Exploring Ottoman Sovereignty: Tradition, Image and Practice in the Ottoman Imperial Household, 1400–1800 9781474210119, 9781847252203

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Photograph showing Abdülhamid II attending the Friday Salutation at the Yıldız Palace; cf.Osman Özdeş and Ertol Makzume (eds), Ottoman Court Painter Fausto Zonaro (Istanbul: Yapi Kredi Yayınları, 2003), p. 40. Photograph showing Abdülhamid II attending the Friday Salutation at the Yıldız Palace. Taken from Photographs of Istanbul From the Archives of Sultan Abdülhamid II (Istanbul, 2007), a joint publication of the Municipality of Istanbul and the Research Center for Islamic History Art and Culture. Photograph on p. 41. Illustrations 3, 4, 5 and 6: Buildings Identified Over the Main Entrance Portal by the sultanic cipher (tughra) and the date of construction. The entrance to the barracks of the imperial artillery regiments (topçu kışlası) in Taksim built by Sultan Mahmud II between 1803 and 1806 and later renovated by Sultan Abdülaziz (1861–76). Photograph No. 329 (Archive No. 90475/25) in the Abdülhamid Collection; see Photographs of Istanbul From the Archives of Sultan Abdülhamid II (Istanbul, 2007), p. 391. For information concerning the dates of construction and renovation, see Mustafa Cezar, XIX. Yüzyıl Beyoğlusu (Istanbul: Akbank Yayınları, 1991), p. 61. Portal to the Sublime Porte (Bab-i Ali), the seat of Ottoman government after the mid-nineteenth century, bearing the tughra of Abdülmecid Han (r. 1839–61) and the date of construction, ah 1259/ad 1843.* Second entrance to the Antiquities (Sarcophagus) Museum, whose initial phase of construction and inauguration was completed in 1891.*

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Detail of the second entrance showing the sultan’s tughra and the date of the completion of the secondary construction in ah 1323/ad 1905.* 17 *Photos 4, 5 and 6 taken by Mr Ata Akel; graphic artist, Istanbul. Miniature painting depicting reception in 1596 of two Hungarian envoys by Sultan Mehmed III (1595–1603), who is shown seated at the entrance to his royal tent; cf. Şehname-i Sultan Mehmed III, Topkapi Palace Collections, Ms. Hazine 1609, folios 26b–7a. 68 Early nineteenth-century engraving based on original by Anton Melling showing the second courtyard of the palace with the kitchen smokestacks lined up along the right side; original located in Stapleton Collection (London); cf. Bridgeman Art Gallery (http://private.bridgemaneducation.com/), illustration no. 87581. 143 9, 10, 11 and 12 – Various views (photos) showing the smokestacks of the palace kitchens. 145–148 All photos taken by Mr Ata Akel; graphic artist, Istanbul. Illustration of sultanic largesse in the form of a scattering of coins (saçma).** 193 Illustration of sultanic largesse in the form of the scrambling for the food dishes (çanak yağması).** 198 **Nos 13 and 14 above are both taken from Nurhan Atasoy (ed.), The 1582 Surname-yi Hümayun: An Imperial Celebration (Istanbul: Koçbank, 1997) as follows: No. 13: 1582 Surname, folios 46b–47a and No. 14: 1582 Surname, folios 30b–31a. Close-up of Royal Cipher (tughra) of Sultan Süleyman I taken from a document in the Topkapi Palace Archives (Istanbul), E. 7816; cf.Esin Atıl, The Age of Sultan Süleyman the Magnificent (Washington, DC, 1987), p. 40. 231

Maps and Genealogical Table Genealogical Table of the Ottoman Dynasty, seventeenth–eighteenth centuries. Map 1: Frontier Zones in eastern Anatolia in the sixteenth century, also showing expansion zones to the north after 1540. Map 2: Ottoman expansion eastwards into Anatolia, 1460s to 1520s.

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Genealogical Chart

Genealogical Chart of Ottoman Dynasty in the period of direct father-to-son succession lasting 1300–1600 (reigns of the first 13 Ottoman sultans). 1. Osman I (d. 1324) 2. Orhan I (1324–62) 3. Murad I (1362–89) 4. Bayezid I (1389–1402) Interregnum period (1402–13) following Timurid invasion of 1402: Period of divided sovereignty and contested rule over a fragmented Ottoman polity. 5. Mehmed I (1402–13) succeeded to rule over a portion of the divided Ottoman polity and then (1413–21) established his sole authority over the nominally reunited but still only partially reintegrated realm. 6. Murad II, two reigns: the first reign lasting from 1421 to 1444 ended with his voluntary abdication, the second reign lasted 1446–51. 7. Mehmed II, two reigns: the first reign, lasting between 1444 and 1446, ended with his forced deposition in favour of his father, Murad II; the second reign (1451–81) commenced after his father’s death. 8. Bayezid II (1481–1512) 9. Selim I (1512–20) 10. Süleyman I (1520–66) 11. Selim II (1566–74) 12. Murad III (1574–95) 13. Mehmed III (1595–1603) Period of Collateral Succession after 1600*: A partial list accounting for the reigns of the fourteenth to thirtieth sultans to accede to the Ottoman throne (see also the genealogical table on page xi showing collateral lines of descent). Mehmed III (d. 1603) was succeeded on the throne by two of his sons Ahmed (no. 14) and Mustafa (no. 15). 14. Ahmed I (1603–17) 15. Mustafa I (two reigns: 1617–18 and 1622–3)

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Mustafa’s successor at the conclusion of his first reign was Osman II, the first of Ahmed I’s three sons (Osman, Murad and Ibrahim, nos 16–18) to take the throne in succession to one another. 16. Osman II (1618–22) 17. Murad IV (1623–40)** 18. Ibrahim I (1640–8) Ibrahim I was in turn succeeded by three of his sons, Mehmed, Süleyman and Ahmed (nos 19–21): 19. Mehmed IV (1648–87) 20. Süleyman II (1687–91) 21. Ahmed II (1691–95) Following the death of Ahmed II in 1695, the succession reverted to two of Mehmed IV’s surviving sons, Mustafa (no. 22) and Ahmed (no. 23). 22. Mustafa II (1695–1703) 23. Ahmed III (1703–30) Each of these sovereigns was succeeded by two of their offspring: first Mustafa II’s two sons Mahmud and Osman (nos 24–5), and then Ahmed III’s two sons, Mustafa and Abdülhamid (nos 26–7). 24. Mahmud I (1730–54) 25. Osman III (1754–7) 26. Mustafa III (1757–74) 27. Abdülhamid I (1774–89) The succession then passed first to Mustafa III’s son Selim (no. 28) and subsequently to Abdülhamid I’s two sons, Mustafa and Mehmed (nos 29–30). 28. Selim III (1789–1807) 29. Mustafa IV (1807–8) 30. Mahmud II (1808–39) *The pattern of succession based on age seniority (ekberiyet) prevailed throughout the period between the seventeenth and the nineteenth century. ** Accession delayed by the resumption of the throne by his uncle, Mustafa I, for the 15 months between May 1622 and September 1623, when the accession of Murad was (on account of his youth) deemed inappropriate.

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13 Mehmed III

15 Mustafa I

14 Ahmed I

17 Murad IV

16 Osman II

19 Mehmed IV

18 Ibrahim I

20 Süleyman II

23 Ahmed III

22 Mustafa II

24 Mahmud I

25 Osman III

21 Ahmed II

26 Mustafa III

28 Selim III

27 Abdülhamid I

29 Mustafa IV

30 Mahmud II

Genealogical table of the Ottoman Dynasty, seventeenth–eighteenth centuries.

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Map 1: Frontier zones in eastern Anatolia in the sixteenth century, also showing expansion zones to the north after 1540.

Map 2: Ottoman expansion eastwards into Anatolia, 1460s to 1520s. Exploring Ottoman Sovereignty_final_press.indd xiii

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Pro sua familia

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Key Dates and Events Relating to the Development of Ottoman Sovereignty and the Image of the Dynasty 1243

1299

1302–17

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1453

1517

Invasion of Anatolia by Mongol forces and defeat of Seljukid ruler Giyath al Din Keykhusrev II, leading to a division of the Seljukid patrimonial lands and to power-sharing arrangements with Mongol governors stationed in various parts of central Anatolia, which were effectively annexed to the Ilkhanid state capitaled at Tabriz. Beginning of the period of the fragmentation of Anatolian sovereignty during the so-called era of the ‘Kings of the Territorial Divisions’ (muluk al-tawa’if), c.1243–c.1308, coinciding with the rise of the Ottoman polity. Date traditionally associated with the declaration of independence by Osman Beg from his Seljukid overlords residing in Konya. From the 1280s Osman had acted as troop mobilizer and governor for the Seljukids in north-west Anatolia on the frontier with Byzantium. Marmara region and western Anatolia racked by depredations carried out by bands of Catalan mercenaries employed by late Byzantine emperors to restore ‘order’ and hold the line against the Ottoman advance against the Byzantine frontier in Bythinia and other parts of north-western Asia Minor. Defeat of Ottoman Sultan Bayezid I (1389–1402) by a Turcoman invader from the east named Timur. Restoration of the independence of the Turcoman principalities of western Anatolia and temporary resumption (1402–13 and in some parts 1402–25) of the conditions associated with the fragmentation of sovereign authority during the era of the kings of the territorial divisions a century earlier. Fall of Constantinople and definitive transfer of Ottoman capital from Bursa and (latterly, since 1360) Edirne (Adrianople) to the city renamed Istanbul. Following Ottoman conquests in Europe dating from 1353, the Ottoman dynasty was now able to assert with credibility its position as the empire straddling the two seas (the Mediterranean and Black Seas) and the two continents (Asia and Europe). Fall of Cairo and establishment of Ottoman rule in the territory of the holy cities (Mecca and Medina) and Mamluk Egypt, leading to

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raised expectations about the role and mission of Ottoman dynastic rule in the southern and eastern Mediterranean, predominantly Muslim, lands. 1535 Fall of Baghdad and annexation of Iraq, with its strong associations and Muslim political and cultural legacy dating from the era of the Abbasid Caliphate (750–1258). 1541 Fall of Buda, leading to Ottoman annexation of central Hungary and to commitment to a policy of containment and periodic expansion against the frontiers of Christian Europe, which raised a new set of conflicting expectations from Ottoman rule and Ottoman rulers on the part of the residents of the northern, predominantly Christian, lands. 1541–1699 Period of the Ottomans’ trans-Mediterranean and tri-continental empire in North Africa, Asia and portions of southern and southeastern Europe; also sometimes known as the pax Ottomanica, during which they were obliged to balance their imperial objectives and priorities against the reality test of the demands on Ottoman rulership and leadership emanating from a diverse group of subjects hailing from different parts of their multi-ethnic and multi-cultural territories. 1699 Ottoman withdrawal from Hungary and weakening of the links with former Ottoman territories, vassals and allies in the northern Balkans and Trans-Danubia. 1774–83 Weakening of Ottoman ties with former allies and vassals in the Crimean Khanate, leading to Russian annexation of Crimea (1783) and, later, Bessarabia (1812), which left the Ottoman Balkans south of the Danube in a permanent state of threat and military alert for much of the remainder of the dynasty’s existence. Ending of the Ottoman ‘protectorate’ in Europe for all intents and purposes. 1808–39 Reign of Sultan Mahmud II, associated with sweeping changes in the structure as well as practices and ethos of Ottoman government. 1826 Disbanding of the sultan’s household troops, the Janissaries, and removal of an important prop to sultanic absolutism enjoyed by sultans in the high imperial era lasting from c.1450 to c.1800. 1836 Mahmud II introduces reforms to state administrative structures, splitting the overarching authority of the grand vizier amongst several separate ministerial portfolios, thus further divorcing the sultan from the immediacy of his former role at the centre of appointments, dismissals and imperial patronage.

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Introduction

Is it possible to identify the ‘essence’ of Ottoman kingship, and, if so, what were the core motivating principles that governed the dynasty over its 600 year lifespan and how continuous and consistent were they? Readers may justifiably wonder not only whether the question is answerable, but also whether it is legitimate to ask it at all. It is based first of all on the challengeable premise that one fixed set of principles can be used to judge the reigns of all 35 successors who held the throne after the death of the dynasty’s eponymous founder Osman in 1324 despite the wide range of character traits, dispositions and personal preferences which even a small portion of these three dozen rulers must inevitably represent. Secondly, they may wonder, is it possible to cover such a broad span of history while at the same time doing justice to the growing complexity of the empire as it absorbed cultural influences and imperial legacies from a wide diversity of sources, each in turn engendering a further blending of interpretations of, adaptation to and compromise with existing notions of kingship and definitions of the role and function of the ruler? The purpose of this introduction is to defend the proposition that such broad treatment, though deficient in its detailed coverage of specific chronological sub-periods and as an adequately nuanced account of regional sub-cultures, offers an alternative way of understanding the soul of the empire as reflected in its key ruling institution, the sultanate, which itself had a formative influence on all these various sub-periods and sub-cultures. Such an approach undoubtedly constitutes history from the top down, but for much of the period of centralized Ottoman rule between roughly 1400 and 1800 encompassed in this study the inclination to focus on the man at the top needs neither explanation nor justification. The core investigation undertaken in this book concerns the sultanate as an institution, but it also attempts to assess how each of the dynasty’s successive rulers developed and used the state bureaucratic apparatus to achieve their ruling priorities. It is therefore inescapably a centre-centred analysis focusing on the ‘palace’, court culture and rituals of sovereignty as well as on the sultan’s role as the head of the central administrative apparatus of the state. However, despite its being preoccupied with the central ruling figure, it cannot be said that our approach is therefore limited by an Istanbul-centric bias. Sovereignty was attached to the person of the sultan, who moved (with his court), often and for

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prolonged stays, away from his principal residence. In the period between 1360 and 1453 there were two capitals, at Bursa and Edirne (Adrianople), and even after 1453 several Ottoman sultans showed a preference for Edirne over Istanbul. Even Sultan Süleyman the Magnificent, held by the Ottomans, Western contemporaries and modern analysts alike to be the pinnacle and paragon of Ottoman kingship, spent more time away from his residence at the Topakpi Palace than in it, and not a few of his successors, whether for military campaigning or hunting excursions, conformed to this pattern.1 Consequently, judgments and assessments of Ottoman sovereignty principles, practical and ceremonial forms that focus exclusively on the highly regimented rules for audiences held at the imperial council (divan) or the comportment of the sultan during his periods of residence in the capital city, when he was shut up in his imperial ‘fortress’ at Topkapi,2 are bound to distort and provide only a partial and unrepresentative picture of the practice of Ottoman sovereignty. While much of our analysis will perforce remain centre-centred, the movements (harekat) of the sultans will hold as much interest and importance as their periods of quiescence and repose (sekenat). After providing an overview of normative ideas and structures of rule in the first part of the book, we will attempt to draw a fuller portrait of the ruling personae of Ottoman sovereigns not just by focusing on the circumscribed and formulaic exceptional activities and court events such as the accession ceremonies, royal festivals and other ‘great’ dynastic celebrations conventionally held in either Istanbul or Edirne, but we will pause also to notice and capture the rhythm of the ‘minor’ everyday acts and gestes exemplifying the royal virtues that made up the main fabric of each sultanic reign. To construct this account of Ottoman sovereignty, sources representing the widest possible span of chronological periods and geographical scenarios will be utilized.

SOURCES AND CHRONOLOGY It is important that the reader be kept well informed about the provenance, chronological coordinates and political–historical context of persons, events and sources mentioned in our account. To facilitate this process, the bibliography (and, where possible, the references in notes) has been arranged to show the first-hand accounts not by author, but in ascending order, by date of composition. Although an attempt has been made in the presentation of the argument to provide some rough and ready guides to contextualization, it should be recalled that much of the analysis is concerned with ritually repeated standard forms and ways of enunciating kingship. By design, these forms were repeated with minimal change, variation or deviation from inherited ‘classical’ types, preserved intact in order to maximize their desired general stasimonic, anamnestic, mnemonic,

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hypnotic, dramatic and rhetorical effect. In one sense, therefore, audience and time are not so critical to understanding the phenomenon as a detailed knowledge of the constituent parts of the ceremonial performances and of their individual purposes and collective meaning. Thus, while it would be wrong to characterize Ottoman sovereignty – even in the high imperial era between 1450 and 1850, when it was subject to least alteration – as having a ‘timeless’ quality, it is still legitimate to make use of a wide range of sources from different regnal periods and even different dynastic epochs in order to achieve a fully rounded and more complete understanding of formulaic practices than any single descriptive account, no matter how detailed, could ever provide. For the discussion of certain generalized practices, such as the observation of the rites of passage associated with the coming of age of a prince, it is legitimate to discuss and compare not only examples from the high imperial era of 1530 (the era of Süleyman I), 1582 (the era of Murad III) and later examples such as the circumcision festival for Mehmed IV’s sons in 1675, but to draw parallels with surviving accounts from the pre-Islamic and early Islamic eras relating the steppe traditions of the Oghuz Turks used for welcoming a young ‘brave’ of high lineage into the company of his adult peers in the tribe. By taking the long perspective we may lose some detail on the particular circumstances of the dynasty under a particular ruler and the socio-political context relating to a particular ceremony, but by examining the fixity and consistency, in form, of these celebrations over a longer time frame we are in a better position to understand why particular forms were used and what messages they were intended to convey within a generalized system of political control. The Ottoman propensity for conservatism and consistency in ceremonial form, maintained carefully over centuries, itself also conveyed a political message about dynastic stability and self-confidence. In general, the book makes the argument that fixity and consistency in the common norms and forms for the expression of sovereignty characterizes the whole of the dynastic era, from the establishment of their political capital at Istanbul in 1453 to the beginning of the era of sweeping changes in administrative practice introduced during the later part of Mahmud II’s reign in the 1830s. Despite a variety of ups and downs in imperial fortunes in the intervening period, it can be seen as a single period of relative stability so far as the function of the sovereign, norms of sovereignty and the apparatus and forms for transacting state business are concerned. Before 1450, power sharing and even shared sovereignty residing in the collective body of the tribe were characteristic of the general political ambience of the time.3 After 1850 constitutionalism, division of responsibility by means of the mechanism of ministerial responsibility and other new forms inspired by European administrative practice introduced new frameworks for decision-making that fundamentally altered not just the political landscape but ultimately even the vocabulary and underlying values associated with ‘traditional’

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Ottoman kingship. Because of the distinctiveness of these two periods, apart from a summary treatment in Chapter 2 designed to illustrate how the general political conditions that prevailed at the emergence of the dynasty were eventually transformed by gradual centralization and imposition of absolute sultanic authority, these can be conveniently excluded from treatment. Traditionally, general accounts of the Ottoman enterprise have insisted on the periodization of the whole Ottoman era (1300–1920) according to successive eras of growth, decay and eventual demise. The present book will resist this tendency and on the whole avoid applying a chronological framework as a means for organizing the narrative. For the major dynastic events such as battles won and battles lost, treaties signed and general evolutionary trends affecting developments in each reign there are other sources and reference works that provide full information, from the massively detailed Annotated Chronology of Ottoman History by Ismail Hami Danişmend, in four volumes,4 to the synoptic overview account provided in the first chapter of Colin Imber’s survey book on Ottoman institutions.5 The present book is based on the presumption that an intelligible account of the dynasty can be written without reference to ‘great’ or epoch-making events. If we assume the relative stability which mostly prevailed during the middle centuries sometimes referred to as the period of the pax Ottomanica and the absence of general or sustained crisis (whether political, military or fiscal) affecting the normal modus operandi of the state governing apparatus, then, so far as the limited context of the institution of the sultanate is concerned, treating the four-century period between 1450 and 1850 as a single continuum makes perfectly good sense. As an alternative to the judgemental chronological framework that relies on notions of dynastic rise and fall and on the succession of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ kings, a simplified Ottoman chronology for the period 1430–1830 that takes account of the changes in the territorial size and shape of the empire without overdramatizing the effects of minor changes to the general configuration of the empire’s frontiers might take the following form: Period I, 1430 (recapture of Thessaloniki)–1606 (Treaty of Sitva-Torok): time of fluid frontiers and general Ottoman expansion; Period II, 1606–99 (Treaty of Karlowitz): time of ‘relatively’ stable fixed frontiers (minor gains); Period III, 1699–1774 (Treaty of Küçük Kaynarca): time of ‘relatively’ stable fixed frontiers (minor losses); Period IV, 1774–1829 (Treaty of Adrianople): time of fluid frontiers and gradual territorial contraction. It should be remembered, however, that, until the international recognition given to Greece’s independence in 1829, the losses were mostly confined to the margins of the empire in the far north, as opposed to the core territories of the central zone. Over the four-century span between 1430 and 1830, by far the least stable was the period of rapid expansion between 1517 and 1541, which saw the

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addition of Egypt, Syria, Iraq, eastern Anatolia and Hungary to the Ottoman imperial fold in the short time frame of two decades or a single biological generation. If any period can be said to have a had a specially disruptive effect on the efficient workings of the Ottoman bureaucracy and system of imperial rule, it was those two decades of exceptional growth. The rest of the period saw an empire whose basic component parts and geographical extent changed remarkably little. From a structural and administrative point of view, too, there were very few departures from, let alone major modifications to, the basic rules of state organization set down in the administrative code of Mehmed II – introduced in 14796 – until well into the nineteenth century. Therefore, so far as government bureaucracy, bureaucratic forms and, most particularly, court protocol are concerned, the period 1480 to 1830 needs all the more to be regarded as a period representing a single continuum of practice. The bulk of the analysis will concentrate on the ‘high imperial age’ of 1480 to 1820, which constitutes the period when Ottoman traditions of sovereignty were formulated, elaborated and implemented as expressions of a unified and cohesive system of rule and political control. Though some vestiges and ceremonial survivals of this comprehensive system experienced a prolonged afterlife in the period after 1850 as isolated phenomena, archaisms and anachronisms from a bygone era, they lost some of the power and potency they had once possessed. Still, even after the personal power of the sultan had been seriously eroded and attenuated by checks and balances and other forms of representative government, accompanied by international pressure that gradually impinged on, and eventually nearly paralyzed, the ruling figure, these remnants of the old imperial system serve as eloquent reminders of the patrimonial status, power and respect the sultans formerly enjoyed. These remnants, albeit disconnected from the nexus of power to which they once belonged, are worthy of study in themselves for the simple reason that, coming as they do from the late imperial era, the sources provide a more accessible and in some ways more detailed account of procedures and forms (if not functions and meanings) than is readily available for some earlier imperial periods belonging to the ‘high imperial era’. In the same way, it is legitimate to examine survivals from the sovereignty practices of the pre-Ottoman period in the court practices of the early Ottoman dynastic era as a means of understanding to what extent the Ottomans changed, reinterpreted or placed different emphasis on various elements of inherited tradition when developing their own court rituals. This later phenomenon will be examined in Chapter 1, on the basis of a retrospective analysis of survivals from medieval Islamic statecraft. It is also clear that the Ottomans’ own experiences of statebuilding and dynastic enterprise in the pre-imperial era, between the dynasty’s founding and roughly 1450, had its own separate influence on the manner in which the Ottomans interpreted both the distant and the more recent past when

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formulating their own dynastic traditions. Throughout the book we will thus be concerned both with the phenomenon of cultural survival and with Ottoman attitudes towards inherited tradition on the one hand and, on the other, with their attitude as creators of new traditions of sovereignty in their own right, and with their adherence to and preservation of those traditions. A second question which the book addresses, though perhaps implicitly rather than directly, relates to the bureaucratic efficiency of the Ottoman state. One of the unexplained mysteries surrounding the Ottoman state is how, by using the same mechanism of patron–client relations available to all pre-modern states, it was able to mobilize, incentivize and motivate its bureaucratic workforce to provide such loyal and dependable service. Most state business, down to the seemingly most trivial detail, was handled either directly by the head of state (sultan) or by his chief deputy (the grand vizier). The number of purely administrative (that is, secretarial) staff attached to the main organ of state, the Imperial Council (divan-i hümayun), was relatively small and yet, with this small cadre of trained bureaucrats, sovereigns of the high imperial era were able to govern and manage an empire that was, for its time – particularly considering the modest means available from the prevailing methods of communication and transport – truly global in its proportions. What was particular about human relations, personnel management and motivational techniques in the Ottoman context will thus inevitably form an implicit subject throughout the course of the narrative.7 Before ending our introduction on general purposes and intents, it may be appropriate, as a means for launching the project whose detailed analysis will focus primarily on the high imperial era of 1450–1850, to catalogue some remnants and vestiges of this integrated system of patrimonial rule, which survived into the late imperial era after 1850. Changes in state ceremonial, court protocol and the symbolism of power always lag behind changes in political structures and methods of rule, and the Ottoman case is no exception. Having provided, in the introduction, a brief glimpse into the ceremonial side of Ottoman sovereignty in its disembodied forms following the removal of the sultan from his determining central position in decision-making in the late imperial era, the remainder of the book will be devoted to a reconnecting of these ritual forms and ceremonial expressions of sovereignty with the real nexus of power that imbued them with life and meaning in earlier centuries. Some forms, such as the act of distributing robes of honour (hilat) to office holders, may have been preserved in later imperial times, but the meaning of investiture by the sultan’s hand and the personal duty and corresponding obligation of the wearer to the person of the sovereign underwent profound changes over time. The outward act was the same, but its significance had changed. One small example of this change of meaning due to a change in the relative positions of power of the participants in the ceremony can be seen in the context

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of Franco-Ottoman diplomatic relations in the period of the Directoire, 1795–9. While at this time the outward form of distributing hilats of various grades and refinement appropriate to each rank of official, from ambassador to interpreter, and to all diplomatic representatives from abroad as part of the ceremonies for receiving embassies at the Porte was still being observed, on one side of the relationship between guest and host doubts were beginning to be expressed as to whether it was in keeping with the honour and status of the French nation that ambassadors should accept, from the hands of the Ottoman sovereign, a token symbolizing their (and their nation’s) subordination, even vassalization.8 Over time even the form was changed, and foreign diplomatic representatives doffed a less elaborate round cloak, called harvani.9 Still later, in the second half of the nineteenth century, nishans, that is, jewel-encrusted decorations, medals, superseded and displaced the former practice, with its symbolic language of protection and dependency which insisted that guests at the Ottoman court should be received in a robe, kaftan or cloak, provided to them and decided for them by the host (the Ottoman sovereign). The use of the hilat for internal purposes to acknowledge the loyalty and devotion (sadakat) as well as the subservience of the ruler’s own subjects, continued for some time, but in both its international diplomatic and its domestic applications it would be naive and unrealistic to assume that its meaning remained constant or unchanged. Such acts acquired meaning and resonance only in relation to prevailing general political conditions and within the context of the real power and patronage which the sultanate as an institution was able to realize in particular imperial epochs and under particular historical circumstances.

LATE IMPERIAL SURVIVALS The tughra or royal insignia provided one of the principal means by which a new sultan placed his personal stamp on the patrimonial realm inherited from his father or (after succession to the throne of collateral branches of the dynasty was regularized from 1617 onwards) his uncle or brother. The appearance of the imperial insignia on legal documents and sultanic communiqués was used for practical purposes, as a means of verifying and authenticating a document’s contents, but the display of the sovereign’s name in tughra form on public buildings to indicate his sponsorship, financing and in the final analysis ‘ownership’ and proprietorship of key public buildings was a form of assertion and pronouncement of sovereign rights that lasted right up to the end of the empire.10 The sultan’s role as sole patron and protector over all his subjects regardless of race, creed or colour was first challenged by the terms of the Treaty of Küçük Kaynarca in 1774, which gave the Russian czar the theoretical right to intervene

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in the Ottoman Empire to ensure the safety and security of Orthodox Christians living under Ottoman rule. But the challenge assumed a more threatening form, with serious practical implications for Ottoman sovereignty, in 1808, when Czar Alexander I of Russia asserted an independent ‘protectorate’ over some 120,000 Greek Orthodox subjects of the sultan and issued them his own orders of immunity as protégés (beratî).11 Yet, despite these significant shifts in power relations and real political power, throughout the remainder of the century formal procedures for permission to build new schools to serve the Greek community of Istanbul continued to be processed in accordance with Ottoman bureaucratic norms requiring final authorization by the sultan himself, granted in an imperial decree issued in his name.12 After the dissolution of the Janissary corps in 1826, which put an end to a centuries-old tradition of associating the principal land forces of the empire with the ‘household’ (that is, personal) troops of the ruling sovereign, Mahmud II (1808–39) introduced further epoch-making changes in the structure of government in 1836, which permanently removed key areas from the patrimonial sultan’s direct management and control and re-distributed key executive functions in areas such as finance (maliye), justice (daavi), internal affairs (umur-i mülkiye) and foreign affairs (umur-i hariciye) to separate ministerial departments with independent ministerial control and powers of decision. Instead of one seal of office (mühür) bestowed directly by the sultan to his chosen absolute deputy (vekil-i mutlak), the grand vizier, signifying his installation in office with overall responsibility for all decisions taken in the sultan’s name and subject to his sovereign master’s final approval, each department head now had his own seal of office, with independent decision-making authority within his particular sphere of ministerial competence. Yet, despite these far-reaching changes in administrative structure – which amounted effectively to a parcelization of the unitary authority exercised by the sultan and by his right-hand man and chief deputy, the grand vizier – the sultan’s supremacy and indispensability for the purposes of state ceremonial and court protocol and as the symbolic embodiment and representative of the body politic was not questioned. Although this dissolution of authority constituted a revolutionary change, so far as bureaucratic procedures were concerned, other aspects of the sultan’s position and performance as ‘ruler’ were unaffected. Patronage of learning and the arts remained an exclusive sultanic prerogative in the late imperial era. All works published by the state-owned and operated presses, whose cumulative output began to mount after the 1860s, and, later, private press activity too were closely monitored by the imperial authority. License to publish was subject to strict procedures for scrutiny and review, and the final approval required the explicit, personally authorized permission (ruhsat) of the sultan.13 Details of court receptions and person-to-person relations with

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foreign heads of state were also left entirely to the sovereign’s discretion. These included decisions about gift exchanges and arrangements for official visits by foreign heads of state, an innovation of the nineteenth century so far as Ottoman court practice was concerned. Buried treasure (rikaz), including by definition also antiquities, was in any case traditionally regarded in Ottoman law as the exclusive property of the crown.14 But the lavish scale of sultanic gift-giving in the late imperial era reached proportions hitherto unheard of, as for example in the case of the visit of the French King Louis Philippe in 1830 when, at his request and as a special mark of Sultan Mahmud’s favour and friendship towards the French people, reliefs recently excavated at Assos were handed over for export to France.15 On another occasion the monumental Mschatta Gate was dismantled at its site in Syria and authorization was given for its transport for presentation as a gift to Kaiser Wilhelm II in 1904.16 Decisions about the appropriate level and type of such diplomatic gifts remained within the exclusive jurisdiction of a vestigial form of the former Imperial Council (divan-i hümayun), which in former times had enjoyed universal jurisdiction and was attended by all the principal governors and officers of state. The new body was given the grandiose name of Privy Council (meclis-i mahsus), but its principal brief was to make decisions regarding the housekeeping arrangements of the imperial household and other matters relating to court protocol. It is not always easy to distinguish between what is part of a still living tradition of paternalistic rule and acts which represent the preservation of the empty form of once vibrant traditions, but a careful look at the context, including location, in which rituals were performed does reveal the difference between acts performed in public that held meaning for the public and empty gestures staged for effect that had lost their communicative function. Two examples from Mahmud II’s practice in the 1830s and a comparison with a late imperial survival in the twilight years of the sultanate in the early 1900s will serve to illustrate the difference. In the heyday of empire one of the traditional expectations imposed on Ottoman rulers was that they should engage in social interaction with, and thereby acquire empathy and understanding for the condition of, the common people subject to their rule. Commentators on good government praised the ‘caring’ sultans who became involved in direct contact and intermingling with members of the public (muamelat-i nas). The circumambulation of the sultan among his subjects, usually not in his royal raiment but disguised in a lesser court official’s uniform or in commoner’s dress (tebdil or tebdil-i came), allowing for chance encounters with the ‘man in the street’, was still regularly practised in the later part of the eighteenth century, as can be judged from the court calendar of Selim III (1789–1808).17 More often than not, these impromptu excursions among the city population or in the countryside outside the capital offered equally impromptu occasions for the ritual distribution of sultanic largesse to the sultan’s needier

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subjects.18 The long-standing tradition requiring sultans to circulate abroad among their subjects was preserved intact even by such ‘modernizing’ sultans as Mahmud II (1808–39), who not only engaged himself in token intermingling exercises and day excursions from the palace, but carried out prolonged tours of inspection in the provinces, which were designed to familiarize him with the true conditions and outstanding unmet needs of his subjects. Although this was part of new measures of defensive modernization designed to prevent the outbreak of further uprisings and succession movements, as had happened in Greece between 1821 and 1829, the procedure itself represented the continuation of a longstanding traditional practice associated with patrimonial rule. Taking an interest in the condition of the peasantry was not just an expression of the sultan’s altruism and charitable disposition, it was also a pragmatic necessity, since a chronically discontented peasantry produced not only low crop yields and low tax returns but also – potentially, if their concerns were not understood and addressed – collective resistance to state and sultanic authority. Taking effective measures to counteract this effect required first-hand exposure and knowledge that could only come from direct contact and from the opportunity of the sovereign to hear and react to his subjects’ grievances and complaints at first hand. During a 31-day tour to the Dardanelles and Edirne in June–July 1831, Sultan Mahmud was not shy of using open appeals and efforts to win the hearts and minds of his subjects in the western provinces by means of public distributions of charity to the urban poor of the cities through which he passed.19 His stay in Edirne included an incognito tour of inspection through the public market, to show his commitment to fair trading practices and to his patronage of and interest in the high quality textile production of that city, which in both cases exhibited the sultan’s traditional role as overseer of economic justice and quality production.20 Upon his return to Istanbul at the end of a tour of the western provinces in July 1831, the sovereign Mahmud II was welcomed with the customary rituals befitting the return/arrival (kudum) of the sovereign to his principal residence. Partly in acknowledgement of the gesture of welcome and partly so as not to leave his subjects in the capital feeling excluded from the beneficence he had recently showered on his provincial subjects, he made generous contributions to the needy schoolchildren belonging to all the major faiths represented in the city’s diverse population. By so doing, he broadcast with unmistakable clarity the message that he was not just their lord and master, but at the same time their protector, friend and father figure.21 In the everyday practices and special public-relations gestures during Selim III’s and of Mahmud II’s reigns, it is still possible to observe the traditions of royal charity and largesse functioning in the traditional way, and not just as artificial remnants of a former age of imperial glory. By way of contrast, when we examine the perfunctory performance of some other rituals and traditions associated with the dynasty – such as the obligatory

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weekly public appearance of the sultan at the Friday prayer service to meet the Muslim faithful – on the part of some sultans of the late imperial era such as Abdülhamid II (1876–1909) it is clear that what we observe is the preservation of the form and outward appearance of rituals and ceremonies whose underlying meaning and purpose is no longer being fulfilled. By tradition, the sultan’s ‘Friday Salutation’ (Cuma selamlığı) had offered the opportunity (as well as obligation for the sultan) to hear the opinions and, if necessary, to answer the complaints and grievances of his ordinary subjects free from the obstacles presented by the usual hurdles of guards, gatekeepers and chamberlains that isolated the sultan from the approach of would-be complainants and petitioners during sessions of the imperial divan. Even if the petitioner managed to penetrate the two heavily guarded Outer and Middle Gates of the Topkapi Palace compound, direct approach was restricted and in practice most petitions were delivered to the grand vizier, who prioritized them and only summarized the most urgent among them for forwarding to the sultan.22 The traditional viewpoint of the scribal class of advisers, companions and tract writers such as Koçi Bey was that attendance at the Friday prayers, where the sultan was more exposed to the public gaze, formed an essential dimension of the sultan’s duties of office. Other opportunities to hear petitions and reach independent and direct judgements without the interference of intermediaries (bila vasita) were offered during excursions for the royal hunt (şikâr-i hümayun). Sultans who spent too much time in isolation and allowed their subordinates too much scope for fact-gathering as well as decision-making were criticized for dereliction of duty.23 Viewed as a theoretical ideal, the institution of the ‘Friday Salutation’ formed an essential element in consultation (müsşavere) and rule by consensus (ijma), which both were the foundation stones of good government according to Islamic political theory. Even if one allows for some degree of exaggeration and journalistic excess, which reflected negative public opinion on the increasingly autocratic nature of his reign after his first quarter-century on the throne in the early 1900s, there can be little doubt that Abdülhamid II’s rule from a position of isolation within the walls surrounding his Star Pavilion (Yıldız Köşk) was far from living up to the best traditions of governance through consultation.24 One result of his isolation from the people was his preference for a residence far removed from the most populated quarters of the city. Another was that, as the place chosen for the performance of the weekly appearance for the Friday Salutation, he selected the equally remote Hamidiye mosque within the grounds of the Yıldız compound, where chance meetings with any of his subjects, whether well-wishers or critics, were out of the question. During a visit to the Ottoman court in 1901, the New York-based travel writer and sometime journalist Ann Bowman Dodd had an opportunity to view Abdülhamid’s performance of the Cuma selamlığı at the Hamidiye, of which she left the following, less than flattering, account:

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1. Photograph showing Abdülhamid II attending the Friday Salutation at the Yıldız Palace; cf.Osman Özdes¸ and Ertol Makzume (eds), Ottoman Court Painter Fausto Zonaro (Istanbul: Yapi Kredi Yayınları, 2003), p. 40. … the sultan who goes thus, week after week, to worship his master, proceeds to his mosque between a wall of steel. During the short length of the drive [from his residence in the Star Pavilion] no one can approach him. No human hand or arm can thrust forward the written petition, that last resort of the subject governed by the autocrat.25

Another late imperial survival that mimicked the posture of the patrimonial ruler in the high imperial era was the habit of inaugurating, launching and otherwise marking with the imperial seal of approval and ownership public assets, including buildings.26 In the late imperial era this practice was, if anything, extended; it was used for the naming not just of naval vessels, but even of towns and urban settlements, either those founded and patronized by the sultan or those spontaneously re-dedicated using the ruling sultan’s name to convey his subjects’ good wishes and affection. Abdülaziz, who ruled between 1861 and 1876, had scarcely been on the throne a year before two settlements in eastern Anatolia – one, a new foundation and the other a re-branded sister city – had honoured him by adopting his name, which was timed to coincide with his accession year.27 Regarding the sovereign as the personification of the body politic as a whole

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2. Photograph showing Abdülhamid II attending the Friday Salutation at the Yıldız Palace. Taken from Photographs of Istanbul From the Archives of Sultan Abdülhamid II (Istanbul, 2007), a joint publication of the Municipality of Istanbul and the Research Center for Islamic History Art and Culture. Photograph on p. 41. was common practice in both eastern and western polities. In choosing suitable names for warships, oftentimes names with clear dynastic or regal associations were preferred. As the Ottoman fleet underwent a process of modernization in the 1860s and commissioned new ships to be constructed abroad, names with historical resonance harking back to the early days of empire such as ‘Osmaniyeh’ and ‘Orhaniyeh’ were obvious choices, but references to the current ruler were also common.28 In keeping with this practice, two ships scheduled for delivery to the Ottomans on the eve of the First World War were named ‘Sultan Osman’ and ‘Reshadiye’, the latter to honour the currently reigning Sultan Mehmed V (Reşad), who reigned between 1909 and 1918.29 Some technical forms of ceremony inextricably linked with fundamental ruling principles, such as the sultan’s obligation to provide humanitarian aid and charity to the needy, also survived until the end of empire.30 Institutional inaugurations, boat launchings and symbolic laying of foundation stones for buildings under construction all form part, even today, of the ceremonial presence of monarchy and personalized rule, long after the sovereign’s

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3. The entrance to the barracks of the imperial artillery regiments (topçu kışlası) in Taksim built by Sultan Mahmud II between 1803 and 1806 and later renovated by Sultan Abdülaziz (1861–76). Photograph No. 329 (Archive No. 90475/25) in the Abdülhamid Collection; see Photographs of Istanbul From the Archives of Sultan Abdülhamid II (Istanbul, 2007), p. 391. For information concerning the dates of construction and renovation, see Mustafa Cezar, XIX. Yüzyıl Beyoğlusu (Istanbul: Akbank Yayınları, 1991), p. 61. position as a central figure in the political process has ceased to exist. In the chapters that follow we will make it our task to reanimate the figure of the sultan, reconnected to all the dimensions of his varied and instrumental roles, which encompassed not just the artistic, intellectual and architectural patronage whose vestigial forms, surviving into the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, we have considered briefly here in this introduction, but also the wider scope of state activity across the whole spectrum of economic, social, cultural and political life of the community. The omnipresence as well as centrality and instrumentality of the patrimonial ruler to all aspects of the life and livelihood of the territories and peoples under his rule, before the inroads into his sphere of competence were deliberately introduced by Mahmud II’s administrative reforms of 1836, are not easily grasped or even imagined.31

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4. Portal to the Sublime Porte (Bab-i Ali), the seat of Ottoman government after the mid-nineteenth century, bearing the tughra of Abdülmecid Khan (r. 1839–61) and the date of construction, ah 1259/ad 1843. If our treatment succeeds in putting the various pieces of the toppled HumptyDumpty figure of the late imperial era back together in a form which captures the position of the sultan as collector and distributor of livelihood, wealth, honour and reputation as well as the final arbiter of both reward and punishment over all his territories and their populations, then some notion of his solar position within the constellations and galaxies making up his patrimonial universe will have been conveyed.32 By acknowledging the centrality of the figure of the sultan and the importance of the institution of the sultanate for understanding the dynamics of power in the high imperial era we need not ascribe to the ‘great men’ theory of history or suggest that the ups and downs in imperial fortunes the dynasty experienced are entirely attributable to the character and competence of a single person, known by his Italian contemporaries in reverential terms as Il Gran Signor. On the other hand, no account of Ottoman realities which marginalizes or ignores the role of the sultan, appealing instead to irresistible historical forces or environmental causes, can claim to have accurately assessed the true extent of involvement in public affairs and the energetic activism which even sultans such as Mehmed IV (1648–1687) – labelled fainéant or ineffectual by his own Ottoman compatriots – delivered. The sultans were certainly much more than mere figureheads even when – as was notoriously the case with Sultan

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5. Second entrance to the Antiquities (Sarcophagus) Museum, whose initial phase of construction and inauguration was completed in 1891. Süleyman I (1520–66), who delegated unprecedented levels of responsibility for high-level decision-making to long-serving as well as wealthy and powerful grand viziers such as Ibrahim Pasha (g.v. 1523–36) and Rüstem Pasha (g.v. for

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6. Detail of the second entrance showing the sultan’s tughra and the date of the completion of the secondary construction in ah 1323/ad 1905. two terms, 1544–53 and 1555–61) – they performed a significant proportion of their duties of office by proxy. Our account of the mechanism and manifestations of sultanic power will necessarily be selective and based largely, though not exclusively, on evidence from the longer and best documented reigns such as the 46-year reign of Süleyman I and the 39-year term of Mehmed IV mentioned above. A comprehensive account of all 35 successors of the dynastic founder would in any case easily degenerate into a hagiographic account of the ‘good kings’ and a vilification of the ‘bad kings’ based on the reputations assigned to them in accounts which

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have acquired respectability and credence through frequent repetition and wide distribution in standard Ottoman court chronicles. Tales, anecdotes and exploits (menakib) of the so-called ‘lesser’ sultans such as the short-lived Ahmed I (r. 1603–17), composed by his admirer and amanuensis Mustafa Safi, can provide a refreshing antidote to the sometimes unconvincing and rather de-personalized accounts found in standard histories, with their tendency to be dominated by a one-dimensional focus on the campaign successes of the warrior sultans.33 In the main, such sources draw a portrait of the sultan that is both distant and abstract since, more often than not, they relate not what he did by way of direct action (for instance, wielding the sword, issuing commands or even participating in debate over policy), but what he accomplished (through his generals, aides and advisers and lawmakers acting on his behalf). Our aim is to draw a portrait of the sultan as a man in full, but by seeking out sources that describe his active and direct input to the art of government, whether in the sphere of war, diplomacy or his participation in court ceremonial. Thus, in addition to offering a centre-centred approach to Ottoman political reality, our account – in its attempt to reconstruct and re-animate the operation of the Ottoman court by placing the spotlight on its rulers and their ruling personae – will by necessity remain a mostly personcentred account.

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1

Dynastic Origins: Medieval Inheritances and Major Influences on Ottoman Concepts of Sovereignty Dynastically and genealogically, the Ottomans regarded themselves as direct and legitimate heirs to the Seljukid sultans of Konya, whose parent dynasty, the Great Seljukid State of Iran, based its idea of political legitimacy on a synthesis of traditions drawing equally on Iranian (or, according to some, Indo-Iranian) and central Asian Oghuz Turkic inheritances and on the contemporary AraboIslamic civilization of the new millennium era.1 Already in the time of the Ottomans’ Iran-based imperial progenitors, traditions and philosophies of rule had emerged from heterogeneous origins, syncretically adopted to form a new inter-civilizational synthesis.2 With the move to Anatolia and a further encounter with indigenous Graeco-Roman and Armenian cultures, the complex diversity of traditions and norms that coalesced around the court at Konya engendered a re-synthesizing of that synthesis. From the late eleventh century onwards, the Oghuz Turkic tribes who were the driving force behind the creation of new states in a wide territory west of the Caucasus–Zagros barrier had become accustomed to the experience of inter-civilizational dialogue and accommodation.3 In seeking the philosophical roots of Ottoman governing traditions and ideals of kingship, one must be wary of being misled by expectations of identifying a single, pure and uncorrupted or clearly dominant source of inspiration. Yet, among the multi-sourced principles that guided the Turco-Ottoman approach to good government, I would identify two broad themes as essential cornerstones of the state regimes that characterized both the Seljukids and their successors, the Ottomans. The first of these basic premises was the belief that the preservation of social order (as a positive attribute) and the prevention of anarchy and disorder (as a negative to be avoided) were the primary tasks of government, taking precedence over all other benefits linked with effective rule by a strong leader. The second priority of good government affirmed the principle that the protection and promotion of the basic economic, juridical and personal property rights of ‘commoners’, that is, persons of no particular pretensions or social status, was at the same time the ruler’s solemn duty and his subjects’ inalienable right. Protection of the socially disadvantaged against the depredations and aggression of socially (or militarily) dominant groups or possessors of hereditary privilege was essentially a corollary of the first principle of good government, since intervention of the sultan to prevent the preying of the strong on the weak

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was fundamentally a question of maintaining social order. Nevertheless, for the sake of clarity and ease of exposition, we will treat the two as separate in the forthcoming analysis.

THE LAW AND ORDER THEME: A QUESTION OF PRINCIPLE AS WELL AS PRAGMATISM The hybrid Perso-Islamic forms and traditions of the Samanid imperial era still dominated the political landscape of north-eastern Iran on the eve of the Seljukid dynastic era, c.1000 ce, and it was this composite culture that the founders of the new dynasty first encountered. Regarding the ancient Persian roots of this composite creation, historians with equally distinguished credentials have differed in their opinion as to whether, in origin, the cult of the ruler in ancient Iran was grounded in notions of divine kingship. Richard Frye tended to de-emphasize the divine status and sacral quality of the sovereign’s authority,4 whereas Yarshater argued that, conceptually at least, the charisma (kwarneh/farah/farr), a concept translated variously as divinely-granted good fortune, grace, glory, and sometimes also as ‘luminance’ attributed to the ruler in ancient written sources, comes very close indeed to the deification of the ruler and assertion of the sacral quality of his rule. In Yarshater’s view the kwarneh or luminance associated with Persian monarchs in the Achamenid and, later, in the Sassanid dynastic era was ‘a blessing bestowed from above, usually by Ashi, the goddess of wealth and recompense’.5 Whatever the real nature of these ancient practices and beliefs, it is a subject further debated among specialists whether there is any direct historical continuity between Iranian notions of ‘sacral’ kingship and the conceptualization and legitimization of the institution of the caliphate in the early Islamic era. Without tarrying too long to enter into a detailed discussion of pros and cons in this debate, suffice it to say that, at least in terms of etiquette and palace protocol and procedures, there is more than a hint in the Iranian courtly tradition to the belief that the ruler possessed an aura, a comeliness and even a godliness. The practice, seemingly strictly observed, of the enforced seclusion, even isolation, of the monarch, whose implied purpose was to protect the divine ‘aura’ of the ruler from the direct gaze (and implicit corruption) of mere mortals, applied not just to the public at large, but even to the palace entourage and inner circle of court associates, who were compelled by tradition to communicate with the sovereign from behind a curtain, or setr, obscuring him from view. According to Clément Huart, who cites the evidence provided by the tenth-century Baghdadi author Masudi, the isolation of the monarch through the use of a veil or curtain continued to be practised by Iranian dynasties until well after the rise of Islam.6 Devoutness, piety and devotion to religion were, doubtlessly, qualities expected

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in the ‘good’ ruler in many ages and different religious traditions, but, due to the practical demands imposed on the Islamic ruler of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, a period coinciding with the rise of the Seljukids in Iran, the model of the virtuous, pious ‘philosopher–king’ of the Platonic ideal had less relevance to the needs of the Islamic community than the model of the strong ruler, capable of preserving law and order and of preventing, or at least minimizing, the worst effects of factional and sectarian division. In Islamic political theory of the high Middle Ages (including the crusader era), when defining the principal role and responsibilities of the monarch, it was the defending of the territorial integrity of the state, and of the Islamic lands at large, from the threat of internal dissolution and foreign invasion that took precedence.7 After the fall of the Abbasid Caliphate in 1258, the law and order issue took on, if anything, even greater prominence in Islamic political discourse. The creation of conditions suitable for the development of high culture, the arts and general economic prosperity required, first and foremost, not a ruler who was admired for his virtuous character, but one who could impose order. For their part, Ottoman concerns over state security and the rule of law had a double legacy, rooted in the experience of the Islamic world during the troubled eleventh and twelfth centuries and at the same time in the legacy of confusion and anarchy associated with the final period of Byzantine rule in western Anatolia in the second half of the thirteenth century, after the Palaeologid restoration in Istanbul in 1261 which, willy-nilly, created a power vacuum in the Anatolian marches of their empire.

POLITICAL CONDITIONS IN ANATOLIA AFTER THE FALL OF THE ABBASID CALIPHATE IN 1258 From the very outset, the Ottoman dynasty was associated with legislative initiatives and regulatory schemes that were designed to combat specific forms of disorder and market anarchy endemic in Anatolian cities during the pre-Ottoman era. Thus, to understand the basis of the broadening mandate for change and growing acceptance of Ottoman governance based on the rule of law requires that we look back to the half century preceding the Ottoman capture of Bursa in 1326 and attempt a portrayal of the general condition of lawlessness that prevailed in Anatolia during those times. There is no doubt that the removal of the Palaeologids to Constantinople in 1261 and the retraction of the Ilkhanids’ sphere of influence and general administrative authority in central Anatolia following their defeat at Ayn Jalut in 1260 led to the simultaneous fading of the two sources of effective imperial administration which vied for administrative control over the western Anatolian frontier zone (udj). The immediate beneficiaries of the power vacuum

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created in western Anatolia as a consequence of these developments were not strong imperial successor regimes such as the Ottomans eventually became, but regional power figures and mobilizers of troops who claimed no more than localized authority and influence. The folk memory of the ravages associated with the collapse of imperial authority and with the era of the predominance of the mutually contending ‘Kings of the Territorial Divisions’ (muluk al tawaif) left a strong mark on the collective consciousness of residents in the western Anatolian udj in the late thirteenth century and at the same time provided a ready theme for Ottoman imperial rhetoric, which announced the dawning of a new era of order and unity under their proclaimed leadership. The generalized breakdown of law and order in provincial society at the margin between the two empires, which themselves both boasted strong absolutist and centralist traditions of their own, provided the opportunity as well as the justification for the Ottomans to propose their own claim for a restoration of a new world order (nizam ul alem), defined on their own terms. To combat the negative influence of the military enterprisers and marauders such as those described in Raymond Muntaner’s narrative account of the activities of Catalan companies in the Marmara region during the years 1303–11,8 the Ottomans believed the best means for taming the forces of disorder in their own ‘wild west’ was, not the strong-arm methods of gun-slinging law enforcers like Wyatt Earp, whose exploits form part of the modern American national consciousness, but rather a revival of traditional concepts of government in the public interest which they proposed. The appeal to public support based on the advantages of security, predictability and consistency provided by the presence of a strong, but at the same time non-partisan, central-state authority had strong roots both in the Islamic/Middle Eastern and in the Roman traditions of imperial rule, which developed parallel notions of an authoritarian government favouring the interests of the community at large, conceived in Roman terms as the res publica and in Middle Eastern Islamic terms as the maslahat al-nas. A recent study on the provincial context of Roman imperial ideology by Clifford Ando has insightfully revealed the logic by which local provincial, and in particular urban, populations willingly transferred the responsibility for maintaining law and order to a strong central authority on the grounds that they ‘recognized and appreciated the political and economic stability with which imperial government endowed daily life’9 and because they were persuaded that central authority would use its power and influence at the local level, firstly with ‘wisdom and benevolence’, and secondly to promote the ‘best advantage of the res publica’.10 While it would be premature to assume that this willing transfer of local authority to central administrative jurisdiction had yet taken place during the troubled years of the ‘first empire’, whose very existence was called into question with Timur’s bold restoration of the muluk al tawaif in 1403, the fact that

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kanun and nizam lay at the heart of Ottoman governing principles and claims to imperial legitimacy during the ‘second empire’ established by Murad II and his successors after 1421 is beyond dispute. The Ottomans based their notions of centrist rule on several sources, of which the Roman caesar was only one prototype. The argument that strong central authority was good for the general weal was forcibly made by al-Ghazzali in his advice treatise composed in the first decade of the twelfth century. The order/ disorder theme so pervaded Ghazzali’s thinking that he sanctioned the sultan’s use of any and all means necessary for the prevention of anarchy, thus placing a higher value on his role in the preservation of social order than on his unequivocal possession of the ideal quality of kingly justice. In the central chapter, which deals with the qualities required of kings, Ghazzali observes as follows: ‘… a century of unjust rule by sultans will not do so much damage as one hour of the injustice of subjects to one another’.11 The populations of Anatolia, especially urban populations such as the townsfolk of Bursa, had seen their prosperity wither and fade countless times during the era of rule by the ‘Kings of the Territorial Divisions’ whose general features were so vividly evoked in Muntaner’s account, and these conditions of general insecurity were relived in the early fifteenth century during the period of the fetret, when armed factions vied for control over the Ottoman polity. The insecurity of the ruler’s position and – in this early period of Ottoman history – the fragility of the state itself gave impetus to the establishment, by popular acclaim, of a regime ruled by a fully empowered sovereign who based his claim to legitimacy on the exercise of imperial authority on behalf of the general public interest. It was explicit in the state’s legislative and regulatory stance that its interventions in local and municipal affairs should bring the greatest advantage to the greatest number, and the use of sovereign authority to favour special interest groups or socially privileged factions was explicitly excluded. Ottoman administration in western Anatolia was in some ways meant to combat the ills associated with the special privileges awarded to provincial elites in the late Byzantine period and to reverse the trend of retreat from the principles of good government, which had – despite the best efforts of the late Palaeologan emperors of Constantinople to revive these principles – lapsed into a state of suspension and were ultimately forgotten altogether. The incapacity of state authority to combat the influence or to counter the demands of increasingly powerful provincial families, who pursued a narrowly conceived agenda aimed at promoting their own economic interests, often at the expense of the general good, allowed for a pattern of predatory social relations, associated in the public mind with the loss of central control during the final century of Byzantine rule, to emerge.12 The accomplishment of an effective bureaucratic centralism based

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on principles of protection of public interest and general welfare was the lasting legacy of the Ottomans’ second attempt at empire, following their recovery from the aftermath of the Timurid invasion of 1402. The diverse origins of the political wisdom that contributed to the framing of an explicitly Islamic theory of state and statecraft in the high Middle Ages has attracted the attention of several writers. Al-Azmeh has noted the propensity among medieval Muslim political theorists for renaming, re-classifying and recasting in Islamic terms political axioms traceable to Persian or Greek traditions of the pre-Islamic era so as to create a cohesive set of principles compatible with basic Koranic precepts and prophetic lore.13 But, far from receding gradually into the background in later centuries, by the later eleventh century the prominence of pre-Islamic Iranian normative values and ideals of kingship within this AraboIslamic synthesis was, if anything, more pronounced than ever.14 For his part, Anthony Black has no hesitation in describing Islam’s political culture in the high Middle Ages as ‘half-Iranian’.15 Promoting the interests of society required not the guiding hand of an ‘enlightened’ monarch so much as the restraining influence of a benevolent ‘despot’ who was freely granted an unrestricted mandate to exercise his executive power so long as his decisions were tempered with compassion and charitable regard (ihsan) for the needy in society.16 The Ottomans as immediate successors and next-of-kin to the Sassano-Islamic synthesis of the Seljukids were broadly governed by these same traditions, which saw the strong ruler not just as a necessary evil, but as the active and essentially only disinterested promoter of the common good. Another important source of inspiration and influence on Ottoman views concerning the desirability and indispensability of a strong yet benevolent ruler derived from the Turco-Mongol synthesis of the mid- to late thirteenth century. Under the reviving influence of a new influx of Oghuz Turkic populations pulled westwards into Anatolia by the Mongol advance, starting from the middle decades of the century interest in Ghengizid dynastic lore based on tribal custom and on taboos (töre) and other legal restrictions (yasa/yasak) developed and spread. The new political order in the Islamic world after the fall of Baghdad to the Mongols in 1258 further sustained this interest. A new synthesis, based partly on the PersoIslamic model of benevolent despotism and partly on the bureaucratic centralism and military–administrative absolutism of the Turco-Mongol tradition, was in its formative phase at precisely the time that coincided with the lifespan of Osman, the founder–creator of the Ottoman dynastic enterprise. A reasonable, plausible and, among its peers, probably most reliable account of the early career of Osman by the paragon of Ottoman historians, Kemal Paşa-zade (1468–1534), identifies the hijri year 652 (21 February 1254 to 9 February 1255) as the date of Osman’s birth.17 Thus around 1280, when he took over from his father, Ertughrul, the position of emir (chief) of Söğüt, he

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would have been a young man in his mid-twenties, as yet possessing limited military or administrative experience, and yet the majority of the tribal elders saw his leadership as preferable to that of the rival candidate, his uncle Dundar. Dundar’s claim was based largely on his superior credentials and prior experience as a military commander (serdar). The reason cited by the historian for Osman’s emergence as the ‘people’s choice’ was his potential as an administrator which, despite his lack of a proven track record, could be sensed in his natural flair for sound decisions, which was based on good judgement and his superior moral qualities.18 Although Kemal Paşa-zade was writing his account more than two centuries after the event, he saw that management skills and the ability to generate unanimity of purpose within the tribe were of equal importance to the success of the fledgling Ottoman enterprise as the leader’s reputation for military prowess. The most immediate source of the tradition of centrist rule based on the strict enforcement of laws and administrative codes promulgated by the ruler was the example of administrative practices and general bureaucratic order imposed by the Ilkhanids after their conquest of Anatolia in 1243. Strict control of resources and enforcement of resource sharing by the ruler in the name of the general social good was an inheritance from the steppe environment, where both climatic conditions and the dispersal of the tribe over a wide territory required the presence of a strong ruler, who could enforce collectively agreed decisions reached for the common good. Under the difficult conditions of the steppe environment, without the authority vested in the figure of the absolute ruler (khan/kagan), disruptive, anti-social or self-serving behaviour on the part of individual tribes within the wider confederation posed a threat, not just to the khan’s authority, but to the survival of the polity itself. While conditions outside the steppe were not so severe, the need for a mutually accepted central authority to balance the competing needs of different regions and achieve compatibility and complementarity of the various tribal units was obvious in any territorially dispersed empire. Ilkhanid rule over western Iran and Anatolia imposed similar needs for discipline, control and sharing of communal burdens. It seems that the Ottoman impulse for regulation in the early dynastic era was focused on urban environments and, in particular, urban markets which were closely managed, according to rules for market organization and inspection set down in the Islamic ihtisab regulations. After the establishment of its capital at Bursa in 1326, the Ottoman regime in many western Anatolian cities became associated with social order, economic justice and the provision of a safe and secure environment, not just to merchants and traders, but also to town populations who both produced and consumed artisanal products exchanged in urban markets. Ottoman encouragement of trade and urban development can also be seen as a direct inheritance of the Ilkhanid project to develop Anatolia as the final

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link in the Mongols’ trans-Eurasian overland trading system, a project which aimed ultimately at reaching the shores of the Mediterranean and the wider Mediterranean world. The importance to the Ottomans of norms, traditions and approaches to empire inherited from nomadic predecessor regimes in Anatolia is clear from the number of practices adopted by the Ottomans with only minor variation or deviation from the courtly traditions of those states. Here we will consider just two of these: firstly, the tradition of the royal hunt, demonstrating (as well as enunciating) the ruler’s role as protector and provider for the wider tribal community and at the same time as defender of public order and of his tribe; and secondly, the tradition of the royal feast, displaying the ruler’s role as provider for the wider tribal community.

THE TRADITION OF THE ROYAL HUNT The ultimate source for the practices associated with the royal hunt (çerge/şikar/ av) was the tribal code of the Oghuz Turks (Oghuz töresi). As an institution, the hunt served as a vehicle for expressing the values of discipline, order, control and communal cooperation governing its conduct, and, after its completion, it served to display the royal virtue of magnanimity and generosity governing the distribution of the game. Because it was traditionally organized on a community scale as an annual or sometimes twice annual event, the hunt required the attendance and participation of all the subordinated tribes belonging to the wider confederation, thus offering the ruler an opportunity to receive the lesser tribes’ obeisance and subordination to his rule through being assigned fixed positions and specific functions contributing towards the success of the joint undertaking.19 The punishment for abandoning one’s assigned position was severe. The basic rules and statutes of the hunt as practised by the Mongols in this regard were summarized in an account by the Persian historian Juvayni (1226–83) as follows: During the period [of the chase lasting from between] one and three months slowly and gradually they drive the game, taking care that it should not pierce the ring [çerge] and escape … If someone has not kept his place in line … and has gone either inside the ring or outside it, to such a man a strict punishment shall be administered; he cannot expect to be excused.20

The juxtaposition, placement, order and precision required for success in the hunt were analogous to those required for success in military campaigning, but beyond that they served as a demonstration (reinforced by annual repetition) that submission to the ruler’s will and command brought material reward and

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benefit to all those who participated. Sharing the catch and distributing the spoils produced by the hunt was one of the material ways the ruler could demonstrate his gratitude for the loyal service provided by his close associates and officers of the court, but it also served to display his generosity in supporting the wider tribal community, whose livelihood and future survival relied on the ruler’s willingness to release some of the trapped game from the ring, thereby contributing to the sustenance of the tribe and at the same time providing breeding stock to produce game for future hunts. The way he decided to balance these various priorities of feeding, providing for the masses and rewarding his closest and most loyal associates revealed his qualities and capacity as ruler. Juvayni’s text reflects on this aspect of the ruler’s management of the imperial hunt as follows: As soon as the ring is complete so the wild animals have no way to move, first the khan, with several associates, enters the ring and for about one hour shoots arrows and bags the game and when he is tired, he stays on a high point inside the çerge in order to watch how the princes and the army leaders and following them the privates each in turn enter the ring. In this manner several days will be spent until but few animals, single and in couples, are left … Then old men burdened with age approach the khan and humbly implore him to grant a term of life for the remainder of the game, to let the animals out of the ring in the direction of the nearest water and grass.21

The relevance and importance of these customs and practices relating to the hunt for people inhabiting the steppe (Turan) is obvious. But, even after the movement of Turkic groups into the settled world of Iran and central Islamic lands – a movement which, after Ghenghiz Khan’s incursions of the 1220s, took the form of mass migration of whole tribes – the customs retained much of their vitality and symbolic value. The institution of the hunt remained a core institution of the courts of Turkic dynasties which proliferated throughout the Islamic world both before and after the Mongol era, in the period 1000–1300 of the common era. Arguably after the mid-thirteenth century they gained both in intensity and in prestige, through association with the legacy of Ghenghiz Khan as world conqueror. The cultural influence of the values and world outlook transported from the steppe into the mixed sedentary and nomadic world of Anatolia, as the Ottomans began to formulate their own traditions of sovereignty and court organization, is undeniable. The defeat of Bayezid I at the hands of another steppe conqueror, Timur, in the battle of Ankara in 1402 served further to reinforce and revalidate the normative values associated with nomadic society of the Turanian steppe. From evidence provided in a late eleventh-century source it appears that the ritual of the general hunt using beaters to chase the game into the ring was practised in Kashgar in the time of the Karakhanids under the name sığın or battue-shooting.22 The first detailed accounts of the annually repeated rituals

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emphasize their use not just as a means for consolidating the hunt-master/ruler’s position of power, but also as an occasion for general social intercourse and celebration and as a means of strengthening common bonds between dispersed tribal units who spent the remainder of the year in relative isolation.23 As a vehicle for inter-clan communication, discussion and problem-solving, they served an invaluable practical as well as ceremonial purpose. The importance attached to these rituals in post-Mongol times is indicated by the fact that, at the Timurid court in the fifteenth century, officials called the ruler’s quiver-bearer (kurçi) and his falconer (kuşcu) held prominent positions in the state administration.24 The ruler’s performance of the duties of the exemplary host at communal gatherings on the occasion of the hunt found another vehicle for expression in the institution of the royal feast (şölen/toy), commonly held to celebrate the successful completion of the hunt.

THE TRADITION OF THE ROYAL FEAST The connection between food distribution and the establishment of royal authority is by no means exclusive to Turkic culture. In fact, though forms of expression and detailed banqueting arrangements may vary, demonstration of power through the medium of food can be regarded as a cultural universal. In Roman imperial practice, for example, constant use was made both of public festivities for the masses and of the organization of more select gatherings of invited guests, designed to establish a fixed hierarchy of loyalties around the person of the sovereign.25 However, for its sheer value as a basic metaphor for the re-distributive power and function of the sovereign figure, highlighting his fundamental position as protector and provider of the wider masses under his rule, the institution of the general feast as practised in the Turco-Mongol tradition of the steppe has few equals. Both in terms of the breadth of their inclusiveness and of the scale of provision, elaborateness and duration of the associated festivities, these carefully planned and staged events can be considered as a defining characteristic of kingship in the Turanian style. Ritual sharing of communal bounty as well as careful husbanding of scarce resources in times of dearth was a practical necessity for survival in the steppe environment. Non-participation, either in the annual hunt or in the ritual sharing which marked its completion, signalled more than just disassociation from the tribe and social ostracism; it meant real privation as well. Although it may be said that such ritual sharing had lost some of its real urgency and practical purpose once it was removed from its steppe context and applied to the mixed agrarian and pastoral economies of polities of the Middle Eastern lands, the ruling dynasties in place throughout the northern tier of states bordering with, and intermittently absorbed into, wider

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territorial configurations that incorporated parts of the Turanian world kept these traditions very much alive. The connections of Anatolia with the Turanian world both through conquest and through tribal migration remained strong until the late fifteenth century. Ottoman banqueting practices and attitudes towards food sharing can be traced to examples that date back to the earliest recorded history of the eastern Asian steppe empire of the Heavenly Turks (Gök Türks) in the mid-eighth century. How the Ottomans adapted and elaborated these simpler forms for use in their own court ceremonial will be the subject of a later chapter, so for the present we will confine ourselves to a summary of the evidence showing the ancient lineage and uninterrupted continuity of the tradition in the half millennium that preceded the formation of the Ottoman polity.26 The sharing of food in agrarian societies usually takes the form of harvest festivals that represent a celebration of plenty. Conversely, in the steppe tradition what emerges most clearly is the theme of dearth and want, and emphasis is placed on the preventive measures taken by the ruler to prevent suffering among his people. In the East Asian Turkic tradition, the feeding and clothing of his people became one of the ruler’s chief duties and principal legitimizing functions. This duty recapitulated on an incalculably larger scale the corresponding duty incumbent on an individual nomadic tent holder to show hospitality to any wanderer, shepherd, traveller or temporarily displaced member of another tribe who chanced to pass through his tribe’s encampment. In the steppe environment, failure to show common courtesy to a stranger could easily result in danger or even death for the shunned individual. In order to retain his credibility and legitimacy as ruler with supreme power in a pastoral polity, the ruler had to perform his own duties as host with exemplary flair and perfection. In an Ottoman context, the scale and lavishness of the feasting associated with public celebrations varied according to circumstance and from as little as seven days for a royal birth or a victory celebration to 40 or more, to mark the rite of passage of a prince of the royal line, from childhood to adulthood, and his closer proximity to the prerogatives and duties of host in his own right, as future heir and successor to the throne. In addition, there were many other occasions scattered throughout the year in both the secular and religious calendars, when food sharing played an important part in the ritual performances involving the sovereign. On the occasion of the commencement of a risky enterprise such as a military campaign, a feast was organized at the first camp, just outside the city walls, as part of the ceremonies for seeing the army off and wishing it success and a safe return. Even on more everyday occasions such as the completion of the day’s business at the imperial divan, the jointly reached decisions were consolidated and solemnized by sitting down for a common meal and through the ritual breaking of bread together in an early afternoon meal before breaking up

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for the day. The soldiers’ loyalty to their master the sultan was expressed in terms of the debt of obligation they owed him as partakers of his ‘bread and salt’.27 Conversely, disloyalty and rebellion against the sultan’s authority was expressed through joint refusal to share in the communal meal and through engaging in the symbolic act of overturning the soup cauldrons: these were prepared in the palace forecourt at each gathering of the troops for the quarterly pay distributions. The long historical pedigree which Ottoman feeding and banqueting practices have can easily be sensed in the following corpus of texts, assembled only from sources readily available in reliable English translations.

REFLECTIONS ON FOOD ETIQUETTE EXTRACTED FROM THE NORMATIVE LITERATURE ON STATECRAFT DATING FROM EARLY TO LATE MIDDLE AGES Liberality and open-handedness in sharing food supplies with his subordinates and followers are consistently seen in the following corpus of sample texts as a sign of greatness in a king/ruler. The steppe origins of this tradition and its relevance to the general conditions of scarcity and want that characterized the steppe environment, as well as the reliance of wanderers and pastoralists on the ‘kindness of strangers’ for their survival, are also clearly detectable in the passages selected. Though the last two texts were copied down in the high Ottoman imperial era, they both represent oral tales and traditions in circulation for long centuries before they were preserved as literary texts. They are taken from the following sources, listed in accordance with known dates of composition (or, in some cases, compilation): PS 735, The Orkhan Inscriptions; PS 1069, Yusuf Khass Hajib’s Kutadgu Bilig; PS 1090, Nizam al-Mulk’s Siyasat-nama; PS 1331, Ibn Battuta’s travelogue recording his visit to the court of the emir of Kastamonu; PS 1550 (circa), The Book of Dede Korkut; PS 1659, Ebu’l Ghazi’s retrospectively imagined account of the legendary meals served by the quasi-historic tribal founder figure Oghuz Han; and, finally, PS 1490, the advice of the dynasty’s founder, Osman, to his son Orhan – preserved, or retrospectively imagined, in the late fifteenth century and embedded in Aşıkpaşa-zade’s history.

First Text, PS 735: Excerpts from the Kül Tegin Inscription28 (a) p. 267, eastern face, line 26: ‘I became ruler over a poor and miserable people who were foodless in the inside and clotheless on the outside.’ (b) p. 268, eastern face, line 29: ‘I brought the people to life who were going to perish and nourished them. I furnished the naked people with clothes and I made the poor people rich and the few people numerous.’

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(c) p. 272, southeast face (eulogy for the deceased leader): ‘You used to nourish the people better than your beloved children and descendants.’

Second Text, PS 1069: Yusuf Khass Hajib’s views regarding the connection between sovereignty and traditions of hospitality, together with excerpts from ch. 38 on the legitimate expectations of servants regarding their treatment by their masters:29 (a) p. 124: ‘Two things increase the fame of princes: Their banner in their courtyard and their feast-table in the place of honour.’ (b) p. 137: ‘The servant has claims on his master … The first of these is that the master must provide food and drink, and see to the material requirements of his servants.’ (c) p. 138: ‘If the prince is generous in payment and kind in word, the servant will ransom himself for his sake and love him truly, enduring hardship for his sake. The sage bard spoke this wise: “In gratitude for kindness done, he returns the kindness ten to one.”’

Third Text, PS 1090: Two excerpts from Chapter 35 of the Siyasat-nama30 (a) p. 124, § 2: ‘The khans of Turkestan31 made it part of their royal function to have abundant food in the hands of servants and in their kitchens’. (b) p. 124, § 3: ‘A man’s magnanimity and generosity can be measured by his household arrangement. The sultan is the pater familias of the world; all kings are in his power. Therefore it is necessary that his housekeeping, his magnanimity and generosity, his table and his largesse should accord with his state and be greater and better than that of other kings.’

Fourth Text, PS 1331: Ibn Battuta’s description of the ‘open’ table kept by the emir of Kastamonu named Süleyman Paşa 32 It is the custom of this sultan to take his seat in his audience-hall every day after the afternoon prayer; food is brought in and the doors are opened, and no one, whether townsman or nomad, stranger or traveler, is prevented from partaking.

Fifth Text, PS 1550 (c.): Excerpts from the book of Dede Korkut, the epic tale of the Oghuz Turks, illustrating the ruler’s use of communal feasting and sharing as his way of demonstrating gratitude to God for his good fortune and to his tribesmen for their contributions to collective tribal enterprises such as the hunt and military campaigns against other tribes33

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(a) p. 57 – Prince Kazan’s celebration of his victory in battle over his enemies: ‘For seven days and seven nights there was eating and drinking. He freed forty male slaves and forty female as a thank-offering for his son Uruz. To the brave young warriors he gave castles and lands …’ (b) p. 65 – Clan leader Bamsi Beyrek’s invitation to the tribal elders to break bread together prior to considering proposals for joint action against his enemies: ‘They invited all the nobles of the teeming Oghuz, they brought them to their hearth fire, and feasted them. They ate and drank and began to talk; they took counsel together, saying …’ (c) p. 182 – On the tradition of pillaging the ruler’s tent (yaghma) by permission, a ritually repeated gesture demonstrating the ruler’s generosity and his dedication to the ‘common weal’: ‘Once every three years Prince Kazan would assemble the nobles of the Inner Oghuz and the Outer Oghuz and let them pillage his tent. Kazan’s custom was to take his lady’s hand and lead her out of the tent, then they would loot whatever furniture and goods were in the tent.’

Sixth Text, PS 1659: Ebu’l Ghazi’s retrospectively imagined account of the legendary meals served by the quasi-historic tribal founder-figure Oghuz Han34 The text describes provision for the communal meals (toy) to be served over 40 days in celebration of the coming of age of Gün Han, Oghuz Han’s eldest son, on the occasion of the annual gathering of the clans. Provisions for the feast included the following: 900 horses; 9,000 sheep; 9 basins of distilled spirits (arak); 90 basins of fermented mares’ milk (kımız). An early Ottoman version of the same tradition follows in the seventh text.

Seventh Text, PS 1490: Osman I’s advice (vasiyyet) to his son Orhan after the fall of Bursa in 132635 The text stresses the crucial importance of the strategic distribution of favours/ rewards (ihsan) to the ruler’s close associates (nökers) and obedient followers (muti olanlar) to retain the loyalty and support of both. Although no explicit mention is made in this passage of food, feasting or material sustenance, the references to ‘rewards’ (whether in cash or kind) and to the sultan’s acting with ‘kindness’ (ihsan edici olmak) constitute a kind of coded language which amounts to much the same thing. ‘Treat those [in your service] who render obedience with goodness and constantly [shower favours on and] show kindness to your close associates. Your generosity towards them [is the best way] to entrap them [and retain their loyalty].’

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ELABORATION OF TRADITIONS ORIGINATING IN STEPPE SOCIETY INTO A GENERALIZED THEORY OF ‘BENEVOLENT’ DESPOTISM The centrality of food collection (the hunt) and food distribution (the feast) to royal iconography and to attributes associated with the ‘good’ ruler in polities dominated by a pastoral economy is clear enough. The vitality and longevity of these traditions outside the steppe zone is explained by two mutually reinforcing facts. Firstly, in the period between 1250 and 1500 the central lands of the Islamic world were largely ruled by Mongol or Turkic dynasties whose homeland traditions and cultural roots derived from the steppe area from which they had migrated. Secondly, the themes of plenty, dearth and attitudes towards communal sharing applied with considerable force to the arid zones of the Middle East, where the extremes of heat and the scarcity of water created conditions that were not dissimilar to the challenging ones encountered in the steppe environment. The need, as well as justification, for some form of ‘benevolent’ despotism and development of governmental traditions based on provisionism, populism, patrimonialism and a prevailing philanthropic approach to rule applied with particular force in such environments.36 Strict control by a central authority over food production, food distribution and, where necessary, enforcement of food sharing (to be achieved through charitable giving) characterized a number of the contemporary regimes whose territories or interests impinged directly on the nuclear Ottoman emirate of Söğüt in the late thirteenth century. The Ottomans’ contemporary paradigms in designing their own approach to statecraft and administration were the Seljukids, the Ilkhanids and the Mamluks. Egypt and Syria under Mamluk rule provide an interesting case in point of the influence of the Turco-Islamic synthesis on institutional development. Egypt’s Kipchak Turkic dynasty during the Bahrid ascendancy (1250–1390) originated from the southern Russian steppe and, especially in the early years of this new dynastic formation, its traditions, values and mental baggage were, like the dynasty itself, imported from this environment. The Turco-Islamic synthesis found its concise and not unnatural synthesis and coalescence of ideas on the subject of food supply in the Islamic institution of the market inspector (muhtesib), who was given regulatory powers to act on behalf of the sovereign to monitor food quality and to control (and moderate) the price of basic foodstuffs for the benefit of average (especially low income) consumers. Cairo, as the chief population centre of the medieval Islamic world, became a living laboratory for the testing of the efficacy of social welfare theories and of practical aspects of the managing of food distribution in crowded urban contexts. Cairo’s population in the first half of the fourteenth century has been estimated at the level of

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between 200,000 and 250,000 persons.37 Famine prevention and relief came to be paramount duties incumbent on the patrimonial ruler in the Mamluk sultanate, whose lands in Egypt and Syria were naturally prone to unpredictable and widely fluctuating yields year to year. While attitudes in the later Ottoman sultanate towards the ruler’s responsibility to intervene to ensure adequate food supply closely paralleled attitudes embraced in contemporary Mamluk society,38 differences between the two political systems meant that in practical and institutional terms there were important differences and divergences. In Egypt power-sharing arrangements almost oligarchic in nature between the sultan and his leading mamluk amirs made the position of the Egyptian ruler rather different from that of his Ottoman counterpart, especially in the period after 1450, when Mehmed II and his successors began to accumulate undivided power and to create the reality of sultanic absolutism that had evaded their fourteenth-century ancestors. In the Mamluk state the ruler was in effect part of a ruling coalition in which Mamluk amirs, albeit hand-chosen by the ruler for the top-ranking governorships and other administrative posts, were near equal partners with independent fiscal resources of their own. This distribution of political power and its distinctiveness from the Ottoman system, based on a greater centralization of power, is reflected in the data supplied in a study of subventions for poor relief in early fourteenth-century Cairo showing that, out of 14,800 meals distributed to their poor, only 500 (roughly 3 per cent) were provided by direct sultanic donation.39 The overwhelming bulk of the responsibility for poor relief was thus devolved to amirs whose willingness to pay was only partly controlled and enforceable by the sovereign, while his own willingness to transfer responsibility to them is undisguised. According to Sabra, ‘the sultan began to … divide up responsibility for the poor among wealthy members of his court and society’.40 In Ottoman terms, the step from shared responsibility to shared sovereignty was too short to risk, especially when it related to the key area of food supply. Ottoman sultans regarded provision of the basic needs of their subjects as belonging to their own exclusive sphere of sultanic prerogative, in which they used all means at their disposal to display their own greatness and charity; they were loath to dilute its effect by sharing this demonstration of economic power with either courtiers or any other subordinates. In the Ottoman tradition attempts to share this prerogative, by palace officials, for example, were regarded as an affront to royal dignity and a source of lèse majesté and diminished grandeur for the sovereign head.41 Despite some differences in operational details, however, both the royal impulse to charitable giving and the loyal subjects’ expectation of help from the father-figure leader in sheltering, clothing and feeding them sprang from similar origins and represented similar notions of ideal kingship. The Ottoman sultans

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made no claim to be the creators of a new imperial tradition. Quite the reverse: they saw themselves as paragons and quintessential representatives of established, inherited imperial traditions rather than as new trend-setters in their own right. They aspired not to change the system, but to outperform their predecessors from distinguished Islamic dynasties of the past as fellow inheritors and representatives of a great tradition. As successors to the Jalayrids and Kara Koyunlus in Baghdad after 1534, the Ottomans self-consciously compared themselves to the regimes they superseded and immediately instituted a set of populist tax reforms and fiscal exemptions to justify their succession to regimes whose credentials for just rule they judged to be inferior to their own.42 For the Ottomans, between 1300 and 1500 the Mamluks were both competitors and paragons whose record of rule they strove to match or outdo, and, as inheritors of the Mamluk patrimony after 1517, they were ever conscious of potential criticism, should they fail to maintain the high standards of efficient and compassionate governance set by their predecessors. This self-assessment process was clearly on the mind of Ahmed I soon after he acceded to the throne in December 1603, nearly 90 years after Egypt had joined the Ottoman Empire, since he wrote to his governor, Haci Ibrahim Pasha, in 1013 hijri (30 May 1604 to 18 May 1605), acknowledging that maladministration of the Egyptian Deshishe Foundation for support of indigent groups of the Holy Cities during his father’s reign (Mehmed III, 1595–1603) had brought the dynasty’s reputation for welfare to the poor into disrepute. Because the origin of this foundation dated to ‘olden times’ (kadim al eyyamdan) – a clear reference to its Mamluk antecedents – it was not just a matter of religious obligation but of dynastic pride that the smooth working of the foundation be restored and obligations to make regular payments for supplying deshishe (porridge made of crushed wheat) and jiraiye (the daily bread ration) be honoured.43 The Ottomans of the high imperial era were clearly supersensitive to any suggestion that they might be bettered in the sphere of food provision or in the administration of charitable foundations inherited from their imperial predecessors by any rival, whether past or present.

THE THEME OF THE COMMON SUBJECT/TAXPAYER’S INALIENABLE RIGHTS The other main prop of the provisionist state under its ‘benevolent’ paternal ruler was the ruler’s adoption of a populist image, which portrayed him as the enemy of perpetrators of corruption and tyranny and the friend and protector of victims who suffered mistreatment at the hands of those who abused power and privilege. We have already commented on the heterogeneous character and on the diverse origins of the medieval Islamic thought which the Ottomans were able to draw

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on.44 On the topic of the distribution of ‘blind’ or socially non-discriminatory justice aimed at protecting the basic rights of common subjects, there was a similar variety of sources, traditions and precedents on which the Ottomans could rely. For example, the notion of kingship to foster the common weal and the conceptualization of a notion of maslaha (best interest, benefit, welfare) are quite explicit in the thought of Abu Zayad al Balkhi (850–934 ce) who, as can be seen from his nisba, al-Balkhi, himself was a product of the borderland culture on the north-eastern frontier between Iran and Turan.45 Sultans were held accountable before God, who had measured out, as their lot, unlimited power and prestige and put them under the obligation to repay this favour by taking into their custodial care the affairs of the community and by using their royal power for the protection of the weak or otherwise disenfranchised of society. This applied especially to the categories of widows, orphans and the literally weak, but the category was elastic, and since, by definition, the sultan capped the social pyramid everyone was his subordinate and potential dependant. These high standards of social caring and compassion were equally compatible with Islam, one of whose five pillars was to enjoin individual giving and charity by the fortunate to the less fortunate of society (sadaka), and with pre-Islamic traditions of generosity, self-sacrifice, ‘manhood’ (muruwwa) and bravery (bahadurluk) that had common roots in Bedouin traditions of pre-Islamic Arabia and in the chivalric code of their central Asiatic Turkic nomadic brethren.46 The higher up the social scale one climbed and the more wealth, power, political authority and personal prestige one acquired, the greater that individual’s responsibility was to repay society and show generosity to his/her social inferiors. At the top of the social pyramid in the pre-millennial context (pre-1000 ce) came the tribal leader, whereas in the post-millennial context his authority was subsumed by the sultan, but, despite some recasting and restating to suit the new religio-socio-cultural context of Islam, a number of the core values, especially the ruler/leader’s charitable obligations, remained the same. The sultan’s role in the enforcement of generosity and in compelling social conscience where it was not naturally forthcoming was seen as one of the reasons for enduring governance by a ‘strong’ ruler. The root meaning of sulta in Arabic is ‘power’ or ‘compulsion’, but, although the sultan was authorized to collect taxes, if they were not used as part of a programme of wealth redistribution and general social welfare, his collection of taxes was considered an abuse of power. With power came responsibility. The flipside of compassionate rule was an absolute intolerance for the abuse of power and for corruption by state officials in high positions. The role of the king as the enforcer of social justice was a key theme in the Sassanid Persian tradition of statecraft, and it was this aspect of sultanic authority that left the strongest mark on Ottoman legal concepts. This tradition allowed the sultan, sitting in judgement, to impose retaliatory punishments on those who perpetrated

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social order offences (brigands, rebels and thieves) or abuses of power affecting the common weal (embezzlement, fiscal malfeasance and the like) by using the extraordinary legal authority (örf) vested in the person of the sovereign.47 Even in the late imperial era, Ottoman chancellery language continued to rely very heavily on a vocabulary that stressed its carefully maintained record and reputation for the protection of the basic right to safety and security (including immunity from abuse by their social superiors) of common taxpayers – known as reaya, literally ‘the looked after’, ‘the protected’ (from the Arabic root ra, ayn, ya). All those who resided under the rule of the ‘protecting lord’ (padişah), both Muslim and non-Muslim, who were not armed and able to protect themselves, benefited from inclusion in this category, and it was on these very guarantees of basic legal rights and general safety and security that Ottoman political rhetoric of the fourteenth century relied in its appeal to the peasant masses of the Balkans during the early period of expansion and conquest.48 In later phases of Ottoman rule the appeal to the gratitude, loyalty and continuing support of both burghers and agriculturalists in the Balkan lands was tenaciously, insistently and consistently couched in the very same terms. The consistency, in both form and content, of Ottoman political rhetoric in the high imperial era can be seen, for example, in the case of the appeal to the townspeople of Sopron (Oldenburg), situated at a strategically sensitive point on the Hungarian–Austrian border, an appeal issued by the grand vizier and commander of the Ottoman invasionary army as it passed by Sopron in July 1683, en route to Vienna. The image of the ‘protective shade’ offered by Ottoman rule under a benevolent sultan is repeatedly given in this missive as a reason why the burghers should side with the Ottoman protégé Emre Thököly and resist the lure of promised (but in the end only short-term) gains offered by the ‘enemy’ – meaning, in Ottoman terms, the Habsburg Emperor Leopold. On four separate occasions in the relatively brief document of fourteen lines, variations on the theme of protection (himaye) and shade (saye) are insistently rehearsed. The four phrases from the 1683 document took the following forms: (1) taking shelter in the protective shade of the ‘protecting lord’of all the world (2) [finding] protection and security under the shade of the ‘protecting lord’ (3) [finding] comfort and ease under the shade of imperial rule (4) [finding] comfort, ease and prosperity in the fortune-infused shade …49

The benefits of Ottoman rule were seen and portrayed by this late seventeenthcentury vizier in terms so similar as to be almost undistinguishable from the logic of the istimalet or ‘winning over’ policies that had supported the Ottoman’s Balkan expansion three centuries earlier.

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The obedience of the masses to an absolute sovereign – cherished for his ability and willingness to mobilize the power of the state to support its agenda and to engage proactively with its concerns and prevent the rapacious designs of an overweening landholding aristocracy and the excessive demands of unaccountable governors and ministers – was implicit in such appeals. Since the accumulation of hereditary lands was highly exceptional in the Ottoman system, the tax-paying majority could rely on the sultan’s ability, as possessor in trust of the overwhelming bulk of state assets, to act as the alter ego and social conscience of officers, court officials and other appointees under his supervision and control. Nizam al Mulk describes this balancing role played by the sultan in terms suggesting that, because man is by nature selfish and self-interested and because his natural instincts can be held in check only through some form of compulsion, in the absence of a threat of intervention from a compassionate ruler, to check and punish their excesses, the governing classes will inevitably abuse the governed. The threat of dismissal or some other form of accountability can only be imposed by a sultan who is both all-powerful and at the same time ever vigilant and well informed about the real state of his realm. In Chapter 10 of the Siyasetname on the importance of information-gathering to good administration, Nizam al Mulk expresses this view in the following passage: It is the king’s duty to enquire into the condition of the peasantry … and to know everything that goes on. If he does not do this he is at fault and people will charge him with negligence, laziness and tyranny saying – ‘either the king knows about the oppression and extortion going on in the country or he does not know. If he knows and does nothing to prevent and remedy it, that is because he is an oppressor like the rest and acquiesces in their oppression, and if he knows not he is very negligent and ignorant.’ Neither of these imputations is desirable.50

The means of preserving social justice, in Nizam al Mulk’s conception, are not found so much in recruiting deputies, advisers and agents whose credentials are impeccable as in monitoring the performance of these recruits once they have been sent to carry out their duties of office. The operation of the Ottoman system, which depended on the employment of hand-picked, palace-trained and scrupulously loyal and obedient servants, bound to carry out the sultan’s will and commands and carefully monitored in their job performance by independent sources of reporting and intelligence gathering, follows Nizam al Mulk’s ideal recommendations remarkably closely. That the Ottomans consistently achieved the high administrative standards set down in theoretical works such as that by Nizam al Mulk, adviser to the Seljukid ruler Malik Shah I (1072–92), can naturally be questioned. However, in its basic design the Ottoman system of governance was based on the same principle that the sultan was accountable to his subjects and that his aides and associates were

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accountable to him. This system allowed little scope for the activities of specialinterest groups who sought to undermine and subvert the common interest of the community, known in Islamic terms as the ummah, by promoting their own sectarian or private agendas. Only a figure such as the sultan, whose power was dominant enough to be able to stand above parochial or sectarian interests, could hope to maintain a stable balance between vying social forces and to prevent the predation of the weak at the hands of opportunistic elites. The fact that, with some minor exceptions such as that of the descendants of the Prophet (seyyids), elite status was generally not hereditary in the Ottoman state gave the sultan an exclusivity in the awarding of rewards (for good behaviour) and in the meting out of punishments (for misbehaviour) that made his claim to be the pater familias not just credible but incontrovertible. Even when the sultan was relatively youthful, as in the case of Ahmed I, who died at the age of 28 after a 14-year reign and could hardly be expected to have had the presence or courtliness that come with greater age and maturity, the same expectations of compassionate kingship and custodial care applied. The extent to which these ideals of kingship were met and how far these normative beliefs were put into practice in creating the Ottomans’ own dynastic identity and administrative traditions will be evaluated in the next chapter.

