since 1700, ed. Susan Sutton (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2000), 84–106; S. J. Rippon, R. M. Fyfe, and A. G. Brown, “Beyond Villages and Open Field: The Origins and Development of a Historic Landscape Characterised by Dispersed Settlement in South-East England,” Medieval Archaeology 50 (2006): 31–70; Tony Wilkinson, “The Tell: Social Archaeology and Territorial Space,” in Development of Pre-State Communities in the Ancient Near East, ed. Diana Bolger and Louise C. Maguire (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2010), 55–62; Bethany J. Walker, “The Northern Jordan Project and the ‘Liquid Landscapes’ of Late Islamic Bilad al-Sham,” in The Materiality of the Islamic Rural World, ed. Stephen McPhillips and Paul Wordworth (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015), 222–244. 35 Carl F. Petry, Protectors or Praetorians? The Last Mamluk Sultans and Egypt’s Waning as a Great Power (Albany: SUNY Press, 1994); ibid, “Fractionalized Estates in a Centralized Regime: The Holdings of al-Ashraf Qaytbay and Qansuh al-Ghawri According to their Waqf Deeds,” Journal of the Social and Economic History of the Orient 41.1 (1998): 96–117; ibid, “Waqf as an Instrument of Investment in the Mamluk Sultanate: Security or Profit?,” in Slave Elites in the Middle East and Africa: A Comparative Study, ed. Toru Miura and John Edwards Philips (N.Y.: Kegan Paul International, 2000), 95–115; I. B. Abu Gha¯zı¯, Tatawwur al-Hiya¯zah ˙ al-In˙ al-Buhu¯th al-Zira¯ʿyah fi Misr al-Mama¯lı¯k al-Jara¯kisah (Cairo: ʿAyn li-Dirasa¯t wa ˙ Imperial ˙ ¯ ʿiyyah, 2000); Daisuke Igarashi, Land Tenure, Fiscal Policy and sa¯nı¯yyah wa al-Ijtima Power in Medieval Syro-Egypt (Chicago: Middle East Documentation Center, University of Chicago, 2014). 36 Walker, Jordan in the Late Middle Ages, 211–232.

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land-holding has been retained in tax registers from documents that are now long gone. The properties thus described are never very large: small plots of land (mazra¯ʿahs, qitʿahs) or shares in farmland, gardens, orchards, mills, houses, and ˙ shops. Some of the register entries document with certitude the status of these properties as privately held, by including the date of “purchase” (ta¯rı¯kh almushta¯rı¯) or “certification” (musadaqa).Most purchases were certified during the late fifteenth and early sixteenth century.37 The changes in land tenure and use that followed the privatization, endowment, and estate-building in the fourteenth century directly impacted rural lands and village communities. In the Transjordan, it was largely the regions where land had been privatized, where irrigated agricultural regimes dominated, and where communities were economically self-sufficient that villages remained settled and continued to flourish in the 16th century. The villages of the better watered northern Jordanian hill country, one should emphasize, actually grew demographically and economically, and diversified their agricultural production, over the course of the 16th century, as suggested by the Ottoman tax registers of the region. Local and regional markets there thrived. One notes the opposite trend for the central and southern highland plateaus, however.

2.

Palestine

How do these patterns compare to Palestine? Preliminary analysis of demographic and settlement trends in the central highlands suggests that Palestine probably did not experience the same demographic upheavals as the Transjordan. Hamed Salem’s recent study on the matter, based on the site of Khirbet Birzeit and its vicinity, documents considerable continuity in the revenue system and land administration in the 16th century from the Mamluk period.38 In comparing the 16th-century tapu defterleri, the results of modern archaeological surveys, and surveys of villages in the British Mandate period, he concludes that no major changes in settlement or land use occurred between the Mamluk and Ottoman period (with 1004 sites occupied in the Mamluk and a small drop to 960 in the Ottoman period), and that half of the villages recorded by the Mandate authorities were occupied, as well, in the Mamluk and Ottoman periods. This amounts to a decline of only 1–3 % for larger and smaller villages and 2 % for their supporting sites, from the 16th century. The site of Birzeit exemplifies these trends: the Mamluk village and the monumental building to the west continued 37 Muhammad Adna¯n al-Bakhı¯t and Noufan Raja Hmoud, eds. The Detailed Defter of Liwaʾ ˙ Ankara 1005 A.H./1596 A.D. (Amman: ʿAjlu˙¯ n (The District of Ajlun) Tapu Defteri No. 185, University of Jordan, 1991); Walker, Jordan in the Late Middle Ages, 246. 38 Salem, “Mamluk and Early Ottoman Settlement System”.

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to be occupied, in more or less the same form, with only one major new construction to the south in the 16th century. In spite of some evidence, then, for minor abandonment, at least this part of Palestine witnessed overall continuity of settlement into the Early Ottoman period and sustained more or less Mamlukera levels of settlement and intensive land use. A land of high agricultural potential, buttressed by sustainable framing and clan support, prevented the largescale demographic shifts documented in many parts of the Transjordan.

Conclusion The superstructures of continuity revealed by the historical and administrative records should not obscure the localized processes of transformation that operated underneath. Long-term changes in land tenure and use slowly impacted southern Bila¯d al-Sha¯m over the course of the 15th and 16th centuries. While the regional differences between the Transjordan and Palestine need to be more precisely defined and explained, the emerging picture for the 16th century is one of a general return to more traditional, sustainable agriculture, the revival of local markets, and dispersal of population (though not necessarily population decline) in areas of more vulnerable land use. Political turmoil, and particularly the Bedouin incursions so frequently lamented in the narrative sources of the late Mamluk period, was likely not a key factor in these transformations of the peopled landscape on the long-run. Tribal migrations from the Hijaz, and the ensuing conflicts over limited resources and territorial claims, certainly had an impact on rural settlement in the region, but this was a development of the 18th and 19th centuries, not the 16th.39 While this period is slowly coming into sharper focus archaeologically, many methodological and conceptual problems continue to plague our efforts to write a dependable narrative of peasants’ lives in southern Syria at the transition from Mamluk to Ottoman rule. We need more excavations of well stratified sites in order to properly date the handmade coarse wares that dominate the archaeological record for this period, and to stratigraphically and chronologically distinguish the 15th (late Mamluk) from the 16th (Early Ottoman) centuries. Until we do so, the picture of continuity will be more assumed than proven. We need, moreover, to refine our definitions of settlement forms. Not all rural sites are “villages”, nor are isolated buildings in the countryside necessarily “farmsteads”. Contemporaries used different terms to describe a range of size and functions of 39 Jeremy Johns, “The Longue Durée: State and Settlement Strategies in Southern Transjordan across the Islamic Centuries”, in Village, Steppe and State: The Social Origins of Modern Jordan, ed. Eugene L. Rogan and Tariz Tell (London: British Academic Press, 1994), 22.

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rural sites, which together constituted a network of rural settlement and agricultural production. Mamluk chroniclers and Ottoman tax officials distinguished between the baldah (town), qaryah (village), daʿyah (farmstead or hamlet), mazra¯ʿah (isolated but cultivated plot of land), and khirbah (ruins of an abandoned settlement) 40, although their criteria for doing so is not always clear to us. Our own terminology should reflect these categories, as well as uniquely archaeological ones that reflect size and function and the role of a site in a larger network of settlements and markets. We need, as well, to problematize the term “farmhouse” and take systematic steps to distinguish among architectural forms that may on the surface be all the same. These challenges are readily acknowledged among archaeologists. As we focus our efforts to address them, the 16th century, which has long been a shadowy, ambiguous, and non-descript period of cultural history, may attain a distinctiveness that rivals the Mamluk and Tanzimat eras.