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2

Dynastic Identity: Ottoman Political Values and the Quest for an Imperial Identity in the Proto-Imperial Era, 1300–1450 This chapter offers an account of the evolutionary changes and adaptations of imperial norms and practices inherited from predecessor regimes such as the Seljukid state of Rum, to accommodate Ottoman imperial needs and to conform to the changing political realities facing the dynasty in the first century and a half of its existence, between 1300 and 1450. It is unrealistic to pretend that Ottoman dynastic traditions were immutable and were left uninfluenced by such epoch-making and transformatory events as the fall of Constantinople in 1453 or the acquisition of the Arab lands after the fall of Cairo in 1517. Ottoman dynastic traditions emerged over time, and their mature form is a product and a legacy of the proto-imperial Ottoman practices and administrative forms of the fourteenth century as much as a direct inheritance from medieval predecessor regimes. During the period of the Ottoman emirate, before the empire succeeded in tightening its grip over its ‘overseas’ territories in the Balkan lands, both the geographical horizons and the general outlook of the Ottoman state were closely bound up with its Anatolian origins. These origins may have been superseded and even partly outgrown later, but they were never forgotten. In the middle imperial era, the empire did eventually take the form of a highly centralized, bureaucratically run state dominated by a ruling figure with virtually unlimited and undivided authority, but the ruler’s powers in the early dynastic era were far more circumscribed and depended heavily on coalitions of support and alliances reached – both among the fiercely independent scions of the Turcoman tribes of Anatolia and with the allies and vassals co-opted in the Balkans. Sometimes the vassals from one region were mobilized to help to quell rebellion or insubordination in another. For example, in combating the threat to Ottoman suzerainty in western Anatolia posed by the Ottoman sultan Murad I’s son-in-law and reluctant ally and vassal, the Karamanid ruler Alaeddin, Murad mobilized 2,000 Serbian auxiliaries to join him at the battle of Frenk Yazusu, near Konya, in 1386.1 The early Ottoman state under the rule of Osman (d.1324) and Orhan (d. 1362) accounted for only one of the seventeen successor states formed out of the territories in western Anatolia under former Seljukid rule and jurisdiction.2 The legacy of this period of extreme political fragmentation lived on in Anatolia until at least the mid-1420s, and arguably it was not until the definitive defeat of the Ak Koyunlu ruler Uzun Hasan in the mountainous terrain of eastern

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Anatolia, near Erzincan at Bashkent in 1473, that this chapter in Ottoman history was definitively closed. Yet even in this period of reliance on uncertain coalitions of tribal forces used to give backing to the imperial aspirations of the House of Osman, signs of an imperial apparatus better attuned to the realities and requirements of a sedentarized social structure and centralized bureaucratic rule were beginning to become apparent during the transitional reign of Murad II (1421–44 and 1446–51). It is necessary to examine in detail the institutional evolution of the Ottoman state in the pre-imperial era and to provide a general account of early Ottoman social development and social norms in that period so as to be able to appreciate the starting point from which Mehmed II departed in the 1450s, when he began to construct the centralized state bureaucracy and centrist power structure that were characteristic of the Ottoman regime in the high imperial era. By abdicating in favour of his son Mehmed in 1451, Murad II had hoped to side-step the still difficult issue of divided sovereignty and divided territorial rule which had characterized the early dynastic era. Unigeniture and a smooth transition to unified territorial rule by a single sovereign figure, let alone the durable creation of a unitary state, had been more the exception than the rule during extended periods of the pre-Timurid era and, in the confusion following the Timurid invasions between 1403 and 1413, the unitary state virtually ceased to exist. Thus Murad’s 1444 experiment of imposing a successor in advance of his own demise proved a failure, and it was only after Mehmed himself introduced the law of fratricide, legitimizing the elimination of the successful candidate’s brothers after his definitive enthronement as sultan/emperor, that the traditional system of open (and therefore often divided) succession was displaced in favour of a system of absolute sovereignty, vested in a single person and no longer resident in the collective body of the tribe.3 The issue of the fragmentation of authority and of sometimes ruthless competition for the top position continued to resurface in the sixteenth century and even later. However, once the locus of power in the Ottoman state had shifted away from Anatolia and Istanbul was securely established as its political, cultural and commercial capital towards the later part of Mehmed II’s reign, the appeal to tribal constituencies and factions lost a good deal of its relevance to the succession, and it was far easier for the Ottoman sovereign, once installed, to accumulate and concentrate power in his own person. The transfer of the political capital to Istanbul in 1453 also brought an end to the anomalous position whereby, in the period from 1362 to 1453, the empire possessed in effect a dual political centre at Bursa and in Edirne. The gradual accretion of power by the ruling figure continued during the period of the Ottoman emirate and the early years of the sultanate can be seen in the following account of intermediate forms of sovereignty in the proto-imperial era.

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CONSERVATISM AND CONTINUITY IN EARLY OTTOMAN SOCIETY AND POLITY, c.1300–1450 Our retrospective glance at the emergence of new institutions (administrative, political and cultural) which accompanied the first attempts to create the framework for a centralized state begins with the fourth successor Bayezid I (1389–1403), known as ‘the thunderbolt’. At the same time, however, we will be closely concerned with the inverse topic, namely the survival, into and beyond the first century of Ottoman rule, of forms and practices belonging to earlier times. Since the political framework and social context of the early Ottoman period will form a constant point of reference and comparison, it is appropriate that we should start our analysis with a sketch of the prevailing conditions (especially in Anatolia) in the first half of the fourteenth century. According to Muslim historiographic traditions, the phrase muluk al-tawaif (‘kings of the territorial divisions’), used as a label for periods characterized by the fragmentation of political authority, incontestably applies to the years coinciding with the rise of the Ottoman state in Anatolia.4 The break-up of Seljukid hegemony, replaced (only partially and rather impermanently) by Ilkhanid rule until about 1335, left most of Anatolia subject to local authority and to the political will of a succession of competing dynastic overlords. Given the enormity of the political challenge they faced, it still remains something of a mystery why and how, in the brief period between the demise of the dynastic founder Osman in 1324 and his grandson Murad I in 1389, the Ottomans were able to mobilize so determined a following and alliance of social forces in support of the new dynasty. While this mystery may perhaps never be fully solved, it will be part of our task to document the fragile quality of some of these alliances in the period under study (1350–1450). The same forces which could be harnessed for the creation of geographically extensive territorial states (in the Ottoman case, up to 1402) are observed to have played a crucial role not only in their dissolution (in the Ottoman case, in the decades following 1402) but also in their gradual rebuilding (in the Ottoman case, from the 1430s). Realistic assessment of contemporary conditions justifies placing primary emphasis not on the sultans as mobilizers of coalitions of support, but rather on the social forces themselves. To build a picture of the Ottoman state in the late fourteenth and early fifteenth century, we will start on the social plane with the community and end with an account of imperial institutions in their embryonic form and on the economic plane with autarkic forms that yielded (only very gradually and reluctantly) to the state’s attempts at regulation and control. The current consensus of scholarly opinion holds that the pre-1389 Ottoman state best fits the political context of the ‘kings of the territorial divisions’ and acknowledges its incompatibility with centralized state structures.5 A typology

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which has gained equally wide acceptance refers to the period following Timur’s invasion of Anatolia in 1402 as the fasilat’ul-saltanat or ‘suspension of sultanic rule’. While standard convention associates restoration of sultanic authority and re-unification of the Ottoman polity with the accession of Mehmed I in 1413, both he and his successor Murad II faced determined resistance during the first years of their respective reigns. In the case of Mehmed I, the succession crisis lasted four full years, order being restored only with the execution of Şeyh Bedreddin in December 1416. Murad II’s succession in the summer of 1421 gave rise to similar divisions, which reached a kind of resolution with the capture and execution of his brother Mustafa Çelebi (Küçük) in the early months of 1423, but the embers of rebellion were kept alive (in some quarters at least) until the extinguishing of Izmir-oğlu Cüneyd Bey’s revolt in 1425. Apart from such endemic problems in the smooth succession to rule, which characterize not just the brief period 1403–1413 but the entire first half of the fifteenth century, there are further signs that sultanic authority had only partially recovered from the blow dealt to it by Timur in 1402. For example, it remains unclear – according to the still only partially untangled tale told by the reticent and incomplete record of a contemporary Ottoman chronicle – whether we should take Murad II’s ‘voluntary abdication’ of 1444 at face value or regard it too as a kind of interruption of sultanic rule. On the whole, our understanding of the period leads us to err on the side of caution and to assume that the absence of an autocratic ruler was the general norm and that periodic (and brief) departures from this norm constitute only the exceptions that prove the rule. Reinterpreted in this light, Murad II, whose reigns (1421–44 and 1446–51) come at the end of our period of assessment, can be understood either as the last of the ‘kings of the territorial divisions’ or as the first of the imperial-style sultans. One observes in his reign phenomena which represent survivals from the earlier (by then clearly waning) era as much as the harbingers of the imperial age about to dawn. Having identified Murad II as a transitional figure living in a transitional time, we should then be on the lookout, in the historical record, for signs of what Ménage has identified as ‘intermediate [personal] status’6 and of eclectic, heterogeneous and intermediate institutional forms. Much has already been written on the importance of separating pre- from post-conquest perspective in fifteenth-century historical sources.7 Still, it bears repeating here that the views of the pre-conquest ‘writers’ or, more accurately, narrators–reciters – so far as they can be extracted and reconstructed from surviving compilations and recastings carried out after the death of Mehmed II in 1481 – demonstrate an attachment to a fundamentally different world order. It will be part of our task to evoke the distinctive character and ethos of the period, and our success in this endeavour will depend on not losing sight of the fact that partisanship and political values took very different forms in the two halves of the century.

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A close examination of the Anonymous Chronicles, for instance, reveals its ‘author’ (narrator–reciter) either as an active partisan of prince Musa in his bid for the throne in the years 1411–13 or, at the very least, as a strong advocate of Musa’s style of rule.8 The subjectivism of early (in their view, ‘traditional’ – that is, primitive) Ottoman historiography was derided by Ottoman intellectuals of the high-imperial age as ‘nonsensical’.9 But, for us, such genuinely contemporary expressions of opinion, rare though they may be, must be regarded as the only reliable guide to attitudes emanating from, and reflective of, social realities and power relations in the first half of the fifteenth century. Reference by the ‘historian’ (that is, narrator and reciter) to character traits such as yavuzluk (resoluteness, bravery) and cömertlik (generosity) when describing the attributes of the good leader provide insight not so much into the mentality and method of the ‘writer’, ‘author’, or ‘historian’ as to a collectively held system of what, for want of a better word, we may call ‘chivalric’ values espoused by the majority of his contemporaries. The Rumilinlu (lords of the Rumelian march) whom he or, collectively, a band of his contemporaries disparagingly referred to, in the passage already cited,10 as those who ‘lack chivalric virtue’ form the subject of the opening section of our survey account. The clash of values reflected in the source is intelligible only within its own particular social and political context.

‘PRE-CONQUEST’ OTTOMAN SOCIETY Tribal Politics Throughout the period up to the reign of Murad II (1421–44 and 1446–51), the absence of a stable state structure and secure frontiers left effective control of the leading edges of Ottoman territorial expansion in the Balkans (Rumili) firmly in the hands of the ‘lords of the frontier’ or udj beyleri. Scions of the leading families in the Balkans such as Gazi Evrenos and his descendants enjoyed hereditary status over extensive lands and commanded large followings of Turkmen raiders (akıncı). In periods of dynastic collapse, especially after 1402, these families were able to dictate their own terms, both to the reigning sultans and to those who aspired to sultanic rule. Centralizing policies aimed at eliminating the state’s military dependence on the frontier lords and at replacing them with palace appointees were vigorously pursued by Murad II after his firm establishment on the throne from the mid-1420s, but these efforts must be considered only partially successful. We are reminded of the residual weakness of Murad’s position vis à vis the leaders of the akıncı forces, even in the latter part of his reign, by clear indications in contemporary accounts such as the Gazavat-i Sultan Murad Han and by supporting evidence transmitted in later (though seemingly

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balanced) accounts, such as Ibn Kemal’s retrospective history of the dynasty written down between 1502 and 1514. All sources are in agreement that the sultan’s military performance at the battle of Varna in 1444 was seriously marred by the lack of unanimity and co-ordination among the Ottoman forces.11 Troop desertions at a critical stage in the battle very nearly resulted in an Ottoman defeat, and a major disaster was averted only by the determined resistance of a handful of infantry troops who remained loyal to the sultan.12 That the support provided by the senior leaders of the Turkmen raiders was still a crucial element in Ottoman battle success in the 1440s is clear from the Ottomans’ far more decisive victory, four years later at Kosovo in 1448, over a large crusader army under Hunyadi’s command. In this battle, in contrast with that of Varna, tribal politics and factionalism seemed to have played a minimal role, and the effect of this unanimity on Ottoman performance on the battlefield was obvious. The presence and participation of a large complement of experienced akıncı forces under the command of their respective udj begs is noted in the sources. Ibn Kemal specifies the presence of five senior figures representing the frontier lords and identifies them by name as follows: Firuz Beg-oğlu Mehmed Bey, Hasan Beg-oğlu Isa Bey, Turahan Bey, Ishak Beg-oğlu Isa Bey and Mihal-oğlu Hızr Bey, showing that at this time it was not the sultan’s deputies – the viziers – nor his provincial appointees who dominated Ottoman military organization, but the tribally based elites.13 Other sources concur in the judgement that the extraordinary cooperativeness and docility of the akıncı forces contributed significantly to the Ottomans’ success in this campaign.14 While the same sources note both the presence and the active participation of the infantry forces – both members of permanent Janissary regiments and, more particularly, the volunteer and conscripted azeb units15 – it is quite clear that, even 80 years onwards from the creation of a ‘new corps’ (Yeni-Çeri) of infantry troops in the 1360s, cavalry forces retained their preeminent position in the Ottomans’ battle posture.16 If one works backwards chronologically from what remained of their power and influence in the 1440s, the predominance of the akıncıs and of their leaders in the century’s earlier decades is obvious. The sources provide particularly detailed information concerning the influence (as well as rivalry) of two key figures: Gazi Evrenos Beg (d. 1417) and Mihal-oğlu Mehmed Beg (d. 1422) during the Ottoman ‘time of troubles’ in the teens and early twenties of the fifteenth century. It appears that Mihal-oglu Mehmed Beg remained at the centre of Ottoman politics for much of this period, since, after spending the eight years of Mehmed’s I’s reign (1413–21) under house arrest in Tokat as punishment for alignment with prince Musa between the years 1411 and 1413, he was restored to favour by Mehmed’s successor Murad II, who recruited him to assist in his own succession struggle with Mustafa Çelebi (Düzme) during the years 1421 and 1422.17 In the immediately preceding period, Mihal-oğlu had

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been unseated from his position as the ‘king of the kingmakers’ by Gazi Evrenos Beg who, by withholding his support from Musa Çelebi,18 had ensured the success of his brother Mehmed’s counter-claim.19 Despite repeated attempts by a succession of early fifteenth-century Ottoman rulers to ‘discipline’ the akıncıs and their commanders, the lords of the frontier,20 it is clear that, at the close of the proto-imperial age c.1450, they were still a powerful force in Ottoman society. Ottoman deportations of tribal populations from Anatolia to the Balkans in the late fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries, while motivated in part by the practical need to settle and to secure newly conquered territories, have also to be understood within a political context. Bayezid I’s deportation of tribal groups from Saruhan to the region around Filibe in 1396 had a clear punitive as well as practical purpose.21 Similarly, Mehmed I’s deportation of the Aktav Tatars from the region around Çorum to the same district (Filibe–Tatar Pazarcık) in 821/1418 was inspired (at least in part) by a wish to punish them for their support of the Ottomans’ central Anatolian rivals, the Karamanids.22 These and other examples clearly demonstrate that the Ottomans regarded banishment as a legitimate weapon in power struggles with recalcitrant tribal chiefs.

Institution Building and Popular Resistance Credit – or, if one accepts the misgivings voiced in the anonymous histories, blame – for the development of a centralized legal, fiscal and administrative apparatus appropriate to the needs of an expanding empire is generally attributed to Bayezid I (r. 1389–1402). What is reflected in the historical record, however, is not so much the success and pervasiveness of the institutions of centralized rule as the resentment and resistance which Bayezid’s attempts to impose them engendered. The fact that popular resentment is so clearly perceptible in the historical record is itself, perhaps, evidence of Bayezid’s success as a proto-absolutist monarch, but whatever progress he made during his 13 years on the throne must be measured against the record of reaction, rejection and full-scale collapse of centralized state structures in the two decades which followed his reign. Ottoman attempts to create a centralized system for the administration of justice seem to date from the reign of Bayezid’s predecessor Murad I (r. 1362–89), who first made use of a revived form of the Seljukid office of kadi leşker for this purpose. Until the creation, around 828/1425, of the office of şeyh’ ül-islam with separate functions and responsibilities,23 members of the ulema class were called upon at large to perform a wide range of state administrative functions, and the breadth and indefinite character of their powers made them a natural source of envy and a target of social criticism. The popular religious leaders, whose position and influence in the state bureaucracy the rise to prominence of members of the ulema implicitly challenged, were particularly suspicious of their powers. Barbed

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comments aimed at false pundits and corrupt kadis are a noticeable feature, almost a hallmark, of the early fifteenth-century popular histories. Dervish Ahmed (Aşıkpaşa-zade) in particular took a conspiratorial view of the functioning of the judicial system and regarded the introduction (by Çandarlı-oğlu Ali Paşa, grand vizier between 1387 and 1406) of a system of regular payments to kadis, a system based on a fixed schedule of fees for particular notarial and other judicial services, as an encouragement to corruption.24 Some purists even regarded the creation of a state treasury (hazine) as a sign of unnecessary worldliness and materialism.25 What is significant in these contemporary accounts is not the accuracy of their judgements concerning the state’s administrative needs but their highlighting of the fact that – for the first time in the period of Çandarli Khayr al-Din Halil Paşa’s governance, beginning in the 1360s26 – the encroachment of the state on provincial society began to be felt. It is the newness of this experience that provokes such impassioned comment in the chronicles. The creation of the janissary corps, also attributed to the initiative of Khayr al-Din Halil, is another example of a new institution which, at the outset, provoked more controversy than praise. The date and circumstances of its founding are still far from clear, but early resistance to the institution, both from rival Muslim military groups and from the Christians who were recruited into it, was apparently successful enough – aided by the general confusion which followed Timur’s defeat of Bayezid and the effective breaking up of the empire after 1402 – to require its re-introduction in the time of Murad II. The Muslim ambivalence towards this group of recruits is very clearly expressed in the letter of Ak-Şemseddin to Mehmed II written during the siege of Constantinople in 1453.27 Gauging the reaction of existing army personnel to the inclusion of new members in their midst is difficult, and distinguishing fact from partisan sentiment is far from straightforward, but, in an army still dominated by the yürüks (tribally organized contingents) and sipahis (timar holders with their retinues), it must be supposed that the presence of those affiliated with the growing, but until after 1430 still comparatively small, ranks of the sultan’s private army (hünkâr kulu, kapu kulu) was regarded as an unwanted intrusion. In the janissaries’ favour was their undeniable effectiveness in battle, which accounts of the mid-fifteenth century fully confirm.28 But, despite testimonials such as the one found in the Gazavat to the janissaries’ effectiveness,29 their participation in events such as the Büçüktepe uprising, which led to the deposition of Mehmed II in the summer of 1446, confirmed persistent suspicions concerning their loyalty. It is significant, however, that accounts like the Gazavat also confirm that, at least on the political and policy-making level, it was still the senior begs and lords of the frontier who played the dominant role. In some passages it appears that in the context of council deliberations the sultan was consulted by his senior advisers almost as an afterthought.30

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In the realm of local government too, the early Ottoman enterprise has to be regarded as an undertaking whose success depended on compromise and mutual reinforcement as opposed to the unilateral imposition of an absolute emperor’s will. The ‘submission’ of Anatolia, in a political sense, probably never took place during the fourteenth century, as is amply demonstrated by the swift reassertion of independence by entities such as the Germanid principality in the early fifteenth century. The Ottomans’ expansion westward, from Bursa into the neighbouring principality of Karesi, in the mid-1330s is described, even in Ottoman sources, as having had minimal effect in displacing the local seigneurial class. Indeed the Ottomans seem to have made it something of a consistent policy to leave, at least in the shorter term, commercially or strategically significant urban centres intact.31 Bayezid I’s precipitous attempts during the early 1390s to transform the western Anatolian emirates into full-fledged Ottoman provinces ended in failure. In central Anatolia, the gradualism of the Ottoman ‘advance’ was, if anything, more evident than in western Anatolia. While it is not clear how long the ahi guild organization that had seized control of municipal administration in Ankara at the close of the Seljukid era survived into the Ottoman period, the city’s ‘capture’ by the Ottomans in 1361 has to be seen as only the first step in a long process leading to full incorporation in the Ottoman state. In this, as in other cases of the Ottomans’ early ‘conquests’ in Anatolia, effective transfer of power at the local level came well after the region’s military subjugation. During the first century and a half of Ottoman rule, between 1300 and 1450, we observe the continued thriving and independence, within the state, of various kinds of ‘communities’ with separate status. Such communities ranged from self-governing tribal confederations to self-sufficient confessional communities organized around dervish convents or zaviyes and to the virtually autonomous city states (such as Ankara), administered by locally elected municipal leaders. Their independence from the state was the reciprocal expression of the state’s dependence on them for the provision of a variety of services. While the extent and duration of this position of dependency varied according to specific regional conditions and historical circumstances,32 it was rarely altogether absent in the period up to about 1440. In the economic sphere, too, we observe the same continuity and resilience in the early Ottoman era of pre-Ottoman forms and institutions.

City Life and the Role of Vakf Investment in Urban Expansion Despite the fact that nine tenths of the population resided in the countryside, Ottoman civilization was, in both pre- and post-conquest contexts, a preeminently urban phenomenon. No matter how fleeting or seemingly insecure their presence in a newly conquered province, the Ottomans always marked their presence, while

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at the same time giving stimulus to further investment in urban development by the founding of a charitable endowment (vakf). The most usual form of sultanic endowment was the mosque and the associated imaret buildings (such as soup kitchens, bakeries, and so on). For example, Bayezid I during his sojourn in Veria (Kara Ferya) during the winter of 1393–9433 seems to have devoted a part of his time to overseeing the construction of an imaret bearing his name.34 A substantial part of Thessaly, including perhaps Veria itself, reverted to local control during the period of the Ottoman interregnum (1403–13), and the reassertion of full Ottoman control dates from after the fall of Salonica in 1430.35 While Ottoman investment in the development of the Balkan cities certainly predates the time of Murad II, the atmosphere of uncertainty which prevailed during the interregnum and later, during the prolonged siege of Salonica (1423–30), resulted in the effective closure of large portions of western Thrace to meaningful Ottoman settlement. Such conditions discouraged commitment of resources to the completion of large-scale projects. The slow development of Edirne, which served as the Ottomans’ European capital and staging point for further expansion in the early fifteenth century, reflects this general atmosphere of uncertainty. While the development of Edirne had its beginnings in the time of Emir Süleyman (1405–13), who adopted it as a kind of rival capital during a particular phase of the Ottoman ‘time of troubles’, the modesty of its claim to the title of capital city, even under Süleyman’s successor Mehmed I (1413–21), is clearly indicated in the sources.36 While an Old Palace (Eski Saray) makes a phantom appearance in the same sources in the time of Mehmed I, the completion of an ‘imperial’ residence suitable for the celebration of important dynastic occasions such as the weddings of princes dates from the end of Murad II’s reign around 1450.37 As Mehmed II’s wedding with a Zulkadrid princess was celebrated in the spring of 144938 and construction work on the New Palace (Saray-i Cedid-i Amire) was only ordered by his father starting in 1450, Edirne’s claim to recognition as a first-rank imperial city was even then somewhat suspect. It nonetheless remains clear that Murad II devoted a good deal of attention, as well as money, to the development of Ottoman Thrace, quickly transforming it, after c.1430, from a borderland to a heartland of the Ottoman Empire. Several of the projects sponsored by Murad and high-ranking figures of his court had a very real importance for the commercial and general economic development of the region. Some of the endowment founders, such as Saruca Pasha, sprang from the ranks of the palace service (enderunî), while others, such as Kasab-oğlu Mahmud Bey, came from provincial origins and represented the continuance of the traditions and influence of the pioneering families who dominated frontier society in the early years of Ottoman penetration into Europe.39 The scale of Murad II’s city foundation in northern Thrace at Ergene (modern Uzun Köprü)

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was impressive even by the standards set by later and wealthier sultanic vakfendowers such as Mehmed II (1451–81) and Süleyman I (1520–66). His bridge over the Ergene is said to have taken 18 years to complete (1426–44) and when completed it spanned a distance of 392 metres supported on 174 columns.40 By 1456 the settlement comprised 481 inhabitants, of whom 78 resided within the confines of the town proper.41 That the Ottomans now played a role as founders of new cities and nuclei of future urban centres shows that they had graduated from their former position as mere conquerors–capturers to empire builders in their own right, with a future stake in the administration and development of the territories under their imperial rule. Equally important to such sultanic foundations, whose significance related particularly to the establishment of new sites, were the monies invested in urban renewal and development by locally resident governors and other members of the Ottoman ruling elite. The foundation by Kasab-oğlu Mahmud Bey, one of Mehmed II’s chief advisers during his first reign between 1444 and 1446, of an imaret supported in part by income generated by a caravansarai and other urban installations in Malkara, west of Tekirdağ, on the main road both to Gelibolu and to Gümülcine (Komotini), is but one example. Some years after its creation in the time of Murad II, Mahmud Bey’s endowment generated an annual income in excess of 10,000 akçes from a bath, a tannery and 53 shops.42 Another significant Thracian foundation dating from the reign of Murad II is that of Saruca Paşa in Gelibolu, instituted in 1442. An inventory of its properties carried out in 1456 registered the existence of a covered market, 96 shops, two slaughterhouses, a caravanserai and a bath house which at that date brought in a combined annual income of 33,919 akçes.43 Other dignitaries, not least the sultan himself, preferred to make charitable donations for the benefit of the Anatolian provinces. The fact of the matter is that throughout the early fifteenth century some parts of the eastern frontiers of the empire remained as insecure as the Balkan borderlands, and even the capital Bursa itself was once threatened.44 Many parts of Ottoman-held Anatolia were chronically at risk in this period. Another example showing the fragility of Ottoman control over the interior portions of Anatolia is the Karamanid alliance with the leader of the neighbouring principality Teke-oğlu, Osman Bey, which resulted in a joint attack on the Ottoman-held city of Antalya in 1423.45 Given this general context of shifting and highly permeable borders, the choosing of Osmancik – a town just south of the frontier between Candarid and Ottoman territory, as the latter was defined by the ceding of Tosya and other border towns to the Ottomans in 1419 – as a site for development in the 1420s was an act with obvious symbolic meaning. The Osmancik mosque was sponsored by Koca Mehmed Paşa, who served as Murad II’s chief vizier between 1429 and 1439, and it was completed in 1430, at the beginning of his term of office. Such coincidence

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was clearly designed to reinforce Ottoman claims to territorial sovereignty while at the same time signalling the Ottomans’ intention, should the opportunity arise, of extending their sovereign control in a northerly direction.46 The use of investment capital by the Ottomans to serve a simultaneous strategic and political purpose in addition to contributing to general economic growth in no way detracts from the fact that the Ottomans, as masters and guardians of significant territories in both Rumelia and Anatolia in the century between 1350 and 1450, left an impressive legacy of new urban construction. It was on these foundations and according to the same model of development that later sultans and their governors were to build and expand in subsequent centuries.

Main Features of Continuity in ‘Pre-Conquest’ 47 Ottoman Society What is striking about the period 1350 to 1450, indeed the very unifying element that constitutes one of the principal defining characteristics of the age, is its connectivity and continuity with the past. On every level of society until the very end of the period, towards the last decade of Murad II’s reign in the 1440s, we witness a consistent faithfulness to tradition and to the ‘old way’. While it would be tedious to catalogue all the forms which this continuity took, it will perhaps be useful to review some of the more important ones here by way of summary. On the cultural plane, we encounter the intermingling of folk and learned traditions in commonplace forms of religious expression. A similar process of acculturation is equally evident in the realm of general culture. During the fourteenth century we observe in Anatolia the gradual but relentless ‘progress’ of literate and literary forms of expression. But the transitional quality of these early works is still plainly evident. They reveal the tenaciousness of, and in many circles still the general preference for, oral culture and oral forms. To take but one genre as an example, the narrative style of the early histories, that is, of the anonymous chronicles, is dominated and structured by tales and stories (hikaye and latife) which, though skillfully woven into the ‘text’, reveal their origin as recitations principally intended for listeners as opposed to readers. The elocutionary character of the early Ottoman historical narrative is unmistakable. The whole of the material, especially at dramatic highpoints, is presented in the form of conversations, dialogues and both real and imagined verbal exchanges.48 This pervasive form – signalled by the words eyitti (he proclaimed), dedi (he said) or dediler (they said) – is the same, regardless of the content of the speech. These habits, rooted in the past, are most clearly in evidence in traditional forms such as the menakib-name or epic and heroic tales, but such stylistic elements, while pervasive to a lesser or greater extent, are never fully absent in any form of Ottoman narrative composed in the fifteenth century. Even prose works produced later and self-consciously written as literary ‘texts’, such as Ibn Kemal’s dynastic history composed in the

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early sixteenth century, still retain many of these stylistic elements, rooted in folk and oral traditions. While it is correct to describe Ottoman history-‘writing’ in the fifteenth century as influenced by an emerging ‘learned’ culture, ignoring its debts to pre-literate cultural forms results in a gross mischaracterization of its tone, tenor and fundamental purpose. The political framework and general historical context which prevailed at the time of the rise of the Ottoman emirate was one of political fragmentation. If we consider the immediate, in some regions longer-term, consequences of Timur’s invasion of Anatolia, it remains a matter of dispute whether either Mehmed I (1413–21) or Murad II (1421–51) – despite their doubtlessly deserved reputations as effective rulers – can successfully lay claim to the descriptive epithet of müceddid-i devlet or restorer of [dynastic] fortune [and state unity]. The situation inherited by Mehmed II on his accession for the second time in 1451 was particularly, though typically, difficult on the eastern margins of his empire. Despite the enormous respect he commanded as conqueror of Constantinople, the full suppression of fractious elements in Anatolia came only with the death, in 1475, of the aspiring Karamanid prince Pir Ahmed Beg. Even after being deprived of his powerful Turkmen allies, the Ak-Koyunlu, by the defeat of Uzun Hasan’s forces at Bashkent in 1473, Pir Ahmed managed to struggle on alone for two more years, to resist incorporation within the Ottoman Empire. While the Karmanid–Ak-Koyunlu axis may represent an unreasonably persistent hold-over from a bygone era, it remains a fact that their collective power was impressive enough to require a huge Ottoman mobilization for its suppression.49 It is clear, from the context of its relations with landholding elites of the newly conquered provinces, that the state sometimes came out only the bare winner in contests with the ‘feudal’ provincial military and landholding classes. For example, the land survey undertaken in Albania in 1431 gave rise to determined local resistance and protests against the centralizing implications of Murad II’s attempt to introduce land registration and its corollary, direct taxation.50 While there are indications of the emergence of a more forceful sultanic figure – no longer just primus inter pares, but a figure consistently able to stand above and dictate terms to his subservient beys – as early as the reign of Mehmed I, it is probably a mistake to attribute too much significance to largely superficial inconstant and inconsistent changes in titulature on coins.51 Up to and including the reign of Murad II, the common term applied to rulership was not the imperial title padişah and padişahlık, but the distinctly humbler beylik.52 The case for the leadership attributes of early fifteenth-century Ottoman sultans can be convincingly argued in several ways, by designating them and their age as pre-imperial, proto-imperial, quasi-imperial or even, for brief periods, imperial without qualification. Still, it is undeniable that none of the rulers of the first half of the century had the same dynastic stature as the one that Mehmed II and

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his successors came to command after the capture and, more importantly, the retention of Istanbul. Institutional hold-overs from pre-Ottoman times are evident in a number of governmental spheres, both central and local. Some of these we have already covered.53 Here we will take a brief look only at structural and organizational hold-overs in the military sphere. Ottoman armies of the early fifteenth century remained – to a considerable but incalculable extent – reliant on the cooperation and eleventh-hour mobilization of non-professional soldiers on a volunteer or enlistment/conscription basis for supplementing the permanent army corps such as the timariot troops and the salaried troops of the Porte (kapu kulları). The reliance of the fifteenth-century Ottoman army on azeb recruits is very well documented in the sources, and as late as the battle of Bashkent in 1473 they may have constituted as much as one fifth of all the forces mobilized by the Ottomans for participation in a major campaign.54 That the numerical insufficiency of ‘regular’ army forces and the reliance on troops assembled from a variety of sources was greater in the fourteenth century is clear from the battle order, which is described in greatest detail but not necessarily most accurately by the historian Hoca Sa’deddin, at the battle of Frenk Yazusu in 1386.55 These ‘armies of assembly’ were composed partly of regular forces, but also very significantly of Turkmen cavalry raiders (akıncı, yürük) and ‘voluntary’ peasants, recruited into the infantry service as azebs and yaya. References, in sources such as Ibn Kemal, to Ottoman attempts dating from the time of Iznik’s capture in 1331 to ‘regularize’ army recruitment56 and to make it more dependable only serve to emphasize the fact that Ottoman armies were then, and would remain for some time, armies of assembly. They were typically composed of a small nucleus of professionals surrounded by a sea of volunteers and allied tribal contingents who could and very often did act virtually independently of the sultan and his high command. This pattern of voluntary service begins to disappear in the fifteenth century, but to pretend that it was already wholly absent during epoch-making battles such as the second battle of Kosovo in 1448 distorts historical reality. Even if by the mid-fifteenth century they had begun to lose their former status as the backbone of the Ottoman army, the self-mobilizing akıncı cavalry raiders and the irregular infantry azeb bowmen were still a force to contend with.57 A final point of institutional continuity in the military sphere relates to the disputed origin and use by the Ottomans of the panj-yak (pencik) or one-fifth treasury share of war captives. While the chronicle tradition, in particular the Anonymous Chronicles and the History of Derviş Ahmed (Aşıkpaşa-zade), clearly regards this practice as a hated and unprecedented ‘innovation’ which was fabricated on slim pretext by Murad I and his close advisers, there are clear earlier parallels to the institution. Apart from the immediate example offered by usage in the emirate of the Aydin-oğulları, whose coterminous Anatolian state

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followed similar practices,58 there are clear medieval Islamic and even pre-Islamic precedents for the division of battle spoils, including captives, into shares of one fifth and sub-portions of fifths. The medieval Islamic khums al-shari and pre-Islamic fay’ are clearly not distinguishable from fourteenth-century Ottoman practice in either quantity or kind.59 Despite Murad II’s broad success in asserting central authority in several fields, in the final analysis his reign proved transitional more than transformatory. Even though the early 1400s constitute a time when important change was afoot in many areas of state and society, it was the old order (political, cultural and economic) which still prevailed. Did the Ottomans then create nothing new in the first century and a half of their state’s existence? Broadly speaking, the unique blend of Byzanto-Christian, Arabo-Persian Islamic, and central Asian Turkic traditions gave the Ottoman civilization a character all its own, but the synthesizing and harmonizing of these traditions was, around 1400, as yet incomplete. This meant that the cultural disparity between regions was more pronounced then than in later imperial eras. The Ottoman state in the early centuries was most clearly part of the general cultural and political framework of Muslim Anatolia, and its European conquests were as yet neither permanently nor fully absorbed. Throughout the fourteenth century and into the fifteenth century, Anatolia remained closely associated with the political framework, religious traditions and general cultural ambience of the era of the muluk al-tawaif. Naturally, therefore, the lines of continuity (especially in the institutional and economic spheres) with these Anatolian traditions were most pronounced. In a succession of post-conquest eras (1453 Byzantium; 1514 Iran; 1517 the lands of the former Arab Caliphate), the formula and particular blend of past traditions would be adjusted and altered by the Ottomans so that they could achieve the appropriate mixture that best suited their contemporary geopolitical circumstances. But before 1450 Ottoman society and economy were patterned on relatively fewer competing influences and rival sources of tradition. The crisis of Timur’s invasion and its aftermath determined that the appeal to the dynasty’s Turkic origins and central Asian cultural legacy should be given particular weight. In the longer term, these Turanian elements would recede more and more into the background, as the empire became a trans-continental, multi-ethnic, multi-religious, and increasingly polyglot entity, but at the court of Murad II they still needed to be given more than token acknowledgement and appreciation. Later on, in the reign of Bayezid II (1481–1512), nearly two centuries after the founding of the dynasty by the pioneering Oghuz tribesmen who had followed Ertughrul to Söğüt in the 1280s, we see a celebration and renaissance of interest in the Oghuzian traditions and lineage in Hasan Beyati’s work, dedicated to prince Cem – a contender for the succession after Mehmed II’s death in 1481.60 Among the tribesmen of central Anatolia the ties to this now

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remote past were more than simply sentimental or nostalgic. Cem based his appeal for their support on the certain knowledge that the Oghuzian value system still provided a strong source of personal identity for a significant proportion of Anatolia’s population even at the turn of the sixteenth century. Having looked at the general development of Ottoman society in the protoimperial era, the next question to be considered in an assessment of the value system associated with the ‘old order’ is the attitude of Ottoman rulers to the defining and defending of dynastic honour.

THE PROMOTION AND PRESERVATION OF DYNASTIC HONOUR As distinct from the previous section, which focused in detail on the formative period 1350–1450, our analysis of dynastic honour will cover a broader chronological range in order to demonstrate the durability and consistency of traditional views in later centuries. The nomadic chivalric code with which the dynasty was inextricably connected insisted on the close association between a ruler’s fitness to rule and his ability to win battles. First and foremost, therefore, dynastic honour was traditionally defined in terms of military dominance and of the dynasty’s ability to project its power beyond its own borders and force rulers of neighbouring states into submission. Horsemanship skills, bravery and battle prowess were all ideal kingly virtues rooted in the tribal origins of the dynasty, but they retained their importance and intensity in later centuries too, when the sphere of Ottoman competition for preeminence was greatly expanded, to include Europe beyond the Danube. Our account of dynastic honour would be sadly deficient if we ignored the military dimension, but in addition there are three other ways of projecting the ruler’s power and the dynasty’s claim for precedence which bear further investigation. First among these ways of protecting the royal honour (namus-i sultani) was the rulers’ offer of protection and asylum to the defectors, émigré princes and ‘hostages’ from rival dynastic courts. A second one was the obligation imposed on counterparts in diplomatic exchanges to perform rituals of obedience, from the offer of token gifts to the payment of substantial sums in a tribute that signalled their submission to the Ottomans. The third way of enunciating Ottoman superiority was via symbols, emblems and other forms of displaying, both audibly and visibly – through dress, raiment and musical fanfare – the awesomeness, majesty and augustness of the royal person.

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Mastery of Martial Skills and Display of Bravery At the most basic level, skill in the field of military enterprise was considered as one of the principal ways for the ruler to demonstrate his possession of good ‘fortune’ (kut) and worthiness to rule. For minor sultans, too young to lead the army into battle, possession of the requisite skills in horsemanship and archery were nonetheless held to be compulsory qualities. In the early Ottoman era during the reign of Murad I (1362–89) and Bayezid I (1389–1402), the association of ‘manly’ martial skills and faithfulness to the chivalric code of the brave warrior with defending of dynastic honour is fully reflected in the sources. The opposite behaviour, reflected in failure to fight bravely, stooping to gain advantage by subterfuge or failure to observe the terms of peace agreements sworn by oath, provoked both outrage and the unleashing of language full of taunts and insults in the contemporary historical record. Concerning the deficiency in basic fighting skills of the Karamanid auxiliaries sent to assist Murad II at the battle of Kosovo in 1448, Ottoman sources contend that the warriors of the Central Anatolian Varsak and Turgutlu clans were no better than a herd of horse thieves and brigands unworthy of the best traditions of the brave warrior (neberd).61 In another context, Şikari, the narrator of the deeds and accomplishments of the Karamanid house, refers to the anti-Karamanid Ottoman–Germanid offensive mounted during the later part of Murad I’s reign as contemptible because of its having been launched at a time when peace had been sworn by both sides, and he refers to the descendants of the House of Osman as no better than oath breakers, whose word could never be relied on and whose oath deserved no respect.62 The same narrator–reciter, conveying what were undoubtedly widespread folk attitudes and opinions concerning the expansionist intentions of the Ottoman sultan Bayezid in the 1390s, implied that the Ottomans gained unfair advantage over their more morally upright Turkmen opponents by questionable means, including oath-breaking.63 The Ottomans for their part also subscribed to the commonly accepted honour code and justified their attacks on fellow Muslims as legitimate, since it was they who had acted first to break the terms of their mutual non-aggression pacts (naks-i ahd) by engaging in unprovoked raids against Ottoman territories. However, claiming the moral high ground in reaction to, rather than as initiator of, armed conflict was only one, rather minor, aspect of defending dynastic honour. The winning of battles and capturing of fortresses and territories in whose acquisition the imperial reputation had been invested was a main preoccupation of all Ottoman rulers throughout the span of the dynasty. There could be no greater affront to the sultan’s dignity than to receive a threat or suffer a military blow and fail to respond. The fate of the reforming sultan Ahmed III, who was deposed in October 1730 in large part because of his inaction and

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indecision about how to respond to the attacks of Nadir Shah Afshar against Ottoman possessions in western Iran and because of his refusal to make even a ceremonial presence at the army camped at Üsküdar in August, which was ready to be seen off to the eastern front, provides eloquent testimony to just how seriously this matter was regarded even in later imperial times, after the dynasty was well established.64 In a letter addressed by Timur to Bayezid I, as Timur was camped on the eastern Anatolian frontier during the winter of 1399–1400 preparing for an invasion, we can see a classic example of the delivery of an insult aimed at questioning the ‘manly’ credentials of a prince belonging to a rival dynasty and at challenging him to give battle. Short of suffering an actual blow, even failure to respond to a verbal assault would have done fatal damage to Bayezid’s reputation as warrior chief and ghazi hero. The defeat resulting from his confrontation with Timur at the battle of Ankara in 1402 was of course still more disastrous on a personal level, but it also very nearly spelled a premature end to the dynasty itself, since, in the aftermath of Bayezid’s death in captivity, his patrimonial lands were plunged into a decade-long civil war. During this period the Ottoman state was divided not only politically but also territorially between the partisans of warring factions, and these divisions provoked wounds and resentments which left their permanent mark on the Ottoman polity. Because the Bayezid–Timur confrontation provides a textbook example of contemporary sensitivities to honour, it will perhaps be instructive if we pause for a moment to examine the actual language used and the forcefulness of the message conveyed in a letter which was preserved, purportedly in verbatim form, in the history of Sharaf al-Din Ali (Yazdi). There Timur addresses Bayezid as follows: Where is the monarch who dares resist us? Where is the potentate who does not glory in being of the number of our courtiers? But for thee, whose true origin terminates in a Turcoman sailor, as everyone knows it would be well since the ship of thy unfathomable ambition has suffered shipwreck in the abyss of self-love.

Further playing down the significance of Bayezid’s earlier military successes, Timur continues his taunt in an even more forceful tone: Believe me, you are but a pismire [ant]: don’t seek to fight the elephants for they’ll crush you under their feet. Shall a petty prince such as you are contend with us? But your rodomontades [braggadocio] are not extraordinary; for a Turcoman never spake with judgement. If you don’t follow our counsels you will regret it.65

The use of such language, deliberately designed to cause affront, clearly shows us how the chivalric code of the nomadic warrior chief governed the behaviour of both sides in the context of Timurid–Ottoman relations of the early fifteenth

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century, when the Ottomans were still striving to prove their worth and ability to prevail over their peers who, like them, relied on support from the tribesmen of Anatolia. The question that remains is: how far were these warrior values and performance expectations carried forward into the high dynastic era of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries? The loss of face which resulted from military defeat was regarded as having occurred, whether or not the sultan was present and actively participating or even serving in a direct advisory capacity that had demonstrably led to Ottoman defeat. In later centuries the armies were in any case less frequently led by the sultan in person, but this seemingly played no role in reducing his anxiety of guilt by association and of tarnishing his royal dignity. The sultan’s anxiousness to avoid military disgrace comes out very clearly in his correspondence with the grand vizier, who normally served as his deputy in the role of commander-inchief of the army in the field. In a memorandum sent by the grand vizier Fazil Ahmed Pasha (Köprülü-zade) in the winter of 1668, the commander argued for a third-season resumption of the siege against Heraklion (Candia) in Crete by appealing to the same logic as that which compelled Bayezid to give battle in 1402. The grand vizier’s missive to the sultan underlined the fact that to write off the expense – in supplies, money and human casualties – of multiple seasons at the front – invested in securing an Ottoman victory – was unthinkable on two grounds: first, the walls had already been weakened by semi-continuous battering by the Ottoman artillery, but, secondly, to give up now, on the eve of Ottoman success, would signal not only Ottoman weakness but would be ‘unbecoming to the dignity of both religion and state as any observer should be able to comprehend more clearly than he perceives the presence of the sun in the sky above’.66 The loss of face resulting from misguided or badly conceived and executed military campaigns was fatal to the reputation of lesser mortals as well. For example, when the attempt to unseat George Rakoczy as voyvoda of Transylvania resulted in an operational disaster and serious defeat for the Ottomans at Szalonta in October 1636, the instigator of the campaign, Nasuh Pasha-zade, then governor of Buda, should have shouldered the blame, but instead he showed an adroit capacity to get most of the blame for the military fiasco, if not for the ill-conceived plan, transferred to his subordinate, the lieutenant-governor of Temeshvar, Ebu Bekir Pasha. Without delay, Nasuh Pasha-zade arranged to have him sent in shackles to answer charges at the Imperial Council, where on 13 March 1637 Ebu Bekir suffered a summary execution, without even being given an opportunity to explain his side of the story.67 The sensitivity of sultans to lèse majesté resulting from loss of territory previously held was also a strong motivation for initiating or persistently prolonging existing conflicts until terms for the recovery of lost territory could be negotiated.

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Mehmed III inherited a small-scale war, confined mostly to a perimeter along the Croatian frontier, when he assumed the throne in September 1595. Despite initial successes, including a self-commanded victorious excursion to Eger (Erlau) in 1596, the loss of the strategic fortress of Györ (Raab) in March 1598 rankled, since his reputation for expanding Ottoman sovereign sway through the acquisition of Eger in the north-east was spoiled by his loss of Györ in the west. The loss of a strategically significant fortress such as Györ after a brief Ottoman tenure lasting only three and a half years was a blow to his imperial self-esteem that the relatively youthful Mehmed III felt compelled to avenge in accordance with the requirements and etiquette of the royal honour code. That such was his motivation in pursuing the war with renewed vigour after 1598 is confirmed by both western and Ottoman sources. For example, in the account of a contemporary Italian observer named Soranzo, written in 1598, when the Long War of 1591–1606 was just beginning to gain pace, it is made clear that any prospective peace settlement that hoped to succeed would have to include provisions for ceding all the territories formerly under Ottoman rule, with special exception being made for payment of tribute in lieu of Ottoman rule for some districts traditionally administered that way. Failing that, in Soranzo’s estimation, the war was destined to grind on until the Ottomans would have been assured of achieving an honourable peace.68 Delivery of slights and insults to an enemy of the regime in retaliation for insults suffered also constituted an important dimension of strategic thinking during campaigns, once these were already underway. In many campaigns this provided a means for pumping up the morale of the Ottoman troops, who suffered the privations of a long and physically challenging campaign, while achieving the simultaneous benefit of demoralizing the enemy. The logic of such thinking can be clearly perceived in the course taken by the eastern campaign of 1618, led by the grand vizier Halil Pasha. Having arrived in early summer in the outskirts of the city of Tabriz, whose inhabitants had been dispersed to the countryside, while he awaited the outcome of the shuttle diplomacy being carried out with agents of the shah, the commander decided to open a diversionary front against Ardabil, home of the shrine of the Safavid dynasty’s spiritual founder, Safi al-Din, with the clear aim of desecrating those shrines, held most dear by his evasive adversaries, and of forcing them into a confrontation. Though the plan failed in its execution, the logic behind its conception speaks eloquently of the motives and logic supporting the Ottomans’ conduct of the campaign.69 In the end, Halil Pasha returned to Istanbul in some considerable disgrace, after his defeat at the battle of Serav in September 1618, and was dismissed from the grand vizierate in January 1619. Yet despite his military blunder he had succeeded in securing a renewal of the terms of the lapsed Ottoman–Safavid Treaty of 1612, and thereby salvaged his position at court and managed to hang on to his vizierial

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rank. Soon after, in December 1619, he was re-appointed, for a third term, as captain of the fleet. Though unfortunate in war, he had consistently defended the sultan’s honour and striven energetically to gain revenge (intikam) on the shah’s recalcitrance and on his studied failure to live up to the terms of the 1612 agreement. This plan to draw the shah out from Ardabil or cause him to face a frontal attack in this holiest of Safavid shrines was nobly conceived, even though it was imperfectly executed. Other defeated Ottoman commanders were not as fortunate as Halil Pasha when their commands resulted in defeats that brought the House of Osman into disrepute. After the failed siege of Vienna in 1683, the sultan’s execution warrant caught up with his ill-fated commander Kara Mustafa Pasha in December, whilst his deputy was labouring at Belgrade during the winter season overseeing preparations for a campaign of revenge planned for the spring of 1684. When the grand vizier’s assistant, who prepared the grand vizerial digests of decisions, proposals and news bulletins (telhis), approached the sultan then residing in Edirne with the news of the defeat and of his master’s plans for exacting revenge, he was met by an angry outburst from the sultan to the following effect: Both you and your chief [the grand vizier] have joined forces among the band of the accursed. He [the grand vizier] has destroyed my good name and reduced my honourable reputation to ruin. He has crushed my good soldiers, killed my good commanders and allowed the infidel to take hold of my lands.70

Shortly after this outburst orders for Kara Mustafa’s execution were prepared and sent to Belgrade.

Accommodating of Asylum Seekers and Princely ‘Hostages’ From the Courts of Rivals and Friends The stage on which the Ottomans sought to display their dominance and strove to defend the dignity of the dynastic house was by no means confined to the battlefield, though it was here that they were most exposed to disgrace if their plans should go awry. They also made elaborate arrangement for displaying the dynasty’s greatness and the subordination and subjection of rival dynastic houses in subtler ways. One of these was by offering their protection to asylum seekers, especially defectors who had once served as high-ranking officials at the court of a dynastic rival. Another category of reputation-enhancing guests consisted in princes of the royal blood who were sent to the Ottoman court as ‘hostages’ (rehin), either to consolidate friendly relations or as a guarantee for the fulfilment of treaty terms aimed at the establishment of friendly relations. A final category was formed by leading international artistic and intellectual figures who, by seeking patronage and refuge at the Ottoman court and by offering their

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skills and services to the sultan, contributed to the enhancement of the court’s splendour and reputation among rival courts. All these categories of Ottoman protégés boosted the sultan’s reputation as the ‘refuge of all the world’, and high-ranking defectors in particular were offered very generous allowances for their upkeep, to insure that their patron, the Ottoman sultan, could extract the full propaganda value from his display of these celebrated captives and willing émigrés as his dependants. The service of such figures at the Ottoman court provided an ever-present reminder, to the world at large, of the Ottomans’ high ranking in the international league of great monarchs. Conversely, the loss of a prestigious Ottoman luminary through defection to a rival court and even a high-profile visit by an Ottoman prince who placed himself, even temporarily, in a position of dependency as the ‘guest’ of a foreign ruler, were regarded as contributing to loss of status and reputation. The Ottoman practice of providing allowances for the basic household expenses of all foreign envoys who were allowed temporary protection at the court through the sultan’s grace – and of feeding them – fits neatly into this general scheme in which the sultan was always patron and host and all others were by definition either bearers of tribute or otherwise placed in a position of subservience and dependency by their reliance on his hospitality. In considering the broader question of Ottoman protection for foreigners, émigrés and guests of the Ottoman court, we will begin with a consideration of its obverse, namely the shame and dishonour suffered by the dynasty when highranking Ottoman figures defected to the enemy. The case of Cem Sultan, whose period of exile extended for well over a decade between 1481 and 1495 following his failed bid for the sultanate, offers a particularly dramatic and prolonged example of Ottoman sensitivity to the issue of defection, particularly when those involved had ties to the royal bloodline. In retaliation for the hospitality offered to the royal defector in Egypt at the court of the Mamluk sultan Kayit Bey,71 Bayezid was fully prepared to go to war, risking a potentially harsh backlash from unfavourable Muslim public opinion and his own reputation as military leader, should the enterprise fail.72 Later on, when Cem was held captive (hostage) by the Knights of Rhodes and transferred to Europe, Bayezid was careful to assert Ottoman rights as his brother’s ‘protector’ by paying a regular allowance for Cem’s upkeep to his captors. That the Ottomans were willing to pay a sum, purportedly rising to as much as 30,000 ducats per annum, around 1490, for the safekeeping of Cem, shows the potential risk he posed from a strategic viewpoint, as the spearhead of an invasion of Ottoman territory with European backing, but the importance attached by both sides to the strict control of Cem’s movements shows that above and beyond strategic concerns physical possession of the royal hostage was important also for its propaganda value as a visible diminishment and insult to Bayezid’s imperial dignity.73

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Nearly a century after the Cem–Bayezid affair, another episode involving a royal defector once again very nearly resulted in war with a Muslim neighbour. War with the Safavid empire, to whose court Süleyman I’s son, also named Bayezid, had fled following his defeat by his brother Selim at the battle of Konya in 1559, was averted when Süleyman arranged through secret diplomacy to have his wayward son and would-be heir killed in 1561 while enjoying the shah’s hospitality at the court in Tabriz. Political exiles of various lineages, both royal and non-royal, were traded back and forth across the Iranian frontier in some number during the ongoing Ottoman–Safavid conflict in Süleyman’s reign between 1534 and 1555. When, following the capture of Tabriz, Sultan Süleyman’s army arrived at Sultaniye on 4 October 1534, he was greeted by the Zulkadrid prince Mehmed Han (Şahrukh-oğlu), who, having defected to the Safavids after the annexation of his patrimonial lands to the Ottoman state in 1522, now presented his compliments to the Ottoman sovereign with a view to re-defecting and accepting Ottoman suzerainty.74 As reward for his submission to Ottoman overlordship, he was offered first the governorship of Erzurum on the Safavid–Ottoman frontier, but, soon after, this was exchanged for the administration of districts in Rumelia, where he was far removed from any potential temptation to change his mind and re-defect to the shah.75 Mehmed Han’s brother Ali had also taken refuge with the Safavids in 1522 but, like his brother, he was persuaded to join the Ottoman camp in 1534 and assigned lands in Diyarbakir province and other districts of eastern Anatolia, where he remained as a guardian of the frontier and servant of the Ottoman sultan until the time of his death.76 VIPs and high-ranking defectors, especially those descended from a family whose forbearers were independent rulers in their own right, were given special privileges at the Ottoman court and occupied a place of honour in protocol arrangements on occasions when special court festivities were held – such as the elaborate ceremonies associated with the circumcision feasts arranged to honour Ottoman princes of the royal blood. Certain sultans made explicit use of the pride of possession deriving from the control and disposition of a renegade prince, for the boastful display of Ottoman might. On one occasion the captive émigré prince used by Süleyman I was Elkas Mirza, younger brother of his Safavid rival Tahmasb I. After Elkas’ rebellion against his brother in 1547, Süleyman was glad to offer him asylum at the Ottoman court and, although Elkas remained in Istanbul only a relatively short time, the sultan offered him generous allowances for his upkeep, hoping in the first instance to persuade him to assist the Ottomans in the invasion of his brother’s realm or, failing that, at least to capitalize on the opportunity offered to make use of him to show off Süleyman’s dominance and power to visitors at the Ottoman court. Palace accounts for the year 1548 show that Elkas Mirza’s allowance for butter to supply his kitchens amounted to

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the princely sum of more than 12,000 silver aspers.77 The scale and generosity of such allowances only served to magnify the sultan’s position as patron and protector. Another high-ranking defector from the east who joined Murad IV’s court almost a century later, in 1635, was the former governor of Erivan, Emir Gûne-oğlu, who was assigned the name Yusuf Paşa after his defection to the Ottomans.78 When assessing Murad’s reasons for accepting the former governor’s plea for asylum at the Ottoman court, the historian Naima explained that it was a tradition at the Ottoman court, in which all the world finds refuge, that no one who sincerely asks for protection should be left disappointed or deprived of that protection.79 In the case of Yusuf Paşa, the sultan’s generosity exceeded even the best traditions of the Ottoman court. While Yusuf enjoyed sultan Murad’s special favour, he was put to death in 1641 by Murad’s successor.80 In the meantime, Yusuf Paşa (alias Emir Gûne) developed a close personal relationship with Murad, who, considerations of friendship apart, was only too happy to exploit the full propaganda value offered by his retention of the high-profile defector from the shah’s court. In the period between Murad’s victorious return to Istanbul, in December 1635, from his first sultanically led eastern campaign to Azerbaijan and his setting out for the recapture of Baghdad in May 1638, Shah Safi was energetically and insistently presenting proposals for peace through his envoy Maksud Khan in Istanbul. In order to signal his disdain for the shah’s proposals, the sultan made use of an occasion on 4 September 1637 when Maksud Khan, stranded in Istanbul over a prolonged period while pleading his master’s case, was being entertained at a banquet given ‘in his honour’ by the defector Yusuf Pasha. On this occasion, the sultan had one of his court favourites (musahib), named Bekir Agha, deliver a stack of ten sacks of silver coin equivalent to half a million akçes to Yusuf during the course of the dinner, thus indicating to all present the limitlessness of his resources and conveying the none too subtle message to Maksud Khan that, if he could afford this level of generosity to a creature of his own making and a favourite of his court, then the conducting of war, even prolonged conflict, with the likes of Maksud’s master, Shah Safi, presented no serious challenge.81 The palace protocol book (teşrifat defteri) contains the following entry describing the occasion and noting its dramatic impact: Notice is here given of how on the very day when the shah’s envoy Maksud Han was being entertained by the sultan’s permission at the house of [the defector] Emir Gûne Yusuf Pasha on the Bosphorus near Rumeli-hisar, the sultan’s boon companion Bekir Agha arrived while the company was still at the dinner table and proceeded without delay to place into Yusuf Pasha’s hands [an installment of his subsistence allowance amounting to] 10 sacks of silver coin, each containing 50,000 akçes.82

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Taking care of routine household matters such as the handing over of the quarterly wage installments of the Janissaries, which involved the visual display of the scores of sacks containing the regimental pay of the sultan’s household troops in the forecourt of the palace, was a theatrically staged event, commonly put on for the benefit of audiences which included foreign envoys, so as to cow would-be adversaries into submission and impress them with the scale of the sultan’s largesse to those who were both loyal and submissive to his will. But to have this message conveyed by a proxy such as Yusuf Pasha, and to have the money delivered unceremoniously during the course of a banquet held by a minor court functionary, formerly in the shah’s own service, increased the effect by several orders of magnitude, earning mention in the palace protocol book even though the event itself took place on the far shores of the Bosphorus, remote from the palace precincts and the presence of the sovereign. The highest place of honour in Ottoman protocol arrangements was reserved for guests, usually younger sons and princes in direct line of succession in their own courts, who were sent as a token of trust and esteem by long-standing friends and allies of the dynasty such as the khans of the Crimea. Sometimes also this ‘privilege’ of acculturation to the proper form and ways of sovereignty was extended to other vassals, tributaries and even princes from rival dynasties such as the Safavids, as proof of their good faith and peaceful intentions towards the Ottoman court. As in the case of all official guests, these high-ranking dignitaries received generous subsidies and allowances from the public purse.83 For example, in 1528 Sultan Ahmed, son of Saadet Giray, then reigning khan of the Crimea, received a stipend of 40 akçes a day during his stay at the Ottoman court.84 The sacrifice of freedom of movement and curtailment of independent action necessitated by attendance at the Ottoman court offered one level of present subservience and subordination to the Ottoman ruler acting as host, but also engendered a degree of future obligation and loyalty to the sultan, due as a debt of honour from those who had enjoyed his hospitality and eaten his bread and salt.85 When figures such as Iskender Bey (George Castriotis), who had been an intimate of the Ottoman court, was raised there from childhood and enjoyed quasi-familial relations with the Ottoman sultan, chose to rebel and side with the Ottomans’ imperial rivals, as happened when Iskender allied himself with Venice in 1466, the sultan was obliged to avenge this slight to his imperial dignity or risk the world’s drawing the perfectly legitimate conclusion that the sultan’s subordinates, servants and vassals could indulge in acts of insubordination with impunity. The court historian Tursun Bey made direct reference to Iskender Bey’s position as guest/hostage (rehin) at the Ottoman court during his early youth,86 and he justified the Ottoman attack against Albania on the grounds that Iskender’s defection to the enemy necessitated a counter-attack, prompted

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by the sultan’s righteous zeal (hamiyyet) in defence of the honour and reputation of the dynasty.87 One final category of reputation-enhancing refugees, or defectors, that deserves consideration consists of scholars, artisans, literary figures and intellectuals who abandoned the courts of the Ottomans’ competitor regimes in the Muslim world and sought Ottoman protection and sponsorship. Sultanic generosity to poets and historians was not always confined to those in attendance at the sultan’s court, as can be seen from the rich rewards presented by Mehmed II to the Persian poet Jami (1414–92) and to others with international reputation in various fields of the arts.88 In establishing a top-rank position among Muslim dynasties, the role played by sponsorship of culture and of the arts was considerable. In the case of historians, apart from the luster that cultural figures contributed by their literary works, they served a double role as sultanic advisers, chancellery aides and, in some cases – such as that of the émigré historian Idris Bidlisi, who joined Ottoman service as a refugee from the Ak-Koyunlu court in 1501 – as diplomatic envoys with language skills and specialized knowledge of the countries of the Muslim east.89 Competition for the best craftsmen and artisans formed another dimension of inter-dynastic rivalry, as is testified by Selim’s I’s decision to deport thousands of Tabrizi workmen, including painters, calligraphers and experts in ceramics, to Istanbul following his victory over Shah Ismail at the battle of Chaldiran in 1514. In short, whether as defectors or deportees, the drain from the courts of the dynastic rivals in the east formed an important dimension of the Ottomans’ search for prestige and projection of their own court’s claim to represent the pinnacle of achievement in the fields of ornate literary composition (insha), painting and the decorative arts in general – seen together as chief among the princely arts. Prestige was partly bound up in the achievement of actual military dominance and acquisition of territory,90 but equally it was connected with the portrayal and pronouncement of military achievements in works of literary and artistic merit such as the lavishly illustrated campaign histories specially commissioned by the sultan. For example, we know that Sultan Süleyman allocated 21,000 akçes just for the paper, ink and scribal fees for transcribing the 45,000 couplets belonging to a eulogistic versified history of his reign, which was completed in 1558 by a Persian émigré named Fethullah Arifi Chelebi.91

Diplomacy and Diplomatic Receptions as a Vehicle for Exhibiting and Asserting Ottoman Preeminence In the realm of diplomacy, especially diplomatic receptions, the dignity and magnificence of the sovereign were more openly displayed and therefore also more vulnerable to insult or undervaluation than in any other context. Protecting

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imperial dignity was achieved by various means, one of the most common being the manipulation of the timing and location of the encounter. The longer an envoy was kept waiting for his audience with the Ottoman sovereign, the more his own importance and self-worth was diminished and the greatness of his host, the Ottoman sovereign, was magnified. A copy book of Murad IV’s imperial rescripts dating from the 1630s and 1640s shows exactly how calculating and sensitive to the issue of precedence, movements and court appearances of foreign envoys the Ottoman sovereign could be. In one instance, we have the order of Murad IV insisting to the governor of Buda that he arrange to have the Austrian ambassador, presently at Belgrade, detained midway on his journey to the Ottoman capital, long enough to ensure that his arrival for an audience with the sultan should take place after the sultan’s return to Istanbul from a hunting expedition.92 Access to the royal presence was strictly regulated, not just in terms of timing, but also in the form of approach and in the ceremonies and rituals of obedience associated with each form of approach. For diplomatic contexts, although full prostration, ground kissing or proskenesis were rarely enforced, participation in token forms of obedience was regarded as a compulsory precondition to being granted an audience. One such form was the custom of having the envoys, petitioners or supplicants carried into the sultan’s presence by the two chief warders of the inner palace gate (kapıcı-başılar), who, by thrusting their hands underneath his arms (koltuğa girmek), accomplished a close equivalent of the act of bowing or kneeling in the sultan’s presence. The ceremony is described in Rycaut’s text dating from 1668 in the following terms: When the ambassador comes to appear before the Grand Signior [sic], he is led in and supported under the arms by the two Capugibashees, who, bringing him to a convenient distance, lay their hands upon his neck, and make him bow until his forehead almost touches the ground …93

We are able to assess the general character of Ottoman diplomatic practice by noting the usages and degrees of formality observed by Ottoman envoys when travelling abroad. The account offered in Evliya Chelebi’s travelogue of the Kara Mehmed Agha’s embassy to the court of Leopold I in 1665 is probably not based on eyewitness observation, but it is certain that Evliya’s informant was both knowledgeable and astute. The account of Kara Mehmed Agha’s embassy to Vienna is highly revelatory of Ottoman perceptions and attitudes towards the refined choreography of diplomacy and protocol arrangements to which such exchanges were subject in the seventeenth century. It was the envoy’s duty, acting as chief representative of his sovereign, to ensure that his sovereign’s high status and majesty vis-à-vis the hosts was properly reflected in the terms of his own reception. On his part, Evliya is open about his acknowledgement of the high status enjoyed by Leopold

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7. Miniature painting depicting reception in 1596 of two Hungarian envoys by Sultan Mehmed III (1595–1603), who is shown seated at the entrance to his royal tent; cf.Şehname-i Sultan Mehmed III, Topkapi Palace Collections, Ms. Hazine 1609, folios 26b–7a. not only as king of Austria, but also as Kaiser and Holy Roman Emperor, but he insists at the same time that, in keeping with Ottoman majesty, Kara Mehmed be successful in imposing three conditions governing the terms of his reception at the Viennese court. First, the king should descend from his throne and advance as far as the entrance to the imperial council hall to greet the Ottoman ambassador. Secondly, the king should present his compliments to the sultan’s envoy by kissing Kara Mehmed’s shoulder blades (omuz), whereas the gesture would be reciprocated by Kara Mehmed in the form not of a shoulder kiss, but a kiss directed to a hierarchically lower spot on the emperor’s torso, namely his sternum or chest area (göğüs). The place of honour for showing deference and respect was, of course, the general surface of the head (baş), and still more so the top of the

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head, while the feet (ayak) and, still more so, the ground beside or underneath the feet (hâk-pay) represented the area of lowest absement. The human body served as an easily understood, highly visable and unambiguous yardstick for purposes of measuring both elevation and nobility and its opposite, abasement and ritual humiliation. Degrees of honour and abasement were measured by the millimetre of disparity on this vertical scale supplied by the human body, and the communicating of slight variations in the degrees of the respect offered was closely observed, especially when the performance took place in front of crowds of witnesses in a very public place. That the Ottomans took such signs of deference and ritual obedience as seriously when travelling abroad as they did when they acted as hosts and masters of ceremony on their own home ground in Istanbul is made very clear in Evliya’s account of Kara Mehmed’s reception in Vienna. The third condition which Kara Mehmed was able to impose on his Austrian hosts involved, again, incremental measurement of the space at the pinnacle of the human body, on the emperor’s head. Kara Mehmed made it a condition of his audience with the emperor that, when he handed over the scroll containing the sultan’s message surmounted by his imperial seal, Leopold should first kiss the document, then place it on the top of his head and remain standing during a public reading and proclamation of the document’s contents.94 In relation to Kara Mehmed’s three conditions, we are informed at a later point in Evliya’s narrative that the exact distance of the emperor’s advance from his throne for the purpose of greeting the Ottoman ambassador was seven paces.95 In exchange for Leopold’s concession to Ottoman imperial dignity, the Austrian monarch was to be allowed to remain seated on his throne throughout the course of the prolonged ceremonial exchange of gifts. On the other hand, Evliya reports – whether accurately or by hearsay it is impossible to determine – Kara Mehmed’s refusal of the emperor’s request to borrow the pasha’s musical band (mehter) in order to play a fanfare for the glorification of the Austrian court. Kara Mehmed expresses the view that, since these musicians are his own servants and subordinates, their use is his exclusive prerogative, not to be shared with anyone.96 After having described how Kara Mehmed Agha successfully negotiated and established in advance the terms of his audience with the emperor, Evliya proceeds to relate the unfolding of the ceremonies as they were actually observed on the day of the encounter, set for 18 June 1665.97 According to Evliya’s description, not only were Kara Mehmed’s conditions and expectations met, they were exceeded. When the Kaiser rose from his throne to greet the pasha, instead of the seven paces agreed, the emperor advanced ten paces, and baring his head acknowledged the pasha’s approach. Kara Mehmed then rushed forward to kiss the king’s chest, while the latter, as previously agreed, placed his kiss on Kara Mehmed’s shoulder.98 As for the handing over of the sultan’s imperial letter (name), Evliya describes the attitude of respect shown by the emperor in the following terms:

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The envoy [Kara Mehmed] took the scroll out from underneath his garments, pressed it to his lips, placed it on his head and with his right hand passed it to the emperor. Signalling his respect for the sultan’s written word [command], the emperor received the scroll with both hands and pressed it to his lips twice. He then placed it on his head and as he turned to his right all the courtiers present on that side doffed their hats and prostrating themselves on the ground gave thanks for peace. He then turned to his courtiers, priests and advisers standing on the left, who paid the same gestures of respect by baring their heads and touching their heads to the ground.99

During the reading out loud of the German version of the sultan’s letter, the original autograph version of the Ottoman text remained in its place on top of the emperor’s head, tucked under the cloth lining to his crown.100 Putting aside the question of whether Evliya’s account represents fantasy or fact, the text nonetheless conveys to us a very clear sense of how refined the Ottomans’ sense of decorum was and how aware and sensitive they were to the means and measures for protecting and enhancing the sultan’s imperial dignity. The number of paces of advance, the slight movements of the head, glances, hand gestures and even the slightest of movements were all recorded with deliberate precision and assigned meaning within a familiar repertory of signs. The gestures of respect proffered to the Ottoman ambassador carried nearly as much meaning to the Ottoman side as the precise details and individual conditions of the treaty being mutually ‘agreed’ to. In fact it has been established that multilingual versions of Ottoman treaties often accommodated deliberate ambiguity, or even outright contradiction of terms, as a face-saving measure employed to protect the royal dignity and suit the pragmatic requirements of both sides.101 Particular heed was paid to the forms of oath-taking, and the breaking of oaths was regarded as an automatically sanctionable casus belli.102 Non-adherence to terms sworn to in agreements was taken as a sign of disrespect which required some form of retribution or resolution by test of arms. Though compared with fifteenth-century prototypes the form of the section containing the admonition of an oath (sanctio–comminatio) in treaties assumed a greatly simplified shape, suited to the style and purpose of Ottoman diplomacy in later centuries, the importance attached to honouring a personal oath was unchanged.103 Thus, just like the visual gestures of holding the sultan’s word high and placing it on his head, the emperor’s verbal gesture of swearing an oath in public before witnesses that he would uphold the treaty served a practical as well as symbolic purpose. Without the solemnization of the act and intention of acceptance with these ceremonial gestures, the written terms of the treaty itself carried little weight or legal validity. The promise was made not to a principle, but to a person (the Ottoman sultan), and it was for this reason that, as a matter of course, all treaties had to be renewed and re-solemnized at the accession of each new sultan. By the same token, non-compliance with treaty terms constituted not just a hostile act toward the

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Ottoman state, but a personal affront to its ruler. The Turco-Ottoman tradition possessed a silent language of gesture, and also a vocabulary signalling either respect or contempt, which were much richer than we can possibly imagine in today’s world, desensitized as it is to the elaborate forms of etiquette and decorum formerly governing public encounters. It seems odd, even incomprehensible to us, that Evliya should fill up his narrative with these seemingly trivial details and not inform us more fully about what the actual terms of the agreement were. However, this language of gesture was one in which Evliya and his contemporaries were fully conversant, and probing its meaning was, for them, neither a trivial pursuit nor a meaningless exercise, but the very essence of interpersonal relations and the foundation of personal dignity. 104

Emblems and Symbols of Royalty in the Ottoman Tradition A final category of measurement or, more exactly, display of imperial dignity and sovereign status consisted of emblems of royalty, which included insignia, regalia, and dress as well as numerological and other accounting terms, held to be auspicious in and of themselves or otherwise worthy of regal stature. From the numerological point of view, Turkic and Sino-Turkic cultures from times immemorial have considered the number nine as bearing a special mystical significance, deriving, according to one view, from the structure of the naturalistic world in which the eight winds or compass directions are joined with the centre to form a complete universe.105 Gift-giving and tribute payment in denominations of nine is recorded by Marco Polo as a Mongol practice, but its origins can be traced to traditions dating from earlier times.106 In choosing, and making ritualistic use of, their own symbols of sovereignty, the Ottomans borrowed from these central Asiatic traditions and copied with near slavish attention to detail long-standing ancestral practices and customs inherited from the steppe environment. The multiples of nine were increased to suit the dynasty’s enhanced stature and international reputation in later centuries, but the essence remained unchanged. Among the most established symbols of regal authority and independent sovereign status among the pre-Islamic Turks was the tent (otag). Another was the horsetail standards (tuğ), whose use in the higher denominations (reaching as high as nine) was an exclusive prerogative of the supreme ruler or kagan. The use of drums (davul) and, by extension, of a band of instruments including drums and other percussion, wind instruments and horns (the mehter band), and the use or conferment of ceremonial plumes (sorguç), in particular of crane or egret feathers, as ornaments to be placed in the headdresses of brave warriors were also regarded as privileges of royalty, to be shared by others only with the ruler’s approval, as a sign of his favour.107 All the aforementioned emblems of

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sovereignty have clear origins in the pre-Islamic period and reflect the customs, practices and beliefs of the steppe. To these were added other practices such as the exclusive right of the sultan to have his name invoked in the Friday sermon (hutbe), or the striking of coins bearing the sovereign’s name (sikke) – but these new developments did not invalidate or render superfluous the older practices. Among the most ancient of the emblems and symbols of sovereignty was the ruler’s use of noise makers such as drums, both to announce his presence or approach and to remind those in his presence they should observe silence and acknowledge his presence with proper deference and respect. To magnify both the decibel level and the impressiveness of the sultan’s household band (mehter), the instrumental sections were composed of nine musicians, each in keeping with the mystical significance of nine and of multiples of nine already referred to. The Ottoman mehter was organized according to traditional models employed at the Seljukid court, which had in turn been inherited from established traditions borrowed from the steppe. According to Fuad Köprülü, who carried out detailed research on the subject, the tunes or harmonies called kög formed an unvarying set belonging to the royal repertoire to be played at regular intervals, nine times a day, at the ruler’s court.108 The balance of instruments to be used in these bands was also set by tradition and the typical band used in the courts of Turkic dynasties in the pre-Ottoman era consisted of fifty-four members divided into six sections with nine players in each.109 The Ottomans’ continuing attachment to such emblems and forms for displaying royalty is clear from the fact that the mehter organization figured not only as a key unit of palace personnel in the earliest surviving records of expenditure for staffing the imperial household, but it maintained its high-profile position in all subsequent periods.110 The job of the imperial standard bearers and musicians (mehter-i alem) was not just to serve the sultan when in residence at court, but to accompany him as a marching band on his excursions outside the palace, whether for the hunt, military campaigning or any other public appearance. Close adherence to the form and content of traditional kinds of celebrating and proclaiming the sultan’s sovereign status was considered a key aspect not just of dynastic pride, but also, in a significant way, of the pride of the wider public, who associated certain fixed forms, performances, dress codes and standard displays of sovereignty with sovereignty itself. Without these trappings of royalty the ruler was not recognizable to them and both visual and auditory stimuli to remind them of his status were not superfluous repetition of the obvious but essential parts of his being. Naima, the celebrated Ottoman historian of the early eighteenth century, regarded close adherence to proper form in the display of majesty (ihtişam) as a vital part of the ruler’s performance of the duties of office. Naima’s views were put forward at a time when other aspects of royal dignity, such as the sultan’s invincibility in battle, were being called into question by the

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precedent-making Ottoman decision to evacuate Hungary after 1699. Naima seemed to take the view that, while ceding territory might be regarded as a circumstantially defensible, even advisable, course of action for an honourable sultan, neglect of his duty to perform court ceremonial in a certifiable way was a form of self-inflicted lèse majesté that was inexcusable. Self-respect was not expendable, no matter how great the clamour for cost-cutting and budget-saving measures might become. Whatever such proponents of stripped-down versions of Ottoman court ceremonial might advocate, in Naima’s view haşmet/ihtişam or the magnificence of the sovereign’s court was not a luxury but a necessity. Naima refuted those who regarded the pomp of Ottoman ceremonial as a wasteful and unnecessary expense by rehearsing the following logic: When the public’s gaze has become accustomed to and familiar over the course of generations with the dazzling view of court dignitaries clad in robes of honour covered with fur and equipped with gold-coated and silver-based arms and armaments, to introduce sudden change to these familiar sights and to allow courtiers to appear at court wearing course apparel and squalid attire not just demeans the wearers but brings disgrace and loss of esteem to the general populace at large.111

Because the common people shared vicariously in the glory of royalty, by the same token they also felt diminution and loss of pride when their social betters failed to uphold long-practised standards of royal comportment. Naima forcefully argued that, even in times of general hardship and financial strain, cost-cutting measures whose ultimate effect was undermining public confidence and damaging self-regard among the general populace (am/avamm) were not to be countenanced. A similar view to that expressed by Naima in the eighteenth century can be detected in the commentary and implicit criticism of historians of the early seventeenth century such as Ibrahim Peçevi (d. c.1650), who, in writing retrospectively about the reign of Süleyman, found fault with some of his viziers in the discharge of their responsibilities as masters of ceremony and organizers of sultanic fêtes and festivities associated with the circumcision rituals (sur-i hümayun) for Süleyman’s sons and heirs. Whereas Ibrahim Pasha, grand vizier between 1523 and 1536, had staged a magnificent event lasting four weeks over the period from 17 July to 15 August 1530 to celebrate the coming of age of the three princes, Mustafa, Mehmed and Selim, sparing no expense or attention to detail to ensure that the event was one that would stick in the minds and memories of those who attended it for their entire lives, when it was the turn of the grand vizier Lutfi Pasha to organize an event in 1539 to celebrate the coming of age of the young prince Bayezid, born in 1525, he fell short of the expected standard and managed to stage an event that lasted only two weeks; and, what is more, timed to coincide with the winter season of late November–early

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December. The vizier’s failure in 1539 to host a suitably joyful and memorable occasion to celebrate the young prince Bayezid’s circumcision feast was ascribed by Peçevi to his lack of zeal and enthusiasm (dun himmetlik) and added by the historian to his list of shortcomings and further causes of the relative shortness of his term as grand vizier, compared to those of others who served during Süleyman’s reign.112 The message clearly conveyed by historians such as Naima and Peçevi was that display of royal majesty, which included the lavish display of wealth and public presentation of the ruler’s éclat, was an indispensable part of good government and a non-negotiable aspect of the ruler’s responsibilities. Too many public appearances undermined the special quality and exclusiveness of royalty and, in Naima’s view, this too was an extreme to be avoided. On the other hand, rulers who were too reclusive and too shy of exposing themselves to the public gaze attended by their glorious retinue, military bands and royal train were equally criticized for their aloofness. On balance, though, the sultans who shrank from engaging the public and craved a life of isolation behind the protective walls of their fortress-like palaces were the exception and tended to be regarded as anomalies in contemporary public opinion. The residence patterns of sultans differed, but those who spent prolonged periods away from Istanbul for reasons other than conducting military campaigns were suspected, and sometimes openly accused, of dereliction of duty. To be loved and believed in while fulfilling his role as the pater familias of his people, the sultan had to be not just present, but visibly so, and visualization rituals played an important role in establishing his credibility as ruler. Selim II, whose brief reign of eight years between 1566 and 1574 perhaps offered fewer opportunities than might naturally occur in longer reigns, was nonetheless conspicuously absent due to his several extended residences in Edirne and because he spent so much time, as well as patronage and expenditure, on the completion of major urban projects in Edirne – such as the mosque bearing his name. As a result, he was unable to establish the level of intimacy and rapport with the townspeople of the capital Istanbul that was considered both ‘normal’ and desirable. Precisely how much of Selim’s reign was spent outside Istanbul is difficult to know with precision, but it seems that, only six months after the accession ceremonies of December 1566 and the subsequent performance of the imperial levee at the end of the Ramazan fast, on 22 June 1567, Selim left Istanbul with his whole court, to take up residence in Edirne.113 A second ‘visit’ to Edirne by Selim and the court is recorded in November 1571 but the length of his stay is not specified.114 Although Selim died while in residence at the Topkapi Palace and his mausoleum is in the courtyard of Haghia Sofia, the memory of his reign is probably more associated with Edirne than with any other place. Another sultan who particularly favoured Edirne was Mehmed IV, who

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in 1675 chose it as the venue for celebrating the joint circumcision feast (sur-i hümayun) of the young princes Mustafa and Ahmed. Since each sultan created his own ruling persona and established his own relationships and personal ties with his subjects, it is perhaps risky to attempt to assess what was ‘normal’ and expected in the behaviour of Ottoman sultans, but it is clear that their glory was reflected only in so far as there was an audience there to observe it, and most Ottoman sultans pitched their most determined public relations campaigns and appeals for public admiration and loyalty to the populace of the greatest as well as mostly populous and prosperous city, namely Istanbul. The balance between the royal attributes of power, pomp, awe, majesty on the one hand and the gentler attributes of protection, compassion, generosity and charity on the other in the overall make-up of the Ottomans’ dynastic identity is perhaps best appreciated by examining the terms of self-reference and selfdescription the rulers themselves employed or had others employ when addressing them, in titles and other forms of salutation. Chapter 3 is devoted to a brief investigation of Ottoman practices and preferences in the use of titulature.

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3

Dynastic Image: An Investigation of the Ottomans’ Use of Titulature in Coins and Chancellery Documents A key question related to Ottoman dynastic identity concerns the circumstances under which the Ottomans began to acquire an imperial air and to reflect this new imperial status through the use of terms of self-reference with selfconsciously imperial overtones and connotations. As discussed in the previous chapter, elements of the old Anatolian political order characterized by an extreme fragmentation of power and authority showed tenacity and persisted well into the Ottoman era. In examining the evidence, there is a need to distinguish between vehicles such as coins, which were intended for both domestic and international circulation, and some other forms of titulature, which were employed strictly in the domestic arena. Our analysis will focus on the following three groups of evidence: (1) numismatic evidence indicating Ottoman leadership claims in relation to an international audience; (2) forms of identification used in letters (name) addressed to individuals (usually heads of state) living outside the empire’s boundaries emphasizing Ottoman military strength and political dominance; and (3) forms of address encountered in internal correspondence in which the sultan’s attributes of kindness, caring and compassion are emphasized. The ‘old regime’, in place in the early fourteenth century when the Ottoman territories were confined to Anatolia, was based on a nomadic world outlook, centred on tribal power structures bearing a loose affiliation and allegiance to a mutually agreed ‘leader’ who had reputation and charisma, but who necessarily deferred to tribal consensus and advice and had no independent material or manpower resources with which to counter the expressed will of the majority. Over time, material changes occurred which allowed the bey/emir, a title conveying the holder’s pretensions to only limited and regionally confined power, to assert a greater degree of independence, sufficient to claim rule as sultan. But this process of claiming full sovereignty occurred in stages and was not complete at any time during the fourteenth century, even after the Ottomans passed the Straits of the Dardanelles in 1354 and shortly afterwards established their second capital at Edirne (Adrianople) on European soil. In a diplomatic letter (yarligh) sent by the founder of the Kazan Khanate, Ulugh Muhammad, to the currently reigning Ottoman ruler Murad II in 1428, the Genghizid ruler refers to Murad in a ‘pre-conquest’ (that is, pre-1453) context as ‘the sultan of the territory of Rum’ (former Byzantine territory in Asia Minor and the Balkans excluding the capital

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Constantinople), but he notes that the status of Murad’s grandfather Bayezid when addressed by Muhammad’s ancestor Toktamiş was reckoned to be that of a divisional leader (bey/beg) rather than of a fully independent, trans-divisional sovereign ruler (sultan) in his own right.1 Surviving numismatic evidence points to the Ottomans’ sporadic and until 1450 inconsistent, not to say cautious, use of the title ‘sultan’ as a form of selfreference in coins. The second Ottoman ruler, Orhan, used the title ‘al-sultan al-azam’, an Arabized equivalent of the Turkic title ‘ulugh sultan’ (Great Sultan) on some of his coin issues,2 but the model for this seems to have been, not the Mamluk sultans, who had arrogated to themselves exclusive claims to the caliphally bestowed title ‘sultan’, but their Turkic brethren, the Khwarazmshahid rulers of Trans-Caspia.3 Far from competing with the Mamluks for precedence in the use of the title, Bayezid I (1389–1402) approached the shadow caliph of Cairo in 1395 for recognition as the ‘sultan of the territories of Rum’ and allied with the Mamluks in an anti-Timurid coalition whose aim was to maintain the status quo among the several contenders for Anatolian hegemony at the time of the gradual dissolution of Ilkhanid imperial control, in the later part of the fourteenth century. Whatever the general usefulness and propaganda value of this title in rallying support for the Ottomans among the scattered Turcoman tribes of Anatolia, Bayezid never made use of it as a means of self-identification on his coins. Instead he opted, through a subtle and oblique reference to his pretension, to be recognized as a world-conquering warrior hero in the central Asian tradition of the ‘lord of the [auspicious] conjunction [of the planets]’ or sahib-kiran: he placed clusters of three dots representing planetary bodies on the face of his coins – both his silver and his copper issues. The planetary and cosmographic reference is clearest on a copper issue which has clusters of three dots surrounding a star.4 Bayezid’s identity as self-styled conqueror was seemingly closely bound up with notions of worldly success and victory in battle gained through the support of a non-denominational lord of the heavens. The early fifteenth-century successors of Bayezid evinced a high level of identity confusion in that they attributed imperial stature not just to themselves, but also, retrospectively, to their father Bayezid. Thus Mehmed I, after overcoming his brothers in the protracted succession struggle between 1403 and 1413, dignified his position as survivor of the wars of attrition by adopting the title ‘sultan ibn sultan, Mehmed ibn Bayezid Han’. But this title is only encountered in the silver issue struck to celebrate his coronation year (1413), and not in surviving examples from the rest of his reign (1414–21).5 In the half-century period which followed Mehmed’s reign ranging up to the 1470s, despite the growing fame, international reputation and real power being accumulated by the dynasty, the use of pretentious royal titles is so rare that it really has to be considered

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exceptional or aberrant and not an indication of any firm or consistent pattern in Ottoman self-perception. Only two numismatic examples bearing the title ‘sultan’ can be cited from this whole period. One was Murad II’s Bursa issue of 1424,6 and the other, Mehmed II’s use of the title on two occasions: both were designed to celebrate his accessions and to proclaim his success over his brothers and rivals rather than to assert a wider authority or sovereignty as a challenge to rulers in other parts of the Islamic world. The first issue was struck in Bursa in 1444 to celebrate and commemorate his first accession to the throne, while the second, again issued in Bursa, marked his second accession in 1451.7 Thereafter the title is not again encountered on Mehmed II’s coins until the period 1475–81 (ah 880–6), by which time it may be argued that an imperial ethos had begun to permeate the whole structure of government and the Ottomans were certainly no longer shy of laying claim to leadership status over their competitors in the Muslim world.8 Some specialists point to evidence that the Ottomans may have resorted to the use of self-promoting and self-glorifying titulature at a slightly earlier date,9 but it seems that Ottoman respect for, and deference to, their Ilkhanid overlords under the first few successors to the dynastic throne and the impossibility of asserting hegemonic claims during the period of confusion and political upheaval following Timur’s invasion of Anatolia in 1402 would have ruled out any credible claim being launched much earlier than the final decades of the fifteenth century. It was only after Mehmed’s decisive defeat of the Ak Koyunlu ruler Uzun Hasan at Bashkent in 1473 that the dynasty could feel comfortable and confident of being immune from the threat of a resurgence of Turcoman independence bids launched from secure enclaves in the interior of Anatolia. Another indication of the generally unprepossessing character of the Ottomans’ self-image in the early dynastic era is found in the conventions for titles associated with sons and prospective heirs. During Orhan’s reign (1324–62), the title borne by most of the ruler’s sons in a document dated 1348, in which Orhan designated shares of his property for his ultimate successors, was bey, while his second-born son Süleyman, his intended successor at the time, bore the title pasha; both conveyed high status but neither was explicitly royal.10 The title pasha derived from the Kipchak Turkic term baş-şad and its cognate başak, whose basic meaning of ‘elder chief ’ is encountered in many Turkic titles conveying preeminence – in any field of endeavour and not just in politics or military campaigning.11 Similarly, bey (beg), while a title conveying high status and independence in the Turkic tribal tradition, still implied subservience to a supreme leader of wider tribal confederations who bore the title khan. If an equivalent for the title sultan as a designator of royalty and sovereignty were to be sought in the system of tribal hierarchies still prevailing in the Ottoman proto-imperial age of the fourteenth century, it would be closer to khan than to bey.12

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During the proto-imperial era, Ottoman rulers such as Murad I (1362–89) were sometimes refered to by their contemporaries as hundkar/hudawendigar, forms derived from the Persian khudawand or ‘lord’. But these terms were borrowed from Seljukid administrative usage, which applied them not exclusively as a royal or sovereign title but as adornments and designators of the respect conferred on political advisers (viziers) and top military commanders and governors.13 The reign of Murad I seems to have been a time of developing Ottoman imperial aspirations, as can be judged from the growing ornateness of terms of self-reference, evolving from the simple designator bey in the early part of his reign to highly elaborate forms such as that encountered on the inscription of a pious foundation completed in Iznik (Nicea) in 1388, at the very end of his reign, in which the referent ‘al-sultan ibn al-sultan’ appears.14 But, as discussed earlier in the context of Ottoman titulature in coins,15 these exceptions need to be recognized for what they are, which is just that: exceptions which prove the general rule. While in the time of Orhan it seems that the designator bey prevailed as a form of self-reference for Ottoman princes of the royal blood-line, later on and up to the time of the minority of prince Mehmed, who eventually ruled as Mehmed I (1413–21), Ottoman princes in their minority carried the title chelebi (‘prince’), used to covey their literary and administrative attainments and training as distinct from their military capabilities. The use of the term şehzade (‘son of a sovereign ruler or shah’) was in a sense inappropriate in the post-1402 political context, since for a time there were several survivors and contenders for rule, but no single sovereign successor to Bayezid after his defeat at the hands of Timur. Even 20 years later, at the time of Murad II’s accession in 1421, the principle of unigeniture had not yet been firmly established and during his reign power-sharing arrangements, amounting in effect to divided sovereignty, continued to be the norm. Before his death in 1421, Mehmed had provided territorial appanages or secured other safe positions for all four of his sons, including Murad II, who ‘succeeded’ him on the throne in Edirne in 1421 at the age of 17. Murad’s three surviving brothers, Mustafa (who had been sent to govern Hamid-ili and was now 12 years old), Yusuf and Mahmud (aged eight and seven at the time of Murad’s accession in 1421), were still too young to take up independent princely governorates and had been sent as guests/hostages (rehin) to the Byzantine court.16 To see the opposition of a 12 year old such as (Küçük) Mustafa as a fully-fledged ‘rebellion’ or as a serious attempt to promote a separate political agenda overdramatizes the events. The chronic uncertainties that accompanied the handover of power at each succession in the early Ottoman era reflect three things: first, the presence of many fissures in society pulling in divergent centrifugal directions; secondly, the fact that, since rule was attached to the person of the ruler, each succession constituted in a sense a recreation

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of the state itself ab initio, reformed in the image of the new ruler; and, thirdly, the relative weakness of centrist and centripetal forces. Institutions supporting absolutist rule and fixed bureaucratic and prescribed norms and forms for the display of power in accordance with formal courtly traditions were relatively undeveloped in this period. In Murad II’s case, the establishment of his authority came not with his accession in 1421, not with his defeat of his brother Mustafa’s backers in 1423, and not even with the restoration of Ottoman control over Salonica in 1430; really it was only after the immense boost to his personal stature and prestige gained as the result of his victory over his Balkan adversaries at the battle of Varna in 1444 that Murad gained sufficient confidence to be able to assert more fully his claim to exclusive rule and to his title as ‘sultan’, carrying the clear connotation of undivided rule and undisputed sovereignty.17 It is significant, however, that subsequently he still found it politically expedient to use his enhanced prestige as undisputed ruler not to entrench his own power any further but to ensure a smooth transmission of sovereign power to his son and intended successor Mehmed II, in whose favour he abdicated the throne in 1444. Until after the second accession of Mehmed II in 1451, the evidence points clearly to a continuation of the traditions of divided sovereignty and absence of uingeniture which impacted seriously on the ruling figure’s capacity for executive decision and on his ability to gain unilateral control of the state apparatus. In the next imperial age, after 1500, it was no longer exclusive authority, military dominance, martial skills or the ability of the dynasty to overcome its rivals on the battlefield that preoccupied Ottoman rulers’ thoughts, but the threat to Sunni orthodoxy – both from within and from without – posed by the rise of a heterodox Shiite dynastic house on the eastern borders, in Safavid Iran. While the battle in the preceding period had been over the accumulation and centralization of power and subordination of fragmentary tribal interests to the will of the sovereign ruling figure, now to an increasing extent Ottoman dynastic leadership was being called into question on religious and ideological grounds. But, rather than shifting the focus onto the international arena, where these issues of leadership and dynastic loyalty now took on a meaning within the wider context of the Islamic world because of Ottoman territorial expansion and incorporation of further Islamic lands, the analysis presented here will concentrate on the role of the sultanate in the domestic and internal sphere. It seems clear, moreover, that, whatever ambitions to recognition as the leaders of the Muslim world may have emerged after the fall of Cairo in 1517, the associative meaning connected with the term/title halife (caliph) in the early Ottoman era was not political: this term was used as one of the ‘elements in literary panegyric’.18 Though scholarly views on the subject of an Ottoman assertion of caliphal authority in the sixteenth century diverge, the weight of opinion favours the idea

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that Ottoman pragmatic instincts dominated over pietistic tendencies, and the presence of a large and potentially restive non-Muslim minority ruled out any real possibility of an authoritarian regime based on theocratic principles. It was only after the loss of suzerainty over large portions of their European territories by the terms of the Treaty of Berlin in 1878 that rulers such as Abdülhamid II (1876–1909) would begin to experiment seriously with pan-Islamist policies, and these were in any case not so much aimed at gaining support for Ottoman rule among Ottoman domestic populations as geared towards attracting international support in the context of a wider anti-colonial struggle. Such considerations had no relevance or applicability to Ottoman imperial realities before the last quarter of the nineteenth century.19 In the early imperial era after 1450, once Mehmed II had established his political capital at Istanbul and secured unified Ottoman rule over both the Balkanic and the Anatolian halves of his empire, he was able to lay unqualified claim to the title ‘lord of the two continents’ (Asia and Europe) ‘and of the two seas’ (the Aegean and the Black Sea). But, beyond establishing secure borders, the youthful sultan, known as Ebu’l-feth (‘father/progenitor of military victory’) because of his success in subduing Constantinople, was also engaged in a battle to win the hearts and minds of his subjects representing a variety of different ethnic, religious and cultural backgrounds. The emphasis in the Ottoman imperial ethos after the mid-fifteenth century moved from subjugation by force to co-optation and cooperative rule, through the use of persuasion and policies of accommodation (istimalet) designed to ‘win over’ subject populations, not just in rural areas but in the cities too, to the benefits of an Ottoman rule based on security, safety and law. In the first imperial era it was these attributes of Ottoman dynasticism that were highlighted in the internal political dialogue that concerns us here.

Political Vocabulary (Including Titles) Employed in the Domestic Arena Apart from coins, perhaps the richest and most revealing source for the study of Ottoman honorifics, titles and descriptive epithets relating to the attributes of the ruler is provided in the epistolographic and documentary evidence. The study of the Ottomans’ use of epithets (lakab, plural elkab) offers a highly varied and nuanced means of fathoming the fashions, preferences and unvarying ‘classic’ forms of address that, despite their clichéd appearance, speak volumes both about how the Ottomans regarded themselves and about how they wished their imperial regime to be recognized, typified and acknowledged. The present analysis focuses on the forms of self-reference encountered in state correspondence. The forms, both in letters for dispatch and in letters, petitions and dedications received by the sultan, will have to be considered separately, as two distinct categories.

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Two fairly comprehensive lists of royal epithets can be used to reconstruct a picture of Ottoman perceptions concerning the key qualities of the good ruler. The first of these is included at the beginning of Ahmed Feridun’s famous collection of state correspondence, completed in 1584 but expanded in its printed form to include rich material from the seventeenth century.20 A second source is the detailed entry for the word ‘padişah’ in the Meninski dictionary of 1680, which supplies examples, largely from the domain of Ottoman external relations with the Habsburgs, ranging over six pages of printed text.21 In the high imperial era, padishah represented the most common form both of address and of self-reference; it was encountered with equal frequency in the domains of internal communication and inter-state correspondence. The term derives from the Persian compound expression pad (‘protecting’) shah (‘lord, king’).22 Typically, however, epithets reflecting particular qualities of the ruler were appended to this basic term to create the complex multi-layered forms encountered in actual chancellery documents. These can be grouped for convenience under two headings: first, epithets reflecting the sultan’s might and magnificence, used in particular when addressing external audiences; and, secondly, epithets reflecting the ruler’s qualities of protection and benefaction, designed to appeal to domestic audiences and encountered mostly in internal correspondence. All the attributes associated with the ruler took the form of abstract nouns with the suffix lu/li (‘having, possessing’), as for example with the word haşmet (majesty), haşmetlu (majestic), which indicates a ruler whose grandeur is determined by the large number of his retinue and the richness of their apparel. Terms of respect and honorifics were rarely used singly, and the most common pattern involved the use of groups of four or five epithets of the lu/li type preceding the title ‘sultan’ or ‘padishah’, together with a further adjectival compound in the Persian tarkib form following the title. A typical example of the later pattern can be seen in the form padishah-i alem-penah, ‘ruler [protecting lord] in whom all the world takes refuge’, where shah (king) and penah (refuge) have been deliberately chosen to create a simple form of the stylistically approved sadj construction of internally rhyming prose. The phrase ‘lord in whom all the world takes refuge’ alludes to the sultan’s military might, to his ability to create an umbrella structure under whose shelter all nations can live together in harmony, and to his merciful attributes and provision of protection and support for the weak and poor among his own subjects. As such it can fit equally well within an internal domestic and within an international context. But forms of self-reference that make overt reference to the sultan’s physical power were part of a psychological frame of reference, designed to communicate fear and dread of Ottoman military capabilities to external audiences.

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Kingly Epithets Used in Communication With the World outside Ottoman Borders Epithets emphasizing the sultan’s fearsomeness and bravery in battle were perhaps the most numerous and most frequently employed in the whole repertoire of forms of self-reference designed for foreign correspondents. Examples of this type of vocabulary include: kudretlu (powerful), kuvvetlu (forceful), mehabetlu (fearsome), şehametlu (courageous) and last but not least, şecaatlu (brave, valiant). Terms asserting that the sender (the Ottoman sultan) should be held in high esteem by the recipient (heads of state and other dignitaries amongst the Ottomans’ contemporaries in foreign lands) are also, for obvious reasons, a commonly encountered feature of the titulature and epithets used in letters dispatched abroad. A very common form used for this purpose was that of compound expressions cast in sadj in the form: sultan-i azim al-şan (‘sultan of great renown’). In addition, honorifics such as azmetlu (great, august) and izzetlu (glorious, esteemed) form an indispensable part of the intitulatio formulae of letters addressed by the sultan to foreign heads of state. By contrast, in the inscriptio forms, the recipients were ranked in correspondingly less elevated style, in accordance with a strictly observed hierarchy of precedence.23 The forms of reference changed not only according to the rank of the recipient but also the occasion which prompted the issue of a sultanic letter, which ranged from the short businesslike and informal to the highly elaborated and formal.24 Titles emphasizing the extent of a ruler’s territorial sway were also familiar forms in chancellery usage, as evinced in the example provided from the correspondence of the Ottoman sultan Mehmed IV (1648–87), whose reign coincided with the period when Meninski’s dictionary was being compiled. Meninski notes Mehmed’s use of the following form of self-reference: sultan-i selatin-i şark ve garb, ve sahib-kiran-i memalik-i Rum ve Acem ve Arab (‘sultan over all the sultans of East and West and [undefeated] conqueror of the territories of the Byzanto-Roman world, Persia and Arabia’).25 In an imperial letter sent to the Austrian Habsburg ruler Ferdinand I in 1554, the listing of all the territories that had, to date, fallen under Süleyman’s sway takes up the better part of three lines in a text whose total length, beginning with the intitulatio, is 19 lines, whereas listing Ferdinand’s lands occupies only a half of the eighth line of the text and is provided in a truncated and rather abrupt inscriptio, which takes the following form: sen ki Nemçe vilayetinin ve ona tabi olan yerlerin kıralı Ferdinand Kıral sin (‘you King Ferdinand, who are the king of the province of Austria and the districts attached to it’).26 Inter-state and inter-dynastic rivalry and the spirit of triumphalism that dominated the sphere of international relations is perhaps not the best place to look for the expression of core values and governing traditions with which the

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Ottoman regime sought to associate itself. No doubt, the often-rehearsed and invoked epithet şevketlu (majestic) accurately conveys the general level of respect that the dynasty felt it was entitled to, but it doesn’t convey much about the qualities and indicators of esteem with which the Ottomans themselves linked their name and reputation. Two other terms universally encountered both in the internal and in the external contexts wherever the Ottoman dynastic name is being invoked are associated with the good fortune, auspiciousness and future prosperity of the dynastic house. The terms devletlu and saadetlu (‘fortunate’ and ‘felicitous’) imply the intervention of divine favour and celestial support ensuring that the dynasty’s star will always remain in the ascendant; the latter term was also invoked as the name of the sultan’s private apartments in the palace entered through the Gate of Felicity (Bab al-Saadet) and, by extension, it was related to the capital and nerve centre of the empire, Istanbul, known as the Dar al-Saadet (Abode of Felicity). Apart from this indirect allusion to God’s steadying and supporting hand backing the dynasty, Ottoman titulature seldom made use of explicitly pietistic epithets. In describing the sultans’ battle successes, historians made use, occasionally but sparingly, of the expression al muayyed min ind allah (‘succoured and supported by God’). However, by convention, this phrase was reserved for those exceptional sultans who were rarely or never defeated in battle and whose reputations for military achievements was legendary. It was a mark of special distinction, not a shared attribute of all Ottoman sultans or a quality inherent to the institution of the sultanate itself. Writing around 1600 during the reign of Mehmed III, the thirteenth sultan to succeed to the throne, the historian Mustafa Ali reckoned that the there were only three Ottoman sultans who could lay rightful claim to the title: Mehmed II as conqueror of Istanbul (1453), Selim I as conqueror of Cairo (1517) and Süleyman I, for the breadth of his conquests stretching from Baghdad (1535) to Buda (1541).27 In short, though it employs a rich language of hyperbole and self-magnification, the realm of power politics, military confrontation and dynastic rivalry covers only a limited span of the activities and responsibilities of rulership and headship which the institution of the sultanate encompassed. To obtain a fuller and better balanced portrait of the sultan requires that we look beyond his role as leader in war.

Titles and Epithets Employed in the Internal Realm: A Glossary and Guide to the Ottomans’ Ruling Priorities in the Administrative Sphere Alongside the bellicose language and terms of reference used when presenting and projecting an image of self-confidence to the outside world, the Ottomans had a separate and more subtle and nuanced vocabulary which they used to convey the virtues and benefits of Ottoman rule to an internal constituency of their own subjects and potential critics. Here the ruler’s virtues as peace-maker

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and nurturer of his own people occupied the foreground and a vocabulary was developed which, rather than presenting the sultan as the subjugator of foreign lands, emphasized his role as promoter of peace and preserver of internal order (nizam-i alem) within the state as well as his contribution to maintaining safety and security for all within the home territories. These ruling priorities find expression in a limited but highly evocative set of epithets, commonly encountered in petitions addressed to the sultan. The petitioner, who is in the position of begging a favour from the sultan, will naturally wish to convey his trust in the sultan’s qualities of generosity, benevolence and justice, but it would be a serious mistake to assume that, because these feelings were couched in a seemingly conventional language, this conventionality deprived them of a deeper meaning and purpose. Use of a particular vocabulary to trigger a particular response would lose meaning only if it consistently failed to trigger it. But if it ‘works’ and the sultan is reminded of his duty of care through the deliberate repetition of a particularly emotive or value-laden vocabulary, then conformity to these conventions carries a deeper meaning and functionality. The user, subject or petitioner employs this vocabulary only because his target audience, the sultan, in his position as the granter of all requests and the distributor of all favours, looks favourably on requests delivered in that form. In petitions (arz), the two most commonly encountered forms of address are devletlu and saadetlu, which have a generic meaning that the sultan has the means to disburse, being himself the recipient of the bounteous favours of God. How he chooses to share and distribute that bounty among his loyal followers and needy subjects is a decision left to his own charitable and beneficent instincts. The sultan was bound by convention to distribute ihsan (favour, material reward) in amounts prescribed by convention on certain fixed occasions such as his accession. Until the distribution of the accession donatives (culus bahşişi), his installation in office was considered incomplete and his authority circumscribed. Thus it was not these compulsory forms of generalized ihsan but the particular and individualized manifestations of his royal generosity and benevolence, both in response to requests and petitions and spontaneously and unilaterally at his own whim, that made the deepest impression on beneficiaries. There was nothing contractual about the rewards deemed suitable for the sultan’s servants. They started at a base pay and a standard wage that was appropriate for the level of work they were doing, but all subsequent increments, raises and promotions were subject either to the sultan’s spontaneous inspiration (karihe), or else a response to a request for recognition or reward by a petitioner. In a broader sense too, even beyond the ranks of his own servants in the palace service and provincial administration, all forms of social recognition, privilege and preferment were similarly subject to the sultan’s grant of a diploma of privilege (berat) or of some other recognition of entitlement. Social preferment

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attached to the sultan’s purview applied to state service, the highest judicial and administrative ranks belonging to the learned hierarchy and even to the commercial and business worlds, since the most lucrative contracts for the supply of basic goods and services to meet the needs of the army and palace household were distributed at the sultan’s discretion. Favour expressed in the form of amnesty and forgiveness for crimes and misdemeanours was also granted at the discretion of the sultan. If the state and the sultan were not co-terminus entities, then they came closer to being so in the Ottoman society of the high imperial era than in any contemporary state. This fusion of political identities was repeatedly observed by western commentators, who wrote tirelessly about the tendency to despotism and excessive concentration of power in the hands of the ruler in the Ottoman system.28 What this incontrovertible evidence on the accumulation of ‘excessive’ power in the hands of a ‘despotic’ head fails to take into account were the constraints on the exercise of that power and the conventional expectations that influenced or even compelled the sultan to reward or otherwise acknowledge those who had provided loyal service. Despite the imbalance of power, the logic of quid pro quo and the fulfilment of reasonable expectations of reward and advancement for those in the sultan’s service was inescapable. As a first typical example of the operation of a dynamic of gratitude and reward prompted by the provision of satisfactory service on the part of the sultan’s subordinates and servants in state service, let us take the case of the Keepers of the Palace Wood Stores and the staff of the Barley and Hay Depots attached to the service of the Palace Stables in the time of Murad IV (1623–39). It is recorded in the Register of Palace Ceremonial for 1637–8 that on 14 July 1637 Sultan Murad carried out a tour of inspection to the barley and hay storage depots and, to mark the occasion, he distributed 12 robes of honour (hilat) to the staff of the chief responsible officer, the Head Equerry (Mir Ahur), and his associate the Barley Commissioner (Emin-i Cev).29 On another occasion, during the sultan’s inspection of the palace wood sheds at the end of September 1637, the successful completion of the task – which was to get in the autumn–winter wood supply under the general oversight of the Istanbul Aghasi (chief of the Janissary cadets (acemi oğlanları) barracked in Istanbul) – was celebrated with flair and ceremony, in a special gathering held at the imperial divan to which, in addition to the Istanbul Aghasi, four warehouse officials responsible for the stacking of the wood supply (istife-i hime-i enbar-i amire) were summoned. As chief responsible for the collection and delivery of the wood, the Istanbul Aghasi had precedence in the context of this particular gathering and it was he who was honoured and rewarded most impressively, as judged from the quality and workmanship of the ceremonial robes (hilat) he was asked to don on this occasion, but the others, too, received individual honours and rewards in accordance with their rank and merit, directly from the sultan’s hand.

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The inauguration and completion of many such seemingly trivial tasks relating to the service – whether in the imperial household (enderun) or in the extended imperial domain of the ‘outer services’ (birun) – were meticulously marked with the personal touch of the sovereign. Without such consecration of the ordinary, the task was considered incomplete and care was taken that the favour of loyal service was acknowledged, not just through monetary reward distributed by the sultan but through other visible tokens of his satisfaction. The loyal and successful employee of the sultan received the Ottoman equivalent of his ‘gold watch’ not just once, at his retirement after 30 years of service, but on multiple occasions throughout his career. Neumann’s work on two high-ranking Ottoman officials of the mid-eighteenth century indicates they accumulated impressive wardrobes containing dozens of robes of honour, donned on a series of official occasions throughout the course of their careers, and dozens more of simpler design and fabric, intended for distribution to their own subordinates.30 Returning to the account of the simple palace ceremony held in late September 1637, we find that, among the five officials honoured for their part in the completion of the wood-stacking chore, the following three were singled out: the weigher of the sultan’s wood supply (kantarcı), the stower of the sultan’s wood supply (istifci) and the recording secretary of the stower (katib-i istfci), whose efforts were recognized by the award of three standard-grade hilats (hilat-i karhane).31 Their superior officer, the Istanbul Aghasi, received a top grade hilat (hilat al nev al ala) while another official, called the overseer of the palace wood supply (nazir-i hime-i miri), appointed from among the palace ushers (chavushes), was distinguished on this occasion by the award of a superior quality standard-grade hilat (hilat-i karhane, ala). Since on previous occasions the hilat distribution ceremony had envisaged the awarding of only four robes of honour, care was taken to record the exceptional nature of the fifth award in the margin of the register, to serve as a guide to proper protocol for such awards on future occasions.32 The fact that the precise number as well as the purpose and quality of each distributed garment was recorded with such care and precision can be attributed in part to the Ottomans’ well-known penchant for bureaucratic precision, detailed record-keeping and financial accounting, but it also tells us that these items of dress carried a profound meaning both for the granter, as his token recognition of merit earned, and for the wearer, as a symbol of acquired value. Tokens of imperial honour obviously gained the wearer respect, not just within the limited context of palace ceremonial but in broader society as well. That such honours descended as far down the hierarchical chain of command as the wood stowers of the palace in no way cheapened their value. Having given the sultan satisfaction or having provided a high standard of service could pertain to anyone, at any point on the social scale, from the top ranks of the vizierial class to palace staff carrying out seemingly menial tasks.

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The meaning of the sultan’s act of bestowing honours and favours in a public or semi-public ceremony was to convey the message that even the least of his subjects was never beyond his notice, care and attention. Such acts of inclusion were necessary as a counterbalance to the dismissals, confiscations, banishments and, in extreme cases, executions imposed on those who had earned the sultan’s disfavour. Frequent public ceremonies for bestowing reward and honour served as a positive motivator. Alongside such positive reinforcement and visible reward for service faithfully rendered, negative reinforcements and other forms of equally public humiliation were used as a means of discouraging disloyalty to the ruler. For petitioners hoping for a positive outcome of their appeal, to express devotion to the sultan on the one hand and their expectation of a fair hearing and a caring response on the other, the use of a standard set of epithets of address and respectful salutation was both practical and effective. The attributes of the ruler most commonly invoked by those who found themselves in this posture of appeal were compliments that reminded the sultan of his duty of care as just (adaletlu), gracious (inayetlu) and benevolent (utufetlu) ruler. The shift in register and tone of address from attributes focusing on the power, dominance and fearsomeness of the sultan (encountered in the correspondence relating to the state’s foreign relations) to a discourse based on accommodation and understanding (in matters relating to the internal and domestic dimension of Ottoman rule) could not be more striking. Two other attributes of the sultan specific to this realm of internal communication with the ruler ‘in whom all the world takes refuge’ were expressed in the terms müruvvetlu (‘possessing a quality of mercy and generosity’) and kerametlu (‘possessing a quality of kindness and generosity’). Both terms convey the petitioner’s level of trust and feelings of intimacy towards the addressee and express a confidence in the paternal affection which their appeal to the sovereign will elicit. So addressed, the sultan could neither ignore nor escape the expectations put forth in any petitioner’s appeal. Although the sovereign gathered in his person unbounded power and wealth and the capacity to hoard it, failure to bestow it generously diminished his reputation. Maintaining good public relations was in fact a key aspect of sultanic rule, and unpopularity resulting from selfish or wasteful use of the resources at the sovereign’s disposal was not easily forgiven. Among other factors, Sultan Ibrahim I’s apparent unconcern for the hardships suffered by the population of Istanbul on account of a naval blockade during the initial phases of the war with Venice over Crete and his wasteful expenditure on royal palaces and disproportionate allowances for family members played a not inconsiderable role in his forced abdication in 1648. The sultans’ consciousness and sensitivity to their own image in the public eye must have been heightened and intensified by their knowledge of the fate suffered by so many of their predecessors who had

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failed to win public support. Despite the empire’s reputation in the contemporary West for despotic rule by uncaring sultans, the fact remains that, in addition to four abdications,33 the reigns of 15 of the 33 sultans (45 per cent) who ascended the throne between 1389 and 1918 came to a premature end through deposition.34 Another of the epithets associated with sultans in petitions was merhametlu (compassionate, charitable), which carried the implication that the sultan was the common man’s friend and last resource in times of trouble. To emphasize the sultan’s compassionate concern for his subjects even more, the epithets were doubled up, one being placed at the beginning of the petition and another, or sometimes a pair of others, positioned at the end. Two examples of the postpositioning of compliments, from the collection of vizierial telhis (memoranda and petitions) published by Orhonlu, should suffice to illustrate the practice. In the first, grand vizier Yemişci Hasan Paşa closes his submission to the sultan with the phrase: [baki]-i emr u ferman merhametlu padişahımızındır (‘for the rest, the remainder of [decision] order and decree belongs [exclusively] to our most merciful sovereign’).35 In a petition submitted by an unidentified petitioner belonging to the learned hierarchy to the Queen Mother (Mehmed III’s mother Safiye Sultan), which asked for her intervention to secure his appointment as the head-preacher of Medina, the appeal closes with a skilful allusion to the Queen Mother’s sharing (otherwise read appropriation) of the same noble qualities of charity and generosity inherent to the sultan himself: baki-i ferman, ve lutf ve ihsan, ol kerim al-şan hazretlerinindir (‘the rest of [decision] and decree and award of beneficence and favour rests with her most exalted majesty of gracious degree’).36 Use of epithets and compliments in multiple combinations and compound forms magnified the impact and the emotional appeal of the message being delivered, and it is for this reason that we encounter such a richness and variation of form in examples retrieved from the Istanbul archives. A dossier of 120 petitions sent to the sultan during the years 1012–14 hijri/1603–6 ce and devoted mostly to requests for the favour of salaried appointments provides a rich source for the analysis of this variation.37 In one case, the petitioner was a former judge from Samakov named Mustafa, who had been dismissed from office prematurely before the end of his standard two-year term of service and was asking for reinstatement.38 In addressing his appeal to the sultan, the ex-kadi used the following form of address: izzetlu ve saadetlu ve amme-i fukeraya şefkatlu sultanım (‘my auspicious and honourable sultan, who is ever most tender and solicitous to the neediest of his subjects’).39 In another part of the document, the ousted judge appealed to the sultan’s mercy by stating that he had ‘no other support to whom he could turn to confide his private thoughts’ and expressed his confidence in a swift resolution to his problems through the intervention of

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his excellency the most fortunate (saadetlu) and benign (refetlu) sultan, whose court (literarily threshold) served as the ‘distribution center for the livelihood and provision of all and the habitual haven for the salvation of society’s most needy’.40 Appeals to the sultan’s şefkat (tender mercy) and inayet (kindness) were more than pro forma reiterations of obligatory rhetoric or self-deprecatory excess, bereft of real meaning; they represented a factual situation: the sultan was in a position of absolute power, being capable, at the stroke of a pen, of providing for or depriving whomever he chose of their source of livelihood.41 The implication of appealing to the sultan’s mercy was that, by using his power benevolently, the sultan was sure to see the justice and merit of the supplicant’s plea. Victims of circumstance or of unfair treatment arising from collegial jealousy and rivalry always trusted they would get a fair hearing if they could only gain the sultan’s ear, and there was no better time than the beginning of a new reign for all disappointed candidates to put forward their claims for recognition, amnesty and restitution. As in the case of the grand vizierial telhis cited previously, the purpose of the arz (petition) was to set the facts before the sultan in an unpresuming and straightforward way and to ‘leave the final decision and dispensation of grace and favour’ to the sultan himself.42 Thus the former kadi Mustafa wisely concluded his plea for reinstatement to his post in Samakov (and thereby reinforced his arguments) by one final post-positioned reference to the sultan’s independent but caring stance in interpreting the facts put before him. As a man of letters, Mustafa was able to make the most of his few words of closure by manipulating the standard phrase of appeal as follows: baki-i ferman, ve lutf ve ihsan ol yuce dergahındır (‘the remainder of decree and expression of sovereign grace and favour belongs [exclusively] to that exalted Porte [where sovereignty resides]’).43 Another example, taken from the same dossier of petitions compiled in 1606, reveals further details about the forms and formalities associated with the bestowing of sultanic favour. In this case, the petitioner was another Mustafa, employed as a bookkeeper/accountant in the service of the imperial stables, who addressed a request for appointment to a minor post, not for himself but on behalf of an associate. In addressing the sultan he opted for the scattershot approach, using as many complimentary epithets as possible, in the following manner: ‘prosperous and honoured (mükerremetlu), gracious, munificent and bounteous (semahatlu) sultan’.44 The reason why the sultan’s Porte is characterized by posterity and good fortune (saadet and devlet) is not that the sultan withholds and retains for himself the bounty with which God has blessed his imperial domain, but that he shares these blessings widely with his subjects. The axiom ‘it is more blessed to give than to receive’ applied with full force to the Ottoman sultan, as can be sensed clearly from the tone and tenor of the forms of address that were consistently used when appealing to his generosity.

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The allusion to this tradition and (at the same time) expectation of sovereign ‘giving’ as something inseparable from sovereignty itself can be sensed most clearly and overtly in a phrase employed in another petition, submitted by an individual called Iskender: a gatekeeper in the palace service (kapucu), who, having served for some time as the mütevelli (trustee) of the pious foundation for the upkeep of Selim II’s mausoleum near Haghia Sofia, was appealing to the reigning sultan Ahmed I for a slight increase to his daily wage. In his petition, dated 25 January 1606, he concluded his request to the sultan with the following remark: ‘since it is in the best tradition of valorous kingship that those who have served the sovereign with honesty and integrity should be made the object of the sovereign’s noble kindness and favour … we implore his graciousness to agree to the grant of a three asper raise [to our daily wage]’.45 In this document, the elaborateness of the language of entreaty stands in stark contrast to the simplicity of the matter being proposed. Furthermore, in the event of success, the candidate for a raise or the applicant for a post was commonly greeted by a single-word response, sometimes written in the sultan’s own hand in the margin of the petition itself, stating simply verdum (‘I have granted [it]’). The form of both request and response leaves no doubt about the identities and functions of the participants. One is clearly the gracious bestower who, comfortable in his position of superiority, feels able, without further delay or ceremony, to conclude the business expeditiously and decisively, while the other’s position of dependency and anxious anticipation of a favourable response is equally unambiguous, both from the manner of his approach and from the hesitant, circumlocutory and obsequious nature of the language he employs. Sultans can afford to be direct and even abrupt in their speech, as this implies their preoccupation with matters of state and other pressing duties. On the other hand all matters, especially when they involved the distributing of salaries and livelihoods, passed through this approval process in which the sultan gave his personal approval and the recipient clearly acknowledged his indebtedness to the sultan and received benefit from the sultan’s own hand. That the relationship between patron and client, or donor and recipient, should be unambiguously clear was part of the reason for the public salary distributions to the Janissary corps, which reiterated and highlighted in a highly visible way this relationship of dependency.46 In chancellery practice, the use of set expressions, both in forms of address and titulature and in the formulae for closing (hatime), invariably introduced by the standard phrase ‘baki-i ferman …’,47 reinforced feelings of loyalty and obligation on the part of the askers, but it also conveyed their rightful expectations of reward in acknowledgement of faithful service. All appointments, whether initial grants or reconfirmations of existing terms and privileges granted in a mukarrername, were couched in language indicating the debt of loyalty and respect owed by the beneficiary (petitioner) to the benefactor and donor (sultan), but the sultan was

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bound by convention to honour the respect paid to him by acquiescing to the petitioners’ requests when their actions and performance of services rendered to him merited reward. It was well understood by both sides of the power equation that what bound each half to keep its side of the bargain was the expectation that standard service would be met with standard recognition (normal wages and privileges) and that exceptional dedication and extraordinary feats deserved exceptional reward (bonuses, favours and grants in perpetuity). The last, grants in perpetuity, were awarded only rarely, for exceptional service such as instances where a vizier and commander had, by guiding the Ottoman army to victory, acquired substantial new territories for the imperial realm. In practice, all new Ottoman rulers had full discretion over whether or not to renew the terms of all of their predecessors’ grants and appointments. The onus was on the grantee to prove, to the satisfaction of the new sovereign, that he was still worthy and deserving of the favours previously granted him. The extent of the sovereign’s discretionary power and ability to chose to remove and rescind privilege, as well as to grant it anew in order to create his own team of loyal servants, is indicated in the number of petitions found in the appointments dossier of 1603–6, which concerned appeals for confirmation and renewal of posts granted during the reign of Ahmed’s father Mehmed III (d. 21 December 1603).

The Ottomans’ Use of Epithets of Disrespect in the Realm of Diplomacy Alongside the diverse forms of respectful address used as a prelude in a request from the sovereign, the Ottomans reserved, for exceptional circumstances and especially as a prelude to war and commencement of hostilities with a neighbouring country, a separate vocabulary of threat and abuse. The temporary abandonment of the polite discourse which normally governed diplomatic relations between friendly countries signalled the Ottoman sovereign’s displeasure and his demand that the offending country mend its ways or else face the immediate prospect of war. The lanet-name (letter of malediction) or tehdid-name (letter of threat) addressed by Sultan Süleyman to the Safavid ruler Shah Tahmasp in 1553 is a good example of this opposite side of the Ottomans’ use of language as a tool in behaviour modification. To encourage certain behaviours such as loyal service on the part of his own subordinates, the use of positive reinforcements and incentives was the most effective approach. By addressing his enemies or potential enemies in disrespectful or threatening language the sultan sought to convey the opposite message about the negative consequences that would result from the continued pursuit of a course of action contrary to Ottoman wishes. Arguably the most abusive language was reserved for use against the Ottomans’ co-religionists, the Safavids, whom the Ottomans regarded as schismatics because of their heterodox Islamic beliefs.

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In general terms, it may be said that for all individuals, whether royalty or commoners, the Muslim legal tradition regarded the use of abusive language, especially any canonically forbidden or ‘restricted’ language, as a serious offence which required either retraction or some other form of retribution. Those found guilty of using this restricted vocabulary were subjected to the highest level of punishment (hadd) allowed under the law. A person’s legal right to the protection of his personal honour against public attack was recognized by the law to the same extent as his right to protection against physical assault and battery. The lawcode for the central Anatolian province of Dulkadr (Zulkadr), annexed to the Ottoman realm in 1522, provides a detailed account of how such questions of personal honour were regarded. Both in its more Draconian archaic form and in its somewhat diluted latter-day Ottoman versions, the code provided that cursing, swearing and use of vituperative language with intent to vilify a person’s character and reputation, known by the legal term shatm-i galiz (‘indecent abuse’), were subject to serious punishment. In theory, the hadd, (maximum) penalty for this offence, consisted of 80 strokes, though in practice, in place of corporal punishment, the penalties were usually commuted to cash fines, typically 30 akçes.48 As time progressed, the fines increased in line with inflation and the declining value of the akçe, but the underlying principles remained unchanged. The provision in the Zulkadr regulations stated: If a person swears at another person making reference to [infideltity or] sexual intercourse [cina lafzıyla], or uses bad language [forbidden by] the sharia, a 40 akçes fine [shall be exacted] after the punishment required by the sharia has been carried out.49

As can be seen, the fines for use of bad language were increased in cases where reference was made to fornication or cuckoldry, whose imputation represented the most extreme form of public insult imaginable. A case recorded in the 1636 judicial register of the Istanbul suburb of Üsküdar involved the attempt to resolve a dispute arising between two military men, both bearing the descriptive title beşe, which represented a diminutive form of paşa (provincial commander, governor). In the judicial record, the plaintiff, Hasan Beşe, accused the defendant, Yusuf Beşe, of drunkenness and both physical and verbal abuse and asserted that ‘by alleging fornication (with my wife) Yusuf has committed gross insult against my religion, my faith, my honour and my spouse’.50 In response to this charge Yusuf made the following deposition to the court: ‘The aforementioned Hasan [started the affray] by latching onto my beard and plucking out hairs from it, whereupon I uttered curses in the aforementioned manner. It is true that I had drunk wine and that I am generally in the habit of drinking wine.’ During the course of the tribunal, Yusuf Beşe several times disrupted the proceedings by shouting out to Hasan exclaiming ‘Hoy cuckold. Hey panderer to your own wife.’51 The court register records only the depositions and provides no account

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of the judge’s decision or the nature of the penalty, but that the crime itself was taken very seriously is confirmed by the care taken in recording the testimony. That cases involving shatm (calumny, vituperation) are relatively frequently encountered in surviving records both from urban metropolitan and from provincial and more rural tribunals shows that questions of public honour and personal reputation were regarded as very sensitive. The community and one’s standing in it were not matters of abstract academic interest but the vital concern of all, regardless of social class or circumstance. The breakdown of good relations between sovereigns which was reflected in their substitution of a vocabulary of insult and abuse for the usual polite and decorous language of normal diplomatic exchange was a matter for serious concern. When a sovereign threw down the gauntlet by using demeaning language with his peers abroad, no self-respecting monarch could allow the challenge to remain unanswered or the deliberate insult unavenged. The use of provocative language was meant to elicit a response in much the same way that use of conciliatory and complimentary language, in the context of petitions, was designed to trigger a positive response. Süleyman I’s preparation to resume war with Iran, signalled by his issuing of a letter of intent prior to the launching of the third (and final) eastern campaign of his reign in 1553–4, provides an instructive example of how this dynamic worked. In one section of the letter sent to Shah Tahmasp, when Süleyman was camped near Kars just before crossing the border into Safavid territory, the Ottoman sovereign taunted his adversary with cowardice and accused him of issuing orders to his own troops to attack only after the Ottomans had retreated. Süleyman contended that, fearing to encounter his adversaries face to face, the shah went into hiding as soon as the Ottoman armies advanced. Such insults (hakaret) were accompanied by conventional and obligatory invitations to the shah to repent of his wayward and heretical Shiite ways and to accept the truth and validity of the only true religion, namely Sunni orthodoxy (davet-i Islam) as the best means for averting the outbreak of hostilities.52 From the exchange of letters between the grand vizier Ahmed Pasha and the Safavid sovereign at the conclusion of the campaign on 6 August 1554, after the Ottoman army had laid waste to the districts of Karabagh and Nahcivan and was approaching the frontier town of Beyazit, being ready to re-enter Ottoman territory, it appears that neither side was yet ready to forego a last opportunity to engage in mutual taunts and insults before accepting the desirability as well as inevitability of peace. On the Ottoman side, the vizier once again rehearsed the usual justification for Ottoman aggression, claiming their adversaries were not true Muslims but apostates. As related in the historian Celalzade’s version of the letter, the grand vizier proclaimed:

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… we are now in the nine hundred and thirty first year (ad 1554) since the revelation of the true religion to the Prophet Muhammad whereas on your side it is scarcely fifty years since the time your dynasty’s founder [Shah Ismail] introduced your newly imagined and invented rites. During the first nine centuries of Islam where was this so-called ‘religion’ to which you, in contravention of the holy laws of our Prophet, have declared your allegiance? Is not the person who professes belief in such a newly concocted and false religion to be considered an infidel, like any other?53

The bitterness with which this war of words was still being waged in the lead-up to the final peace agreement reached at Amasya in May 1555, still nearly a year ahead, in the summer of 1554, shows the determination of both kings to defend their version of the faith and to save face no matter what the cost. Only after the shah had gained some form of retribution, even if it consisted only in verbal retort, for the double insult of having been addressed in demeaning terms in Süleyman’s hakaretname and of suffering the actual insult of a large-scale cross-border raid led by the sultan in person in summer 1554, could the Safavids consider the prospect of peace with honour. In the domestic sphere the use of conventional laudatory epithets was an essential part of the process by which power was first acknowledged and then shared. In a similar way, the use of condemnatory or insulting epithets formed an inseparable and inescapable part of projecting power and of defending the core principles with which the regime was associated against its competitors. On certain points there could be no compromise, and denial of the legitimacy and sovereignty of rival dynasties implied the need for extreme measures. Selfdefinition and self-justification through vilification of the enemy was pursued with such vehemence in the Safavid case partly because, in general Muslim public opinion, it was by no means clear that either side could claim any really satisfactory justification for initiating attacks against a fellow Muslim state. The argument relating to apostasy was by no means convincing to all. In the context of Safavid–Ottoman relations, since both sides were known to initiate attacks sporadically, opportunistically and when it suited their imperial interests, both sides found the language of vilification an essential tool, to be used when circumstances required it. While in the limited context of Safavid–Ottoman relations the Ottomans sometimes invoked their position as the main defenders of the true (that is, Sunni orthodox) religion, it cannot be said that, overall, religious identity or overtly religious epithets played a very important part in Ottoman titulature. Ottoman sultans in particular encouraged their subjects to regard them not as possessors of occult knowledge or extraordinary spiritual powers. These qualities were sought in a class of advisers and administrators of the holy law (sharia), who, like any other class of advisers with specialized knowledge, training and skills, were delegated authority in their particular sphere of expertise by the sultan. The

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Ottomans prided themselves on attracting and employing the best legal minds, but that did not necessarily imply either that the sultans always listened to their advice or that they themselves acquired any special knowledge or spiritual wisdom through association with them. Some viziers did have religious education and training which informed their policy and performance while in office, but it was by no means a requirement or expectation. Köprülü-zade Ahmed Pasha, who served an extended and successful term as grand vizier between 1661and 1676, was known by the nickname ‘Fazıl’ (pious) because of his medrese education and initial training for an ilmiyye career during his youth, but that did not alter the fact that his most memorable achievements as an adult were as military commander. The use of the title ghazi (‘warrior for the faith’) was more in the tradition of manliness and of the brave warrior cult from the steppe than a reflection of the dynasty’s avowed mission either to proselytize or forcibly to convert the heathen. From the early imperial age onwards, any association of the dynasty with the prosecution of ‘Holy War’ against the infidel was either circumstantial or problematic in so much as their plans for imperial expansion, from the late fourteenth century on, envisaged the incorporation into their own territories of independent Muslim states from the Turcoman in western parts of Anatolia as well as the Arabs in Egypt and Syria, and the sixteenth century brought even wider ambitions for territorial expansion against the Muslim east. The expression ‘Ghazi Sultan’ was used not so much for self-reference in titulature as to serve as an identifier and metamorphic moniker of the sultan in literary and narrative historical sources. It was employed mostly by a sub-group of authors whose ethos and identity was closely bound up with their own religious education and outlook. Its use after the fourteenth century in any case represented something of an anachronism, since it referred to social realities of the western Anatolian frontier (udj), which had long ceased to exist.54 The use of religious epithets in the early Ottoman dynastic era was a direct inheritance from Seljukid practice and its mimicking by the Ottomans can be considered as a means for asserting their claim to be the Seljukids’ sole legitimate successors after 1307. The popularity of double-barreled honorifics which employed the two terms din (religion) and dunya (world), emphasizing the ruler’s double responsibility to dedicate himself to God’s purposes in both this world and the hereafter, is illustrated in the inscription of Orhan’s mosque in Bursa in 1337, but this imitative practice was soon discontinued as the Ottomans began to develop a clear sense of their own dynastic identity.55 In the high imperial era of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the world of Ottoman Realpolitik was intensely involved in their assertion of leadership in the maintenance of the European balance of power. To defend their Balkan and central European possessions whilst they were encumbered with the burden of upholding and defending their claim to religious leadership and spiritual

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supremacy would have been not just impractical but impolitic. The shift towards an ecumenical viewpoint, positing the sultan as promoter and protector of all mainstream faiths, including, most particularly, the ‘big three’ non-Muslim groups of the orthodox Christians, the Jews and the Armenians, was a natural outcome of the close brush with sectarian war among the Muslims themselves that had resulted from Selim I’s hard-line policies and his heavy-handed attempt to suppress all forms of Shiite heterodoxy in the Ottoman lands between 1512 and 1520.56 The dominant theme for the domestic context, as we have sought to outline in the foregoing account of titulature, emphasized the sultan’s role as a merciful, charitable and compassionate caretaker of all, not the defender of a single faith. The Ottomans’ inclusivist rhetoric obviously represented an ideal that was easier to pronounce than to achieve, but that their words were backed up by actions and incorporated and implemented in policies will become apparent from the account of the structure of Ottoman government in Chapter 6, which focuses on the fixed structures and permanent institutional forms developed to express Ottoman sovereignty and to deliver its promises.57

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4

The Dynasty as Family Enterprise: Sibling Rivalry, Struggles for Succession to the Throne and Incipient Creation of the ‘Political Household’ Proximity to the sultan meant proximity to the seat of absolute power as well as privileged access to a share in the wealth and power vested in the person of the sultan. Family relationships and ties through consanguinity constituted at the same time the most obvious and the least dissolvable bond of intimacy in relation to the sovereign, but membership in the palace household also provided opportunities for semi-familial bonds of intimacy to develop through daily encounter and service; especially that provided by an inner group of companions, advisers and favourites with easy access to the sultan’s ear. Even under regency arrangements established for minor sultans, the right to choose or to alter this inner group of advisers and intimates remained a matter for the ruler’s sole discretion. The Ottoman bureaucratic system was perhaps unique in the high level of fluidity associated with court appointments. Change in administrative personnel occurred on an empire-wide scale, not just at the beginning of a reign, when the sultan brought in his new team, but regularly and unproblematically throughout the later course of his reign. To understand fully the uniquely privileged position of the Ottoman ruler, served as it was by his unrestricted discretionary power over appointments and dismissals, it is best to start with the earliest phases of household formation during the prince and future ruler’s minority, working up the scale from this embryonic formation to analyze the process of household transformation connected with the start of a new sultan’s reign.1 Each reign marked not just a new beginning but, in many senses, a recreation of the institution of the sultanate and, more widely, even of the state itself, from the ground up. This process of institutional rebirth began within the family and imperial household and worked outwards from this inner nucleus of power, to encompass the whole bureaucratic apparatus of the state. The familial dimension of the Ottoman dynastic system can be divided into three main aspects: first, succession problems and the evolving nature of Ottoman solutions to the everpresent threat of divided sovereignty; secondly, accession rituals and the means for consolidating power at the start of a new reign; and, finally, the role played by ceremonies celebrating the biological and genealogical continuity of the dynasty. These marked the major rites of passage, including the birth, the education and, most particularly, the entering into adulthood of the princes in line of succession

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and served to reinforce the power of both present and future monarchs. The third dimension is particularly well documented with detailed accounts left both by western diplomatic observers and by Ottoman poets, historians and painters. Because of the key importance of these rituals to the Ottomans’ self-perception and dynastic identity, they deserve to be dealt with in a separate chapter.2 In the present chapter, we deal only with the transfer of power and succession problems. Succession rituals themselves are treated most fully in Chapter 5. The transfer of power at the beginning of a new reign and the rituals and ceremonies associated with the installation and legitimization of a new sovereign offered recurring opportunities for the performance of a fixed set of rituals with an unvaried repertoire of standard meanings, from obedience and the loyalty oath (biat), through sanctification through the girding of the sword (kılıç kuşanması), to the first ceremonial entrance into the capital Istanbul from the suburbs of Eyüb (among other formal acts of accession). These rituals have been examined and assessed with admirable attention to detail in the relevant chapter of a recent work on the deaths, depositions and accessions of Ottoman sultans.3 It is noticeable from this account that, despite the obvious importance attached by the Ottomans to the performance of these rituals after some fashion, the actual form they took, and even their location, was variable and surprisingly open-ended and flexible, in other words subject to interpretation according to the divergent views of each sultan and his advisers. To take one example only, namely the girding of the sword: there is intermittent evidence of some form of this ritual in the early, middle and late imperial eras, but little consistency either in terms of timing, sequence, and location or in the officiation connected with the ritual’s performance. According to reliable Ottoman sources, it was not until the end of the sixteenth century, or even until the enthronement of Ahmed I in 1603, that a kind of standard procedure for the ceremony of the girding of the sword in Eyüb was determined,4 and yet before that century was yet over these ‘standard’ procedures were already subject to major alteration, since the sword girding ceremonies for both Ahmed II (enthroned 1691) and Mustafa II (enthroned 1695) were carried out, not in Eyüb, with a triumphal entry through the land walls into Istanbul, but in the old mosque of the second capital Edirne, where a duplicate court apparatus had been maintained since the middle of the reign of Mehmed IV (1648–87).5 Not only was the location of the ceremony’s performance altered, which changed fundamentally both its audience and its significance, but there were also some substitutions among those officiating at the ceremony. The religious associations connected with the shrine of Ebu Eyüb al-Ansari on the western approaches to the Byzantine land walls could not be replicated anywhere else,6 but seemingly the decision to perform the ceremony of the girding of the sword in Edirne as opposed to Eyüb, far from invalidating this

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act, was regarded as a sign of renewal and as a desirable reinvention of Ottoman court traditions to suit the needs, preferences and pragmatic convenience of the dynasty in its current circumstances. The fact that a substitution and reorientation of ritual could take place unproblematically is a further indication that, in effect, each new sultanic reign was not just a renewal but in a very real sense a reinvention of the form of the sultanate. The sultan’s preferences served as the final arbitration on what was fitting and proper, and no sultan felt compelled to show either reverence for or blind adherence to fixed norms for legitimizing sovereign authority inherited from his predecessors. The weight of custom, when it came to pressures to accept fixed forms for ceremonial, seemingly imposed little burden on the sovereign figure. The absence of a notion of sacral kingship in the Ottoman tradition is made clear both by the dispensability of sovereigns and the relative ease with which they could be deposed and by the lack of any obligatory act of sanctification. Some sultans were girded with the sword, others were not, but this in no way affected their authority, independence or position of supreme power as rulers. There was no single act that in itself guaranteed or confirmed the sultan’s status, nor any fixed set of regalia such as an inherited crown or throne. Ottoman enthronements had multiple forms and sovereignty was subject to multiple interpretations and therefore had all-inclusive meanings. To define it according to a rigid set of compulsory elements would have limited it and, to avoid such limitation, making court ceremonial a reflection of the spirit and personality of the current office holder offered the most practicable solution. By developing standard court ceremonies through a combination of flexibility and ambiguity, each new sultan was given scope to breathe new life into court ceremonial and to reinvigorate it by putting his own personal interpretive mark on it. Another way of achieving universal acceptance for the monarch was by the performance of duplicate or even multiple ceremonies, modified in terms of form and content so as to appeal to the preferences and priorities of different constituent groups, especially the powerful within the body politic. For the performance of the biat ceremonies, such repetition of ceremonies – for broader public audiences in the first instance and then individually, in separate ceremonies for household staff (including the Janissary corps), for members of the religious hierarchy (or ulema) and for ranking members of the scribal classes (or katibs) was not uncommon.7 Occasionally, ceremonies including the obeisance (biat), which were performed to acknowledge the installation of the sultan by acclamation, when the army was at the front, had to be repeated for a more general audience and witnessed and confirmed by the public once the army with the new sultan at its head had returned to the capital. For a sultan’s rule to be fully confirmed, not just swearing of oaths by officials in the divan was required, but also his presence and a visual manifestation among the widest possible group of subjects of all grades and classes. Only some, the viziers and other high-placed

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court officials, were granted the favour of offering their personal congratulations and subservience in the form of the hand kiss (dest-bus) which required not just visualization, but close approach. The same hierarchy of favours was observed in the annual attendances at court, which coincided with the lesser and greater religious festivals at the breaking of the fast after ramadan, on the first of shawwal (the lesser festival) and, two months and a third later, at the Feast of the Sacrifice, on the tenth of dh’ul-hicce (the greater festival). The purpose of these semi-obligatory attendances at court was to renew ties of loyalty and obedience. Thus, for top officials who wished to retain their favoured positions, a frequent repetition of ceremonies enacted in the sultan’s presence that served to renew and reinforce their position of subservience and obedience (ubudiyet) formed an inescapable part of their duties in office. Loyalty oaths sworn once at the beginning of a sultan’s reign were recognized as an essential but insufficient act of formal subordination; unless regularly repeated, these acts tended to become ossified, confined to the instant of enthronement and lacking in ongoing vitality and viability. What the sultan required was not fixed acts or formal declarations with permanent validity, but continually renewed proofs of loyalty submitted on regular occasions throughout his reign. Reconfirmation and reinforcement of ties of loyalty through regularly repeated ceremonies constituted another technique by which Ottoman rulers could ensure that theoretical oaths sworn at the commencement of a reign remained valid and enforceable throughout the entire extent of their reigns. From the available evidence on such key court ceremonies as coronations and rituals performed to inaugurate new reigns it appears that Ottoman practice was characterized not by fixity of form, but by diversity, multiplicity, improvisation and repetition as the most effective ways of gaining and maintaining faithful service for the ruling figure. On the whole, it was not collective acts of submission so much as individually verifiable personal acts of loyalty, attachment and reattachment that counted most in maintaining a relationship of trust between the ruler and his subordinates.

Changes to Eligibility Rules for Succession to the Throne The same underlying principles of flexibility, substitution and reinvention of tradition which applied to Ottoman accession ceremonies applied equally to the eligibility and selection of the most suitable candidate for the succession itself. The Ottomans recognized that no fixed law of succession could consistently deliver the desired result of a smooth transition to power of the ideally qualified candidate. Instead, they applied a situational logic to the task of selection, seeking to achieve two objectives. The first of these was the preservation of social order, which in turn implied that absolute authority should be vested in a single

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individual with unlimited power to act decisively in pursuit of the social good. The second was the capability of removing leaders who, by consensus among the ‘masters of binding and unbinding’ – that is, individuals who were adept at the arts of public administration8 – were deemed either too indecisive or otherwise unable to guide the state in times of crisis. How a ruler’s authority could be at the same time absolute and contingent on performance of the duties of office is not immediately apparent, but the implicit message is that in the Ottoman political system higher respect was paid to the office of the sultanate, whose essential mission was to promote the broader interests of society, than to the individuals who served as sultans and who had risen to their position of prominence by personal fortune, which was by definition subject to constant change and ‘revolution’ (dawla/devlet). How the Ottoman Empire came to terms with, and attempted to resolve, periodic leadership crises and leadership disputes was – as was their attitude towards the performance of rituals and ceremonies – driven by each event and circumstance and subject to amendment and change to suit present conditions, rather than doctrinaire or immutable. To appreciate better how pragmatism prevailed over principle in the matter of succession requires that we take a look both at the propelling circumstances and at the outcomes that attended some problematic Ottoman leadership changes. We have already reflected in an earlier chapter on the operation of mechanisms of selection requiring a consensus among the tribal elders who supported the succession of Osman in preference to his uncle Dundar at the beginning of the Ottoman imperial venture, at the turn of the fourteenth century.9 But, in a later phase of the dynasty’s history, the founder’s namesake, Osman, who was born in 1604 and ruled as Osman II between 1618 and 1622, was passed over for the succession in 1617 in favour of his uncle Mustafa (b. 1592), which suggests that the paramount concern was not the inviolability or sanctity of a particular principle of succession, whether one based on a free competition between the mature sons of a current ruler or one of seniority encompassing both principal and collateral lines of succession, but a solution considered ‘workable’ or ‘desirable’ by the ‘masters of binding and unbinding’, in whose judgement a particular candidate’s succession would be more beneficial to the interests of the community of the governed as a whole – namely the ummah in its broadest, non-sectarian sense. The elimination of rulers considered harmful to the general interests of the community was regarded as a necessary evil in more than one imperial era and, although it is often Mehmed II (r. 1451–81) who is given credit for having introduced a standard measure aimed at post-succession stabilization through the so-called ‘law of fratricide’,10 his ‘new rule’ was neither unprecedented nor permanent. The removal of brothers and rivals by successors to the throne is known and recorded well before its so-called introduction as an ‘innovation’ during

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the reign of Mehmed II and, equally, there are plenty of exceptions to the rule encountered after his reign when, for reasons of state or due to adverse popular opinion, the practice of fratricide was either modified or postponed to a period long after the succession issue itself had been settled. This again shows that the Ottoman attitude towards procedures, even as basic as the ones regulating the succession, was determined by events and circumstances rather than based on immutable principles. Moreover, the phrase used in Mehmed II’s ‘regulations’ of 1479 suggests not that the post-succession elimination of brothers need be either invariable or compulsory, but merely that it could be considered defensible or ‘appropriate’ (münasip) if conditions made it so. Rather than becoming fixated on rules and procedures, the Ottomans relied instead on a judgement of what was deemed ‘best suited to meet current conditions and requirements’ to inform their important decisions. The equivalent concept, expressed in Turkish as maslahat-i vakt hasebiyle, was a favourite formula used by the palace intimate and seasoned administrator Abdurrahman Abdi Pasha to explain why variations in ‘established practice’, especially in the realm of non-standard procedures for promotions, were introduced by viziers whose main concern was not procedural exactitude but results.11 The fact that Abdi Pasha served two nearly continuous terms as chief of the Ottoman chancellery (or nişancı), between 1669 and 1679 and then between 1681 and 1682, in no way prevented him from seeing the practical advantages associated with allowing chief decision-makers full flexibility in choosing how best to implement their decisions, even if it meant bending the rules a little.12 According to this reasoning, any decision or solution that was workable and achieved its desired aim was not just acceptable but preferable. By the same logic, the search for a workable solution should not be constrained by attempts to identify ‘normal’ means but should focus instead on reaching achievable ends. In the context of succession to the throne, the chief danger to be averted was the threat of anarchy and the breakdown of social order. So, if the removal by a sultan of his brothers after the succession averted that danger, it was considered canonically permitted (tecviz) to order their execution. However, if there were no active conditions to suggest that the threat of sedition was imminent, there was no justification for carrying out these measures for the sake of form. With the discontinuation of the princely governorates of the minor sons of ruling sultans after 1600, these conditions ceased to apply, with the effect that, with a few prominent exceptions, the practice of fratricide was virtually permanently suspended.13 The duration and consistent application of the ‘law’ of fratricide was thus confined to less than two out of the six centuries encompassing the Ottoman dynastic era. The law had an application and relevance that was both chronologically and circumstantially limited to the particular conditions prevailing in the empire during the period of experimentation and expansion, in the

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middle centuries of the imperial era. Alderson speaks of attempts to revert to a system of succession based on a father-to-son pattern in the seventeenth century, as ‘proof of the continued absence of a definite law of succession’.14 Ottoman indecisiveness and sensitivity on this issue of succession was certainly greatly heightened by the first overt and acknowledged case of regicide – the murder of Osman II by rebellious troops in 1622. The shock waves released by this rebellion took some years to subside and it cannot be said that Murad IV, who took nominal charge of the empire in 1623, gained full sovereign authority until after the suppression in 1628 of Abaza Mehmed Pasha’s counter-rebellion, based in the eastern frontier town of Erzurum. Even armed with some credible evidence to support the contention that his brothers were implicated in seditious activities aimed at destabilizing his throne, the ruler Murad IV, who succeeded at the age of 14 after his uncle Mustafa’s abdication in 1623, felt compelled to bide his time and proceed carefully. Although he acted decisively by ordering the execution of the suspected co-conspirators, including the Shaykh al-Islam Ahizade Hüseyn Efendi in 1634, Murad spared the life of his younger brother Süleyman (b. 1611), on whose behalf the stirrings of rebellion were fully voiced 12 years after his own accession, during a brief absence from the capital for a hunting excursion to Bursa.15 It was only in the following summer of 1635, on the heels of his successful campaign against Erivan in August, that he secretly ordered the elimination in absentia of his two half-brothers, Süleyman and Bayezid.16 In a second move aimed at guaranteeing order during his planned absence for the Baghdad campaign, the sultan ordered, in February 1638, several months prior to his departure for the front in the summer, the execution of his full-brother Kasim, born in 1613. Together, the gradual staging of these executions and the fact that they were justified by the exceptional circumstances of the sultan’s prolonged absences from the capital during extended multiple-season military campaigns in the east show that the execution of brothers had ceased to be an automatic reflex and had acquired a wholly different political context from that associated with the era of the princely governorates, when each prince, by design and necessity, maintained his own separate military household – which constituted, in effect, a substantial private army loyal to the person of the prince. The gradualism of Murad IV’s approach to the elimination of his brothers over the course of his 16-year reign spared only his brother Ibrahim (b. 1615), who eventually succeeded him at his premature death, in 1640, from cirrhosis of the liver, which left four surviving minor sons: Süleyman, Mehmed, Alaeddin and Ahmed.17 Starting from the early seventeenth century, the wholesale elimination of brothers of the ruling sultans at the inception of their reigns became a relative rarity, and even those implicated in or suspected of encouraging plots against the ruler during a subsequent phase of his reign were routinely spared, despite the

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obvious potential threat they posed to the status quo and the ‘good order of the world’ (nizam al alem). It can be debated whether this growing squeamishness constituted a new rule and an adoption of a kind of formal taboo against the excesses associated with successions in the sixteenth century, but it is certainly further proof, if proof is needed, of the flexibility and adaptability of succession practices in the face of changed dynastic circumstances and imperial needs. For example, in 1656, when the still adolescent Sultan Mehmed IV was in his eighth year on the throne, his half-brother Süleyman, born the same year as Mehmed but by a different mother, was implicated in a plot backed by a faction in Istanbul who favoured the return of the court to Istanbul from its self-imposed exile in the second capital Edirne, where Mehmed preferred to reside. Apart from seeing to the immediate execution of the ringleaders of the group of Istanbul conspirators who supported his abdication, Mehmed showed little inclination to punish the principals, either Süleyman or his mother Dil-Ashub Sultan. To the contrary, Mehmed showered every attention on them and provided them with careful protection throughout the course of his 39-year reign, clearly regarding them more as victims than as true allies of the ambitious court officials who had sought to engineer a palace coup in their favour.18 In the end, both his half-brothers survived to succeed him on the throne, claiming their accession to rule in rapid succession and unopposed, at the ages of 45 and 48 respectively.19 The presumed ill effects of princely seclusion in the so-called gilded cage (or kafes) and the fact of depriving the seventeenth-century princes of the opportunity to start their on-the-job training for eventual rule during their princely governorates were not prominently in evidence in the case of Süleyman II, who, despite his relatively short reign, managed to rule effectively and even devised some new administrative reforms which eased the impact of the developing military crisis in the north in the late 1680s.20 The routinization of the succession question left more time and energy for considering and devising creative solutions to real bureaucratic quandaries, and it would be hard to argue that the savage succession struggles of the Sulaimanid age were any more likely to secure the survival of the candidate best qualified to rule at the end of the selection process. The gravitation after 1600 towards a more stable model of succession, based on seniority, reflected not so much a shift in political values as an acknowledgement that the compulsory role of the ruling figure in military campaigns had been permanently altered not only by the example of the minor sultans of the early seventeenth century, but also by the earlier phenomenon of reclusive and disengaged sultans such as Murad III (1574–95). That military leadership was no longer the normal requirement, or even an expectation placed on the sovereign figure, meant that the underlying logic and justification for a system of succession based on the selection of the person best suited to head the imperial

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armed forces by means of a Darwinian contest no longer applied with the same force and relevance. From the 1570s onwards, with some notable exceptions such as Murad IV, the connection between emperorship and military command had in any case been broken; arguably this happened even earlier, since all of Selim II’s military triumphs, from the capture of Cyprus in 1570 to the fall of Tunis in 1574, were accomplished not under his command but by his serdars, who had the responsibility to represent him on the battlefield. Adjustments to Ottoman succession ‘principles’ to make them accord with both the spirit and the requirements of the time constituted an ongoing process in all imperial eras, and there was no finality or permanence to any of the ‘rules’ developed to suit particular, sometimes transitory, conditions. Though the Sulaimanid era spanning the half-century between 1520 and the late 1560s is often held up as a model of perfection in many areas, the prolongation and messiness of the succession process and its premature commencement in the mid-1550s, well before the reigning sultan Süleyman’s demise in 1566, can hardly serve as an ideal model for the smooth or effective transfer of power between reigns. In the account which follows, rather than seeking the permanence, universal patterns and immutability of Ottoman succession ‘rules’ valid for all time, the analysis will be confined to the relatively limited timescale of the sixteenth century. Though in some ways exceptional, this turbulent period is ideally suited to demonstrate the adaptability and flexibility of Ottoman institutions and their ability to adapt, not just to transient conditions brought out by the ‘exigencies of the time’ (maslahat-i vakt), but to change of a fundamental order. Ottoman rulers were constantly engaged in a balancing act attempting to compromise and reconcile between the opposing demands of tradition, public opinion and their assessment of what was best for the public good. Extreme times (war, sectarian division and the like) tend to bring out and justify extreme solutions, but such times also reveal the values and priorities that characterize particular political systems. For example, we know that the situation which led to Bayezid II’s forced abdication in 1512 – followed by what was widely suspected, though not openly acknowledged at the time, to be an act of parricide by his son and successor Selim I – although this was an act of open rebellion and an otherwise indefensible act of sedition (huruc ale sultana) – was justified in the context of broad public opinion on the basis that it brought some form of resolution to a problem and potential threat that had remained unaddressed for over ten years. The continued indecisiveness of Bayezid in the face of the mounting threat posed by the Safavids since 1502 gradually turned the weight of Ottoman public opinion against him, and it was only in reference to this loss of public confidence in their aging and indecisive monarch that Selim was able to claim the throne by force in the 31st year of Bayezid’s reign, when Bayezid was past his 64th birthday. For the sake of the empire’s domestic and international stability

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and security, Bayezid’s replacement by the forceful, decisive and even ruthless Selim was considered the lesser of two evils by majority opinion. In the balance, not to act at a time when Ottoman supremacy in one of its core regions in central Anatolia was subject to imminent threat was unthinkable, and so even an act of open sedition that brought about a restoration of effective rule was justifiable under the circumstances. It was precisely these kinds of real-world choices and dilemmas that formed the undeclared background of most of the 35 imperial successions and transfers of power witnessed under Ottoman dynastic rule. The outcome might ultimately be determined on the field of battle, and in Selim’s case he had first to confront and defeat his brother Korkud in 1513 before definitively securing his throne, but even when the succession was undisputed the leadership question was never finalized without some reference to the public good and to the monarch’s obligation to serve it. In the process of justifying and legitimizing the sovereign’s rule, the ‘masters of binding and unbinding’ and senior advisers and courtiers of the former sultan, known as they were by the label the ‘pillars of state’ (erkan-i devlet), acted as judges, and their judgement as to whom to favour for the succession gave primary consideration to issues relating to raison d’état and only secondary consideration to issues such as preeminent right based on fixed principles of succession. An obvious case of the operation of this process was the intervention that deprived Osman in 1617 of what he regarded to be his ‘right’ of succession in favour of his uncle Mustafa. Another was the favouring of Bayezid over his brother Yakub after Murad I’s sudden death on the battlefield when he led his army to victory at Kosovo in the summer of 1389. In the immediate aftermath of the battle, Yakub, who occupied a forward position pursuing the enemy, seemed the natural choice for becoming the new leader, in view of his ability to take advantage of the shortterm tactical opportunities offered by the vulnerable position of the retreating Serbian forces, but a consensus among the begs and other court advisers present gave its backing to Bayezid on the grounds that his accession would better serve long-term dynastic objectives such as the consolidation of the Ottomans’ position in the core imperial region of Anatolia. Prince Bayezid’s marriage to the Germanid princess Devlet Shah in 1381 had brought significant portions of her father’s patrimonial lands under direct Ottoman control.21 Rather than upset the fine balance that had secured long-term advantages for the dynasty in Anatolia with short-term gains in the Balkans whose future disposition was uncertain, the begs, acting as informal ‘electors’, decided that the advantages to be derived from Bayezid’s selection outweighed the disadvantages, and they gave their backing to his bid for the sultanate. In this careful assessment of pros and cons the ‘electors’ or judges reached the contingent conclusion that the ‘sacrifice’ (that is, extra-judicial murder) of Yakub was a necessary evil, on the basis of the reasoning that the presence of ‘two kings of the beasts in one jungle’ would

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not only threaten the absoluteness of the chosen sovereign’s authority, but also inevitably lead to social division and anarchy.22 Considerations of raison d’état and careful weighing by senior advisers at court of the pros and cons of each candidate for succession played an important part both in decisions to depose a sultan and in considering choices of replacements for the deposed sultan. Though there was no formal election process, transfer of power in the Ottoman state was always a matter which required a degree of consent, whether from powerful figures at court or from the broader masses of public opinion. Rarely, even after the discontinuation of the system of princely governorates, which implied an open battle for succession, was there a straightforward or ‘automatic’ succession based on a narrow consideration of only one factor, be it seniority (ekberiyet) or any other qualification for rule. These key decisions, like other decisions of the imperial divan, always engendered wider discussion and debate and were confirmed by consensus opinion (idjma). The widening of ‘eligibility’ to allow for collateral succession after 1617 made the succession question less, not more, automatic, since by definition it increased the number of potential candidates by including brothers as well as sons of the reigning sultan. Discussions held in February 1688, which were confined mostly to military circles without the wider participation of traditional decision-makers among the ‘masters of binding and unbinding’, proposed the radical solution that the newly installed sultan Süleyman II, raised to the throne a short three months earlier, in early November 1687, to deal with the widening military crisis in Hungary, should himself be deposed – either in favour of one of his younger brothers or in favour of a figure from outside the dynasty, such as the reigning khan of the Crimea, who would be capable of assuming personal command of the army.23 Although the proposal was never given serious consideration outside army circles, it is indicative of the fluidity and flexibility of the succession question that the suggestion could even be made.24 The principle that damage inflicted on the individual (zarar-i hass) was always to be preferred over risking that damage might be sustained by the wider community (zarar-i am) was implicit in the Ottomans’ general approach to the leadership question. If the foreseeable result of the fragmentation of political authority was social disorder and general suffering, then removing its causes, no matter what the cost in individual suffering, was not just a priority but an obligation for the responsible leader. The elimination of the young prince Mustafa by Murad II shortly after his troubled accession in 1421 was defended at the time on the basis that the simultaneous presence of two self-proclaimed ‘leaders’ in the same country constituted an active danger to general safety and security.25 The same reasoning was applied on dozens of occasions to justify the extra-judicial murder not just of brothers of the reigning sultan, who could potentially serve as a focus for opposition to his

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rule, but also of sons, grandsons and nephews whose very existence threatened fragmentation both of his political dominance and of his unilateral control over fiscal resources, especially those deriving from land. The Ottoman miri land system was based on the unilateral distributive and redistributive authority of a single figure, and any dilution of this authority carried serious implications for the character of his sovereign rule. It is ironic that Süleyman I, whose succession in 1520 was unopposed because of his father’s failure to produce other male offspring, himself also left behind only one male survivor at his death in 1566. Three of Süleyman’s sons, named Abdullah, Murad and Mahmud, died in infancy or early childhood.26 Of the five others, four born to him by Hurrem Sultan after his accession to the throne and one, Mustafa, born to Mahidevran Gülbahar Sultan during his princely governorship in Manisa between 1513 and 1520, only one, Hurrem’s son Selim, survived their father.

The Dynamics of Succession as Illustrated in the Contest Between Princes Bayezid and Selim Of all the succession struggles experienced during the entire 600-year history of the dynasty, the bitterest broke out before the death of the incumbent on the throne rather than being precipitated by it. Throughout the final 13 years of Süleyman’s 46-year reign, the internal peace of the realm and the sultan’s own peace of mind were regularly disturbed, first by the contest for the succession during the period 1553–62 and later, in the period 1562–6, by adjusting to the consequences of Selim’s success, which were costly not only in terms of political unity but also in the prospect they raised for uncountable and uncontainable financial commitments stretching far into the future. As for the cost in human terms of this protracted succession contest, from the perspective of the extended royal family it ultimately involved not just Süleyman’s sons but also his grandsons. His grandson Mehmed was sacrificed in 1553 together with the boy’s father Mustafa, by sultanic decree of execution, and, later on, four of Bayezid’s sons suffered the same fate during their temporary exile in Iran in 1561, once again at the sultan’s behest.27 The profligacy of this waste of human potential within the royal family was keenly felt by Ottoman commentators at the time and, although trans-generational elimination of nephews as a precautionary measure and in the context of generally accepted sibling rivalry was known as a post-succession phenomenon from previous transfers of power, the poignancy of a father forced into complicity in his own son’s murder was regarded as unprecedented and unfortunate. The events surrounding the open battle for the succession between Süleyman’s two sons, Bayezid (b.1525) and Selim (b. 1524), which came to a head after 1558, may be regarded as exceptional by virtue of having taken place during their

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father’s lifetime, but the issues they raise were common to many successions. Furthermore, because of the scale and protraction of the events, with a postdenouement phase lasting until well after Selim’s later accession to the throne, they have left a rich trace of documentary evidence from which to launch a comprehensive investigation of the transfer of power in the Ottoman sultanate. It is apparent from the Bayezid–Selim example that successful successions and smooth transmissions of power depended above all on the control of resources and on the ability to mobilize them effectively. Rather than claims of divinely sanctioned rule or assertions of legal rights to the throne, the key factor in a successful candidate’s bid for the succession was patient building up of a loyal household clientele, one willing to share privation and hardship and, if required, to lay down their lives in order to gain their master success. This support was generated during the prince’s minority not through present control of resources, but through the promise of future reward following his acquisition of absolute political power and control over fiscal resources. Acquisition of power was a joint enterprise with shared risks and shared rewards and, in the event of success, it required a commanding figure who was adept in the art of sharing his acquired wealth and power with his fellows in the enterprise and at the same time adroit in the avoidance of over-commitment. The key unit of analysis in the sixteenth-century context is the princely household, whose formation often commenced decades before the prince’s accession to power. Vying interests within the family were matched by vying backers and factions drawn from society at large, most particularly from the regions where the princes held their princely governorates during their minorities. One of the participants in the Bayezid–Selim contest, the elder son Selim, was sent to his first governorate to Konya at the age of 18 in 1542. Shortly afterwards, on the death of his brother Mehmed in 1543, he was transferred to take Mehmed’s place as governor of Saruhan (capital Manisa). In the 14 years between 1544 and 1558 which constituted the key period when the prince was building his base of supporters, his seat of government in Saruhan was coterminous with his brother Bayezid’s in Germiyan (capital Kütahya). Partly on account of this geographical proximity, a gradually intensifying rivalry and competition arose between the two brothers. With the execution of Süleyman’s eldest son Mustafa in 1553 and the death five years later of the two remaining sons’ mother, Hurrem Sultan, the last restraint on open competition between the two brothers was removed. This precipitated a prolonged struggle for the succession which their father was powerless to prevent. In the four years between 1558 and 1561, Anatolian society was effectively divided into pro-Bayezid and pro-Selim camps, and even the ruthless removal of Bayezid from the equation by arranging for his murder during his exile in Iran at the Safavid court in September 1561 left many unresolved issues for Selim to confront and divisions to mend, both before

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and after his accession to the throne in September 1566. The story of Selim’s accumulation of sufficient support, with the key advantage of gaining the full backing of his father, to mount a successful campaign for the sultanate reached its climax in a pitched battle between the two brothers on the plain of Konya in May 1559. The immediate consequences of Selim’s success at Konya can be fairly comprehensively reconstructed from two contemporary sources: first, the eulogistic but at the same time realistic and highly detailed account of the battle of Konya itself, offered by an anonymous supporter of the victor, Selim, in a work called, significantly, the Itaatname or ‘Profession of Loyalty’;28 and, secondly, a series of edicts issued from the imperial divan in the immediate aftermath of the battle of Konya relating to the pursuit of the defeated Bayezid and his followers and covering in greatest depth the period between May and September 1559.29 One source demonstrates the use of positive rewards and incentives to attract supporters for Selim’s cause and the second shows the consequences of a failed bid for the sultanate for the supporters, subordinates and even casual helpers of the unsuccessful contender, in this case Bayezid. Fear of these negative consequences was exploited in the run-up to the battle of Konya to de-incentivize the would-be supporters of the candidate less favoured by the current power establishment; these consisted at the time of Sultan Süleyman’s inner circle of advisers, who had already come to be dominated by the third vizier (later grand vizier) Mehmed Pasha Sokollu. A few years after and following Bayezid’s murder in 1561, Sokollu’s marriage to Selim’s daughter Esmahan further consolidated the ties of interdependence and mutual trust between the future sovereign and the agent of his success at Konya in 1559. Immediately following the battle between the two princes on the plain of Konya, we know from the correspondence edited by Ahmed Refik that the retribution against those who had lent any form of support or succour, even temporary haven, during his after-battle flight from Ottoman justice, was both persistent and ruthless. Generous rewards were promised to all those who offered to cooperate in tracking down the fugitive Bayezid and bringing him into custody. An edict issued on 22 June 1559, addressed a short three weeks after Bayezid’s defeat to the kadi of Kütahya – the former seat of Bayezid’s governorate of Germiyan – ordered the immediate confiscation of his properties and other belongings there and solicited cooperation (in exchange for reward) in tracking him down. The text of the sultan’s message of incentivization stated in part that: Whosoever among my soldiers, whose emblem is victory, performs devoted service [yoldaşlık] [in tracking down Bayezid] will, God willing, each one of them be awarded a share in the [wide] range of my imperial favours and achieve their utmost wishes by acquiring some form of the various manifestations of my sovereign patronage

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and support to be granted at my discretion, whether in salary raises [terakkiler] or other considerations [riayetler]. That they will receive rewards beyond their [wildest imagination] is firmly decided and determined.30

Evidence dating from five years after the battle of Konya in the final period of Süleyman’s reign shows that the pursuit and punishment of the unfortunate Bayezid’s former supporters and co-conspirators remained committed and unwavering long after Bayezid’s own demise. An undated document, issued most probably in late December 1564, indicates that, even after the elimination of Bayezid and of his four sons in September 1561, the authorities remained committed to a determined manhunt aimed at flushing out Bayezid’s henchmen and supporters. During a general inspection carried out in the central Anatolian district of Rum-i Kadim, a district encompassing both Amasya and Çorum, where Bayezid first began to recruit backers on the eve of the battle of Konya, villagers and notables of the province were called upon to denounce to the chief inspector, the sancak bey of Çorum Ilyas Bey, any outstanding former partisans of Bayezid still living in their midst. As a result of the investigations, four individuals were charged with unlawfully detaining a messenger of the sultan carrying orders to Sultan Süleyman’s governors in the eastern Anatolian provinces during the Bayezid crisis in 1559 and with engaging in thievery and other illegal acts. Apart from these four, the assembled witnesses testified that a further ten to fifteen residents of the district had been Bayezid supporters and also committed criminal acts, but that they were currently absent or in hiding (gayib) and their whereabouts was not known.31 The fallout from the confrontation of the two brothers clearly had wider parameters than might appear at first glance and a simple winner-takes-all formula is wholly inadequate to account for the real divisions and sometimes permanent tears in the fabric of society which such contests unfailingly produced. The best account of the preliminary stages leading up to the military confrontation between Bayezid and Selim is the Itaatname. In this account, we are offered a panoramic view of the successive phases by which – through offering concessions, favours and incentives to both his sons – Süleyman sought to gain their cooperation to his plans to reassign them to new governorates, both remote from one another and further removed from the capital Istanbul. The plan was to move Selim from Manisa to Konya, where he had earlier served a brief term as governor, and to force Bayezid to relinquish his favourable location at Kütahya, situated a few days’ ride from Istanbul, and to take up residence in the remote town of Amasya, in the north of central Anatolia. To encourage Bayezid’s cooperation, the sultan offered an enhancement (terakki) of 300,000 akçes to the amount normally assigned as the governor’s annual stipend (hass).32 In addition to such inducement, the sons of both brothers were offered governorships in

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smaller counties, adjacent to the sancaks assigned to their fathers. Bayezid’s son Orhan was given the nominal governorship of Çorum, due west of Amasya, while Selim’s oldest son Murad (b. 1546) was given Akşehir, north-west of Konya. Bayezid complied only reluctantly with these arrangements and, after his relocation to Amasya, the sultan began to receive reports that he was mobilizing troops for a confrontation with Selim. In an attempt to defuse the situation, Süleyman dispatched his fourth vizier, Pertev Pasha, as a peace emissary to Bayezid, with authorization to offer one of Bayezid’s other sons, Osman, a sancak assignment at Canik, north-east of Amasya. With such concessions and blandishments offered to Bayezid’s family and to other members of his household and retinue, the sultan hoped to defuse the atmosphere of hostility and mutual mistrust between the two brothers.33 It was only after all alternatives to open military confrontation had been exhausted and a steadily escalating course of cash incentives and other forms of conciliation had been tried that the sultan embraced the unwanted course of offering his full military backing to Selim. In the first instance, he assigned forces mobilized from the loyal neighbouring provinces surrounding Konya to form the backbone of Selim’s army, but, more importantly, he gave his personal backing and support to ensure the widest possible recruitment to Selim’s cause by offering generalized incentives to all those who agreed to muster and serve under Selim’s banners. The text in which these incentives were offered by Süleyman on the eve of the battle is quoted, seemingly with reference to a genuine original, in a subsequent part of the Itaatname. The language of this part of the text, replete with alluring references to fame, fortune and future comfort for the backers of Selim’s partisan cause, is worthwhile reproducing in close paraphrase here, as the text is highly evocative of the kind of motivational pitch that might plausibly have been struck by any successful builder of a political and military alliance, whose foundations were inevitably built on successful household recruitment techniques. Sultan Süleyman’s letter of encouragement and commitment to reward addressed to recent recruits and followers of Selim on the eve of the battle of Konya in May 1559 is presented in the Itaatname with reference to a sultanic edict which is either real or very convincingly simulated and begins as follows: The sultan sent an edict of high repute addressed collectively to all those who formed the ranks of prince Selim’s army saying – ‘I have appointed as your military chief his excellency, my son Selim Han, and I hereby command you to manifest your loyalty by serving him with perfect devotion to duty and faultless diligence and perseverance. It is hoped that [by so doing] your being made beneficiaries of the utmost extent of his benefaction and recipients of the furthest reaches of his benevolence and favour will become decided and certain. You should know that I have granted the aforementioned

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prince Selim authority to make whatever bestowals he sees fit, whether appointments to junior governorships [sancaks] or appointments to other ranks, and both collective and individual salary increases [terakki] and other forms of preferment. Whatever he assigns and confers by way of offices and awards is to be regarded as orders worthy of the highest respect and due for completion and confirmation by my own imperial command, which demands conformity.’ By the terms of this edict, sultan Süleyman handed over responsibility for the management of military affairs to prince Selim and when this edict of high repute arrived and was read out loud and proclaimed in the makeshift council of Selim’s army camped near Konya its effect in relieving the tension and anxiety among Selim’s followers was immediate and in a gratified and cheerful mood they waited expectantly for their promised grants and bestowals. First, general salary increases were granted to all ranks of the provincial cavalry present in Selim’s camp. The provincial governors were each awarded a supplement of 100,000 akçes to their annual hass stipends and the county commanders [sancak beyleri] each received an increase of 30,000 akçes to their annual stipends. As for the rank and file timariots, the senior group of zaims with estates realizing an annual income in excess of 20,000 akçes, each was awarded an annual increase of 300 akçes per 1,000 in their ziamet’s value, while lower ranking timariots received a raise of 200 akçes per 1,000 akçes of annual income associated with their timar assignments. In addition, as a sign of his special favour towards those senior provincial governors who had contributed most to the mobilization of troops in support [of] Selim’s cause, the sons of Ferhad Pasha, the governor of Karaman, Ramazan-oğlu Piri Pasha and the prince’s own tutor and chief adviser Mustafa Pasha were all offered junior governorships at the rank of county commander (sancak beyi). Elevation to the rank of county commander was also offered to the most deserving of the other experienced commanders present in Selim’s camp. At the same time, high office and prestigious position were bestowed on other subordinates besides these, who had performed services worthy of high rank and deserving of the prince’s benevolence. In short, Selim’s giving and munificence was of so rare a kind and his generosity and outgoing courtly conduct of such exceptional condition that neither the eye of the world had ever beheld bestowing and beneficence of similar state nor the ear of the spinning heavens ever heard an outpouring of munificence to match its éclat. As his excellency the aforementioned prince Selim was mending the broken hearts and making jovial the saddened spirits of the troops in this fashion [the other preparations for the joining in battle with Bayezid continued apace].34

Having secured support for Selim’s cause in 1559 with promises of future reward, the sultan was faced during the final seven years of his reign with the necessity of balancing carefully between the competing demands of his own long-serving retainers and aides on the one hand and the expectations and insistent demands of a new coterie composed of Selim’s supporters, who now formed a court in waiting around the triumphant prince based, in the aftermath of victory, at Bayezid’s former seat at Kütahya. Because of the unprecedented scale of Selim’s recruitment of forces to meet Bayezid’s challenge and the extension of their

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service after 1559, by the time Selim claimed his throne in 1566, the transfer of this provincial power base to the seat of imperial power in Istanbul raised problems on a magnified scale. According to the historian Peçevi’s account of the confrontation at Konya, the remnants of Bayezid’s forces reaching the environs of Amasya after defeat still numbered some 12,000 men.35 The same source informs us that 3,000 Janissaries and an unspecified number of cavalry belonging to standing regiments at the Porte were dispatched to Konya to join Selim’s provincial contingents.36 In total thus it seems safe to conclude that each of the contending armies contained a minimum of 15,000 men. Accommodating the post-victory patronage expectations of a private army on this scale was a daunting prospect for any prince. To understand better how the mechanisms for the transfer of power operated in real-world situations, it will perhaps be instructive if we compare the position of father and son in the post-succession phases of their respective reigns. Solving the issue of the succession represented only the beginning of the much larger task faced by the sovereign, of retaining the loyalty of his present and soon-tobe-inherited retainers and of consolidating his personal power and authority. This, above all else, was accomplished by judicious distribution of rewards and incentives to the members of his extended household. The passage from a provincial setting to the imperial capital was never easy but, because of the special circumstances accompanying Selim’s accession, the problems acquired greatly magnified proportions. The progression to ever wider circles of clientage and subordination after the accession of a new ruler is taken up in detail in chapters 5 and 6.

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5

Consolidation of the Political Household in the Immediate Post-Accession Phase of Rule

Accession Rituals Considered Within the Wider Context of Team-Building and Consolidation of the New Sovereign’s Rule Each new accession was facilitated by the exit of a significant proportion of the working crew that had made up the palace staff of the outgoing monarch; the process was designed to make room both for gestures of patronage and for the exercise of personal choice by the incoming monarch. The exit (çıkma) of officials on a smaller scale was necessary on an ongoing basis, to fill vacant positions in the military, especially among the members of the six standing regiments of the Porte, but also for other positions in the outer administration. But the houseclearing that took place at the time of a new ruler’s accession was on a grand scale and is referred to in the sources as the ‘great exodus’ (Büyük Çıkma). According to the historian Selaniki, at the time of Mehmed III’s accession in 1595 the ‘great exodus’ involved the redeployment of 1,270 former pages and other palace insiders. Of these, 800 were accommodated in one of the six cavalry regiments via the standard exit route, while the rest were rewarded for their exceptional competence and loyalty with higher-ranking positions in the outer service.1 Given the size of the palace household at this time, which numbered around 7,000 to 8,000, the turnover of jobs on such a scale was sufficient not just to alter the character and identity of the new sultan’s household, but also to make a significant difference to the career prospects of the younger recruits, who were eager to make their mark in the new ruler’s administration.2 Mehmed III, who assumed the throne in 1595 in his mid-thirties, was able to make a fresh start not just figuratively but literally, thanks in part to the comprehensive scope of these personnel changes at the start of his reign. At the same time, the harem belonging to the deceased monarch was cleared out from the imperial residence and relocated in the Old Palace, which further underlined the fact that the new sultan’s accession marked the beginning of a new era. Even laws enacted by previous sultans were subject to review and considered non-binding until such time as the new sultan reconfirmed them by re-issuing them in his own name.3 Similarly, all appointments, privileges and service agreements were subjected to a comprehensive review by the new sultan and, while most were renewed (tecdid-i berat) if there was no reason to suspect

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the current holders’ good faith and competence, the procedure unquestionably offered a real opportunity for the new monarch to revise priorities and impose his own vision by bringing in new officers and repositioning the talent available to him in the way he saw fit. The effects of the process of administrative reshuffling at the commencement of new reigns can be assessed from two points of view: namely those of long and of short-term effects. Examining the longer-term effects as judged from a vantage point a decade or two after the accession allows us to measure levels of stability and continuity between reigns, while examining the short-term and immediate consequences of regime change offers the opportunity to assess more closely the issue of blockages and the problems which arose in the normal course of exit (çıkma) and of promotions (terfih). Restricting the new ruler’s capacity to make new appointments created problems of a different order, which are best examined in their immediate post-accession context and time frame. The reigns of Süleyman I (1520–66) and of his son and successor Selim II (1566–74) provide an ideal contrast between a smooth and gradual transition and transmission of power and the abrupt and disruptive effects which attended clumsily managed accessions. In Süleyman’s case, many associations and mutual loyalties with his long-term aides and counsellors began in childhood, developed during his sancak administration in early adulthood and survived intact into his reign as sultan, which commenced when he was just 25 years old. We can judge his success in maintaining a household composed of long-serving and pensioned officers with various palace functions from palace payroll records dating from around 1540, 20 years after his accession.4 At the top of Süleyman’s list of senior (and highest paid) advisers was Hayreddin Hoca, whose association with the sultan dated back to the time of his father Selim I’s minority, before 1512, when Selim was governor of Trabzon. Thirty years later, Süleyman, whose early intellectual formation was greatly influenced by his hoca’s guidance as educator and spiritual adviser, still retained the paid services, not just of his former teacher, at a daily rate of 200 akçes, but of Hayreddin’s son Mehmed Çelebi, at a daily rate of 50 akçes.5 Trans-generational and trans-regnal continuity was successfully maintained by Süleyman at the top end of his administration, which was composed of experienced and trusted advisers. At the same time he was able to make room for new talent to exert its influence. Significant numbers of senior aides who had accompanied the young prince Süleyman to his provincial governorship in Saruhan between 1513 and 1520 were brought to Istanbul with him at his accession, to assume senior positions in his sultanic administration following their seven-year apprenticeship in Saruhan. By the time the 1540 register was compiled, many of these senior aides serving since 1520 had already reached retirement age, but their presence with a kind of emeritus status can still be detected in the register. Former chiefs of service were

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indicated there through the designation köhne, meaning former or previously serving. In this category were six individuals kept on as part of Süleyman’s inner group of advisers, who received half pay in the 1540 register and were identified as servants who had ‘come together with sovereign’ when he left his governor’s post in Manisa to claim the throne in 1520.6 The same applied to some of the sultan’s longer-serving scribes, who were retained in service with relatively high rates of pay despite their advancing age.7 In some professions such as medicine, the skills and experience of those recruited during the reign of Süleyman’s grandfather Bayezid II (1481–1512) were still valued enough in 1540 to merit inclusion in the ranks of Süleyman’s salaried staff. Doctors recruited in Bayezid’s reign still actively serving in 1540 included some half dozen named individuals whose details were recorded in the register.8 The list shows that sultanic discretion rather than rigid and inflexible rules about the terms or duration of service governed personnel decisions in key service areas. The reigning monarch was allowed full flexibility and independence in reaching decisions about positions which required frequent reassignment, being designed to achieve a better match with changing political conditions, and positions which should remain immune from the influence of such transitory concerns. Recruiting men of science and knowledge to fill skills deficits and to provide technical assistance could be treated differently from the recruitment and retention of men whose principal role was connected with the implementation of imperial policy. In this latter sphere, shifts in policy discredited those associated with a failed policy and necessitated personnel changes to match the new objectives, whereas in some technical fields the workforce remained far more stable and was more effectively supported by the security and certainty associated with long-term uninterrupted tenure in office. The watchwords in filling high-level positions of trust in the sultan’s service were merit, competence, experience, loyalty and trustworthiness. The longer the term of service, the easier it became for the sultan to judge all five performance criteria on the basis of close personal observation. Looked at from the limited perspective of the highest level of appointments to high-profile advisory jobs such as offices of grand vizier and of shaykh al-Islam, the Ottoman bureaucracy seems to be characterized by extreme volatility and insecurity of its administrative corps, whose members, it appears, were subject to arbitrary dismissal at the sultan’s whim. But as a general characterization this fails to take proper account of the fact that in some categories of service – such as the artisan and scribal arts, medicine and other key areas – the skilled workforce remained intact or relatively stable not just across one regnal boundary but sometimes across two or more. The medical profession in particular was one where transmission of knowledge and expertise across reigns and generations was often achieved within the same family. The figure of Moses (Musa) ibn Hamun (Moses Hamon), recorded in

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the 1540 personnel register with a daily salary rate of 45 akçes, provides a typical example of the continuity in expertise between generations in the Ottoman medical profession.9 Properly managed, Ottoman accessions did not precipitate wholesale exclusions and replacements of the workforce associated with the previous ruler’s reign, but rather a promotion and preservation of excellence where possible, and an encouragement of stability and continuity of service as far as circumstances would allow. When one turns to the case of Selim II’s accession in 1566, one is confronted with the unusual dilemma of a ruler whose accession difficulties were caused in large part by the unprecedented expansion of his household before his accession. Between 1559 and 1566 Selim accumulated a high level of moral and material obligations to his followers that could not be honoured without seriously compromising either the stability and continuity of the state-governing apparatus or, as eventually transpired, the stability of state finance. By adopting the course of adding new and unsustainable financial burdens to the treasury to support the long-serving followers who attended him during his minority, without undertaking the usual balancing measure of releasing and replacing existing staff, he distorted the size (and expense) both of the military and of the palace administrative bureaucracy in ways that took decades to re-equilibrate. Before turning to an account of such abnormalities and departures from standard practice, however, it is necessary to establish first the nature of normal ceremonies and rituals associated with a new sultan’s accession to power.