Bibliography Sources Waqfı¯yyah 8/49, Hajaj ‘umara¯’ wa sala¯t¯ın – endowments of Sultan Sha‘ban for his madrasa ˙ in Cairo, 777/1375, Da¯r al-Watha¯’iq, Cairo.

Studies Abu Gha¯zı¯, I. B. Tatawwur al-Hiya¯zah al-Zira¯ʿyah fi Misr al-Mama¯lı¯k al-Jara¯kisah. Cairo: ˙ ˙ ˙ ʿAyn li-Dirasa¯t wa al-Buhu¯th al-Insa¯nı¯yyah wa al-Ijtima¯ʿiyyah, 2000. ˙ al-Bakhı¯t, Muhammad Adna¯n and Noufan Raja Hmoud, eds. The Detailed Defter of Liwaʾ ˙ ˙ ʿAjlu¯n (The District of Ajlun) Tapu Defteri No. 185, Ankara 1005 A.H./1596 A.D. Amman: University of Jordan, 1991.

40 The meaning of the terms “mazraʿah” and “khirbah” have, unsurprisingly, changed over time, and have acquired different usage in different regions of Bila¯d al-Sha¯m. In the Palestinian highlands in the Ottoman era, the mazraʿah came to be associated with a particular kind of well-built dry stone farming complex (also called a qasr), occupied only seasonally by an extended family during the olive, fig, or grape harvesting˙ seasons. Over time, the places where these complexes were located grew into permanent villages, but the old seasonal “farmsteads” appeared to be in ruins by the local villagers, and were then called khirbahs. This latter term remains with us today as place names in the Palestinian landscape, frequently cited as such by travelers of the 19th century. Khirbah does not appear to carry this meaning or history in Transjordan, and mazraʿah refers only to cultivated land.

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Brown, Robin. Late Islamic Ceramic Production and Distribution in the Southern Levant: A Socio-Economic and Political Analysis. Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Binghamton State University, 1992. Dolinka, Benjamin “The Islamic Pottery.” In “Excavations at the Gloria Hotel in the Christian Quarter of the Old City, Jerusalem”, ed. A. Nagar, Hadashot Arkheologiyot: in process. –. “The Middle and Late Islamic Pottery from the Excavations at the Austrian Hospice (Old City, Jerusalem), 2011–2012.” ʿAtiqot: in process. –. “Ceramics and Daily Life in Medieval Jerusalem: Insights on International Trade and Local Production from Recent Excavations of the Israel Antiquities Authority.” Unpublished lecture. Graduate Seminar in Archaeology for the University of the Holy Land, Rothberg Institute (Hebrew University), 29 May 2013. –. “The Middle and Late Islamic Ceramics from Beit Musa Effendi, Arab Quarter, Old City of Jerusalem.” ’Atiqot: in process. –. “The Islamic Ceramics from Misgav Ladach 26 (Old City, Jerusalem).” Unpublished IAA report. François, Véronique. Céramiques de la citadelle de Damas. Epoques mamelouke et ottoman. Interactive CD, Aix-en-Provence, 2008. Franken, Hendricus J. and J. Kalsbeek. Pottery of a Medieval Vullage in the Jordan Valley. Excavations at Tell Deir ʿAlla: A Medieval Tell, Tell Abu Gourdan, Jordan. Amsterdam: North-Holland Publishing, 1975. Gabrieli, R. Smadar, David Ben-Shlomo, and Bethany J. Walker. “Production and Distribution of Geometrically-Painted (HMGP) and Plain Hand-Made Wares of the Mamluk Period: A Case Study from Northern Israel, Jerusalem and Tall Hisban.” Journal of Islamic Archaeology 1.2 (2014): 193–229. Gascoigne, Alison. “Cooking pots and choices in the medieval Middle East.” In Pottery and Social Dynamics in the Mediterranean and Beyond in Medieval and Post-Medieval Times, ed. John Bintliff and Marta Caroscio, 1–10. London: British Archaeological Reports, 2013. Ghawanmeh, Yusuf. “al-Qaryah fı¯ Janu¯b al-Sha¯m (al-Urdun wa-Filast¯ın) fı¯ al-ʿAsr al˙ ˙ Mamlu¯kı¯ fı¯ Dawʾ Waqfiyyat Qaryat Adar.” Studies in the History and Archaeology of ˙ Jordan 1 (1982): 363–71. Hartal, Moshe. “Zuq al-Fauqani.” Hadashot Arkheologiyot 120 (2008). http://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/report_detail_eng.asp?id=858&mag_id=114. Hayes, John W. Excavations at Saraçhane in Istanbul Volume 2, The Pottery. Princeton: Princeton University, 1992. Igarashi, Daisuke. Land Tenure, Fiscal Policy and Imperial Power in Medieval Syro-Egypt. Chicago: Middle East Documentation Center, University of Chicago, 2014. Johns, Jeremy, “The Longue Durée: State and Settlement Strategies in Southern Transjordan across the Islamic Centuries.” In Village, Steppe and State: The Social Origins of Modern Jordan, ed. Eugene L. Rogan and Tariz Tell, 1–31. London: British Academic Press, 1994. –. The Rise of Middle Islamic Hand-Made Geometrically-Painted Ware in Bilad al-Sham (11th-13th Centuries A.D.). In Colloque international d’archéologie islamique, ed. R.-P. Gayraud, 65–93. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, 1998.