The Distribution of the Accession Donatives (cülus bahşişi), especially to the Household Infantry Troops, the Janissaries Although the offering of sultanic largesse (atiyye) to both troops and advisers is attested in earlier periods of Ottoman rule as far back as in the reign of Bayezid I (1389–1402),10 it did not acquire its status of customary practice with fixed rules and precedents until the accession of Selim I in 1512. From the time of Selim I’s accession, the accession donatives (cülus bahşişi) acquired a standard form which was rarely deviated from, especially so far as the Janissaries’ ‘entitlements’ were concerned. From the early sixteenth century onwards, sultans were expected to provide for the payment of a one-time accession bonus of 3,000 akçes for each Janissary, regardless of rank and seniority. In the early sixteenth century, when starting salaries for the lowest ranking Janissaries averaged four to five akçes per day, this amounted to the equivalent of roughly two years’ pay.11 This prospect posed little challenge for Süleyman, whose Janissary corps comprised roughly 8,000 men at his accession – more than a third smaller than the size it attained by the end of his reign – and who inherited a generous treasury surplus bequeathed by his father Selim, conqueror of Egypt and other parts.12 Süleyman’s own son,

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Selim II, also inherited positive treasury balances, but the membership of the Janissary corps had expanded considerably.13 To secure a smooth transition to personal power, a prospective monarch had, from the very first day of his reign, to secure the approval and support not just of his own personal retainers, whom he brought with him from his provincial governorship, but also of tens of thousands of servants, whose loyalty to the former monarch was secured by bonds of personal connection sustained through the generosity and bestowals which that sovereign had distributed over decades of shared experience. To recreate these bonds of mutual trust and loyalty, built up over the decades, was neither simple nor automatic, and their recreation was possible only through the enduring of shared hardship, danger and risk and the enjoying of shared rewards associated with success in their joint ventures. Keeping in mind that the building of mutual trust between the sultan and his servants was a gradual and incremental process, starting off on the right footing, with an unmistakable declaration of his patronage and a personalization of his rule through the distribution of accession donatives, had a crucial importance to the eventual success of a new sultan’s enterprise. The marriage that began with a nightmarish honeymoon was likely to continue in that vein unless the sultan took decisive steps quickly, at the beginning of his reign, to demonstrate his giving nature. The new sultan had to be well-guided both by experience and by instinct to avoid miscalculating his obligations to members of the former ruler’s household whose dedication in his service was yet to be tested or proven. Any perception on the part of the sultan’s kuls (that is, household members either by rearing or by inheritance) that their master (either by rearing or by inheritance), the currently ruling sultan, was reluctant or unable to fulfil their expectations, whether in terms of fixed entitlements such as the cülus bahşişi or of other customary acknowledgements of service, had a devastating impact on the sultan’s ability to rule effectively. In 1560, when Süleyman had been on the throne for 40 years and had achieved many notable successes in military campaigning in partnership with the Janissaries, the thing he still feared most was their capriciousness and tendency to baulk at orders or declare their independence when they felt the sultan was ‘not keeping his side of the bargain’ by fulfilling their rightful expectations regarding conditions of service and reward. To quote the Habsburg envoy Busbecq: ‘there was nothing the sultan so much dreaded as that there might be some secret disaffection among the Janissaries, which might break out when it was impossible to apply any remedy. His fears are not entirely groundless … The soldiers have it in their power to transfer their allegiance to whomsoever they will.’14 Despite the forming of semi-filial bonds of loyalty and obedience among the uprooted devshirme recruits, who typically began their training as Janissary cadets and despite their proud acknowledgment of their status as ‘slaves of the sovereign’ (hünkâr kulu) when they were aged between 13 and 14, their relationship with

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the sultan was based on the definition and fulfilment of reciprocal rights and responsibilities, and sultans suspected of neglect or complacency in meeting their responsibilities as leaders were not forgiven.15 How Selim managed (or mismanaged) the task of achieving the optimal balance between old and new and of transforming the loyalty of the servants inherited from his father’s reign in 1566 serves as an instructive example of the dangers and pitfalls associated with the transfer of power in the Ottoman system. Before turning to a detailed discussion of the role of the accession donatives in smoothing the transition between reigns, it will be helpful to consider first the wider financial context, by comparing Selim’s troubled accession with the experience of his grandson Mehmed III in 1595. Liberal distribution of largesse, patronage and other forms of sultanic munificence constituted an act of foundation and a declaration of a new beginning; it represented the first opportunity for a new sovereign not just to secure his subjects’ and servants’ collective loyalty, but to establish his identity as ruler. New associations and impressions made at the outset of a reign left a lasting impression, and the sultans’ most astute advisers knew that money invested in creating a positive image for the ruler and in generating a general atmosphere of goodwill among the ruled was money well invested. There was a sound logic behind the accession donatives offered to the Janissaries in that, unlike the rest of the sultan’s inner household (iç halkı), there was no mechanism to allow for a major exodus (büyük çıkma) of Janissaries into salaried positions in other areas of state administration or provincial government. The Janissaries relied on sultanic generosity in the form of cash gifts and, by 1566, 46 years had elapsed since the last opportunity had arisen for collective cash distributions on a significant scale. Each accession offered specific opportunities for the sultan to display his generosity, both to his kuls and to the wider public. The response of Mehmed III on the occasion of his accession in 1595 provides an instructive example of good practice whose details were recorded by the historian Selaniki, himself directly involved in the distribution of bonuses to the cavalrymen of the Porte.16 In more than one account, Mehmed III received praise for his decisiveness and for the promptness of the action taken, despite the fact that, at the time of his accession on 27 January 1595, the bulk of the army was absent, being on campaign, at the side of the grand vizier and wintering in Belgrade. On the third day after his accession, the sultan made available 1,336,000 gold pieces which constituted the equivalent of 160 million akçes at the official exchange rate of 120 akçes per gold sultani coin or 294 million at the open market rate of 220 akçes per sultani.17 Of this, 41 per cent, or 550,000 gold pieces, was distributed to the Agha of the Janissaries in Istanbul and the rest was held in escrow, pending the return of the army from the front. The sultan’s commitment to his troops, demonstrated within three days of his accession by both word and deed, solidified the bond of

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filial loyalty that linked them, even though their participation in the event took place in absentia. To underline still further the fact that his accession marked a new beginning, Mehmed acted equally promptly to clear up the majority of the outstanding debts accumulated in the last years of his father’s reign. In order to show his own character and consolidate his own reputation for plain dealing and honesty, the new ruler announced on 3 February 1595 his intention to release an extra 50 million akçes from the Inner Treasury, to cover the most urgent and longstanding payment arrears totaling some 80 million akçes incurred by his father, largely for grain supplies to the imperial kitchens and the navy stores. Mehmed acted swiftly to acknowledge and eliminate his father’s debts, on the principle that it was ‘neither fit nor proper to take one’s rest at night while troubled by thoughts of [outstanding] debt’.18 The new sovereign acted in part to absolve his own conscience, but at the same time gained enhanced credibility and credit with his subjects, which allowed him to secure a firmer hold on his throne.

Selim II’s Accession in 1566 In the case of Selim II’s accession in 1566, strategies and calculations aimed at gaining public confidence were being formulated in the mind of his chief adviser Sokollu Mehmed Pasha, who had been elevated to the grand vizierate a year before, by Selim’s father Süleyman. But Selim was burdened by the exceptional weight of obligations he carried with him as a consequence of his prolonged struggle with Bayezid before his accession, and was left in the unenviable position of having to choose between meeting inherited obligations such as those he owed to his father’s standing army, now serving him in name but not yet in spirit, and fulfilling long-standing promises made to his personal household members and to those recruited under his banners in 1559.19 For this latter group, payment of their just reward had already been deferred for some seven years and was by nature and design contingent on Selim’s successful accession to power. Other commitments were not so easy to defer. One of the direct consequences of Selim’s late payment of the wages of the garrison soldiers in Yemen, with debased coin, in 1566, was the loss of order in the province, which engendered anti-Ottoman demonstrations and a refusal to accept the authority of the Porte’s newly appointed governor.20 The ensuing rebellion went on unresolved for several years, until the summer of 1569, when, only after a major Ottoman intervention led by the governor of Egypt Sinan Pasha, a semblance of order was restored and a rather fragile coalition of local forces favouring Ottoman rule regained the upper hand.21 The success or failure of an Ottoman sultan’s accession, and the effectiveness of the procedures he instituted for house clearing, debt settling and building of his own administrative team set up reverberations that were felt at the far corners of the empire.

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By all accounts, Selim’s initial attempts to make the transition from prince to sovereign can only be described as a colossal failure and, at least in the early months of his reign, he seemingly failed across the board to inspire confidence and win the support of the key people he needed in order to establish his credibility as ruler. The transforming effects of Selim’s accession can perhaps be appreciated best by examining salary payments to staff of the imperial household over the transitional period between 1563 and 1568. This before-and-after glimpse at the structure of the imperial household allows us to gauge more exactly the financial impact of Selim’s attempts to stabilize his reign through the offer of incentives in exchange for loyalty during his first two years on the throne. In 1563, a few years prior to his death, the number of Süleyman’s salaried officials, both military and non-military, amounted to 38,700 men, and the annual wage bill for this group stood at 92,763,000 akçes.22 Modest incremental increases to accommodate expanding imperial projects raised Süleyman’s payroll commitments by the end of his reign to 39,608 men and 94,783,168 akçes.23 The effect on these figures of Selim’s accession in the final quarter of 1566 was dramatic, in terms of numbers of staff employed, but more particularly in the distribution of the additional staff and its overall impact on state finances. The figures for the 12-month period ending on 10 March 1567, six months after Selim’s accession, reflect a one-year gain of 4,956 men (an increase of 12.5 per cent) and a one-year increase in annual expenditure for salaries of 38,705,812 akçes (an increase of 40.8 per cent).24 Unlike the accession donatives, which were paid once and covered by one-time cash infusions from the sultan’s Inner Treasury, these salary levels represented an ongoing commitment that had to bet met from the current revenues regularly credited to the Outer Treasury. Some hints about the groups who accounted for the bulk of the increased treasury burden for salaried staff are provided both in the annotations to the budget figures themselves and in the narrative accounts offered by historians such as Selaniki. In the budget, we are informed that all of the 4,956 men added to the payroll in the fiscal year 1566–7 were retainers (kuls) whom Selim brought with him from Kütahya when he came to Istanbul to take up his throne.25 Selaniki’s account of the same events indicates that, in addition to the 350 top-level advisers Selim brought with him from Kütahya to fill the high ranks of his palace administration, there were roughly 8,000 peripheral supporters to whom permanent positions had been promised as salaried members of the four lowest-ranking of the six standing cavalry regiments.26 Not only did this imply substantial added burden for the treasury but it also effectively blocked the normal exit route through the ‘great exodus’ of senior pages, who had completed their training as cadets in the palace service at the end of Süleyman’s reign. Some of the 8,000 hopefuls imported by Selim from Anatolia in 1566 were accommodated with timar assignments in the provinces, thus relieving a part of

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the direct burden on the treasury, but there is no doubt that the unprecedented scale of this influx of new blood from Anatolia, accommodated largely in the standard way, by low-level membership in one of the six standing cavalry regiments, left a permanent mark on the structure of state finances, with significant consequences for the future. Adjustments made in the fiscal year following Selim’s accession reduced the number on the palace payroll from 44,564 to 42,262 and the annual treasury outlay for salaries from 133,488,980 to 127,875,470 akçes. Looked at in personnel terms, the change from 38,700 in 1563 to 42,262 in 1568 represented a seemingly manageable 9 per cent increase, but in money terms the wage bill increase of 35 million akçes represented a much more worrying 38 per cent surge in spending over a short five years. Proportionately speaking, sudden increases in the membership of the six standing regiments seem to have accounted for an abnormally high percentage of the increased expenditure. This can be seen from an examination of the figures showing the growth in military expenditure over the period 1528 and 1568. Table 5.1 Growth in expenditure for salaries of the cavalrymen, 1528–68 152827 Men

154728

156829

Salary

Men

Salary

Men

Salary

Sipahis

1993

14,509,398

ND

15,953,365

3124

25,226,040

Silahdars

1593

10,069,884

ND

11,818,437

2785

19,208,040

Rgt Ulufeci

589

2,343,480

ND

3,527,454

1337

6,071,100

Left Ulufeci

498

1,897,086

ND

2,455,106

1209

4,922,724

Rgt Gureba

211

1,104,834

ND

2,019,945

1050

4,695,808

Left Gureba

209

1,032,618

ND

2,002,510

1539

4,949,980

5,008

30,957,900

ND

37,776,817

11,044

65,073,692

As can be seen, the most dramatic jumps occurred within the ranks of the gureba regiments of the right and left, whose growth in numbers cannot be determined precisely but whose collective salary payments increased by a factor of 132 per cent and 147 per cent respectively over the 21 years between 1547 and 1568. Viewed exclusively in salary terms, the jump in payments between 1547 and 1568 from 37.8 to 65.1 million akçes represents an average increase of 72 per cent. The rate of increase among the gureba thus represents roughly double the average. The use of the gureba regiment in particular as a catch-all category designed to accommodate new recruits into the imperial patronage system seems apparent. Militarily and tactically, there is no change in the character of sixteenth-century warfare that would explain the need for a four-fold increase in the number of gureba of the right and a greater than six-fold increase in the number of gureba of the left over the 40-year period between 1528 and 1568.30

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Amounts of the Accession Donatives, 1574–1687 One-time accession payments designed to placate the kuls and outlays to guarantee the loyalty and cooperation of garrison troops defending key imperial frontiers were part of the normal cost of doing business, but the forthcoming spending commitments implied by an expansion of the permanent salaried cavalry corps on the scale undertaken in the 1560s, which resulted in large part from the discretionary sultanic appointment of new recruits whose costs increased exponentially with seniority, carried the very real risk of future state treasury insolvency. To gain an idea of the comparative cost of the accession donatives, Ottoman narrative histories provide a fairly detailed record of their scale and distribution in the period between the accession of Murad III in 1574 and Süleyman II in 1687. The status of each sultan and the circumstances of the empire at the time of his accession affected the way payments were made, but the standard payment for Janissaries, fixed at 3,000 akçes per man from at least the time of Süleyman’s accession in 1520, remained the same over time. In his history of Süleyman’s reign, Celalzade observed the care taken by the sultan to maintain a balance between rewarding the Janissaries in the capital, as an essential step to claiming his throne, and yet ensuring the loyalty of his entourage and of the senior figures from the administration of his princely governorate in Saruhan by doubling their salaries and livelihoods when they accompanied him to Istanbul as sultan. The need for the sultan to acknowledge and reward service, whether past or present, great or small, as a key part of his establishment as ruler is made quite explicit in Celalzade’s account.31 At the time of Murad III’s accession in 1574, when each of the 15,000 enrolled Janissaries received 50 gold coins, this amount was equivalent to the standard 3,000 akçes at current exchange rates. Of the 66 million akçes distributed by Murad III, the 45 million set aside for accession donatives to the Janissaries accounted for 68 per cent of the total.32 The increased size of the accession donatives distributed by Murad’s son Mehmed III in 1595 can be explained in part by the growth of the Janissary corps in the intervening 20 years, but it also reflects this particular sultan’s punctiliousness about timely and full discharge of what he regarded to be his ‘debts’.33 Where his father had set aside only 66 million akçes for the accession donatives, Mehmed provided more than 160 million akçes for the same purpose. Accounts relating the multiple accessions that occurred back to back in the period 1617–22 suggest that in this period a standard sum of 100 purses of gold (1,000,000 gold coins) was set aside for distribution to the troops, but the overwhelming part was earmarked for the Janissaries, with very little, if any, left over for other groups. Depending on the exchange rate employed, this sum represented the equivalent of between 120 and 150 million akçes. On the occasion of Mustafa I’s first accession in November 1617, at which time the

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army was wintering in Diyarbakir with the grand vizier Halil Pasha, 64 purses of gold (76.8 million akçes) were dispatched to the front for immediate distribution, while 36 purses were retained in the capital for later distribution.34 Three months later, in March 1618, Mustafa was deposed in favour of his nephew Osman II and, since the army was still in the field, Osman dispatched a similar amount to the troops as a sign of his particular favour and high expectations of exceptional performance at the outset of his reign, which coincided with the mid-point of the campaign.35 In 1622, a short four years later, when the teenage sultan was himself deposed and murdered in a palace coup, Mustafa II was once again returned to the throne, but this time the accession donatives were not paid. This was in part because the Janissaries, far from carrying out their duty of care, were implicated in the murder of a sultan and already in receipt of a double bonus paid in successive years, 1617 and 1618. By the time of Mehmed IV’s accession in 1648, the size of the Janissary corps, including those on provincial garrison duty, had risen from 35,000 to 50,000, and each was entitled by custom to his part in the accession donatives, which amounted to 3,000 akçes per head.36 We are informed in Abdi Pasha’s history that 4,080 purses of silver, each containing 40,000 coins and equivalent to approximately 163 million akçes, were set aside for distribution at Mehmed’s accession in 1648.37 This means that the 150 million akçes earmarked for the 50,000 Janissaries would have accounted for virtually all of the funds made available for distribution. This dominance of the Janissaries reflects not just the military but also the political realities of the empire in the mid-seventeenth century. Mehmed’s predecessor Ibrahim I (1640–8), by initiating a campaign to dislodge the Venetians from Crete in 1645, had engaged the dynastic honour in an enterprise on a distant front, from which there was no easy or rapid disengagement. Inherited commitments and the opening up of new fronts in Transylvania and Poland later in his reign left Mehmed with little alternative to sustaining Janissary enrollments at record high levels. However, fortunately for the treasury, Mehmed reigned for 39 full years before he was forced off the throne in 1687. The force of tradition proved once again irresistible on the occasion of Süleyman II’s accession in 1687, since, regardless of the seriousness of the military and financial crisis facing the empire in the aftermath of the Ottoman defeat at Vienna in 1683, Süleyman had to gather up sufficient resources to pay the traditional accession donatives, especially to the Janissaries; this had to be his first priority. The account of the scramble for resources given by the historian Silahdar suggests that the sultan was compelled to have recourse to extraordinary measures, such as forced contributions from the merchants and shopkeepers in the Istanbul bazaar, to make good the shortfall from treasury resources, already stretched to the limit by the expense of supplying men and material for the war

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effort in Hungary.38 In the end, Süleyman was able to amass enough ready cash to match and even to surpass the cash pot of 163.2 million akçes put together by his predecessor Mehmed IV. Mehmed’s success in assembling funds had also been due in part to extraordinary measures such as the confiscation of the goods and property of the popular Istanbul preacher Cinci Hoca which, at one fell swoop, yielded the treasury 1,000 purses of silver or 40 million akçes.39 Having reached the summit of political influence and sultanic favour during the short years of Ibrahim I’s reign, between 1640 and 1648, and having acquired significant patronage status in his own right, Cinci Hoca suffered a sudden and catastrophic fall from grace in the early months of the reign of Ibrahim’s successor Mehmed IV, a fall precipitated largely by his stinginess and reluctance to help the new sultan to meet his customary obligation to distribute the accession donatives.40 Süleyman II’s accession account in 1687 amassed 4,629 purses of silver (185,160,000 akçes), most of which was earmarked for the troops performing front-line combat functions in Hungary. According to the account in Rashid’s history, 86 per cent of the total was allocated to the Janissaries, which reflected operational realities current at the time. Table 5.2 provides a more detailed overview of the sultan’s allocation priorities in 1687. Table 5.2 Distribution of the accession donatives by Süleyman II in 168741 Group name

Number

Cash outlay

Avg. payment per capita

Istanbul-based Janissaries

38,131

Janissaries on garrison duty

32,263

JANISSARIES

70,39442

Cebecis (armourers)

12,153

9,680,000

796.5

5,084

4,080,000

802.5

Gun-waggoners

676

520,000

769

Six Cavalry Regiments

ND

11,800,000

?

Gunners

159,080,000

2,260

By late seventeenth century, the one-off bonuses (bahşiş) traditionally paid by the sultan to all military groups had in practice come to be restricted mostly to the Janissary infantry. Despite persistent wrangling and prolonged arguments insisting on equal treatment, the cavalrymen were mostly awarded not bonuses but incremental pay rises (terakki), which only yielded benefit over time.43 As a motivational tool, the award of a material acknowledgement of sultanic gratitude on the occasion of his accession was reserved for those to whom the sultan wished to show particular favour and, except for the Janissaries, it was largely discretionary.

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On the occasion of Süleyman II’s accession in 1687, the historian Silahdar records the strategically calculated award of an accession gift of 40,000 ducats, equivalent in those inflationary times to around 12 million akçes, to the key Ottoman ally Selim Giray I, who had returned for his second term as khan of the Crimea in 1684.44 The process of subordinating, co-opting, harnessing and channelling into productive effort the legions of household servants in the palace, military and administrative officers, and rank and file troops while at the same time renewing bonds of friendship with traditional friends and allies of the Porte at the beginning of a new reign – all this required vigilance, patience, control over resources and above all complete freedom of choice to achieve success. The sultan needed to be free to distribute patronage and to make personnel choices according to his own priorities in order to achieve his own objectives. More than any other act associated with his accession, it was in the distribution of the accession donatives that he declared his personality as a ruler and established his ruling priorities. If one were called upon to chose between the girding of the sword, the swearing of oaths of allegiance and the payment of accession donatives as the defining act which conferred legitimacy and confirmation to a sultan’s succession to rule, it was beyond a doubt the last that carried greatest weight and significance among followers, advisers, supporters and future subjects. Failure to perform properly either of the first two acts on one’s induction into office could be compensated for later, or the acts themselves could be repeated, but failure in the proper performance of the third act had serious consequences for the credibility of the sovereign, which critically undermined his ability to govern. In the case of Selim II’s accession in 1566, it is clear that the ruler was more driven by events than himself in control of them, and the blocking of the normal routes of exit and internal promotions from below seriously limited his freedom of choice in patronage matters. A similar problem, though rooted in different causes, can be observed in the accession of his son Murad III. One of the chief causes of blockage in the system of promotions experienced in 1574 was the presence at the head of government of the same grand vizier who had overseen Selim’s accession in 1566. Previous sultans had employed long-serving grand viziers such as Ibrahim Pasha, who served a 13-year uninterrupted term as chief sultanic deputy between 1523 and 1536. One of his successors served an even longer term of 14 and a half years, split between two terms spanning the period 1544–61, but Mehmed Sokollu was the only grand vizier who managed not only to serve three successive sultans in an uninterrupted single term of office but to exert his influence on two sultanic successions. His status as imperial in-law (damad) by virtue of his marriage to Selim II’s daughter Esmahan in 1562 gave him the status of son-in-law to one monarch and then brother-in-law to his successor, Murad III. But the most telling source of Sokollu’s influence at court in 1574 was not so much this as the fact that, at the time of Selim’s accession

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in December of that year, he had been in continuous office under Murad’s two immediate predecessors for a continuous term of nine and a half years. In fact, Sokollu’s influence stretched back a few years earlier than that, as he had played a key role in assembling the alliance of forces that achieved victory for Selim at Konya in May 1559, thereby securing his unopposed succession in 1566. The ruthless elimination of all of Bayezid’s partisans and the sidelining of his own personal rivals, including Selim’s tutor and former close adviser Lala Mustafa Pasha, gave the Sokollu faction, composed as it was of friends, clients, family members and household staff, a position of unassailable power that had lasted intact for over a decade by the time of Murad’s accession. The process by which Sokollu and his clientage group and those who relied on his patronage to gain office (kendi kulları) gradually accumulated power and influence can be seen in the ostracism of Mustafa Pasha, who, despite his provenance from the same Bosnian village of Sokol from which Mehmed Sokollu himself came, was increasingly excluded from the inner circle at court after Sokollu’s elevation to the grand vizierate in 1565. Although Mustafa Pasha gained prominence and success in his military career as commander (serdar) in Cyprus (1570–1), Georgia (1578) and elsewhere, during the lifetime of Sokollu his career prospects were effectively blocked by the dominance of the Sokollu faction at court. When Murad III succeeded to the throne in 1574, the entrenched position of the Sokollu faction prevented the normal redistribution of positions and the clearing out process that usually attended the accession of a new sultan. The fluidity and flexibility afforded the sultan in choosing his own team and in distributing favours to members of his own inner group of advisers were thus seriously compromised. Murad’s attempt to undermine Sokollu’s position through the dismissal of prominent protégés such as the Head Chancellor Feridun Beg in April 1576 came more than a year after his accession in December 1574, and it was not until the later part of 1578 that any serious inroads were made in Sokollu’s power network – namely when 18 of his closest aides were subjected to seizure of their ziamet estates and relegation to a status, if not of exile, then of distancing from the source of royal favour and preferment.45 It was not until a good four years after the accession that Sokollu began to suffer hurt where he felt it the most, that is to say, in his pocketbook. The fact that dislodging the coterie of Sokollu’s clients from their positions of power took between four and five years and was not fully achieved until after the grand vizier’s assassination in October 1579 contributed to a distortion and retardation of the normal process of renewal which was typically associated with each change of ruler. The usual consequence of regime change was a top-down reshuffling of all positions, which began with the heads of sizeable and important households such as that naturally maintained by the grand vizier; this in turn started a kind of domino effect, impacting on all associates, kinsmen, protégés and household

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retainers connected with the outgoing chief. The dismissal of a grand vizier triggered the recirculation and redistribution of scores of junior positions, which became open for assignment to the followers and associates of the new office holder as patronage jobs. When the grand vizier remained in power for too long, the concentration of power and the circulation of jobs amongst a very narrow group of his bondsmen and dependants (taalukat) was the inevitable result. The recycling of power and the shuffling of positions at court that typically accompanied not just a sultan’s replacement but also the intermittent substitution of the grand vizier had been frozen to all intents and purposes for the 14 and a half years which spanned three reigns by the time the Sokollu faction was dismantled, and this could only be achieved after the toppling of the kingpin, the grand vizier Mehmed Pasha, ‘the tall’ or, by another interpretation, ‘the long-serving’. The exclusivity and longevity of Sokollu’s influence over the distribution of patronage in the Ottoman state in the 1560s and 1570s represented something of an aberration for the Ottoman system, which was based on the principle of open recruitment, fluid circulation and frequent recycling of positions. It was this fluidity, characteristic of Ottoman imperial administration, that lent it its particular strength, and when the administrative equivalent of arterial sclerosis blocked the free movement and circulation of persons, factions, new job seekers and partisan followers of newly enthroned sultans the systemic consequences were severe.

Mehmed III’s Accession in 1595 and Attendant Changes and Job Substitutions: An Account of the Normal Functioning of the ‘Domino Effect’ Typically Associated with a New Sultan’s Accession to the Throne The fostering of feelings of loyalty towards a new sovereign naturally implied the latter’s ability to create his own administrative team and to chose his own associates, starting inevitably with his chief deputy, the grand vizier. In Mehmed III’s case, the substitution of Ferhad Pasha, who became both grand vizier and commander at the front in place of Sinan Pasha (Koca) immediately after accession, formed an important stage in that process.46 Ferhad’s rival, the outgoing Sinan Pasha, was the chief of his own independent household, which was composed of his own hand-picked assemblage of relatives and household retainers. During three separate tenures under Mehmed’s father Murad III, Sinan had accumulated a strong base of supporters, dependants and protégées in his own right. Taking advantage of his rival Sinan’s absence from Istanbul at the time of Mehmed’s accession, Ferhad commenced his brief tenure as grand vizier with a dismissal of his rival’s friends and supporters and replaced them with his own men. In the process of preparing for his own departure from Istanbul to assume command at the front, Ferhad reassigned 14 governorships and, leaving

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the day-to-day operation of government to his own deputy, the second vizier Damad Ibrahim Pasha, he departed for the front on 12 May 1595, three months after assuming office as grand vizier.47 But, as soon as his back was turned, his deputy seized the opportunity to consolidate his own power base and sought the sultan’s intercession and permission to reassign the selfsame 14 governorships, as favours, to his own network of clients. Ferhad Pasha’s appointees thus barely had time to take up their positions before they were once again thrust into the position of office seekers and suitors of the powerful at court.48 This succession of intervals of promotion and dismissal, destitution and restitution and uplifting and dejection was a natural and repeated occurrence in the life of almost all who rose to the senior ranks of the Ottoman administration. Such turbulence occurred most predictably at each change of sovereign, but on a reduced scale it was also associated with each replacement and succession of a new grand vizier. The higher the rank gained by an appointee, the greater the number of associates who fell with him on his dismissal from office, as victims of the ‘domino effect’. Upon closer examination of the careers of the two rivals, Ferhad and Koca Sinan, it emerges that 1595 was not the first time they succeeded and replaced one another in the most elevated, but at the same time most volatile, position at the pinnacle of the Ottoman administration, the grand vizierate. Three and a half years earlier, on 1 August 1591, Ferhad had also succeeded Koca Sinan at the completion of Sinan’s second term as grand vizier. The house clearing operation instigated by Ferhad Pasha on this occasion had targeted in the first instance two of Koca Sinan’s closest allies, his son Mehmed Pasha, then governor of Damascus, and his nephew Mustafa Pasha, governor of Sivas, both of whom were dismissed from their posts on Ferhad’s sixth day in office as grand vizier, on 6 August.49 The principle that ‘to the victor belongs the spoils’ applied not just to the succession struggle, but also to the battle for supremacy in the state administration. The story of revenge and counter-revenge governing the fate of partisans (especially sons) of fallen viziers had a universal pattern, common to all periods of Ottoman history. Though transience and fragility of power and the lack of policy continuity, which sometimes bordered on incoherence, could in extreme cases be the result of this natural process of wastage, on the whole its advantages as a method of staffing outweighed its disadvantages. This system, based on the uncertainty of power and influence, was preferable to the system of entrenched power and monopolistic control over appointments that emerged during Sokollu’s 14-year tenure as grand vizier, between 1565 and 1579. The effects on wider patronage patterns of the transfer of power from Murad III to his son Mehmed III in 1595 were most apparent in the families of Ferhad Pasha and his nemesis and sworn enemy, Sinan Pasha. The career of Ferhad’s son, Mehmed Pasha, provides an instructive example of the transgenerational perpetuation of such inter-familial rivalries among prominent

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viziers. The presentation of compliments and the offer of obedience, in person, to a new ruler through the delivery of a token gift or tribute called pishkesh was a long-standing tradition of the Ottoman court which had its origins in Persian administration.50 The two main administrative structures outside the palace service, consisting in the learned hierarchy (ulema) and the provincial governors (ümera), were required by tradition to present themselves in person for the delivery of gifts symbolizing homage and subordination to their sovereign in recognition for his bestowal of office on them. Those who wished to be confirmed in their offices following the accession of a new sovereign needed to be formally recognized, and the delivery of the pishkesh, in essence a ceremony of vassalization, was the indispensable form for establishing a personal relationship with the new master. These ceremonies applied to all ranks and offices and included in their scope both Ottoman tributary states and foreign powers with diplomatic ties. The universality of the practice is indicated in the budget for the year 1567–8, one year after Selim II’s accession, which records a sum in excess of 3.5 million akçes collected solely from the internal candidates for confirmation in office, according to the following proportions: pişkeş-i ümera pişkeş-i kuzat (kadis, etc.)

1,954,083 1,635,500 3,589,58351

The timing of this presentation of compliments, gifts and requests for the renewal of charters of appointment was a delicate matter, and the would-be successful candidate needed to keep a careful eye on the current state of politics in the capital to avoid giving presents which were too little or, equally damagingly, giving them in the right quantity but at the wrong time. The slightest hesitation or momentary inattention to detail could easily scupper the applicant’s chances of success. Riding on the coat-tails of the brief elevation of his father, Ferhad Pasha, to the grand vizierate between February and July of 1595 in the early months of Mehmed III’s reign, Mehmed Pasha managed to secure a high-ranking appointment as governor of Diyarbakir on 23 March 1595.52 The conclusion that his fall from power, less than four months later in mid-July, was precipitated by his father’s dismissal from the grand vizierate on 7 July 1595 is inescapable, since the lag time between the two events was only two weeks or about the time it would take for a swift courier to deliver the decree of dismissal dispatched by Ferhad Pasha’s successor from the capital.53 Because the commencement of Mehmed Pasha’s period of time out of office between appointments (or mazuliyet) coincided with the restoration to power of his father’s bitterest rival, Koca Sinan Pasha, for his fourth and shortly thereafter his fifth and final term as grand vizier,54 the way for Mehmed Pasha’s

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application for restitution was effectively blocked for the first eight months of his period of mazuliyet. Presenting himself at court, offering his compliments to the sultan and bearing gifts in material demonstration of his loyalty and subservience (ubudiyet) would have been an empty and possibly dangerous gesture so long as Sinan Pasha remained at the centre of power in the capital. Mehmed was thus effectively cast into a limbo until mid-April 1595, when, again with a lag time of less than two weeks between the precipitating event of Sinan Pasha’s death and the installation of a more neutral grand vizier in the person of Damad Ibrahim Pasha, he presented himself to the sultan to deliver what was in effect a delayed accession gift (cülus pişkeşi), offered in the traditional form of presents in multiples of nine.55 By all accounts, Ferhad Paşa-oğlu Mehmed Paşa’s timing and execution of the rites of self-abasement were perfect, neither too late nor too slim, since we hear that, in mid-May 1596, a short month after the performance of these obligatory rituals binding him to the sovereign’s service, he was granted the governorship of the lower-ranking but neighbouring province of Maraş. In total, Mehmed’s period of dismissal (mazuliyet) and candidacy for a new post (mülazemet), starting from his dismissal from Diyarbakir in mid-July and his appointment to Maraş in mid-May, lasted ten months.56 The sudden and wholesale change of post holders was a process typically associated, though on a much broader and all-inclusive scale than that of the substitutions of a grand vizier, with the accession of a new ruler. Personnel changes naturally occurred at other intervals during the typical reign, but none was as sweeping or transformatory as those carried out by a new ruler in order to establish his identity and lay claim to the personal loyalty of all his servants. As the pretext for the dismissal, in December 1651, of a perfectly competent office holder such as Hasan Agha, the chief warder of the Privy Chamber (hass oda) in the Inner Service of the palace, no further explanation was offered than that he was the protégé and supporter of the recently dismissed Siyavush Pasha, whose first term as grand vizier had been terminated in late September. Removal of elements tainted with partisanship or personal connection with a predecessor in office still seemed to preoccupy the new grand vizier Gürcü Mehmed Pasha some months after his installation in office. Loyalty and service were based on personal ties and feelings of mutual obligation, so confidence and trust in someone else’s bondsman could never be complete, no matter his level of competence, experience and capacity for the job at hand.57 When Siyavush Pasha’s successor, the senile Gürcü Mehmed, was himself relieved of office six months later, the internal exile of Hasan Agha to the remote province of Albania came to an abrupt end and he was returned to his former position in the palace service at the end of August 1652, on the grounds that ‘men of experience were needed [at the centre]’.58 The process of restoration to favour of dismissed or temporarily banished officials was by no means always so orderly or immediate as that experienced by

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Ferhad Paşa-oğlu Mehmed Paşa in 1596 or by Hasan Agha in 1652; nevertheless, these two cases exemplify a typical pattern in the administrative service of the Ottoman state according to which the vulnerability and insecurity of office holders was balanced by a remarkable resilience and tenacity among the most talented and capable, or among the most ruthless and persistent; this enabled them to overcome the temporary obstacle presented by dismissal or disgrace and to rise to serve again, very often in the same office and rank they had previously enjoyed. The rise and fall of households and of their associated members was an everpresent reality, and guilt through association with the faction currently out of favour at court was an occupational hazard that all officer holders had to face, sometimes repeatedly, during the course of a normal career. But the fact that so many grand viziers served multiple terms and that myriads of lesser officials managed to resurrect their careers after temporary setbacks resulting from the short-lived dominance of a rival clique at court seems to suggest that insecurity in office did not constitute a permanent disability. Even those whose careers ended abruptly in execution by sultanic decree had managed to survive several mid-career setbacks on the way to the top of their respective professions, and this pattern applied in much the same way to the learned profession as it did to the careers of viziers and senior statesmen. Relatively frequent, sometimes prolonged, periods of mazuliyet and mülazemet were simply a fact of life for all those in public service. The sultan provided no guarantees of permanence of status to office holders, but, because dismissal was regarded as normal and was certainly a common experience shared by many, there was no stigma or personal shame associated with it. Furthermore, higher-ranking officers who had achieved the status of vizier were awarded generous allowances and other benefits that allowed them to enjoy their retirement in comfort. The case of Damad Ibrahim Pasha, who served three terms of office as grand vizier under Mehmed III between 1596 and 1601, is a good illustration of this pattern of service, which was based on a close and ongoing working relationship between servant and sovereign that survived minor upsets and grew stronger over time. The bonds of mutual gratitude and trust that naturally existed between the sultan and his closest advisers is eloquently expressed in the prospective granting of retirement benefits and privileges to the aging deputy Ibrahim Pasha in a document dated most likely late autumn 1599, about ten months into his final term as grand vizier, which ended at his death in July 1601. The document was issued to a man in his late seventies, at the conclusion of a long career, stretching back many decades to the very beginning of the previous reign, by a young sovereign in his mid-thirties who was also, at the time when the document was composed, himself already greatly indebted to the vizier for his services during

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his two previous commands. The assumption that he was aged about ten at the time of his recruitment by means of devshirme in 938 hijri/1531–2 miladi would place Ibrahim’s birth in 1521 or early 1522.59 By the time he assumed office for the third time as grand vizier in January 1599 he would thus have been entering his 78th year. Mehmed III, born in May 1566, would have been midway through his 32nd year; thus the relationship between the two men was much closer to that between uncle and nephew than between brothers-in-law. Ibrahim Pasha’s marriage to Mehmed III’s sister Aishe was celebrated in 1586 shortly after his triumphal return to Istanbul in September 1585 following a successful term as governor of Egypt, when he presented the then sultan Murad III with a pishkesh of unprecedented size and extravagance, valued by reliable contemporary observers at two million gold ducats or about 120 million akçes at the current exchange rates, but destined to double in value soon after the silver devaluation of 1586.60 Ibrahim Pasha’s ostentatious act of symbolic ‘generosity’ to the sultan was not without ulterior motive. It was clearly understood, by both giver and receiver, that the normal course of promotion after the governorship of Egypt led directly to the pinnacle of state administration and to the grand vizierate. Regarding Ibrahim Pasha’s position, the historian Mustafa Selaniki remarked: ‘it is neither possible nor even imaginable that there could be any higher manifestation of a client’s performance of service for his patron than in the submission of obedience and sincere service in this manner and degree’.61 The understanding that master and slave and patron and client were bound by mutual obligations operating on a quid pro quo dynamic is more implicit than explicit in Selaniki’s statement, but it was certainly the case that reward for loyal service was the normal expectation on either side of the relationship. Having received a piskesh of the magnitude of that offered by Ibrahim Pasha, which proved his faithful service as governor of Egypt, the sultan was almost bound by a debt of honour to reciprocate in some fashion. The bond of clientship imposed obligations on the patron, benefactor or master, who had to look after and promote the interests of his client whether that person’s status was that of a slave (‘abd), of a manumitted former slave (‘abd-i mu‘ tik) or, as was sometimes the case with the sultan’s longer-serving devshirmerecruited aides, of a abd-i ma’dhun, a slave granted a qualified manumission that applied during the patron’s lifetime and could be, but was not necessarily always, converted to full manumission after the patron’s death.62 Manumission of slaves, a meritorious act whose performance as an act of piety and generosity was used by the sultan as a sign of favour to long-serving members of his household, is documented, among other places, in Murad II’s testament, dated 1444.63 The debt of gratitude owed by an emancipated ‘slave’ to his emancipator, in this case the sultan, was certainly monumental, but the sultan was no less bound by moral if not legal obligations to recognize and acknowledge faithful service on the part

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of his subordinates, including the slaves, by rewards commensurate with the degree of their dedication and sacrifice in his service. A noteworthy aspect of Mehmed III’s commitment to his ‘slave’ and brotherin-law, the grand vizier Ibrahim Pasha, in the document dating from late autumn 1599 is that the sultan was not offering to reward his deputy in recognition of services to be rendered in the future, but rather for services already rendered in the past. In other words, it was sent not in order to incentivize the grand vizier by offer of rewards contingent on service and performance, in the hope of a successful outcome to the present campaign season, but as a guarantee of future support whatever the outcome of his present endeavours. Although the document is dated only with the year of its issuance in hijri 1008, which spanned the period between late July 1599 and mid-July 1600,64 it was most likely dispatched to Ibrahim in the lull between his back-to-back campaigns in Hungary, the first one concluding with a series of raids along the Danube in October 1599 and the second one resulting in the fall of Kanizsa in September 1600. The sultan’s imperial command (emr-i şerif) was most likely to have been delivered to Ibrahim in conjunction with other letters and communications, including vestments and cash for the army’s maintenance which arrived at Ibrahim’s winter headquarters in Belgrade in mid-November 1599.65 The text of the sultan’s letter of reassurance to Ibrahim Pasha specified the nature of the arrangements for the pasha’s retirement, which, it was assumed, would take place sometime after the upcoming campaigning season. Rather than applying pressure on Ibrahim Pasha to achieve results quickly, the letter – despite being composed in the seventh year of the rather protracted and increasingly expensive ‘Long War’ (1592–1606) in Hungary – emphasized instead the cumulative credit already earned by Ibrahim for his contributions to the dynasty’s cause in previous decades of service, well before Mehmed’s own time as ruler. In his directive, the sultan promised substantial enhancements to the standard retirement estates (hass) routinely offered to retired grand viziers, pausing to cite in turn the key stages in his distinguished vizier’s career to date. In lines 16 to 22 of the second page of the document,66 the sultan offered a virtual biography of the pasha, covering in detail the 20-year span between 1579 and 1599 and Ibrahim’s gradual rise to prominence, from his appointment as Commander of the Janissaries (1579–81) to his promotion to the rank of vizier in 1582,67 culminating in the middle part of Murad III’s reign with the governorship of Egypt (1583–5). Sultan Mehmed then proceeded to relate the events of his own reign, giving prominence to Ibrahim Pasha’s exemplary service during his first term as grand vizier and to his leading of the armies to victory at Egri (Eger) in 1596, with the sultan himself in attendance. Indeed, it is only towards the end of the document (at line 30 on the second page) that the sultan made any reference to the current state of Ibrahim’s service during his third term as grand vizier,

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which had commenced ten months earlier in January 1599. Having expressed his gratitude at length, with explicit references to the actual services already rendered, the sultan addressed his remarks to his commander in the field, relating to present conditions as follows: At present, having been ordered once again to take up a position as leader of my victorious legions in your capacity as Grand Vizier, without asking the why and wherefore you have carried out the provisions of my orders with exactitude and, without any wavering or deviation, have proffered service with heart and soul, expending your maximum effort and energy and, by tucking the hem of your cloak up into your waistband, have readied yourself for action. Your praiseworthy services up to now [that is, the initial raids carried out in October 1599 along the Danube] have entitled you to the unstinting outpouring of my sovereign solicitousness and made you worthy of my most invincible majesty’s mercies prompting the sun of my bounteous generosity to burst forth into resplendent flame and causing the boundless and unending seas of my favour to billow up into waves of ceaseless bestowals. When you should decide (at a time of your own choosing) to set down the mantle of the office of the Grand Vizier and devote yourself (from the sidelines) to prayers for the continuance of the state of good fortune throughout my reign you shall be awarded for your upkeep during retirement the following incomes and estates: In addition to the registered revenues of the District of Haymane in the Sancak of Ankara,68 which is customarily awarded as the Grand Vizier’s retirement fief and valued at 200,000 akçes per annum, you will be awarded the exceptional supplementary income of 300,000 akçes from other sources thus bringing your yearly income to 500,000. I hereby (prospectively) grant you this diploma of appointment [berat] whose emblem is high respect and I command that … no one among my financial agents or revenue officials shall restrain or prevent nor repel or oppose or in any manner erect barriers of any kind whatsoever to prevent you from enjoying (after your retirement) the full 500,000 akçes entitlement granted to you by this berat. Be it known that this is my sovereign will and let those who read this text place their trust in my illustrious seal (which verifies its contents).69

Given the sorts of ironclad guarantees provided in Sultan Mehmed’s berat of 1599, which so unreservedly expressed the sultan’s present backing and promised his future support, it is perhaps unsurprising that, despite his advanced age and presumed declining capacity for hard campaigning, Ibrahim Pasha showed a willingness to press on against the Austrian frontier in the spring of 1600, to lay siege to and ultimately (in September 1600) to capture the strategically placed fortress of Kanizsa. Such use of psychology, and of both negative and positive reinforcement, to extract the highest level of performance from subordinates and servants was by no means confined to the example of Mehmed III’s retirement offer to Ibrahim in 1599. But this text is illustrative of the kind of morale boosting efforts which Ottoman sultans were typically engaged in, whether they were physically present at the front or sending their encouragement from afar. That

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exceptional service dedication would inevitably result in exceptional reward was a message that had been clearly and consistently delivered in both word and deed on countless occasions during Ibrahim Pasha’s career. This pattern of implicit confidence and instinctive and reciprocal trust was present in the relationship between the sultan and all his kuls at every level of service, but it is rarely made as explicit as it was in the wording of the text just cited. The means by which an attitude not just of willing cooperation, but of selfless dedication was fostered among the sultan’s servants can be sensed in the document relating Ibrahim Pasha’s career. At each stage of his life, escalating demands were countered by mounting rewards and financial security, which at the final stage were to be continued even after he left office. This level of pampering was reserved especially for the privileged class of viziers, but the same feeling of belonging and protection could be fostered among the sultan’s other partisans, followers, admirers and even the common rank of his subjects at large. The elaborate forms adopted for fostering this sense of social inclusion, shared purpose and common destiny as fellow participants and celebrants of the Ottoman venture can be observed in the elaborate structure of the wider palace household, treated in Chapter 6, and in the relations of the palace with the broader public, examined in Chapter 7.

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6

Formation of the Wider Palace Household: A PeopleCentred Glimpse at the Institution of the Sultanate and an Account of the Composition, Growth and Development of the Imperial Administrative Corps, c. 1470 to c. 1670 The creation of a self-consciously ‘imperial’ image and identity for the Ottoman dynastic house was not fully accomplished until the end of the reign of the seventh successor to the throne, Mehmed II, otherwise known as ‘the conqueror’. Mehmed’s building initiatives in the new capital Istanbul covered every aspect of the city’s basic infrastructural needs. His first concerns were the central market area, whose initial reconstruction phase was completed sometime before 1473,1 and his mosque complex, with associated charitable institutions such as a hospital and hospice to care for the city’s poor and religious colleges to train his juridical and administrative elite, completed between 1463 and 1471. The latter project covered an area of reclaimed land measuring about 100,000 square metres.2 Last, but by no means least, Mehmed developed his palace complex, which housed not only the sultan and his entourage but virtually the whole bureaucratic state apparatus in a space whose extent has been estimated to be roughly seven times greater, namely 700,000 square metres.3 Construction work on the palace site advanced in phases and it took a further ten years, until 1478, to put in place the gardens, storage depots and outer walls. This concluded a period of intensive work for the completion of the residential and reception areas of the palace, undertaken in the period between 1459 and 1468.4 Until very nearly the end of Mehmed’s reign the whole city was transformed into an active building site, and it is perhaps no surprise that the conqueror, when he managed to find time to slacken the pace of his campaigning and to take up residence intermittently in his new capital, sought the relative repose and solitude of the innermost third court of his ‘new palace’, where his private apartments were located. However, the notion that the Ottoman sultan, in Mehmed’s period especially, was able to occupy a position of splendid isolation, being serenely unaware of developments and events unfolding in his near vicinity and somehow protected from the intrusion of the public sphere as he observed some aspects of court life such as the daily assembly of the imperial council from behind a screen which hid him from the random gaze of the attendees at such public gatherings, presents a perhaps over-idealized and overly schematic picture of his real relationship with his court, his administration and his empire.

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The origin of the topos of sultanic isolation lies in the reports of western diplomatic observers, for whom the Ottoman palace was genuinely a kind of ‘forbidden city’ to which their access was strictly limited. But it is risky to draw inferences about the general disposition of the court on the basis of the restricted evidence of the impressions formed during the presentation of the court on the occasion of diplomatic receptions. The express purpose of such occasions was to emphasize Ottoman might and to instil feelings of awe and dread. The presentation of the court on the occasion of the weekly council meetings and of the exchange of salutations in the palace and on the sultan’s exit from the palace when he greeted the public on Fridays were, both in their form and in their function, more informal and in the latter case can even be considered a sociable event. In the early imperial era when the overall size of the state’s bureaucratic apparatus was rather small, the sultans had to be actively involved and engaged in all aspects of rule, from the leadership of campaigns, to convening if not active chairing of the daily meetings of the council (divan) and acting as arbiters of justice and granters of petitions on the occasions linked four times per week to the divan sessions when the ruler was supposed to make himself available for the hearing of petitions.5 Such a schedule left little opportunity for sultans to ‘escape’ to the leisure of a life of quiet contemplation in the innermost reaches of the palace. The account offered here of the Topkapi Palace as the locus of Ottoman power attempts to explore the interconnections between private and public spheres within the palace complex and to convey a sense of how it was necessarily a heavily populated space, since it contained within it the equivalent of Buckingham Palace and the Houses of Parliament or the White House and Capitol Hill all rolled into one. In attempting to see the palace compound as a populated, inhabited and multifunctional space, the aim is to escape from the impression, unavoidably left on the visitor to the palace today, after its transformation into a museum in the twentieth century, that it existed as a series of chambers organized for the fulfilment of an architect’s aesthetic vision. It is clear that, after Mehmed, a series of Ottoman monarchs carried out extensive repairs and alterations so as to create additional space that suited their own tastes, preferences and priorities for the practical use of the same space. Topkapi was passed on to each successive sultan not as a frozen or static legacy but as a space intended for habitation, use and further development. One example of the sultans’ tampering with the aesthetic concepts laid down by previous designers and architects is provided by Ahmed I, who in 1017/1608 expressed his desire for a private study (mütalaa odası) to be tacked on to the western garden-facing side of the elaborately conceived bedroom chamber commissioned 30 years earlier by his grandfather Murad III in 986/1578, thus sacrificing the architectural integrity of the designer’s concept

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8. Early nineteenth-century engraving based on original by Anton Melling showing the second courtyard of the palace with the kitchen smokestacks lined up along the right side; original located in Stapleton Collection (London); cf.Bridgeman Art Gallery (http://private.bridgemaneducation.com/), illustration no. 87581. for the personal convenience of an additional escape (or work) area within the inner reaches of the harem.6 When the divan was in session, which in the early period was a daily occurrence, it is difficult to imagine how the sultan could have managed to be completely secluded or cut off from the events unfolding around him in the second court of the palace. Certainly, for reasons both of security and of efficiency, careful screening of those permitted to approach him was essential. But the physical separation between the sultan and his courtiers was never that extreme, and on four days out of seven he awaited their attendance, after the divan session was completed, in the audience chamber situated immediately behind the Gate of Felicity, which guarded the entrance to the third and innermost courtyard of the palace. The distance to be travelled from the council hall to the sultan was measured not in miles but in metres. The presence or non-presence of the sultan and his visibility or invisibility within the palace confines, as he observed or heard reports of the ongoing business of the divan from his screened off position behind the Gate of Felicity, may be likened in some ways to the degree of seclusion from the public afforded him when he was accommodated in the sultans’ loggia (hünkar kasrı), positioned in an elevated location overlooking the congregation, and attended public prayer services on Fridays. In neither case was the isolation or separation from contact with the world at large very pronounced. As for the second courtyard of the palace, this space was invaded on council days

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by a horde of statesmen, petitioners, well-wishers, and – on special occasions, called galebe divanı, when the quarterly wages of the Janissary troops were to be distributed or diplomats from foreign states were invited to present their compliments – still greater throngs assembled. Short of actual physical contact, it is difficult to imagine how the sultan could have been closer to, or more involved in, the events. For the privileged few, the hem-kissing ritual and personal audience with the sultan were not denied, but merely delayed and held in reserve, as the culmination of the day’s events after the dispersing of the crowds. These public encounters were carefully paced, planned and choreographed, to maximize the sultan’s dignity and majesty, and, had he truly been absent or aloof, their purpose would not have been fulfilled. In order to understand better how the interactive dynamic between the sultan and the public operated in the palace context, we will be examining some of the functions and operational priorities assigned to specific groups of servants, who made up the permanent ranks of the palace personnel. The officers of the principal services and their minions and subordinate staff, who were in the hundreds, and in some cases (such as the equerry staff) thousands, were partly there so as to serve the personal needs of the sovereign – from furnishings to wardrobe to dining – but, particularly from the sixteenth century onwards, they were on such a scale that they must also be thought of as being entrusted with the performance of an important public mission and service. The palace stables provided mounts not just for the public processions and appearances of the sultan or for his personal needs, for the hunt and military campaigning; they also provided communications services and message delivery for state business, mounts for all the sultans’ household troops and transport services for a wide variety of different state-sponsored activities, from the delivery of construction supplies to food distribution. Similarly, the staff and supplies of the palace kitchens were not in place merely to cater for the needs of the sultan, his servants and the members of the palace household; they also, on regular and repeated occasions, were called upon to provide for banquets and public feasts and to organize food distributions for the poor of Istanbul. Thus the palace kitchens were not perceived as a representation of the conspicuous and excessive consumption of the sultan and his court entourage, but regarded as a kind of public institution through which the sultan could give expression to, and acknowledge, his paternal duty to look after his subjects and shelter them from care and want. It is striking that the most visible architectural feature of the Topkapi palace when viewed from a distance (that is, from the perspective of the city-dwellers or of those who arrived to the capital from the sea) were – apart from the Tower of Justice, which achieved its heightened elevation as the result of a remodelling carried out by Süleyman I between 1527 and 15297 – the multiple smokestacks of the palace kitchens, which towered over the eastern end of the

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9, 10, 11 and 12. Various views (photos) showing the smokestacks of the palace kitchens. All photos taken by Mr Ata Akel; graphic artist, Istanbul. second courtyard, thrusting skyward over this central zone of the palace like the many-columned portico of a classical building. This row of parallel vertical smokestacks provided a distant vista to remind the people of the sultan’s presence and utilitarian value. Beyond that symbolic message, followed up by actual food distributions, they knew little and cared less about what happened beyond the walls of the palace, which was in any event closed to them. In the forthcoming treatment of the palace as a household, priority will be given to function over form by concentrating on the palace personnel and on the administrative and functional purposes to which they were put. The physical layout of the palace and the interconnection between its various buildings and structures has received detailed monographic treatment by a succession of scholars, from Abdurrahman Şeref (1911) and Eldem and Aközan (1982) to Necipoğlu (1991). But, rather than set out once again the essence of what has been discovered, categorized and richly illustrated in the literature on the palace’s architectural scheme, this chapter focuses on how this space was inhabited and used by the sultans and their aides as the brain centre for administering the empire. Particular attention is paid to assessing the strategic organization of palace household services, which was done so as to maximize stability, acceptance of the ruler and connectivity with the masses of the governed. In addition, the role of the palace as command centre for a growing empire and the nature of

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the changes in bureaucratic procedure and structural organization put in place to cater for the changing needs of the growing empire will be considered. The links that were forged and the bridges that were built between the palace and the people remained very close in concept to the ones conceived and designed by Mehmed II in the late fifteenth century, but by tracing the numerical growth of the palace bureaucracy and the attendant changes in the relative proportional weight given to each of its constituent parts over the two centuries between 1470 and 1670 it will perhaps be possible to convey a better sense of how the palace household functioned, not just within the closed world of the sultan’s personal and ceremonial existence, but how these bureaucratic structures also served to fulfil the sultans’ public role as protectors and promoters of the common weal and defenders of the safety and security of the realm.

Mehmed II and the Creation of an Institutional Apparatus for Imperial Rule The creation of a set of institutions to match the philosophical orientation and ruling priorities of the dynasty, institutions whose main outlines were traced in chapters 1 to 3, gathered pace and momentum with Mehmed II’s transfer of the capital to Istanbul after 1453. In concept, the palace compound, constructed over the span of nearly 20 years, between 1459 and 1478, was designed to incorporate all aspects of state administration within the confines of a walled enclave at the eastern edge of the city. Thus, in addition to providing a residence for the sultan, this walled compound accommodated all the state functions, from

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treasuries to the tailoring of the imperial raiment. The Janissaries were from the beginning housed separately, in another part of the city, in between the central market area and the conqueror’s newly constructed mosque complex, but from information supplied in a payroll document listing palace staff in 1478 it appears that there was room to accommodate all 222 of the rank-and-file members of the six standing mounted regiments within the walls.8 While in later centuries these units were greatly expanded, at this early stage of state organization they functioned as a compact corps with an elite membership, whose basic function was to accompany the sultan during outings from the palace and to serve as his special agents charged with carrying out high-level missions assigned to them by the sultan. These cavalry units were originally of a size that could be physically accommodated and incorporated within the palace household itself, literally as kapukulu süvarisi (mounted ‘servants’ (slaves) of the Porte), but, as their number expanded, they were later dispersed to various hans (inns) in the city. Because the size of Ottoman territories in 1478 was far smaller and the government’s bureaucratic reach far less extensive than in later centuries, it was feasible for the ruler to supervise his empire with a core administrative staff of 530 and an elite cavalry corps composed of 222 members, all accommodated within the palace walls. That the essential tasks relating to both civilian and military management of the empire’s affairs could be entrusted to a dedicated corps composed of 752 individuals implies of course that the ruler himself was incapable of living a life of seclusion, ‘imprisoned’ within the walls of his gilded cage in the seraglio, but was required instead to assume fully the oversight and direction of all these

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services related to the administration of the empire. In a very real sense, thus, the walls of the seraglio were designed not so much to keep the world out as to contain within – at a distance affording the sultan immediate accessibility – the whole range of state services needed not just to provide for the needs of his palace household but also for the public administration of the empire at large. The palace compound was organized according to three tiers of proximity and intimacy with the sultan, and it was only the third courtyard beyond the ‘Gate of Felicity’ that housed the sultan’s private apartments and (in Mehmed’s time) the three chambers of the pages who accommodated his domestic needs; there the ruler was very shielded or protected against the ingress of the public and the intrusion of public interest concerns. By contrast, the first two courtyards were used essentially as parade grounds and reception areas around whose perimeters were various institutions of the palace, such as the stables and kitchens, which served a double function, being dedicated to meeting not just the needs of the sultan’s inner world and private household, but also his excursions into and needs for governance over the empire which lay outside. Without entering into a detailed spatial analysis of the progression from public to private spheres within the wider palace complex, a single, perhaps simplistic but nonetheless instructive, example of the model of organization is provided by the state’s financial apparatus. In the outer or first courtyard was situated the Royal Mint, called the Dar ül-Darb-i Enderuni.9 In the second or middle courtyard was the Outer (that is, public) Treasury, where regular current expenditures such as salary payments for palace and military personnel were distributed in conjunction with the regular meetings of the divan.10 Finally, the Inner (that is, private and sultanic) Treasury, where distributions for the sultan’s private household expenses and special disbursements authorized by the sultan for royal favourites, family relations and public charity were handled, was situated in the third or inner courtyard, within the sultan’s own private domain. However, these three areas were far from remaining sealed off and watertight compartments; the flow of cash and accounting between them and various institutions was by necessity constantly maintained, and the distinction between public and private spheres lost much of its meaning when operational realities required urgent transfers from one treasury to the other. Still, on the whole, routine and repeated state business could be mostly conducted in the two outer spheres which continued to function independently, with end-of-year or other pre-arranged accounting procedures. When the sultan absented himself to engage in the hunt or in military campaigns, only a part of the outer staff (or birun) accompanied him, and for day-to-day decisions a deputy (called the kaim-mekam, literally lieutenant) to his absolute deputy (the grand vizier or vekil-i mutlak) assumed responsibility in his stead. It was only a relatively confined (and hand-picked) group of the members of the Inner Household Service (Enderun) who saw to the sultan’s domestic

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needs that physically accompanied the sultan during his movements outside the palace grounds. The number of kitchen staff, tasters, equerries, huntsmen and keepers of the falcons and hounds who were needed varied according to the scale, duration and purpose of the excursion. Naturally, too, the real function of the tasters, in particular the Chief of the Tasters, was not confined to food services, and all of the inner household personnel at the higher levels could be relied on to provide a close circle of advisers, consultants and discussion partners, serving the sultan in an intimate fashion that was closed even to the grand vizier. The latter, despite having round-the-clock access to the sovereign to report or consult on important matters of state, was granted audience as an outsider. Still, as can be seen, the inner services accompanied the sultan on his excursions into the ‘outer’ world and acted as his agents and advisers with regard to affairs ‘external’ to the palace, while the grand vizier, though technically a palace outsider, had virtually unrestricted access to the private and inner domestic world of the sultan and in some cases was a honorary family member as well, by virtue of marriage to a royal princess, which conferred him the status of a royal in-law (damad). From all the above it is clear that the boundaries and barriers between the ‘public’ and the ‘private’ and the ‘inner’ and the ‘outer’ services were far from impermeable and were often transgressed or even disregarded in practice. The spatial metaphors and theoretical arrangements surrounding the palace administration were just that – a theoretical framework – and the situation in real-world practice was far less neat, tidy and absolute than the theoretical model would suggest. There is plenty of evidence to indicate that the sultan, far from being sealed off from contact with his governors, viziers and other members of his inner and outer services in the palace, was kept closely informed through daily briefings about the discussions being carried out in the council of state and, as was demonstrated by the examples given in Chapter 3, even seemingly trivial matters such as pay raises for minor officials were always submitted to the sultan for his assent and approval, with the closing phrase baki-i ferman sultanımındır (‘what remains in the matter of command belongs to my sovereign’).11 In later centuries, as the size of the Ottoman bureaucracy increased and the volume of state business expanded, formulae for the pre-processing of routine business were found, the number of the weekly council deliberations was reduced from seven to four, and audiences for the hearing of petitions from four to two. But even then, the second courtyard of the palace, in which the divan sessions were held, was never very quiet, and the rapid growth of the size of the palace staff itself over the period 1520–1670 indicates that the sultan’s palace staff was becoming not less but more involved in the task of managing his empire.12 After 1570, some significant changes were introduced to the layout and use of space within the middle and inner courtyards of the palace, and for some sultans it is true enough that seclusion and withdrawal into the harem and other

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private precincts suited the personal inclinations and temperaments of those particular individuals better than a heady engagement with worldly affairs. But one must resist the temptation to judge the whole organizational structure of the state on the basis of the character of such exceptionally reclusive sultans as Murad III (1574–95), who rarely left the palace. It seems that Murad’s reluctance to go out, even for the short duration of the Friday prayers, stemmed from an irrational fear of being locked out and prevented from returning. Murad’s two recorded attendances in public at Friday prayers took place immediately after his accession in late December 1574 on 17 and 26 Ramazan 982 (31 December and 9 January 1575), and both were noticed by the court chronicler Sealniki. In observing the resumption of regular attendance by Murad’s son Mehmed III, who first took part in the public ritual of the Friday salutation on 17 February 1595, the same historian commented that the practice had been forgotten (mensi) and abandoned (metruk) during the 20 years of the father’s reign.13 It was the same reticent sultan, Murad III, who during the five year period between 1578 and 1583 carried out an ambitious remodeling that tripled the size of the harem quarters and made room to accommodate the Queen Mother (valide sultan) and her staff, who had formerly been hosted separately, in the Old Palace.14 But such changes reflected the personal choice of a particular sultan rather than being a permanent structural change affecting the style of rule and the forms of state administration. Later successors to the throne pursued their own plans and preferences, which in some cases, for instance of the ‘Hunter’ sultan Mehmed IV (1648–87), involved the avoidance of the Topkapi palace altogether during decades of his long reign. The abstract representation of Topkapi (and, by extension, of the capital itself) as the only true microcosm and reflection of the empire, if taken too far, obscures the real nature of power relations as developed by the sultans who occupied the throne after the close of the sixteenth century. In a sense, in every period each sultan remade the empire in his own image, putting his personal touch on everything – from choosing the members of his bureaucracy and administrative team through the building and occupying of preferred sites and locations for his royal residences to the particular forms and patterns for artistic patronage and charitable donations he elected to adopt. There was no fixed rule or convention apart from popular expectation that limited his choices and, in so far as his private domain was concerned, the choices were virtually limitless. Among the fixed public roles prescribed for the sultan was his role as public benefactor and charitable donor. The expectation of regular public appearances formed another area in which custom placed some restriction on the range of choices open to the sultan. Any sustained retreat from the world or withdrawal to the confines and comforts of the harem was unthinkable or unworkable – as Murad II discovered when he was recalled from retirement in 1446 to serve a second term as sultan. Even minor sultans such as Ahmed I, who came to the

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throne in 1603, found alternative occupations to leading the troops into battle; he lavished attention on public projects such as the construction of the mosque complex bearing his name and completed in 1617, the last year of his reign and all too short lifespan. The same applies to Selim II, whose mosque in Edirne was completed in 1575, the year after his demise. The exaggerated attention that has been paid in general historiography to the so-called ‘retreat’ from public affairs of the sultans of the post-classical era (defined as beginning with the demise of Süleyman I in 1566) presents an altogether distorted image of the institution of the sultanate. Sultans of the post-Sulaimanid age, whatever their personal preferences for the hunt or the company of the women of the harem and whatever their private preoccupations and interests were, still demonstrably played an indispensable and central role in the governance of the empire, apart from a few sultans whose early years on the throne were served during their minorities. The character of Murad III’s supposed ‘retreat’ into the harem was observed at first hand by his doctor Domenico Hierosolimitano, who relates that, apart from regular consultations with his viziers and statesmen, the sultan spent a large portion of his time in self-imposed ‘isolation’ in reading, study and reflection. Seemingly his aversion for frequent public appearances did little to change the seriousness of his commitment to public concerns.15 Release from the formality and exposure imposed by intermingling with the public led all the sultans to seek some means of escape, but by no means all of these escape routes involved retreat within the palace. The first sultan to break with precedent and to express his desire to dine in private, thus avoiding the importunities and demands of his viziers at least for the brief period of his late afternoon collation, was Mehmed II.16 When judging the general pattern of the Ottoman sultans’ engagement with the public, it should be remembered that Murad III was not alone in feeling the pressures of his office, but he was truly exceptional in that at no time during his 20-year reign between 1574 and 1595 is it recorded that he left the capital. The sultans’ residence patterns varied, but seasonal changes of residence on the traditional pattern of pastoral alternation between yaylak and kışlak (summer pasture and winter quarters) were favoured, especially in the early centuries of Ottoman rule. In the time of Mehmed II, removal of the court for prolonged periods to hunting grounds in the vicinity of the capital and adjacent regions of Thrace was seemingly quite regular. For example, we have the records of expenditure for supplies taken from the palace larder that indicate the removal of the court to Terkos, a lakeside hunting ground 40 kilometres north-west of the capital near the shores of the Black Sea, for 19 days between 28 August and 15 September 1471.17 Subsequently, after returning to Istanbul for a brief period of residence, on 14 November the court set out once again, this time in the direction of Vize, midway between the capital and Edirne, for

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an extended hunt lasting three and half months.18 During the hunt the sultan was both more isolated (geographically) and more exposed to the approach of his entourage. Access without impediment was far easier during the hunt than during his periods of ‘normal’ residence within the palace walls. There was an ongoing effort to regularize the rules for approach and to restrict access to those who had legitimate cause to occupy the sultan’s time and attention, but it bears remembering that, as with all regulatory efforts, seemingly ironclad rules were almost made to be broken. In theory, the right of approach during military campaigns was granted only to a handful of officials at the very top of the government hierarchy such as viziers, army judges and treasury chiefs and denied to dismissed governors (beylerbeyis) and lieutenant governors who might pester the sultan with requests for reinstatement – unless these were explicitly invited. However, it is evident that such categorical pronouncements could never be fully or consistently observed and exceptions were commonly made, in open breach of regulation.19 On the whole, despite the evidence indicating the attempt at stricter regulation – which reflects security concerns as opposed to an attempt to protect privacy per se – it cannot be said that Ottoman sultans lived a life of perfectly maintained seclusion. The late-nineteenth-century recluse, Sultan Abdülhamid II (1876–1909), who physically removed himself from any threat of chance encounter by taking up residence at his isolated hillside Star Pavilion overlooking the Bosphorus, where he remained a virtual prisoner for much of his reign, was an anomaly, not a trend-setter. In any case, by Abdülhamid’s time, far-reaching reforms introduced into the Ottoman system of public administration had substantially reduced the role and the direct involvement of the sultan in the regulation of public affairs. Prior to the reforms of the nineteenth century, however, the sultans were faced with the constant intrusion of the public and its concerns into their private sphere and those who treated the public interest or public opinion with scorn were faced with the very real threat of losing their thrones.20 The expectation of sultanic activism in the realm of regulating social relations and of contributing to the public weal was particularly strong in the period leading up to the middle of the eighteenth century.21 On the whole, the sultans were afforded precious little leisure time, except maybe in the instant before sleep, to enjoy the kind of seclusion and tranquility described in such evocative terms by the architectural historian Gülrü Necipoğlu: From the royal mansions of his private residence the secluded ruler could survey his world empire; the vast kingdom he ruled fanned out from this nucleus of power, the Abode of Felicity.22

No sultan, even the seemingly securest of them all, Sultan Süleyman, who in the latter part of his reign faced the near-continuous threat (and sometimes reality)

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of rebellion emanating from his own sons and rival contenders for eventual succession to his throne, could afford to remain a passive observer and still hope to retain his authority and the credibility of and support for his leadership. Being sultan meant being engaged, whether he was leading a campaign, holding court from the otağ-i hümayun or residing in state at the Topkapi palace. Michael Meeker’s suggestion that, following Mehmed II’s abandonment of the custom of the sovereign’s sharing of communal meals with his entourage after the construction of the New Palace, the ruling figure was suddenly transformed into a semi-divine figure – ‘seeing but unseen, hearing but unheard’ – conceived of in a similar analytical mode and relying on hyperbolic western inspired visions of the ‘Grand Seignor’ residing in splendid isolation, must surely overstate the sultan’s position of indifference and detachment.23 We know, from the number of sultans toppled from their thrones, that no sultan could realistically expect to escape for long from the rough and tumble world of Ottoman domestic and international politics and power struggles in which all Ottoman rulers, both before and after Mehmed II, were unavoidably enmeshed throughout their reigns. On the domestic front, it was a given that, to function properly, the institution of intisab or clientelage, which formed the fundamental basis of the Ottoman system of political patronage, required contact at the very least. Indulgence in prolonged spells of isolation undermined both the principle and the process of subordination, which required that the client’s (subordinate’s) loyalty and devotion to his patron (superior) be subject to reaffirmation on a regularly repeated basis. It was both conceptually and operationally impossible for the sultan to withdraw himself for long from engagement with his court. Any prolonged period of disengagement seriously weakened his position as patron and overlord.

An Analytical and Quantitative Account of the Groups who Shared the Sultan’s ‘Private’ Living Space Within the Palace Walls Reference has already been made to the 222 members of the six cavalry regiments who in 1478 were categorized as palace ‘insiders’ and listed together with the other members of the sultan’s household. After the cavalrymen, the second most numerous group was composed of 65 individuals belonging to a category called ‘distinguished persons’ (müteferrika), who had been chosen as intimates of the sultan either because of inherited status – deriving from their distinguished lineage and from their capacity for lending not just distinction but also powerful client circles of their own for the support of the dynasty – or because they had earned distinction from prolonged service (usually in the palace service itself) either to the reigning sultan or to his predecessor. The sons and even grandsons of viziers were eligible for admission to this group, but so too were

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palace officials who had finished their career of service as head (ser) of a key service such as the High Chamber of the Pages or the Treasury Chamber. The latter were kept on as pensioned senior statesmen and trusted advisers. From the study of the individuals included in the highest-paid ranks of the müteferrika it is possible to gain a sense of how they functioned as a kind of anchor and stabilizing force, keeping the dynasty in equilibrium especially during the transition from one reign to the next. At each accession there was an inevitable cleaning out of the ranks of servants who had followed the career of a prince from his minority in a provincial governorate, joined him as top aides after his accession and devoted a long career of loyal service to that individual; but as a stabilizing measure it was sound management procedure to keep some senior advisers and experienced hands nearby, to serve as troubleshooters and also as counsellors and well-wishers of the new regime. Although the payroll list of 1478 was drawn up at the end of the Conqueror’s reign and can thus shed little light on the process of consolidating power at the beginning of his reign, it is still possible to perceive these desiderata of continuity and stability at work in the selection of individuals honoured by inclusion in the ranks of the müteferrika. Collectively, the ‘distinguished persons’ served as one of the palace’s key links with the dynasty’s principal bases of support in the greater society lying outside the palace walls, and it was only through successful co-optation and cooperative effort supplied by society’s existing power structure that Ottoman rulers could hope to maintain their position of preeminence. By definition, the müteferrikas were hand-picked associates and strategic team members whom the sultans recognized and valued either for technical and intellectual skills or out of respect for, as well as reliance on, their nobility of ancestry and social distinction. Both groups could perform invaluable service, not just in executing the sultan’s policies but also in explaining and defending them to others, whether the general public or the ruler’s own subordinates and agents. Despite their high position in the general state hierarchy and the occasional emergence of some truly exceptional individuals in their ranks, as a group viziers were not necessarily the sultan’s most stable, selfless, loyal or able advisers. Since generalship and the ability to command troops were key criteria in the selection of viziers, there were notorious examples of individuals who attained that rank without having basic skills in literacy or even fluency in Turkish.24 Because of the key role they played in setting, settling and promoting the sultan’s ruling agenda, it will be helpful, before presenting the other data from the Conqueror’s payroll list of 1478, to pause for a moment to consider in general terms the profile of this group in the households of several Ottoman sultans, whose reigns are best documented. By introducing this human element into the consideration of the palace as household, it may be possible to offer a more complete picture of the palace as an institution than is feasible when focusing

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on it exclusively as an architectural and ceremonial space. Connection with the public was maintained at various levels by various means, from the sultan’s own performance of the somewhat ritualized stroll-abouts and ‘interminglings with the people’,25 to his tapping into the powers of conviction embodied in his corps of special advisers and agents, the müteferrika.Only by engaging with the public on these multiple levels could the sultan acquire real power, which resulted not from a radiating outwards of power hereditarily assumed by a secluded and isolated monarch, but from a collecting inwards of power which had to be acquired through an interactive process. The most secluded sultans were arguably the least effective as rulers.26 Public celebrations such as ‘dressing up the city’ (donanma) to mark notable victories or rejoice in the birth of royal heirs aimed literally to include everyone (the whole population) and to secure their identification with the achievements of the dynasty, but there needed also to be less remote, more directly personal, as well as more frequent reasons to celebrate the dynasty if it was to retain its popular base of support. This required an ongoing effort and constant vigilance on the part of the sultans. The means for constructing bridges between the public and the palace were manifold, but in the following analysis two groups of palace residents – the corps of the müteferrika and the staff of the palace kitchens – will be assessed for their contribution to this process of reaching out. Inclusion in the group of salaried members of the sultan’s household, whether that household numbered 700 individuals, as in the late fifteenth century, or was in excess of 10,000 as in the seventeenth century, was the ultimate expression of a person’s subservience and loyalty to the monarch. The size of the royal household in later centuries, even if one eliminates from consideration the largest group composed of the equerries and staff of the imperial stables, puts the closest European equivalent, France, distinctly in the shade. Neither the accounting terms nor the categories of inclusion are strictly comparable to the data we possess for the Ottoman royal household in the seventeenth century but, allowing for the inclusion of either less or more of the category of military versus civilian officers of the court, the Ottoman royal establishment was anywhere between two and four times greater than its French equivalent of the late seventeenth century.27 How the military groups acted to reinforce royal authority and absolutism is clear-cut and straightforward, but the relationship between other elite members of the kingly and sultanic households and outside power structures within their respective realms is less apparent. The investigation of the Ottoman palace organization begins with an examination of the selection criteria and functional utility of the group whose membership was most heterogeneous and diverse, that is, the müteferrikas, and proceeds to services such as kitchen, stables, hunt and others, whose purposes are more transparent. These latter groups are more open to proportional assessment

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and quantitative analysis and can therefore be reduced to tabular form for ease of comparison by using fixed categories across time. In the Ottoman case, the structures put in place in 1470 were, with some minor modifications, the same as those found in 1670, so changes in the numerical and proportional balances can be used to chart changes in emphasis, purpose, function and mission fulfilled by the royal household.

The Role of the ‘Distinguished Persons’ (müteferrikas) at the Ottoman Court Proportionally speaking, the müteferrikas, who numbered approximately one eighth or 65 out of a total of the 530 non-military members of the Conqueror’s court establishment in 1478, formed the dominant group. In this group there were several individuals whose professional expertise was specified, including doctors, scribes, and even bookbinders, but among the most noteworthy and highest paid members of the group were representatives of elite tribal and landowning families from Anatolia. The choice of key representatives of the tribal and landed aristocracy to adorn the court in the 1470s has an obvious connection with the Conqueror’s efforts around this time to consolidate support for the Ottomans in opposition to Uzun Hasan’s competing bid for Anatolian hegemony, and it is perhaps unsurprising that the top salary grade (a pay rate of 50 akçes per day) was reserved at this time for officials of this category. These included a certain Hasan Beg, zaim-i Yürük (leader of the tribal auxiliary units), who was paid a daily salary of 50 akçes, Musa Beg, zaim-i Samsun (paid 33 akçes), Ishak Bey ibn Mihal Bey (paid 33), Muhiyeddin Beg zaim-i Tokat (paid 30), Isa Beg, zaim-i Amasya (paid 18), Mehmed Beg, Karamani (paid 15) and Mehmed Çelebi, serasker-i Amasya (paid 10).28 All these members of the royal ‘household’ figuring on the payroll list as ‘distinguished persons’ had been strategically chosen, on account of the key services they could perform in rallying support among the Anatolian power base, upon whose services the dynasty was still heavily reliant in the late fifteenth century. The practice of giving subsidies and allowances to scions of princely dynasties who once opposed, but were later subsumed within, the Ottoman realm, and of providing for the survivors and descendants of recently deceased provincial governors and other officials who had reached the top service ranks was given formal recognition in the provisions of the Conqueror’s regulations on state organization promulgated in 1479.29 The relationship of mutual dependence between the Ottoman sovereign and his powerful allies and supporters is perhaps best illustrated by the list of 70 ‘distinguished persons’ attending the court of Süleyman the Magnificent drawn up around 1540, when he was still in the relatively early phases of consolidating control and authority over the lands conquered by his father two decades earlier.30 The list includes several ‘captive’ dignitaries representing

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predecessor regimes, whose very presence at court served as confirmation of their subservience and compliance with Ottoman imperial designs. In the 1540 list, the sons and descendants of subordinated dynasties, such as the Crimean Tatars and the Mamluk sultans of Egypt, are distinguished from those who earned their stipends on the basis of distinguished service in the domestic arena. This latter group was called evlad-i ümera (‘sons of governors’), but in terms of their status and treatment they were indistinguishable from the müteferrikas.31 In 1540 the honour list included not just two sons of Hayir Beg, a former Mamluk governor who had been co-opted into Ottoman service and served as the first Ottoman governor of Egypt between its conquest in 1517 and his death in 1522, but also his nephew.32 The sovereign’s gratitude for the faithful service rendered by Hayir Beg and his circle extended far enough to include even a client and former household member of Hayir Beg named Ibrahim, who was provided with a daily allowance of 30 akçes.33 Another list of 88 mütferrikas dating from 1555 shows how, in similar fashion to the Conqueror at a later stage in his reign, Süleyman strove to stabilize his reign not just by including in his list of ‘distinguished persons’ those whose contribution to his administration was current, but also by acknowledging past service and attainment by means of generous rewards to the sons and descendants of former viziers and grand viziers. That the sultans honoured their commitments to reward some key officials with exceptional trans-generational honorary awards to their offspring and descendants served the dynasty both as a recruiting tool and as a means of keeping their best-performing officers of state on the straight and narrow path of dedicated imperial service. The 1555 list contains an interesting example of one family’s success in perpetuating its status into the next generation in the person of Piri Mehmed Pasha. After serving a five and a half year term as grand vizier between 1518 and 1523, Piri Pasha spent the remainder of his life in retirement at his estates in the vicinity of the Thracian town of Silivri with a generous stipend from the sultan. During his lifetime he managed to secure a position for his son Mehmed Beg as governor of the newly annexed central Anatolian province of Iç-İl and, although his son predeceased him in 1526 and he lived on only a few years longer to 1533,34 his grandson, also named Mehmed, was still receiving his daily allowance of 50 akçes as müteferrika in 1555.35

The General Structure of the Palace Household To gain a clearer sense of how the palace household was constructed to achieve a balance between the objectives of stability, support, clientage and the fulfilment of various specific household chores and services, it is best to rely on the data provided in the salary lists themselves. The earliest of these is Mehmed II’s

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salary list of 1478 already referred to. Although palace staff payroll lists from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries record a continuing high-profile presence of officials connected with the Royal Hunt, the 1478 list shows an even more pronounced continuity with the practices of the court in the period of the early Ottoman emirate c.1300–c.1389. In 1478 the keepers of the royal hounds (47) and the keepers of the royal hunting birds (58), with nine more inner service falconers, made up 104 out of 530 permanent staff members. This means that officials directly connected with the imperial hunt made up almost one fifth of the total palace staff. In keeping with the court practice of the predecessor dynasties in Anatolia, the head falconers, called the şahinci-başı and the çakırcıbaşı, were not just top officials in the inner service; these positions served as stepping stones to the highest level of government, including the grand vizierate, upon graduation (çıkma) from the palace service. There is clear evidence of archaism, both in the general regulations relating to state organization dated 1479 and in the earliest evidence showing the actual structure of state organization including the payroll lists, indicating Mehmed II’s close adherence to tradition. On the whole, in forming his ideas of government he tended more to conservatism and continuity than to radicalism and change. Certainly the general structure he put in place in the 1470s remained remarkably stable in the centuries which followed its introduction. Palace officials such as the Master of the Stables, who rose to their positions after long periods of training, close observation and cohabitation with the sultan during periods of war and peace, remained the most likely candidates for elevation to the highest ranks of public service when they left their role in the palace service as personal attendants to the sultan. For example, it is recorded in the payroll accounts of 1527 that a certain Rüstem Ağa was being paid a daily salary of 150 akçes as the sultan’s stable master.36 Though the link of direct personal service was broken for the next 17 years as Rüstem served in a number of provincial governorships at increasingly higher rank, it was to this trusted former aide that Sultan Süleyman turned in 1544 to grant him the seal of office as his absolute deputy and longest-serving grand vizier. To serve as amanuensis to his master in later life came naturally to an official who had spent his formative years at the sovereign’s right hand in the palace. Even after the discontinuation in the early eighteenth century of the devşirme recruiting system for the palace, this connection between one-time membership of the royal household and promotion to vizierial rank in later life was preserved. An idea of the theoretical structure of the palace administration is provided in the schematic overview document dating from 1479, but it is the payroll document of 1478 that affords us the clearest sense of how these principles of government were put into practice. It is important to remember that both documents date from the end of Mehmed’s reign and thus represent a developed

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evolutionary stage, reached after 25 years of knowledge and experience as well as setbacks and failures in his attempts at the centralization of power in the earlier part of his reign. The size of the state’s bureaucratic apparatus in 1478 was tiny in comparison with the form it acquired a short 40 years later, in 1520. But in its main outlines it remained little changed in later centuries. In fact, the preamble to the 1479 regulations contained a harshly worded warning against future emendation and change.37 It is clear from both documentary and anecdotal evidence that until at least its amplification and reformulation in the regulations of 1676 – which reconfirmed and restated those of 1479 in all their essential details – Mehmed’s warnings were heeded.38 What is noticeable about the structure of the Ottoman court administrative apparatus as reflected in the payroll list of 1478 is its fluid state. The clear lines of precedence in the hierarchy and sometimes even the functional specificity of each group is not as sharply drawn in 1478 as it was later to become. For example, the ‘officers of the stirrup’ (called interchangeably özengi ağaları and rikabiyan) whose composition was fixed in later times and invariably included the sultan’s standard bearer and others among his top military officers seem to have included in their number in 1478 a few religious officials assigned duties, it may be presumed, in the escorting of the sultan from the palace gates to the Friday prayer services, a scant few paces away at the Haghia Sofia mosque. The inclusion of these religious officials, two bearing the title mevlana39 and two more with the functional descriptor muezzin (prayer callers), under the jurisdiction of an officer called Yakub Agha as chief of the rikabiyan strikes a slightly discordant note judging by what we know of later court practice, but it serves as another example of the archaisms that we have already noted characterized Mehmed II’s period which was paradoxically forward-looking while remaining in many important ways still bound to the past. This much said by way of introduction and contextualization of the documents and bearing in mind that, because of its looser categories and irregular format, the 1478 document needs to be considered separately from the quantitative information available to us dating from the period 1520 to 1670, we can now proceed to the details of the Ottoman palace organization presented in tabular form. If we recast the information from Table 6.1 according to the task-specific groups and categories of servants who in later centuries formed the core of the palace household staff,40 the proportionate sizes of the various services are not that dissimilar, but the overall size of the imperial establishment, 341 task-specific,41 189 advisory technical and 222 military staff making a total of 752 persons, was miniscule by comparison with its size only a half-century later, c.1520.42 Before passing on to the comparison of the fifteenth-century data with data from later imperial eras, a final word on the group of 45 individuals connected with food services in the palace is in order.

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Table 6.1 Prototype structure for the palace administrative corps as documented for the year ad 1478 (ah 883)43 Staff of 530 44 persons divided as follows: 3 Upper Chambers and a special guard composed of falconers High Chamber ([Hass] Oda)

645

Treasury Chamber (hazine)

3

Pantry Chamber (kiler)

4

Inner Service Falconers (şahinciyan-i enderun)

9 22

Officers of the Stirrup (rikabiyan) Inner Service matriculants waiting for reassignment Müteferrikas (Palace Honour Roll) Total group of top advisers (plus matriculants) closest to the sultan

23 9 65 119

Gardeners (bağbanan)

3

Gatekeepers (bevabbin)

5046

Pursuivants (çavuşan)

7

Tent Pitchers (mehteran-i hayme)

3847

Foodtasters (zevakkin)

12

Breadbakers (khabbazan)

9

Cooks (tabahhin)

24

Total of kitchen-related staff

4548

Units who accompanied the sultan on the Imperial Hunt and during other public appearances Solakan (attendants of the sultan’s right-hand)49

20

Sekbanan (keepers of the royal hounds)

15

Zagirciyan (keepers of the royal mastiffs)

12 47 2450

Hayyatin (tailors) Cebeciyan (armourers) Keepers of the Royal Hunting Birds

13 51

Şahinciyan

33

Çakırciyan

14

continued

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Atmacaciyan

11 58

Staff of the Imperial Stables

52

Chief officers

3

Saddle-makers (saracin)

13

Group One Grooms (seyyisan)

16

Group Two Grooms (seyyisan)

12

Attendants (farriers, water-carriers and carriage attendants)

13

Mule-drivers (harbendgan)

16

Donkey-drivers (eshekciyan)

2

Drovers of the female camels (made)

22

Drovers of the male camels (ner)

18

Drivers of the light-haired she-camels kept for breeding (lok)

11 126

As already mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, it is important that the palace institution be set within its real context, not as an isolated enclave and restricted zone devoted to the fulfilment of the sultan’s needs but as an institution devoted, at least in part, to bridging the gap between the sovereign and his subjects and organized on a scale sufficient to serve wider public purposes and needs. For this reason it is appropriate to pause for a moment to put the spotlight on the palace larders and kitchens which served, as discussed earlier in Chapter 1,53 as a symbol and metaphor for the caring patriarchal sovereign and provided justification for his rule.

The Palace Kitchens as Symbol and Substance of Ottoman Benevolent Autocracy Credit for nobility of spirit and charitable inclinations was not an inherited but an acquired quality of each Ottoman sovereign, to be demonstrated by his actions in office. Just as his bravery and martial spirit were put to the test by his battle performance, in peace time he was judged on the basis of the seriousness of his commitment to charity and of his generosity towards the poor. As a measure of the activity of the palace kitchens, rather than attempting a comprehensive assessment, it seems best to look instead at a single aspect, the supply of meat, using it to judge the ideas that influenced the sultan’s supply choices and allocation priorities. Table 6.2 shows the allocation of meat for the exclusive use of the palace household in various periods. By comparing this data with the information from the year 1670 showing the proportional size of meat allocations for various

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institutional purposes in the capital (in Table 6.3), it is possible to determine that, if the annual meat allocation of 1,136 metric tons was sufficient to cover the daily meat rations for some 40,000 Janissaries,54 then the allocation of 1,271 tons earmarked for the upkeep of the palace household, which was estimated as numbering some 9,000 at the same date,55 must indicate that, beyond meeting the palace’s own immediate daily needs, this allocation was intended for distribution on a far wider scale, for serving up at public entertainments, special feasts, allowances to guests of state and members of diplomatic delegations, and to fulfil a variety of other charitable and social purposes. Table 6.2 Meat consumption in the main imperial residence: the Saray-i Cedid56 Date

Reis (head)

1490

16,356

155558

Okkas

P.P.O.

Cost

163,560

1.48

242,04357

177,677

1.62

288,651

1570

34,429

344,429

3.89

1,339,27159

1574

34,877

348,770

3.76

1,312,63160

161161 1670

199,973 62

991,200

10.0

1,999,730

12.0

11,894,400

Table 6.3 A comparative look at meat consumption of the various palace households of the capital and the main Janissary barracks in 167063 Household Establishment

Daily meat allocation (in okkas/kg)

Annual allocation (in metric tons (%)) = 354 daily allotments

Janissary Barracks

2502/321064

1136.34 (39.2%)

New Palace (Saray-i Cedid)

2800/3592

1271.56 (43.9%)

Old Palace (Saray-i Atik)

650/833.8

295.17 (10.2 %)

Galata Palace (cadets)

113/145

51.33 (1.8%)65

Ibrahim Palace (cadets)

108/138.5

49.01 (1.7%)

Bostanci Corps (Gardeners)

205/263

93.10 (3.2%)

6378/8182.3

2,896.5

Meeting commitments to their own immediate household, including the tens of thousands of troops of the standing army called the ‘slaves of the Porte’ (kapu kulları), unquestionably remained a top priority for all reigning sultans, since the loyalty and devotion of their servants was inextricably linked to the levels of the ruler’s generosity towards them. But the gargantuan size of the meat allocations

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to the New Palace establishment indicates that the sultan’s ‘private’ supplies were put to a far wider use. One of these was the provision of meals for the needy on the occasion of the annual feast of the sacrifice, a religious holiday held during the final month of the Muslim calendar. Beyond this there were regular sultanic distributions of food in kind or their cash equivalents, recorded in registers of expenditure for purchases and disbursements for privy purposes (harc-i hassa), and accounts of expenditure from the public treasury. Data presented in the unpublished doctoral thesis of Anthony Greenwood confirm that the close parity between meat distributions to the military and the allocations to the palace was maintained into the mid-eighteenth century despite the swelling of the Janissary ranks witnessed at that time.66 One form of sultanic giving regularly repeated throughout the year was called tasadduk – literally, alms-giving – which took the form of food distributions to the poor, especially the urban poor of the capital Istanbul. These distributions (tasaddukat) formed only one out of nine and more distinct forms of sultanic giving, designed to meet special purposes and occasions and to mark the sovereign’s gratitude for services rendered and obedience offered or to register the sultan’s sadness (taziye, or consolation grants on the occasion of the death of a close associate) or joy (isar-i urs, or congratulatory payment granted on the occasion of the marriage of a close associate). The other standard forms were: nökeriye (payment for attendance at court by an Ottoman vassal or subject, to acknowledge submission of tribute or presentation of other gifts); teşrif (payments and allowances to acknowledge attendance of a foreign emissary or tribute-bearer); inam (grant in recognition of service rendered); tevcih (grants of cloth for vestments, cash and other regalia connected with appointment to office); irsaliyye (sending of cash, cloth and other goods to cover the household expenses of a relative or close family member); tayin/tayinat (allowances for food rations); and adet (customary allowances for clothing, dress and uniforms of attendants at court; usually paid semi-annually in autumn and summer).67 For the purposes of the present analysis we will be concerned with only one dimension of sultanic giving: public alms-giving or tasaddukat.

Regular Food Distributions Organized through the Auspices of the Palace Larder From the earliest surviving records of palace kitchen expenditure, which cover the month of July 1473, in addition to expenditures for the court amounting to 135,363 akçes, it is known that the palace larder provided 2,000 akçes as ‘alms for the poor’.68 That these payments were neither haphazard nor irregular but sustained throughout the year is made clear from evidence supplied in the budget for the fiscal year 1547–8, which record disbursements over the year mounting to a total of nearly 300,000 akçes, as follows:

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Alms distribution, Part 1 Alms for the poor of Istanbul distributed by the sultan’s treasurer Elkas, 51 weeks at 3,000 per week

153,000

Alms for the poor of Istanbul and of the outlying districts along the Golden Horn including Galata

100,000

Alms for the poor distributed in person in the imperial divan

41,495 294,49569

A systematic idea of the frequency and regularity of these distributions can be gleaned from surviving records from the hijri year 909 (1503–4), which record the outlays and disbursements from the palace for provision to the urban poor on a monthly basis, as follows: Alms distribution, Part 2 Day/Mo./Yr.

Pg. and Entry no.70

5/iii = 28/08/1503

307 (no. 74)

2/v = 23/10/1503

Amt. in akçes

Purpose

100,000

poor of Istanbul

317 (no. 150)

90,000

poor of Istanbul

5/vii = 24/12/1503

332 (no. 241)

10,000

seyyids of Istanbul

15/vii = 03/01/1504

334 (no. 254)

152,680

poor and pious of Mecca71

27/viii= 14/021504

346 (no.302)

56,400

pious of Istanbul

11/ix = 27/02/1504

351 (no. 320)

30,000

poor of Istanbul

23/x = 09/04/1504

364 (no. 381)

30,000

poor of Istanbul

3/xii = 18/05/1504

376 (no. 424)

100,000

poor of Istanbul

From these figures it can easily be calculated that, excluding the provision for the poor of Mecca and Medina, the distributions for tasadduk, mostly by the hand of the sultan’s barley commissioner (emin-i cev) attached to the staff of the Imperial Stables and thus presumably limited to distributions in kind of grain, amounted in the hijri year 909 to a total of 416,400 akçes. If we take the average cost of a kile (25.656 kg) of wheat flour around this time to be 20 akçes,72 then these funds would have been sufficient to purchase 20,820 kiles of flour. We know from contemporary sixteenth-century records detailing food distributions from the soup kitchens attached to the Conqueror’s mosque that each kile of flour was sufficient to bake around 110 loaves of bread, each weighing 100 dirhems or 307 grams.73 By this measure, 20,820 kiles of flour would have been enough to bake and distribute 6,270 loaves for every day of the calendar year. The capacity of the imperial kitchens to supply food for wider distribution

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has led some observers, even palace insiders such as the late sixteenth-century Domenico, to overstate the numbers belonging to the sultan’s own personal household. Domenico’s statement that ‘the number of mouths regularly fed in the Seraglio is 13,400’ cannot be taken literally.74 However, if one were to replace the word ‘in’ with the word ‘from’, his statement might not be so far from the truth. A passage from the early nineteenth-century court recorder Hafiz Hizr Ilyas shows how the palace grounds and nearby public spaces were still associated in the mind of the public of the later imperial era with sultans’ demonstrations of magnanimity. On the occasion described by Ilyas, this took the form of a collective meal for the indigent of Istanbul organized by the reigning sultan Mahmud II on 22 November 1817 (11 muharrem 1233), to take place in the courtyard of the Tiled Pavilion (Çinili Köşk) within the greater palace compound. Here large cauldrons containing the traditional ten-ingredient sweet pudding called ashura, cooked to mark the holy day on the tenth day of the first month of the Muslim New Year, were prepared and orders were given to summon the poor of Istanbul and of its two main residential suburbs of Galata and Eyüb to partake in the sultan’s royal generosity. The historian recorded that, on the occasion, the response to the sultan’s general invitation to come and share in a general feast was so enthusiastic that the palace guards could barely contain the crowds.75 That these traditions survived into the early nineteenth century indicates the strength of the association of the palace with acts of public charity and the feelings of obligation on the part of its chief occupant, namely the sultan, to serve the public’s needs. It would be naïve to assume that there weren’t equally loud voices urging the sultan from within to capitulate to their demands for luxury and to indulgence in conspicuous consumption, but the fact that the sultans were also fully conscious of the need to take account of the vox populi is clear enough from the tone of Hizr Ilyas’ account of the events of November 1817. Before turning to the detailed quantitative account of the organization of the palace household offered in Tables 6.4–6.8, it may be useful to ponder on some of the proportional disparities in its make-up and speculate over what these numerical balances can tell us about the ruling priorities of the imperial administration they served. The tables are organized according to the main groups (ordered according to their size and relative importance), and if size were the only criterion for measuring the importance of their contribution to the sultan’s achieving his mission of governance, then the palace stables in all the periods represented the clearly dominant group, though their dominance during the high imperial era of the sixteenth century is most striking. The proportional strength of the stables as a percentage of the total palace personnel in the period 1520 to 1670 assumed the following profile:76

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Stable staff in palace service Date

Stable staff

Total palace personnel

Proportion in stable services

1520

2,080

3,365

62 %

1528

2,830

4,448

64 %

1568

4,431

6,844

63 %

1609

4,322

10,714

40 %

1670

3,633

9,022

40 %

What these figures clearly indicate is that in all periods the Ottoman court was designed for high mobility and transportability, with a seeming disinclination for prolonged fixed residence at a single site. Movement and mobility, whether to accommodate sultanic needs during military campaigns, the imperial hunt or tours of inspection in the provincial hinterlands of the empire, seem to have typified both the organization and the ethos of the empire, particularly during the centuries of territorial growth and expansion. The Imperial Stables provided mounts to meet the transportation and supply needs of all the sultan’s household troops who, already by the early sixteenth century, numbered tens of thousands. In addition, they contributed to the sultan’s overland communications needs, relaying messages to keep the wheels of the government apparatus turning smoothly, regardless of whether the empire was at peace or at war. More than any other dimension of the palace organization, the dominance, both in terms of the space occupied and in terms of staff numbers, of the stables serves as positive proof that the sultan’s palace was not remote, protected or secluded from the world which surrounded it, but closely linked up with and inseparable from it. Although only a small proportion of the sultan’s show-horses intended for his personal use were physically housed inside the palace in the second courtyard, their positioning next to the kitchens indicates a high order of precedence in the rank-ordering of the sultan’s everyday domestic needs. Most of the horses were accommodated outside the walled compound, but were immediately contiguous to it and readily accessible at all times.77 The passage of the carriage of the sultan outside his castellated fortress on the edge of the Marmara Sea was such a regular event that its very normality has made it invisible to the notice of many commentators on the palace. The carriers of the sultan and of his appurtenances, including his equerries, tent-bearers, standard-bearers, military bandsmen, military escorts and other members of his retinue who accompanied him on his excursions into the world outside the palace, formed the numerically and functionally dominant group in his household, far outnumbering the pages, ushers, gatekeepers and warders who shielded, protected and served him during his sedentary stints inside the seraglio. The sudden increase in the ranks of the gatekeepers (bevabbin) in the seventeenth century reflects changes in the palace

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organization and the expansion in the size of the harem, which occurred as the natural result of the accession of several minor sultans.78 But, significant as these changes were, their influence on the overall balance between the various palace services was relatively muted.

Quantitative Presentation of the Organization of the Palace Household The five tables which follow (Tables 6.4–6.8) chart the changes in the size and shape of the central palace administration (excluding the household infantry and cavalry troops) and serve as a rough indicator of changes in form and function as well as philosophy and priorities of rule adopted for and adapted by the Ottoman dynasty over time. The tables are organized according to six categories of service, each representing a key aspect of the sultan’s performance of the principal ‘duties of office’, which were linked in the public’s perception with one or another of the ideal qualities of the model ruler. The principal functions of each group are summarized in the organizational template which follows.

Principal categories of service Category I: The stable organization (Istabl-i Amire) The role of the stable organization was to provide mobility and to represent the sultan’s material ability to project his power both militarily, at the margins of his empire, and nearer to home in imperial display (parades, processions) and to underline his possession (also for display) of rare breeds and stock lines presented to him as a token of respect by foreign heads of state, by vassals and Ottoman state officials seeking the sultan’s favour and as a broadly recognized and much favoured currency for diplomatic gifts. Category II: The Palace Gatekeepers (bevabbin) The role of this group of servants was to guard the sanctity and security of the sultan’s Palace Compound in Istanbul (until the mid-nineteenth century, chiefly the Topkapi Palace, built by Mehmed II between 1459 and 1478), and to restrict access to each of the successively more private spheres of the outer courtyard, of the middle courtyard of the divan or Imperial Council Hall, and of the inner or third courtyard, set aside for the sultan’s private apartments and as living space, to invited guests or foreign emissaries with legitimate official business to transact. Category III: The Palace Kitchens (matbah-i amire) The role of the kitchen services was to provide sultanic hospitality on state occasions, to feed the extensive corps of his permanent palace household on a daily basis and to act as a conduit for public charity to the poor of the capital city.

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Category IV: The Palace Artisans (ehl-i hiref) A prominent sub-group in this category included the palace tailors (hayatin-i hassa and hayatin-i hilat), whose role was to provide the needs of the sultan’s own wardrobe and the furnishing of his public reception rooms and private quarters, including the royal library collections, which contained elaborate and expensively illustrated manuscripts intended to glorify the dynasty’s accomplishments and historical preeminence on the one hand and on the other to prepare the scores of ceremonial robes (hilat, see above) distributed to state and foreign dignitaries, especially at meetings of the divan, to mark their place of subordination within the elaborate hierarchy of administrative offices or their rank within the set of external alliances put in place by each sultan in pursuit of his own vision of the prevailing priorities of his reign.79 Category V: The Sultan’s Tent Pitchers and Standard Bearers (mehteran-i hayme ve mehteran-i alem) The job of the first group was to ensure that, when travelling abroad, outside the palace, the sultan and his entourage (that is, household) were accommodated, presented and displayed in a manner that befitted the ruler’s royal stature and magnificence. Their tasks included the pitching of the otag –i hümayun (royal tent and reception area), used when the army was camped in stages during military campaigns or sometimes in less formal accommodation called çadır (simple tents), used during the sovereign’s regular excursions on the Royal Hunt (sayd u şikar) (see category VI below). In addition, they were responsible for the setting up, on ceremonial occasions, of the sayeban, canopies and awnings that were used as a metaphorical representation of the shade and shelter provided by the sultan’s reign of justice. In general terms, the custodianship of all the emblems of sovereign power and authority were in the charge of the two divisions of category V and the three divisions of category VI (see below), in addition of course to the Imperial Stables, whose personnel was the most numerous of all the sultan’s household staff. The second group carried the sultan’s standard (alem) and his small and large drums (tom-tom and kettle drums), used to announce the sultan’s approach and to spread fear and awe in the enemy camp in advance of battle. Both the imperial standard, with its standard six (occasionally but exceptionally more) horse-tails (tug), and the imperial drums were standard emblems of royalty whose use was a carefully guarded prerogative of the sovereign figure. By tradition, even his absolute delegate (vekil-i mutlak), the grand vizier, whose decision-making powers were otherwise almost unrestricted, was only ever entitled to the use of five horse tails on his battle standard. The ceremonies marking the sultan’s departure from the capital also involved the planting of the imperial standard in a place indicating the intended route of march and the military objective conceived by the ruler. Another function carried out by this group was presenting the banners and other insignia of office to county (sancak) and to provincial (eyalet) governor–commanders when these offices changed hands.

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Category VI: The Keepers of the Sultan’s Birds of Prey (şahinciyan, çakırciyan, atmacaciyan/peregrine falcons, goshawks and sparrow-hawks) As a metaphor for sultanic military prowess, the image of birds of prey served as a standard symbol in heraldry, and the conduct of the Royal Hunt itself was both a representation of royal generosity (the sharing of the catch) and an indication of his acquisition of martial skills, since the pursuit of the quarry and its capture had obvious military connotations. Birds of prey were also used as a standard currency for betokening of vassal or subservient status. For example, the Moldavian principality signalled its subservience to the sultan by the formal presentation at court of a specified number and quality of horses and falcons. The latter was given the formal name: ‘the customary gift of the falcons’ (adet-i şahin). The care, training and display on appropriate occasions of these tokens and symbols of royal might was preserved as an integral part of court ceremonial until the later part of the seventeenth century, though its importance then seems to have dwindled.80

The figures offered in tables 6.4–6.8, showing the growth of the palace bureaucracy in these six categories between 1520 and 1670, represent general trends only. To gain a more nuanced view of the relative importance attached to each of these spheres of sultanic responsibility and heraldry requires a more comprehensive examination of the ruling persona of each of the three dozen Ottoman monarchs in turn. What emerges from an overview of general trends, however, is that (despite certain changes in emphasis and despite the general growth of personnel as the empire expanded) the broad shape and structure of Ottoman government remained remarkably stable over time. Major departures from the general structure outlined here occurred only after the disbanding of the Janissary corps in 1826, which inaugurated a period of general reform of the palace administration during the second part of Mahmud II’s reign, between 1827 and the late 1830s. The decline in numbers of those attached to the service of the royal household between 1609 and 1670, shown in Tables 6.7 and 6.8, may be attributed in part to the transfer of some functions from Istanbul to Edirne during Mehmed IV’s extended absences. On the other hand, available data for the nineteenth century shows a dramatic reduction of the palace personnel reflecting the accelerated transfer of some bureaucratic functions formerly carried out within the palace confines by officers of the divan (imperial council) to the grand vizier’s direct jurisdiction, on separate premises called the paşa kapısı.94 The reduced presence of ‘palace personnel’ as a sub-group in Istanbul’s overall population is already noticeable by the 1850s. According to census figures for 1857, palace servants made up only 3,005 out of the overall male population of the capital and of the outlying islands, which amounted to 238,234.95

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Table 6.4 First stage in the growth of the imperial household, c.152081 Subcategories

Total in the general category

Group I (Imperial Stables) Group II (Gatekeepers)

2,080 bevabbin teberdaran

244 20 264

Group III (Cooks)

tabbahin

Group IV (Artisans/Tailors)

hayatin-i hassa hayatin-i hilat

Group V (Keepers of the Royal Appurtenances for Travel)

mehteran-i hayme mehteran-i alem

230 108 134 242

şahinciyan çakırciyan atmacaciyan

242

165 165 330

Group VI (Keepers of the Sultan’s Hunting Birds)

264

330

145 53 21 219

GRAND TOTAL

219 3,365

Table 6.5 Second stage in the growth of the imperial household, c.152882 Subcategories

Total in the general category

Group I (Imperial Stables)

2,830

Group II (Gatekeepers)

bevabbin

319

Group III (Cooks)

tabbahin

277

Group IV (Artisans/Tailors)

hayatin-i hassa and hayatin-i hilat

301

Group V (Keepers of the Royal Appurtenances for Travel)

mehteran-i hayme mehteran-i alem

277 185

462

462

continued

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Subcategories Group VI (Keepers of the Sultan’s Hunting Birds)

Total in the general category şahinciyan çakırciyan atmacaciyan

177 61 21 259

GRAND TOTAL

259 4,448

Table 6.6 Third stage in the growth of the imperial household, c.156883 Subcategories

Total in the general category

Group I (Imperial Stables)

4,341

Group II (Gatekeepers)

bevabbin and teberdaran

467

Group III (Cooks–Pantry Staff)

matbah-i amire

629

Group IV (Artisans/Tailors)

hayatin-i hassa and hayatin-i hilat

369

Group V (Keepers of the Royal Appurtenances for Travel)

mehteran-i hayme and mehteran-i alem

620

Group VI (Keepers of the Sultan’s Hunting Birds)

şahinciyan çakırciyan atmacaciyan

177

418 GRAND TOTAL

418 6,844

Table 6.7 Fourth stage in the growth of the imperial household, c.160984 Subcategories

Total in the general category

Group I (Imperial Stables) Group II (Gatekeepers) (outer gate) (other gates)

4,322 bevabbin-i babi hümayun bevabbin-i dergah-i ali

417

1,925 2,342

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Group III (Cooks–Pantry Staff)

matbah-i amire

Group IV (Artisans/Tailors)

ehl-i hiref (artisans) hayatin-i hassa and hayatin-i hilat

1,129 947 319

1,266 Group V (Keepers of the Royal Appurtenances for Travel)

mehteran-i hayme mehteran-i alem

835 228 1,063

Group VI (Keepers of the Sultan’s Hunting Birds)

şahinciyan çakırciyan atmacaciyan

1,266

1,063

276 271 45 592

GRAND TOTAL

592 10,714

Table 6.8 Fifth stage in the growth of the imperial household, c.167085 Subcategories

Total in the general category 3,63386

Group I (Imperial Stable) Group II (Gatekeepers) (outer gate) (other gates)

bevabbin-i bab-i 137 hümayun bevabbin-i dergahi ali 1,719 1,856

Group III (Cooks-Pantry Staff)

matbah-i amire

Group IV (Artisans/Tailors)

ehl-i hiref (artisans) hayatin-i hassa and hayatin-i hilat

1,85687 1,37288

73789

21290 949

949

continued

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Subcategories Group V (Keepers of the Royal Appurtenances for Travel)

Total in the general category mehteran-i hayme mehteran-i alem

1,078 102 1,180

Group VI (Keepers of the Sultan’s Hunting Birds)

bazdaran (şakird) şahinciyan (şakird)

1,18091

16 16 3292

GRAND TOTAL

32 9,02293

The scale of the palace household and the number of servants connected with the High Gate (Dergah-i Ali), which included, before its dissolution in 1826, the members of the standing infantry army numbering in the tens of thousands, revealed its importance not as a sultanic retreat and private enclave but as a dominant feature of the human demography as well as of the physical topography of the capital city.

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7

Celebrating the Coming of Age of an Ottoman Prince: Exclusivity versus Inclusiveness in Ottoman Court Ceremonial As discussed in chapters 4 and 5, accessions were ambiguous events in which mourning of the previous sovereign’s passing was combined with preliminary acts and gestures of the new ruler designed to win the confidence of the subjects he had inherited from his predecessor. However, given the gravity of the situation and the need to achieve a smooth and rapid transfer of power to the new ruler, these occasions were confined on the ceremonial side largely to practical issues such as the distribution of accession donatives, by which the sultan insured the transfer of personal loyalty of the armed forces and key administrative officials. Also, due to the inability to predict in advance the demise or need for replacement of the sovereign and the uncertainty of Ottoman commitments to engagements in the international arena at that particular juncture, there was rarely either opportunity to plan or the leisure to focus on events whose purpose was purely celebratory and which were staged largely for the benefit of the general public. Ottoman court ceremonial reserved these unambiguously celebratory public events for periods in which other commitments and preoccupations could, for a time, be put aside and mass participation could, not just be sanctioned and approved, but become a civic duty incumbent on all members of the body politic. In particular, it was the urban masses who experienced the festivals most directly, by their sharing of the physical space in which the events were organized and materially displayed. To focus on the court festivals on the occasion of the princes’ circumcision ritual (khitan) is appropriate for two reasons: first, since it was obligatory for all Muslims to perform the same rituals (on a much scaled-down basis) by religious tradition, this was a ceremony which all (or at least the Muslim majority) could relate to and share on a personal and direct experiential basis; secondly, since the time of the celebration was not fixed and the ritual could, canonically speaking, take place at any time between the seventh day after birth and the fifteenth year of life,1 circumcision constituted the one festival whose timing could be fixed and planned so as to accord both with the convenience of the court and with the ability of the masses to participate fully, unencumbered by other distractions. Even more than accessions, Ottoman court festivals organized to celebrate the life, longevity and, more particularly, the coming of age of Ottoman princes offered the most suitable occasions for the enactment of elaborate court rituals whose form is described in a variety of detailed

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accounts, ranging in time between the mid-fifteenth and the early eighteenth centuries. The celebration of the life of the princes is common to all Ottoman dynastic eras, regardless of the role the celebrants actually played in the battle for succession and regardless of the degree of their active participation in imperial governance during their minorities. Even when the system of provincial governorates was still in force before the seventeenth century, princes were often summoned to the capital (after 1360 Edirne, or later Istanbul), so that the ceremonies and associated memories could be shared by an audience of observers and participants that included as many of the young prince’s future subjects as possible. It was on just such shared memories and experiences that the future sovereigns’ bids for their subjects’ loyalty and obedience were in part based. Winning the succession battle was in part a question of power politics and of the survival of the fittest in a military contest, but equally it relied on winning the hearts and minds of ordinary subjects through providing a forum for their sharing in the patronage, generosity and general spirit of enjoyment, feasting and frolicking; and this is what the occasion of the circumcision festivals, marking the end of childhood and the beginning of adult responsibilities for the prince and future ruler, provided. The general public was offered visual and otherwise tangible reminders of the existence of the sovereign as a beneficial presence in their midst by the regular repetition of certain obligatory acts such as charitable food distributions and the weekly appearance of the sovereign during the procession to the Friday prayer services. But the material reminders of the sovereign and his appeals to popular loyalty and support actually began in increments and installments well in advance of the sultan’s claim to absolute sovereignty upon his accession. At fixed occasions such as the birth, the commencement of education for the acquisition of basic literacy skills at the age of about six, and the reaching of maturity and adulthood of princes in the direct line of succession, around the age of puberty, the public was encouraged to participate in public commemoration of events that were in essence private, family celebrations. These public celebrations assumed various forms of elaborateness, duration and expense and, while the celebration of the biological and genealogical continuance of the dynasty was a generalized practice common to other systems of sovereignty and by no means unique to Ottoman court ceremonial, in terms of their variety, inclusiveness, duration and expense the events organized by the Ottomans were exceptional enough to excite comment and even wonderment on the part of the many contemporary western observers who left quite detailed accounts of the Ottoman circumcision festivals of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The level of attention lavished by the Ottomans on staging these events is a clear indication of the importance which they themselves attached to these

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celebrations of the life, power and potential of the sovereign figure, both the present ruler, who acted as host, and the future king – or sometimes kings – in whose honour the celebrations were planned and executed. The extended and multifaceted pageants organized on behalf of the young, still immature and not yet sovereign princes paradoxically provided a unique opportunity for the material display of the power, might and richness inherent both in the dynasty and in the lands and empire over which it reigned. The court hosted and paid for the celebrations held for the princes, but in character and content the former had more in common with folk practice and custom than with elite cultural practice associated with other kinds of palace patronage. In a sense, in its attempts to maximize participation or even provide all-inclusive scope for public enjoyment, the court was in effect mimicking popular practice in the rural communities of the empire, in which both weddings and circumcision feasts were celebrated not just as restricted family events but as communal occasions intended to include the whole village population and to encompass guests from adjacent villages. The court celebrations that both mimicked popular custom and included the general public were also intended to demonstrate, in unambiguous terms clearly intelligible to all, the sultan’s power and limitless capacity to provide food and entertainment to a mass audience – whose tastes, preferences, habits and imaginations were all catered for by a varied programme of feasts, theatrical shows, processions, displays and athletic contests that left no category of subject excluded or neglected. The relaxed pace and format of the celebrations also provided a unique opportunity for the monarchy to display its human face and to share in public merriment on a basis of some equality. Entertainments such as juggling, comic entertainment, acts of daring and feats of physical endurance or athletic ability, as well as the night illuminations and fireworks, were of a kind that could have universal appeal, and were not restricted to the enjoyment and appreciation of the initiated few, who had literacy skills and literary pretensions. During the entire course of the minimum two-week celebrations – occasionally stretched to six weeks or longer, to approach the legendary figure of 40 days and 40 nights of public rejoicing on exceptional occasions – there was a general relaxing of the usual restrictions on public behaviour and a toleration for drinking, carousing and other forms of social intercourse that were frowned upon or actively prohibited during ‘normal’ times. The interaction between, and the mutual enjoyment shared by, members of the major-faith communities of the Muslims, Christians and Jews were maximized during these secular festivals, called shenlik (‘rejoicings’), in a way that was never possible on the other occasions for communal celebration, which by definition were bound to the specific religious calendars of each particular faith. In general terms, we know that the Muslim ulema took a rather disapproving stance regarding such celebrations, but

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others viewed them as a necessary and salutary form of release from the everyday strain of unrelenting devotion to work and duty. The elaborate celebrations for the circumcision feast of the sultan’s male offspring provided such respite only once, or at most twice, during a reign, but the communal celebrations and city illuminations (donanma) commonly ordered on the occasion of notable military victories could and did recur more frequently. Such universal celebrations served to break down the barriers not just between communities of the faithful but also between the refined and the unrefined social classes (the havas and the avam) who, especially during the less formally structured evening entertainments, mingled more or less indiscriminately on the streets of Istanbul and took part in what the disapproving would have described as orgiastic or bacchanalian delights offered to onlookers and spectators from all walks of life. Whether one approved or disapproved, there can be no doubt that, during their brief duration, the festivals served as platforms and stages for both social leveling and social inclusion. On the division of opinion about the desirability of permitting such licensed debauchery to take place in the streets of Istanbul in April 1567, shortly after Selim II’s accession to the throne, which was planned to mark the success of the late and much lamented Sultan Süleyman’s battle at Sigetvar in September of the previous year, the historian Selaniki offers us some useful insights. Whether one approved or disapproved of the practice, there is no question that, on the occasions officially designated as shenlik or donanma, the whole city entered into a spirit of enjoyment, relaxation and release. At the same time, their (mis) behaviour on the street was treated with leniency by the city authorities, who turned a blind eye to what would normally cause consternation and trigger swift retribution. In Selaniki’s own words the party atmosphere prevailing in the city at such times was such that: … the aged and decrepit, drawn in by the appeal of the noise and clamour of general rejoicings, managed to forget their ailments and acquired new life as if they had been transported back to their adolescence. Whereas these unfortunate ones had repented of the folly of their youth now, responding to the call to general merriment, they added their voices to those greeting the dawning of the new imperial age of Sultan Selim with the drunken shouts of such as had lowered themselves to the wicked and dissolute behaviour of the frequenters of taverns and brothels.2

The proposition that public celebrations were invariably an open invitation to the lowering of general standards of morality may be questioned, but it is nonetheless certain that such events were socially inclusive by design, so inevitably they promoted some kinds of social interaction that went against the grain of generally accepted practice. Part of their general appeal and of what contributed to making them memorable events in the collective consciousness was this very

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promiscuousness of contact and universality of participation. We know from the earliest surviving accounts of the circumcision feasts organized by the court for princes – feasts called sur-i khitan – that the invitation to attend was deliberately distributed as widely as possible. On the occasion of the festivities organized by Mehmed II in Edirne in 1457 for his two sons, Bayezid (b. 1448) and Mustafa (b. 1450), people of all origins and from all walks of life were encouraged to attend by summoning agents called okuyucu, dispatched to all parts of the empire.3 The scale of preparations for such major court events as the sur-i khitan4 was such that all other activities, even urgent preparations for imminent military campaigning or, in the case of winter festivals, longer-term planning for them, were temporarily suspended and all efforts concentrated on tasks related to the celebrations. In the description left by Ashikpashazade of the 1457 sur, the historian identified three principal groups whose participation formed a key part of the ceremonies and whose attendance in order to present homage and good wishes both to the sovereign as host and to his son and future heir was regarded as indispensable. Not only were these groups required to pay their respects but, by receiving reciprocal gestures of notice and acknowledgement by the sultan, they gained honour and validation themselves. The three main constituent groups of participants are identified in deliberately rhyming prose as the ulema, the fukera and the ümera. From the historian’s description it becomes apparent that a main underlying purpose of the general gathering of a cross-section of society, as it was actually composed, was not just for the sultan to receive homage but so that he could return the compliment and apportion favour to each group in accordance with their merits and levels of loyalty and deference. The ceremonies were conducted in a stage-wise fashion, being spread over several days, with separate receptions for separate categories of subjects and servants so as to draw deliberate attention to the fact that the relationship between the sultan and those who honoured him was definitely a dynamic one, based on reciprocal exchange of compliments, respect and honour. The first group to be acknowledged in the sur of 1457 were the men of letters or ulema, the second the fukera, composed of the indigent and the deserving poor, who were entertained and fed on the same basis as office holders, luminaries and other dignitaries of the court, in keeping with the central Asian traditions stressing the ruler’s obligation to keep an open table and care for the needy.5 The perseverance of these traditions can be strongly detected in the programme for the 1720 sur, illustrated in the surname of Levni.6 After these gatherings, on a third day, the sultan summoned his provincial governors and military commanders, that is, the ümera, to pay their respects, present token gifts of ‘tribute’ to the sultan and take part in contests, demonstrations of strength and shows of their horsemanship for the entertainment and diversion of the throngs

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of spectators who had gathered from all parts of the empire to attend the sur.7 In content, form and spirit the surs, especially those held in the proto-imperial era, closely resembled the annual gathering of the clans in pastoral society, designed to reconfirm the bonds of loyalty to the chiefs of confederated tribes. In terms of the expectation of universal attendance, of the use of outdoor venues as opposed to palace enclosures and of the emphasis on feasts and athletic contests, the overlapping of nomadic influences and traditions on Ottoman court ceremonial is particularly clear. By giving the first place of honour in the proceedings to the ulema, the sultan signalled his respect for learning and his gratitude for the skills of the poets whose talents were mobilized on the occasion of the sur to compose eulogistic odes (kasayid-i medayid), to honour the princes and to sing the praises and offer post-banquet prayers for the long life and good fortune of the currently reigning sultan.8 While the men of learning poured out their praise in the form of panegyrics and poems, the provincial governors made their contributions to the spectacle of giving by outpourings of cash (saçu) which made an auditory as well as a visual splash; or they submitted their contributions in kind, as pishkesh, which took the form of visually striking rarities and other precious items representing and displaying the sultan’s political sway over a multitude of different climes and regions, each supplying a diversity of riches and rare natural products distinct to itself. While the poets competed for the sultan’s attention, acclamation and awarding of prizes on the literary side and the military classes participated in race meets to win coveted trophies (ödül) and other cash rewards, the competition among the highest ranking emirs revolved around their attempts to outdo one another in their selection and presentation of rare gifts (tuhfe) and precious goods and commodities native to their respective provinces (tansuk). Every day during the festival was devoted to some separate manifestation of the abundance and richness inherent in the sultan’s extensive patrimonial lands, by no means neglecting, however, either the richness, variety and talent represented by the indigenous workforce and by the artisans of capital cities such as Bursa, Edirne and Istanbul. The procession of the trade guilds made up not just a key aspect of planning and programming for the unfolding of the festivals, but in the end one of its most memorable, impressive and entertaining features, particularly in the eyes of the western observers, who left their own detailed accounts. The all-inclusiveness of these displays of local and domestic artisan skills, which made room even for such mundane trades as those of the bakers and the saddlers, provided an entertaining spectacle for the spectators and at the same time served as a metaphor and representation of the universality of the sultan’s patronage, sponsorship and, in a real sense, proprietorship of all the goods and services available to provide a comfortable and civilized life to Ottoman city dwellers – who constituted the

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main audience and potential critics of the spectacle being staged. Having the productive classes as well as the intellectual and administrative classes displayed in a never-ending stream of homage, tribute and token presentation of samples of their craft before a mass audience of Ottoman consumers who themselves shared in the benefits of these artisans’ handiwork provided an element of realism and experiential reality to what would otherwise have remained a vicariously enjoyed, but otherwise rather theoretical, display of riches and rarities reserved exclusively for the sultan’s use. Far from bringing down the general tone of the festival, these displays of commercial goods provided a real opportunity for mass participation on a level that carried meaning for the everyday lives of the majority of the audience – subjects and admirers of the sultan’s and his princely sons’ majesty. From rarities to everyday realities, the festivals incorporated elements of both selective and mass appeal and were designed and intended to represent and visually display the sultan’s dominion as a microcosm and its manifold potential, both natural and man-made. Likewise, participation was intended to be universal, accommodating all social classes, the great and the small, and appealing to all tastes. Failure to attend an event whose purpose was to provide a framework for general celebration represented a kind of deliberate disloyalty and disrespect for the sultan, and the invitations to attend were distributed not just throughout the Ottoman territories but to representatives of foreign countries whose friendship and good intentions towards the Ottomans were measured by the scale of their representation and by the lavishness of the tributary gifts they brought with them. One of the prototypal events on which Ottoman surs in the later imperial era seem to have been modelled was the festival of 1457, which according to one source lasted a week.9 Although this was collapsed into a shorter time span than later events, in which a two-week programme became the standard, every effort was made to ensure that the gatherings were not just enjoyable but memorable. The parallel to the Universal Exposition or World’s Fair in the modern era is inescapable. Night entertainments including fireworks displays were designed to be observable from a distance, so that even residents in neighbourhoods remote from the central fair grounds, typically the open area around the Hippodrome (At Meydanı) near the New Palace, could appreciate the spectacle without being direct participants in other aspects of the sur. The attempt to reach a maximum audience and to radiate the sultan’s power and presence among as many as possible of the common people (il gün/halk) is most clearly perceptible in the night entertainments. The prince who would ultimately reign at some, perhaps distant, future time was provided by the all-inclusive design and structure of the sur with an embryonic seed of future recognition and loyalty in the memory of those who either witnessed or otherwise participated in the ceremonies of the sur, often held decades before his accession to independent rule in his own name.

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Because the ceremonies associated with accession itself tended to be brief and matter-of-fact, the opportunity for more prolonged and comprehensive celebrations, in the pre-accession ceremonies connected with the sur, served as a durable and vivid reminder of the benefactions and benefits associated with sultanic rule that were not easily eradicated or forgotten. Even on the more limited scale of the celebrations held in Edirne in 1457, it appears that the festivities fulfilled their fundamental purpose of lifting the people’s spirits and of creating positive associations and shared memories, linked with the future sovereign Bayezid, so that when he eventually succeeded to the throne in 1481, almost a quartercentury later, the people still cherished their positive feelings towards him first instilled in their hearts on the occasion of his circumcision feast. Ibn Kemal expressed his understanding of this feel-good factor evoked among the masses at such festivals in the following terms: … the common people had a proper good time at that festival and from watching the many and various spectacles put on for their enjoyment the crowds of spectators assembled from far-flung towns and villages feasted their eyes and fed both body and soul to the point of surfeit.10

Whatever their contribution to the political stability of the dynasty, as a time deliberately set aside for release from everyday cares and anxieties, conscious indulging in excess and the general lifting of normal restrictions and taboos associated with the workaday world, the sur festivals achieved a purpose of lasting value. The coverage of the wide-ranging subject of the organization and purpose of the Ottomans surs provided in this chapter will draw its evidence from five of the most celebrated pageants staged by sovereigns on behalf of their minor sons starting with the reign of Süleyman I (1520–66) and ending with the reign of Ahmed III (1703–30). The best documented of these include the following: (1) the sur of 1530 organized for Süleyman’s three sons Mustafa (b. 1515), Mehmed (b. 1521) and Selim (b.1524), lasting 30 days; (2) the sur of 1539 organized for Süleyman’s two sons Bayezid (b.1525) and Cihangir (b. 1531), lasting 13 days; (3) the sur of 1582 organized for Murad III’s son Mehmed (b. 1566), lasting 52 days: (4) the sur of 1675 organized by Mehmed IV for his two sons, Mustafa (b.1664) and Ahmed (b. 1673), lasting 15 days, with an additional 18 days commencing ten days later to celebrate the wedding of Mehmed IV’s sister Hadice Sultan and the court favourite Musahib Mustafa Pasha, which amounted to a total of 33 days of near continuous revelry spread over six weeks; (5) the sur of 1720 organized by Ahmed III for his four sons, Süleyman (b.1710), Mehmed (b. 1717), Mustafa (b. 1717) and Bayezid (b. 1718), lasting 15 days. Much of the programme content of the typical sur pageant served as a readily understood forum for staging public demonstrations of two complementary

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aspects of the sultan’s greatness, namely his political and his economic might. The present account, rather than attempting a comprehensive coverage of the the musical, theatrical, sporting and other entertainment features of the typical sur,11 will focus instead on these two aspects of sultanic might, as represented in the carefully choreographed processions of officials and artisans whose passing before the sultan for inspection and review occupied the bulk of the daytime hours throughout the course of the multi-week festivities.

The Festivals as a Forum for Demonstrating the Sultan’s Political Might The surs were deliberately drawn out and extended affairs, designed to allow programmatic participation by the divergent political constituencies that made up the empire; these were summoned to make their contributions on the particular days set aside for their inclusion in the festivities. The classing and categorization of the participants was organized carefully in accordance with existing political arrangements and hierarchies. Although a more relaxed carnival atmosphere prevailed in the late afternoon and evening, which were devoted more overtly to revels, street entertainments and illuminations in the sky lasting until dawn, the morning and early afternoon were devoted to highly structured and carefully organized processions of dignitaries, both domestic and foreign, and to a sultanic review of nobles and luminaries of all description. The processing of the luminaries, especially the sultan’s own political agents and provincial governors – each being placed at the sultan’s express bidding, in the order of precedence and carefully calculated sequence determined by him – demonstrated their individual and collective homage and respect and at the same time their unqualified submission to the sultan’s sovereign will. On these occasions, the performance of the gesture of kissing the emperor’s hand as a token act of obedience was not a compulsory act but a particular favour, reserved for those who had gained the sultan’s unreserved trust and confidence. However, partaking in some form of ritual obedience was a universal requirement whose performance, over a deliberately elongated time scale lasting several days, served to accentuate and enhance the intended message conveying the universality of his dominion and the absoluteness of his power and authority. Those who were required to parade before his gaze in a seemingly unending stream of supplicants offering their submission to the royal will were by design the highest ranking members of the political elite, possessing considerable power and influence over the conduct of public affairs in their own right. By their attendance and by virtue of their passing by the foot of the sultanic throne, the high and mighty visually displayed their subservience, submission and obedience to the greater power of the ruling figure in full sight of the assembled crowds, composed not just of other dignitaries but of members of the public at large. The processions

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of the great were thus not so much spectator events as participatory occasions in which the spectators composed of an unusually indiscriminate mix of dignitaries of various ranks and capacities, joined together to observe one another and to take notice of the sultan’s reception and acknowledgement of each participant’s offer of obedience. The sultan’s function in the proceedings was not just as passive recipient of gifts and tokens of homage and honour, but also as active reciprocal donor and provider of lavish feasts and luxurious robes of honour (hilat) in acknowledgement of loyal service.12 At the same time, he acted as generous host and entertainer to the assembled throngs of casual spectators from among the common folk of the city. For the presenting of compliments and renewal of bonds of obedience by the sultan’s servitors, there existed other opportunities – on fixed occasions, timed to coincide with the annual celebration of the two religious festivals of the lesser and greater feasts (‘Id) or with the commencement of a new reign – but all of these ceremonies represented much scaled down, one-day versions of the celebration of sultanic might and majesty. On these cyclically repeating occasions, attendance was necessarily sporadic and partial when compared to the attendance of the sultan’s officials at the multi-week surs, where participation was not just strongly encouraged but virtually obligatory and universal. As for the annual bayramlaşma ceremonies, which were devoted to a mutual exchange of greetings between the sultan and his commanders and administrative aides, these occasions lost much of their force and significance in the post-sixteenth century era, when the sultan’s leading of military campaigns and the likelihood of his presence with the rest of the court at fixed points in the religious calendar became an increasingly irregular and unpredictable prospect. In the later imperial era, after the mid-sixteenth century, the sur celebrations very often served as the only occasion in a whole reign when the entirety of the population – soldiers, civilians, officers of state and common townspeople – was brought together in a relaxed and permissive atmosphere and the sultan actively encouraged all of them to lay down their work tools, abandon their ploughshares and take part in the revelries designed for the sole and explicit purpose of celebrating the dynasty and its longevity. It was the one event which transcended religious and other divisions in society and was organized as a truly communal event. There is a distinction to be made between Ottoman dynastic practice in the performance of court ceremonial and some Middle Eastern predecessor regimes who, instead of prioritizing celebrations that were inherently universal and genuinely inclusivist, elected to promote religious holidays with particular significance for a narrow sectarian audience.13 Fatamid practice thus effectively encouraged the turning of ceremonial into polemic and even inspired the development and spread of counter-celebrations, by opposing sectarian groups who operated both within and outside Fatamid jurisdictional control.14 By contrast, to avoid

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such dilution of participation and exclusion based on separation and distinction between communities of various faiths and sectarian beliefs, the Ottomans chose to promote celebrations and forms of court ceremonial that were as universal in scope and participation as was practically achievable. In the Ottoman tradition, victory celebrations and the announcement of the birth of male offspring to the reigning sultan were marked with mini-festivals that lasted at most seven days and, although there were night revels and illuminations ordered to spread the good news as widely as possible, there was no expectation of daytime release from normal work responsibilities and there were no daytime distractions such as the parades, processions, public feasts and other forms of all-inclusive communal participation that were envisaged for the sur celebrations. What distinguished the sur celebrations from other festivals was their scale in terms of duration, numbers attending and the elaborateness and expense of the preparations and materials consumed. The question of attendance and participation was crucial, since the main purpose of the events was to contribute to the formation of collective memories and positive associations with the life of the prince and prospective ruler. The participation of outsiders, including foreign emissaries and Ottoman allies, and even rivals summoned to witness the lavishness and cost of the preparations designed to honour the heir to the throne, also formed part of the same creation of associative memories which magnified the glory and greatness not just of the currently reigning sovereign but of his prospective heir and successor. As a showcase for the present and future resource and human potential of the empire, the demonstrations of wealth and abundance associated with these festivals was effective enough, but the thought that such extravagance, and even waste, were available to be lavished upon a transitory event such as a two-week festival made an even greater impression upon the awe-struck spectators. Purely on the principle that time is money, let alone the actual cost in materials, the sur extravaganzas were a colossal waste. On the question of the deployment of men and their diversion from normal duties, it is noteworthy that, in the case of the 1539 sur celebrations organized for prince Bayezid’s circumcision feast in the winter of 1539,15 the decision to demobilize troops massed on the northern front – which faced the real prospect of an imminent renewal of war in the Danubian area following the Ottoman successes in Moldavia (1538) and Dalmatia (the recovery of the fortress of Castelnuovo in August 1539) – was, it seems, at least in part prompted by the desire to maximize attendance at the sur and to provide supplementary manpower for its preparation.16 The ability and willingness to mobilize both men and resources from all over the empire purely for the purpose of ‘entertainment’, even if it was in the off-season between campaigns, showed a relaxed and confident attitude on the part of the Ottoman leadership that could not fail to impress the empire’s rivals and dynastic competitors in the international sphere. Was it a case of ‘fiddling

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while Rome burns’, or was it yet another demonstration of the magnitude of Ottoman power, that the emperor could afford himself the leisure to pursue the hunt and to engage in domestic preoccupations of a seemingly dispensable sort, while leaving the defence of his empire to underlings and subordinates? Was not the luxury of following such ‘trivial pursuits’ during a time of seeming crisis the ultimate demonstration of his greatness? It is clear that the surs played an important role in boosting domestic morale while at the same time enhancing the Ottomans’ international reputation; and they were usually timed in such a way as to achieve maximum effect on audiences belonging to both spheres. The importance of maximizing domestic attendance, especially among timar holders and provincial governors, lay in the fact that they were both participants and audience, bringing their offerings of gifts and tribute (takadime) to honour the young prince while they observed the parading and gift presentations by their peers and superiors, in the hierarchical ordering and sequence laid down by the sultan. Also, such attendance formed the beginning of a personal relationship being forged between the prince (as future commander) and the same troops that might well later serve him directly in his various capacities, during assignment to a princely governorate or in other temporary capacities throughout his minority. In the event, at a later stage in his reign, Sultan Süleyman assigned Prince Bayezid, who was being celebrated in Istanbul in 1539, to guard duty in Edirne, with overall responsibility for defending the European provinces during Süleyman’s mobilization against Iran in the summer of 1553.17 Another aspect of the sur celebrations that merits some comment is the seeming contradiction between mass participation and the assembling of large crowds of spectators on the one hand, and the crowd management and crowd control measures that secured order and imposed structure on the other. The sultan’s ability to preside over what in many respects (especially considering the loosely structured evening programme) was a free-for-all open to all comers was itself a deliberate paradox, over which those in attendance had to ponder. As event organizers and hosts, the sultan and the grand vizier, who acted as a kind of grand marshal and master of ceremonies rolled into one, managed to preserve order and decorum in the processions and feasts organized for the ulema and ümera, each taking part in the assigned order of hierarchical precedence and on the individual days set aside for their attendance and entertainment, but also successfully prescribing the terms under which the general mob of city dwellers and urban underclass (fukera) took part in the events. To the untrained eye, there appeared to be an erratic and uncontrolled alternation between daytime order and night-time chaos which allowed participants at random intervals to disregard and overturn the normal rules for polite public behaviour with impunity. But this seeming carnival atmosphere gives a misleading impression of the actual forceful influence of the sultan’s commanding presence. It was only at

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his signal and with his permission that the interludes of riotous behaviour both commenced and ceased. The variation between controlled and uncontrolled phases in the festival and the resumption, at the break of each new day, of a new order of the day demonstrated unmistakably to the astute and acute observer that ultimately it was the sultan who controlled events, allowing disorderly activities (clowns, jugglers, buffoons, singers and dancers) to intervene at regular intervals as a necessary relief in the programme of orderly parades of tribute-bearers and admirers, but periodically and repeatedly re-establishing his authority and restoring order as and when he deemed it necessary. The contrast and regular alteration between orderliness and disorderliness only enhanced the impression that it was the presiding figure of the sultan who manipulated and controlled events, to suit his own designs and purposes. Among the astute observers who saw behind the appearances and penetrated into the purposes which justified the effort and expense associated with the staging of a sur, we are particularly indebted to the diarist the Reverend Dr John Covel who accompanied the English Ambassador Sir John Finch as embassy chaplain during his mission to the Ottoman court in the 1670s and who attended the sur of 1675, staged in Edirne. Covel noticed that the ceremonial robes called hilat, which were distributed to those Englishmen attending the ceremonies in an official capacity and presenting token gifts from their master, the English monarch Charles II, were not of a random design and shape, but calculated precisely to represent particular rankings and sentiments and to accord with the sultan’s specifically intended messages of favour, subordination and future expectations of cooperation. At the conclusion of Ambassador Finch’s audience with the grand vizier on 30 May, held during the course of the sur celebrations,18 in acknowledgement of the gifts presented by the English delegation, the grand vizier distributed ‘silken vests’, that is, hilats, to the company present, in descending order of magnificence. The one presented to Finch himself as head of the delegation was valued at between 25 and 30 ‘dollars’ (Ottoman gurush or piaster), while three of his top aides received hilats valued at eight piasters each, and a further twelve were handed out to other members of the delegation, including Covel himself, these being valued at six and a half piasters each.19 Covel notes that in these transactions the exclusion of merchants and officials representing the Levant Company from this exchange of favours was a cause of jealousy and concern, being rightly interpreted as a slight and a clear signal that the grand vizier was, at least for the present, denying them his good graces and withholding his favour and support. Ultimately, of course, this also signalled the sultan’s dissatisfaction. Accepting a status marker from the sultan’s hand or from his deputy, the grand vizier, in the form of a ceremonial robe meant acceptance of intended place and rank and acknowledgement of a position of subordination and dependence

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on the part of the receiver towards the giver of the favour. But this position of subservience was generally gladly accepted by foreigners as part of the price of doing business in the Ottoman realm, and to be excluded from the process by which the two parties engaged in mutual recognition was interpreted not as a welcome escape but as an unfortunate ostracism. In his study of late imperial Ottoman court ceremonial, Karateke cites the exceptional sensitivity to the issue of a presumed threat to French national dignity felt by a representative of the French Directory in the year 1796 who believed that accepting from the sultan’s hand tokens such as the hilats, designed to represent the vassalization of the recipient, though common practice at the time, might represent an unacceptable infringement of French sovereignty.20 But for the main part it was the opposite anxiety, the concern raised by the prospect of being excluded from the sultan’s notice and attention, that most exercised the foreign diplomatic and commercial communities’ minds. This is clearly reflected in the expressions of regret of the prominent merchants, Mr Cook and Mr Salter, over having remaining outside the circle of favour defined by the 16 recipients of hilats recorded in Dr Covel’s account of the sur of 1675. The presenting of gifts called pishkesh by the sultan’s own governors (ümera) represented a key feature of the visual narrative of the sur, and one which also carried an overt political meaning and message. The attendance, delivery of gifts and performance of the gesture of the hand kiss by the sultan’s currently serving governors occupied a dominant part of the daily schedule regulating the formal ceremonies of the sur. Those with whose past service and present submission of homage and gifts the sultan was satisfied received confirmation in office and donned their hilats, but such attendance also always provided the ruler with the opportunity to express his dissatisfaction by withholding recognition to those officials who had lost his favour. On-the-spot dismissals and demotions did not make up a prominent feature of the sur proper, which was supposed to be an occasion for general rejoicing, but sometimes the dismissals were only just barely deferred until the completion of the festival which thus made the connection with the office holder’s most recent personal encounter with the sultan or patron inescapably obvious. The documentation concerning the registration of the pishkesh gifts of the governors on the occasion of the 1675 sur is particularly thorough and complete in Hüseyn Hezarfen’s account, which enables one to draw some inferences about the real meaning associated with the performance of the rituals of subordination carried out on the occasion of the sur in full view of the assembled dignitaries of the court. The visual enactment of the submission of the governors began with their filing in procession, for review, before the observation point consisting of the Royal Tent or Marquee (otağ-i hümayun), a process which began on the first day with some of the highest ranking figures such as the pasha of Egypt and

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proceeded on subsequent days in descending order of rank, to governors from lesser provinces.21 Thus, by the time the sur ended, some officials had been kept waiting more than a week before presenting their compliments to the sultan. In the case of the 1675 sur, the review of the governors stretched over a deliberately paced and orderly progression, from day one (26 May) to day 11 (5 June). The 12th day was set aside for the Cavalcade of the Prince, who, as guest of honour, was the last one to attend and brought up the rear of the parade, presenting himself last to the Royal Marquee, where the actual circumcision was to be performed. On days 13 and 14 of the sur, the sultan received the compliments of lesser ranking administrative officials, such as the kadis and also out-of-office governors who were awaiting reinstatement and re-appointment. On the 15th and final day, the sultan hosted a general feast for all the inhabitants of the city. In the case of the 1675 sur, the guests were the inhabitants of Edirne. Within this deliberate and carefully calculated alternation between great and small or officers in post and former officers currently out of post, culminating in a grand finale in which the whole city was entertained, the sultan conveyed the clear message that he was the patron and friend of all and that no one was excluded from the scope of his benefactions and patrimonial care. The processing and parading of the governors and their presentation of the pishkesh, often deliberately denominated in nines and multiples of nine to accord with ancient Turkic customary practice,22 provided not only a spectacle for onlookers but also a demonstration that faithfulness to tradition and sensitivity to the proper performance of these rituals of respect and subservience carried a profound significance for the Ottomans. These were not perfunctory acts to be dispensed with as quickly as possible, but performances imbued with deeper significance on both sides of the power equation, and failure to perform them ‘properly’ was a fatal flaw in any person with aspirations to continuing court service. The quantity as well as the quality and kind of the gifts presented as pishkesh mattered deeply, especially when the occasion was the circumcision feast of the prince – which should have nothing but the most auspicious associations. The sultan’s position of responsibility for the good order of state and society was reflected in his ability to maintain symmetry in court ceremonial; and the belief in the auspiciousness and orderliness of combinations of nine was as ancient as the concept of statehood and empire itself among the Turks. The ‘royal’ cities of ancient China were typically organized on the basis of a city grid consisting of nine avenues lengthwise and nine crosswise; such ideas, based on naturalistic and cosmological models, were also current in the steppe land habitat of the Turks from eastern and central Asia.23 Covel noted the regularity and procedural predictability of the procedures for presenting gifts, commenting that this occurred daily around the time of the late afternoon prayer (ikindi), which in the summer months fell around 5 p.m., and

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that it was considered obligatory for ‘all great men throughout his whole empire’.24 Covel remarked further that those who failed to meet the sultan’s expectations at their first presentation of gifts were summoned to repeat the performance a second time, and if they still failed to give satisfaction on the second attempt they were relegated to the category of ‘the dismissed’ (mazul).25 Hüseyn Hezarfen’s account provides confirmation of how this worked in practice in the example of Canbuladzade Hüseyn Pasha, who at the time of the 1675 sur in early June had completed roughly two years of service as governor of Egypt. Hüseyn Pasha presented his first tranche of gifts on the third day of the festival (Tuesday, 28 May). It consisted of precious fabrics composed mostly of silks and velvets, silver vessels and miscellaneous articles of clothing for the sultan, mostly in multiples of nine, and for the princes Ahmed and Mustafa, in lesser multiples such as three, four and five.26 That these gifts failed to meet the sultan’s expectations can be inferred from the fact that three days later, on the sixth day of the festival, the pasha made a second appearance, this time bringing other gifts, more worthy of the sovereign’s stature and majesty, including nine horses; he also offered fine brocades to the princes, again in multiples of three.27 It seems apparent, however, that both individually and collectively these contributions and submissions, in the first instance to the sultan and grand vizier and afterwards to the sultan and Queen Mother, were still found wanting, since a short three months later, on 27 August, orders were issued for the pasha’s dismissal and replacement by the Head Treasurer and fellow vizier, Ahmed Pasha. Ahmed Pasha (Cebeci), who had served a 13-year continuous term in the challenging office of chief of finances, was certainly qualified for the appointment to Egypt.28 At the same time it is clear that Ahmed Pasha’s attentiveness during the course of the recent sur had a role to play in his promotion.29 Retaining of rank and position, and especially elevation in rank, was contingent on retaining the sultan’s personal favour, and failure to meet the sultan’s expectations of deference and humility in the delicate matter of presenting pishkesh on the most public of public occasions was a serious matter, since any act or gesture that gave rise to lèse majesté on such a solemn occasion was unquestionably a sackable offence. The obligation of the client/subordinate to acknowledge his debt to a master/ patron on high-profile and widely attended public occasions is openly expressed in the court historian Rashid’s account of the 1675 sur. By extension, representatives of the city guilds, who also presented gifts and samples of their handicraft to the sultan, fell into the same category of payers of homage and tribute to their sovereign and core members of the sultan’s patronage network. Rashid offers the following account of the near daily processions of the guilds at the 1675 sur: Every day after the late afternoon prayers the guildsmen each in their turn took up the positions in the usual and accustomed order to form processions to pass for inspection

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in front of the Royal Marquee and by offering and presenting their outpourings of presents [saçu] they held their heads high in pride [for having been singled out for the sultan’s notice and approval]. In particular on those days when they were honoured by invitations to attend banquets held at the Sublime Porte they, like the other slaves of the sultan with rings in their ears, brought as much of their worldly possessions and cash reserves as they could possibly muster, to present them as gifts suitable for the sultan, and begged him to accept them as a worthy tribute, saying – ‘the slave and whatever he possesses belong [wholly and rightfully] to his master’.30

As with other aspects of the sur, the procession of gift bearers of various descriptions was a reciprocal and interactive process that elicited either the approval or, as in the case of Canbuladzade’s dismissal, the disapproval of the sultan. The usual response was either the conferring of a hilat (ceremonial robe) or the granting of atiyye (cash award), the latter being the norm for the artisanal classes. The hediye (gift of the subordinate) and the atiyye (voluntary grant or bounty of the sultan in recognition of service and subservience by his subordinates) bore a direct relationship to one another, being designed to clarify and delineate the relationship of interdependence between the two sides involved in the gift exchange. An example from the 1675 sur reveals, among many other examples, the sultan’s reciprocating gesture of an atiyye of 3,000 akçes in response to the presentation, by the bakers of Edirne and baker apprentices of Bursa, of Bursa cloth and two baking trays for buns.31 The gifts on either side of the exchange were neither balanced nor intended as equivalents, but yet achieved the purpose of a mutual demonstration of respect. Since the presentation of gifts was often accompanied by performances and live demonstrations of the relevant craft (in this case taking the form of mobile windmills and bakers’ ovens on wheels), there was an opportunity to gauge audience reactions. Spectators sometimes responded more to the act and antics of presenting than to the nature of the objects presented, whose value was often more symbolic than real. But the elaborateness of the preparations for taking part in the processions of tribute bearers was duly noted, and it often elicited extravagant responses from the sultan. In addition to providing a forum for paying homage to the sultan in a way that both displayed and reinforced the existing political and commercial hierarchies of the empire, the simultaneous presence of the various classes of tribute bearers at a single court event offered the sultan opportunities to make public demonstrations both of his magnanimity and of his power over appointments and preferment by indulging in unexpected or semi-theatrical acts of generosity, tolerance and disproportionate reward that deliberately ignored existing hierarchies. Such on-the-spot rewards were part of the planned spectacle offered by the sur, being incorporated in events such as the open competition to mount to the top of a greased and soaped pole, to retrieve an object which entitled the

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winner to a reward wholly out of proportion with the achievement. Such visual demonstration of the sultan’s ability to raise up and cast down whomever he pleased and to reward pluck, resourcefulness and perseverance in an assigned task in accordance with his own evaluation of worth not only was entertaining but also drew attention to an important political message about the unrestricted quality and boundless possibilities inherent in sultanic patronage. Several accounts of Ottoman surs, including the narratives of the more extravagantly proportioned festivals such as the 30-day sur of 1530 and the 52-day sur of 1582, confirm the repetition of this seemingly popular event. On the occasion of the 1530 sur, the sultan rewarded a middle-ranking Janissary who managed to reach the top of the pole first and to retrieve a ceremonial vest with a sudden promotion to a much higher ranking position in one of the four Janissary regiments of the lefthanded guards (solaks) who accompanied the sultan as his personal bodyguards whenever he ventured outside the palace on excursions.32 To mark the exceptional character of celebrations connected with the surs and to provide yet another showcase for the sultan’s disproportionate generosity, the extravagant rewards offered to pages and entertainers included court buffoons, masqueraders, jesters, clowns and comics, and witnessing their antics in the scrambles to collect their share of sultanic largesse created another popular form of entertainment for the assembled crowds. Scattering of coins (saçma) to actors, and even to observers lining the streets during the Cavalcade of the Prince near the end of the festival, provided perhaps the most visibly impressive way of demonstrating not just the boundlessness of the sultan’s generosity but also the abundance of his means. To a society largely dominated by a modified form of barter economy in which surplus of cash represented an almost undreamt of luxury, the ability of the sultan to reward his entertainers and the suppliers of trivial and frivolous services such as singers and dancers so extravagantly and even wastefully was truly impressive.33 The granting of such disproportionate rewards, in real money, to the relatively humble made a striking contrast to the clothing of the dignitaries of the court in rich vestments, which was a symbolic representation of wealth rather than the physical object itself. Showers of coins to the humble made a far more visceral, profound and direct impact on the common viewer than observing the donning of rich vestments, finery and court raiment by their social betters. Apart from the demonstration of sultanic generosity, the surs offered theatrical opportunities for public demonstrations of the sultan’s other ruling attributes, such as his capacity for tolerance, forgiveness and acceptance of human frailty in office holders and other servitors. During the 1582 sur Sultan Murad availed himself of one such opportunity by restoring Mustafa Pasha ‘the Mad’ to his position as lieutenant governor of Bursa on 17 June, thus providing public proof of his own merciful and compassionate character by confirming the appointment of

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13. Illustration of sultanic largesse in the form of a scattering of coins (saçma).

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a loyal officer and relieving him of his discomfiture at being distanced from royal favour.34 Such public demonstrations of sultanic magnanimity in surprise acts of unscripted generosity, normally confined to an audience of attendees at the divan, gave the mass audiences of the sur something to ponder about as they watched the relentless train of tribute bearers humbly submitting themselves at the foot of the throne to honour the sultan. Such acts of clemency served as a reminder that, while the sultan was unsurpassable in his power and greatness, he exercised them with compassion and benevolence when confronted with sincere humility. In another demonstration of the sultanic compassion, at the end of the 1675 sur Mehmed IV repeated the act of general amnesty for prisoners and other detainees which was often performed at the beginning of a reign by ordering the immediate release of prisoners on the occasion of his sons’ circumcision festival. The decision as to how and how often to offer comic relief or other surprise events designed to break up the monotony of the multi-day staging of the processions of tribute bearers during the sur was left to the mood and determination of the sultan. Certain parts of the programme, such as the compulsory acts of submission, were static and fixed in form and content, but this context of formality and fixity itself provided a backdrop against which occasional acts of spontaneity and unpredictability, interspersed in the programme, achieved heightened dramatic effect. These spontaneous moments were perhaps most in evidence in those aspects of the sur ceremonies which did not have an overt political context and where the introduction of subtexts and diversions in the unfolding of the sur narrative did not detract from the solemnity of the main storyline.

The Sur as Occasion, Pretext and Opportunity for the Display of the Economic Power and Charitable Instincts of the Ruler The scale of the preparations and of the expense involved in the princes’ sur celebrations was staggering, and Dr Covel, whose account was not generally prone to hyperbolic excess, reckoned that the total cost of provisions for the 1675 sur mounted to 12,000 purses of 500 gurush each, or something on the order of 600 million akçes. This sum, using the notional sum of 500,000 gold coins for the Egyptian treasury and converting to silver at the inflated exchange rate of roughly 300 akçes per gold sultani around 1675, was roughly equivalent to the notional annual remittance from the Egyptian treasury for four successive years.35 The fact that the piskesh contributions submitted by the emirs and others were estimated by Covel to have totaled 32,000 purses, leaving a profit to the treasury of 20,000 purses or one billion akçes, in no way diminishes the scale and cost of preparations and advance outlays necessary to stage these elaborate events. The number of meals served each day during the 15-day gathering in 1675

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would have amounted to several thousand for the most orderly events with a guest list confined to a particular category of guests, for instance a sub-group of the ulema on one day and a sub-group of the ümera on another. However, on the occasions set aside for entertaining the fukera, the numbers participating and the amounts consumed were greater by orders of magnitude. The information on the scale of provision for the 1675 sur, which was studied in a monograph by Özdemir Nutku, suggests that 450 chefs were employed throughout the course of the festival and the poultry supplies alone amounted to 48,000 birds, composed of 37,000 chickens, 5,000 geese and 6,000 ducks.36 During the 1720 sur, the amount of poultry served to guests was smaller in number (16,000) but greater in variety, being composed of 1,000 ducks, 8,000 chickens, 2,000 turkeys, 3,000 roosters and 2,000 pigeons.37 Whether one takes the 1675 or the 1720 figures to be the most representative of the scale of entertainment is unimportant, since both point to the same underlying conclusion: that preparing for the sur celebrations involved a massively proportioned extraction of supplies on an empire-wide scale, which can be compared in its magnitude, both materially and administratively, to that of the task of preparing to send an army into the field. Just as the sultan’s honour and reputation were bound up both in the planning and in the execution of successful military campaigns, likewise the care and precision taken in preparing for these court-sponsored extravaganzas indicates a similar concern. No effort or expense was spared in the achievement of an outcome that would properly reflect dynastic pride and glory and highlight the sultan’s role as generous patron and host. The feeding and fielding of armies during campaign and the entertainment of legions of civilian guests at the peacetime surs were both tasks that involved the mass mobilization of men and resources and the demonstration of the unsurpassed economic potential and financial power at the sultan’s disposal. As a dramatic demonstration of the scale of these resources perhaps the peace-time surs carried an even bigger impact, since the demonstration of the empire’s capacity for extravagance and waste deriving from the inexhaustibility, excess and abundance of the natural and human resources of its territories was greater in an event whose main, and logically expendable, propose was entertainment, frivolity and pure enjoyment. As an index of extravagance, the waxwork towers called nahils, prepared for display both in wedding processions and in the Cavalcade of the Prince at the climax of the circumcision festivals, represented the ultimate statement of the power, exuberance and vitality – of the groom in one case, of the pubescent prince on the other. Two giant nahils constructed to bring up the rear of the procession during the celebrations staged in 1524 to celebrate the marriage of the grand vizier Ibrahim Pasha to the royal princess Hadice Sultan (Sultan Süleyman’s sister) are described in Celalzade’s history as having been composed of 46,000 individual parts in one case and 60,000 in the other.38 These objects

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were purely ornamental and had a representational purpose confined to a single transitory and unique occasion, but their preparation involved not just months of work by skilled artisans but deployment of expensive materials whose usefulness after the ceremony was restricted. The appearance of these objects made quite a stir and impression on spectators at the instant of their use, but they were then almost immediately dismantled and their salvage value was minimal compared with the expense of preparing them. As such they were the very symbol and material representation of the sultan’s inexhaustible capacity for indulgence in extravagance, waste and even folly in the celebration of the dynasty’s perpetuation and glorification on the occasion of a son and potential heir’s coming of age. In describing them, Covel, who was clearly impressed, offered the following assessment: ‘it was the most gaudy magnificent piece of Hobbyhorsism folly that ever I saw’.39 Covel’s attitude reflects the attitude of a cultural outsider. The subliminal message behind the use of such elaborate designs and rare and expensive items to convey the greatness of the sultan and the inexhaustibility of his resources would not have been lost on Ottoman audiences. According to Covel’s account, the largest of the nahils launched at the 1675 sur measured 27 yards in height and 5–6 yards in diameter at the base and required 100 porters (25 to a side) to be carried in the circumcision cavalcade.40 These rough dimensions are confirmed in the accounts of the nahils prepared for the 1582 sur and in parallel accounts of the 1675 sur.41 The colossal waste involved in constructing disposable ‘toys’ on such a gargantuan scale was apparent to all and the construction effort needed for creating dozens of such nahils in small, medium, large and colossal size was something akin to the task of constructing a sea galley for the navy. Expenditure of effort such as those required to host a monumentally proportioned ‘party’ like the sur sent a clear message to the participants and observers about the scale of the sultan’s cash reserves, economic power and ready availability of resources and raw materials, which he could deploy at will for both serious and frivolous purposes. As an opportunity to manifest the sultan’s economic power, the sur provided two principal mechanisms: first, the parade of the guilds, which proceeded on a very nearly daily basis throughout the extended duration of the multi-week sur; and, secondly, the general feasts. These later events, hosted at particular intervals in the beginning, middle and end phases of the festival, were distinct from the daily feasts in which the sultan entertained a select company of invited guests from among the ulema and ümera, and they were open to the indiscriminate participation of the masses. A particularly popular event was the periodic staging of events called the ‘scrambling for the food pots’ (çanak yağması), which were at the same time communal meals allowing the sultan to make public demonstration of his distribution of charity to the poor of the city and a form of entertainment for

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spectators, who took delight in the contrast between the order and symmetry involved in laying out the feast for the guests and the rapid descent into chaos and free-for-all atmosphere once the guests arrived. The invitation to indulge in excess allowed the civilians an opportunity to enjoy for once the forbidden delights of the free plunder (yaghma) in captured enemy cities, which was allowed to soldiers as compensation for the rigours of campaign. The staging of mock battles typically formed a part of the sur celebrations, so simulated booty raiding offered common folk a rare opportunity to share in the experience both as participants and as onlookers. Other events giving public demonstration of the sultan’s charitable instincts included the subsidizing of the expenses for clothing and for outfitting young boys of the right age, who were invited to make the celebration of their own circumcision ceremonies coincide with that of the princes.

The Procession of the Guilds The daily progress of the sur festivals was marked by the orderly procession of the sultan’s political officers, who were summoned to present their obedience in various forms to the sultan. Interspersed with their appearance, similar acts of subordination and passing for inspection were performed by masters, artisans, merchants and tradesmen who, in urban contexts, made up the third estate among the sultan’s subjects. The appearance of these skilled craftsmen before the sultan gave visual representation of the latent potential, productive capacity and rich diversity of the sultan’s domestic workforce, which, being at his command, was compelled to appear before him and display its talents in much the same way as the administrators, poets, men of learning, officials, governors and palace functionaries were called upon to display theirs. Having tradesmen included in the celebrations who made visual displays of their manual and artistic skills was yet another way of emphasizing the universal scope of sultanic authority while underlining the point that productions by local talent glorified his name and magnified his honour just as much as the presentation of rare gifts and curiosities by diplomatic representatives from faraway exotic lands. Bostan Chelebi’s descriptions of the procession of the guilds during the surs of the mid-sixteenth century provide a particularly valuable account of the process of interactive validation provided by the performance of acts of submission and display of talents, work techniques and sample products by the sultan’s ethnically diverse workforce. The inclusion of these artisans on the same basis of pride and honour as shown towards the intellectual and administrative accomplishments of the ulema and ümera confirmed that the sultan’s appreciation, gratitude and respect for the input and service (hizmet) of the industrial workforce was no smaller than that shown to other categories of workers. It also showed that he, as their ultimate patron and supporter, was

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14. Illustration of sultanic largesse in the form of the scrambling for the food dishes (çanak ya˘gması).

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the proprietor of the productive capacity which the ‘masters of the applied arts’ (erbab-i sanayi) collectively represented. Their exclusion from the ceremonies would have signalled a partiality in the sultan’s control and sponsorship in the economic and material sphere, on an occasion which by design was intended to demonstrate the comprehensiveness and universality of his dominance over all fields of human endeavour. The inclusion of tradesmen in the Ottoman surs gave them a unique character, reflecting the high level of respect paid in Ottoman society to manual as well as to intellectual dexterity. Boston Çelebi reflects the general attitude of respect towards the manual arts in the following account of the eleventh day of the 1539 sur: … when the men of artisanry and every sort of artistic skill displayed their talents and attainments [hüner], the sultan poured out to them his bounty and favours. He gave to men of all ethnic backgrounds, from the gang of the Arabs to the throngs of Persians, such a quantity of gratuities and grants that all of humanity achieved its dearest desires [for material reward].42

The sultan’s ability to recruit and retain the best and the brightest talent available on the international market to satisfy his need for skilled workers was a particular point of pride for the head of the dynasty, since it insured that Ottoman ‘domestic’ production was second to none in terms of its quality and variety. As with other aspects of the sur celebrations, the procession of the guilds was part of an interactive process in which the sultan received tokens of respect but at the same time gave out approval and reciprocating reward. It is perfectly clear that the overwhelming majority of the ‘formal’ programme of the sur festivals was devoted to a steady progression and procession in which all key professions and services took part. From soldier to scholar and from tradesmen to tinker, all were called upon to give a visible demonstration of their contribution to the well-being and orderliness of the sultan’s realm and to the comfort of his subjects. In the case of the industrial guilds, this took the form of live demonstrations of the skill and dexterity required in each particular craft, thus emphasizing the fact that the sultan was able to command attendance for such demonstrations. Furthermore, these demonstrations served as an added proof of the boundless capacity of the economy and of its spare productive potential, which was thus made available to be harnessed and controlled for the expendable purpose of entertaining the public at the sultan’s whim and command. More than any other event, such demonstration of the sultan’s unrestricted authority to direct the economic activity as he saw fit impressed western observers such as Covel, who were accustomed to the recalcitrance and independence of the workforce in their countries of origin. On the occasion of the 1675 sur, Covel commented on the exceptional levels of subservience, dedication and deference to authority demanded from Ottoman manual workers in the following terms:

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During the festivals of circumcision, one day, all public tradesmen were forced to go in procession with every man his wagon locked, in which he publicly laboured at his trade – shoemakers, tailors, weavers, etc.; so much as bakers had an oven, smiths their little forges, butchers slayed their sheep, etc. which you may imagine such a piece of glorious madness as Europe elsewhere cannot pattern.43

That it took the better part of two weeks to display fully each category and type of artisanal skill served as a supplementary statement and reinforcement of the message that Ottoman domestic production was unsurpassable both in terms of its quantity and in the variety of skills and qualifications mobilized for its creation.

The Hosting of General Feasts During the Sur Celebrations The one aspect of the sur festivities that was not organized as a reciprocal balance between bearers of tribute and homage on the one hand and matching gestures of sultanic magnanimity and generosity on the other were the general feasts, which formed an invariable part of the sur programme in all its best-recorded examples. Food distributions and other charitable gestures on a grand scale, associated with and staged at recurring intervals throughout the sur celebrations, were the element of the celebrations that made the deepest and longest lasting impression on the collective memory and the sultan–host spared no efforts to ensure that his reputation as pater familias to the meanest and neediest of his subjects remained intact. The banquets offered to select companies of invited guests, practically on every day of the festival, were exceptional for the refinement and variety of the dishes offered for the guests’ enjoyment, but for sheer munificence and liberality the general feasts were not just impressive but truly memorable. The poets describing these gestures of sultanic generosity are never at a loss to find words to capture the limitless nature of the sultan’s hospitality on the occasion of the public feast, and Intizami’s account of the 1582 sur and Nabi’s of the 1675 sur are particularly eloquent on the theme of the quality of sultanic mercy and charity towards the poor. Typically, the surs both began and ended with events of a general and allinclusive nature, designed to place particular emphasis on the fact that, though the celebrations were royal in character and designed to honour a prince and potential future heir, their ultimate aim was to introduce and endear that royal person to the public at large, transforming him from a private and anonymous figure hidden away behind palace walls to a people’s prince whose future role as sovereign will invariably and inevitably be bound up, above all other concerns, with caring for and nurturing his common subjects, the general ‘flock’ of the ‘protected’ or reaya. The positioning of these events, with an open invitation extended to the whole civic population, in the place of honour at

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the commencement and conclusion of the festival served as an unmistakable sign of welcome and a suitable farewell to all those who were attending or had attended the sur regardless of their status, class or creed. The underlying message behind this gesture of universal inclusion was not lost on any of the participants. Generalized feasting on the eve of and on the opening day of the ceremonies and sometimes on both is recorded in the narrative accounts of several surs. Although in other respects the 1539 sur organized to celebrate prince Bayezid’s circumcision was in some ways curtailed and concluded somewhat unusually in just 13 days, from the standpoint of its hosting of events in which the broader public was included it was exemplary. Although winter festivals were not the usual norm, the 1539 celebrations achieved notable success by their extent and social impact. On the eve of the celebration, orders were issued for supplying the soup kitchens and hospices (imarets and zaviyes) of Istanbul with supplementary provisions, in order to offer celebratory meals to as broad a spectrum of the population as possible.44 From the very outset, measures were taken to ensure that the atmosphere of rejoicing and commemoration was not narrowly confined to the palace and Hippodrome Square in its immediate vicinity, but radiated outwards to envelop the whole city. The festive spirit invoked at the commencement of the 1539 festival is effectively recreated in Bostan Çelebi’s account, which relates how: On that day [November 16, 1539], the opening day of the festival, a general invitation was issued to take food and drink and people from all over the [Ottoman] world came to take part in the festivities. Apart from the meals served to those gathered in the Hippodrome Square, supplies from the general provisions for the happy occasion of the sur were set aside for cooking all sorts of varied dishes to serve [to the public] at soup kitchens and hospices throughout the city of Constantinople, the well-protected, and all of mankind, all classes, great and small, partook thereof and were nourished.45

By positioning this general feast at the beginning of the festival and by securing its simultaneous celebration at multiple venues, the sovereign achieved the spreading of goodwill and positive feeling outwards, from the palace to the city at large, thus transforming an occasion for private, family and dynastic rejoicing into a cause for universal celebration. Sharing of special food and the collective enjoyment of memorable meals prepared especially for the occasion made the surs part of a communal experience in a way that scattering of coins and other gestures associated with particular phases of the sur, such as the Cavalcade of the Prince, could not. In some of the events, for instance the witnessing of the processions, only a limited audience of guests immediately proximate to the route of passage was able to engage in any direct or meaningful way. The wider the scope for the free distributions of sultanic largesse, the greater their impact. Thus, while the few who recovered

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coins scattered by the passing cavalcade and a slightly wider circle of immediate onlookers and spectators took home vivid personal memories of the sur, it was non-visual and all-inclusive events such as food distributions that had the greatest and longest lasting effect on the collective consciousness. The decision in 1539 to make city-wide distribution at soup kitchens in Istanbul by widening participation to the maximum created more pleasurable and shared associations benefiting the prince and would-be future heir than days or even weeks of events and processions narrowly focused on the main fairground venue at the Hippodrome. Winning the support of the silent but potentially vociferous majority was always a key objective of Ottoman imperial policy, and the programming of some events such as feasts and horse races (koşu), which had an overtly populist appeal, necessarily formed a key part of strategic planning for the public celebrations marking a royal prince’s coming of age. The sur organizers made every effort to ensure that no one was excluded from at least some form of participation, the aim being to universalize the cause for celebration and to anticipate potential sources of dissension or political dissent and silence them preemptively. Again, the account of Bostan Çelebi describing the staging of a yaghma (free-for-all, scramble) at an intermediate stage of the 1539 sur provides a reliable guide to the universalizing intent of the event organizers. In Bostan Çelebi’s own words, ‘the [Hippodrome] Square was filled with all sorts of God’s blessings and bounty [in edible form], and orders were given for a food scramble. All the haves and have nots of all the world joined in together and each took his share in the general bounty.’46 In pacing the sur celebrations, particular care was taken to ensure that the proceedings ended with a shared celebration that was as all-inclusive in organization and participation as possible. The deliberate attempt to create a heightened sense of anticipation, building up over the course of the multi-week event to a culmination in a grand finale, is clearly perceptible in the closing ceremonies of several sur celebrations which have left a detailed literary trace. The deliberate drawing out of some sur events such as the processions of the tribute bearers over many days and the gradual, sometimes almost leisurely, pacing of the overall tempo was a calculated strategy intended to enhance and magnify the effect of the festival’s climax, which typically took the form of general feasting and other kinds of shared enjoyment. The nature of the generalized feasts and scrambles for food, which were typically staged at the very end, but occasionally twice – near the end, on the eve of the Cavalcade of the Prince to the venue for the surgical operation, and then again immediately afterwards, at the close of the festival – is well documented in several accounts. The celebrations held on the 25th day during the 1530 sur are described in Celalzade’s account as follows: ‘the better part of all humanity and

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mankind took part in the general scramble for God’s limitless bounty. Young and old, all God’s creatures were drowned in an outpouring of the Creator’s bounty and whole camels, oxes, sheep, rams were provided to organize a feast for the general population. These were roasted and brought into the square on iron skewers with the announcement that they were offered “gratis, free for the taking and open to the general scramble”.’ 47 The concept of yaghma allowed for a temporary ignoring of social boundaries, shared taboos and commonly accepted norms of polite public behaviour and decorum. Such moments of permissiveness stood in stark contrast to the orderly and stately procession of tribute bearers, each summoned in accordance with rank, status and seniority during the normal and daily repeated course of the sur proceedings. Apart from its serious side in demonstrating sultanic generosity, observing the food scrambles served the subsidiary purpose of providing another form of comic relief and were a reminder to the audience of their shared humanity. If the embarrassment of riches and excesses of splendour witnessed in the presentation of rare silks and fabrics to the sultan was foreign to the everyday experience of common observers of the festival spectacle, the battle for survival and filling one’s own stomach was common ground for all spectators, regardless of their lifestyle and social status. The yaghma also served the purpose of a kind of communal potlatch and top-down redistribution of wealth: for a fleeting moment, all participants could share the vision of a world of general plenty, in which there was more than enough to satisfy the wants of all. On the general air of extravagance and even wastefulness that typically accompanied such demonstrations, associated with the last day of the sur ceremonies, the account by the poet Nabi on the 1675 festival is particularly evocative. Nabi communicates this sense of extravagance and profligacy in the sharing of food in the following passage, rendered below in a close paraphrase: When the sur was concluded on the fifteenth day The masses were summoned to join in the fray No matter how countless the inhabitants o’ the land Among merchants, the poor and the empty of hand They hastened one and all to the place of the feasting To add their high hopes for their sovereign’s prospering So bounteous the food on that day of contentment That sufficient remained for both fishes and fishermen When all had completed their measure of duty The doors of bestowal were opened completely None remained untouched by the sovereign’s bounty And not the least person’s pocket stayed empty of booty The whole world rejoiced together in the sultan’s beneficence And all, great and small, took their share in his boundless munificence.48

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The extravagance and disproportion of the sultan’s rewarding of his faithful followers regardless of social status was nowhere so blatant and unambiguous as in his unilateral bestowals to the poor and powerless of the city, from whom he could expect little in return apart from their sincerity and gratitude. Such unreciprocated gestures of top-down charitable giving, timed to coincide with the celebration of a prince’s coming of age, delivered the sultan’s message of fatherly care and concern for his ordinary subjects clearly and effectively. The sultan’s feeling of compassion towards his common subjects was emphatically expressed in a variety of different ways during the unfolding drama of the sur celebrations. While sharing was the most prevalent form for expressing his humanitarian concern, at repeated intervals during the sur the sultan also earned both religious merit and popular credit by offering to meet the costs associated with the circumcision procedures for several thousand young men from around the empire whose birthdays coincided with that of the prince or who were close to entering puberty at the time of the sur celebrations. This honour was reserved in particular for children from underprivileged families and orphans, which meant that, for those participants, the sur celebrations were not just generically but also personally memorable. Each of these ‘special’ guests received clothing allowances, cash awards and a free surgical procedure on the circumcision day itself. Such experiences of direct (as opposed to vicarious) participation gave strong reinforcement to the future sovereign by creating a debt of gratitude and a bond between him and some thousands of people in the same age cohort. This connection remained unshakeable during the years, sometimes decades, between the sur and the prince’s later succession to the throne. One of the most extravagant surs, both from the standpoint of its duration (it spread out over almost two months) and in terms of the scale of its acts of inclusion, such as the sultan’s ‘adopting’ of orphaned or indigent boys and sponsoring of their circumcision expenses, was the festival organized by Murad III in 1582 for his son Mehmed, who later reigned as Mehmed III. According to Intizami’s account, the sultan sponsored some four to five thousand boys from indigent families and met all their circumcision expenses from the privy purse.49 Covel relates that, on the occasion of the 1675 sur, 2,000 circumcisions were performed simultaneously on the same day as prince Mustafa’s, noting that the sultan gained further merit from the fact that some 200 of these 2,000 were recent converts, some of them adults. As a churchman, Covel shows a remarkable understanding, and even admiration, for the Ottoman success in proselytizing, which he attributes in part to the sultan’s dramatic acts of generosity, for instance his offering immediate rewards and other concessions to those who volunteered to convert during the celebrations staged to honour the royal princes. A contemporary observer of the same events, the French ambassador, the Marquis de Nointel, stated that the numbers enjoying the sultan’s patronage in 1675 included 2,000 of his own

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palace pages; he further indicated the arrival in Edirne of an additional 6,000 youths ‘from the provinces’, who were invited to take part as co-participants in circumcision rituals simultaneously performed in tents set up across the city.50 In her description of the arrangements made for the sur organized by Ahmed III for the young prince Süleyman in 1720, Esin Atil noted that on that occasion provision was made for 5,000 boys to be circumcised simultaneously in various districts of the capital.51 Even the sultans who were temperamentally drawn to seclusion in the palace and to a life of ‘splendid isolation’ could not contain their joy and exuberance on the occasion of a royal prince’s coming of age, and they sought every means to widen participation and ensure their celebratory mood was shared in as many ways and by as many people as possible. The double circumcision festival organized by Mahmud II for his sons Abdulmecid and Abdulaziz in the meadows of Kaghithane in May 1836 lasted eight days. The cost of preparing the celebrations ran, according to a near contemporary account by Charles White, to £40,000 of which one eighth (£5,000 or 520,000 kurush) was set aside as ‘alms’ for the poor.52 In sum, the shared memories and associations formed during the few weeks of common celebration during the sur ceremonies made up a permanent part of the collective identity of the future sovereign’s subjects, and it was such associations rather than the stripped down, businesslike and all too brief and sometimes rather formal and arid ceremonies for confirming a sultan’s position of power on his accession to the throne that carried the greater and more lasting significance and emotive weight. The process of personalizing the future sultan’s rule through dynamic and interactive associations built up by the princes during their minority eased the transition to independent rule by providing the eventual successor with a personality and reality in public imagination and perception well in advance of his succession. How such personal associations were consolidated and strengthened in the post-succession phase will form the topic for consideration in Chapter 8, which deals with the consolidation and projection of sultanic rule.

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8

Ottoman Sovereignty in Motion: Developing the Means through Ceremony and Ritual for Projecting the Sultan’s Power and Authority beyond the Confines of the Palace Precincts The visualization of sultanic power and control on an open stage in one of the empire’s capital cities such as Istanbul or Edirne was realized in deliberately dramatized and therefore memorable ways during the sur celebrations, whose form and purpose has been considered in some detail in the previous chapter. Such events served as a vivid and impressive reminder to all present of the sultan’s dominance and majesty on the one hand, while at the same time balancing that power with equalizing gestures of charity and imperial largesse on the other. However, in order for the sultan’s sovereign authority to retain respect and active force in the real world of everyday imperial administration, it was required that, beyond such one-time public displays of virtues, timed to coincide with artificially created lulls in the regular rhythm of court activity, the sultan should find ways of expressing his sovereignty for the benefit of wider audiences and in less controlled and static circumstances. Visualization and personalization of sultanic rule played a key part at all levels in the subordination, incorporation and coordination of officials serving the dynasty as well as in the creation of a spirit of collectivism and cooperation that underpinned the everyday working of the state administrative apparatus; without such everyday reminders of the sultan’s presence and guiding influence, the sur extravaganzas would have had little meaning or context. Symbolic forms of subordination gained emphasis and impact through repetition, and it is the everyday forms and rituals for the presentation, visualization, activation and perpetuation of sovereignty, both in relation to internal audiences and in the realm of international diplomacy, that constitute the focus of the present chapter. The four principal dimensions of this investigation relate first of all to sultanic movement, mobility and the question of multiple residences and secondly to the question of attendance at court and of the indispensability of personal attendance for performing the obligatory rituals of delegation and transfer of authority and investiture in office, which required the physical and visual presence – both that of the sultan, who conferred them, and that of the office holder, who received them – to attain legitimacy. A third topic relates to the use of emblems and symbols of sovereignty as a means for representing sultanic authority and of announcing the ruler’s ‘presence’ in times and places when and where he was physically absent, while a fourth concern

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relates to the evaluation of the sultan’s role in overseeing both punishment and reward, in order to create an ethos stressing competence and accountability.