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McQuitty, Alison. “Architectural Study of Beit Ras.” Archiv für Orientforschung 33: 153– 155, 1986. –. “Khirbat Fa¯ris: Vernacular Architecture on the Karak Plateau, Jordan.” Mamluk Studies Review 11.1 (2007): 157–171. McQuitty, Alison and C.J. Lenzen. “An Architectural Study of the Irbid Region with Particular Reference to a Building in Irbid.” Levant 21 (1989): 119–128. Milwright, Marcus. The Fortress of the Raven: Karak in the Middle Islamic Period (1100– 1650). Leiden: Brill, 2008. Nashef, Khaled and O. ʿAbd Rabu. 2000. “Abha¯th wa-Tanqı¯ba¯t fı¯ Khirbat Bı¯rzayt 1999.” ˙ Journal of Palestinian Archaeology 1.2: 4–12. Petry, Carl F. Protectors or Praetorians? The Last Mamluk Sultans and Egypt’s Waning as a Great Power. Albany: SUNY Press, 1994. –. “Fractionalized Estates in a Centralized Regime: The Holdings of al-Ashraf Qaytbay and Qansuh al-Ghawri According to their Waqf Deeds.” Journal of the Social and Economic History of the Orient 41.1 (1998): 96–117. –. “Waqf as an Instrument of Investment in the Mamluk Sultanate: Security or Profit?” In Slave Elites in the Middle East and Africa: A Comparative Study, ed. Toru Miura and John Edwars Philips., 95–115. N.Y.: Kegan Paul International, 2000. Porter, Benjamin. “Locating Middle Islamic Dhiban on the Mamluk imperial periphery.” Fondation Max von Berchem Bulletin 24 (2010): 5–7. Porter, Benjamin, Bruce Routledge, Danielle S. Fatkin, William Zimmerle, John Hakes, Johanna Salvant, and Warren Schultz. “The Dhiban Excavation and Development Project’s 2005 Season.” Annual of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan 54 (2010): 9– 34. Rippon, S. J., R. M. Fyfe, and A. G. Brown. “Beyond Villages and Open Field: The Origins and Development of a Historic Landscape Characterised by Dispersed Settlement in South-East England.” Medieval Archaeology 50 (2006): 31–70. Routledge, Bruce. “Household Archaeology in the Levant: A Review Article.” Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 370 (2013): 207–19. Sauer, James. “The Pottery at Hesban and its Relationship to the History of Jordan: An Interim Hesban Pottery Report.” In David Merling and Lawrence T. Geraty (eds.), Hesban After 25 Years, 225–281. (Berrien Springs, MI: Institute of Archaeology, Andrews University). Salem, Hamed. “Bila¯d al-Sha¯m: The Mamluk and Early Ottoman Settlement System.”, forthcoming. Sinibaldi, Micaela. “The Pottery from the 11th-20th Centuries from the FJHP Survey. Ceramics, Settlement, and Pilgrimage at Jabal Ha¯ru¯n During the Later Islamic Periods.”In The Mountain of Aaron. The Finis Archaeological Project in Jordan. Vol III: The Archaeological Survey, Paula Kouki and Mika Lavento, 169–192, 2013. Helsinki: Societas Scientiarum Fennica. Spaer, Maud, “The Islamic Glass Bracelets of Palestine: Preliminary Findings.” Journal of Glass Studies 34 (1992): 44–62. –. Ancient Glass in the Israel Museum: Beads and Other Small Objects. Jerusalem: Israel Museum, 2001.

Early Ottoman/Late Islamic I/post-Mamluk

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Stern, Edna J. “The Crusader, Mamluk and Early Ottoman-Period Pottery from Khirbat Dinʿila: Typology, Chronology, Production and Consumption Trends.” ʿAtiqot 78 (2014): 72–112. Storchan, Dan and Benjamin Dolinka. “Jerusalem, Bayit Va-Gan”. Hadashot Arkheologiyot 126 (2014). (http://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/Report_Detail_Eng.aspx?id=11622). Sutton, Susan Buck. “Liquid Landscapes: Demographic transitions in the Ermionidha.” In Contingent Countryside: Settlement, Economy, and Land Use in the Southern Argolid since 1700, ed. Susan Sutton, 84–106. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2000. Walker, Bethany J. “Southern Syria in the Islamic Period: Political Periphery or Nexus?”, in One Hundred Years of American Archaeology in the Levant: Proceedings of the American Schools of Oriental Research Centennial Celebration, Washington, DC, April 2000, ed. Doug Clark and Victor Matthews, 385–409. Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research, 2003. –. “Identifying the Late Islamic period ceramically: Preliminary observations on Ottoman wares from central and northern Jordan”, in Reflections of Empire: Archaeological and Ethnographic Studies on the Pottery of the Ottoman Levant, ed. Bethany J. Walker, 37– 66. Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research, 2009. –. , ed. Reflections of Empire: Archaeological and Ethnographic Studies on the Pottery of the Ottoman Levant, Boston: ASOR, Annual of the American School of Oriental Research, #64, 2009. –. Jordan in the Late Middle Ages: Transformation of the Mamluk Frontier. Chicago: Middle East Documentation Center, University of Chicago, 2011. –. “The Islamic Age.” In Hesban 11: The Pottery, ed. Larry Herr, 507–594. Berrien Springs, MI: Andrews University Press, 2012. –. “Planned Villages and Rural Resistance on the Mamluk Frontier: A Preliminary Report on the 2013 Excavation Season at Tall Hisban.” In History and Society during the Mamluk Period (1250–1517), ed. Stephan Conermann, 157–192. Studies of the Annemarie Schimmel Research College I. Bonn: University of Bonn, 2014. –. “The Northern Jordan Project and the ‘Liquid Landscapes” of Late Islamic Bilad alSham.” in The Materiality of the Islamic Rural World, ed. Stephen McPhillips and Paul Wordworth, 222–244. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015. Walker, Bethany J. and Øystein LaBianca. “Hisban Cultural Heritage Project”, on the 2013 field season, pp. 645–6 in “Archaeology in Jordan, 2012 and 2013 Seasons”, ed. Donald R. Keller, Barbara A. Porter, and Christopher A. Tuttle, American Journal of Archaeology 118.4 (2014): 627–76. Walker, Bethany J., Robert Bates, Jeff Hudon, and Øystein LaBianca. “Tall Hisban 2013 and 2014 Excavation Seasons: Exploration of the Medieval Village and Long-Term Water Systems.” Annual of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan 59 (2015): in press. Whitcomb, Donald. “Hesban, Amman, and Abbasid Archaeology in Jordan.” In The Archaeology of Jordan and beyond, essays in honor of James A. Sauer, ed. Larry E. Stager, Joseph A. Greene, and Michael D. Coogan, 505–515. Winona Lake, IN: Harvard Semitic Museum Publications, 2000. Wilkinson, Tony. “The Tell: Social Archaeology and Territorial Space.” In Development of Pre-State Communities in the Ancient Near East, ed. Diana Bolger and Louise C. Maguire, 55–62. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2010. Ziadeh, Ghada. “Ottoman Ceramics from Tiʿinnik, Palestine.” Levant 27 (1995): 209–245.

Notes on Contributors

Stephan Conermann is Professor of Islamic History at Bonn University. His research interests include dependencies, narrative strategies, networks, mobility and transition periods in Middle Eastern societies in premodern times. Among his recent publications are (ed., together with E. Smolarz) Mobilizing Religion: Networks and Mobility (2015), (ed.) Kulturspezifische Erzählstrategien in “nichtabendländischen” Lebensdarstellungen (2015), (ed.) Innovation oder Plagiat? Kompilationstechniken in der Vormoderne (2015), South Asia and the Indian Ocean (in: Wolfgang Reinhard (ed.), Empires and Encounters 1350–1750 (2015), 391–554, 983–1002, 1078–1090. Linda T. Darling is Professor of History at the University of Arizona, Tucson. She is the author of A History of Social Justice and Political Power in the Middle East: The Circle of Justice from Mesopotamia to Globalization (London: Routledge Press, 2013), and Revenue-Raising and Legitimacy: Tax Collection and Finance Administration in the Ottoman Empire, 1560–1660 (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1996). She has also more specifically written on early modern Syria: “The Syrian Provinces in Ottoman Eyes: Three Historians’ Representations of Bilad al-Sham,” in ARAM: The Mamluks and the Early Ottoman Period in Bilad al-Sham: History and Archaeology 9–10 (1997–1998): 347–55, and “Ottoman Provincial Treasuries: The Case of Syria,” in Mélanges Halil Sahilliog˘lu, Arab Historical Review for Ottoman Studies no. 15–16 (1997): 103–10. Timothy J. Fitzgerald is Assistant Professor of History at James Madison University, Harrisonburg, USA. He has a PhD in History and Middle Eastern Studies from Harvard University and has written articles on pre-modern Ottoman and Arab history. He is currently working on a book that undertakes a comparative study of the Ottoman conquest of the central Arab lands.