Mobility and Expansiveness in the Display of Ottoman Sovereignty According to long-standing traditions inherited by the Ottomans from their Seljukid predecessors, the locus of power and authority in the state was the person of the sovereign, and it was freely transferable to whatever place the sultan happened to be in, whether on campaign (sefer), on the hunt (şikar) or in one of his imperial residences. His court (dârgah) was the place where he pitched his tent, whether for a single night or for several months. During periods of residence in one of his imperial palaces, the locus of authority moved there, but the notion of a fixed place or capital city where imperial authority resided permanently had little applicability either for the Seljukids or for their more sedentary, but still highly mobile, Ottoman successors. Both authority and patronage emanated from the person of the ruler and, while it is indisputable that there was some separation of powers and, especially in the latter Ottoman imperial era, a degree of temporary delegation of authority for the conferring of office, in exceptional circumstances, to the grand vizier, such arrangements were approved only in situations when the grand vizier acting as field commander (serdar) was separated from the sovereign presence for prolonged periods during military campaign. Even under such circumstances, a close link was maintained between the source of ultimate authority, vested irrevocably and undetachably in the person of the sultan, and the subordinates. This was achieved by means of regular exchanges of letters and frequent repetition of procedures for transferring, renewing and finally reclaiming authority – which was symbolized by the delivery and return of the insignia of office at key stages during the finite and approved period of separation represented by the duration of the campaign. The association of sovereignty with a fixed place such as the capital Istanbul, referred to as the ‘Abode of Felicity’ (Dar al Saadet), was largely accidental, and throughout much of the seventeenth century the association between Istanbul itself and the dynasty became quite tenuous. Sultan Ahmed I (1603–17) was the last Ottoman sultan to endow a fully comprehensive, imperially sponsored mosque complex of the külliye type, and his successors began to favour a pattern of residence which included prolonged periods of absence even during peace time and centred the court activities not just at the second capital in Edirne but also at a number of alternative residences in Istanbul, situated within easy reach of the sultans’ traditional home base at the Topkapı Palace. The waterfront locations and garden palaces such as Tersane (the Admiralty) on the lower reaches of the Golden Horn, Beşiktaş on the middle Bosphorus and Üsküdar on the Asian shore opposite Topkapı became preferential locations during the spring

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and summer seasons; others, such as Davud Paşa on the European side, just outside the land walls on the Thracian approaches to the city, served as popular retreats and were preferred by a number of Ottoman rulers both for relaxation and as venues for the performance of scaled-down versions of obligatory court rituals and ceremonies. In particular, the sultans – including Sultan Ahmed I and some of his successors, who had an avocation for the hunt – spent prolonged periods in relative seclusion from the everyday trafficking of ministers, advisers and the monotony of palace routines and thus enjoyed both greater freedom of movement and greater independence than was possible in the three-courted Topkapı residence, where tradition confined them mostly to circulation in the innermost sphere. The right of the sultan to determine his own movements and to time his audiences so as to suit his own convenience was never challenged and, unsurprisingly, it was after the sultans ceased to accompany the army to the front in person that new and more elaborate forms for the representation of sultanic authority in abstract forms began to develop as part of the adjustment of court ceremonial, both during periods of temporary separation between court and army and during planned absences of the sovereign and his court from his ‘official’ main residences in Istanbul and Edirne. The sultan’s non-participation in fixed ceremonies tied to the cyclical court calendar, for instance the holding of regular audiences for the hearing of petitions timed to coincide with some meetings of the imperial divan and with his appearances on other state occasions caused a void that had to be filled in other ways – both symbolic and real ones – through the development and elaboration of new court ceremonies. The Ottoman system of governance was classified in the tripartite division of states devised by the sixteenth-century French political philosopher Jean Bodin as belonging to neither of the two most common, the monarchial and the tyrannical, but forming a separate third category he called monarchie seigneuriale, otherwise known as patrimonial rule, in which the sultan held not only virtually exclusive title to all state goods and properties, but also a virtual monopoly on their disposition, distribution and use.1 Since the sultan held ultimate authority and responsibility over the granting, revoking, distributing and redistributing of all lands, offices, incomes and privileges, as well as over tax and jurisdictional exemptions, the concept of rule in the absence of continuous consultation with the ruler would seem to be a logical impossibility. Understanding how such a system, based on top-down authority structures, could function during periods when the sultan was removed from the scene of action, whether during war or peace, requires an examination of the various forms of indirect representation and temporary transfer of sultanic authority that substituted for his presence in the intervals between his appearances and disappearances and his comings and goings, which were typical of the rhythm of Ottoman court life in both the ‘classical’ (pre-1600) and post-classical

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(post-1600) eras. In general, the argument in favour of a division of Ottoman history into two periods, one of institutional ‘perfection’ ending around 1570 and the other of institutional ‘corruption’ beginning about the same time, cannot be sustained, but for the purpose of assessing the degree of sultanic involvement and activism in the sphere of imperial governance this periodization may have some validity. The disengagement of Ottoman sultans from direct involvement in both military and non-military forms of participation to decision-making can be sensed beginning from the reigns of Murad III (1574–95) and his son Mehmed III (1595–1603), who both relied heavily on grand vizierial digests, summaries and recommendations to reach decisions about important matters they could not or chose not to supervise directly.2 The mechanisms for replacing the absent sultan, especially during periods when the separation between grand vizier and sultan was prolonged by multiple-season campaigning on distant fronts, were already developed during the reign of Selim II (1566–74), when the wide separation and geographical remoteness of the active fronts in Yemen, Astrakhan, Tunisia and Cyprus precluded a continuous sultanic activism on all fronts, but the conclusion that all the sultans in the post-classical era neglected their responsibilities of direct involvement in state governance is far from safe. How the centrality of the sovereign figure was preserved in spite of his seeming retreat can best be understood and appreciated by taking a closer look at actual patterns of imperial residence and at the sultan’s unaltered position of authority and control in the realm of appointments and dismissals by reference to the reign of the so-called fainéant Sultan Mehmed IV (1648–87). But before turning to an assessment of this reign – the second longest (39 years) and exceeded in duration only by Süleyman’s 46-year reign between 1520 and 1566 – it will be useful to assess typical residence patterns in a broader chronological context, to determine whether Mehmed IV’s habits were as exceptional as they are sometimes portrayed.

The Sultans’ Residence Patterns in Long-Term Perspective The pattern of daily life in the pre-modern period was universally dictated by fixed and inalterable realities such as the daily diurnal alteration between hours of daylight, devoted to work and public activity, and hours of darkness, reserved for relaxation and family life, and the variation between the seasons, which likewise dictated the limits of the possible in every sphere of human activity, cutting across the pastoral, agrarian, maritime and urban–industrial environments and ways of life. From time immemorial, residence patterns in Turkic society had been formed by the regular yearly movement between winter settlements in the lowlands (kışlak) and settlements around mountain pastures (yaylak) for grazing the flocks during the summer months. Similarly,

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the link between the commencement of Ottoman military activity and the ready availability of vitamin-rich spring grasses, to sustain their mounts after the vernal equinox on 21 March and its winding down at the onset of winter, marked every year on 5 November (which corresponds to St Demetrius’ Day in the Christian calendar and is known as the day of division (ruz-i kasım) separating summer from winter in the Turkic tradition) formed an equally regular and invariable pattern, constraining the activity of soldiers. Ottoman sovereigns were not bound to conform to any fixed calendar of court life determined by seasonal and environmental factors, or even by customary expectations, and each sultan enjoyed a fair degree of freedom to express his own ruling persona and to develop his own court traditions. In particular, choices about building new sites for imperial residence and abandoning or under-utilizing old ones were left entirely to the ruler’s discretion. As a result, over the 600 and more years of the Ottoman dynastic span, sultanic tastes and preferences as reflected in their imperial residences varied considerably, to conform with the sedentary versus mobile inclinations of each successive ruler. Particular locations gained special favour under particular rulers, but nearly all engaged in fairly regular changes of residence called nakl-i hümayun, some precipitated by war-related necessity, others dictated by the sultan’s own personal choice. According to Charles White, whose detailed observations on Ottoman court practice in the mid-1840s reflects both current practice under Abdülhamid I (1839–61) and variations practised by his predecessor Mahmud II (1808–39), the bi-annual removals of the court took place within the relatively restricted space of the capital Istanbul. In that period, the removal of the entire imperial household to a favoured residence, situated either at Kaghithane on the upper reaches of the Golden Horn or in one of the palaces on the shores of the Bosphorus, such as Chiraghan on the European side or Üsküdar on the Asian side, occurred every summer at a time closely coinciding with the festival of St George’s Day, or Hızır Ilyas günü in the Turkish tradition, which fell on 3 May according to the Gregorian calendar. The return to the then favoured winter residence at Beşiktaş took place in early September, about a fortnight before the autumnal equinox on 22 September.3 Sultans in earlier imperial eras roamed over a more extended terrain and, for some, return to Istanbul itself was a relative rarity. Selim II’s movements, recorded by the historian Selaniki, indicate that, especially in the early part of his reign, he preferred to spend prolonged periods outside the capital. Following a brief six and a half months of residence in Istanbul between 5 December 1566 and 23 June 1567, Selim removed his court to Edirne for the winter season ‘in accordance with ancient rule and custom’.4 Selim’s next recorded appearance in Istanbul was in May 1570, when he participated in ceremonies for seeing off the fleet bound for Cyprus,5 but in the autumn of 1571 the historian again recorded his departure for the winter residence at Edirne.6

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Rulers differed in their tastes and preferences and in the style and frequency of their removals and relocations, but to regard the absence of the court from the capital Istanbul as an aberration introduced by Mehmed IV (1648–87), known as the ‘hunter’ to disapproving Ottoman historians of the eighteenth century, distorts the historical reality. Their judgement reflects the sedentary outlook of the court establishment in the later imperial era which viewed the sultan’s proper place as defined and prescribed by his ceremonial functions, carried out for the benefit of domestic and diplomatic audiences at home, in Istanbul. After the seventeenth century, even the pretence of sultanic mobility, necessitated by the ruler’s fulfilment of his proper role as military chief, mobilizer and motivator of troops, was abandoned once and for all, but, until the return of the court to Istanbul in 1703, after the deposing of Mustafa II, these traditional values and expectations connecting rulership with mobility and activism continued to prevail. Indeed, the deposing of Mustafa’s successor Ahmed III in 1730 is closely connected with popular disapproval of his passivity and indifference in the face of Russian expansion in the Caucasus and with his inability or unwillingness to defend recent Ottoman territorial gains in Azerbaijan. With regard to the question of Mehmed IV’s exceptionality in the matter of constructing new residences, here too, upon closer examination the ‘hunting sultan’ was not so unusual as he is sometimes made to appear. Construction of new residences, kiosks, pavilions and seasonal residences was a favourite occupation of Ottoman sultans in all imperial eras. What made Mehmed IV exceptional was partly the length of his reign, which made the cumulative effect of his prolonged absences from Istanbul that much greater. Still, as a way of conducting his court and accommodating its needs during transits and relocations, Mehmed’s practices were far from unusual, let alone revolutionary. The sultan’s construction of separate residences in and around Edirne, to accommodate members of his wider household, deprived Istanbul for a time of the sultan’s architectural patronage, and investment in infrastructure improvements for the first capital slowed down by comparison with the state of things under some of his predecessors. However, this was a passing phase, whose residual effects were scarcely detectable after the return of the court to Istanbul in 1703. Because of the greater mobility of the court in the second half of the seventeenth century, practical-minded sultans introduced the practice of abbreviated trains, and imperial retinues were reduced while ceremonies associated with royal removals from Istanbul were simplified and muted to accommodate the structural reality, new to Mehmed IV’s reign, that the court and state bureaucracy was by necessity often divided into three parts, each assigned a particular function. This division of function applied with particular force during years when military campaigning led by the grand vizier was in prospect. One part accompanied the grand vizier leading the army in the field, a second part remained behind

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in Istanbul, where the grand vizier’s first deputy, known as the Istanbul kaimmekamı, took charge of the conduct of state business including the financing of war and the communications with the front. This left the sultan with a reduced household, composed of his harem and a skeleton staff of palace attendants free to roam without serious encumbrance or ceremony. When in residence in Istanbul, the households and retinue of the Queen Mother, who after the discontinuation of the law on fratricide had responsibility for the care and safety of the reigning sultan’s brothers, were effectively joined. But when the sultan undertook excursions for the hunt or for regular seasonal relocations, the royal household was further split, and it became necessary for a third official, called the rikab-i hümayun kaim-mekamı (deputy of the royal stirrup), to be appointed to liaise with both the grand vizier and his chief deputy, the principal kaim-mekam, who remained in Istanbul unless expressly summoned. During periods when the court was split into three, ceremonies relating to the movements of the sultan and to his royal departures, arrivals and changes of residence were necessarily minimized, in part due to the absence of the other two thirds of the court, which formed the natural audience for court receptions and state ceremonial. In her book on the imperial harem, Leslie Peirce speaks of the breach with tradition which occurred in 1583, when the formerly separated households of the Queen Mother, traditionally housed in the Old Palace, and of the sultan and his consort, housed in the New Palace, were combined in the expanded quarters provided for the Valide Sultan Nurbanu Sultan within the Topkapi Palace imperial compound,7 but in subsequent reigns this pattern of combined households was realized in practice, at least for prolonged periods, only rarely. Especially during removals and relocations, the full imperial entourage did not move as a whole but rather as separate units, each following its own independent timetable. The logistics required for accommodating the needs and for supplying and supporting the army, the civil administration and the sovereign’s own domestic needs created complications whose remedy and solution was found in simplifying, minimizing and reducing the scale, cost and ceremonial elaborateness of the rituals marking the sovereign’s movements. Reduced trains and truncated retinues, especially for short excursions, became the new norm, a pattern which became especially noticeable towards the end of Mehmed IV’s reign in the 1680s. The phrases ihtisar üzere (‘reduced’) and nisfiyet üzere (‘halved’) and similar expressions – denoting the new lower profile of the imperial household and its reduced scale when ‘travelling light’ for the purpose of short sojourns or for brief overnight stays (beytutet) in the vicinity of one of the fixed imperial residences – indicate the emergence of a new attitude towards wasteful or unnecessary expenditure for court ceremonial which began to find expression towards the end of Mehmed IV’s reign. The phase ihtisar üzere was used by the historian Silahdar to apply to the size of Mehmed IV’s train during his removal from Edirne to

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Istanbul on 1 March 1681,8 while his subsequent departure (göç), to take up residence at his Bosphorus retreat in the hills, behind Beylerbeyi at Istavroz, with half train (nisfiyet üzere), is noted among the events of 9 June 1681.9 The movements of the royal person always attracted notice whatever the empire’s present military and diplomatic circumstances, and it is in part because of the sensitivity to the symbolic meaning of even small departures from longstanding court traditions that the historians regarded these slight variations in practice worthy of notice and comment. As a further indication of the Ottomans’ faithfulness to tradition, Silahdar also mentions that, when Mehmed IV reached the age of intellectual maturity in 1658, after he had already been on the throne as nominal ruler for ten years, orders were given for the construction of a screened pavilion overlooking the imperial council hall in the Edirne palace, with a view to facilitating the sultan’s performance of his expected role as behind-the-scene monitor of council deliberations. This structure was modelled closely, in both form and purpose, on the ‘tower of justice’ overlooking the council hall in the Topkapi Palace in Istanbul.10 The faithful observance, albeit sometimes in altered or abbreviated form, of court traditions by a long series of Ottoman sultans over many centuries indicates the spiritual and sentimental importance of these acts for the preservation of a distinct Ottoman imperial identity, which was confirmed and perpetuated by their repetition. That at least some vestige of Ottoman imperial majesty and dynastic dignity was carefully preserved even when its substance was greatly altered and reduced shows not so much Ottoman resistance to change as the consistency, stability and immutability of Ottoman governing principles regardless of changing political circumstances and fluctuating imperial fortunes. On the question of multiple residences built to accommodate the special needs of the various elements within the imperial household, it appears that the situation during Mehmed IV’s reign was complicated by a number of special circumstances. First, because Mehmed was only seven years old at the time of his accession, he produced his first male heir Mustafa only in 1664, after he had already been on the throne for 16 years. During this initial period the three surviving heirs to the throne, his half brothers Süleyman (b. 1642), Ahmed (b. 1643) and Selim (b. 1644), were all carefully watched over by the sultan’s own biological mother, Turhan Sultan. It was a further eight years after Mustafa’s birth and not until his own 30th year (24th on the throne) that the sultan’s direct participation in campaign was considered appropriate, although his movements towards the Morea in 1668, with a reduced retinue and household and with the establishment of his residence at Larissa between October 1668 and November 1669, brought him close to the centre of military activity. During the final phases of the siege of the Candia fortress, which surrendered in late August 1669, he was within reach of easy communication with the commander, but this was still far

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short of direct or active participation in the campaign. During the whole of this period, which ended only around 1672, the pattern necessitating the separation of the imperial household into its three component parts – the campaigning, the static and the mobile – persisted. Until late 1673, when Sultan Mehmed returned to Edirne in December at the head of his victorious troops at the end of the first Polish campaign, arrangements for the accommodation of the imperial household at a single location, as formerly envisaged, at the palace compound at Topkapi in Istanbul, were not seriously undertaken. Until that time, large parts of the imperial household were assigned either to the front, with the grand vizier, or as escorts to accompany the sovereign as he travelled between locations scattered over a wide territorial expanse, stretching from the Thracian hinterlands of his two permanent capitals, Istanbul and Edirne, to the Balkan range in the north and to the Pieria Ori in the south. An inevitable consequence of this diffusion and fragmentation of the royal presence was the minimizing and dilution of its impact at the traditional centres and stages for the display of sultanic might and majesty, such as Istanbul. The pattern of Ottoman warfare in the 1660s and 1670s in any case dictated a concentration of Ottoman forces in the Rumelian provinces, to facilitate easy deployment to any of the main sites of military conflict in Crete, Dalmatia and the Transdanubian principalities, and the pattern of investment in new imperial residences began, after a prolonged lag period of indecision, in the first 20 years of Mehmed’s reign, to reflect those new geopolitical realities. From a logistical standpoint, return to base at Istanbul at the conclusion of each campaigning season was neither practical nor convenient and, for the purpose of carrying out the ceremonial duties of the head of state, Edirne was an equally suitable venue, as was proven by the success of the sur celebrations of 1675. When, after the 1680s, the tide of military events began to turn against the Ottomans, the justification for the sovereign’s prolonged absences from Istanbul began to be perceived not as conditioned by necessity but as arising from sultanic neglect. In the interim, however, so long as investment in Istanbul’s urban infrastructure and commercial growth was sustained, the physical absence of the sovereign himself was not regarded as problematic. The projecting of the royal presence in the form of imperially backed construction projects on a monumental scale can be verified by the likes of the Valide Sultan Mosque complex, completed in 1664, with Turhan Sultan’s sponsorship, at a total cost of 3,080 purses or 123.2 million akçes,11 and the smaller-scale but commercially significant Vizier Han, started by the grand vizier Köprülü Mehmed Paşa (d. 1661) and completed by his son Fazil Ahmed Paşa (d. 1676) around 1672.12 These civic-minded initiatives, coupled with brief but regularly repeated appearances to perform rituals such as the annual bayram visitations in the first days of Shevval and in the middle of Zilhicce, carried both tangible and visual reminders of the sultan’s general

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concern for his Istanbul-based subjects, even when the period of actual residence in their midst was relatively brief. A definitive decision about the status of Edirne as principal as opposed to secondary residence and, by implication, as alternative capital seems to have been made by Mehmed in the spring of 1673 when, following his return from his participation in the Polish campaign with Fazil Ahmed Pasha, the sultan ordered the construction of two new residences, one in the city of Edirne proper, completed at the end of March 1673, and the other for seasonal use at Ak-Pinar, located at a distance of two hours on horseback from the city.13 A year after the completion of the sur celebrations held in Edirne in 1675, the Old Palace, originally sited by Mehmed II on an island in the Tunca, underwent extensive renovations, equivalent in scale to a complete rebuilding of the palace complex from scratch,14 and, when the sultan left Edirne in 1676 to spend the summer season at Istanbul, he left his mother and his two half-brothers behind and travelled only with his own harem.15 After Mehmed reached his maturity, the pattern for the combination, separation and intermittent reuniting of the various units of the imperial household composed on the one hand of his own generation – which, with the death of Selim in 1669, was reduced to his two half-brothers Süleyman and Ahmed – and on the other hand of the future generation, composed of his two sons Mustafa (b.1664) and a second son Ahmed (b. 1673), continued. Because for much of his reign his own sons were still in their infancy and his brothers were accommodated separately while the sovereign himself pursued a peripatetic and highly mobile lifestyle, Mehmed’s domestic arrangements were characterized far more by separation than by intergenerational family togetherness. The sultan’s personal choices about duration of stay at particular residences and frequency of relocation reflected his own preferences and convenience, and it is both misleading and pointless to attach too much weight or structural and systemic significance to the sultan’s acting on his personal preferences. The point to bear in mind about the structure of the imperial household after the mid-seventeenth century is that its composition was diverse and that each of its various component parts followed its own separate itinerary. By the time Mehmed IV’s second son, Ahmed, was born in 1673, there were four princes who would eventually succeed to the throne, all being alive at the same time. Under these circumstances the separation of households became an inevitability. In terms of division of labour on the home front, the Valide Sultan took responsibility for the care and protection of the ruler’s siblings, who, even though they often followed a similar itinerary to the sultan, always travelled separately, while the Haseki Sultan typically cohabited with the sultan and travelled in close parallel, though usually a stage or two ahead of the sovereign, so as to be able to make advance preparations for the arrival of the imperial tent and suitable domestic

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arrangements to greet the imperial entourage when the sultan granted the honour of attendance (teşrif) a day or two later.16 The proliferation of imperial residences and new palace constructions, in the 1670s and 1680s was in part a reflection of the more complex protocol arrangements necessary to accommodate the new biological and genealogical conditions of the dynasty, which supported two generations of future sovereigns and the increased mobility of the sultan’s court itself. Both of these necessitated some adjustment of practice, but neither implied any revolutionary change. Apart from the new construction of imperial residences in and around Edirne starting around 1673, Mehmed also undertook a substantial expansion of the imperial palace on the waterfront in Istanbul at Beşiktaş, and work proceeded over the 16-month period between April 1679 and July 1680 to make it suitable for longer-term residence by the sultan when he was accompanied not just by his mobile escorts but by a larger proportion of his permanent household.17 Another site at Kara Ağaç, in the Kağıthane meadows, on the banks of the Golden Horn opposite Eyüb, was also developed as an imperial residence during the same period.18 All this diffuse construction activity confirms that, so far as his domestic arrangements were concerned, the sultan’s choices were personal, reflected his personal preferences and needed no justification, defence or explanation with reference to ‘standard procedure’. Standard procedure was defined by what the sultan wanted, and it consisted in conforming to whatever the sultan, in consultation with his chief advisers and courtiers, decided to be appropriate. The one thing that was not fixed very explicitly in Ottoman law or custom was the structure and composition of the sultan’s household during travel, and sultans freely expressed their own personalities and set their own precedents through decisions regarding residence and removal as well as movement and stasis. Likewise, even regularly repeated ceremonies and celebrations, such as the sur, were readily transferable to a new location and not tied to a sacral space, traditional location or unalterable timetable. Thus, although the Ottomans were traditionalists in terms of the form and context of court-related ceremonies, they were highly flexible so far as the timing, venue and location of customary events was concerned. Süleyman I’s decision to celebrate his son Bayezid’s sur as a winter festival in 1539, as opposed to the customary summertime fixture, and Mehmed IV’s decision to celebrate Ahmed’s circumcision feast in Edirne as opposed to Istanbul are but two examples of Ottoman flexibility and fluidity regarding the timing and location of celebrations of the dynasty. Because of the varying degrees of mobility of the sultan and his court and divergences in the composition of the imperial household in different imperial eras, it became essential to permit some flexibility in timing and location while retaining fixity of form. The next section is devoted to an exploration of fixity of form in the context of ceremonies relating to the seeing off (teşyii) and its obverse, the welcoming back of the royal personage

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(istikbal or tehniyet-i kudum-i padişahi) on occasions when he departed from, or returned to, one of his principal residences; it is also devoted to an analysis of the wider significance of these ceremonies in personalizing the sultan’s rule and in building a relationship of trust between him and his subjects. Since mobility and transferability of power were inherent aspects of Ottoman sovereignty, forms for recognizing the sultan’s suzerainty and control during periods when the sovereign was absent formed an essential part of standard court ritual.

Rituals for Acknowledging the Sovereign’s Departures and Returns and his Presence and Absence Alternation between movement (hareket) and quiescence (sekenat), peace and war, or residence and travel (hazar ve sefer) created the opportunity for infinite variety and refinement in the balancing of the active sultan’s schedule and daily routine. When a prolonged absence from one of his principal residences in Istanbul or Edirne necessitating the relocation of a significant portion of his household was anticipated, procedures for signalling the sovereign’s intention to relocate included the moving of the royal standard (tuğ) to a visible place, first within the palace gates and later outside, to announce the commencement of the ceremonies designed to mark the sovereign’s departure with proper ceremony and respect. Sometimes this included a formal procession or alay, but invariably the sultan or his deputy, the grand vizier, hosted pre-departure banquets (ziyafet): this was the usual and most universally understood way of communicating sultanic patronage and support for his dependants. Ceremonies marking royal departures for brief sorties and sojourns were marked with less formality and solemnity than departures of the sultan acting as head of state and commander of an army bound for a contested front, but in both cases the act of departure itself was noted with some form of ritual leave-taking. Departures of the sovereign for the front were, in keeping with their sombre character, marked by the collective expression of best wishes for a successful campaign and a safe return, and tended in general to be rather lowkey by comparison with the celebratory mood associated with the return of the sovereign. Whether the cause for his return was the successful conclusion of a military campaign or merely the end of the hunting season, the reappearance of the sovereign among his subjects was in and of itself regarded as a noteworthy event prompting general rejoicing. Rituals connected with the commencement of an activity or enterprise that necessitated the sultan’s departure were by their nature associated with watchful anticipation, anxiety and uncertainty as to their outcome, whereas the safe return of the sovereign was a cause for relief whatever the nature of the enterprise or its outcome. The reuniting of the sovereign and his people, which allowed him to fulfil in person his role as patron, protector and

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pater familias, was unambiguously positive, and sultanic returns were generally regarded as occasions for broad public participation. Announcing the departures and arrivals, presences and absences of the sultan gave a solidity and reality to his existence regardless of his location at any given time. Part of the rituals of departure involved the sultan’s receiving and taking with him the good wishes and prayers of the city population, including from leading members of the religious establishment, while visibly handing over authority to a deputizing official such as the grand vizier’s lieutenant, the kaim-mekam, whose role as guardian of the state in the sultan’s absence served as a further reminder of the sultan’s supervisory engagement during his physical absences. The ceremonies organized to bid the sultan farewell on his departure from the capital varied considerably, from the low-key send-off described by Silahdar marking Mehmed IV’s departure from his summer residence at Üsküdar on 29 June 1659 for Bursa, to the long and deliberately drawn-out staged removal of the sultan and army from the capital marking the final stage of preparations for the serious and meticulously prepared assault on Crete in the spring of 1666. The elaborateness of these ceremonies emphatically announced the seriousness of the sultan’s determination to succeed in the investment of Candia and to assert Ottoman sovereignty over Crete, whose capture had eluded the Ottomans for more than two decades, since the inception of war with Venice in 1645. In the first case, that of 1659, the ‘ceremonies’ consisted of a gathering of dignitaries of the divan, who proceeded to form a guard of honour to escort the sultan on the first stage of his journey, without any significant public turnout or organizing of a formal procession (alay). This low-key send-off was accomplished rapidly and with minimal formality.19 The attendance of throngs of well-wishers was neither intended nor expected, and the gravity of the occasion hardly merited much solemnity or fanfare. Conversely, in 1666, the departure ceremonies were deliberately timed to coincide with the performance of the annual court ritual of visitations and audiences with the sultan on the occasion of the lesser bayram on the first of Shevval, a ritual whose purpose was the renewal of vows of loyalty and confirmation in office both for religious and for administrative officers. The coincidence of the army’s departure, with the sultan in the position of honour as its head figure, at the end of the fast of Ramazan, offered the opportunity to stage a heroic send-off incorporating the departure (disappearance) within the ritually observed ‘appearance’ of the sultan for the bayram visitations. This combination of events resulted in one prolonged commemoration and celebration of the sultan’s sovereign majesty, performed for the benefit of a public gathering in deliberate slow motion, to exaggerate and maximize its effect. The departure ceremonies, staged as the sultan took leave of Istanbul en route to Edirne in 1666, stretched over a three-week period, from 14 March to 12 April.20 On this occasion it was foreseen that, due to the distance of the front in

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Crete and to the scale of the challenge, the absence of both sultan and his grand vizier and commander in chief, Fazil Ahmed Pasha, would be prolonged over several seasons. For that reason too, the combining of several farewells into one supersized leave-taking can be explained as a deliberate and calculated gesture expressing public remorse and regret concerning the anticipation of deprivation of the sultan’s company over a prolonged period. In the event, the reuniting of the sultan and his grand vizier with the populace of Edirne did not take place until four years later in July 1670,21 and the sovereign’s return to Istanbul was delayed a further six years, until late April 1676, when ceremonies to mark his return/arrival (kudum) were celebrated in muted form, as the sultan opted not to enter the city in a grand procession (alay) but effectively by-passed the city in order to take up immediate residence at his summer palace in Üsküdar.22 In the interim, after the fall of Crete, he had conducted two campaigns against Poland, both launched from Edirne, and staged a monumental sur celebration for his sons Ahmed and Mustafa, also in Edirne. To gain an idea of the actual rhythm and pace of the departure ceremonies in 1666, it is possible to rely on the detailed account provided by Silahdar, who describes the events according to the following five stages: stage 1 (24 March), the sultan sets out the royal standard (tuğ-i hümayun) and places it in front of the gate to the third courtyard of the palace (the bab al-saade or ‘gate of felicity’);23 stage 2 (26 March), the royal tent (otağ-i hümayun) is set up outside the city walls in the plain of Davud Pasha; stage 3 (31 March), the sultan leaves the precincts of the city through the Edirne Gate, in a great state procession (alay-i azim); stage 4 (6 April or 1 Şevval), the sultan greets dignitaries, who present their compliments under the awning set out in front of the sovereign’s royal tent and renew their vows of loyalty and obedience by means of the skirt-kissing ceremony (damenbus); stage 5 (12 April), the royal trains set off (hareket-i hümayun) at a time considered auspicious for the official commencement of the campaign.24 The character of the celebrations to mark the return/arrival (kudum) of the sovereign after a period of absence was modelled on the newly installed sultan’s first triumphal entrance into the city from Eyüb, which formed a customary first act after accession following the ritual of the girding of the sword. Gestures of congratulation (tehniyet) acknowledging the sultan’s presence were regarded as a debt of honour incumbent on all the sultan’s subjects and not confined to dignitaries with offices, appointments and privileges to maintain. These generalized expressions of gratitude and relief at the sultan’s return, because they emerged from a source untainted with ulterior motives or vested interest, were particularly welcomed by the sovereign as a sign of popular approval. Conversely, a muted or unenthusiastic reception was taken as a sign of dissatisfaction or disapproval. The distance travelled from the city gates to greet the approaching sultan was one measure of the warmth of the city population’s welcome and, as a sign of

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respect, it was customary for a welcoming committee of city elders to advance several stages from the city, to meet the sultan halfway and offer their greetings on behalf of the whole city. As described in Mustafa Safi’s history, on 25 of February 1614 select members of the learned and pious residents of Istanbul (ulema ve suleha) and a number of other well-wishers of various station and rank advanced as far as the posting station (menzil) of Silivri, some 60 kilometres west of Istanbul, and many others as far as Küçük Çekmece, located 15 kilometres west or a good day’s walk from the city walls, in order to offer their greetings. The ceremony was observed on this occasion despite the fact that the sultan’s absence, for a hunting excursion to Edirne and its environs, had lasted only four months, between November 1613 and February 1614.25 Given the mundane character and brief duration of the absence, this disproportionate response, signalling the city folk’s pleasure at his return, promoted feelings of mutual trust and mutual respect at the beginning of Ahmed’s reign whose effects were lasting. Because of their spontaneous and unscripted character, unsolicited gestures of respect and affection were a more powerful means for sustaining the monarch’s authority and control than one-time acts of homage and formal submission such as the biat ceremonies performed on the occasion of the ruler’s accession. Declarations of loyalty gained credibility and strength through constant repetition and spontaneous declaration, and the cumulative effect of popular acclamation of the ruler gave his authority not just legitimacy but strength. Monarchs who avoided public exposure and opted to live in splendid isolation failed to realize their full potential as rulers. It should not be thought that extending gestures of welcome could ever become stale, superfluous or bereft of meaning, because the more extreme and excessive the people’s gestures became, the more the sultan was inclined to respond and reciprocate with gestures of generosity and patronage on his own part. Just as the people could not exist in a power vacuum, so too the omnipotence of the sultan had little meaning outside the context of his real-terms relationships with his subjects, both individually and collectively. Power was derived from a mutually sustaining relationship based on trust, affection and generosity and, when called for, self-denial. As an example of the typical progression of reception ceremonies staged to celebrate the sultan’s return to Istanbul, Silahdar’s history offers us a detailed guide to the principal elements. According to Silahdar, the return of Mehmed IV from Edirne in the autumn of 1664 took place over six days. The first phase of his reception took place at Silivri on 7 October, where he was met by a delegation of dignitaries from Istanbul. A second reception was held at Küçük Çekmece on 9 October, where the sultan gave audience to the deputy grand vizier (kaimmekam) to receive a briefing on conditions in the capital during his absence. The third reception took place at Davud Pasha on 10 October, with a big contingent of the city population in attendance, and was followed two days later, on 12 October,

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by a triumphal entry and procession (alay) through the Edirne Gate into the city. This last phase of the ceremonies, marking the sultan’s return, was accompanied by the distribution of robes of honour (hilat) to chief officials responsible for the maintaining and protecting of the city during the sultan’s absence, chief among them being the kaim-mekam, who received a fur-lined kaftan, and the officer in charge of the waterfront, the bostanci-başı, who received a plain kaftan.26 To mark the sultan’s arrival in Bursa, a former capital of the empire less frequently favoured by the sovereign’s presence, when the sultan approached the city on 20 June 1659 the residents of this historic city, known for its textile production, lined the road within an hours’ march of the city entrance, with their finest cloth for the procession of the sultan’s train to trample on as it entered the city on horseback.27 In return for the city residents’ gesture of honour and respect, the sultan distributed largesse among those who had lined the street to observe his passage.28 These rituals, where reciprocal and matching gestures showing mutual respect and regard were exchanged, reinforced the sultan’s position of dominance, since the memory of his response to their gestures of welcome would stay alive in their minds until the time of his next appearance. Gestures of spontaneous generosity carried a particular psychological power and emotional weight. Sovereignty itself was unthinkable without the periodic repetition of such gestures of condescension by the powerful to the weak and the visual display of mutuality of affection and regard between the ruler and the ruled. Regular appearances of the sovereign among his common subjects was as important to the reinforcement of his sovereignty as was the annual visitation of his office holders to present their subordination and renew their bonds of subservience on the occasion of the bayram; both required regularity and consistency in performance as well as visual display, to reinforce the message and magnify its impact. Both sovereignty and servility had to be declared and enunciated in person for the message to have full effect.

Attendance at Court Diplomatic receptions and visual presentations of diplomatic gifts in elaborate and often drawn-out ceremonies formed one dimension of attendance at court designed to give visual confirmation of the donor’s tributary status of dependence and of the Ottoman sultan’s position of supremacy and dominance. Acceptance of the sultan’s chosen and carefully calibrated and rank-ordered garment of submission (or hilat) sealed the act of submission and confirmed the donner’s position of subservience. The account left by the French traveller Jean de Thévenot of the Moghul ambassador Kaim Beg’s reception at the Ottoman court in May 1656 is particularly revealing in its insightful reading of the carefully choreographed ceremony of gift-giving and of its acknowledgement.29

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This ceremony, performed at the very beginning of the diplomatic mission, served to delineate the relative position of the two principal actors, sultan and guest, without committing either side to any particular course of action. The comings and goings of ambassadorial delegations to the capital rarely served as occasions for detailed discussion of matters of substance, but rather provided the opportunity for measuring the degree of humility and sincerity of would-be partners, alliance seekers and suitors for peace. For the purpose of this defining and accepting of roles, public displays of eagerness to please in the form of lavish gifts designed to feast the eye and provide vicarious delight to the observer bore a symbolic meaning that transcended the intrinsic or material value of the gifts presented. We are told by Thévenot that the gifts presented by the Moghul ruler Jihanshah numbered 2,200 individual pieces which were initially valued, in accordance with their visual impression, to be worth six million gurush. However, upon closer inspection by merchants of the bazaar, their value was estimated at just half that amount. Still, it was the impressions that mattered, and by seeing the gifts bundled into 260 toilets or coverlets (boğaca), each containing between eight and nine individual presents, the observers of the ceremony were left with the impression of a display of riches far greater than would have been conveyed by their presentation or display all at once, in one great heap. The slow and deliberate pace adopted for their presentation was calculated to maximize both their visual impact and their dramatic effect.30 According to Thévenot’s description, these gifts were carried before the sultan for his inspection by small teams of palace gatekeepers made up of five or six pairs at a time, such that each group consisted of no more than ten to twelve members. Each group paused in front of the sultan to unwrap their bundles and advanced to place each consignment of gifts before him by the armful, in a way designed for all to see. On the occasion of Kaim Beg’s visit, 274 kapucu bearers were employed for this purpose, a number whose rough equivalent is confirmed in Ottoman accounts.31 So as to prolong the ceremony and enhance its dramatic effect, rather than rushing through it in a perfunctory way, a gap of seven to eight minutes was left between the advance of each group of 12. This served to extend the ceremony over the whole of the morning and into the early afternoon, effectively comprising a whole day’s business. Thévenot’s assessment of the situation is characteristically astute: ‘everyone had but little to carry that it might make greater show’.32 The acknowledgement of the sultan’s superiority and majesty in readily understood visual form constituted an integral part of the everyday procedures of the court, in which departures and arrivals of the sultan’s imperial agents and servants, vassals and allies, were also marked by similarly conceived, though less elaborate, forms of accreditation. Without a personal appearance at court to receive the vestments and insignia of office from the currently reigning sultan, the position of the vassal princes (voyvodas) as governors of Walachia and

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Moldavia was considered neither valid nor confirmed.33 A constant traffic of officers seeking revalidation of their posts, positions, favours, immunities and privileges filled the court calendar in a regular and relentless stream of suitors to the sultan’s grace and favour. For the Ottoman vassal states in the Danubian principalities, the presentation of compliments to the sultan was a two-stage process. The first stage involved payment of an actual tribute called harac or cizye, which was paid annually in cash; the other required submission of traditional tokens of subservience and dependence called pishkesh, namely stallions (esp) and falcons (şahin), used to represent acknowledgement of the sultan’s martial strength and position as protector and guarantor of their territorial integrity against the threat of outside attacks. In the budget of 1548, the sultan’s reciprocal gift of acknowledgement, called teşrif, paid on the occasion of the attendance at court of the Walachian and the Moldavian envoys, is recorded in two separate payments. A payment of 3,000 akçes was made to the Walachian envoy, 500 for his presentation of the pishkesh and 2,500 on his presentation of the ciyze, while 2,200 akçes were paid to the Moldavian envoy, 700 in recognition of his presentation of the pishkesh and 1,500 as acknowledgement of the ciyze payment.34 This process of mutual validation and valuation was essential to the operation of Ottoman sovereignty at all levels in both the internal and external spheres. Each individual, state or institutional representative bore a particular hierarchical relationship to the sovereign figure and, although that assigned hierarchical position was open to negotiation and change, such change could only be achieved through personal appearance and was only realizable by means of attendance at court. The attendance by a representative of the prince of Transylvania bearing the annual cash tribute which symbolized the renewal of ties of obedience and subservience to the Ottoman sultan as overlord was recorded in Silahdar’s chronicle under the events of December 1682 as one of the unexceptional and expected manifestations of business which, as usual at the Ottoman court, occasioned no more than a passing notice and comment, despite the fact that less than a year later the vassal status of that principality was itself cast into serious question by the failure of Kara Mustafa’s offensive against Vienna ending in September of 1683.35 Seemingly the mechanisms of state power had a permanence and stability and followed a rhythm and repetitive pattern that were not subject to the transience of particular policies or of the success of individual political or military initiatives. Attendance at court to pay one’s respects was an essential act of subordination not just for foreign diplomats, envoys or Ottoman vassals; it applied with equal force to all levels of Ottoman office holders, from the grand vizier to asylum seekers and political refugees. All the sultan’s subordinates occupied their particular positions by virtue of sultanic favour and as the direct result of the ruler’s personal patronage. They were thus all bound to acknowledge

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this favour and patronage by collecting their ‘prize’ in a ceremony performed in the sultan’s presence. In order to receive his investiture in office directly from the hands of the sultan, a former Safavid emir named Mehmed Beg, who defected to the Ottomans in 1669, travelled across the whole length of the Ottoman Empire from north-east Anatolia to Larissa in Thessaly, where the court was in residence in late July 1669, to receive confirmation of his appointment to the governorship of Trabzon, earlier granted by Mehmed IV in reward for Mehmed Beg’s declaration of allegiance to the Ottomans. The taking up of the mantle of office, symbolized in the acceptance of the hilat from the sultan’s own hand and expressing the sincerity of the recipient’s own intentions in clearly visible form – which typically included a symbolic prostration at the foot of the sultan’s throne – represented not a superfluous but an indispensable part of the recipient’s realizing the powers of the office awarded him.36 Like a handshake, or a confirmatory signature to a contract, these acts for declaring mutual commitment and joint responsibility set the terms and the tone for the future relationship between patron and client and between the sultan and each of his protégés. The need for symbolic representation and commemoration of the sultan’s spiritual presence during his physical absences was felt not just in the context of the empire’s external relations; it applied also to the perceived obligation on the sultan’s part to personalize his rule for the benefit of subjects and residents in his remotest provinces. For the Ottomans, this obligation was felt in a paradoxical way to apply most particularly to the Arab and Muslim portions of the empire, which, despite their religious and cultural affinity, were the ones last to join the imperial fraternity and the remotest ones geographically. As a yearly reminder of his spiritual connection, apart from the regular transfers of grain and other food subsidies from Egypt to the Holy Cities, the sultan also projected his presence and image as sultan and protector through the annual dispatch of the mahmal or palanquin sent from Cairo to Mecca with the pilgrim caravan, to represent the sultan’s symbolic attendance and performance of his self-declared role as protector and servant (hadim) of the two Holy Cities of Mecca and Medina.37 Although clearly the sultan could not be ubiquitous, there were other ways, both symbolic and material ones, of achieving proximity in spirit and intention. Such representations of sultanic concern for his subjects in remote provinces gained credibility because of their regularity, consistency and repeated performance as annual events. They were also supported and sustained in the intervals between repetition by other manifestations of the Ottoman protectorate such as money transfers, food transfers, provision of water supply and stationing of a military presence, all of which gave tangible and material support to Ottomans’ ideological claims as servants, protectors and guardians of the remotest imperial outposts.

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Confirmation Procedures, Induction Ceremonies, and Handing Over of Emblems of Office to Office Holders The Ottoman system of government was based on a principle of wide discussion and consultation (meşveret) which took place within the context of the divan and was confirmed with the ‘masters of binding and unbinding’ in private consultation, but, once a joint decision had been reached and a workable consensus agreed to, the implementation of the plan and the decisions about the personnel best suited to its accomplishment were left to the sultan’s discretion. In the matter of forming a loyal, competent and dedicated team that would carry out instructions, the one person who stood above personal, factional or familial allegiances and who could reach an unbiased decision as to who was the person best suited to each particular job was the sultan himself. Delegation of authority at all levels passed exclusively through his hands, even if for some appointments he was only confirming recommendations passed up to him through the chain of command from his provincial representatives. Dissent and disagreement were always possible, even encouraged at the stage of policy formulation, but, once the course of action had been chosen, second guessing of the sultan or challenging of his authority over appointments was not tolerated. The sultan’s word was final, and even the slightest wavering or sign of insubordination was swiftly dealt with. Backsliding tendencies of that sort were regarded as ingratitude towards the sultan’s grant of favour and good fortune (nimet), and as failure to give proper acknowledgement of his favour and kind attention (iltifat). As patrimonial ruler, the sultan was the source of all blessings, including the blessing of an appropriate ‘livelihood’ (dirlik) for each of the servants, and the symbolic equivalent of biting the hand that fed one was regarded in the Ottoman system as the worst kind of hubris and exaggerated self-regard. Those who took the sultan’s generosity for granted or expressed their ingratitude by word or deed were subject to immediate dismissal and loss of livelihood. Incapacity or incompetence also formed grounds for dismissal, thus making the Ottoman system of administration one of the most flexible and fluid among its contemporary bureaucratic prototypes. Albeit exceptionally open from the point of view of recruitment, it possessed an unusually rigorous means for close monitoring and control of office holders’ performance of their duties of office. Beyond that, because pride or lack of deference to the patron/sultan were regarded as seriously as lapses in professional standards, the Ottoman bureaucracy was also characterized by a strictly enforced disciplinary code. As an example of the extreme sensitivity to perceived affronts to the imperial dignity arising from an office holder’s failure to acknowledge the limits of his assigned place in the hierarchy, the case of the fall from grace of Mehmed IV’s Chief Superintendent of the Gatekeepers (kapucular kethudası), named Yusuf

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Pasha, in 1663 is instructive. In particular, those in closest physical proximity to the sultan in the palace service faced the greatest risk of offending the sovereign or of committing breaches of protocol that tarnished his image. Yusuf Pasha, having been favoured by promotion to his current exalted position from humble beginnings as one of the sultan’s royal falconers (doğancı), managed to retain his elevated rank only for a few months, between July of 1663 and January of 1664, when his failure to ‘hold his tongue’ earned him the sultan’s ire, arising from his ‘provocative statements that cause damage to public order’.38 To upset the mood and offer insult to the sultan’s inner feelings (tagyir-i hatır-i hümayun) was sufficient cause in itself for dismissal, and it was thus the positions requiring constant attendance and proximity to the sultan which proved the most volatile and subject to transfer. Royal favour had to be earned, and holding on to it once gained could prove equally challenging, as the case of Yusuf Pasha demonstrates. But, in spite of the seeming arbitrariness of the Ottoman system of appointments and promotions, the ability of the ruler to restructure his team at any time so as to optimize both the performance of individuals and their compatibility with other team members gave this system a flexibility and adaptability that fostered an exceptionally cooperative and efficient working relationship between the sultan and his servants. Yusuf Pasha’s punishment for his insubordination and failure to maintain a good working relationship with his colleagues, most particularly his ‘boss’, the sultan, was banishment from the palace and reassignment to a post as governor of Ankara. However, shortly after he set out for his new assignment, a messenger caught up with him at Baba Eski, 30 kilometres south-west of Edirne, and delivered the sultan’s order of execution.39 The message that a cooperative spirit was equally important in service as competence could not have been more forcefully delivered. This fact was duly noted by the historian Abdi, who observed that ‘the sultan’s ministers received stern warning [about their own behaviour] from these events’.40 The handing over of authority and its retraction or removal were solemnized by special ceremonies, which were carefully, even scrupulously observed. The transfer of the seal of office (mühur) of the grand vizier served as the unmistakable proof that responsibility and authority for that office rested with the individual in whose physical possession the object was kept. A visible and displayable sign authenticating and announcing a person’s status and position in society was a key element in the Ottoman system of social distinction; even in death, the headdress appropriate to a deceased person’s professional status (turban for members of the ulema, fez for the military classes, and so on) was prominently displayed on the top of the tombstone after burial. Headdress in particular was used as a semiotic code which, by colour, shape, material and types of decoration such as aigrette plumes for military commanders, identified the rank and status of any individual at first glance. The conferring by the ruler of ceremonial robes of various types

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and qualities conveyed an equally unmistakable message about the status of the cloak holder, and its removal or return to the sultan was equally unambiguous in communicating that person’s demotion and loss of favour. Conversely, its retention signalled successful completion of a particular phase of service. For instance, the kapaniçe, an elaborate fur-lined garment worn by the sultan and loaned by him for special ceremonial occasions to be worn by the grand vizier, was always returned to the sultan’s possession when the ceremonies requiring its use were completed. The wearing of particular vestments as a marker of office was a privilege handed down by a superior to a subordinate, and the conferring of hilat was a uniquely sultanic prerogative, though in limited circumstances – confined largely to occasions when the grand vizier temporarily found himself in a remote location at the front with the army – a subordinate could deputize for his master. Still, for the most part, pride in wearing the vestments of office and gratitude for their bestowal revolved implicitly around the person of the sultan, and collection of this and other insignia of office in person was the usual expectation. Roland Barthes’ work on the Japanese imperial tradition has shown how essential dress, posture and public (that is, visual) performance of rituals of subordination, including gift-giving, were to the political context of the Japanese court. In particular, he sees the gesture and the ceremony of gift-giving as forming the purest and least ambiguous expression of hierarchical relativity in interpersonal relations.41 In the Ottoman tradition, the reliance on signs, signals and other forms of non-verbal communication to convey and record publicly either approval or rejection was no less pronounced.42 An interesting example of the consequences of the failure to report promptly to the court to collect the material tokens of office and receive the blessing of the sultan and of his deputy, the grand vizier, after conferral of office is recorded in Abdi Pasha’s history under the events of the year 1651. As a corollary to the obligation to don one’s robe of office in the sultan’s presence, on the occasions when both the sultan and the grand vizier were present at court, the appointee was expected to pay his respects separately to the sultan’s chief deputy and effective head of government by receiving a second hilat of appointment from his hands. The regulations on this matter were clear and unambiguous in the kanunname of 1676, drafted by Abdi Pasha in his role as nişanci or inscriber of the royal cipher (tughra). In Abdi’s time, this act of confirmation in office seemingly represented an invariable practice and its disregarding would have been taken as a sign of deliberate disrespect to the grand vizier.43 In a case involving the celebrated Köprülü Mehmed Pasha, who later became grand vizier, Abdi Pasha remarked, without registering surprise or criticism, the decision of the newly appointed grand vizier Gürcü Mehmed Pasha to oppose Köprülü’s promotion to the status of vizier of the council of state with three horsetails (tuğs) in mid-November 1651 on the basis of his failure to report

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to the court in timely fashion so as to receive his hilat before the ending of the annual reception held at court in the run-up to the Festival of the Sacrifice on 10 Zilhicce, which fell in that year (1061 hijri) on 24 November. Once again, the issue involved was the visualization of transfer of power and authority from a superior to a subordinate, which in the case of an appointee to the rank of fifth or sixth vizier of the cupola (kubbe) such as Köprülü meant performance of an act of submission before both the sultan and his chief deputy, the grand vizier. Without these multiple acts of visible submission, the would-be office holder’s appointment carried no force or validity. According to the 1676 regulations, it was obligatory for all viziers, whether newly appointed or long-term incumbents, to pay their respects one by one and separately on the fifth day before the Feast of the Sacrifice.44 Each vizier and his personal retinue paid respects separately, in turn and by rank. Thus, at the times when there were six or seven individuals holding vizierial rank present at court simultaneously, the completion of these ceremonies of mutual greeting and salutation could occupy the better part of a day.45 In 1061 hijri (1651), 5 Zilhicce fell on Sunday, 19 November, and when, five days later at the commencement of the id, Köprülü had still failed to make his appearance, his appointment was revoked. Köprülü paid a high price for his failure to observe the traditional courtesies due to the grand vizier but on the other hand, for the system to function properly, it was essential that rank, hierarchical order and order of precedence should be scrupulously observed and gestures of subordination and acknowledgement of higher authority be visibly delivered. In his own career as grand vizier after 1656, he was more careful than most in enforcing these rules and in exacting the homage due to him from his own junior viziers. The sign of Köprülü’s demotion and return to his former rank was that, on the day after the commencement of the id (Saturday, 25 November 1651), the grand vizier stripped him of one of his three horsetail standards and dispatched him to the middle-ranking sub-province of Köstendil in the central Balkans.46 Although he was allowed to keep his title as beylerbeyi, the transfer to Köstendil was in fact a double demotion, since the administrative status of Köstendil as a sub-region or county was inferior and subject to the supervisory jurisdiction of the Governor General of Rumelia. Provincial governors, for their part, aside from the universally performed donning of the vestments of office in the sultan’s presence, also received the standard and banners associated with each province according to its hierarchical ranking in the provincial administrative system, entrusted and delivered to them by the sultan’s chief standard bearer, the mir-i alem. The importance of this office, responsible for overseeing the proper transfer of authority at each change of office and for retrieving and reassigning the emblem of power consisting of the provincial standard, is indicated by the fact that its chief officer held one of the principal ranks in the imperial administration, forming one of the inner

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group of the sultan’s Officers of the Stirrup (özengi ağaları). His duties were described in Koçi Bey’s second risale, written for the newly enthroned sultan Ibrahim I in 1640, as the responsibility for ‘delivering the standard of office to all new appointees to provincial governorships, for which service he is to receive a horse, a sable cloak and a cash honorarium consisting of 20,000 akçes’.47 The spherical knob (top) at the head of the standard was another emblem of sovereign authority conferred on the office holder during his term of office, to authenticate his position as the sultan’s appointee and official representative. It authorized him to act and to carry out his duties in the sultan’s name. Its visual display together with the banner were intended, as were other means for the enunciation of sovereign authority such as the drums and musical instruments which commanded auditory attention, to elicit instant recognition, respect and obedience on the part of the beholder or person in the audience.48 The removal of the standard at the end of a governor’s term and its reassignment to a new office holder served as the unmistakable sign of the transfer of the sultan’s favour. Another sign of sultanic approval and delegation of authority and verification of an appointment was the presence of the imperial cipher (tughra) itself on the document conferring office. In the late eighteenth century, provincial elites anxious to acquire legitimacy and respect in their local contexts sought the approval of the sultan’s government in Istanbul by way of honorary titles like ayan (notable person, member of the ruling elite). Only the conferrals of such status, which were approved centrally and carrying the sultan’s insignia of verification, namely the imperial tughra, were held to be valid and legitimate, and regulations disallowing gubernatorial appointments issued in the absence of official approval from the centre were strenuously proclaimed and strictly enforced. As much as the content of the order, the verifying symbol at the head of genuine imperial orders carried a disproportionate weight and influence in provincial contexts.49 Apart from the insignia of office such as seals (mühür), ciphers (tughra) and standards (alem) and apart from ceremonies of investiture which were centred on the office holder’s donning of vestments at the commencement of an appointment, hilats of various kinds and quantities were routinely distributed at each stage in a mission’s progress, to mark the achievement of interim goals and, of course, final success at the conclusion of the mission. An example chosen at random from the Book of Ceremonies (Teşrifat Defteri) of 1638 notes the donning of vestments in the imperial council room by the district commander of Avlonya (modern Vlöre in Albania), whose mission had been to deliver the dues collected from the region of Trikkala owed as cash equivalents for exemption from the obligation to supply pack animals for army transport.50 During the course of high-profile, high-priority undertakings such as major military campaigns, office holders could expect to receive encouragements, rewards and

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15. Close-up of Royal Cipher (tughra) of Sultan Süleyman I taken from a document in the Topkapi Palace Archives (Istanbul), E. 7816; cf.Esin Atıl, The Age of Sultan Süleyman the Magnificent (Washington, DC, 1987), p. 40. acknowledgements of service marked by the dispatch of robes of honour on multiple occasions throughout the course of the campaign. The arrival of hilats for distribution to ranking army officers, like the arrival of communications bearing the sultan’s personal insignia, namely the imperial cipher, served as a reminder, warning or reassurance to all those present, signalling the sultan’s supervision and ownership of the events unfolding, regardless of his attendance or non-attendance at a particular gathering. The award of multiple hilats by Mehmed IV to his commander in chief and deputy, the grand vizier Kara Mustafa Pasha, during the course of the campaign against the Ukrainian fortress of Czehreyn in the summer of 1678 provides a compelling but at the same time typical example of the closeness with which, by means of the instrument of the conferral of robes of honour, the sultan was able

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to monitor, supervise, channel and control the efforts and performance of his kuls. The hilats distributed in the period between May 1678 and April 1679 and the reasons for their distribution can be summarized according to the account provided by the historian Silahdar. These hilat distributions were interspersed at critical points during the campaign, whose timetable unfolded as follows: Hilat distribution, May 1678–April 1679

Page in Silahdar’s account (Vol.1)

1. 30 April 1678 – seeing-off ceremonies performed in Istanbul accompanying joint departure of sultan and grand vizier for Hacıoğlu Pazarı (Dobrič), the inteneded launching point for the campaign. A delegation of Istanbul dignitaries escorts the sultan as far as Halkalı on the western outskirts of Istanbul.

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2. 28 May 1678 – army reaches 20th stage of march at Dobrič and commences seven-day layover prior to second leavetaking. Official handing over of command to the grand vizier on 1 June

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3. 22 July 1678 – arrival of army headed by grand vizier in the vicinity of its target, the fortress of Czehreyn

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4. 21 August – fall of Czehreyn on 30th day of siege

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5. 31 August – grand vizier dispatches victory bulletin (fethname) to sultan and announces his intention and requests permission to commence the return march towards Edirne

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6. 12 September – sultan receives victory bulletin in Dobrič and orders seven days and seven nights of city illuminations and celebrations to be observed empire-wide

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7. 25 September 1678 – sultan’s messenger acknowledging receipt of the fethname arrives in grand vizier’s camp still awaiting orders north of the Dniestr at Uman; sultan offers his congratulations and sanctions request to commence return march

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8. 19 November 1678 (daytime) – grand vizier arrives on outskirts of Edirne and is greeted by a delegation of the city’s dignitaries

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9. 19 November (nighttime) – grand vizier is received by sultan in private audience in the palace

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10. 20 November – grand vizier’s public welcome and entry into Edirne for a second reception by the sultan

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11. late November 1678–early March 1679 – court in residence in Edirne during the winter season

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12. late March–early April 1679 – court relocates in several stages from Edirne to Istanbul

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13. 12–14 April 1679 – sultan’s ‘return’ to the capital Istanbul is celebrated in three days and nights of city illuminations observed, unlike the victory illuminations (see no. 6 above), in Istanbul only

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Throughout the period of separation between the grand vizier and the sultan from 1 June to 19 November (see above, nos 2 and 9), contact was maintained by means of the transfer and return of objects and insignia of office, exchange of letters and distribution of honours and awards, mostly in the form of hilats, all of which served to keep the sultan close to the centre of activity and fully represented despite his non-participation in the campaign in any direct or material way. The details of how this contact was maintained in the five and a half months of separation between the grand vizier’s departure for the front and his return offer a classic example of the methods and mechanisms employed by the Ottomans to achieve imperial supervision and performance management over actors and events situated in the hinterlands of the empire, where the sultan’s actual physical presence could not be realized. The first stage of ceremonial and symbolic importance reached in the prelude to the departure for the Czehreyn campaign in 1678 involved the handing over by the sultan to his commander of the talismanic banner of the prophet (sancak-i şerif), which by custom occupied a place of honour at the vanguard of the Ottoman troops entering into battle. This talisman was entrusted to the grand vizier for the duration of the campaign, thus signalling the sultan’s transfer of responsibility for all aspects of the conduct of the campaign to his deputy, but at the same time the act of transfer itself served as a reminder that these arrangements were temporary and applied only to the context of the grand vizier’s present role and assignment as serdar (commander) in the current campaign.51 In addition to the prophet’s banner, the insignia of office handed over by the sultan to his deputy included the usual tokens of command, which, once again, specified his role as proxy and agent as opposed to principal. By accepting these objects, the grand vizier acknowledged that he served only as a substitute, acting in the name of the sultan or being deputized for an explicit purpose – in this case, leadership during the time of war. After accepting his generalized token of agency and subservience by donning the sultan’s robe of honour consisting of a

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fur-lined silk kaftan, the vizier accepted three further task-specific instruments and emblems of office which applied explicitly to the performance of his duties as military commander, thus sealing the transfer of authority by defining its boundaries. The first of these three additional items of investiture consisted of a sword with a jewel-encrusted hilt; the second was a quiver; and finally the third consisted of aigrette plumes, a decoration of honour signifying military valour and intended for insertion in the fold of the vizier’s turban in a place of prominence and visibility, unmistakably announcing his exclusive position of trust in the sultan’s service to any observer. Since the objects conferred were the personal property of the sultan, their bestowal on the vizier conveyed the implicit message that, whatever the vizier managed to accomplish in the waging of war against the sultan’s enemies, using the instruments of war supplied by the sultan achieved, not a personal victory redounding to his own credit, but a collective victory for which the sultan held ultimate responsibility. By his acceptance of these objects the vizier signalled his shouldering of the very grave responsibility – on the one hand, for the community’s collective defence and on the other, for the protection of the sovereign’s imperial dignity and the dynasty’s honour. The meaning attached to the delivery of the first batch of imperial regalia and insignia of office delivered before the army’s departure for the front was twofold: first it signified induction to office and secondly transfer and acceptance of authority and responsibility by the recipient. In the second stage of the protocol, a messenger from the sultan was dispatched from the home front in time to reach the commander in the field after the latter had crossed into enemy territory and was ready to commence the siege (see the chronological list, no. 3). On this occasion the sultan’s dispatch of confirmatory insignia and symbols of office included two of the standard ones, namely a fur-lined kaftan and a decorated sword, but also a dagger, to underline the military nature of the grand vizier’s mission.52 As a further means of asserting his involvement in a campaign in which he was not actually taking part, the sultan sent a letter of encouragement to the troops, to be read aloud to the assembled cohorts, in which he urged them by way of personal appeal to expend their utmost efforts in besieging the fortress and he promised commensurate gratitude and reward, should they succeed.53 Another way of sharing in the enterprise was by serving as honorary host in absentia through the organization of feasts for sharing of the sultan’s bounty, feasts which took place by custom on the eve of a serious undertaking as a means for enhancing group cohesion. Stage three of the protocol occurred after the successful completion of the campaign in late August, when (as described above, in the chronological list, in nos 5–7) a letter of congratulations sent by the sultan was delivered to the grand vizier’s camp, this time by a high-ranking officer of the court, the sultan’s lesser equerry, named Köse Ali Agha. This letter was accompanied by the

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following items of regalia: (1) the grand vizier’s third fur-lined kaftan; (2) his third sword; and (3) his second aigrette decoration intended for display in his turban. However, this time, in acknowledgement of his success, in place of the single plume he was awarded double crane plumes with jewel fasteners, which signified exceptional bravery tested under battle conditions.54 At this stage of developments, corresponding to the ‘mission completed’ phase of the campaign prior to the commencement of the march home, the sultan had his envoy Köse Ali distribute assorted gifts and decorations, not just to the grand vizier but to various ranks of viziers and emirs who had contributed to the campaign’s success. The task of extending congratulations for a job well done which the sultan had delegated to Köse Ali was treated as a high-priority matter and, when the sultan’s envoy arrived at the army camp at Uman in late September (see no. 7 in the chronological list), he was received with ceremony, respect and fanfare which included a formal procession (alay), and he was granted, as the sultan’s representative, full honours as if the sultan himself had been present. Under any circumstances, the delivery of a message bearing the imperial cipher (hatt-i şerif) was treated as an occasion for special ceremony, since it signified the sultan’s transportation and transmutation in verbal form to the spot where the message was delivered.55 The letter, a material object, read aloud, took the place of the sender, just as the garments and robes of honour, when donned, supplied visual reference to the sultan’s substantiality and material existence. Although the sultan was physically remote, he was ceremonially transported and occupied a place very much at the centre of the company assembled to pay heed to his words.56 The next phase of the ceremonies celebrating the commander’s success in the campaign against Czehreyn occurred after his arrival in the vicinity of Edirne some seven weeks later, in the third week of November 1678. Because it was not the sultan but his deputy whose return was being celebrated, the welcoming ceremonies were staged in three separate phases and three separate places. In the first place, on 19 November, a delegation of dignitaries arrived at the grand vizier’s camp – which was two hours away from the city – at the dervish lodge of Gül Baba accompanied by the sultan’s chief equerry, Süleyman Agha, who delivered the fourth set of insignia, this time including double hilats; one furlined, the other plain, to signify successful completion of the assigned mission (see the chronological list, no. 8). At the same time, double jewelled aigrettes were awarded, the doubling of the decoration again signifying the sultan’s satisfaction with a job well done. These decorations were, despite the vizier’s proximity to the sovereign presence, still delivered by an intermediary. To complete the cycle from the personal sending-off and separation which took place at Dobrič in June to the reunion between the sultan and his representative in Edirne in November, the sultan invited the commander to a low-key private audience in the palace,

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after nightfall (işa) (see the chronological list, no. 9). At this private ceremony, which was a fifth installment of hilats, this time two hilats – one plain and the other fur-lined – were handed over by the sultan in person, as a prelude to the public ceremony which took place the following day, on 20 November (see the chronological list, no. 10).57 One of the main purposes of the final public ceremony – which was accompanied by a grand procession (alay) to mark the grand vizier’s entry into the city and his reunion with the sovereign residing in state in Edirne – was to verify the safe return and restitution to the sultan of the banner of the prophet, a relic and talisman properly kept in the sultan’s possession but ‘loaned’ to the grand vizier at another public ceremony, held at Dobrič five and a half months previously. While restoring it to the sultan, the grand vizier dismounted and carried it on his shoulders before performing the gesture of proskenesis and reverence in front of the sovereign, his patron and master. In terms of body toponomy, the carrying of the banner over his shoulder and his kneeling to kiss the foot of the sovereign provided a deliberate contrast, whose meaning was well understood by all those present.58 The solemnity of this occasion called for a reciprocating gesture of final recognition on the part of the sultan, who responded in the typical and expected way by clothing the grand vizier in his sixth set of hilats in as many months. For this occasion, the hilats were again double, one plain and one fur-lined, to mark the closure of the period of separation and the conclusion of the grand vizier’s military duties for that year. In 1678, the marking of the commencement of the winter season on the ‘day of division’ (ruz-i kasım) and the granting of official leave to the troops were moved for ceremonial reasons from their fixed point on the calendar on 5 November to 20 November, in order to engineer a coincidence between the end of the campaigning season and the safe return of the prophet’s banner to the sultan’s keeping. The grand vizier’s donning of his sixth set of hilats signalled that the cycle of the campaign had reached full circle and that his duties were successfully concluded. Far from being superfluous, each stage in the sultan’s acknowledgement of service and performance of duty by his subordinates served to introduce his presence and assert his control. By words and deeds, signs and symbols, and through conferring garments and other physical objects, the sultan made himself an integral part of a joint venture and claimed ownership of the events. Just as his direct presence in the divan was not required to ensure the smooth functioning of government and state administration, so too in the conduct of war his involvement could be communicated by indirect means, without requiring his immediate physical presence. The hilat instrument was used far more extensively than merely as a means of investiture and induction into office, as is clear from the foregoing account of hilat distributions during the course of the 1678 Czehreyn campaign. It served a

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multifunctional purpose in multiple contexts, being aimed at lending substance to the sultan’s claims to supervisory authority, as can be readily seen by its use in six separate contexts during the course of a single campaigning season in the Ukraine in 1678. In the beginning, middle and end of all important imperial undertakings, the sultanic hilat performed the same function as a strategically timed paternal pat on the back designed to elicit greater efforts, commitment and dedication from his filial associates. The role played by the hilat in enhancing the performance of the sultan’s legions of subordinates at all levels of the imperial hierarchy is evocatively captured in a folk-inspired and popular pseudo-biographical account of the exploits of Süleyman I’s celebrated admiral Hayreddin Barbarossa. In private audience with his most trusted associates, the formality of public ceremonies could be dispensed with by the sultan, who consciously played the role of a father figure in confidential encounters. In one such audience, imagined by the author, Muradi, to have taken place between Süleyman ‘the Magnificent’ and his seafaring righthand man – an audience situated in the narrative at the close of the campaigning season of 1536, which had witnessed multiple attacks by Barbarossa against the coasts of Apulia – the sultan welcomed back his conquering hero with exceptional intimacy, hailing him, in deference to his greater age, as mücahid lalam (‘my champion and tutor/mentor’) and then confirming his position of subordination in the sovereign’s service by conferring the congratulatory hilat, not with a remote gesture but with an affectionate rub on the back as he placed the garment over the pasha’s shoulders.59 By this act, the sultan not only communicated his gratitude for his admiral’s efforts and achievements and his acknowledgement of the sea warrior’s delivery of presents (pishkesh) and contributions from that season’s war booty, but also confirmed his renewal of the admiral’s appointment for the season to come and his expectation of future service and sacrifice on the sultan’s behalf. The granting of a hilat thus marked both the finalization of an assigned task (vazife) and the beginning of a new phase of service and dedication.60 At the conclusion of the following season’s campaigning in late autumn 1537, a similar audience (debriefing) took place between the sultan and Barbarossa, which resulted this time, according to Muradi’s version of events, in the sultan’s extension of the heartiest of welcomes to his champion. On this occasion, the sultan’s degree of intimacy was multiplied three times by a repeated gesture of thanks and reassurance communicated by not one but three rubs on the admiral’s back as he clothed him with the celebratory hilat.61 Although the level of intimacy enjoyed by Hayreddin Pasha was exceptional among the sultan’s other servants, each new award of a hilat was enacted as a personal confirmation of the sultan’s trust and, even if it was not accompanied by immediate material reward or promotion, the very fact of remaining in the sultan’s good grace implied a safe, secure as well as materially rewarding future to the recipient. In the immediate

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context, retention of one’s post and reconfirmation of the sultan’s favour were reward enough. Occasionally the sources provide for us the actual words of encouragement and/or warning addressed to recipients of hilats as uttered by the sultan when he bestowed on them the vestments of office. One such case is recorded in the year 1608 when, according to an anonymous eulogistic work celebrating the life and accomplishments of another admiral (later grand vizier), Halil Pasha, upon embarking for his Aegean and Mediterranean cruise from Istanbul, the pasha was offered the following words of God’s speed attributed to the sovereign of the day Ahmed I: ‘Keep your spirits up and don’t worry. Just fasten the belt of service around the centre of your being and (God the Exalted willing) I will promote you to the rank of vizier [upon your return].’62 When, several months later in November 1608, Halil Pasha returned with six captured enemy ships in tow, the sultan confirmed his promotion to the promised rank (rütbe), in recognition of his service. The form that recognition of service took was entirely at the sultan’s discretion, and such interactions should not be regarded in any way as the fulfilment of promises governed by the logic of quid pro quo. The language used to describe such grants makes it clear that expressions of sultanic benevolence arose not from a sense of obligation or compulsion or from the logic of rightful compensation, but resulted instead from the unilateral and freely offered spirit of goodwill and favour (ihsan) extended towards the most deserving among the sultan’s longest-serving associates.63 It goes without saying that viziers, admirals and grand viziers made up a special class of specially favoured individuals in the Ottoman imperial system, but these principles of personal initiation of service enacted by the sultan, encouragement at intermediate stages of a joint project’s progress and final acknowledgement and reward at the conclusion of a task followed the exact same pattern for lesser ranks and offices too. The rank of the grantee and the nature of the service, whether hay stowing and wood stacking in the palace,64 tax collection in the provinces65 or defeating an enemy fleet as in the case of Halil Pasha just cited, all elicited the same care and personal attention to detail by the sultan and the same appreciation and dedication to further service by the recipients of imperial favour regardless of rank.

The Sultan Sitting in Judgement The treatment of sultanic patronage and reward would remain seriously deficient and incomplete without some reference to the stick side of the carrot-and-stick principle as applied by the Ottomans to the purpose of maximizing both service dedication and bureaucratic efficiency. The forms which the withdrawal of sultanic favour took could be as varied and subtle as those encountered in the provision of positive incentives for effective and loyal service. The sultan’s role in

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the administration of justice and the determination and meting out of appropriate punishments for all categories of anti-social behaviour, and especially for acts of insubordination or disrespect to the sovereign authority, is thoroughly documented in a wide range of Ottoman sources. The preoccupation with the promotion of social order through active suppression of the causes of social disruption and through punishment of the fomenters of oppression and injustice (zulüm) was central to the Ottoman concept of sovereignty. Promoting the good was incomplete without its supporting other half, namely the rooting out of evil. For the sultan to make credible his claim to be the people’s protector, he had to remain ever vigilant and active in both these halves of his ruling responsibilities. His mandate involved in particular the ability to act swiftly, decisively and independently so as to redress social injustice and prevent acts of predation commmitted by the socially prominent against the weak and disenfranchised members of society and to discourage all forms of abuse of power by his own officials. The use of sürgün or internal exile as an instrument of control, applied both collectively and individually in order to remove a persistent source of social disruption and to achieve a more compatible balance of social groupings, found a particularly wide application in the early centuries of Ottoman rule. During this period block transfers of populations from internal provinces to frontier zones formed a key element in the Ottomans’ strategy for territorial expansion. The method served a dual purpose in those centuries: one of removing dissident or fractious elements in the home territories, another of injecting dynamism and regenerative energy into the social setting of the border region designated to receive them. Applied individually, sürgün was used not so much a punitive as a rehabilitative measure, designed to engender a greater degree of cooperation with the ruler’s plans and priorities. Frequent transfers of provincial governors to prevent the formation of lasting local alliances that might be used as a counterfoil against sultanic authority made up a significant part of this balancing of political and social forces on an empire-wide and semi-continuous basis. In the winter of 1539–40, in advance of his mobilization for the next phase of his engagement on the European front, Sultan Süleyman sought to set his house in order in the Anatolian part of his empire by dismissing key individuals whose loyalty to the Ottoman cause he suspected. Post-holders in Erzurum and Zülkadriye (Maraş) on one border of the empire were transferred to less sensitive positions on other fronts where the sultan would be able to monitor their performance more closely. While the dismissal of the governor of the border province of Zülkadr-ili was attributed by the contemporary chronicler Bostan Çelebi to ‘unseemly acts’, a circumlocutory phrase which applied equally to moral turpitude and political dissidence,66 the transfer of the governor of Erzurum Mehmed Han, descendant of the Zulkadrid dynasty and one-time defector to the shah, was prompted by overt political concerns.67 Whatever the precipitating cause, the ability of the

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sultan to rotate and, if necessary, permanently to remove troublesome, disloyal, cowardly or otherwise underperforming subordinates was the natural and necessary counterpart to his capacity to reward and promote those whom he deemed deserving of his patronage and support. Details on the assigning of incomes from vacant timars and ziamets awarded as livelihoods (dirlik) to court historians favoured by sultanic patronage, as published by Erhan Afyoncu, provide illuminating illustration of how each successful candidate’s good fortune and promotion on the ladder of imperial service was founded on the misfortune and disgrace of a rival candidate. What is remarkable about these records is that they reveal at the same time the rapid turnover and reassignment of offices and office holders, which suggests instability and insecurity, and its balancing by a readiness to promote high standards of service through the continuous redistribution of assets and rewards. Two examples relating to the early period of the Long Wars with Austria around 1593–6 are sufficient to illustrate the operation of this equilibrium. In one case, a vacancy was created for the renowned bureaucrat and author of a classic treatise on state administration, Ayni Ali Efendi, by reassignment of a generous annual ziamet stipend worth 93,490 akçes per annum, freed up by the desertion of its previous holder, named Ağacık-oğlu Yunus, during the battle of Haçova (Mezokerestes) in late October 1596. In describing the background and justification for the dismissal of the ‘distinguished person’ (müteferrika) Yunus, the sultan offered the following pronouncement: ‘to those such as Yunus who have fled during battle, possession of my grant of livelihood [dirlik] is forbidden and I hereby withhold my consent from any who would seek to reinstate such deserters in the future’.68 Later on in the same document reference is made to subsequent attempts to track down the fugitive dated 13–22 September 1597, nearly a year after his initial act of desertion. In this part of the document the sultan reiterated his determination to exact full retribution, urging local officials to pursue the case by stating: ‘wherever the aforementioned fugitive Yunus may be tracked down and discovered, you are to exact the punishment he deserves [that is, execution] and show him not the slightest leniency or mercy.’69 A similar case dating from a few years earlier in 1593 involved the flight of a ziamet holder named Mehmed, nicknamed Mehmed ‘the Fugitive’ (Firari), who was stripped of his estates after having deserted his post at the fortress of Fülek in Hungary – an act which resulted in its surrender to the enemy. His ziamet, valued at 21,500 akçes, was transferred to the historian Cafer Iyani, author of a history of the Hungarian campaigns, who also received a bonus of 6,500 akçes in recognition of his services during the siege of Siska the previous year. This brought the total value of his estate to 28,000 akçes.70 The rapidity and decisiveness with which these personnel changes were made on the basis of detailed on-the-spot reports concerning the bravery (yararlık) or cowardice (muhanneslik) of individual soldiers by provincial governors and their

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subordinates gives striking evidence not just of Ottoman bureaucratic efficiency but of the incisive ability of the sultan to follow the real-world performance of agents deployed in key positions throughout the empire. The document authorizing the transfer of ‘Fugitive’ Mehmed’s estates to Cafer Iyani was dated 28 November 1593, which means that the decision was already being processed just weeks after the receipt of the letter of recommendation sent by the governor of Bosnia dated mid-November, which itself had been composed immediately after the events themselves (namely the fall of Fülek, which occurred in early November).71 In short, even though it is generally true that ‘bad news travels fast’, the rate and rapidity of communication in the case just cited – although unexceptional in an Ottoman bureaucratic context – shows just how efficient the Ottomans were in taking restorative action after a crisis and how swift they could be in rebalancing priorities and making the appropriate personnel changes and transfers of assets with a minimum of opposition or confusion. One of the strengths of the Ottoman bureaucratic system was its decisiveness, which derived from a centralization and concentration of decision-making, at least in personnel matters, on a single source, that is, sultanic approval. House-cleaning operations of the sort illustrated here through the cases of Firari Mehmed and Müteferrika Yunus were not only driven by crisis, but also ongoing and continuous throughout each sultan’s reign. This allowed the ruler scope to retain and reward the services of the reliable, competent and loyal while regularly weeding out the incompetent and disloyal. Punishments for disloyalty and other discreditable acts naturally went beyond mere dismissal and loss of livelihood. Another valuable tool used by the sultan to establish his authority and assert his control over the actions of his subordinates was the threat of confiscation (musadere), but this punishment was used only as a last resort, for persistent offenders either against the general moral code or against the sultan’s disciplinary code. Loss of status, short of capital punishment for the most serious crimes, involved some sort of public humiliation whose appropriate form mostly fell within the boundaries of the sultan’s extra-judicial (örfi) jurisdiction, to decide upon. The visual manifestation of the sultan’s justice, both in punishment and in rarer acts of clemency and amnesty, was as much a part of the sultan’s fulfilment of the image and expectations of his office as the lavish and extravagant demonstrations of largesse and generosity on occasions such as the sur celebrations staged for royal princes. Public demonstrations of sultanic justice in ways easily intelligible to the masses were used not just as a deterrent from committing anti-social acts, but also as a reminder of the sultan’s key position as the defender of public order acting for the benefit of his law-abiding subjects. The function of the imperial divan as a high court of justice and venue for the righting of wrongs (mezalim), with the grand vizier presiding and the sultan (in later Ottoman practice) fulfilling mostly a role of observation – as opposed to

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direct participation in the proceedings – was based on earlier Seljukid practice, in which the ruler played a far more proactive role. Yazıcıoğlu Ali in his early fifteenth-century Turkish translation of the Selcukname noted that in the heyday of the Rum Seljukid state, between the 1190s and the 1250s, state rulers used to attend meetings of the divan twice weekly, on Monday and Tuesday mornings, to hear the claims of injured parties and to exact punishment on the perpetrators of injustice. Furthermore, once a year the sultan presented himself at the sharia court, to face any accusers or plaintiffs (müddei) who might have a legitimate case against him.72 In later centuries, Ottoman sultans interpreted this obligation somewhat less rigorously, and there is no reliable evidence to suggest they took an active part in the trial phase of the proceedings which were generally carried out by sharia rules under the authority of one or the other of the two military judges (kadi askers) who regularly attended meetings of the imperial divan. Nevertheless, the perceived need for the sultan to demonstrate his vigilance in upholding the law remained strong until the later Ottoman imperial era, and in some high-profile cases his direct participation and intervention, particularly in sentencing and in the carrying out of sentences, is apparent. A crime that was given particular attention, both in the theoretical world of the law codes and in the real-life world of law enforcement, was the crime of bearing false witness. If proven, this crime carried a variety of possible punishments, from being exposed to public humiliation, face blackening and fines to corporal punishment and even mutilation, for instance the branding of the forehead or the cutting of the tongue in more serious cases.73 The reason why some cases were transferred for trial to the jurisdiction of the imperial council (acting in its role as mezalim court) can be associated with the perceived need, backed in some cases by the express desire of the sultan, to send a particular message of warning or otherwise to achieve credit in the general public opinion. Adopting a stance that cast him in the light of a leader who was ‘tough on crime’ and on the causes of crime was, in part, imperial image-making, but it also represented a real need for deterrents to discourage social disorder. Neither the names nor the particular circumstances of two individuals who appeared before the divan on 6 September 1637 is identified in our source, but it is apparent that Sultan Murad IV took his responsibility as the guardian of public morals and chief justice quite seriously: this can be inferred from the severity of the punishment inflicted, which included both public humiliation and physical mutilation. The details of the punishment are recorded in the Protocol Book of 1637 in the following terms: ‘on that day [6 September] two men who had been found guilty of bearing false witness [presumably during divan proceedings] were taken and bound fast to the tall trees next to the fountain outside the Imperial Council Hall. Their tongues were branded and their foreheads disfigured by inflicting a gash with a carpenter’s chisel and, in order to complete the just retribution for this serious crime [against

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public order], they were made to mount the backs of donkeys and paraded around the city to be subjected to public derision and ridicule.’74 The role of the sultan’s Çavuş-başı (head of the palace ushers and body guards) in collecting, forwarding and processing evidence and in the binding over of suspects for trial in the divan is richly documented in a case book of individuals sentenced to penal servitude as oarsmen in the imperial galley fleet during the early to mid-1560s.75 The crimes punishable by penal servitude included a wide range of lesser and greater ones, from counterfeiting and forgery, falsification of documents and common theft to implication in acts of sedition – a matter which remained foremost in the minds of the authorities in the immediate aftermath of the confrontation between Selim and Bayezid between 1559 and 1561. It may be presumed that the cases recorded in this register represented only a portion of the case load of convicted criminals, some of whom were sentenced but never punished and others of whom were punished by the order of a local tribunal in the provinces and were never referred to the central jurisdiction for sentencing and punishment. The cases that reached central jurisdiction represented either the most serious crimes or cases selected for purposes of exemplary sentencing in some visible form in a public forum. This achieved the dual purpose of demonstrating the sultan’s determination to enforce the law, which aimed to attract favourable public opinion for largely propagandistic reasons, and of manning the fleet with criminals and troublemakers. Such practice functioned in many ways like the sürgün, which had both a punitive and a positive, rehabilitating side. One category of crime whose punishment was neither commutable nor possible to ignore was that of public order offences perpetrated by hardened criminals, recurrent offenders and known security risks, all of whom were lumped together in Ottoman terminology in a category labelled ehl-i fesad or public order offenders. Crimes committed by the ehl-i fesad carried an automatic death sentence, but the decision to execute it was left to the sultan’s discretion. In some cases the grand vizier attempted to intervene in order to moderate the sultan’s wrath, but it remained one of the sovereign’s perhaps least welcome duties to stage public executions for the punishment of the most notorious offenders, who fell into the catch-all category of ehl-i fesad. Abdi Pasha’s history covering the detailed movements of the imperial court during the reign of Mehmed IV provides several noteworthy examples of the sultan serving in his traditional role as instigator and overseer of capital punishment for repeat offenders implicated in acts contributing to the undermining of public order. Some such cases were encountered during the normal course of Sultan Mehmed’s wanderings in search of game in the Rumelian countryside during his hunting expeditions, while others were forwarded to the sultan from the remote reaches of Anatolia, where the offenders had first been apprehended. Impromptu meetings of the divan held during the sultan’s hunting excursions served the purpose of providing non-partisan hearings to villagers

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whose access to sultanic justice in Istanbul or Edirne was limited, while at the same time they demonstrated the sultan’s determination to prevent the usurpation or abuse of power by those who claimed social prominence but wielded their power immoderately or unjustly. If there was a double standard in Ottoman justice, it favoured not the powerful but the weak, since high-ranking members of the sultan’s own palace and provincial administrations were held to a higher standard of socially responsible behaviour and moral perfection than the common tax payers (reaya). The price for social privilege and other exemptions enjoyed by members of the tax-exempt askeri class was greater social responsibility and a higher level of accountability for their actions. How the Ottomans’ two-tier system of justice operated in practice can be observed from the sultan’s sentencing and punishment of two of his own horse grooms, employed in the Imperial Stables on two separate occasions during his residence in Edirne and its environs during the hunt season straddling the years 1664–5. On the first occasion, in mid-July 1664, a groom found guilty of forcible requisition of hay from ‘an old woman’76 without paying her the normal market price for the supplies received a sentence of 500 strokes.77 Later on, at the end of October, while the sultan was on the hunt in the Yanbolu district in the mountains north of Edirne, a group of village petitioners collectively complained of general excesses and unauthorized exactions committed by the grooms in the service of the Imperial Stables. When the sultan ordered a judicial inquiry into the circumstances surrounding these claims and accusations, during the course of the proceedings a groom was actually caught in the act of illegal requisitioning of supplies. To serve as an example and discouragement to others, this flagrant law-breaker was executed and hung up on a gibbet for all to see. Although the sultan’s own advisers, including his Deputy of the Stirrup (rikab kaim-mekamı), recommended clemency, the sentence was carried out over their objections, on the grounds that the sultan’s obligation to protect the poor and weak took precedence over his obligation to favour, promote and protect the interests of members of his own imperial household. In general, the sultan was disposed to follow his advisers’ recommendations, but on this occasion the claims of justice and the demands of principle suggested otherwise, and his obduracy on this point was noted by the historian Abdi as a sign not just of his high moral sense but of his possession of one of the key qualities of greatness in an effective ruler.78 In case of doubt, it was always incumbent on the good ruler to give the benefit of the doubt to his powerless subjects (the reaya) and to favour their interests or prioritize their rights over the rights and interests of the mighty and powerful in society represented by the askeri class. Public executions of known and convicted criminals who belonged to the category of the ehl-i fesad formed an aspect of the administration of justice in which the sultan was expected to play a prominent part. Carrying out sentences

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of capital punishment (siyaseten katl) for serious crimes, especially those with a political dimension, that had been committed in the provinces was routinely referred to the sultan at the centre. The sultan’s justice, for reasons already referred to, was considered at the same time fair and unyielding on questions of principle while remaining steadfastly dedicated to the protection of public interest over particular or special interests. The trials of brigands and disturbers of the peace were based on scrupulous attention to detail and collection of unassailable evidence, but, once the evidence was in place, the defendant was sent in fetters to the sultan’s court for the final disposition of his case. The cases attended to by Mehmed IV during his hunting season in Edirne in 1663–4 are recorded in considerable detail in Abdi Pasha’s history. The first one involved the public execution of a known brigand named Kamçecioğlu, who was dispatched to the sultan’s camp at the village of Çömlek on the outskirts of Edirne for public execution in full view of the assembled court in early September 1664.79 A second case involved a brigand named Derdhanoğlu, apprehended in southern Anatolia in the region around Silifke and sent, together with someone accused of being his accomplice, to face the sultan’s judgement in Edirne in November 1664. The accused parties arrived at the sultan’s camp near Yanbolu during the hunt and were brought into the sultan’s presence during a court gathering which had been summoned to observe the jarid game, organized as a mock battle and played on horseback, with blunted javelins replacing real lances. In accordance with the initial assumption of shared guilt, the first part of the punishment involved a display (teşhir) of the accused and their joint exposure to public ridicule by being mounted on horseback, with flambeaux attached to their shoulders announcing their guilt. In this state they were paraded around the public marketplace as a preliminary to their final punishment, which was determined to be execution and elimination (katl ve tedmir). After the execution of the main defendant Derdhanoğlu, doubts were raised about the guilt of his accomplice and the sultan, upon the intercession of his deputy, the kaim-mekam Mustafa Pasha, ordered a temporary stay of execution pending on further investigations to be carried out in Edirne. Thus he ensured that due process was observed before allowing the order of execution to be carried out.80 As portrayed by Abdi Pasha in the examples just cited, sultanic justice was neither vengeful nor a short-cut route to summary justice avoiding the normal rules of evidence. Far from being an uncritical response to any and all unsubstantiated accusations and personal grudges forwarded to the sultan’s attention, it was just as rigorous in its methods as any other form of justice and it proceeded in accordance with the sharia rules, which provided equal protection for the civil and legal rights of both accuser and accused. The onus of proof in Islamic law rested with the accuser, and thus the operative principle in all legal proceedings, including the sultan’s high court, was quite similar to the presumption of inno-

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cence in Anglo-Saxon law. Sultanic justice, though it had a reputation for being exceptionally unyielding and intolerant towards the peccadilloes of the sultan’s own kuls, who were held accountable to the highest standards of perfection and probity, was actually quite tolerant and fair in assessing the evidence brought forward against commoners and members of the general public. In general it was the lex talionis that was applied to kuls and members of the elite, but this was balanced by a more relaxed and forgiving approach to the human foibles of the general population. To offset the perceived strictness and unyielding character of the sultan’s justice – as it applied to the punishment of proven felons, usurpers of power and those who subverted public order, and was part of his display of the ideal qualities of the justice (adalet) of the virtuous ruler – the sultans occasionally indulged in disproportionate acts of clemency applied on an indiscriminate collective basis that overlooked the individual merits of each case. Abdi Pasha records one such case of royally proportioned amnesty and leniency applied to the residents of the village of Felike in the region of Yanbolu. When, during the course of the hunt, the peasant tax payers of that village approached the sultan to complain collectively of their inability to meet the demands imposed on them by the sultan’s tax assessors, who had imposed on them an annual charge of 60,000 akçes to cover their share of the obligation to supply mounts and grain for the imperial transport and commissary fund (menzil teklifi), the sultan resolved open-heartedly and open-handedly to grant a general tax amnesty and immediately reduced their tax obligation by half, to a more affordable annual charge of 30,000 akçes. This gesture of goodwill was granted freely, out of the sultan’s sense of justice tempered by mercy (merhamet), in which he prioritized the satisfaction of the wants of the needy and poor, regardless of the factual basis of their claims, over the recommendations of his own accountants and administrators. By posing in the role of friend and protector of the people, he gave at the same time substance to his gesture of clemency through real concessions.81 Fulfilling this exemplary role and meeting popular expectations through periodic acts of disproportionate generosity, whatever its cost to the fisc, formed an essential part of the sultan’s position as leader. In the absence of such confidence-building measures, the reigns of the negligent or extravagant sultans such as Mehmed’s predecessor Ibrahim I (1640–48), known as Ibrahim ‘the Mad’, were destined to be of short duration. Such gestures of generosity were not only for show but served a real practical purpose in strengthening the authority of the ‘just and self-denying’ sultan. Grants of exceptional dispensations and waivers of normal obligations formed a key dimension of the sultan’s ruling prerogatives. Periodic acts and gestures demonstrated his position as defender and upholder of the law, but at the same time he retained his absolute and unique right to suspend its application and to hold its prescriptions in temporary abeyance, as a sign of his compassion

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and care regarding the plight of his common subjects. When the sultan acted to negate or suspend the law, it was typically not to deny plaintiffs their civil rights or withhold due process, but rather to grant them more than their due, as a deliberate act of mercy. Another example of the sultan’s exceptional leniency in fiscal matters is provided by Süleyman I’s eulogist Bostan Çelebi, who refers to Süleyman’s decision in 1541, before the harvest, to order a general exemption from the obligation to provide grain for the army’s use on campaign (nüzul) for all the villages located in the Danube region. He offered this concession in acknowledgement of their exceptional sacrifices and contributions during the current campaigning season in Hungary, which had imposed general hardship. To replace the revenue normally realized from this source, the sultan ordered a one-time subvention of 4,000,000 akçes, to be paid into the Outer Treasury from his privy purse to finance the purchase in cash of the necessary grain supplies from that region after the harvest. Appeals to the sultan’s mezalim court brought plaintiffs not just equity and restitution of rights but grants of compensation in excess of their normal due. In many cases, this constituted a rebalancing in credit that more than made up for the past deficit the plaintiffs had been made to endure. In the end, all ambiguous decisions, whether judicial or fiscal, referred to and left to the sultan’s discretion to resolve became individual opportunities for the sultan to demonstrate the infinite quantity of his material means and the unsurpassed quality of his noblehearted mercifulness (merahim-i aliyye-i padişahi), which was accustomed and inclined to provide not just equity, to which they were entitled, but benefit in excess of normal expectation.82 Other examples of acts of special sultanic dispensation included gestures such as that made by Murad III in 1592 when, as a token of his gratitude to his maker for answering his prayers to spare the inhabitants of Istanbul from the plague, he decided to grant freedom to all the high-security political detainees incarcerated in the prisons of the Seven Towers on the land walls and at Rumelihisar on the Bosphorus. This marked the reduction, on 22 September, of the daily toll of deaths from the plague from 325 to 100.83 Political thinkers and spokesmen defending Ottoman benevolent despotism84 favoured the idea that the sultan ought never forget his principal role and responsibility, which was not to impose the letter of the law and exact his pound of flesh in retribution from all lawbreakers and sinners, but to uphold public order and protect the public, who without this would become a hapless victim of the powerful and the well-connected in society. In a sense, thus, sultanic justice, though based on strict principles of evidentiary exactitude, tended to favour the rights of the victim. That capital sentences by convention required the sultan’s presence and approval and normally exceeded the competence of the grand vizier’s position as equity judge in the high court of justice convened at the imperial divan was a further guarantee that the sultan,

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who alone stood above faction and partisan interest, would see that justice was done. The sultan was naturally wary of condemning the innocent, an act for which he would be answerable not just to his contemporaries but to the Almighty in the afterlife, so this provided a further safeguard against unsound convictions. The sultan’s court functioned not so much as a body devoted to the preliminary sifting and weighing of evidence and to the hearing of claims and counter-claims by defendants and plaintiffs, as a final review body whose principal role was to confirm or disconfirm existing judgements before the carrying out of sentences – a right only exercised in a few high-profile or otherwise precedent-making cases.85 Multiple appeals to the jurisdiction of a provincial governor’s divan or, as a last resort, to the imperial divan for the purpose of retrial once the evidence had already been thoroughly considered in a lower court was something generally disallowed in Islamic jurisprudence, so the right of appeal to the sultan was only really exercisable with his approval. Judicial review was not a usual but an exceptional circumstance, reserved for special cases or instigated through the sultan’s own initiative.86 Crime and punishment and the rewarding of virtue belonged in the prenineteenth century Ottoman polity to the exclusive purview of the sovereign, who enjoyed virtually unlimited powers to interpret the law in accordance with his personal understanding and to act in line with his own assessment of state priorities. Decisions to relax or suspend the rules of shari jurisprudence or to grant exemptions and exceptions were left to the sultan’s discretion and used as a vehicle to demonstrate his magnanimity, not as a pretext to provide immunity from prosecution to his own representatives or officials. The tempering of justice with mercy was, however, more than just a propaganda ploy or populist gesture; it offered real benefits to the socially disenfranchised who could rely on no other source to protect their interests. The standard historiography which has imposed a modernist bias on the periodization of the Ottoman imperial era regards the period before 1839, when the Rose Garden Rescript expressing the abstract notion of all citizens’ equality before the law was promulgated, as the dark age of absolutist rule (idare-i mutlaka). What this periodization fails to account for is that sultanic absolutism in the pre-1839 period was defined and limited by an operational context in which the supreme ruler was constrained by tradition, convention and public expectation to exercise his powers of supra-legal discretion pro bono publico. The circumstances in which the sultan was able to apply whimsical or arbitrary standards of judgement were mostly confined to two general categories: first, staunch protection of the weak, and secondly, determined pursuit of the sowers of sedition (sai bi’l-fesad). Generally speaking, those who were convicted of malicious or premeditated crimes deriving from a state of inner depravity or moral corruption (vedsh) were treated more harshly than those who succumbed

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momentarily to temptation or weakness.87 In defending his actions to his father, Sultan Süleyman, in a letter sent during his exile in Iran, prince Bayezid based his plea for clemency on the claim that his flight to the Safavids had been caused by force of circumstances, not by deliberate intention on his own part.88 For full blame and culpability to apply to any act or action, the performer or perpetrator’s active intention (iradet) and premeditated purpose (kasd) were required. Beyond personal loyalty to the sultan and obedience to his commands, the nurturing of a broader sense of social responsibility on the part of his servants was one of the principal objectives of good government in the Ottoman tradition. An anonymous text dated around 1822 and composed by a close adviser to Mahmud II (1808–39) in the immediate aftermath of the disturbances in the Morea in 1821, at the beginning of the Greek independence movement, makes repeated reference to the corrosive effects of nefsaniyet (selfishness, self-centredness), whose influence among the sultan’s current team of advisers the author deplores. The fact that the administrators’ judgements were being distorted by malevolence (bugz), malice (garaz) and other self-serving motives was, at least according to this outspoken critic, the chief cause of the misdirection of policy from which the empire was currently suffering in this period of crisis.89 Distraction from duty, rooted in competing sources of loyalty other than the sultan on the one hand and lack of devotion to service for the public good on the other, were, according to this mid-nineteenth century theoretician and pragmatist, the ultimate source of all evil in public life. The dichotomy and contrast between the ‘good vizier’ and the ‘bad vizier’ began to characterize and to dominate Ottoman political discourse in the nineteenth century in much the same way it had for eleventhcentury tract writers and theoreticians such as Nizam al-Mulk, who expatiated at length in parables, digressions and anecdotes celebrating the virtues of Rast Ravishan (Right-Conduct) on the one hand and the destructive effects of the sultan’s corrupt and devious advisers on the other.90 According to the medieval tradition, whether caliph or secular ruler, the Muslim ruler had his decisions governed by divine guidance and formed through higher instincts, unclouded by self-interest or personal motives; and Ottoman defenders of royal absolutism such as Mustafa Safi, writing for Sultan Ahmed in the early 1600s, eagerly took up on the notion of ‘sultanic intelligence’ where his medieval predecessors had left off. 91 Traditional notions of Muslim kings and rulers as possessors of ilham (divine inspiration and guidance), leading them to wise decisions and policies, were still very much alive in the eighteenth century, as evidenced in the historian Naima’s use of the phrase ‘al mülûkü melhumun’ in reference to the same sovereign, Ahmed I, who achieved noteworthy ‘wisdom’ despite his relative youth and inexperience at the time of his accession.92 The role played by the sultan as a model of good behaviour in his own conduct for the purpose of encouraging and incentivizing his assistants in public

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service to emulate his example was at the core of the system of absolutist rule and benevolent despotism prior to the 1830s. Thus, throughout the imperial administrative system, power was associated with both responsibility and accountability, and, since admission to the public service sector was itself based on a selectivity principle, it was grounded solely on merit. Furthermore, since the performance of office holders was assessed purely according to their level of competence and loyalty to the sultan, the risk of abuse of power – so long as the sultan played his crucial moderating role energetically and was not misled by corrupt or self-interested officials – was minimal. The principle of ‘equality of all before the law’, which replaced sultanic absolutism in the late 1830s, was vague and unspecific enough to make itself vulnerable to abuse by unscrupulous officials, who interposed themselves between the governed and the personal supervision and managerial involvement of the sultan, who had formerly guaranteed strict adherence to the exacting standards of government pro bono publico. Rather than one system of patronage based on a single source of sultanic approval for all appointments and dismissals, the prospect of multiple patronage systems and of divided loyalties, based on specific ministerial portfolios and spheres of competence, gradually emerged, and, despite Abdülhamid II’s attempts (1876–1909) to re-impose centralized control and restore sultanic absolutism, once the genie was out of the bottle it was difficult to force it back in. On the subject of Ottoman approaches to law and attitudes towards justice, it is worthwhile noting (in closing this section on the sultan’s disciplinary role) that there were two categories of action that were least tolerated in the traditional Ottoman system of justice and most likely to attract a harsh and punitive response on the part of the leader or sultan. One of these categories consisted in acts designed to diminish or usurp the sultan’s power, authority and dignity, and the other consisted in acts expressing disrespect or ingratitude for the sultan’s patronage and favour. Both categories arose out of a conscious and premeditated state of intent and persistent attitude of insubordination rather than from momentary failing or weakness. Sincere subordination to the imperial will, even in the event of failure to achieve one’s assigned mission, was sufficient to elicit the sultan’s understanding and forgiveness. On the other hand, hubris and personal pride attracted a contempt whose effects, whether dismissal, banishment or worse, were not easily reversible. The traditional Ottoman system of state service was based on a bond of personal trust between the sovereign and his servants and, once that trust had been compromised or betrayed, restoring it required extraordinary effort and exceptional circumstances. How is it, then, that this system, based on such exacting standards of service, personal integrity and absolute subordination to the sovereign, achieved such high standards of performance, service dedication

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and efficiency based on a collectivist spirit and a well coordinated team effort? Is not such bureaucratic efficiency usually associated, not with centrist systems, but with systems of administration based on the devolution of power, on shared responsibility and private initiative? How was it possible to incentivize the Ottoman bureaucratic workforce to achieve maximum efficiency when personal gains and rewards were contingent on royal patronage and on reward restricted to the relatively few?93 What, in short, was the secret explaining the personal motivation and dedication to service which characterized Ottoman bureaucratic efficiency in the early modern era that was so precocious and unusual for its time? Though the full answer of these paradoxes and puzzles cannot be provided within the modest scope of the concluding chapter on Ottoman bureaucratic norms, forms and structural efficiency, it is hoped at least that the rough outlines of an approach can be suggested.

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9

The Art of Communication: Foundations of Ottoman Bureaucratic Efficiency in the High Imperial Era Centralization of authority and concentration of patronage in the person of the sovereign required a high level of bureaucratic efficiency and a standardization of the processes by which the sultan recognized and rewarded merit in service and punished those responsible for service failures. Communication of the sultan’s satisfaction and dissatisfaction with elite members of the central administration forming his imperial household and projection of his power and authority beyond, to those occupying the outer spheres of his kingdom, required the production, reproduction and mass circulation of his word in documentary form. So copious were the quantities of paper required for this multi-level task that it seems appropriate to characterize the Ottoman Empire not as the ‘gunpowder empire’ or as the empire founded on the strength and conviction of the sword, as many have, but to see it as a bureaucratic or paper empire. The reach of this paper-based empire was so extensive and its penetration so intensive that, unlike the sword, which required the sultan’s or his representatives’ physical presence, mechanisms of state control based on paper had the very real capacity to achieve permanence and universality of ‘presence’ over the entire extent, not just of direct-rule provinces but also of the lands of tributary and vassal states at the margins of the Ottoman world. The record production (and reproduction) as well as record keeping and custodial methods employed by the post-1550 Ottoman state were the envy of their early modern European contemporaries. How the Ottomans were able to achieve efficiency and reliability in communicating the sultan’s executive will and patrimonial and patronage preferences is a subject deserving wider coverage, but for the purposes of this chapter just four key dimensions of study will be considered: first, the size, composition and capacity of the Ottoman scribal bureaucracy; secondly, time management and procedural efficiency; thirdly, the recruitment standards and the honesty, probity and competency of the higher-ranking members of the scribal bureaucracy; and, finally, the state of Ottoman communications systems and their capacity for disseminating information and for broadcasting centrally determined policy decisions at the local, especially the sub-provincial or municipal, levels. In the final analysis, the ‘enunciation’ of sultanic authority through court ceremonial, through performance of the rituals of rule, and even through the distribution of some forms of charity required the direct presence and circulation

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of the sovereign in a circumscribed and chosen territory. Even in their multiple forms consisting of tours of inspection, the royal hunt, military campaigns, the processing of the sultan to and from the military front and his attendance at Friday prayers, these royal ‘presences’ could only touch the lives of a relatively small proportion of his subjects. The remainder were contacted, included, integrated, incorporated and accommodated under the aegis of the Ottoman protectorate by methods involving the use and circulation of various forms of paper: those issued to confer or confirm privileges, those devised to award promotions or deliver news of dismissal or demotion, and the distribution of other types of immunities and exemptions conceded to ordinary tax payers in times of exceptional stress or distress. On the negative side, the use of, or even the threat of using, the sultan’s discretionary powers to command the dismissal (azl) or temporary redeployment of his top administrators was an invaluable instrument of control. Through it, the sultan could influence the dedication to service and loyalty of his household members constituting the empire’s military–administrative elite and ensure that their personal conduct and performance remained consistent with his wishes. It was a defining feature of the Ottoman power-sharing system that high office was rarely very secure or long-lasting, and it was characteristic both of the military– administrative (askeri) and of the learned–administrative (ilmiye) hierarchies that the higher one rose, the greater the likelihood of serving periodic spells of mazuliyet (dismissal, demotion) of varying durations became. Maintaining one’s place in the sultan’s favour acquired a new dimension of difficulty and complexity at the highest ranks (rütbe) and levels (mertebe) of seniority, in part because the office holder was in closer contact with, and more exposed to, the sultan’s critical gaze and scrutiny. Such highly placed individuals became in effect constitutionally incapable of escaping into the relative safety of anonymity. The periodic delivery by the ruler to his kuls (servitors) of the unmistakable message that the sultan who gave could also take away, which was used both as an active injunction and as a deterrent threat, gave a visceral reality to the abstract quality of the sultan’s authority and, while the same was true of his sudden inspirations and subjective preferences (karihe) in the awarding of sudden promotion for meritorious service, the withdrawal of favour and the dishonour associated with it was arguably the more effective means of behaviour modification.1 The expressing of the sultan’s satisfaction or dissatisfaction with his subordinates’ performance of their assigned duties relied on the timely execution of tasks by the scribal bureaucracy, who had a semi-continuous flow of changes in personnel appointments to process at every meeting of the divan, not to mention the steady stream of recommendations for executive action forwarded to them at junctures in between sessions of the divan, when they were called upon to act on the advice of the grand vizier and other close confidants of the sultan. All the

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personnel changes were carefully recorded in detailed registers of appointment (ruus defterleri), where precision in recording the date of a commissioner or other appointee’s term of office (both its commencement and its termination) was of paramount importance – both to the smooth functioning of government and to the ability of the executive to assign praise or blame and to enforce accountability. In addition to recording the exact dates of appointment and dismissal or transfer, these registers often contained more nuanced expressions of the sultan’s mood; these were registered in marginal notations which specified exactly how particular officials were to be regarded (in a hierarchical sense) and treated during each individual episode of mazuliyet. One case relates to the dismissal from his post as governor of Aleppo of Kurşuncu Mehmed, a former lieutenant and protégé of the sultan’s palace sword bearer, Silahdar Mustafa Pasha. When his dismissal was made effective on 7 Şaban/11 November 1641, an annotation was added in the margin of the register to the effect that, due to his loss of the vizierial rank associated with his former position, all future correspondence directed to Mehmed Pasha should be addressed to him using the titles (elkab), appropriate to the governors (mir-i miran) of lesser provinces.2 The titles appropriate for the mazul (dismissed), the retired (mütekaid) and every rank and grade of those in active service were clearly laid down in protocol lists familiar to all scribes serving in the Ottoman chancellery and precisely defined in Ottoman manuals of style and treatises on the science of diplomatics.3 But clearly, too, it was within the discretionary power of the sultan either to observe or to disregard these guidelines in particular cases. The sultan’s ability to fine-tune his relationship with members of his power base at all levels of service and seniority and to control and manipulate the performance expectations of all his servants, even minor office holders, at the stroke of a pen was closely linked with, and contingent on, the capacity of the scribal bureaucracy to deliver precision and promptitude in the execution of his orders. This was particularly true when it came to recording and giving documentary shape to shifts in the sultan’s priorities, especially in the matter of appointments and personnel preferences which were subject to change on a semi-continuous basis.

The Size, Composition and General Capacity of the Ottoman Scribal Bureaucracy The two-way traffic in preserving and presenting the requests, petitions and status reports (arz ve ilam) forwarded to the sultan for action and in communicating the sultan’s responses to this input in the form of outgoing imperial commands and sultanic writs (ferman ve hatt-i hümayun) was an everyday, essentially mechanical and repetitive, task assigned to the scribal bureaucracy. Starting

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with the sixteenth century, the volume of paper records surviving from all the periods of Ottoman rule has consistently impressed observers of the Ottoman scene.4 Disparaging remarks by western observers regarding the cumbersome and obfuscating nature of Ottoman bureaucratic procedures bordering, in their view, on paper fetishism, fail to grasp the essential point that it was precisely through such elaborate checks and balances provided by bureaucratic means that the sultan was able to ensure unwavering compliance with his executive orders and effectively assert his authority by injecting it into minor, everyday and routine transactions, especially those involving the allocation of privilege and the assignment of revenues. A puzzle that has confounded many a modern observer is the volume of work accomplished by what seems (by modern standards) to have been a relatively small number of scribal and secretarial experts. According to one assessment based on the investigation of the Ottoman financial administration in the seventeenth century, the clerical staff attached to all the finance departments was – apart from an uncharacteristic surge in the 1620s, possibly associated with the accession of several minor sultans in close succession, when staffing levels rose to roughly 200 – normally confined to a select number of specialists amounting to no more than 70 to 100 scribes.5 If we take a broader view encompassing all government departments, including the secretarial staff of the Imperial High Council (divan), it appears, according to Ayn-i Ali’s detailed list of 1609, that the whole scribal bureaucracy in his day consisted of 218 individuals, of whom 61 per cent (133 persons) were trainees (shagird) for full membership in one of the bureaux of the financial bureaucracy.6 When we confine our attention to the 85 remaining individuals with full and permanent bureau assignments, the following three main groups can be discerned: Scribes with permanent bureau assignments (1)

Scribes in the service of the imperial council

(2a) Scribes (accountants) in the service of the imperial treasury

Number

Percentage

24

28

16 42

(2b) Scribes charged with the dispatch of orders relating to taxation and financial matters

20

(3)

25

Scribes on monthly salary (müshahere-horan) with unspecified general duties

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Members of the final group may have worked in part under the direction of the sultan’s private confidential secretary (sırr katibi), who, in addition to his responsibility for drafting the sultan’s personal correspondence and imperial writs (particularly those addressed to his provincial governors), was also assigned custodial care of the primary copies and principal ledger accounts (ana defterleri) relating to the collection of certain key revenue sources – such as the non-Muslim poll tax (cizye), the extraordinary campaign provisions levies (avariz) and some of the larger tax-farms (mukataa).7 Auditors, accountants and secretarial staff employed in one of the key divisions of the treasury service (maliye katibs) were limited in number, partly because of the high level of training and competence required in their jobs, but also to preserve confidentiality. The contents and prospective revenues owed to the imperial treasury were, for obvious reasons, closely guarded state secrets, to which only a few high-ranking secretaries with some seniority were privy only after passing successive levels of security clearance. The senior status of the müshahere-horan is indicated by their average rate of daily remuneration, which was the second highest, only inferior to that of the 16 scribes or accountants who worked in the treasury itself (see group 2a above). According to Ayn Ali’s account, the pay rankings were as follows:8 Pay rankings Daily pay (dp) in akçes

Avg. dp per person

16 katibs assigned to the treasury service

490

30.6

25 müshahere-horan secretaries

592

23.6

24 katibs in the service of the Imperial Council

471

19.6

20 katibs charged with dispatch of finance department correspondence (ahkam-i maliye)

253

12.6

The senior positions at the level of bureau chief, or its equivalent known as hacegan-i divan-i hümayan, were subject to a fixed membership quota amounting in the seventeenth century to no more than 25, who were assigned gediks (partnership status, full membership in the guild of the scribes), and even the number of trainee positions was subject to strict control and periodic reassessment.9 Preparation of final finished copies (sometimes duplicated and sent to multiple addressees) for dispatch from the various branches of the Ottoman state chancellery and financial bureaux and for retention in the reference archives of

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those bureaux was the work of lower-level scribes and copyists (müstensih) whose names do not appear on the salary lists. Only permanent staff assigned specific areas of responsibility that required specialized knowledge and experience relating to financial or diplomatic practice was included in the salary registers. Their number was confined essentially to bureau chiefs, senior aides and those scribal apprentices (shagird) who were trained for one of the key areas of responsibility in the scribal bureaucracy such as accountancy, auditing or the even more esoteric skills of the literary stylists (münshi), who were responsible for drafting the sultan’s correspondence with foreign heads of state and other sensitive matters of state. Limiting of the size of the scribal bureaucracy, both as a means of preserving confidentiality and as a means of ensuring high levels of proficiency and expertise among its ranks, was clearly a matter of continuing concern for Ottoman rulers in the later imperial era as well. Prior to 1797, Selim III (1789–1807) limited the number of trainees admitted to the scribal service to twelve per year, six for the divan and six for the finance departments, and, while this number was raised to 24 after 1798, the general trend of reform in the time of Selim and his immediate successors aimed to increase scribal efficiency through decreases in the number of scribes employed in most government bureaux.10 The issue in all periods was one of maintaining the quality, not the quantity, of those selected for service, and, while it would be foolish to deny the possibility of mistakes being made in the selection process or the effects of corruption on those already in service, more so than most areas of service within the Ottoman state administration, from the military to the judiciary and even to the sultan’s own palace attendants, the standards of performance and accountability applied to scribes were consistently high. In her study of Ahmed Resmi Efendi, Aksan noted that the size of the Ottoman scribal bureaucracy had, by the mid-eighteenth century, reached a critical mass of some 1,000 to 1,500 employees deployed to various government bureaux. Nevertheless, even at this period of scribal expansion, only some 50 individuals held rank as senior clerks with executive functions.11 The traditional view has been that the growth of the Ottoman bureaucratic personnel with specialized functions in the nineteenth century should be seen as a reflection of political modernization and rationalization of state administrative practice connected, as a natural consequence, with the creation of separate ministerial bureaucracies, each with its own distinct sphere of competence and served by specialized structures of appropriately trained scribes.12 It is, however, open to question whether a process which culminated with the employment of roughly a half million paid scribal functionaries, deployed by the close of the century to various divisions of the expanded state bureaucracy,13 contributed much to raising the standards of professionalism, promotion of ‘modern’ (read ‘rational’) administration or enhancement of bureaucratic efficiency. What seems

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to have resulted instead was the creation of an oversized, overstaffed and, arguably, rather less functionally adept workforce that, far from promoting bureaucratic efficiency, contributed to a kind of institutional stagnation and administrative paralysis. Prior to the eighteenth-century expansion and the nineteenth-century proliferation of the state bureaucracy, top scribal positions tended to be set aside for the best and the brightest among the Ottoman intellegentsia. This is indicated by the fact that several top Ottoman intellectuals and historians, held in equally high esteem by their Ottoman contemporaries and by posterity, began their careers with lower-level bureau assignments in the financial or divan divisions of the scribal services.14 People of talent, including historians such as Ahmed Cevdet Pasha (d. 1895), continued to combine scholarship with state service in the nineteenth century, but the direct link with service in the ranks of the sultan’s household administration was broken. All the available evidence showing consistent Ottoman efforts at restricting the membership and at controlling the size of the scribal bureaucracy seems to indicate that it was not through a large volume of workers that the Ottomans were able to achieve their generally recognized reputation for skill in the art of public administration. If it was not by weight of numbers, was it then due to exceptional productivity and efficient time management among members of the scribal fraternity that the Ottomans achieved such notable success in the proliferation of paper-based documentation?

General Ottoman Time-Keeping and Time Measurement Systems and Some Indications of Scribal Productivity Time measured in the Turkish style (ala Turca) was based on seasonal hours of unequal duration, in which the daytime hours (saat al nahari) were divided into 12 periods called hours regardless of their ‘real’ time duration according to the western (ala Franca) system of time measurement based on a 24-hour clock, which consisted of equal or sidereal hours divided arbitrarily into two 12-hour periods of equal duration regardless of the position of the sun. The ala Turca day organized around the five obligatory and sixth discretionary prayer times started at the tulu (sunrise, when the sun first appears over the eastern horizon) and finished at gurub (sunset, when the sun disappears below the western horizon). At the latitude of Istanbul (41 degrees north) the daytime hours lasted between 50 and 60 minutes of ‘real’ time during the winter months and up to 75 minutes around the time of the June solstice. According to this system, the ‘eleventh hour’ (one hour before the onset of darkness at the end of the day or 12 o’clock) was the last opportunity determined by customary, pragmatic and essentially secular concerns that work could be effectively accomplished. The working day began at 3 o’clock (three hours after sunrise), when full daylight permitted concentrated

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work requiring accurate vision. For most working people, the unvarying sidereal hours, used by astronomers and scientists, had little practical meaning or application. The eight ‘hour’ working day stretching between three and eleven of the twelve seasonally variable daytime hours regulated both the performance of their religious obligations and their attendance at the workplace. This essentially secular or conventional time-keeping system was closely modelled on the Roman tradition, but in the Islamic tradition the third hour (dahwa, early forenoon), the sixth hour (zuhr, mid-day) and the ninth hour (asr (Turkish ikindi), late afternoon) were also associated with prayer times. By tradition and for practical reasons, the main mealtimes were also daytime activities, with the first meal, kuşluk, being an early breakfast eaten at home, after the dawn rising and dawn prayers, and the second food break, ikindi, being a late afternoon meal eaten after the performance of the ninth hour prayers and a time for sociability towards the end of the working day.15 For members of the bureaucracy it was not possible to increase productivity or efficiency by the stretching of staff work hours, since both custom and the inelastic and seasonally variable nature of the daytime period itself prevented any such adjustment. One of the factors which also limited the use of non-daylight hours for work, whether indoors or outdoors, was the prohibitive cost (as well as the hazard due to fire risk for indoor activities) of illuminating work areas or the night sky using available sources such as candlelight and oil lamps. The two hours after sunrise and one hour or so before sunset were thus effectively excluded for bureaucratic workers. Thus, with the time set aside for congregation and assembly at the workplace (effectively commuting time) between the second and the third hour of the day, and with a short break for the ikindi meal after the ninth hour and return home from work between the eleventh and the twelfth hour (the return commuting), the time for productive work was reduced to what amounted to no more than eight to nine seasonally adjusted daylight hours (saat al-nahari) out of the available maximum of twelve. This general situation persisted until the advent of the electric age, when use of the ‘standard’ unvarying hours of the 24-hour clock could be imposed and work routines and employer expectations could be subjected to a greater degree of standardization. Of course, both the sultan and the grand vizier were open for business day and night, for verbal reports and urgent messages reaching the court by courier, but the production of paper-based documentation and the formulation of official responses was a daylight activity. A document suggesting a practical limit to the working hours of katibs employed in the scribal services to the eight seasonally adjusted ‘hours’ between 3 and 11 dates from the mid-eighteenth century, but this only confirms what is intuitively known about work practices in the earlier imperial era.16 Assigning work quotas and calculating workloads was not possible until the mechanized era

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of the later nineteenth century, when blank forms for some standard procedures could be printed and distributed to the appropriate ministerial bureaux. Prior to that time each case was treated on an individual basis, by definition a timeconsuming process. Mehmed Genç has also compared the average time required for a document issued by the finance department to reach completion of all its interim steps and procedures for the period 1740–1880. His research indicates that increase and decrease in the number of statutory work hours ranging between seven and ten hours per day had minimal effect on procedural efficiency. In fact, if anything, maximum efficiency seems to have been achieved when the statutory work hours were shortest. When the workday was reduced from ten to seven hours as part of Mahmud II’s administrative reforms undertaken in the 1830s, the average time required for the completion of a finance department document fell from ten to eleven days to one to two days.17 From the foregoing analysis it can be seen that the efficiency of the Ottoman bureaucracy in the pre-eighteenth century ‘classical’ age is attributable neither to the number of trained personnel nor to the maximization of their productivity levels through manipulation of work hours or mechanization, but resulted from other, less tangible and quantifiable, human factors such as careful recruitment, selection, training of bureaucrats and even more nebulous variables such as job dedication and work ethics.

Recruitment Standards and the Issue of Honesty and Probity among Key Workers in the Ottoman Scribal Bureaucracy The success of the Ottoman bureaucratic and state regulatory regime depended on the probity, reliability and skill of the scribal staff employed by the sultan. A document preserved in a detailed dossier documenting the activities of the sultan’s purchasing agents in Bursa during the hijri year 1023/1614–15 gives details about the selection criteria applied for treasury scribes who put forward their candidacy for one of the 25 senior appointments as gedikli maliye katibi. The document specifies that the three main qualifications for appointment were that the scribe should: (a) have specialized knowledge of the rules, regulations and governing spirit guiding bureaucratic practice, that is, that he should be kanun-şinas; (b) that he should have technical competence, that is, that he should be ehl-i vukuf; and (c) that he should have proven his abilities, competence and trustworthiness by seniority gained through previous service, that is, that he should be emekdar. In appointing the candidate Abdullah, who filled a vacancy in 1615, particular weight was given to his long service, commencing in the reign of Ahmed’s grandfather Murad III, and to his participation in a scribal capacity in the sultanic campaigns against Egri (1596), Uyvar (1599) and Kanije (1600), which proved not just his competence but the consistency of his record of good

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service.18 Careful screening of candidates before their appointment to higher office offered the best possible protection not only against malfeasance but also against malpractice and bureaucratic ineptitude. If the record of the procedures followed in scribe Abdullah’s appointment can be taken as indicative, then some doubt must be cast on the accuracy of the accusatory statements issuing forth from Mustafa Ali’s muck-raking pen in the Counsel for Sultans of 1581.19 It would appear that the infiltration of incompetent or corrupt scribes, especially into the higher ranks of service, was a relatively rare event in the Ottoman bureaucracy of the early seventeenth century. The reason for issuing detailed instructions to sultanic commissioners and purchasing agents on every aspect of what must have been fairly common and oftrepeated tasks, and for creating a careful structure of checks balances and general oversight was – apart from their obvious role in promoting greater bureaucratic efficiency – closely connected with the sultan’s own kanun consciousness and his sensitivity to criticism about methods of governance. Few sultans, and even the most autocratically minded among them such as Mehmed II, could afford to declare unilaterally that the ends justified the means and expect to govern accordingly. The restraints on sultanic absolutism derived not so much from the ruler’s obligation to consult the will of the people in decision-making as from the general expectation that he would conform to customary methods and etiquette for carrying out and implementing decisions once taken. Adherence to proper form was the responsibility of the bureaucrats who penned directives in his name. Testing the degree to which Ottoman officials were held accountable for malfeasance or incompetence when carrying out their duties of office is a complex and difficult task, which cannot be undertaken comprehensively here. However, the general assumption that – as an inescapable result of sultanic absolutism – no fixed categories of evaluation existed for appointments or dismissals (tayin ve azl) should be treated with caution.20 The fact that all such decisions had to be referred to the centre (in effect, to the sultan himself) does not necessarily imply that they were reached in an arbitrary fashion or were subject only to the sultan’s whim. Such notions of sultanic absolutism that equate the figure of the sovereign with the attitude and behaviour of the Queen in Alice in Wonderland – who ‘went stamping about and shouting “off with his head!” or “off with her head!” about once a minute’ – are about as fanciful as Lewis Carroll’s tale itself. It is certain that rational as well as consistent criteria existed both for appointments to the Ottoman bureaucracy (see the example of scribe Abdullah cited above) and for dismissals for the failure to maintain proper standards on the job once appointed. It is equally certain that, despite the sultan’s ability to protect and promote his own favourites within the government hierarchy, he was never in a position to ignore the validity and applicability of these standards.

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The importance of the scribal class (katibs) serving at the higher levels of the scribal bureaucracy known as katib al-tadbir21 as preservers, models and defenders of sultanic legitimacy was long recognized in the Arabo-Islamic tradition of medieval statecraft, as outlined in the ninth-century manual for secretaries by Ibn Kutayba called Adab al-Katib.22 But what distinguished the Ottoman system once it achieved its territorially extensive form was not so much the ability to recruit high-level bureaucrats capable of crafting artfully and esoterically worded instruments of legislation and legitimation in forms familiar to the few among them who achieved the highest rank of halife or hacegan,23 but rather an aptitude for reproducing and distributing lower-level repetitive, notarial, recording and essentially stenographic tasks associated with the distribution of the sultan’s orders. In the final analysis, it was neither the sufficiency and efficiency nor the proficiency and probity of the individually deployed secretaries and bureaucrats available in the Ottoman manpower pool, but the design and structure of the bureaucratic system which employed them that explains the cutting-edge status and quality of the Ottoman bureaucracy in comparison with its early modern counterparts in Europe and Asia. Léon Cahun’s disparaging remarks about the paper-peddling proclivities of ‘the Turks’ in a work published in the late 1890s, when the empire (with its bureaucratic structures) was still in place, should not delude us into thinking they were excessive or unsuited to achieving the Ottomans’ administrative objectives. The Ottoman Empire was indeed a bureaucratic empire par excellence, and its mastery of the so-called paper-pushing skills, far from being a disability, provided the secret of its imperial success.24 In a recent survey of theoretical treatises on principles of Ottoman sovereignty written by Ottoman intellectuals and bureaucrats, Gottfried Hagen has referred to the striking disjunction between the practical and the abstract side of Ottoman political theory reflected in their works. He suggests that, without fuller reference to the ‘other layer’ or hidden dimension relating to the means of delivering Ottoman governing principles and norms, our attempts to characterize Ottoman sovereignty remain both vague and incomplete.25 The reason why the probity, honesty and dedication of the Ottoman bureaucrats discussed in this section was so important was that it was by this means that Ottoman social engineering objectives and balancing measures – provided by an elaborate system of sultanically approved and assigned tax impositions (mükellefiyet) and tax ameliorations (muafiyet) – was able to function properly and create the conditions necessary for the constructing of an ideal society, based on social justice and economic equity. Above all else, the overall success of the Ottoman enterprise both as a theoretical and as a practical venture relied on the perfection of a system for communicating and delivering outcomes deriving from ruling precepts in practical and material form, not just as intellectual abstractions.26 It is these systems for communicating and delivering the practical manifestations of the sultan’s

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political will and spiritual authority that will be considered in brief in the final portion of this chapter.

Ottoman Record-Keeping Practices and Communications Capabilities From the earliest period of Ottoman imperial expansion, effective rule had been linked to and dependent on the growth of an administrative apparatus capable of communicating the wishes of the sovereign to the provinces and of processing and reacting to incoming reports from the provinces regarding local conditions. At the micro-administrative municipal level of imperial administration, it was the kadi’s court which served as the clearing house for the exchange of information and as a general communications nexus. The Ottoman central administration communicated throughout its territories with the same local agents, the kadis, and had to contend with no other intermediaries with strongly entrenched local influence. Since the standard term of appointment for kadis was under two years,27 and grades, salary rates and terms of employment were all strictly regulated, the risk of corruption and subversion of state objectives was minimized and, on the whole, the centre could rely on swift compliance with its wishes at the local level. This was thanks, in large measure, to the intervention and support of this locally based nucleus of educated and literate administrative agents. The production of paper evidence and standardized notarial procedures for verifying payments, registering guaranteed prices in local markets, safe delivery of consignments for military and civilian use, as well as a host of other data collection and verification services, including confidential reporting to the sultan on the compliance of his own governors and other office holders with his imperial directives, were key areas of responsibility assigned to the kadis. Without their labour in performing these low-level clerical tasks, the smooth running of markets, the balancing of civilian and military demands on regional food stocks and the general administration of the Ottoman tax system at the micro-regional level would all have been impossible. Their steady performance of the routine types of record-keeping and verification procedures lay at the heart of Ottoman bureaucratic efficiency. While the Ottoman judiciary played no direct role in supply matters or in the transfer of local surpluses to the centre, its administrative assistance, particularly in the area of monitoring compliance with the terms of state supply demands, imposing penalties and collecting fines for non-compliance played a key role in ensuring the success of high-profile imperial endeavours requiring collective effort. At the local level, the kadi’s court provided two important services: (1) the issuing of receipts and other documentary verification of tasks successfully completed; and (2) regulation and enforcement of state directives emanating from the central chancellery.28 The kadis’ role as general fix-it men in their localities

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when normal procedures failed to deliver results enhanced the government’s ability to react swiftly and to manage minor crises as they arose. All imperial edicts (fermans) were kept and sometimes also registered in duplicate copies (suret), logged into the kadi’s running register of court business (the sicil). For purposes of communicating edicts issued by the imperial council in Istanbul and of disseminating their content to the relevant authorities at the sub-municipal levels of the village and in the wider suburban districts within their township’s jurisdiction, the kadis played a crucial role in communications covering both the outbound delivery phase and the subsequent phases reserved for inbound reporting from the provinces. Their feedback and assessments routed back to the centre on the scale and pace of progress in meeting the state’s demands formed a key dimension of the efficient execution and conclusion of official business. Standardized forms for accounting and reporting used universally within the Ottomans’ central provinces where direct taxation was applied made it possible to impose standard demands and to expect standard levels of compliance across a wide territory without having to renegotiate terms or revise basic administrative procedures with each new territorial acquisition. Multiple copies (suret) of standard requests for graduated taxes and standard campaign provisions contributions, calculated according to standard fixed rates imposed on each tax household (hane) within a given tax district, could be sent out easily to multiple recipients and communicated both to tax payers and to collection intermediaries with relative speed and ease, well in advance of their deployment for state-defined purposes. Such standardization of basic rates and basic modes for assessment and collection made everyday routine government business easier to transact without prolonged wrangling. What was expected from both sides was easily communicable to all parties concerned, with paper reminders being issued in the event of incomplete or tardy submissions and paper receipts confirming delivery or payment in full, awarded to those who had met their obligations. The paper trail linking centre and locality and defining the rights and mutual responsibilities of state and individual was maintained by a system of standard accounting and accountability that was regularized, routinely accepted and generally recognized by the tax-paying public in the central Ottoman lands from the mid-sixteenth century onwards. More than the gunpowder revolution, it was this paper revolution that explains and typifies the dynamism of the Ottoman imperial system in its heyday. At the level of the town and its hinterlands, the Ottoman system of communications linking the individual and his destiny to the state and its objectives was highly developed in the Ottoman lands by comparison with most of sixteenth-century Europe.29 With the spread of the monetary economy and the replacement of a number of direct transactions between tax payer and government by cash payments and payments through intermediaries after the sixteenth

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century, the importance and volume of paper transactions and paper procedures covering all aspects of provincial administration increased exponentially. It was in the period after 1590 that, despite the discontinuation of the regular land and population registrations at the heart of the tahrir system, the types and categories of Ottoman record-keeping and of instruments for verification really began to proliferate. New procedures for tracking payments, credit transfers and the intra-regional revenue allocations (havale) that were characteristic of the Ottoman financial system in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries – all required the swift and accurate circulation of paper proofs between individual payer and payee and between tax surplus provinces and tax subsidy provinces, to name just two categories of exchange. The substantiating of claims and the verifying of payments relied at the local level on the good offices of the kadis and, with a new age of centralization in the areas of procurement, supply, taxation and distribution of revenues associated with the dawning of the era of full monetization, the relationship between locally resident landlord sipahi and his resident tenants, which was based on directness, immediacy and intimacy, gave way increasingly to depersonalized modes of communication with the centre which relied on intermediaries and on the collectivization and communal assessment of obligations to the state. It was only after the demise of the timar system, which had formed the backbone of Ottoman provincial administration between c.1420 and 1580, that the Ottoman state entered its age of full bureaucratic maturity. The accelerated pace and multiplication of the forms of communication with the centre that developed after the watershed around the year 1600 opened up new avenues for communication that offered greater efficiency in disseminating the wishes and demands of the central authority, more scope for enforcing their implementation and an intensification of the ways and means for making the sultan’s ‘presence’ felt at the geographical extremes of his empire. The proliferation of bureaucracy and bureaucratic procedures after 1600 is reflected in the changing fiscal organization of the empire in an age where cash transactions and credit mechanisms, including revenue transfers and the registration of prospective and incremental payments through the tax-farm instrument, began to supplant previous modes for revenue assessment and collection. Though, as in former times, agricultural taxes still formed the backbone of Ottoman state finances, instead of their being quantified on the basis of assessing actual yields registered on the spot at harvest time, revenues were assessed and periodically re-assessed on the basis of a complicated system of estimates and projections of future revenues, which relied on calculations, the measurement of the temperature of the economy and auctioning and revision of tax-farms carried out by scribes, statisticians and other paper processors employed by the centre. The effective management of the empire of Süleyman I (1520–66) had required the physical presence of the sultan either as campaign leader or as

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inspector general during the course of his passages to and from the front at the commencement and conclusion of military campaigns. The depersonalization of authority and its vesting in a bureaucratic apparatus capable of communicating the sultan’s decisions and demands in their disembodied paper form was not achieved suddenly but, from the era of the Köprülü dynasty of viziers (1656–1703) onwards, control of the bureaucratic apparatus of the state, without being wrested entirely from the hands of direct sultanic administration, was concentrated more than ever before in the hands of the sultan’s bureaucratic aides, whose increasing independence is indicated by their ability (at the top level) to create family networks and semi-dynastic inter-generational transfer of influence and power, protected (though never fully immune) from the sultan’s interference. The sultan’s relegation to an increasingly advisory and in some respects even symbolic and ceremonial role was in part a reflection of the volume of business that needed to be transacted in the mature Ottoman state, but nonetheless the qualitative difference between the sultans of the heroic age (pre-1600) and their seventeenth-century successors was apparent not just in a retreat from their former role as wielders of the sword (seyf) and gazi leaders of the empire’s military destiny, but also in their delegation of increasing levels of authority and independence to the wielders of the pen (kalem). Despite the gradual erosion of his independence in the realm of bureaucratic administration during the course of the eighteenth century, well into the nineteenth century the sultan remained at the centre, not just of politics, patronage and preferment, but also of loyalty, inclusion and integration for populations consisting of the tax-paying masses inhabiting the margins and borderlands of empire, cut off from direct access to the imperial centre. Circulation of the message of the benefits of Ottoman rule and communication of the sultan’s ‘presence’ in this outer realm made direct appeal to the reality and legitimacy of the empire as family and dynastic enterprise. At the same time, the state’s enhanced capacity for the dissemination of ‘news’ and information in paper form was used to reinforce these sentimental ties by mass distribution of victory bulletins, announcements of royal births and by the mandating (in traditional form) of an official period of public rejoicing lasting three to seven days to be celebrated simultaneously throughout the empire. In other words, the fostering of a sense of community and identity linked with the ruling dynasty was pursued in traditional ways but using improved methods of communication, including, in the final period of Ottoman rule, mass circulation newsprint and lightening quick transfer of information via the telegraph. Coordination, manipulation and co-optation of both elite and non-elite members of the Ottoman imperial enterprise required different techniques and different approaches to be applied to the political centre and to the outer spheres (taşra) of Ottoman imperial geography.30 In the final analysis, however, all these

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aspects of consolidating sultanic rule relied equally on administrative modes and on paper-based communications systems for which the Ottoman Empire in its mature state became either celebrated or notorious, depending on one’s viewpoint.31 To support paper-based systems of communication, the Ottomans’ highly-developed system of delivery, involving couriers, post horses and road networks supported by tax subsidies, hastened the arrival of the sultan’s writ to both the inner and the outer spheres of Ottoman rule in the core imperial lands. But beyond this it also facilitated the projection of Ottoman power beyond its own borders, to the contiguous zone of tributary states and to the wider world.32 The full penetration of the tentacles of the state into rural communities is contingent on higher levels of literacy and on more advanced systems of communication than existed even in post-Ottoman times, let alone in the late imperial era, but, within the limits of the possible in the pre-electric age, Ottoman communication networks provided a tangible if still only partial basis for cohesion and shared imperial identity that, over many centuries, served to bridge the wide cultural, religious and linguistic divides that separated the highly diverse populations of the Anatolian, Balkan and Arab homeland territories.

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Conclusion

This book has focused on the origins and philosophical underpinnings of Ottoman sovereignty concepts, has reflected on its static elements and manifestations in the form of the rites, rituals and ceremonies employed in the ‘enunciation’ of Ottoman sovereignty,1 and has dwelt also on the formal and institutional structures of the court itself that served as metaphor for the dynasty’s ruling precepts. Beyond this account of abstract theoretical and static formalistic elements characterizing the Ottoman ‘house style’ in imperial rule, an account was offered, particularly in chapters 7 and 8, of the active, interactive and dynamic aspects of the sultan’s role as leader. In this third dimension (after theory and material manifestations in the court and its institutions), the analysis sought to discover the links between political theory and political structures and the actualization of Ottoman rule. Delivery (sometimes failure to deliver) of the outcome associated with its political principles in the real world of sultanic policy implementation was considered in its various dimensions, ranging from the sultan’s role in the administration of justice to his central position in decisions about the state’s economic and distributive priorities. In this part of the study an attempt was made to address (whether explicitly or implicitly) such key questions as what constituted the Ottoman political community, who participated in defining and determining the character of the Ottoman polity and how their participation was manifested, all examined within the context of the mutual rights and responsibilities of the ruler and the ruled. On the rights side, an account was offered of the ways in which the Ottoman sovereign commanded the loyalty and obedience of his subordinates and servants by asserting his position of judgement over them, first by handing down punishment or reward and secondly through his insistence that they satisfy his standards, provide satisfaction and express their gratitude for his patronage and support. In all cases, satisfactory performance of defined service roles and the meeting of sultanic expectations triggered the hoped-for response of sultanic favour and generosity. Implied within this relationship was the sultan’s responsibility to reward when meritorious or faithful service had been rendered. Thus, while the balance favoured his right to judge what constituted ‘satisfactory’ service, it was not immune from the demands of reasonable (especially customary) expectations of reward on the part of subordinates. On the responsibilities

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side, particular emphasis was placed on aspects of Ottoman provisionism, including the sultan’s provision for the safety, comfort, security and protection (himaye), and even economic well-being (müreffeh ül hal), of the common ranks of his subjects, delivered in such a way as to earn not just their gratitude, but also to elicit the handing up of their expressions of thankfulness (şükran) and well-wishing (hayr dua) and to promote a collective desire for the continuance of his rule (devam-i devlet). In this latter relationship, the onus of responsibility is clearly on the sultan to rule with benevolence. In essence, the relationship, both between the sultan and his servants and between the sultan and his subjects, was regulated by a set of performance criteria in which both sides in the power equation (the sultan always held the upper hand in terms of raw power) were subject to judgement. Sitting in judgement (whether it is handed up or handed down) cuts both ways. As such, the reality of power relations in the Ottoman polity was in clear contradiction to the attribution to the Ottoman political system of a tendency to dominance by the arbitrariness, capriciousness and irrationality of sultanic whim or to subjection to the vagaries of so-called ‘kadi-justice’,2 which implies that the sultan was able to operate in a well-protected sphere above both law and custom, inert and unresponsive to the needs and desires of his subjects and subordinates in the handing down of his decisions. To retain his throne, the sultan needed to remain constantly vigilant and ready to react both to reasonable demands and to the negative trend of public opinion, which held him under continuous scrutiny and merciless judgement. Satisfying the expectations of his subjects, whether for reasonable reward or for effective governance, was not a matter for his consent but was imposed on him as a condition of office. The consistency of the judgement criteria used to assess sultanic rule from the bottom up varied over time in response to the changing conditions of the empire, but the essential values remained remarkably constant over the full extent of Ottoman rule. The halfway point in the 620-year dynastic era reached in 1610, and the later milestone reached at the time of the 400th anniversary of the dynasty’s founding, celebrated in 1099 hijri (ad 1687–8), prompted no fundamental questioning or reassessment of ruling premises or political values, but rather their reaffirmation.3 Even the domineering and dominant sultans who represented the Ottoman tradition of monarchie seigneuriale most associated with a penchant for unflinching and open-handed passing down of punishment and reward remained personally answerable to the judgement of contemporaries, whether recalcitrant Janissaries or key members of the intelligentsia such as court historians, and all were required to justify their actions so as to avoid arousing expressions of dissatisfaction with their rule at all social levels.4 Rather than focusing exclusively on the top-down aspects of Ottoman rule and rulership, it is perhaps now time that greater attention should be paid to the bottom-up dynamic and the political

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pressures deriving from popular opinion and expectations defining Ottoman sovereign practice across the extent of the dynastic era.5 It is the dynamism and responsiveness of the Ottoman political system over a period of institutional continuity lasting for some 400 years, between c.1400 and 1800, and over the course of several dramatic swings in its imperial fortunes, that the account of Ottoman sovereignty offered in this book has sought to highlight. Communicating the sultan’s presence and aura relied to a very considerable extent, in each successive imperial era, on finding new ways to convey traditional messages and to lend consistent credibility to the sultan’s personal claim to authority and legitimacy, which relied not just on the pronouncement or reiteration of fossilized and abstract principles of rule, but on the delivery of results and positive outcomes deriving from those principles. Tradition and image alone were insufficient to sustain Ottoman rule without a generous measure and powerful blending of pragmatic-minded ‘deeds’ to accompany them.6

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Appendix

EXCERPT FROM THE ANONYMOUS ITAATNAME (PROFESSION OF LOYALTY) OUTLINING SULTAN SÜLEYMAN’S OFFERS OF INCENTIVES TO ATTRACT SUPPORTERS TO THE BANNERS OF HIS SON PRINCE SELIM IN 1559 PS 1559 (Itaatname), fol. 26b: [Sultan Süleyman] … cümleye hitaben bir hükm-i ali-şan irsal buyurulup, … ‘oğlum Selim Han … hazretlerini cümlenize serdar … edip, buyurdumki … kemal ihtimam ile hizmet, ve hüsn-i ikdamla izhar-i sadakat … eyleyip, gayet-i inamına mukarrer, ve nihayet-i ihsanına mazhar vaki olasız ki mümaıleyh eğer sancak ve sair menasib ve umum ve husus terakki ve gayri meratib her ne tecvih ve tayin ederse, emr-i vacib al-izazi ve mütemmim-i ferman-i lazım al-imtisalımdır’ deyü … tefviz-i umur [edip] … Bu hükm-i ali-şan varid olup, divanda … kıraat ve ilan olundukta, … asakire safa-resan hasıl olup, şadman u handan müterakkib-i ihsan oldular. Hazır olan beyibeyilerine yüzer bin ve sancak beylerine otuzar bin ve züemaya binde üçer yüz ve sair sipahiye binde ikişer yüz akçe umum üzere terakki, ve Karaman Beylerbeyisi Ferhad Paşa ve Ramazanoğlu Piri Paşa ve kendilerin lalaları Mustafa Paşa … hazretlerinin oğullarına ve dahi ümera-i müstahikkinden mevcud olanlara sancak, ve onlardan gayri müstevcib-i rifaat ve müstaid-i atifet olan bendelere menasib-i aliye ve meratib-i samiye ihsan buyurulup, bir vechiyle dad u dihiş ve bir haletle saha u reviş eylediler ki dide-i rüzgar buna mümasil isar u ata, ve sem-i çarh-duvar bu misl nisar u suha görmiş ve işitmiş değil idi. Muma ileyh hzaretleri bu uslubla viran gönülleri mamur, ve mahzun hatırları mesrur etmek üzere iken …

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Glossary of Terms

Ahi

Akıncı

Alay

Atiyye

Azeb

Biat

Çıkma

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Title given to the headman of municipal guilds elected to represent local guild organizations and to negotiate in their name in commercial and a range of other local administrative matters; a figure of some prominence in the later medieval period, when central state authority was fragmented, weakened or contested. Self-governing, self-financing and self-mobilizing cavalry raiders of the frontier, principally drawn from the ranks of the Turkmen tribes of Anatolia and especially active in the Ottoman expansion in the Balkans during the late fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries. Public procession organized to acknowledge the sultan’s presence or passage, especially when he was accompanied by his troops, on departures and returns from military campaigns. The display of the sultan with full pomp and circumstance, including escorts, guards, military bands, imperial standards and other insignia of sovereign rule. Ex gratia distribution (usually in the form of a cash bonus) by a superior or patron to his subordinate or client, in recognition of service dedication and loyalty. Irregular infantry force employed in the early imperial and proto-imperial eras to supplement the forces of the permanent standing household troops (see kapu kulu) supported by the state treasury. Loyalty oaths and vows of submission sworn at the outset of a sultan’s reign by members of his palace household and by other servants. Graduation from the inner service of personal attendants to the sultan in the palace and promotion

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to salaried positions in the outer service of state administration, with the possibility of further career advancement and assignment to higher-ranking positions in imperial service. Dirlik Generic name for an income or livelihood provided to the sultan’s agents and servants in exchange for service to the imperial house. Fetret Interregnum; a term applied especially to the 11-year period of contested rule between 1403 and 1413 following the invasion of Anatolia by Timur (Tamurlane). Garib Yiğitler (pl. gureba) Name given to two of the lowest ranking regiments (garibs of the left and garibs of the right) making up a portion of the Six Standing Cavalry Regiments at the Porte. Haseki Sultan Reigning sultan’s principal wife and companion, with responsibility for supervising domestic arrangements during his periods of residence in one of the imperial palaces or during excursions and expeditions involving prolonged stays outside the palace compound. Hediye Semi-obligatory and expected ‘gift’ offered by a subordinate to his superior (cf.atiyye). Hıjri Dating system according to the Muslim lunar calendar, commencing with the year ad 622, which corresponded to the ‘flight’ of Muhammad from Mecca and his establishment in Medina. Istimalet Ottoman policy of offering inducements and concessions in order to arrive at an accommodation with subject populations whose inclusion or incorporation in the Ottoman imperial system is desired. Idjma Consensus opinion used as the basis for decisionmaking. Ihsan Charitable effusion, unbounded by notions of rightful compensation or entitlement, used to demonstrate the sultan’s generous nature. Reward or kindness in excess of usual expectation. Ihtisab Market rules and regulations based on the principles of equity and fairness, balancing the demands and sometimes opposing interests of producers,

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G LO S S A RY O F T E R M S

Intisab

Kadi

Kadi Leşker

Kaim Mekam

Kanun Kapaniçe

Kapu kulu

Katib al-tadbir

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consumers and intermediaries who stood between them, that is, market retailers. For the official responsible for monitoring and enforcing these rules, see below under muhtesib. Clientage ties leading (on the expanded scale of the imperial household) to the bonds of mutual obligation linking the sultan (as patron) to his clients and servitors (the kul). A term deriving from the Arabic tri-literal root nun/sin/ba denoting ‘connection’, whether genealogical and familial, geographical or personal. For the sultan’s uprooted kuls, these ties were primarily (in theory at least) personal and exclusive to their common master and patron – the sultan. Mid-ranking member of the Ottoman learned institution (ulema, q.v.) responsible for the administration of justice and for performing routine administrative tasks at the local, that is, municipal, level. Seljukid chief justice and precursor of the Ottoman twin justices of the army (kadi askers), one each for the empire’s two principal territorial divisions, Anatolia and Rumelia. Grand vizier’s deputy, left behind in Istanbul to attend to routine state business during his superior’s absences, to lead the army on campaign, or for the conduct of other affairs of state. Ruler’s fiat, as distinct from law grounded in Islamic jurisprudence. Special fur-lined ceremonial garment loaned by the sultan from the palace wardrobe to dignitaries of the court (especially the grand vizier) for the purpose of solemnizing high-profile events such as sultanic audiences to consider petitions and recommendations of the divan. Member of the sultan’s permanent household troops consisting of the infantry Janissaries and the Six Standing Cavalry Regiments of the Porte (called the altı bölük sipahileri). Top member of the secretarial task force and of the inner group of sultanic advisers who assisted

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Karihe

Kapucu

Kudum

Küliyye

Mazuliyet

Mezalim court Miladi

Muhtesib

Münşi

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the sultan in formulating policy and in reaching policy decisions consistent with the precepts of good governance, as laid down in works of political theory and traditions of best practice inherited from the Islamic Middle Ages. Sudden inspiration or sultanic ‘intelligence’ guiding the ruler’s decisions on matters of state and his choices and preferences in appointments to important offices of state. Gatekeeper stationed at one of the imperial palace’s main entrances, especially the entrance to the third court of the Topkapi Palace, which marked the threshold of the sultan’s private quarters. Ceremonies of welcome performed to mark the return of the sultan and his court after his absences for the hunt or military campaigning. Imperially endowed mosque complex with subsidiary functions for meeting the social welfare needs of urban masses, including their feeding and housing by means of an institution called the imaret (a kind of hospice and soup kitchen rolled into one). Period out of office, endured by candidates for reappointment in the imperial administration. Their reinstatement was contingent on attracting the sultan’s notice and regaining his favour, which normally required attendance at court for the presenting of respects and expressions of submission and obedience to the sovereign will. Court held under the sultan’s aegis for the hearing of grievances and the redressing of wrongs. Dating system according to the Christian solar calendar commencing with the birth of Jesus in the year 0 ce. Official operating under the kadi’s supervision and jurisdiction responsible for ensuring fair exchange in the marketplace. Master of ornate literary style called upon to draft chancellery documents and correspondence with foreign heads of state, where the form as well as the content of the correspondence had a special

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G LO S S A RY O F T E R M S

Musahib

Örfi law

Rikab-i hümayun kaim mekamı

Ruus defteri

Şeyhülislam

Tahrir system

Taşra

Teşrif (1) Teşrif (2)

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significance, connected with the preservation of the dynasty’s honour. Sultan’s close companion, adviser and intimate of the court, who served in a capacity roughly comparable to that of a minister without portfolio. The sultan’s discretionary powers to execute justice for the preservation of social order and to punish anti-social behaviour when he judged it threatened public order. ‘Deputy of the Imperial Stirrup’ or second deputy to the grand vizier (see also kaim mekam) charged with accompanying the sultan on his excursions outside the capital for the purpose of hunting or during changes of imperial residence. Detailed register of appointments, dismissals and reassignments (cf.mazuliyet), used as a reference for salaries, terms of appointment and grants of sultanic favour. Ottoman chief justice and guardian of religious orthodoxy appointed by the sultan and subject to dismissal at his discretion, but otherwise fairly independent in the distribution of some offices and sinecures and therefore a figure with patronage networks of his own, independent from the ruling authority. Ottoman system of land registration designed to survey and record population and agricultural production for the purpose of taxation and the assignment of revenues. Outlying provinces and imperial hinterlands which remained outside the scope of direct communication with the political centre and whose populations were deprived of the privilege and opportunity of regular attendance at court to gain the sultan’s attention, to lobby for recognition and to promote individual interests. Sultan’s attendance which brought honour (şeref) to the fellow attendees at a royal reception. Sultan’s acknowledgement (usually with a cash award) of the receipt of tributary gifts from a vassal; it was awarded to the vassal’s delivering agent.

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Teşrifat

Teşyii

Tuğ

Ulema

Ulufeci

Ummah

Valide Sultan

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Ottoman protocol rules governing the receiving, acknowledging and responding to acts of submission or presentation of gifts or tribute by vassals, subordinates and foreign rulers signalling recognition of the sultan’s position of superiority vis-à-vis the presenter of submission or tribute. Seeing-off ceremonies performed when the sultan departed with his court to carry out state business or change residence (cf.kudum). Horsetail tassels attached to the imperial standard, whose number (up to a maximum of nine) was used to communicate the rank and status of the individual who displayed them. Additional tuğs denoted promotion while their removal signalled an individual’s demotion. Scholars with expertise in the fields of theology and religious law, often consulted as ‘masters of binding and unbinding’ to resolve disputes and divisions of opinion about the best course for state policy, particularly in times of political crisis. As an advisory group their opinions were however nonbinding. Name given to the two middle-ranking salaried and permanent standing Six Cavalry regiments of the Porte (ulufecis of the right and left). The community of believers and, by extension, the society at large, whose collective ‘best interest’ or benefit is used as the principal criterion for imperial decision-making. Birth mother of the reigning sultan, whose influence at court was especially pronounced during the early years of sultans who ascended the throne during their minorities; mothers acted as guardians for the brothers and future successors of reigning sultans in the period (after 1617) of succession, on the basis of chronological seniority.

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Notes

Notes to Introduction 1 By one calculation, I. H. Danişmend, Izahlı Osmanlı Tarih Kronolojisi [IOTK], 4 vols (Istanbul, 1971–2), Vol. 2, p. 354, 10 of his 46 years as ruler were spent in the saddle, on campaign. In addition, he was fond of spending time both at Edirne and in its environs, engaged in the imperial hunt during the years when no campaigning was planned. 2 For the use of this term, see G. Necipoğlu, Architecture, Ceremonial and Power: The Topkapi Palace in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries (Cambridge, MA, 1991), Chapter 2, pp. 32– 52. 3 For a detailed discussion of the political institutions of this period and the restraints, counterbalances and customary practices that imposed some fairly significant limits on the sovereign will, see below, Chapter 2. 4 Danişmend, Izahlı Osmanlı Tarih Kronolojisi (Istanbul, 1971–2) 5 C. Imber, Ottoman Empire 1300–1650 (London, 2002). Chapter 1, pp. 1– 68. 6 See PS 1479 and Abdülkadir Özcan, ‘Fatih’in Teşkilat Kanunnamesi’, Tarih Dergisi 33 (1980–1), pp. 7–56. 7 A direct, albeit somewhat condensed, treatment of these questions is presented in Chapter 9. See below, pp. 238–50. 8 See the request for guidance on this topic by General Dubayet before his departure as ambassador to Istanbul in February 1796; quoted in Hakan Karateke, Padişahım Çok Yaşa (Istanbul, 2004), p. 137. 9 The Redhouse dictionary (p. 780) describes this garment as a ‘circular cloak’, implying that it was designed to cover only the upper body of the wearer, from the shoulders to the waist, as opposed to the kaftan or hilat, which would have been full length, designed to cover all trace of the underlying dress. On its use during the reform era of Mahmud II in the court ceremonial of the 1830s see Karateke, Padişahım Çok Yaşa, p. 142. 10 See for example the tughra of Abdühamid II (1876–1909), prominently displayed in the centre of the pediment straddling the columned portico of the Museum of Antiquities (Asar-i Atike Müzesi) in Istanbul, opened to the public in 1891 and also popularly known at the time as the Sarcophagus Museum (Lahitler Müzesi). For a reproduction from a contemporary photograph, see Wendy Shaw, Possessors and Possessed (Berkeley, 2003), p. 158 (Fig. 19). 11 H. Inalcik, s.v. ‘Imtiyazat’, in Encyclopaedia of Islam [EI], Vol. 3, p. 1187. 12 For an example taken from the reign of Abdülhamid II, see the document facsimile dated

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13 14 15 16 17

18 19

20

21

22

23

24

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1884 approving the construction of the Zapeion school: provided on p. 40 of Irini Sarioglou’s book Turkish Policy Towards Greek Education in Istanbul, 1923–1974 (Athens, 2004). For an example illustrating the approval procedures in use around 1846, see Ismail Erünsal, Kütüphanecilikle İlgili Osmanlıca Metinler ve Belgeler, Vol. 1 (Istanbul, 1982), pp. 245– 7. R. Murphey, s.v. ‘Maadin’, EI IV: 974. W. Shaw, Possessors and Possessed, p. 72. Idem, p. 122. See in particular the entry in his day-book (Ruzname) for 11 June 1793 (PS 1802, p. 130), which reads as follows: ‘Salı günü Istanbulda tebdil ile teşrif, ve devr-i şehirde bir mikdar geşt ü guzar, ve muamelat-i nasa sarf-i nazar buyurulup …’. See, for example, PS 1802, loc. cit.: ‘Ertesi Çarşamba günü [June 12] … fukeraya ataya ihsan edip, akşama [saraya] avdet buyuruldu.’ For example, at his first stop in Gallipoli he made distributions of 51 gurush each to the Muslim inhabitants of the town and of 31 gurush each for the non-Muslim inhabitants. See A. Özcan, ‘Memleket Gezileri’, in Prof. Dr. Bekir Kütükoğluna Armağan (Istanbul, 1991), p. 363. On Mahmud II’s visit to the Ali Paşa market in Edirne in 1831, see Özcan, ‘Memleket Gezileri’, p. 366. On the centrality of the parade of the guilds, showing the sultan’s interest in, patronage of, and pride in, the various forms of quality production on display in the flourishing towns and cities of his (in the patrimonial sense) realm, see the account of the royal festivals below in Chapter 7. Özcan, ‘Memleket Gezileri’, p. 368. On this occasion the sultan donated a lump sum of 50,000 gurush to Muslim schools, 20,000 to the Greek Orthodox and 7,500 each to the Jewish and Armenian community schools. He even awarded 5,000 gurush to the teachers, assistants and pupils of the Catholic schools, to ensure that no group was left out of the all-inclusive scope of his gesture of support. For a description of the procedures followed when petitions were presented to the ‘royal stirrup’ (rikab-i hümayun) during the sultan’s excursions outside the palace, see PS 1640 (Koçi Bey, Second Risale), Aksüt edn, p. 121 (telhis no. 17). See also M. Ipşirli, ‘Cuma Selamlğı’, in Bekir Kütükoğluna Armağan (Istanbul, 1991), p. 464. See PS 1631 (Koçi Bey, First Risale), Aksüt edn, p. 20 (telhis no. 2) where Koçi praises Sultan Süleyman I for achieving a reasonable balance between excessive interference and excessive isolation by informing himself about the condition of his kingdom and of his subjects through hearing their petitons during the hunt. The text reads as follows: ‘her mazlum bi-vasita arz-i hal etmeğle, bu yüzden … nice ahvala ittila buyururlardı’. Abdülhamid’s decision to prorogue parliament in February 1878 had at first attracted scorn and mild disappointment in the western press, but, as his reign progressed, the general tone of journalistic discourse became increasingly hostile and dismissive. Ann Bowman Dodd, In the Palace of the Sultan (New York, 1903), pp. 49–50. See above, n. 10. The first Aziziye (modern Pınarbaşı, 125 km south-west of Sivas) was founded in the accession year 1861 (Kamus ül-Alem IV: 3152), while the second, formerly called Mezraa, a settlement on the far reaches of the upper Euphrates, was renamed Mamuret ül-Aziz in 1862, to commemorate the sultan’s second year on the throne (EI VI: 392).

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28 The Abdulaziz, a battleship commissioned in January 1865, continued in active service until 1913. 29 See S. Shaw, History of the Ottoman Empire and Modern Turkey, Vol. 2 (Cambridge, 1977), p. 309. 30 See, for examples relating to the reign of Abdulhamid II (1876–1909), Nadir Özbek’s article included in the volume edited by Michael Bonner et al., Poverty and Charity in Middle Eastern Contexts (Albany, NY, 2003), pp. 203–20. For an account of the penultimate sultan Mehmed V (Reşad)’s charitable distributions on official visits in the provinces during his war-torn reign (1909–18), see Lütfi Simavi Bey, Osmanlı Sarayın Son Günleri (Istanbul, 1973), pp. 182–3. See also Aydın Taneri, Türk Devlet Geleneği: Dün ve Bügün (Ankara, 1975). 31 On the significance of the 1836 reforms, see page 8 above. 32 Uniquely among his contemporaries, the Ottoman sultan was qualified to bear the title roi soleil, in part because of his dominant position of actual disposal and ultimate ownership of land through the miri category of land ownership, which accounted for roughly 80 per cent of all land-holding. On the significance of this fact for early theoreticians who wrote on the patrimonial state such as Jean Bodin, see Richard Bonney, The European Dynastic States (Oxford, 1991), p. 286. 33 See Murphey, ‘The historian Mustafa Safi’s version of the kingly virtues’, in C. Imber (ed.), Frontiers of Ottoman History (London, 2005), Vol. 1, pp. 5–24.

Notes to Chapter 1: Dynastic Origins: Medieval Inheritances and Major Influences on Ottoman Concepts of Sovereignty 1 The year 1000 of the common era coincides with the hijri year 390, so it is against the general background of political division and sectarian difference prevailing in fifth and sixth centuries of the Islamic era that the Seljukid approach to statecraft in the Muslim tradition took shape. 2 On the ease with which ideal concepts of social and political organization were transmitted and transferred inter-societally and inter-epochally, see Said Amir Arjomand, ‘Perso-Indian statecraft, Greek political science and the Muslim idea of government’, International Sociology 16/3 (2001), pp. 455–73. 3 On syncretistic aspects of the Turkic cultural development in general during the period 750–1250, see R. Murphey, ‘Flight of the falcon’, History Today 55 (No. 2), pp. 44–51. 4 Richard Frye, ‘Charisma of kingship in ancient Iran’, Iranica Antiqua 4 (1964), p. 45. 5 Ehsan Yarshater, ‘Iranian common beliefs and world-view’, in Ehsan Yarshater (ed.), Cambridge History of Iran: Vol. 3: The Seleucid, Parthian and Sasanian Periods (Cambridge, 1983), p. 345. 6 Clement Huart, Ancient Persia and Iranian Civilization (London, 1976), p. 147. 7 See Ann Lambton, Theory and Practice in Medieval Persian Government (London, 1980), No. II, p. 36 on the conditions which provoked the emergence of the ‘law and order’ issue in the works of Islamic thinkers and theoreticians who wrote on the subject of politics. 8 See Lady Goodenough (trans.), The Chronicle of Muntaner, Volume 2 (London, 1921) (Hakluyt Society, Second Series, No. 50).

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9 Clifford Ando, Imperial Ideology and Provincial Loyalty in the Roman Empire (Berkeley, 2000), p. 6. 10 Ando, Imperial Ideology, pp. 155–6. 11 PS 1190: F. Bagley (trans.), Ghazzali’s Book of Counsel for Kings [Nasihat al Muluk] (London, 1964), p. 77. 12 On the general features of this period, and especially on the accelerating loss of state control over the economic sphere, see, inter alia, A. Laiou, ‘The Byzantine aristocracy in the Palaeologan period: A study of arrested development’, Viator 4 (1973), pp. 131–41 and K.- P. Matschke, ‘Commerce, trade, markets and money: Thirteenth–fifteenth centuries’, in A. Laiou (ed.), Economic History of Byzantium, Vol. 2 (Washington, DC, 2002), pp. 771–806, in particular pp. 805–6. 13 Aziz al-Azmeh, Muslim Kingship: Power and the Sacred in Muslim, Christian, and Pagan Politics (London, 1997), p. 99. 14 Lambton, Theory and Practice, No. II: 135 on the prominence of the Sassanian model of kingship in Nizam al-Mulk’s treatise, written in 1090. 15 Anthony Black, The History of Islamic Political Thought from the Prophet to the Present (Edinburgh, 2001), p. 55. 16 On the theoretical basis of sultanic absolutism according to Nizam al-Mulk, see Lambton, Theory and Practice, No. VIII: 210, and on the designation ‘benevolent despotism’, see Black, History of Islamic Political Thought, p. 92. 17 PS 1526, Book I: 60. 18 PS 1526, Book I: 65: ‘Emir Osman tedbir-i hasan ve hüsn-i hulk ile halkın kulubun kendiye döndürdü’. 19 For a general account of how the tradition operated in its Eurasian context, see now Thomas Allsen, The Royal Hunt in Eurasian History (Philadelphia, PA, 2006), in particular the chapter on ‘circulation’, pp. 186–208. 20 See George Vernadsky, ‘Juvaini’s version of Ghengiz Khan’s Yasa’, Annales de l’institut Kondakov 11 (1940), p. 40. 21 Vernadsky, ‘Juvaini’s version’, p. 41. 22 PS 1077 (Kaşgari), Vol. 1, p. 281. 23 See, for a summary discussion of these accounts, M. F. Köprülü, ‘Türk Edebiyatın Menşeii’, Milli Tetebbüler Mecmuası II/4 (1331), pp. 34–42. 24 For a schematic account of Timurid administration, see B. Manz, The Rise and Fall of Tamerlane (Cambridge, 1989), p. 172. On the importance of the office of mir-i shikar in Seljukid times, see C. Hillenbrand, ‘Sa’eddin Köpek’, EI IX: 705. 25 For a detailed discussion of Roman banqueting practices, see Simon Malmberg, Dazzling Dining: Banquets as an Expression of Imperial Legitimacy (Uppsala, 2002). 26 For a discussion of the general feasts and public celebrations held on the occasion of the circumcision festivities to honour Ottoman princes, see Chapter 7 below. 27 Known as the nan ve nemek or the tuz ve etmek hakkı. See PS 1632 (Aziz Efendi), p. 24, and note 58 on page 52. 28 PS 735, Tekin translation, pp. 267–72. 29 PS 1069, Dankoff translation, pp. 124, 137 and 138. 30 PS 1090, Darke translation, pp. 124–6.

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31 Here the author is referring to the Seljukid’s contemporaries in the east, the Karakhanids (Ilek-hanids), whose dynastic hegemony extended over much of Central Asia between the years 992 and 1211. See C. E. Bosworth, Islamic Dynasties, pp. 111–14. 32 PS 1331, Gibb translation, Vol. 2, p. 463. 33 PS c.1550, Geoffrey Lewis translation, various pages as indicated. 34 PS 1659, Ebülgazi Bahadur, Şecerei Terakime: İkinci Türk Tarih Kurultay Üyelerine Sovyet İlimler Akademisinin Gönderdiği Fotokopidir (İstanbul, 1937), folio 21a, lines 8–11: ‘900 yılkı ve dokuz ming kuzu öldürttü, ve 900 Bulgar havuzga arak doldurdu, ve doksan Bulgar havuzga kımız saldurdu. Kırk gece [ve] gündüz iş [u] işret kıldılar.’ 35 PS 1490, Ali Bey edition, p. 32: ‘Sana muti olanlara hoş tut, ve nökerlerine da’im ihsan edici ol. Senin ihsanın onların tuzağıdır.’ 36 In Mehmed Genc’s view, provisionist principles still lay at the heart of Ottoman economic thinking in the eighteenth century. For a brief exposition of his views, see the article ‘State and economy in the age of reforms’, in Kemal Karpat (ed.), Ottoman Past and Today’s Turkey (Leiden, 2000), pp. 180–7; especially p. 181. 37 Adam Sabra, Poverty and Charity, p. 166, citing research by Andre Raymond published in the journal Muqarnas, Vol. 2 (1984). 38 See R. Murphey, ‘Provisioning Istanbul’, pp. 217–19. 39 A. Sabra, Poverty and Charity, p. 165 (table 6.8). 40 Ibid., p. 139. 41 See the example cited in R. Murphey, ‘The development of Istanbul’s commercial capacity 1700–1765’, in Acta Orientalia Hungarica 61 (2008), pp. 149–57, which relates the dispute which arose over the grand vizier Seyyid Hasan Pasha’s plan to sponsor and finance a commercial building in 1746, noted in Şemdanizade Süleyman Efendi, Muri üt-Tevarih; see Münir Aktepe (ed.), Vol. I, Pt. 1 (Istanbul, 1976), p. 125. See also R. Murphey, ‘Mustafa Safi’s version of the kingly virtues’, in C. Imber et al. (eds), Frontiers of Ottoman Studies, Vol. 1, p. 17 for a discussion of the dispute that arose in 1613 over who should take credit (that is, religious merit or savab) for the construction of fountains to alleviate water shortages in the capital. 42 See R. Murphey, ‘Ottoman census methods’, Studia Islamica 71 (1990), p. 119, on the government attitude towards new impositions introduced by tax surveyors which they regarded as bidaat, that is, as innovations without precedent, and immediately revoked. The flip side of revoking new impositions unfavourable to the interest of average taxpayers was the restoration of ancient exemptions which through neglect or maladministration had been allowed to lapse. 43 For the text of Sultan Ahmed’s ‘noble command’ (emr-i şerif) to Haci Ibrahim, see Ahmed Feridun, Münşeat al- Selatin, 2 vols (Istanbul 1274–5), Vol. 2, pp. 134–6, especially p. 134, two lines from bottom. 44 See above, p. 24. 45 For an evaluation of his contribution to the development of the concept of maslaha, see Daiber, ‘Political philosophy’, in Nasr and Leaman (eds), History of Islamic Philosophy, Vol. I: Part II (London, 1996), p. 845. 46 See the article ‘Muruwwa’, in EI VII: 636–8. 47 H. Inalcik, s.v. ‘Örf ’, in MEIA IX: 480. 48 H. Inalcik, ‘Ottoman methods of conquest’, Studia Islamica 3 (1954), pp. 103–29.

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49 Halil Edhem Eldem, ‘Kara Mustafa Paşa’nin Şöprün ahalisine beyannamesi’, Tarih-i Osmani Encumeni Mecmuası ii/15 (1328/1912), pp. 924–37: (1) padişah-i ruy-zemin hazretlerinin saye-i himayelerine sığınıp, (2) zir-i saye-i padişahide hıfz ve himaye … (3) zir-i saye-i … şehriyaride asude-hal; (4) saye-i selamet-mayesinde asude-hal ve müreffeh ül-bal. 50 PS 1090 (Darke translation), p. 63.

Notes to Chapter 2: Dynastic Identity: Ottoman Political Values and the Quest for an Imperial Identity in the Proto-Imperial Era, 1300–1450 1 The vassalization of the Serbs itself was only a gradual and sometimes uncertain process. For developments after their defeat at the battle of Chernomen near Edirne in 1371, see H. Inalcik, ‘The Ottoman Turks and the Crusades, 1329–1451’, in Kenneth M. Setton (ed.), A History of the Crusades, Volume 6 (Madison, WI, 1989), pp. 242 (1371), 246 (1385) and 261 (1428), discussing the terms of vassalization imposed at various stages of the Serb–Ottoman relationship. 2 For an account of the duration of rule and territorial extent of the other 16 of the ‘kings of the territorial divisions’ (muluk ul tawaif), see nos 115–30 (pp. 269–319) in Halil Edhem, Duvel-i Islamiye (Istanbul, 1928). 3 On the tribe’s collective decision to ‘elect’ Osman in favour of Dundar, see above, Chapter 1, p. 34 (n. 18). On other aspects of the traditional system of open succession, see H. Inalcik, ‘The Ottoman succession and its relation to the Turkish concept of sovereignty’, in H. Inalcik, The Middle East and the Balkans under the Ottoman Empire: Essays on Economy and Society (Bloomington, IN, 1993), pp. 37–69. 4 See above, note 2. 5 See, for example, the title chosen for the collection of essays edited by E. Zachariadou, The Ottoman Emirate, 1300–1389 (Rethymnon, 1993), which shows that the term has by now become uncontroversial. 6 See V. L. Ménage, ‘On the Ottoman word Ahriyan/Ahiryan’, Archivum Ottomanicum 1 (1969), p. 197 ff, especially p. 209. 7 In the present context, this refers to the conquest of Constantinople in 1453. 8 See PS 1494 (Giese Anon.), p. 50 (lines 20–1): ‘Musa Celebi gayet yavuzdu, hem Rumili[n] lu’yu sevmezdi … Kendi kulların severdi, hem gayet cömerd idi.’ 9 Cf.the description accorded to PS 1490 (Derviş Ahmed [Aşıkpaşa-zade]) in the seventeenthcentury Kaşf al-Zunun of Katib Çelebi (Yaltkaya and Bilge eds; repr. Istanbul, 1971), Vol. 1, p. 283: ‘tawarih al kadima al Turkiya al wahiya’. 10 See note 8 above. 11 PS 1444 (Gazavat), p. 61: ‘Anadolu askeri Karaca Beg’e yar olmadılar.’ The ill-timed defection of the bulk of the akıncı forces is confirmed by Ruhi (p. 442): ‘akıncı … dağ tarafin tutup, kaçtılar’. 12 Gazavat, p. 64: ‘Padişah’la ol dem 300 kadar yeniçeri ve 400–500 kadar azeb … ancak kalmış idi.’ 13 PS 1526 (Ibn Kemal, Murad II Fragment, Bibliothèque Nationale (Paris), Ms.Turcs, Supp. 157), ff. 26b–27b.

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14 PS 1494 (Giese Variants), p. 206: ‘20,000 akıncı hazır olup, … yurudu. Uc beyleri … ittifak edip, bir nice bin akıncı ile gittiler’. 15 PS 1526 (Ibn Kemal, Murad II Fragment), f. 27b: ‘sağ kolunda Anadolu askeri, ve solunda Rumili leşkeri önlerine iki alay azeb, biri 10,000 ve biri 8,000 … durdular’. 16 It appears that the Janissaries reached a critical mass during the reign of Mehmed II. But informed sources estimate their strength in Murad II’s reign at no more than about 3,000. See J. Kaldy-Nagy, ‘The first centuries of the Ottoman military organization’, Acta Orientalia Hungarica xxxi/2 (1977), p. 165 (n. 77). 17 PS 1494 (Giese Anon.), p. 57, lines 8–14. 18 Giese Anon, p. 144: ‘Rum Beyleri çekilip oturdular, devlet ruzgarı gözlediler kim ne yüz göstere.’ 19 Giese Anon., p. 51, lines 28–9, which relates the dispatch by Gazi Evrenos of his son Ali Bey to Ineceğiz, thus putting the final seal of approval on Mehmed I’s succession claim. 20 For Turahan Bey’s imprisonment in Anatolia at Bedevi Çardak during the time of the Varna Crusade, and charges implicating him in anti-Ottoman plots involving both the Serbs and the Karamanids, see Gazavat, p. 31. 21 Cf.PS 1490 (Derviş Ahmed), Giese edn, pp. 66–7: ‘Ol iklimde tuz yasağı vardı. Onlar ol yasağı kabul etmezlerdi.’ 22 PS 1575 (Hoca Sa’deddin), Vol. 1, 288–9 and PS 1490 (Derviş Ahmed), Ali edn, pp. 90–l; Giese edn, pp. 80–1: ‘seferimde bulunmazlar, bunları sürmek gerek’. 23 See, however, R. Repp, Mufti of Istanbul (Oxford, 1986), pp. 91–2. Repp expresses doubts about the significance of this date and argues (p. 144 et passim) that the institution was not fully developed (or in possession of a clear sense of its particular mission) until the 1480s during Molla Gurani’s term of office. 24 PS 1490 (Derviş Ahmed), Ali edn, pp. 70–1. The story is related in conjunction with an account of the raids into Thessaly and the capture of Yenişehir (Larissa) in 796/1394. The Anonymous Chronicles and related traditions all contain the same story, but with interesting variations. See PS 1495 (Oruc), pp. 28–30, PS 1494 (Giese Anon.), pp. 29–33 and Murad II Fragment, ff. 22b–24a, all of which portray the reforms of Çandarlı Ali Paşa as ‘abusive’. But compare Paris, BN, A.F. 99 (a ms. of the Anon. Chronicles copied in Cemazi II 974/Dec. 1566 which substantially ‘revises’ the original), ff. 38b–41b, and PS 1575 (Hoca Sa’deddin, Tac ül Tevarih), Vol. 1, p. 140, both of which stress that the reforms were an inevitable and necessary development enabling the sultan to delegate responsibility for minor administrative tasks to a paid (and professional) group of officials. 25 PS 1494 (Giese Anon.), p. 30, lines 25–6 relating to new administrative practices introduced under Murad I (1362–89): ‘hesab defteri onlar te’lif ettiler, akçe’yi yığıp hazine etmek onlardan kaldı’. 26 On the adoption of the title ‘paşa’ by Çandarlı Halil as an unnecessary (and unprecedented) affectation, see PS 1494 (Giese Anon.), p. 22, lines 21–2. 27 See the text reproduced in H. Inalcik, Fatih Devri Üzerinde Tetkikler ve Vesikalar (Ankara, 1954), p. 218, lines 7–9: ‘Ekseri yasak Muslimanıdır, Allah için canını ve başını koyan azdan azdır.’ 28 PS 1444 Gazavat, p. 20 [f. 17a]: ‘madam ki Osman-oğlu’nun kapusu ve kapu kulları biledir ona cevab vermek müşkildir’; p. 23 [f. 20b]: ‘Yeniçeri ile azeb kulların payidar olursa, inşallah bu düşman münhezim olur …’.

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29 Idem, folio 31. 30 PS 1444 (Gazavat), pp. 32–3, lines 2–16: ‘Paşalar cümlesi bir yere gelip, elçiyi dahi ol mahal’a getirdiler ve eyittiler … Paşalar dedi kim: ‘biz varalım padişah’a bolayki bu minval üzere söz geçirip bir iş göreydik’ diyerek …’. 31 See PS 1490 (Derviş Ahmed, Giese edn), p. 41: ‘Ulubatı feth edip, yine tegfuru içinde koymuşlardı … Kermasti’ye yürüdü … yine yerlu yerinde mukarrer ettiler.’ and p. 42: Bundan Balikesri [Balikesir ‘ye] vardılar. Vilayetin kadimleri geldiler, timarlı timarında mukarrer oldular.’ 32 As, for example, the Ottomans’ use in a Balkan context of the services of pre-existing Christian military groups such as the cerehor, martelos and voynuk. 33 See K. M. Setton, Crusades, Vol. 6, pp. 248 [n. 55] and 249 [n. 67]. 34 The chronicle clearly identifies ganimet as the source of Bayezid’s charitable gesture. See PS 1494 (Giese Anon), pp. 28, line 29 and p. 29, lines 1–2: ‘Vardı, Kara Ferya’da oturdu. Dahi dört yanı akın saldı, mubalağa mal cem etti. Hem Kara Ferya’da bir imaret emr edip, yaptırdı.’ 35 For conditions in Thessaly around 1404, see Peter Schreiner, Die Byzantinische Kleinchroniken, 3 vols (Vienna, 1975–9), Vol. 2, pp. 385–6. 36 PS 1494 (Giese Anon.), p. 55, lines 10–11: ‘ol vakt [that is, after c.1420] Edirne’nin hısarından taşrasında evler yoktu. Ondan sonra [after 1420] taşrası dahi hep şehir oldu.’ 37 His elder son Ala-al-Din’s wedding had been celebrated in Edirne in 841/1437–8. The event coincided closely with the ceremonies connected with the laying of the foundations of the ‘Yeni Cami’ (that is, the üç şerefeli mosque) in Edirne, which the chronicle attributes to the year 840/1436 (see Giese Anon., p. 66, lines 10–14). However, it was not until the 1449 wedding of his younger son and successor Mehmed that the imperial mosque was actually completed. For the dating of its construction to the years between 1437 and 1447, see T. Gökbilgin, Edirne ve Paşa Livası (Istanbul, 1952), p. 214. 38 PS 1575 (Hoca Sa’deddin, Tac ül Tevarih), Vol. 1, p. 399. 39 For Mahmud Bey’s pedigree, see PS 1444 (Gazavat), p. 79 (n. 2). 40 See Tayyib Gökbilgin, XV–XVI. Asırlarda Edirne ve Paşa Livası (Istanbul, 1952), pp. 216–17. 41 Idem, cemaat-i şehirluyan, 78. 42 Gökbilgin, Paşa Livası, p. 292. The bath yielded 4,320, the shops 6,780 and the tannery 300 akçes of annual income. 43 Ibid., p. 248. Saruca Pasha rose to prominence during Mehmed II’s first reign (1444–6) and held the position of second vizier; see Inalcik, Fatih Devri, p. 87. 44 The most notable example was the attack of Karaman-oğlu Mehmed Beg in 1413. See PS 1494 (Giese Anon.), p. 52, lines 19–29. 45 See Giese Anon., p. 61. 46 For hijri 834 (1430 ce) as the date of completion of Koca Mehmed’s mosque and imaret, see Hüseyn Hüsameddin’s article in Tarih-i Osmani Encumeni Mecmuası vii/38 (1332), p. 117. Initial construction at the site must therefore date from the mid- (?) 1420s. 47 This refers to the pre- or proto-imperial era of Ottoman history, lasting from the founding of the dynasty until the capture of Istanbul in 1453. 48 The ‘real’ might be defined as versions (perhaps accurately transmitted through oral repetition) of the content of their own war councils, while the ‘imagined’ might relate to the ostensibly verbatim accounts of discussions in war councils of the enemy.

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49 For Idris Bidlisi’s estimate of the size of the Ottoman army at Bashkent as 103,500 combatants, see H. Inalcik and D. Quataert (eds), An Economic and Social History of the Ottoman Empire, 1300–1914 (Cambridge, 1994), p. 88. 50 See Inalcik, Arvanid Sancağı, Introduction, p. xiii: ‘1432 … isyanın bir sebebi olabileceğini düşündürmektedir.’ 51 For a list of the different titles employed by Ottoman rulers (including Çelebi Mehmed) in reference to themselves, see H. Inalcik’s article ‘Mehmed I’, in EI VI: 974. See also the section on titulature on coins in Chapter 3 below, pp. 78–9. 52 PS 1494 (Giese Anon.), p. 49: ‘Emir Sultan yedi yıl beylik etti; Sultan Musa üç büçük yıl beylik etti’, p. 55 (referring to Mehmed I’s reign 1413–21): ‘ondan sonra padişahlar Edirne’de durur oldular’; but (in reference to Murad II’s accession on p. 58): ‘Sultan Murad’a beylik verildi.’ On the unpretentiousness of the designation beğlik, see Tarama Sözlüğu, Vol. 1 (Ankara, 1963), p. 483: küçük devlet başkanlığı. 53 See above: ‘Institution Building’, pp. 47–9. 54 See the figures given by Idris Bidlisi in the Hasht Behisht (Inalcik and Quataert (eds), Economics and Social History, p. 88. 55 PS 1575 (Hoca Sa’deddin, Tac ül Tevarih), Vol. 1, p. 104 says that 2,000 Serbian troops were provided by Lazar. Compare PS 1490 (Derviş Ahmed), Ali edn, p. 63. 56 PS 1526 (Ibn Kemal), book ii, pp. 47–51. See in particular his description of the role of voluntarism in army recruitment during the earliest phases of the Ottomans’ expansion (p. 49, line 12): ‘vazifeye ve timara haccetleri yoktu, rayegan kulluğa can verirlerdi’. 57 On the political influence of the uc beyleri (e.g. Evrenos and Turahan) right up to the end of Murad’s reign, see above, pp. 45–7. 58 See PS 1465 (Enveri), Melikoff edn, p. 59 (n. 4) and Yinanç edn, p. 34. 59 See F. Lokkegaard, ‘Fay’, EI II: 869–70. 60 See PS 1481, the Cam-i Cem-Ayin. 61 See PS 1484 (Ruhi), p. 445: ‘Gördüler ki Turgutlunun bir kaç at uğruların göndermiş.’ See also PS 1526 (Ibn Kemal), book vi fragment, Paris Ms. Turcs Supp. 157, fol. 25b: ‘Gönderdiği merd-i neberd değil, Varsağın yan kesicileri ve Turgutun uğruları idi.’ 62 PS 1507 (Şikari), p. 159: ‘İbn-i Osman, ne ahdı dürüstdür, ne imanı.’ 63 PS 1507 (Şikari), p. 180: ‘Osman oğlu Bayezid Han’ın ahdı, andı dürüst değil … Yedi kerre ahd eyledi, yine bozdu.’ 64 See PS 1743 (Subhi), fols 4a–6a: ‘Icmal-i hal-i Iran’. 65 Sharaf al Din Ali Yazdi, The History of Timur-Bec Known by the Name Tamerlain the Great, 2 vols (London, 1723), Vol. 2, pp. 148–50. 66 See PS 1695 (SL), Silahdar Tarihi, Vol. 1, p. 492: ‘… namus-i din ve devlete layik olmadığı azhar min al-şemsdir’. 67 The gist of the story is provided in PS 1710 (Naima) III: 314–16, and the date and circumstances of his execution are recorded in PS 1638 (Teşrifat Defteri), p. 6. 68 The Ottoman of Lazaro Soranzo (London, 1603), pp. 64–6, based on an Italian text of 1598. 69 The progress of the campaign is told in most satisfying detail, though not without some measure of self-justification, by the defeated commander in the Gazavat-i Halil Paşa. See PS 1630, ff. 139b–140b.