368

Notes on Contributors

Yehoshua Frenkel is Senior Lecturer at the University of Haifa and teaches premodern history of Muslim societies in Arabic speaking lands. His recent research interests embrace popular culture, communal practices, social history and legal discourse in medieval and early modern Egypt and Syria (1100–1700). At present, he is preparing an anthology of unpublished texts on these topics. His recent publications include Dawʾ al-sa¯rı¯ li–maʿrifat habar Tamı¯m al-Da¯rı¯ (On Tamı¯m ˙ ˘ al-Da¯rı¯ and His Waqf in Hebron) Critical Arabic Edition of al-Maqrizi, Ibn Hajar and al-Suyuti epistles, (Leiden: Brill, 2014) and The Turkic Peoples in Medieval Arabic Writings (Routledge: London, 2015). Wakako Kumakura is a Research Associate at Waseda University, Tokyo, with a Ph.D. from Ochanomizu University in 2011. She works on Mamluk and Ottoman social history, in particular the systems of land administration and irrigation maintenance in Egypt. Her recent articles are “To Where Have the Sultan’s Banks Gone? An Attempt to Reconstruct the Irrigation System of Medieval Egypt,” EJournal of Asian Network for GIS-based Historical Studies, 2 (2014): 11–21 and “Who Handed over Mamluk Land Registers to the Ottomans? A Study on the Administrators of Land Records in the Late Mamluk Period,” Mamluk Studies Review, XVIII (2014–15): 279–297. Paulina B. Lewicka is Associate Professor of Arabic and Islamic Studies, Faculty of Oriental Studies, University of Warsaw. Her research is focused on the cultural and social history of the medieval Near East, particularly of the Mamluk period. For a few years she has been working on topics related to the history of medical culture and inter-faith relations. Her publications include Sˇa¯fi‘ Ibn ‘Alı¯’s Biography of the Mamluk Sultan Qala¯wu¯n. Introduction, Edition, and Commentary (Warsaw: Dialog 2000) and Food and Foodways of Medieval Cairenes: Aspects of Life in an Islamic Metropolis of the Eastern Mediterranean (Leiden: Brill 2011). Alev Masarwa is a postdoc in the ALEA- Research group at the Institute for Arabic and Islamic Studies in Münster University (Germany) and the author ¯ lu¯sı¯ (1802– of Bildung – Macht – Kultur. Das Feld des Gelehrten Abu¯ t̠-T̠ana¯ʾ al-A 1854) im spätosmanischen Bagdad (2011). Toru Miura is Professor of Comparative History at Ochanomizu University in Tokyo and Head of the West Asian Studies Department at the Toyo Bunko (Oriental Library). His research field is the urban social history of the Middle East. His main works include Dynamism in the Urban Society of Damascus: The Salihiyya Quarter from the Twelfth to the Twentieth Centuries, (2016) and The Vellum Contract Documents in Morocco in the Sixteenth to Nineteenth Centuries, Tokyo, 2015 (co-editor).

Notes on Contributors

369

Cihan Yüksel Muslu is a member of History Department at University of Houston (Texas, USA). She received her PhD from History and Middle Eastern Studies Program at Harvard University in 2007. She worked at University of Texas at Dallas between 2007 and 2015. Her book The Ottomans and the Mamluks: Imperial Diplomacy and Warfare was published in 2014; its Turkish translation came out in 2016 (Kitap Yayınevi). She published several articles on OttomanMamluk relations. Claudia Römer is Associate Professor at the Institute of Oriental Studies of the University of Vienna. Her main fields of research are Ottoman documents, Ottoman philology and linguistics, and divan prose texts of the Middle Ottoman period. She co-authored (together with G. Gisela Procházka-Eisl) Osmanische Beamtenschreiben und Privatbriefe der Zeit Süleyma¯ns des Prächtigen aus dem Haus-, Hof- und Staatsarchiv zu Wien (2007). Currently, she is working together with Nicolas Vatin (Paris) on a Mühimme Defteri of 1563/4 from the Austrian National Library (Mxt. 270). Gül S¸en is Lecturer at the Institute of the Oriental and Asian Studies at University of Bonn and at present Junior Fellow at the Annemarie Schimmel Kolleg. She currently focuses on the early Ottoman period in Jordan from a transitional perspective. Her main areas of research cover pre-modern Ottoman history and historiography, particularly as far as the Syrian provinces are concerned, as well as court chronicles, narratology and the legitimacy of rule. Bethany Walker is Research Professor of Mamluk Studies, Co-Director of the Annemarie Schimmel Kolleg and founding Director of the Research Unit of Islamic Archaeology of the University of Bonn. She received her Ph.D. in Islamic Art and Archaeology from the University of Toronto in 1998 and previously held professorships in Missouri, Michigan, and Oklahoma before coming to Germany. A historically trained archaeologist, Walker directs three long-term projects in the region, and actively consults on Crusader and Islamic ceramics at eastern Mediterranean sites. Her current research centers on rural society and migration in the Mamluk period, environmental and agricultural history, and frontier studies. Among her publications are: Jordan in the Late Middle Ages: Transformation of the Mamluk Frontier (Chicago, 2011), and her edited Reflections of Empire: Archaeological and Ethnographic Studies on the Pottery of the Ottoman Levant (Boston, 2009). She is the Senior Editor of the Journal of Islamic Archaeology.

370

Notes on Contributors

Michael Winter is Professor Emeritus of the History of the Middle East at Tel Aviv University. He earned his PhD in Islamic Studies at the University of California (UCLA, 1972,). His research focuses on social and religious subjects (‘ulama¯’, qa¯d¯ıs, sa¯da /ashra¯f, Sufism, the Jews in Ottoman Egypt, education, and ˙ political thought in Islam) in Egypt and Syria under the Mamluks and the Ottomans. Winter pays particular attention the transition from Mamluk to Ottoman rule. His studies are based on the Turkish archives, and Arabic and Ottoman literary sources. He has published Society and Religion in Early Ottoman Egypt: Studies in the Writings of ‘Abd al-Wahha¯b al-Sha¯‘ranı¯ (Transaction, 1982, 2007) and Egyptian Society under Ottoman Rule, 1517–1792 (Routledge, 1992; Arabic translation, Cairo, 2001). Winter has co-edited four books, and is author of numerous chapters and articles. Torsten Wollina works on the history and historiography in Mamluk and Ottoman Syria. He has received his Ph.D. from the Free University, Berlin, in 2013 with a thesis on the diary-chronicle of Ahmad Ibn Tawq (d. 1509). He studied Islamic ˙ ˙ Studies, Modern History, and Intercultural Business Communication at Jena University until 2008. Since 2014, he is a research associate at the Orient-Institut Beirut. His research interests include book studies, economic history, and urban history.

Index This is an index of proper nouns only. The alphabetization disregards the Arabic definite article (al-) and transliteration symbols. Page numbers presented in ranges (e. g., “15–18”) indicate references in consecutive pages. The letter “n” denotes a reference contained in a footnote. Variant spellings (Ferha¯d, Farha¯d) are provided occasionally.

Abbasid(s) 249, 252n9, 282, 284, 300, 345 ʿAbd al-Ha¯dı¯ Family 216 ʿAbd al-Nabı¯ 225, 226n20, 227 ʿAbd al-Qa¯dir b. ʿUmar 215 ʿAbd al-Wahha¯b 211 ʿAbd al-Wahha¯b Gha¯zı¯ 283 Abdalfattah, Kamal 26 Abdurrahman Bey 163 Abu¯ al-Suʿu¯d al-Ja¯rih¯ı 140 ˙ Abu¯ Ayyu¯b 283 Abu¯ Bakr (Abu¯ Bakr as-Siddı¯q), caliph 14, ˙ ˙ 197, 202 Abu¯ l-Fath (Abu¯ l-Fath al-Ma¯likı¯, Sˇams ad˙ ˙ Dı¯n Abu¯ l-Fath al-Ma¯likı¯ at-Tu¯nisı¯) ˙ 182–183, 185 Abu¯ Suʿu¯d 186, 194 Abu¯ Suʿu¯d al-Ja¯rih¯ı 132, 140 ˙ Abu¯ ʿUmar 216, 243 Aceh 117 Acre 21n26, 24, 353n21 Adana 133, 161, 164, 282, 286, 298, 306, 319 Aegean 9, 32, 354 Ahmed Pasha (Ahmed Pasha al-Kha’in, ˙ Hain Ahmed Pasha) 34, 48, 115, 118, 122 Ahmed Shamsı¯ Pasha (Ahmed Sˇemsı¯ ˙ ˙ Pasha) 188n35, 189n36 Ahmed Süheylı¯ (Süheylı¯ Efendi) 117, 330 ˙ Ajlun (Aclun) 26, 164, 167, 329 Akko see Acre Ak-Köprü 275 Aks¸ehir (Aq-Shahir) 283 ʿAla¯ʾ al-Dawla (‘Ala¯’üd-devle) 37, 129, 132, 299n15, 302–303, 311

Aleppo 30, 38–39, 46–47, 132, 134, 136, 147, 152, 160n36, 189, 194, 209n7, 211, 226, 249–268, 276, 280, 314, 319, 329–330 see also Haleb ˙ Alexander 133, 285n71 Alexandria 94, 101, 139–140 ʿAlı¯, caliph 135, 197 Altı Parmak 51–52 Amasya 116 Amı¯r Isma¯’ı¯l 103 Amı¯r Yashbak 298 ¯ s 140 ʿAmr ibn al-ʿA ˙ Anadolu 149, 166, 169 see also Anatolia Anatolia 21, 36, 47, 88, 129, 131–132, 141, 152, 167, 171–172, 194n51, 250, 275–279, 282, 284–285, 299, 302n26, 306, 308, 315– 316, 330, 351 see also Anadolu al-Andalus 39 Ankara 296, 319 al-Anta¯kı¯, Da¯wu¯d 69n36, 72 ˙ Antalya 122 Aqaba 343 Arabia 249, 278, 280, 289 Arabistan 152, 169–170 Aramaic 178 Armenia also Armenian(s) 141, 225, 275n1, 300–301 ʿAshir Efendi 65 al-Ashraf Ina¯l, Mamluk sultan 284 Ashrafı¯ya Canal 101 Asia 16, 173, 264, 327 Asia Minor 31, 275n1, 284 Atlantic 265 Ayalon, David 40, 45, 330n18

372 Aya¯s Pasha 330 Ayyubid(s) 15, 90, 102, 104, 231–232, 241, 300, 344, 355, 357 Azerbaijan 37 Baalbek 161 Baba Zünnu¯n 314, 318 Bacqué-Grammont, Jean-Louis 330–331 al-Badawı¯, Ahmad 51–52 Badr al-Dı¯n Muhammad 211, 213 ˙ Badr al-Qawsu¯nı¯ 72n46, 75 ˙ Baghdad 21n26, 41, 164, 252n9 Baha¯ʾ al-Dı¯n Muhammad Ibn Quda¯ma ˙ 215 Baha¯ʾ al-Din Walad 275 Bahr Youssef (Bahr Yu¯suf) 91–92, 96, ˙ 100–102, 104–106 Bakhit, Muhammad Adnan 26–27, 148, 329n8 al-Bakrı¯ al-Siddı¯qı¯, Muhammad b. Abi’l˙ Suru¯r 33, 51 Balkans 40, 131, 299 Barada River 212, 235 Barqu¯q, Mamluk sultan 300 al-Batta¯l, Abu¯ Muhammad 283 ˙ ˙˙ Baybars, Mamluk sultan 231–233, 275n1, 300 Bayezid II, Ottoman sultan (Bayazid) 36, 129–130, 132, 282 Behrens-Abouseif, Doris 23, 25 Beirut 21n26, 162 Bektas¸i 131 Belen (Bayla¯n) 282 Belgrade 129 Berlin 186, 199 Besni (Behisni) 296, 299–300, 304–306, 314, 319–320 Bila¯d al-Sha¯m (Bilad al-Sham) 13, 16, 19– 23, 25–26, 28, 31, 54, 250–251, 275, 278– 279, 327–329, 343–344n3, 348, 351 see also Syria and Greater Syria Bila¯d al-Sha¯m, southern 21n24, 26, 31, 329, 343–344, 348, 352, 361, 362n40 see also Syria, southern Bitlis 164

Index

Black Sea 32, 133, 252 Borsch, Stuart 27 Bozok 302–303n29, 305–308, 311, 313– 314, 316n97, 319 Braudel, Fernand 15 British Mandate 349, 355, 360 Buhayra 94, 101, 107 ˙ Bursa 133, 163, 166, 239 Cairo 23, 28, 33, 37–48, 51–53, 59–65, 68, 70–72, 76–77, 79–80, 88, 92, 94, 106–107, 115, 117–118, 122, 128, 134–137, 139– 140, 147, 152, 154, 163, 172, 216, 228, 231, 236, 241, 249, 255, 277, 280–281, 287, 289, 296, 299–300, 316, 319 Çaldıran, Battle of (Chaldiran) 37, 131– 132, 299, 302 Cape of Good Hope 36 Capsali, Eliyahu 34 Cela¯lza¯de Mustafa¯ 116, 120, 328, 330, 333– ˙˙ 334 Cem Sultan (Prince Cem) 118 China 14, 16, 202 Cilicia 297, 314 Çirmen 299 Çivı¯za¯deh (Muhammad al-Hanafı¯ Çivı¯za¯˙ ˙ deh) 183 Çömlekçizade Kemal Çelebi 252–253 Conermann, Stephan 20n22, 224 Constantinople 117, 119, 249 see also Istanbul Copts 141 Çorlu 129–130 Crecelius, Daniel 23 Crete (Candia) 34, 286 Crusader(s) 207, 344, 349, 355, 355 Cyprus 158, 167, 189n36, 193–196, 198– 200, 231 Dadyan 128 Damanhu¯r 101 Damascus 20, 22, 25–26, 28, 30–31, 33, 35, 38–39, 46–47, 53, 119, 134–135, 147, 152– 153, 162–164n54, 166–167, 182, 184–186, 188–191, 198, 207–208, 210–212, 214–

373

Index

218, 221–228, 230–232, 234–235, 237– 241, 243, 249, 254–255, 263n58, 278–280, 282n47, 285–286, 304n40, 312, 314, 316, 327, 329, 330, 336, 338, 343, 346 see also S¸a¯m Danube 129 Darende 296, 299–301, 304–306n49, 314, 317, 319–320 Darling, Linda T. 18–19, 29, 262n55 Darwish Pasha (Darwı¯sˇ Pasha, Darwı¯ˇs Pasha Ibn Rustam ar-Ru¯mı¯) 185, 185n29, 189–191 Dervis, Mehemmed Zillı¯ 128 ˙ Dhiba¯n 355–356 Dimya¯t 139 ˙ Divrig˘i 319 al-Diya¯rbakrı¯, ʿAbd al-Samad (Abdüs˙ samed Diyarbekrî, Diyarbekrı¯) 34, 62n11, 331 Dolinka, Benjamin 354n22 Dulkadirid (Dulgadir) 31, 133, 297–307, 309, 311, 313–315, 317–318 Edirne 129 Egypt 13, 16, 19–29, 33–36, 38–54, 61– 62n12, 70–71, 87, 90, 92–93, 102, 106– 107, 115, 117–120, 123–124, 127–142, 147–157, 163–164, 168–172,185, 207, 210–222, 227, 229, 231, 235, 249–250, 257n35, 278, 280, 300, 313–314, 316, 327, 329, 343, 359 see also Mısr (Mısır) and ˙ Upper Egypt Elbistan (Albistan) 37, 132–133, 298, 305– 306, 319 Erzurum 164 Ethiopia 44 Europe 13n4, 44, 172, 267 Evliya¯ Çelebi (Evliyâ) 29, 127–134, 136– 142 Famagusta 194 Fa¯tima, wife of Sharaf al-Dı¯n 213 ˙ Fatimid(s) 15, 345 Fayyu¯m (Fayyum) 28–29, 87, 90–94, 96– 98, 100–107

Ferha¯d Pasha (Farha¯d Pasha) 119, 313, 330, 335, 258 Ferı¯du¯n Beg˘ (Feridun) 36 Fertile Crescent 250 Fidı¯mı¯n, village 98, 100n32, 104n47 Fitzgerald, Timothy J. 30 Frenkel, Yehoshua 30–31 Furfu¯r Family (Farfu¯r) 209–215, 218 al-Furfu¯r, Muhammad Ibn (Ibn Farfu¯r) ˙ 234, 236–239, 280, 288 Galilee 347, 353 Gaza (G˙azze) 134, 336 Genoa 354n23 Georgia (Gürcista¯n) 128, 189n36, 303n34 Gerger 296, 299, 300n21, 314–315, 319–320 see also Gerger-Kâhta Gerger-Kâhta 304–306, 314 German Research Foundation (DFG) 15 Germany also German 23 13n4, 251, 334n30 Gharbı¯ya 94–95, 107 al-Ghawrı¯, Qansu¯h, Mamluk sultan 36–39, ˙ 42, 48, 53, 131–133, 136–137, 139–140, 142, 252, 329 al-Ghaza¯lı¯, Abu¯ Ha¯mid 67–68 ˙ al-Ghazzı¯ al-Dimashqı¯ 31, 278 al-Ghazzı¯, Badr al-Dı¯n 279, 282, 284–288 al-Ghazzı¯, Najm al-Dı¯n 35, 209 Golan 347 Greater Syria 13, 148n1, 316 see also Syria and Bila¯d al-Sha¯m Greece 352 Güzelce Ka¯sım Pasha 115 ˙ Haarmann, Ulrich 23 Habsburg 120 Hadı¯dı¯ 331 Hadım Süleyman Pas¸a 150 Ha¯jj Muhammad b. Anas 216 ˙ ˙ Haleb (Haleb) 147, 152, 158–162, 164, ˙ 166–170, 314 see also Aleppo Hama 160, 164, 169 see also Hama¯h ˙ Hama¯h (Hama¯) 38, 253, 261 see also Hama ˙ ˙ Hamzavi, Canım 156

374 Hamzavi, Yahya 156 Hamzavi, Yusuf 156 al-Hanbalı¯, Ibn al-ʿIma¯d 209 ˙ Hanna, Nelly 25 Hartmann, Richard 223 Hawran 346 Haydar Çelebı¯ 330 ˙ Hebrew 34, 70, 177n2, 178 Hebron 276–277 Heidemann, Stefan 15 Hendek 160 Hijaz 141, 361 Hims 164, 166 Hisba¯n (Tall Hisba¯n) 348n7, 350–351, ˙ ˙ 355–357 Hısn-ı Mansur (Adıyaman) 296, 299– 300n21, 304–306, 314–315, 317n101, 319–320 al-Hı¯tı¯,ʿAlı¯ b. ʿAtiyya (Shaykh ʿAlwa¯n) ˙ 261–262 Hoca Nasr al-Dı¯n (Hoca Nasrettin) 283 ˙ ˘ Hoca Saʿdüddı¯n (Hoca Sa’düddı¯n) 36 ˘ Hodgson, Marshall G. S. 14–15n7, 277 Holt, Peter M. 45, 124 Hubra¯s 352 ˙ ˙ Humbsch, Robert 117–118 Husayn al-Jinna¯nı¯ 225–226n20 ˙ Husayn Bey 261 ˙ Hüsrev Pasha, governor of Egypt, (Hüsrev ˘ Pas¸a, Khusraw Pasha) 150–151, 153– 157n27, 257, 261–262 Hütteroth, Wolf-Dieter 26 Ibn Abi Zimra 54 Ibn al-ʿArabı¯, Muhyı¯ al-Dı¯n 39, 127, 134– ˙ 135, 227, 232, 235–236 Ibn al-Bahnası¯ 227 Ibn al-Fa¯rı¯d 186 ˙ Ibn al-Furfu¯r, see Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ahmad ˙ Ibn al-Hanbalı¯ (Rad¯ı al-Dı¯n Muhammad ˙ ˙ ˙ Ibn al-Hanbalı¯) 251–254, 257–258, 261, ˙ 267 Ibn al-Hhanbalı¯ 251–254, 257–258, 261, ˙ 267 Ibn al-Himsı¯ 208, 217 ˙

Index

Ibn al-Khuyu¯t¯ı 227 ˙ Ibn al-Mulayk 182 Ibn al-Ta¯lu¯ 228 ˙ Ibn al-Wardı¯ 287 Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqala¯nı¯ 277 ˙ Ibn Hijja al-Hamawı¯ 276–277 ˙ ˙ Ibn Hima¯ra see Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ahmad ˙ ˙ Ibn Iya¯s (Muhammad b. Iya¯s) 33, 38–42, ˙ 46, 53, 134, 136, 138–139, 142, 328 Ibn Muzhir 209 Ibn Tu¯lu¯n (Muhammad Ibn Tu¯lu¯n al-Sa¯li˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ h¯ı) 33, 35, 38, 134, 188n35, 208, 215– ˙ 217, 223–228, 233–236, 238–240 284, 328 Ibra¯hı¯m al-Qarama¯nı¯ 256–257, 262 I˙bra¯hı¯m Pas¸a, grand vizier, (Ibrahim Pasha) 29, 48, 51, 116–124, 254, 257, 261 Ibra¯hı¯m, Burha¯n al-Dı¯n 215 I˙drı¯s-i Bidlı¯sı¯ 304 India 14, 36, 132, 152–153n14, 202 Indian Ocean 117 Iran 52, 172, 259 Iraq 172, 207, 259, 302n26, 352 ʿIsa Pasha 254–255, 258, 261, 266 Isfahan 131 Iskenderun 286 Israel 353 Istanbul 29, 31, 34, 40, 42–45, 47–48, 51, 65–66, 88, 90n7, 106–107, 122, 128–131, 138–141, 147n1, 149, 152, 162, 167, 169– 172, 182, 184, 189n36, 198, 221, 227, 249, 252, 255, 264, 267, 277–281, 283–286, 288–289, 296–297, 313, 319, 329, 352 see also Constantinople Jama¯l al-Dı¯n ibn Nuba¯ta 277 Jama¯l al-Dı¯n Yu¯suf b. Hasan 216, 224 ˙ Jamhawi, Monther 344n2 Ja¯nbirdı¯ al-Ghaza¯lı¯ (Ca¯nberdi G˙aza¯lı¯, Canberdı¯ Ghaza¯lı¯) 31, 39–40, 134–135, 211–212, 215, 217, 222, 229, 234, 243, 254, 312–314, 327–340 Jaspert, Karl 14 Jazira 351

Index

Jerusalem 26, 119, 161–162, 249, 275, 277, 329, 336, 346–347, 353–354n22 Jews 34, 42, 51, 54, 141, 301 Jidda 154 Jordan 26, 319, 344n2, 346, 349n9, 352, 354 see also Transjordan Kâhta 296, 299–300n21, 314–315, 319–320 see also Gerger-Kâhta Kalender S¸a¯h 314–315, 318 ˙ Kappert, Petra 334 Kara Meydânı 137 Kara Piri Pasha 140 Karaca Pasha 252 Karahisar 288 Karak-Shobak 329 Karalar 160 Karaman 298, 302, 307, 315, 319 Karamanid 283, 298, 302 Ka¯tib Çelebi (Kâtip Çelebi) 194–196, 198– 199 Kayseri 298, 302–303n29, 305–306n49, 319 Kema¯lpas¸aza¯de (Kemalpas,azade Ahmed Efendi) 137 Kerak Plateau 355 Kestel 163 Khaʾı¯r Beg˘ (Hayır Beg˘, Khayirbak) 38–41, ˘ 48, 134, 136–140, 226, 228, 329, 336 al-Khalı¯l al-Rahman, Abraham 277 ˙ al-Kha¯nakah 280 Khanqah 51 Khirbat Birzeit 353n19, 357 Khirbat Fa¯ris 355 al-Khiya¯rı¯ 280, 282, 285–287 Kisrawan 162 Konya 41, 130, 132–134, 277, 281, 298, 319 Kumakura, Wakako 28–29 Kyrenia 194 Lajjun 26, 329 Lake Qarun (Birkat al-Qa¯ru¯n) 92 La¯la¯ Mustafa¯ Pasha (Lala Mustafa Pas¸a) ˙˙ 163, 166, 170, 172n81, 188–189n36, 193– 196, 199–200, 284 Lapidus, Ira M. 207

375 Larnaka 194 Lebanon 165, 353 Lefkosia 194 Lellouch, Benjamin 24–25, 266, 330–331 Levanoni, Amalia 24 Levant also Levantine 30, 249, 263, 344, 345, 348 Lewicka, Paulina B. 28 Limassol 194 Loiseau, Julien 24–25 Lütfı¯ Pasha 332–333, 335 ˙ Madaba 355 al-Madanı¯, Kibrı¯t 280 Malatya 21n27, 282, 296, 299–301, 304– 305, 314–315, 317, 319–320 Ma¯mayya (Ma¯mayya ar-Ru¯mı¯) 178–198 Mamluk Sultanate 13, 16, 19, 23, 27, 30, 31, 37–38, 45–46, 49, 52–53, 141, 150, 208, 212, 215, 249–250, 262, 275, 289, 297,308, 316, 327, 329, 353 Mangˇak Pasha 184 Maras¸ 298, 305–306, 313n85, 316n97, 319 Mardin 21n27 Marj Da¯biq 19, 38–39, 42, 131–134, 136, 140, 210, 223, 225–226, 252n9–253n20, 268, 277, 329 Maryam, daughter of Sharaf al-Dı¯n 213 Maryu¯t region 27 ˙ Marzu¯q al-Qifa¯fı¯ 132 Masarwa, Alev 29 Mastaba 225, 330 ˙˙ Mecca 19, 27, 47, 137, 153–154, 183, 190, 212–213, 224, 254, 287 Medina 19, 127, 137, 154, 163–164, 212, 217, 254 Mediterranean 14–15, 24, 26n50, 32, 149, 173, 286, 343 Mehmed Beg, Ottoman vizier 122 ˙ Mehmed II, Ottoman sultan, (Mehmed II) ˙ 298 Mehmed Zaʾı¯m 333, 335 ˙ Mengücekog˘ulları 300, 316 Merkez Efendi 282 Mesopotamia 249, 259

376 Mevlana Muhyiddin 147 Mevlana Salih Çelebi 147 Mevla¯na, Jala¯l al-Dı¯n al-Ru¯mı¯ (Mawla¯na¯) 133, 275–276 Michel, Nicholas 24 Mı¯da¯n al-Hasa¯ 226 ˙ ˙ Mikrilestan 128 Milwright, Marcus 16 Minu¯fı¯ya 94, 107 Minyat Ghaza¯l 329n8 Mısr (Mısır) 54, 117, 140, 147n1, 289, 313 ˙ see also Egypt Miura, Toru 25, 30 Mongol(s) 14, 41, 149, 207, 232 Muba¯rak al-Qa¯bu¯nı¯ 225 Muflih Family 214–217 ˙ Muhammad b. Mustafa¯ 103 ˙ ˙˙ Muhammad b. Yu¯suf Kama¯l al-Dı¯n 253 ˙ Muhammad b. Zayd b. Ahmad 99 ˙ ˙ al-Muhibbı¯ 278, 281–284 ˙ Muhibbı¯ al-Dı¯n b. Sharaf al-Dı¯n 213 ˙ Muna¯wı¯ ( ͑Abd ar-Ra ͑ u¯f al-Muna¯wı¯) 28, 59–65, 67–74, 76–80 Mura¯d II, Ottoman sultan 331 Mura¯d III, Ottoman sultan 120, 186, 188, 287 Mura¯d IV, Ottoman sultan 280, 286 Mura¯d Pasha, governor 189, 192–193 ¯ lı¯ (Mustafa ‘Âlı¯) 332 Mustafa¯ ʿA ˙˙ Mustafa¯ Bosta¯n 29, 116, 121, 123, 331n22 ˙˙ Muzaffar Pasha 195 ˙ Muzaffarı¯ Ja¯miʿ 215 ˙ Nablus 26, 329 al-Na¯bulusı¯, Fakhr al-Dı¯n ʿUthma¯n 90, 97 al-Na¯bulusı¯, Ibn Ahmad 179n5, 185 ˙ al-Na¯bulusı¯, ʿIma¯d ad-Dı¯n b. ʿIsma¯ʿı¯l Ibn Ahmad 185 ˙ Najm al-Dı¯n Ibn Muflih 216 ˙ Najm al-Dı¯n ʿUmar 215 Naqa¯lı¯fa 98 Na¯sir al-Dı¯n Muhammad b. ʿAbd al-Rah˙ ˙ ˙ ma¯n 216 Na¯sir al-Dı¯n Muhammad b. Abu¯ Bakr 216 ˙ ˙ Negev 343

Index

Nile 14, 41, 44, 87, 90, 92, 93, 95, 107, 137, 319 see also Nile Delta Nile Delta 27, 95, 101–102, 280 see also Nile Niza¯m al-Dı¯n Ibn Muflih 216 ˙ ˙ Nogaic-Kipchak 182 North Africa 349 Nu¯h al-Ru¯mı¯ 229 ˙ Nu¯r al-Dı¯n Mahmu¯d 16 ˙ Ottoman Empire 13n4, 19–21, 34, 37, 39, 46, 50, 53, 61, 87, 119, 124, 127, 131, 133, 141, 155, 158, 163, 171, 173, 177, 198, 238, 249, 254, 263, 278, 287, 289, 297, 318, 340, 352, 354 Oxus 14 Özbaran, Salih 117 Palestine 26, 31, 276, 343, 346, 350, 353– 354, 357, 360–361 Paphos 194 Persia 36, 44, 129, 137, 141, 259 Philipp, Thomas 22–25, 221 Portuguese 36, 117, 249, 264 Pragadino, Marcantonio 194 Pyramos River (Ceyhan) 275, 319 Qara¯ Qa¯d¯ı 254, 261 ˙ Qatrana (Katran) 164 Qaymariyya 212 Quba¯d Pasha 258 Quda¯ma Family 214–217 al-Qurashı¯, Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n 102, 105 Rafeq, Abdul-Karim 21–22, 46 Ramazanog˘ulları 298, 302, 306 al-Ramlı¯ 227 al-Ramlı¯ al-Ansa¯rı¯ 63 ˙ Raydaniyya (Rayda¯niyya) 19, 39, 137 Raymond, André 22–24, 46 Red Sea 36, 117, 153n14 Rhodes 40, 42, 194n51, 254 Römer, Claudia 29 Ru¯da 103 ˙ Ru¯m (Bila¯d al-Ru¯m) 275–276, 285 Rumeli 47, 136, 137, 149, 165, 167, 171, 278

377

Index

al-Ru¯mı¯, Muharram ˙

61

Safavid(s) 31, 36–37, 40, 52, 116, 119, 130– 132, 137, 149, 249–250, 252, 259, 263, 296, 301, 315 Safed (Safad) 26, 160–161, 167, 329 S¸a¯h Velı¯ 296–297, 301n23, 305n43, 307– 308, 311–315, 318 S¸a¯hbudak 298, 301 ˙ Sa¯lihiyya 210–211, 214–217, 224, 228, 232, ˙ ˙ 236, 239 al-Sa¯lihiyya 25, 210–211, 214–216 ˙ ˙ S¸a¯m (S¸am) 117, 147, 153, 158–160, 163– 164, 166–170, 314, 336, 338 see also Damascus Savona 354n23 Sayda¯ʾ (Sayda) 158, 162, 165, 170, 211 see ˙ also Sidon Schatikowski Schilcher, Linda 218 S¸ehsüva¯r 298, 301 S¸ehsüva¯rog˘lu ʿAlı¯ Beg˘ (ʿAlı¯ Beg˘) 295, 297– 307, 311–315, 318, 337 Sela¯niki 195 Selı¯m II, Ottoman sultan, (Selîm II) 183n16, 186–187, 189n36, 193–195n55, 199, 202, 282n45 Seljuks also Seljukid 14, 207, 300, 344 Selma¯n Re’ı¯s 117 Sermin 159, 162 Seyyid Muhammed 117 ˙ Shah Isma¯ʿil 36, 129, 131–132, 250, 297, 308 Sharaf al-Dı¯n ʿAbd Allah 215 al-Shaʾra¯nı¯, ʿAbd al-Wahha¯b 34, 63, 69n36 Shaykh Sa¯lih Furfu¯r 214 ˙ ˙ Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ahmad 257 ˙ Shiha¯b ad-Dı¯n ibn Badr ad-Dı¯n al-G˙azzı¯ 183, 183n18 Sidon 25–26, 211 see also Sayda¯ʾ ˙ Sila¯hs¸ör 330 Sina¯n Pasha (Sinan Pasha) 137, 189, 189n36, 303 Singer, Amy 163n46 Sivas 129, 307, 314, 319, 283 Sluglett, Peter 25

Sofia 149 Sokollu Mehmed Pasha 189n36 ˙ Solakza¯de 332n28 ˙ Spain 134, 265–266 Stern, Edna 353n21 Süklenog˘lu Mu¯sa Bey 314 Süleyma¯n I, Ottoman sultan (Sulayma¯n) 34, 39–40, 42, 43, 48, 53, 87, 106–107,115, 117, 119, 128–130, 133, 135, 148, 150– 156, 161–162, 165, 170, 186, 197, 217, 222, 225, 241, 250, 259–260, 285, 287, 307, 315, 328, 330, 333–336 Süleyma¯n the Magnificent see Süleyma¯n I al-Suyu¯t¯ı 281 ˙ Syria 13, 19, 23–24, 27–29, 31, 33, 35, 37, 39–43, 46–47, 49–50, 53–54, 87, 117, 121, 127, 134–135, 141, 147n1, 148–150, 158– 159n36, 163–166n60, 169–173, 185, 188, 190, 193–194, 198, 202, 207, 221, 255, 261, 275–278, 284, 289, 299–300, 302n26, 314, 327, 343, 356 see also Bila¯d al–Sha¯m and Greater Syria Syria, southern 343, 344, 347, 361 Syriac 178 Tamı¯ya 103–104 ˙ Tarsus 21n27, 194n52 Tatar(s) 225 Ti‘innik 353n19 Timur 14, 37, 300 Timurid(s) 14 Tokat 314, 319 Trablus 158–161, 166, 166n59, 170, 194n52 Trabzon (Trebizond) 128–129, 252 Transjordan 26–27, 31, 343, 346, 348, 350– 355, 358–362n40 see also Jordan Tubha¯r 98 ˙ Tu¯ma¯nba¯y, Mamluk sultan 38–39, 136– ˙ 139, 287, 329n10 Turhal 307 Turkey also Turkish Republic 182n11, 297, 352 Üçler Hill 283 Uhud 140 ˙

378 ʿUmar, caliph 197, 202 Upper Egypt 59n1, 92, 105, 107, 153–154 see also Egypt and Mısr (Mısır) ˙ ʿUtma¯n, caliph 197 ¯ Üveys Bey 307 Uzun Hasan 118 ˙ Van 167 Varna 129 Veinstein, Gilles 24 Via Dolorosa 353n22 Vienna 116 Wahb ibn Munabbih 70 Waldman, Marilyn R. 14–15 Walı¯ al-Dı¯n Muhammad 210–212 ˙ Walker, Bethany J. 16–17n17, 27, 31 Watenpaugh, Heghnar 221, 259, 262

Index

Weber, Stefan 25 Whitcomb, Donald 16 Winter, Michael 22–25, 28–29, 60n6 Wollina, Torsten 30 Yemen 34, 44, 49, 51, 70n38, 152, 158, 163– 163, 166, 172n81, 189n36 Yüksel Muslu, Cihan 31 Yu¯nus b. Faya¯d b. Muhammad b. Khat˙ ˙ ˙ ta¯b 99 ˙ Yu¯nus Ba¯sha¯ 226 Zamantı 298–299, 300, 313n85, 319 ¯ bidı¯n 226 Zayn al-ʿA Zayn al-Dı¯n ʿAbd al-Rahma¯n 211, 214 ˙ Zuq al-Fouqani 353 Zurayq Family 216