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70 PS 1695 (SL) II: 120–1: ‘Paşan da sende bir alay melunlarsız. Devletim yıkıp, ırzım paymal eyledi. Askerim kırdırıp, be-nam paşalarım öldürdü, ve memleketlerimi kafire aldırdı.’ 71 Cem in fact visited Egypt twice, once in September 1481, after his flight from Anatolia, and again in March 1482, on return from his pilgrimage to Mecca. In both cases Kayit Bey’s receiving and honouring of a fugitive from Ottoman justice and a serious political rival was rightly considered by Bayezid as a hostile act. 72 For an analysis of the background to the outbreak of the conflict between 1481 and 1485 and the less than decisive results during the six year period between 1485 and 1491, see R. Murphey, ‘Ottoman expansion, 1481–1503’ in G. Mortimer (ed.), Early Modern Military History 1450–1815 (London, 2004), pp. 56–7. 73 For the size of Bayezid’s allowance or ‘pension’ to Cem around 1490, see H. Inalcik, ‘Djem’, EI II: 330. 74 For Mehmed Han’s lineage, see H. Edhem, Duvel-i Islamiye (Istanbul, 1928), p. 312 (table 129). 75 For his assignment to the two sancaks of Nikopol on the Danube and Köstendil in westcentral Bulgaria, see PS 1555 (Celal-zade), fol. 255a. 76 Arifi Paşa, ‘Maraş ve Elbistanda Zülkadroğullar Hükumeti’, TOEM V/35 (1331), p. 693. 77 O.L. Barkan, 1548 budget, IFM XIX (1957–8), p. 274 (No. 28): ‘be cihet-i revgan-i saade-i Elkas Mirza, 12,870 akçe’. Translated into its volume equivalent using the divisor of 8.5 aspers for each okka of butter, this represented roughly 1,514 okkas or close to two metric tons of butter allocated to meet only this relatively minor aspect of the captive prince’s entertainment budget. 78 Mehmed Süreyya, Sicill-i Osmani, 4 vols (Istanbul, 1308–15), Vol. 4, p. 655. 79 PS 1710 (Naima) II: 275, ‘Be her hal dergah-i ali-penah-i padişahide iltica eden mahrum kalmak şan-i devlete layık olmamağın …’. 80 PS 1710 (Naima) IV: 5. 81 On the Ottomans’ favouring of forms of non-verbal communication and use of messages sent in semiotic code to convey dismissal or disdain on the one hand and elevation in the sultan’s esteem on the other, see the discussion of attendance at court and gift-giving at court in Chapter 8, pp. 222–5 below. 82 PS 1648 (Teşrifat Defteri), p. 40: ‘elçi ile yıyıp içerken yedlerine teslim …’. 83 O.L. Barkan, ‘1528 budget’, IFM XV (1953–4), p. 318 (No.14). 84 As an annual sum, the income of approximately 14,000 akçes was equivalent to the stipend of a timar holder of considerable responsibility and seniority, with the attendant responsibilities and expenses of office. 85 On the seriousness with which this obligation was regarded in traditional thought, see Chapter 1, p. 29 (note 27) above. 86 PS 1488 (Tursun Bey), fol. 124a–b: ‘Iskender-i hain ki mebda-i tufliyetde perverde-i hakk-i dergah iken fesad …’ 87 PS 1488 (Tursun Bey), fol. 124b (line 9): ‘hamiyyet-i namus-i padişahi müktezasınca’. Cf.the English summary translation on p. 56. 88 See Franz Babinger, Mehmed the Conqueror and His Time, Engl. edn (Princeton, 1978), p. 471. 89 For a summary of Bidlisi’s career in Ottoman service, see V. L. Ménage in EI I: 1207–8. 90 See above, pp. 56–61.

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91 For Arifi’s arrival in Istanbul in the suite of Elkas Mirza in 1547, see Esin Atil, The Age of Sultan Süleyman the Magnificent (Washington, DC, 1988), p. 87. For an account of the costs for preparing the manuscript for presentation, exclusive of the costs for the author’s and illustrators’ fees, see Atil, op. cit., p. 288 (Appendix 2). 92 See R. Murphey, ‘An Ottoman View From the Top’, Turcica 28 (1996), p. 332. 93 PS 1668 (Rycaut), book i, p. 85. 94 PS 1675 (EV), (Seyahatname) VII: 287. For a German translation of the relevant portion of Evliya’s text, see R. Kreutel, Im Reiche des Goldenen Apfels (Graz, 1987), pp. 189–96. For more on the cultural significance of the kiss, see P. Brummett, ‘A kiss is just a kiss: Rituals of submission along the east–west divide’, in Birchwood and Dimmock (eds), Cultural Encounters Between East and West, 1453–1699 (Cambridge, 2005), pp. 107–31. 95 PS 1675 (EV), loc. cit. Assuming each pace represents a standard half-step of 2.5 feet, the extent of the emperor’s advance would have been about six yards; a concession to Ottoman imperial dignity that Evliya, measuring in his own terms, considered significant enough to mention. 96 PS 1675 (EV), VII: 287–8. On the use of musical bands as an emblem of sovereignty in the Ottoman tradition, see above, pp. 71–2. 97 4 Zilhicce 1075; see PS 1675 (EV), VII: 296. 98 PS 1675 (EV) VII: 291. 99 Ibid. Cf.Kreutel, Goldenen Apfels, pp. 189–90. 100 Ibid. The origin of the term manelike used by Evliya and translated elsewhere (PS 1675 [EV] VII: 296) as ‘Frenkish cap’ is unclear, but he seems to be referring to something not unlike a biretta. Kreutel offers the explanation (p. 302, note 257) that Evliya’s term represents a misreading of the Byzantine term kamelaukion, but the sense of the passage requires that it should refer rather to a detachable part of the headgear, like a skull cap or biretta. 101 For an analysis of the effect of multilingualism in the context of Habsburg–Ottoman diplomacy, see Gustav Bayerle, ‘The compromise at Sitva-Torok’, Archivum Ottomanicum 6 (1980), pp. 5–53 102 See above, p. 57. 103 On the Seljukid and Turcoman origins from which the elaborate forms for the swearing of personal oaths derived in fifteenth-century Ottoman diplomatic practice, see Hans Theunissen, Ottoman–Venetian Diplomatics: The Ahd-Names, PhD dissertation: Rijksuniversiteit Utrecht, 1991, pp. 284–5; cf.Electronic Journal of Oriental Studies, Vol. I/2 (1998), file no. 11. 104 For an attempt to unravel some of the hidden meanings of gesture by examining public encounters between Ottoman statesman and rivals for social preeminence, see R. Murphey, ‘The cultural and political meaning of Ottoman rituals of welcome: A text-linked analysis based on accounts by three key Ottoman historians’, in M. Köhbach, G. Prochazka-Eisl and C. Römer (eds), Acta Viennensia Ottomanica: Akten des 13.CIEPO-Symposiums (Wien: Institut fur Orientalistik, 1999), pp. 247–56. 105 For the interpretation based on the wind directions, see Ziya Gökalp, ‘Eski Türklerde İctimaii Teşkilat’, Milli Tetebbüler Mecmuası II/3 (1331), pp. 419–20. 106 See Marco Polo’s Travels, Yule edn (London, 1903), p. 123: ‘If a province sends horses, it sends nine times nine or eighty-one horses; of gold nine times nine pieces of gold …’. 107 Ibrahim Kafesoğlu, s.v. ‘Türkler’ (Ancient), MEIA X: 228–31.

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108 F. Köprülü, ‘Türk Edebiyatın Menşeii’, Milli Tetebbüler Mecmuası II/4 (1331), p. 64. 109 The typical band had two sections of brass percussion (zil, çatal, çevgan), two of drums (davul (tabul)) and kös (nakare), woodwinds one each, (zurna) and horns (boru). See Köprülü, MTM II/4 (1331), p. 66, and Walter Feldman, ‘Mehter’, EI VI: 1007–8. 110 See the tables provided in Chapter 6 below, pp. 171–3. 111 PS 1710 (Naima) I: 54: ‘Hila-i fahire ve samur giymeğe, ve zer-endud ve fıddi esliha ve alat kullanmağa uyun-i halk meluf ve aba an cedd beynlerinde maaruf iken, huşunet-i ziyy ve bezazet-i libas ihtiyariyle vaz-i mutadeyi dufaten tagyir, ahval-i nası bile muhan ve tahkir eder.’ 112 PS 1640 (PE), Tarih-i Peçevi, Vol. I, p. 218. 113 In his accession year ah 974, the first of şevval fell on 11 April 1567. His departure for Edirne on 14 Zilhicce (22 June) is recorded in PS 1600 (Selaniki), Vol. 1, p. 67. In February 1568 (Şaban 976) the court was seemingly still in Edirne as the shah’s envoy was received there; see Selaniki I: 70. 114 The departure for Edirne in early November is recorded in PS 1600 = Selaniki, Tarih, Vol. 1, p. 84.

Notes to Chapter 3: Dynastic Image: An Investigation of the Ottomans’ Use of Titulature in Coins and Chancellery Documents 1 For the text of Ulugh Muhammad’s letter, see Akdes Nimet Kurat, IV–XVIII. Yüzyıllarda Karadeniz kuzeyindeki Türk kavimleri ve devletleri (Ankara, 1972), pp. 349–51. 2 Nur Pere, Osmanlılarda Madeni Para (Istanbul, 1968), p. 48. 3 F. Köprülü, ‘Harizmşahlar’, MEIA V: 278. 4 Nur Pere, Madeni Para, p. 55 (nos 16, 17 and18) and the illustrations on plate 2. 5 Nur Pere, Madeni Para, p. 80 (nos 44–8). 6 Nur Pere, Madeni Para, p. 85 (no. 65). 7 Ibid., p. 90 (nos 84 and 85), silver issues from 1444 and 1451. 8 Ibid., p. 90 (nos 88 and 89), silver issues from 1475 and 1481. 9 The Ottoman numismatist Miralay Ali Bey claimed that the use of the title ‘sultan’ became ‘official’ after 870/1466. See ‘Osmanlı Imparatorluğunun ilk sikkesi ve ilk akçeleri’, TOEM VIII/48 (1334), p. 373. However, no examples dating before ah 875 are known in catalogued collections. 10 In Orhan’s document of intent dated 1348, three sons, Murad, Halil and Ibrahim, all bore the title ‘bey’. See the mülknane of Sultan Orhan (July 1348) in Tahsin Öz, Topkapı Saray Müzesi Arşivi Kılavuzu (Istanbul, 1938), documentary appendices, Doc. No. 1. 11 See Zeki Velidi Toğan, Umumi Türk Tarihine Giriş, 3rd printing (Istanbul, 1981), p. 341, and note 126 on p. 490. For an example of the term’s use in the abridged Turkish translation of the Selçukname, dated 1436, see Tarama Sözlüğü I: 409. 12 On power-sharing arrangements and balances between supreme ruler (han, in the singular) and subordinates (beys, in the plural), see Toğan, op. cit., p. 299. 13 See Toğan, op. cit., pp. 338–9 and A. K. Lambton, s.v. ‘Khudawand’, EI V: 44. 14 The title, as it appears in full in the inscription, is: ‘al-malik al muazzam, al-hakan al-

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18 19 20 21 22 23 24

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mukarram, al sultan ibn al-sultan’. See Franz Taeschner, ‘Beiträge zur frühosmanischen Epigrafik und Archäologie’, Der Islam 20 (1932), pp. 109–86. See above, p. 78 (note 5). For details, see ‘Murad II’, MEIA VIII: 598–9, which includes information extracted from contemporary Byzantine accounts. In the title and on the first page of the anonymous Gazavat (PS 1448), the author refers to his subject as ‘Sultan Murad ibn Mehmed Han hazretleri’ and ‘sultan-i azam, ani Murad Han’. Earlier in his reign he was known more simply as ‘bey’. Colin Imber, ‘Suleyman as Caliph of the Muslims: Ebu’s-Suud’s formulation of Ottoman dynastic ideology’, in G. Veinstein (ed.), Soliman le Magnifique et son temps (Paris, 1992), p. 179. See Bernard Lewis, The Political Language of Islam (Chicago, 1988), p. 49. A. Feridun, Münşeat al-Selatin, 2 vols (Istanbul, 1274–5), Vol. 1, pp. 2–4: ‘elkab-i padişahan-i Islam’. PS 1680 (Meninski) I: 631–6. F. Steingass, A Comprehensive Persian–English Dictionary (London, 1892), p. 229. See the examples cited by Meninski in PS 1680 I: 634–6. See the note on varying registers in the inscriptio used for the kings of Poland in Jan Reychman and Ananiasz Zajaczkowski, Handbook of Ottoman–Turkish Diplomatics (The Hague, 1968), pp. 144–5. PS 1680 I: 638. See L. Fekete, Einführung in die Osmanisch–Türkische Diplomatik der Türkische Botmässigkeit in Ungarn (Buadpest, 1926), Document 6, pp. 13–14 (lines 6–8) and footnotes 5–21 with an account of the range of geographic terms used in Süleyman’s intitulatio. See C. Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual in the Ottoman Empire (Princeton. 1986), discussion on pp. 280–1. On the despotism theme, see Lucette Valensi, The Birth of the Despot: Venice and the Sublime Porte (Ithaca, NY, 1993). PS 1638 (Teşrifat Defteri), p. 30. Christoph Neumann, ‘How did a vizier dress in the eighteenth century?’, in Suraiya Faroqhi and Christoph Neumann (eds), Ottoman Costumes: From Textile to Identity (Istanbul, 2004), p. 187 ff. PS 1638 (Teşrifat Defteri), p. 43. Idem: ‘sene-i sabıkada nazir olmamğla, dört savb hilat gönderile-gelmiş …’. Alderson, Structure of the Ottoman Dynasty, p. 58 (Table 10). Ibid., p. 76 (Table 11). PS 1607 (Telhisler), p. 182 (No. 91). With the addition of the epithet devletlu another request, this time submitted by the grand vizier Ali Pasha, concluded in the same manner. See PS 1607 = Orhonlu, Telhisler, p. 88 (no. 101). On the significance of the phrase ‘baki-i ferman …’ see note 47 below. PS 1607 = Orhonlu, Telhisler, pp. 10–12 (no. 11). PS 1606: Istanbul Archives, A. RSK.7: petitions collected by the ru’us kalemi (bureau of appointments) during the first two years of the reign of Sultan Ahmed I (1603–17). It is made clear from another document in the same collection (A. RSK.7/No. 82) that the normal tour of duty (tekmil-i muddet) for a kadi at this time was two years.

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39 PS 1606: Istanbul Archives, A. RSK. 7/No. 78 (line 1). 40 PS 1606: Istanbul Archives, A. RSK. 7/No. 78 (line 17): ‘Izzetlu ve saadetlu sultanımdan gayri keşf-raz ve ahval-i pur-melal edecek mesnedımiz yoktur. Saadetlu ve refetlu astane-i ali-şanınız mukassim-i erzaktir, ve fukeranın melce-i menus olmağın …’. 41 For the standard recourse to the vocabulary of protection in the political discourse of the late imperial era, see the study by Maurus Renkowski, ‘The state’s security and the subjects’ prosperity’, in Karateke and Reinkowski (eds), Legitimizing the Order (Leiden, 2005), pp. 195–212, especially p. 201 (n. 28). 42 See below, note 46. 43 PS 1606: Istanbul Archives, A. RSK. 7/No. 78 (line 26). 44 PS 1606: Istanbul Archives, A. RSK. 7/No. 77 (line 1). 45 PS 1606: Istanbul Archives, A. RSK. 7/No. 120. The sultan’s response is not recorded but, typically, especially at the outset of a newly installed sultan’s reign, such requests would have been routinely granted in order to generate feelings of loyalty and gratitude to the new ruler. 46 See Chapter 2, p. 65. 47 The literal meaning of this phrase – ‘the remainder of [executive] command …’ – conveyed the sense that final disposition of the case remained at the sole discretion of the sultan. Only after the grant of the sultan’s approval could the personal symbol of that approval, that is, the sultan’s cipher (the tughra), be added at the head of any edict thus bringing to a conclusion (in administrative terms) the proposal stage and signalling the commencement of the implementation phase devoted to the carrying out of the sultan’s will, once it was expressed. 48 Regulations for the district of Bozok published by O. L. Barkan (ed.), Kanunlar (Istanbul, 1943), p. 127 (§ 39): ‘Ağaza söğse, hadd uralar. Vurmazlarsa 30 akçe alalar.’ For the Englısh translatıon, see Uriel Heyd, Ottoman Criminal Law (Oxford, 1973), p. 142. 49 Heyd, Ottoman Criminal Law, pp. 146–7 (§ 14). 50 Üsküdar Şeriyye Sicilleri, Vol. 181, folio 124b: ‘Cina lafzı ile benim dinime, imanıma, izzime ve avratıma şetm-i galiz eylemiştir.’ 51 Üsküdar Şeriyye Sicilleri, Vol. 181, folio 124b: ‘“Merkum Hasan sakalıma yapışıp, ve sakalım yolmağın, ben dahi vech-i meşruh üzere şetm eyledim. Ve şarabı içtim ve içerim.” Behi deyyus. “Behi kodoş” deyü isaet-i meclis eylemeğin …’. 52 The gist of Süleyman’s letter to Tahmasp dated 5 July 1554, accusing him of cowardice, is summarized in PS 1640 (Peçevi) I: 310–11. See in particular p. 311 (lines 15–16): ‘Imdi, merdlik davasın edenlere na-merdlikle zen gibi meydandan kaçıp, muhtefi olmak düşmez.’ 53 PS 1555 (Celalzade), fol. 468a (lines 15–18). 54 On the gradual subordination of the ghazi element in Anatolian frontier society to the ‘organizers of the empire’ as part of the general process of centralization of state power, see Irene Melikoff, s.v. ‘Ghazi’, EI II: 1045. 55 For Orhan’s use of the honorific title Shudja al-Dunya w’al-Din (‘valiant defender of worldly ascendancy and of the faith’) in the inscription for his mosque at Bursa, see Ahmed Tevhid, ‘Bursada En Eski Kitabe’, TOEM V/29 (1330), p. 318. For the popularity of the doublebarreled form among the Seljukids, see Bosworth, s.v. ‘Lakab’, EI V: 619–31. 56 On the adoption of more lenient and latitudinarian religious policies by Süleyman as an exercise in damage limitation designed to counter the disastrous effects of his father’s hard-

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line policies, see R. Murphey, ‘Suleyman’s eastern policy’, in H. Inalcik and C. Kafadar (eds), Suleyman the Second [that is, the First] and His Time (Istanbul, 1993), pp. 229–48. 57 See below, pp. 141–74.

Notes to Chapter 4: The Dynasty as Family Enterprise: Sibling Rivalry, Struggles for Succession to the Throne and Incipient Creation of the ‘Political Household’ 1 For the beginnings of this process of transformation in the first months of each new ruler’s reign, see Chapter 5 below, pp. 117–39. 2 See Chapter 7, pp. 175–205. 3 Gilles Veinstein and Nicolas Vatin, Le Sérail ébranlé (Paris, 2003), Chapter 4: ‘Un règne commence’, pp. 259–351. 4 Ibid., p. 310. 5 Ibid., pp. 312–14. 6 Ebu Eyüb, who perished during the first Muslim assault on Constantinople in ad 672, was memorialized by Mehmed II immediately after his capture of the city in 1453, and his burial spot was marked by a commemorative mosque erected in 1458. See Tahsin Öz, Istanbul Camileri, 2 vols (Istanbul 1962–5), Vol. 1, p. 53. 7 Veinstein and Vatin, Le Sérail ébranlé, p. 286. 8 On the composition of this group, called the eshab-i hal u akd, and on the role they played in governance and public administration, see R. Murphey, ‘Historical introduction’, in R. Dankoff (ed. and trans.), Intimate Life of An Ottoman Statesman (Albany, NY, 1991), p. 34. 9 Chapter 1, p. 24 (n. 18). 10 See PS 1479, p. 27: ‘kardeşlerin nizam-i alem için katl etmek münasibdir’. 11 On the assessment of maslaha and determination of a course of action best suited to maximizing public benefit, see, in addition, a reference to its theoretical basis in Chapter 1, p. 22 above; for an account of its application to the practicalities of everyday life in Ottoman cities see R. Murphey, ‘Communal living in Ottoman Istanbul’, Journal of Urban History 16 (1990), p. 119. 12 The phrase occurs repeatedly in various forms in Abdi Pasha’s history, the Vakaname. For some of the variants such as ‘iktiza-i vakt hasebiyle’ and ‘li-maslahatin’, see PS 1682, fol. 4a (sub anno 1058/1648) and fol. 57a (sub anno 1072/1661–1662). 13 According to the chart provided in Mehmed Akman’s monograph on the subject, there were no executions of princes carried out in the 120 years between 1638 and 1756. See M. Akman, Osmanlı Devletinde Kardeş Katli (Istanbul, 1997), p. 42. 14 A. D. Alderson, Structure of the Ottoman Dynasty (Oxford, 1956), p. 12. 15 PS 1703 (Naima), III: 193 – sub anno 1043/1634. 16 Akman, op. cit., p. 106. 17 Of these, Ahmed, born in 1627 during Murad’s first years on the throne, would have been old enough to succeed. See numbers 680–3 in Alderson, Structure, Table XXXVI. 18 The named individuals selected out for summary execution numbered only two in the historian Silahdar’s account: Dil Ashub’s chief assistant, Kara Ali Agha, and the chief assistant to the leading officer of the palace cavalry regiments, also named Ali. See PS 1695 (Silahdar) I: 53.

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19 Süleyman II, reigned 1687–91, and Ahmed II, reigned 1691–95. 20 For a short account of Süleyman II’s achievements, see the article in EI IX: 842–3. 21 On Devlet Shah’s trousseau, see PS 1490 (Aşıkpaşa-zade) [Ali edition], p. 57: ‘Kütahya, Simav ve Eğrigöz ve Tavşanlu’yi … kızına verdi. Cihaz çok kavl u karar olundu’. 22 PS 1526 (Ibn Kemal) Book IV: 7: ‘Bir neyistanda iki arslan mekan tutamiyacağın bildiler.’ 23 Selim Giray Han II was at the time serving his second and longest continuous reign of four terms as khan of the Crimea, which lasted between 1684 and 1691. 24 PS 1695 (Silahdar) II: 340 – ‘Bazıları ‘Tatar Hanı getirelim, Al-i Osman tahtına oturtalım, ve cümle şehzadeleri ve saray halkın kıralım’ deyü hezar gûne sözler söyleyip …’. 25 PS 1490 (Aşıkpaşa-zade) (Ali edn), p. 113, puts the case concerning Mustafa as follows: ‘Bu ikisi vilayetde zarar-i amdir.’ For a discussion of the underlying principle justifying individual harm in order to avert general harm, see Akman, Kardeş Katli (Istanbul, 1997), p. 152. 26 Murad and Mahmud both died in 1521, aged two and nine respectively, while Abdallah died in 1526. See Mehmed Süreyya, SO I, pp. 53, 72 and 76, and Uzunçarşılı, OT II: 401. 27 On the quadruple sacrifice of Bayezid’s sons at their grandfather’s order, see Uzunçarşılı, ‘Iran şahına iltica etmiş olan şehzade Bayezid’in teslimi için Sultan Süleyman ve oğlu Selim taraflarından şaha gönderilen altınlar ve kiymetli hediyeler’, Belleten XXIV/93 (1960), p. 106. 28 PS 1559 (Itaatname), Paris BN, Supp. Turc. 162, ff. 1–47. 29 PS 1559 (Edicts), Ahmed Refik (ed.), ‘Konya muharebesinden sonra Şehzade Sultan Bayezidin Irana firari (Divan-i Hümayun gayri matbu vesaikine nazaren)’, TOEM V/36 (1331/1916), 705–27. 30 PS 1559 (Edicts), p. 709 (bottom): ‘asakir-i zafer-me’asirden her kimin yoldaşlığı zahir olursa, inşallah teala her biri envay-i ınayet-i padişahane, ve esnaf-i himayet-i şehinşahim ile behre-mend ve ber-murad olup, fevk ma-yatasavvur külli riayetler ve terakkiler olunmak mukarrerdir.’ 31 See the register of the chief officer of the divan, the Çavuş-başı, in which a copy of this testimony was recorded as follows: ‘“Sultan Bayezid muharebesinde emr-i hümayun ile uc beylerine Üveys Cavuş yoldaşlariyle ulak giderken tutmuşlardır” deyü şehadet eylediler.’ Although the order on folio 132b of the register (see BOA, Kamil Kepeci Defterleri, No. 677) is itself undated, the nearest dated entry on folio 135b, bearing the date 16 December 1564, suggests it was recorded around this time. 32 PS 1559 (Itaatname), fol. 9b. 33 PS 1559 (Itaatname), fol. 22b: ‘oğulları Sultan Osmana Canik sadaka olup, dahi hevass ve gayriden her ne maksud olunmuş ise, biltamam ata u ınam …’. 34 PS 1559 (Itaatname), fol. 26b. The text in transcribed in full in the Appendix; see p. 273. 35 PS 1639 (Peçevi) I: 394. 36 Ibid., I: 391.

Notes to Chapter 5: Consolidation of the Political Household in the Immediate PostAccession Phase of Rule 1 Around 7,000 in 1568 and more than 10,000 in 1609; see Chapter 6, pp. 172–3 (Tables 6.6–6.7).

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2 PS 1600 (Selaniki) I: 441. 3 See Uriel Heyd, Studies in Old Ottoman Criminal Law (Oxford, 1973), p. 172, and O. L. Barkan, Kanunlar (Istanbul, 1943), pp. xliv–xlv. 4 PS 1540: ‘Cemaat-i müşahere-horan, c.946/1539–1540’, published by Barkan in IFM 15 (1953–4), ilave V, pp. 314–29. 5 PS 1540, IFM 15, p. 314, Category I, Nos 1–2. 6 PS 1540, IFM 15, p. 315, Category III, Nos 18–23: ‘bu altı nefer kimesneler hünkâr hazretleriyle bile gelmiş ağalardır’. 7 PS 1540, IFM 15, p. 320, Category VIII, No. 17; a scribe named Abdullah, who was paid a salary at the rate of 20 akçes daily. 8 PS 1540, IFM 15, pp. 321–2, Category IX, Nos 3, 5, 11 and 15 and Category X, No. 1. 9 See PS 1540, IFM 15, p. 322, Category X, No. 4, and on the role of the Hamon family in Ottoman medicine, R. Murphey, ‘Jewish contributions to Ottoman medicine’, in Avigdor Levy (ed.), Jews, Turks, Ottomans: A Shared History (Syracuse, NY, 2002), pp. 64–5. 10 See PS 1616 (Bostan-zade Yahya), p. 43. 11 R. Murphey, s.v. ‘Ulufe’, EI IX: 811–12. 12 The number of the Janissaries on the treasury payroll in 1528, several years after Süleyman acceded to the throne, was 7,886. See IFM 15 (1953–4), p. 300. 13 The number of the Janissaries on the treasury payroll in 1568, soon after Selim II’s accession, was 12,798 (IFM 19 (1957–8), p. 305) representing a growth of 62 per cent over 40 years. 14 PS 1562 (Busbecq), pp. 158–9; extract from letter iii dated Istanbul, 1 June 1560. 15 For a brief account of the recruitment, training standards and corporate identity of Janissaries, see R. Murphey, s.v. ‘Yeni-čeri’, EI XI: 325–6. 16 M. Ipşirli (ed.), Tarih-i Selaniki, 2 vols (Istanbul, 1989), Vol. I: Introduction, p. xvi, and PS 1600 (Selaniki) II: 443. 17 See PS 1600 (Selaniki), II: 438. On open market exchange rates for the gold sultani, see Şevket Pamuk, Monetary History of the Ottoman Empire (Cambridge, 2000), p. 136, table 8.2. 18 PS 1600 II: 440: ‘Borç ile yatmak layik u münasib değildir.’ Another close contemporary, Hasanbey-zade, confirms Mehmed’s hypersensitivity with regard to the issue of clearing all the debts of his father, Murad III. See PS 1635 III: 435: ‘deyn –i pur şeynden bir akçe baki koymadı’. 19 On the nature of those promises, see pp. 114–15 above. 20 For an account of these events, see PS 1600 (Selaniki) I: 65. 21 On the turning of the tide in the Ottomans’ favour in late July 1569 after three full years of continuous disturbances, see Ahmed Raşid, Tarih-i Yemen ve San`a, 2 vols (Istanbul, 1291/1874), Vol. 1, p. 133. 22 See the budget for 1563 in IFM 19 (1957–8), pp. 304–5. 23 Ibid. 24 Ibid. The figures for March 1567 record 44,564 salaried staff and an annual wage bill of 133,488,980 akçes. 25 Marginal note to the 1567–8 budget, IFM 19, p. 304: ‘padişah … ile Kütahyadan bile gelen kulları …’.

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26 Selaniki (PS 1600, I: 58) calls this group the ‘ma-dun-i aşere’ or those enjoying a rate of ‘less than ten [aspers per diem]’. For an indication that ten aspers per diem was the standard rate of pay for the regiments of the ulufecis (‘salaried troops’) of the right and left in the midsixteenth century, see I. H. Uzunçarşılı, Osmanlı Devleti Teşkilatından Kapukulu Ocakları, 2 vols (Ankara, 1944), Vol. 2, pp. 218–19, citing an appointments register (ru’us defteri) dated 1547. The garib yiğitleri or gureba (‘wanderers detached from their homes’) of the right and left, recruited originally among the brave men of Anatolia, were paid at a similar rate. See Uzunçarşılı, op. cit., Vol. 2, p. 222, citing the same register. 27 IFM 15, p. 300. 28 Ibid., 19, p. 251. 29 Ibid., pp. 305–6. 30 See columns one and three in Table 5.1 showing an increase from 211 to 1,050 in the ranks of the gureba of the right and an increase from 209 to 1,539 in the gureba of the left. 31 PS 1555 (Celalzade), fol. 26b: ‘umumen yeniçerilere üç biner akçe ihsan oldu, ve kendiler ile mukaddema liva-i Saruhandan hizmette olan ağaları ve sair huddam-i kiramlarının sağir ve kebir cümlesinin ulufeleri ve dirlikleri taz`if olup, inayetle ve himayetle erzani buyuruldu’. 32 PS 1600 (Selaniki) I: 101–5. 33 See p. 123. 34 PS 1641 (Topçular Katibi), p. 667. 35 Accounts diverge on the exact amount of Osman’s culusiyye dispatched in March of 1618, but Topçular Katibi, pp. 689–90 (n. 15), suggests that a further 100 purses of gold were reserved and 65 purses (78 million akçes) dispatched immediately to the front. 36 PS 1710 (Naima) IV: 345. 37 PS 1682 (Abdi), fol. 3a. 38 PS 1695 (Silahdar), II: 302–12. 39 PS 1682 (Abdi), fol. 3a. 40 For an account of the confiscation of Cinci Hoca’s properties and subsequent execution in 1648, see R. Murphey, ‘Forms of differentiation and expression of individuality’, Turcica 34 (2002), pp. 138–9. 41 PS 1718 (Raşid) I: 139a. 42 This figure, substantially higher than the figure of 39,470 recorded for 1670 (see Table 6.3 and note 59), reflects the expanded war-time strength of the Janissaries, but may also include some inactive or retired members of the corps. Nonetheless the per capita payment of 2,260 akçes in 1687 comes close to meeting the standard allocation of 3,000 traditionally paid in accession donatives. Distributed at the full rate of 3,000 akçes per capita, the sum would have covered payments to 53,000 Janissaries. 43 PS 1695 (Silahdar) II: 312 (line 11) – ‘sipahdan ancak yüzde biri terakki yerine bahşiş alıp …’ 44 Ibid.; events of 10 Safer 1099 (16 December 1687), falling 28 days after Süleyman’s accession on 18 November. 45 PS 1635 (Hasanbeyzade) II: 257: ‘18 nefer ağasının zeametlerini … hevass-i hümayuna ilhak edip, onlara bedel bi-hasıl ve yazusu mıkdarı gayr-ı vasıl kariyeleri tevcih …’ In Peçevi’s version (PS 1639 II: 8), the number of Sokollu’s dispossesed associates was not 18 but 24. 46 Ferhad Pasha assumed office (for his second term) on 16 February 1595, only a little more than two weeks after Mehmed’s accession on 27 January.

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299

47 For the date of Ferhad’s departure from Istanbul, see PS 1600 (Selaniki) II: 475 – 3 Ramazan 1003. 48 PS 1600 (Selaniki) II: 479: ‘serdar-i azam [Ferhad Paşa] hazretleri sefere gitmeden sadrda otururken, paye-i serir-i alaya arz edip tevcih eyledikleri menasibden ondört beylerbeyilik tekrar Ibrahim Paşa hazretleri tevcih buyurup, dil-khwahlarına arz buyurup, ber-murad eylediler, ve niceler behremend olmuşken hiraman ile giriyan oldular’. 49 PS 1600 (Selaniki) I: 250. For an account of Mehmed Pasha’s later restitution to office and subsequent career, see Mehmed Süreyya, SO IV: 139. 50 For a general account of the forms and uses of the pişkeş in the Persian tradition, see Ann Lambton, ‘Pishkash: Present or tribute?’, Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies [BSOAS] LVII (1994), pp. 145–58. 51 See the account of irregular revenues (varidat-i gayr-i mukarrere), IFM 19 (1957–8), p. 303, nos 5–6. 52 Mehmed was appointed on 12 Receb 1003/23 March 1595. See PS 1600 (Selaniki) II: 461. 53 His dismissal in the middle decade of Zilkaade 1003/18–27 July 1595 is also recorded in Selaniki, Vol. 2, p. 498. 54 Koca Sinan Pasha’s fourth term commenced on 7 July and finished four and a half months later, in mid-November. His successor lasted only a few days in office and upon his death from natural causes Sinan, ever the master of good timing, once again reclaimed his title and served a fifth term which ended with his own death on 4 April 1596. See Selaniki II: 581. 55 The date of Mehmed Pasha’s presentation at court is given in Selaniki (II:588) as evasit-i Şaban 1004/10–18 April 1596, together with the following description: ‘kanun-i kadim üzere dokuz kat cülus-i sultanat-i hümayun pişkeşin çekti’. On the numerological significance of nine, see above, Chapter 2, p.71 (n. 106). 56 On Mehmed Pasha’s appointment to Maraş, see Selaniki II: 598, and on his subsequent career, see Mehmed Süreyya, SO IV: 134. 57 As the reason for Hasan Agha’s dismissal as Hass Oda başı on 23 December 1651 and redeployment to the district of Elbasan as governor on 30 January 1652, the historian Abdi (PS 1682, fol. 14a) offers the following matter-of-fact explanation: ‘mazul Siyavuş Paşanin canibdarı olduğundan naşi’. 58 PS 1682 (Abdi), fol. 15a: ‘… “umur-dide adam lazımdır” deyü’. 59 See I. Parmaksızoğlu, ‘Damad Ibrahim Paşa’, in MEIA V: 915. 60 Selaniki I: 160. 61 Ibid.: ‘kul mawlasına hizmet edip, arz-i ubudiyet u ihlas etmek ancak bu denlü müyesserdir. Dahi ziyade mümkun u mutasavver degildir’. 62 On the legal concepts supporting the status of ‘idhn’ and ‘abd-i ma’dhun’, see V. L. Ménage, ‘Notes on the Devshirme’, BSOAS XXII (1966), p. 70, and the article by Y. Linant de Bellefonds in EI III: 1016 (part b). 63 See PS 1444 (Azadname), pp. 217–19 for Murad II’s granting of prospective manumission status as mudabbar to 15 of his most faithful household servants to whom he felt particularly indebted after long service. See also Ménage’s commentary in ‘Notes on the Devshirme’, pp. 67 (n. 13) and 68 (paras 1–2). 64 The text is included in the Feridun collection of state correspondence. See Ahmed Feridun, Münşeat al-Selatin (Istanbul, 1275), Vol. 2, pp. 136–8.

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65 The arrival of news from the capital to Ibrahim’s headquarters in late rebi ul-evvel 1008/ mid-November 1599 is recorded in Selaniki’s history (Vol. 2, p. 832). 66 Münşeat al-Selatin, Vol. 2, p. 137. 67 The precise date of this promotion is provided in Selaniki’s history (Vol. I, p. 138): 30 zilkaade 990/26 December 1582. 68 Haymane was a hilly and grassy area to the south of Ankara, formerly known for the breeding and grazing of horses. 69 Feridun, Münşeat al-Selatin, Vol. 2, p. 137 (lines 34–7) and p. 138 (lines 1–6).

Notes to Chapter 6: Formation of the Wider Palace Household: A People-Centred Glimpse at the Institution of the Sultanate and an Account of the Composition, Growth and Development of the Imperial Administrative Corps, c.1470 to c.1670 1 Inalcik, s.v. ‘Istanbul’, EI IV: 227–8. 2 Ibid., p. 229. 3 PS 1580 (Austin, Domenico’s Istanbul), p. 87. Austin estimates the palace walls extended over 5,000 metres, enclosing an area of 700,000 square metres of which approximately 78,000 square metres were occupied by buildings. 4 Necipoğlu, Architecture, p. 10. 5 PS 1479 (Leyszade), p. 23: ‘divana her gün vüzera ve kadıaskerlerim ve defterdarlarım geldikte … haftada dört gün … rikab-i hümayunuma arza girsinler’. 6 See Abdurrahman Şeref, ‘Topkapı Saray-i Hümayunu’, TOEM II/11 (1326/1911), pp. 650–6. For the location of Ahmed I’s ‘pavilion’, see no. 4 in the illustration from Eldem and Aközan (1982), reproduced in Necipoğlu, Architecture, Illustration 94 (p. 168) and the birds-eye view in plates 8 and 9. 7 Necipoğlu, Architecture, p. 85. 8 PS 1478 (mevacib defteri), pp. 8–13. The six divisions appear as four in the register, which lumps together the right and left wings of the four lower divisions as follows: sipahis (71); silahdars (63); ulufecis of the right and left (53) and gurebas of the right and left (35), making a total of 222. 9 For its location, see no. 11 in the illustration from Eldem and Aközan (1982) reproduced in Necipoğlu, Architecture, plate 10. 10 For its location next to the imperial council hall where decisions about public expenditure were made, see no. 24 in the illustration from Eldem and Aközan (1982) reproduced in Necipoğlu, Architecture, plate 11. 11 See above, pp. 90–2. 12 On the growth of the palace bureaucracy in this period, see Tables 6.4–6.8 below. 13 PS 1600 (Selaniki) Vol. 1, pp. 104 and 107; PS 1600 (Selaniki) Vol. 2, p. 449. 14 Necipoğlu, Architecture, p. 165: ‘the role of the harem had changed so dramatically that it was enlarged to three times its original size’. 15 Murad III’s daily schedule is described in detail in PS 1580 (Domenico), pp. 30–2. 16 PS 1479 (Leyszade), p. 27: ‘cenab-i şerifimle kimse taam yemek kanunum değildir, meğer ehl u ayaldan ola. Ecdad-i izamım vüzerasiyle yerlermiş. Ben ref etmişimdir.’

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301

17 See the 1471 register of expenditures of the palace kitchens published by Barkan in Belgeler IX/13 (1979), p. 249: ‘ihracat der vakt-i reften-i padişah be yaylak-i Terkos’. 18 Kitchen expenses during the transit to Vize in November and early December are recorded in idem, pp. 260–3, while those during the hunt proper (11 December 1471–25 February 1472) are found on p. 264. 19 PS 1479 (Teşkilat Kanuname), p. 26: ‘cenab-i şerifim sefer-i zafer-rehberde müteveccih olsa yanaşmak vüzeranın ve kadi askerlerin ve defterdarların kanundur. Mazul berylerbeyiler ve beyler dahi davet edersem yanaşmak kanunumdur.’ 20 On the high proportion of sultans who lost their throne as the result of popular discontent and resistance, see Chapter 3, note 34. 21 On the importance of sultanic funding and sponsorship for urban renewal in the eighteenth century, see R. Murphey, ‘The development of Istanbul’s commercial capacity, 1700–1765’, in Acta Orientalia Hungarica 61 (2008), pp. 149–57. 22 Necipoğlu, Architecture, p. 94. 23 Michael Meeker, A Nation of Empire: The Ottoman Legacy of Turkish Modernity (Berkeley, CA, 2002), p. 128. 24 See Inalcik, s.v. ‘Wazir’, EI XI: 195. 25 See the Introduction, p. 9 (note 16). 26 The contrary view, that seclusion enhanced or even perpetuated the power of the monarch, is expressed by Necipoğlu (Architecture, p. 257) as follows: ‘The architectural, institutional and ceremonial organization of the Topkapi palace perfectly reflected the system of absolute monarchy and helped to perpetuate it.’ But the sultans who acquired most power (Mehmed II, Selim I, Süleyman I, Murad IV and so on) were arguably those who were least confined to the palace. 27 See Jeroen Duindam, Vienna and Versailles: The Courts of Europe’s Dynastic Rivals, 1550–1780 (Cambridge, 2003), p. 203, where he estimates the size of Louis XIV’s inner court establishment in 1699 as numbering 2,120 people and the ‘wider’ court, including subsidiary households and some military units, as comprising some 5,100 staff members. 28 PS 1478 (mevacib defteri), pp. 8–10. The term zaim refers to a senior cavalry officer with a large annual stipend, and the term serdar (commander) also reveals the military status and function of the beneficiary of the award. 29 For the latter group (that is, descendants of domestic officials) the provisions were as follows (PS 1479 (Teşkilat Kanunu), pp. 20–1): sons of great viziers (60 akçes per day), sons of other viziers (50), sons of chancellery chiefs (45) and sons of provincial governors (also 45 akçes per day). 30 The list published by Barkan in IFM 15 (1953–4) is dated to some time around 1540 on the basis of internal evidence. See idem, p. 314, note 1. 31 See the list included in the 1527 budget published by Barkan in IFM 15 (1953–4), pp. 316–20. Groups V and VIII (müteferrikas) number 32 (8 and 24) in total, while groups VI and VII (evlad-i umera) number 38 (6 and 32), which keeps the two categories in rough balance with one another. 32 The two sons, Ahmed and Derviş Çelebi, were paid a daily salary (allowance) of 120 and 100 akçes respectively, while the nephew Mahmud Çelebi received 60. See the 1527 budget published by Barkan, IFM 15 (1953–4), p. 317 (VII: nos 2–3) and p. 318 (VII: no. 6).

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33 See IFM 15 (1953–4), p. 320 (group VIII: no. 22). 34 Mehmed Süreyya, SO II: 44. 35 ‘Cemaat-i müteferrika-i büzurg’ (1555–6), published by Barkan in Belgeler IX/13 (1979), pp. 40–2. See p. 41 (no. 54): ‘Mehmed ibn Mehmed Beg, veled-i Pir Mehmed Paşa, fi yevm, 50.’ 36 Barkan, 1527 budget, IFM 15 (1953–4), p. 315 (no. 5). 37 See R. Murphey, ‘The cultural and political meaning of Ottoman rituals of welcome: A text-linked analysis based on accounts by three key Ottoman historians’, in M. Köhbach, G. Prochazka-Eisl and Cl. Römer (eds), Acta Viennensia Ottomanica: Akten des 13. CIEPOSymposiums (Wien: Institut fur Orientalistik, 1999), pp. 254–5. 38 On the essentially conservative nature of the 1676 regulations on state protocol, see the Bibliography, PS 1676. 39 One of them was Shams al-Din (Mola Gurani), who was appointed shaykh al Islam two years later (in 885/1480), shortly before the sultan’s death. 40 For a categorization according to the six main groups, see below, pp. 168–76. 41 Distributed as follows, according to the standard six categories: stables (126), gatekeepers (50), kitchen (45), tailors (24), tent-pitchers (38) and falconers (58). 42 For an indication of the scale of the difference between the two periods, see Table 6.4 below. 43 The table summarizes the information contained in PS 1478; see TOEM VIII/62 (1335), pp. 5–23, without the individual names and pay rates. Pay levels reflect the wage and price structure of the fifteenth century with the top pay daily rate of 50 akçes for a head of service such as Yakub Agha, head of the Officers of the Stirrup. 44 The total increases to 752, with the inclusion of the 222 members of the six standing cavalry regiments. For purposes of comparison with data from later periods (see Tables 6.4–6.8), we have excluded these military groups from the general count. 45 According to the information provided in PS 1479 (Teşkilat Kanunu), p. 23, this group numbered not six but 32, and bore the name hass (special, select). However, these details must reflect later emendations relating to the sixteenth-century expansion of its membership, which was ultimately capped at 40. 46 Cf.group ii in tables 6.4–6.8. 47 Cf.group v in tables 6.4–6.8. 48 Cf.group iii in tables 6.4–6.8. 49 Left-handed archers and halberdiers able to defend the sultan against attacks from the rear without turning their backs to the sovereign. 50 Cf.group iv in tables 6.4–6.8. 51 Cf.group vi in tables 6.4–6.8. 52 Cf.group i in tables 6.4–6.8. 53 See Chapter 1, pp. 28–35. 54 See Table 6.3, note 56. 55 See Table 6.8. 56 Definition of terms and abbreviations used in the table: Re’is = head. Conversion to okka units (1.2828 kg) based on the assumption of 10 okkas of meat (12.8 kg) from every head of sheep and P.P.O. = price per okka. Figures for the price per okka and total cost are given in Ottoman silver aspers (akçe). 57 Belgeler IX/13 (1979), p. 91 (no. 30). It should be noted that the exact contemporary figures

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58 59 60 61

for the soup kitchens attached to the Mosque of the Conqueror in Istanbul showing an average cost per okka of between 1.4 and 1.5 akçes for mutton (see Barkan, IFM XXIII (1962–3), p. 325, no.1) require that we correct the cost figure of 422,043 to 242,043 by applying the multiplier of 1.48 (act. 1.4798). Belgeler IX/13 (1979), p. 72. Figures for 1555 cover a period of seven tenths of a year (8.4 months). To calculate the annualized totals I have used the multiplier 1.4285. Ibid., p. 107. Ibid., p. 110. The figures actually cover 13 lunar months, so the annualized totals were calculated based on a multiplier of .923. The original figures (Belgeler XI/13 (1979), p. 157) indicate a consumption of 216, 656 okkas at 10 akces per okka. In fact the figures seem to apply not to the New Palace but rather to the Old Palace (Saray-i Atik) and thus are not strictly comparable with those provided for the earlier years. I have included them here for comparative purposes only as an indication of the general growth of the palace establishment after the end of the sixteenth century (see also Table 6.3 below). An indication of the relative size of the two establishments of the ‘Old’ (Queen Mother’s) and ‘New’ (reigning sultan and his harem) Palaces is provided as follows:

harem slave girls (cariyes) senior admin. staff (aghas) rank-and-file staff (huddam)

New Palace

Old Palace

Total

266

334

600

72

39

111

ND

10

10

GRAND TOTAL

721

(Figures from Belgeler IX/13 (1979), pp. 155–6)

It should be remembered, however, that the budget covering the transitional year 1012 hijri (1 Zilhicce 1011 to 29 Zilhicce 1012 = 12 May 1603 to 29 May 1604 was exceptional in that it witnessed (on 22 December 1603) the decease of one sultan (Mehmed III) and his replacement by a relative minor (Ahmed I) who was only just in the first phases of establishing his own independent household in the New Palace. The first two children to be born to Ahmed after his accession, Osman (later Osman II, born in November 1604) and Mehmed (born in March 1605), were sired to a concubine (Mahfiruz Sultan) who was unable, partly due to her husband’s youth, to establish her authority as chief consort (haseki). 62 IFM 17 (1955–6), p. 295 shows a daily allotment of 2,800 okkas times 354 days in the lunar year. See Table 6.3 below. 63 Figures taken from IFM 17 (1955–6), pp. 295–7. 64 2,502 okkas of 400 dirhems each is equivalent to 1,000,800 dirhems, an amount sufficient to provide each of the 39,470 Janissaries, both active and pensioned (see IFM XVII (1955–6), p. 262), with a daily meat ration of 25.356 dirhems, or 81 grams. Janissaries on active duty typically received more, on average 60 dirhems or 192 grams each (see Murphey, Ottoman Warfare, p. 89). It appears however that wide disparities in practice could and did exist. In keeping with the sultan’s self-proclaimed position as pater familias, he was likely to err on

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65 66

67

68 69 70

71 72

73 74 75 76 77 78 79

N O T E S T O PA G E S 1 6 3 – 1 6 9

the side of overabundance rather than penury. An indication of this is provided in the figures from Ahmed I’s first year on the throne in 1012 hijri cited earlier (see Belgeler IX/13 (1979), p. 166 (bottom)). At this time the cadets destined for palace and military service being trained at Galata Saray received a daily allowance of 150 dirhems (481 grams) amounting to an annual mutton allocation of 29,380 okkas (or x. 923 for the annualized figure of 27,118 okkas) distributed among the palace staff numbering, on average over the 13 months covered by the budget, 221 men. With metric conversion the annualized sum of 34.79 metric tons allocated to Galata Saray’s palace larders in the early seventeenth century fits the general profile and gives evidence that the recruitment and training of future servants for the higher levels of the palace administration (in the main imperial residence at the New Palace) was still being rather carefully maintained. The comparative figure for 1603–4 is indicated in the previous note. See A. Greenwood, Istanbul’s Meat Provisioning (unpublished PhD dissertation, Chicago, 1988), Appendix F, pp. 285–7, which records an annual meat distribution to the palace ranging between 750,000 and 850,000 okkas (960 to 1150 metric tons), compared to distributions to the Janissaries ranging between 850,000 and 1,000,000 okkas (1090 to 1280 metric tons). For examples of the use of these terms and more relating to different forms of sultanic giving, see the ‘Inam ve Sadaka Defteri’ for AH 909 (AD 1503–4) published by Barkan in Belgeler IX/13 (1979), pp. 296–380. PS 1473, TOEM VIII/62 (1335), p. 57: ‘tasadduk-i fukera be yed-i kilar-i amire’. Budget for 1547–8 published by Barkan, IFM 19 (1957–8), p. 264. See the ‘Inam ve Sadaka Defteri’ for ah 909 (ad 1503–4) published by Barkan in Belgeler IX/13 (1979), pp. 296–380. The sequence of the months in the Muslim calendar is indicated in roman numerals; thus iii equals Rebiülevvel and xii equals Zilhicce. In the register, this was recorded as 2,776 gold coins valued at 55 akçes each. For comparative price data from the period 1490 to 1573 ranging from 19 to 25 akçes, see Barkan, Belgeler IX/13 (1979), p. 90, no. 21 (19.2 akçes), and p. 105, note 5 (25.875 akçes). The flour for baking of bread loaves (fodula) was typically fixed at a stabilized price, and a few years later, in 1574 (Barkan, idem, p. 111, no. 45), wheat flour purchased in bulk for the palace kitchens was costed at 19.3 akçes per kile. See the detailed note in Barkan, ‘Imaret sitelerin kuruluş ve ışleyiş tarzı’, IFM 23 (1962–3), p. 272 (note 27). PS 1580 (Domenico), p. 23 and the comments by the editor on p. 99. PS 1830 (Letaif-i Enderun), p. 136: ‘Istanbul, Galata ve Eyüp sa’ilesine taraf taraf haberler ilan … fukera ve gureba … saray kapusundan Çinili meydanına duhul …’. The data on stable staff is drawn from category I in Tables 6.4–6.8. The 17 buildings making up the Great Stable are described in Baudier’s record of the palace dating from 1624 (2nd edition, 1631). See R. Murphey, s.v. ‘Mir-Akhur’, EI VII: 88–9. See Category II in Tables 6.7–6.8 below. All treaties were subject to renewal (and, by definition, therefore also re-negotiation) after the accession of each new sultan. International agreements were only binding when issued in the name of the currently reigning sultan, who reserved the right to repudiate them if any acts regarded as hostile to the spirit of mutual friendship were committed by the cosignatories.

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80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92

See note 92 below pertaining to the data for the year 1670. Source: Iktisat Fakültesi Mecmuası 15 (1953–4), p. 312. Source: Iktisat Fakültesi Mecmuası 15 (1953–4), p. 300. Source: Iktisat Fakültesi Mecmuası 19 (1957–8), p. 306. Source: Ayn-i Ali, Risale-i vazife-horan (Istanbul, 1280), pp. 92–8. Source: IFM 17 (1955–6), pp. 214–18 Ibid., p. 228, no. 10. Ibid., p. 217. Ibid., p. 228, no. 11. Ibid., no. 12. Ibid., no. 13. Ibid., nos 14 and 15. The numbers provided in IFM 17, p. 317, nos 18 and 19, seem unrealistically low and suggest that only a few new trainees were kept on site at the New Palace (Yeni Saray) in Istanbul, while the bulk of the trained members of the corps had been transferred to the palace in Edirne, which was in any case a location favoured by Mehmed IV (r. 1648–87) during long periods of his reign, particularly during his excursions for the hunt. 93 Although the total indicates a decline in the numbers of the royal household from the levels reached in 1609 (see Table 6.8), the decline was minimal in most categories and possibly masks a real terms increase when the fact of Sultan Mehmed IV’s multiple residences in Istanbul and Edirne is taken into account. 94 For a brief account of the growth from the mid-eighteenth century onwards of these grand vizierial offices, see Midhat Sertoğlu, Resimli Osmanlı Tarihi Ansiklopedisi (Istanbul, 1958), p. 263. 95 See Kemal Karpat, Ottoman Population 1830–1914 (Madison, WI, 1985), p. 203 (Table III.2).

Notes to Chapter 7: Celebrating the Coming of Age of an Ottoman Prince: Exclusivity versus Inclusiveness in Ottoman Court Ceremonial 1 See A. J. Wensinck, s.v. ‘Khitan’, EI V: 22. 2 PS 1600 (Selaniki) I: 62. 3 PS 1490 (Aşıkpaşazade), Ali edn, p. 148; Giese edn, p. 140. Although the term fukera has a subsidiary meaning referring to mystics or holy men, the author here means it in its broader sense as the antonym of ghani (plural aghniya), that is, person(s) of substance and property. 4 Festivities organized over the space of a minimum of two weeks to celebrate the circumcision rites of an Ottoman prince, hereafter referred to in the text by the shorthand form sur, whose root meaning in Arabic is ‘gladness’ or ‘revelry’. 5 See passages 1–7 cited in Chapter 1, pp. 30–2. 6 See PS 1720 (Levni), p. 51: Day Six, 23 September 1720: ‘banquet for the poor of Istanbul’. 7 PS 1490, Ali edn, pp. 148–9. 8 PS 1488 (Tursun Bey), edn by Inalcik and Murphey, facs., fol. 72a–b. and Arif edn, p. 79. 9 PS 1526 (Ibn Kemal) Book VII: 145: ‘bir hafta tamam işret u iş olup …’.

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10 PS 1526 (Ibn Kemal) Book VII: 146: ‘Il gün ol düğünle gönendi, ve şehir köy temaşa-yi gûnagûn doya doyup usandı.’ 11 These aspects are covered in some detail in other accounts. See in particular Metin And, 40 Days, 40 Nights (Istanbul, 2004) and, on the theatrical aspects of the 1675 sur, Nutku Özdemır, IV. Mehmed’in Edirne Şenliği (Ankara, 1972), pp. 77–139. 12 On the wide range of types and categories incorporated under the generic rubic hilat, see Hülya Tezcan, ‘Furs and skins owned by the sultans’, in Faroqhi and Neumann (eds), Ottoman Costumes: From Textile to Identity (Istanbul, 2004), pp. 63–79. 13 Paula Sanders has studied the divisive use of dynastically sponsored ceremonial in the context of the Shii Muslim festival of Ghadir in her study entitled Ritual, Politics and the City in Fatamid Cairo (Albany, NY, 1994). 14 See the example of Baghdad (cited by Sanders, Ritual, Politics and the City, p. 125), whose predominantly Shiite quarters’ celebration of the Festival of Ghadir on 18 Zilhicce prompted counter-celebrations by the Sunnis of other quarters who deliberately chose to hold their communal celebrations on different days, linked with the standard Muslim religious calendar. 15 According to Mustafa Celalzade (PS 1555, fol. 337a–340b), the festival began on 15 and finished on 27 Receb 946/26 November to 8 December 1539. Cf.PS 1542 (Bostan Çelebi), fol. 318a–330a. 16 PS 1542 (Bostan Çelebi) 324: ‘Rumili Beylerbeyisi Hüsrev Paşa ki Rumilide cemiyetde iken leşker halkına icazet-i insiraf olup, sur-i surur-encama davet olmuştu …’. 17 The sultan on his eastward march from the capital met up with Bayezid in the vicinity of Yenişehir (near Bursa) in early September 1553 and ordered his deployment as guardian of the European provinces to Edirne. See Karaçelebizade, Süleymanname (Bulak, 1248), p.161. 18 Covel employs old style Julian calendar dates in his diary, so the date of this entry is given as 19 May in the diary, but for the sake of consistency and convenience I have converted this into the new style Gregorian equivalent. 19 PS 1675 (Covel), p. 196. 20 See above, the Introduction, p. 7. 21 For a detailed study of some of the better preserved examples of Ottoman imperial marquees, see Nurhan Atasoy, Otağ-i Hümayun: Imperial Tent Complex (Istanbul, 2000). 22 See Chapter 2, p. 71. 23 On Chinese ‘royal’ cities, see Lawrence Sickman and Alexander Soper, The Art and Architecture of China (Harmondsworth, 1956), p. 215, and on the numerological significance of nine for the Turks, see Anne Marie von Schimmel, ‘Numbers’, in Lindsay Jones (ed.), Encyclopedia of Religion (Detroit, MI, 2005), Vol. 10, p. 6749. 24 PS 1675 (Covel), p. 208. 25 Ibid., pp. 208–9. 26 PS 1675 (Hezarfen), pp. 211–12. 27 Ibid., pp. 219–20. 28 See PS 1718 (Rashid) I: 83b, who gives the date of Canbuladzade’s dismissal as 5 cemazi’ülahir 1086/27 August 1675. 29 On Cebeci Ahmed’s extended term as defterdar, see Danişmend, IOTK V: 276 (no. 120).

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30 PS 1718 (Raşid) I: 82b (lines 26–30): ‘Her gün bad al asr esnaf-i ehl-i hiref tertib-i mütearrifleri üzere alaylar ile otak-i hümayun pişgahından güzar, ve saçu namına olan hedaya-i bendeganelerin arz ve takdimiyle ser-efraz-i iftihar ederlerdi. Ba husus sair halka-be-guşan-i atebe-i devlet-i aliye ihraz-i şeref-i ziyafet ettikleri günlerde ferahur havsala-yi iktidarları olan araz ve nakd teslim, ve niyaz-i kabul ile “al abdü ve ma yemlikehü kane li-mawlâ” mazmunun takdim eylediler.’ 31 PS 1675 (Hezarfen), p. 217: gifts presented on the fourth day of the festival (29 May 29). 32 PS 1555 (Celalzade), fol. 199b. 33 On the indiscriminate scattering of coins to entertainers as part of the 1530 sur, see the description in PS 1542 (Bostan Çelebi), fol. 196b. 34 PS 1582 (Intizami), p. 107: ‘Padişah-i merhamet-pezir ve şefkat-esir …’. See also the illustration of the act of restitution in PS 1582 (Nakkaş Osman), p. 127. 35 In actual fact, we know that the annual remittances from Egypt were substantially lower than this in the last quarter of the seventeenth century. See S. Shaw, Financial and Administrative Organization of Ottoman Egypt (Princeton, 1962), p. 400 (Appendix V), which gives the figure of 15 million paras (roughly 45 million akçes) for 1086/1675. The normal rate of remittance from Egypt in this period ranged between 15 and 20 million paras (45–60 million akçes) per annum, a sum substantially lower than the notional annual remittance of 150 million akçes. 36 Özdemir Nutku, IV. Mehmet’in Edirne şenligi (1675) (Ankara,1972), p. 44. 37 See Esin Atil, Levni and the Surname (Istanbul, 1999), p. 48. 38 PS 1555 (Celalzade), folio 117b. 39 PS 1675 (Covel), p. 201. 40 Ibid. 41 See Özdemir Nutku, ‘Eski Şenlilkler’, in M. Armağan (ed.), Istanbul armağanı, 3 vols (İstanbul, 1995–7), Vol. 3, Gündelik hayatın renkleri (Istanbul, 1997), p. 112 on the preparation of a nahil measuring 20 metres in height for the 1582 sur and idem, p. 121 on the 25-metre tall nahil prepared for the 1675 sur. 42 PS 1542 (Bostan Çelebi), fol. 327b. 43 PS 1675 (Covel), p. 232. The Ottoman version of ‘command performance’, as Covel rightly observes, included the obligation not just to close shop but also to participate in the public processions. The sultan’s declaration of the closure of the bazaar was lifted only when he saw fit. 44 PS 1542 (Bostan Çelebi), fol. 319b. 45 Ibid.: ‘ol gün ta’am ve işret’e sala-yi amm olup, halk-i alem gelip, meydan … da olan at’imeden gayri nahiye-yi Konstantiniyede vaki olan ema’irde ve zavayada esbab-i sur-i mevfur alsururdan elvan-i at’ime tabh olup, zümre-yi enam ve cumhur-i havas ve avam muğtezi ve behre-mend oldular’. 46 PS 1542 (Bostan Çelebi), fol. 324b–325a: ‘… ol meydan enva-yi ni’em ile dolup, yağma emr olup, alemde olan bay ve yohsul, hoca ve kul külliyen behre-mend oldular’. On the metaphoric significance of the scramble for food and its origin in the traditions of the nomadic world, see the passage from the Dede Korkut quoted in Chapter 1, p. 32: Text 5, excerpt (c). 47 PS 1542 (Bostan Çelebi), fol. 220b: ‘kafe-i enam ve insan gelip, ale vech al umum niem-i firavan yağma eylediler. Pir u civan, halk-i cihan mustağrak-i nimet ve nan oldular. Avam-i

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49 50 51 52

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nasa ziyafet için bi-hadd u bi-kiyas, bütün bütün cameller ve bakarlar ve koyunlar ve koçlar biryan edip, demirler ile meydana getirip, “sebil ve yağmadır” dediler.’ PS 1675 (Nabi), pp. 67–9: ‘Onbeşinci günü oldkta temam/ittiler nimeti için davet-i am Ne kadar var ise sukkan-i diyar/ehl-i suk fukera u bi-kâr İderek hayr dualar şah’a/geldiler cümle ziyafetgâh’a Ol kadar var idi ol günde yemek/hissedar oldu semmak ile semek Cümlesi hidmetin itmekle temam/açtılar herkese bab-i inam Görmemiş kalmadı ihsan-i şehi/kalmadı kimse ki ola ceybi tehi Oldu inam ile dunya handan/aldı âlâ ile edna ihsan.’ PS 1582 (Intizami), p. 165: the entry for 9 July. De Nointel’s observations are cited in Nutku, ‘Eski Şenlilkler’, M. Armağan (ed.), Istanbul armağanı, Vol. 3 (Istanbul, 1997), p. 119. Esin Atil, Levni and the Surname (Istanbul, 1999), p. 148. See Charles White, Three Years in Constantinople; or Domestic Manners of the Turks in 1844, 3 vols (London, 1846), Vol. 3, pp. 236–7. For the 1839 exchange rate of 104 kurush for every pound sterling, see Ş. Pamuk, A Monetary History of the Ottoman Empire (Cambridge, 2000), p. 191.

Notes to Chapter 8: Ottoman Sovereignty in Motion: Developing the Means Through Ceremony and Ritual for Projecting the Sultan’s Power and Authority Beyond the Confines of the Palace Precincts 1 For a brief description of Bodin’s tripartite classificatory scheme, see Richard Bonney, European Dynastic States, 1494–1660 (Oxford, 1991), p. 286. See also, for Bodin in his own words, On Sovereignty: Four Chapters from the Six Books of the Commonwealth by Jean Bodin, edited and translated by Julian H. Franklin (Cambridge, 1992). 2 On this developing tendency towards governance through the mediation of the sultan’s appointed deputy the grand vizier, see Pal Fodor, ‘The Grand Vizierial Telhis’, Archivum Ottomanicum 15 (1997), pp. 137–88. 3 PS 1844 (Charles White), Vol. 3, pp. 25–6. 4 PS 1600 (Selaniki) I: 66: ‘kanun ve kaide-i kadimeleri üzere … mahmiye-i Edirnede kışlamak üzere … azimet buyurulup …’. 5 PS 1600 (Selaniki) I: 77. 6 PS 1600 (Selaniki) I: 89; events of 5 October 1571/15 Cemaziülahir 979. 7 See L. Peirce, Imperial Harem (Princeton, 1993), p. 188, and, on the expansion of the harem, above, Chapter 6, p. 151. 8 PS 1695 (Silahdar) I: 737. 9 PS 1695 (Silahdar) I: 740. The removal from the Tersane Palace on the Golden Horn to Üsküdar took place on 27 May, the removal from Üsküdar to Istavroz on 9 June, and, after a retreat of three days duration in Istavroz, the sultan with his ‘light’imperial retinue returned to his summer residence at Üsküdar. 10 PS 1682 (Abdi Paşa): 44a: ‘saray-i Edirnede vaki divanhaneye nazir bir köşk ihdas edip, penceresine kafes dahi vaz oldu’.

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11 Tarih –i Nihadi (Istanbul University Library Ms. TY 6053), fol. 192a; Ibrahim Ateş, Istanbul Yeni Cami ve Hünkar Kasrı (Istanbul, n.d.), p. 12, and PS 1718 (Raşid), fol. 28b (sub anno 1076). 12 Evliya Çelebi, writing around 1675, describes the building as ‘newly constructed’. See PS 1675 (Evliya) I: 325. 13 PS 1695 (Silahdar) I: 623–4. 14 PS 1695 (Silahdar) I: 650. 15 Mehmed left Edirne on 3 April 1676 and returned on 4 November. Idem, pp. 650 (departure) and 652 (return). 16 The movements of the separate households composed of the ruler and his court, his brothers (later heirs) under the aegis of the Valide Sultan and his sons under the care of the Haseki Sultan receives detailed treatment for the period 1087–9/1676–8 in Silahdar’s history, PS 1695 I: 650–75. 17 PS 1695 (Silahdar) I: 732–3. 18 The Kara Ağaç Kasrı was built by Mehmed IV in 1672. See PS 1675 (Evliya) I: 409–10 and PS 1695 (Eremiya), p. 199. 19 PS 1695 (Silahdar) I: 165. 20 PS 1695 (Silahdar) I: 396. The grand vizier’s departure for the front from Edirne took place on 14 May 1666; he was seen off by the sultan, who remained behind in Edirne (Silahdar I: 408). Mehmed’s departure for the Morea was delayed until August 1668 (Silahdar I: 506). 21 PS 1695 (Silahdar) I: 558. 22 PS 1695 (Silahdar) I: 651. Silahdar describes the sultan’s arrival to Davud Pasha on the outskirts of Istanbul on 20 April 1676 (6 Safer 1080) as follows: ‘alay ile şehre girilmeyip, çadırlar ile outurulmağa ferman buyuruldu’. 23 In actual practice, the location for the placement of the royal standard announcing the imminent departure for campaign was the space in front of the royal armoury (cebehane), whose location was contiguous to the outer gate (bab-i hümayun) of the palace. For examples, see PS 1640 (Topçular Katibi) I: 116, placement of the tuğ on 3 May 1596, on the eve of the sultan’s departure for the Eğri campaign, and I: 658, placement of the tuğ in May 1618, on the eve of the departure for Tabriz. 24 All described in Silahdar I: 396. 25 PS 1614 (Safi) II: 304. 26 All described in PS 1695 (Silahdar) I: 389–90. 27 Silahdar I: 165: ‘ehali-yi şehir … enva-yi akmişe-yi ziba ve emtia-yi giran-beha farş-i payendaze-i rahş-i hümayun-i padişahi etmekte bezl-i makderet edip, …’. 28 Silahdar I: 165: ‘zümre-yi fükera ve zuefa mustagrak-i uman-i ataya olup, …’. 29 Perhaps Thévenot’s interest in recording these details was inspired by his knowledge of the elaborate forms and subtle significance of gift-giving practices in the French court tradition. For details, see Natalie Davis, The Gift in Sixteenth Century France (Oxford, 2000). 30 PS 1656 (Thevenot) I: 85. 31 Idem and PS 1718 (Naima) VI: 177–8, which gives the number of kapucu bearers as 250. 32 PS 1656 (Thevenot) I: 85. 33 Constantin Şerban, ‘La Suzeraineté ottomane’, Tarih Dergisi 32 (1979), pp. 212–13. 34 PS 1548 (budget), Iktisat Fakültesi Mecmuası 19 (1957–8), p. 265. 35 PS 1695 (Silahdar) I: 762.

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36 PS 1695 (Silahdar) I: 531: ‘paye-i serir-i aliye rumal edip, hilat giydiği mahalde “istikamet üzere hizmet edersan dahi ziyade inayet-i hümayunuma mazhar olursun” deyü buyurdular’. 37 On the annual ceremonies connected with the departure of the mahmal from Cairo, see Suraiya Faroqhi, Pilgrims and Sultans: The Hajj Under the Ottomans (London, 1994), pp. 37–8. 38 PS 1682 (Abdi), folio 60a: ‘rikab-i hümayunda … eslafından ziyade mülatafat ve mükerrem iken, ol nimet-i celilenin şükranı ve ol iltifat-i cemilenin kadarını bilmeyip, hilaf-i rıza-yi hümayun halka zarar u ziyan icab eder kelamdan hıfz al-lisan etmemekle, mazhar-i gazab-i padişahi olmağın …’. 39 PS 1682 (Abdi), folio 60a. 40 Ibid., folio 60a: ‘bu vakadan vükelaya ibret-i azim hasıl oldu’. 41 See Roland Barthes, The Empire of Signs, English trans. by Richard Howard (London, 1982), p. 67: ‘The gift is alone: it is touched neither by generosity nor by gratitude. The soul does not contaminate it.’ 42 For a study of the Ottoman repertory use of gestures of insult, see R. Murphey, ‘The cultural and political meaning of gestures of welcome’, in M. Köhbach et al. (eds), Acta Viennensia Ottomanica (Vienna, 1999), pp. 247–56, and for a study on cultural aspects of gift exchanges in a diplomatic context, see H. Reindl-Kiel, ‘East is East and West is West’, in C. Imber et al. (eds), Frontiers of Ottoman Studies, 2 vols (London, 2005), Vol. 2, pp. 113–23. 43 PS 1676, p. 529: ‘Kanun-i ilbas-i hilatha: Herkes ki bir mansıb için şevketlu padişah-i alempenah hazretlerinden hilat giye, elbette varıp vekil-i devletden dahi bir hilat giymek kanun-i kadimdir.’ 44 PS 1676, p. 518: ‘Kanun-i tehniye-yi sadr-i ali: id-i şerife beş gün kaldıkta …’ 45 Ibid.: ‘vüzera-yi izam gezmekte kanun budur ki madam ki bir vezir sadr-i azam hazretlerinden çıkmaya, öbür vezir hanesinden hareket etmez. İki vezir böyle günlerde maiyyetiyle gezmek kanun-i devlete muhalifdir’. 46 On the assigning of a third tuğ to beylerbeyis who achieved the status of vizier and member of the council of state to distinguish them from other provincial governors, who displayed only two, see I. H. Uzunçarşılı, Osmanlı Devletinin Merkez ve Bahriye Teşkilatı (Ankara, 1948), p. 206 (note 3). On Köprülü’s demotion to the sancak beylik of Köstendil, see PS 1682 (Abdi), folios 13b–14a. 47 PS 1640 (Koçi), Second Risale, Telhis XIX, p. 126. 48 The importance of visual effect is confirmed in an entry in the Teşrifat Defteri for 1638, which records the allocation of 500 dirhems (about 1.5 kg) of silver valued at 17,000 akçes for the re-gilding and repair of the silver knobs surmounting the staffs of office belonging to the Chief of the Ushers (Çavuş Başı), the Chief Gatekeeper (Kapucu Başı) and the Steward of the Chief Gatekeeper (Kapucu Başı Kethudası). 49 For a sample order forbidding appointments to the title of ayan issued on the sole authority of a provincial governor in the absence of an imperial mandate authorized by the grand vizier and forwarded from the centre with the sultan’s authenticating cipher, see Halab: Awamir-i Sultaniyya, Register XVII, pp. 56–7. The order dated 23 March–April 1784 reads in part: ‘ayan nasbı mahza himayet-i reaya için olup, askeri taifesinin mudahele edecekleri serdarlık misillü umur-i askeriyeden olmamağla, ber mükteza-yi şurut ayan azl ve nasbında askeri taifesi vechen min al-vucuh karıştırılmamak …’. 50 PS 1638 (Teşrifat), p. 34, entry dated 5 August 1637/13 Rebiülevvel 1047.

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51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71

72 73

74 75 76

77 78

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PS 1695 (Silahdar), I: 674. PS 1695 (Silahdar) I: 677. Idem: ‘teshir-i kale umurunda bezl-i miknet eylemeleri babında … ferman’. Ibid., p. 719. Ibid., p. 723: ‘Köse Ali Ağa hatt-i şerif getirdi. Resm-i kadim üzere istikbal ve alay-i azim ile ordu-yi hümayuna vusul …’. The distance from Istanbul to Chisinau, capital of modern Moldova, is 1,040 kilometres, with Uman lying approximately 290 kilometres to the north-east in southern Ukraine. PS 1695 (Silahdar) I: 726: ‘nısf al-leylde saray-i amireye varıp, bir mıkdar mukalemeden sonra tekrar kürklü ve sade iki savb hilat-i fahire giyip …’. Ibid., ‘… yed-i padişahiye teslim ve mahaline isal olunduğu mahalde eğilip, kadem-i hümayunların bus eyledi’. PS 1541 (Gazavat), p. 219: ‘Padişah: “sağ olasın mücahid lalam” deyü zahrın sığayıp kürk giydirdi.’ Idem, ‘Padişah … kürk giydirdi ve “kapudan-i deryasin” deyü mukarrer eyledi.’ Ibid, p. 222: ‘üç kerre sırtın sığayıp, dahi hilat-i fahire giydirdi’. PS 1630 (Gazavatname), folio 80a: ‘Hatırın hoş tut. Kemer-i hizmeti miyan-i cana muhkem bend eyle. Inşallah teala seni vezir ederim.’ Ibid., folio 87b: ‘ol hizmet mukabilesinde rütbe-yi aliye-yi vezareti paşa-yi celil al-kadra ihsan …’. See above, Chapter 3, pp. 87–8. See the case of the alay beyi of Avlonya cited in the present chapter, p. 230 above. PS 1542 (Bostan Çelebi), folio 331b: ‘fiil-i na-şayeste’. On the terms governing his re-defection to the Ottomans in 1534, see Chapter 2, p. 63. Erhan Afyoncu, ‘Tevihat Kayıtları, II’, Belgeler XXVI/30 (2005), p. 120. Idem: ‘Firar eden mezbur Yunus her ne mahalde bulunursa, aman vermeyip, hakkından gelesin’ deyü sene 1006 Saferin evailınde hükm-i şerif verildikten sonra …’. Afyoncu, ‘Tecvihat Kayıtları, II’, p. 113. Idem, ‘Bosna Beylerbeyisi Mustafa Paşa mektubıyla ilam olunduktan sonra … Rumili Beylerbeyisine hitaben sene 1002 Saferin evasıtı [6–15 November 1593] tarihiyle hükm-i şerif verilip, müşarun ileyh Cafer’e tevcih … Tahriren fi 4 Rebiülevvel sene 2002I [28 November 1593]. PS 1436 (Selcukname), Houtsma edn, Vol. 3, p. 79. For an account of the range of possible punishments for this crime, see U. Heyd, Ottoman Criminal Law, p. 121 (§ 98 in the Ottoman Criminal Code) and pp. 141–2 (§ 34 and 38 in the Zulkadrid Criminal Code). PS 1638 (Teşrifat Defteri), pp. 40–1. BOA, Kamil Kepeci, Register no. 677. The sultan’s obligation to protect the ‘weak’ applied with particular force to widows and orphans and, as general categories, to both the young and the old who were regarded as less capable of defending and protecting their own rights. PS 1682 (Abdi), folio 61a, events of 21 Zilhicce 1074 (15 July 1664). The historian provides what purports to be a verbatim quote from the sultan on this occasion, in which he proclaims (PS 1682, folio 63a): ‘Sen vezirsin. Senin rican tutulur. Amma bu hususda vallahi tutman’ deyü …’. PS 1682 (Abdi), folio 63a, events of 13 Safer 1075 (5 September 1664).

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80 PS 1682 (Abdi), folio 64a: ‘“Edirneye varıldıkta istifta edip, müketza-yi fetva ne ise onu icra edelim” deyü …’. 81 PS 1682 (Abdi), folio 66a, events of 6 Şaban 1075/22 February 1665: ‘merahim-i hüsrevanilerinden 30,000 akçeleri ref olunmak için kaim-mekam Mustafa Paşaya … ferman’. 82 PS 1542 (Bostan Çelebi), folio 339a: ‘merahim-i aliye-yi padişahi karin-hal olup, reayaya nüzul ve zahire teklif olunmayıp … hazine-i amireden kırk kerre yüz bin [4,000,000] akçe ihrac … reaya halkından rızalarıyla narh-i ruzi üzere un ve arpa satın alıp, ve … kira davarların tutup …’. 83 PS 1600 (Selaniki) I: 287. The granting of general amnesty followed immediately after the annual celebration of the Festival of the Sacrifice on 10–12 Zilhicce, which in the millennial year 1000 hicri corresponded to 17–19 of September 1592. 84 On the theoretical basis of this designation, see above Chapter 1, p. 24. 85 On the forms of appeal to the sultan acting in his role as final arbiter in complex cases, see U. Heyd, Ottoman Criminal Law, pp. 228 and 258. 86 For further discussion of this point, see the introduction to M. Ursinus, Grievance Administration (Şikayet) in an Ottoman Province (London, 2005), pp. 31–2. 87 The seventeenth-century lexicographer Meninski offers the equivalents of depravatio and perditio (PS 1680, p. 531) for vedsh, while the Redhouse Dictionary (1890 edn, p. 2132) suggests ‘corruption’ as the closest English equivalent. 88 PS 1561 (Mektub), p. 8: ‘kasd ve iradetimle buraya gelmedim’. 89 PS 1822 (Nasihatname), folios 3a, 7a et passim. 90 See PS 1090 (Nizam al-Mulk), Darke translation, pp. 23–30 and, on the corrupt viziers, Chapter 41, pp. 158–79. 91 See Murphey, ‘Kingly virtues’, in Frontiers of Ottoman History, Vol. 1 (London, 2005), pp. 12–13, and on the belief in divine guidance (irshad-i gaybi), ibid., p. 10 (note 7). 92 See PS 1718 (Naima), I: 447. The phrase occurs in reference to the events of 1015/1606, when the Ottomans achieved a surprise naval victory. See also M. Ipşirili, ‘Sunallah Efendi’, Tarih Enstitüsü Dergisi 13 (1983–7), p. 223 (note 52). 93 Bruce McGowan, ‘Ottoman political communication’, in Laswell et al. (eds), Propaganda and Communication, Vol. 1 (Honolulu, 1979), pp. 448 and 490 (note 2), estimated that the ratio between the governed (reaya) and the governing (askeri) classes was roughly 15 to 1 in the sixteenth century, but the dedicated core of professional bureaucrats (accountants, secretaries and the like) made up a tiny, almost infinitesimal proportion of the 6.7 per cent who made up the governing class.

Notes to Chapter 9: The Art of Communication: Foundations of Ottoman Bureaucratic Efficiency in the Hight Imperial Era 1 For examples of the reliance on karihe to express the sultan’s pleasure or displeasure with the performance or attitude of his kuls chosen from the reigns of Ahmed I (1603–17) and his son and eventual successor Murad IV (1623–40), see R. Murphey, ‘The historian Mustafa Safi’s version of the kingly virtues’, as presented in his extended preface to Volume 1 of the Zubdet’ul-Tevarih or Annals of Sultan Ahmed, ah 1012–23/ad 1603–14,

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in C. Imber et al. (eds), Frontiers of Ottoman History (London, 2005),Vol. 1, pp. 5–24, and R. Murphey, ‘An Ottoman view from the top and rumblings from below: The sultanic writs of Murad IV (r. 1623–1640)’, Turcica: Revue D’Etudes Turques 28 (1996), pp. 319–38. For the lines of progression (and regression) in Kurşuncu Mehmed Pasha’s career, see M. Süreyya, Sicill-i Osmani IV: 161. For the immediate consequences of his loss of rank after being dismissed as governor of Aleppo, see the Ruus Defteri covering the period 1041–51/1631–41 in BOA (Istanbul), Kamil Kepeci Defterleri No. 266, p. 65. See the list of elkab recorded in A. Feridun, Münşeat al-Selatin (Istanbul 1274/1858), Vol. 1, p. 9, summarızed by L. Fekete in Einführung in die Osmanisch-Türkische Diplomatik (Budapest, 1926), pp. xxxiii–xxxiv. Spandagino’s remarks, in a text based on his prolonged stay in the Ottoman capital between 1499 and 1509, on the profusion and prevalence of paper and paper-based bureaucratic procedures in his time as cited by Lybyer (see The Government of the Ottoman Empire in the Time of Suleiman the Magnificent (Cambridge, MA, 1913), p. 187), are echoed in reports dating from the later imperial era as well. See the table on p. 59 in L. Darling, Revenue-Raising and Legitimacy: Tax Collection and Finance Administration in the Ottoman Empire, 1560–1660 (Leiden, 1996). PS 1609, p. 97. For an account of these supplementary duties of the sırr katibs, see PS 1640 (Koçi Bey), p. 96. PS 1609, p. 97. See G. Orhonlu, ‘Khwadjegan-i Divan –i Hümayun’, EI IV: 908–9. For Selim’s administrative reforms, see. S. Shaw, Between Old and New (Cambridge, MA, 1971), pp. 167–74, in particular pp. 172–4, where Shaw documents the reduction in the number of scribes, apprentices and students serving in all government bureaux from the level of 200 in 1789 to 110 in 1798. V. Aksan, An Ottoman Statesman in War and Peace: Ahmed Resmi, 1700–1783 (Leiden, 1995), p. 21. For an overview of the main outlines of this overhaul of the bureaucracy after the 1830s, see C. Findley, Bureaucratic Reform in the Ottoman Empire: The Sublime Porte, 1789–1922 (Princeton, 1989), p. 50 and following. Information on the size of the Ottoman bureaucracy c.1896 is provided in census data published by Kemal Karpat, Ottoman Population, 1830–1914 (Madison, WI, 1985), p. 218 (Table IV.10). According to this data, the number of lower-level clerks in state service (hükumet katibleri) at this time was 353,000. Added to their ranks were a further 185,000 with higher executive functions (hükumet memurları), bringing the total to 538,000 employed in the state sector alone. Mustafa Selaniki (d. c.1600) and Mustafa ibn Abdullah (alias Katib Çelebi, d. 1657) are but two examples of the many historians who sprang from the ranks of the financial bureaucracy. For a general account of Roman or conventional time, see P. Rorem, ‘Canonical hours’, in Dictionary of the Middle Ages, 13 vols (New York, 1982–9), Vol. 3, pp. 66–7, and for remarks on the adaptation of unequal or seasonal hours to an Islamic context, see J. Ruska, s.v. ‘Sa’a’, in The Encyclopaedia of Islam (first edn in 4 vols, Leiden, 1913–38), Vol. 4, pp. 1–2. I am extremely grateful to Professor Mehmed Genç of Istanbul’s Bilgi University for sharing

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with me the fruits of his detailed research on scribal work practices in the eighteenth century and I am indebted to him for the several archival references contained in this and several of the following footnotes. Two documents specifying the eight ‘hour’ work day for scribes stretching from about 3 to 11 (roughly 7 a.m. to 3 p.m. in winter and 6 a.m. to 2–3 p.m. in summer) date from 1741 and 1754. The first is found in BOA (Istanbul), Bab-i Defteri, Başbaki Kulu Kalemi, Dosya 1, Doc. No. 63 and the second in the Haremeyn Mukataası Kalemi, document sleeve (gömlek) No. 22,134, page 1. Based on calculation from unpublished statistics kindly supplied by Mehmed Genç. BOA (Istanbul), Maliyeden Müdevver Defterleri No. 5726, p. 179: ‘sabk eden hizmetler mukabilesinde …’. PS 1581. See the text edited and translated by Tietze, Part II (Vienna, 1982), p. 11 (English translation) and p. 123 (Turkish text), for Ali’s peroration on corruption among the scribes. For an account of the origins of the exaggerated notions of Ottoman autocracy and sultanic arbitrariness in western writing on Ottoman traditions of governance and on the presumption of rationality and enlightenment in the traditions of the West, see H. Inalcik, ‘Comments on sultanism’, Princeton Papers in Near Eastern Studies 1 (1992), pp. 49–72. See PS 1488 (Tursun Beg), Introduction, p. 17. See the entry by G. Lecomte in EI III: 844–7, and the edition of the Adab al-Katib by Max Grünert (Leiden, 1900). See above, note 9. Cahun’s remarks (quoted by Lybyer, Government of the Ottoman Empire, p. 186) characterized the Turco-Mongol administrative tradition as follows: ‘dès qu’ils descendaient de cheval, c’étaient des barbares bureaucrates et paperassiers’. See L. Cahun, Introduction à l’histoire de l’Asie (Paris, 1896), p. 82. See Karateke and Reinkowski (eds), Legitimizing the Order (Leiden, 2005), p. 82: ‘this is not to say that there was no legitimizing discourse between ruler and ruled, but rather that another layer [emphasis is mine] was added to it’. The texts of some writers of Ottoman advice treatises contain concrete reference to the practical means and measures needed to achieve the ruler’s governing objectives. In this category are included, among others, the first and second reform treatises of Koçi Bey (see PS 1630, 1631 and 1640) and the near contemporary account by Aziz Efendi (PS 1632), all of which provide a nuts-and-bolts approach and blueprint for change side by side with their rehearsing of the more abstract theoretical basis supporting sultanic legitimacy. The usual term was 20 months. See G. Kaldy-Nagy, s.v. ‘Kadi’, in Encyclopaedia of Islam IV: 375. On the wide remit and broad administrative duties assigned to kadis in the ‘classical’ Ottoman system, see H. Inalcik, s.v. ‘Kadi’, in Islam Ansiklopedisi VII: 150. See B. McGowan, ‘Ottoman political communication’, in Harold D. Laswell, Daniel Lerner and Hans Speier (eds), Propaganda and Communication in World History, Volume 1: The Symbolic Instrument in Early Times (Honolulu, Hawaii, 1979), pp. 444–92. On the importance of towns, in particular market towns, as communication centres where links with the capital were maintained by the kadis, see pp. 471–5. For the distinction between elite and non-elite groups and the differing approach to communication with each, see McGowan, ‘Political communication’, p. 468 ff. For Cahun’s negative assessment, shared by many, see above, note 24. For a factual account

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of the streamlining of mechanisms for reporting information and disseminating of the sultan’s decision using the grand vizierial telhis, see the insightful study by P. Fodor cited in the bibliography. 32 For the importance of these courier systems for delivering the message of Ottoman overlordship to the periphery of empire, see McGowan, ‘Political communication’, p. 487.

Notes to Conclusion 1 See the Introduction, p. 3. 2 For the origin and misuse of this term, see H. Inalcik, ‘Comments on “sultanism”’, Princeton Papers in Near Eastern Studies 1 (1992), pp. 49–72. 3 On the revitalization of Ottoman court ceremonial along traditional lines associated with the 400th anniversary, see R. Murphey, ‘The Ottomans and the creation and sustaining of tradition’, Uluslararası Osmanlı Tarih Sempozyumu Bildirileri (Izmir, 2000), pp. 335–40. 4 The standard accounts of the patrimonial status and powers of the Ottoman ruler (see, for example, Bodin’s assessment cited in Chapter 8, p. 209) fail to pay sufficient attention to the two-sided and reflexive quality of the bilateral balances of forces that characterized Ottoman sovereignty. 5 For some preliminary reflections on the need for more scholarship devoted to this type of analysis of Ottoman political reality and sovereignty in motion, see R. Murphey, ‘Adalet across time’, in E. Özvar (ed.), Türk Tarihciliğinde Dört Sima: Halil Inalcık, Halil Sahillioğlu, Mehmed Genç ve İlber Ortaylı (Istanbul, 2006), pp. 18–25. 6 For the root meaning of praxis deriving from the Greek word for act, action or deed, see The Oxford English Dictionary (online version at http://dictionary.oed.com, tab for etymology), where the Greek etymon is rendered as ‘doing, action, practice’. For ‘doing’ I have substituted ‘deed’.

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Bibliography on Sovereignty and Systems of Dynastic Power

PRIMARY SOURCES ON OTTOMAN SOVEREIGNTY IN THEORY AND PRACTICE The works cited here are organized in chronological order; each one is cited as PS (Primary Source) followed by a common era date, e.g. PS 1480, and accompanied by a brief description or evaluation. Note also that BOA stands for the Prime Ministerial Archives in Istanbul or Başbakanlık Osmanlı Arşivi. Names given in brackets following the proper name are official titles and ⁄or pen-names

Sources from Pre-Ottoman Times PS 735 Talat Tekin (ed. and trans.), A Grammar of Orhhon Turkic (Bloomington, IN, 1968) [presents the texts preserved in a series of stone inscriptions relating the dynastic history of the Gök Turkic empire up to c. ad 735] PS 1069 Yusuf Khass Hajib, Wisdom of Royal Glory (Kutadgu Bilig): A TurcoIslamic Mirror for Princes, translated with an introduction and notes by Robert Dankoff (Chicago, 1983) PS 1077 Mahmud Kaşgari, Divan-i Lugat al-Türk (Compendium of the Turkic Dialects), edited and translated by Robert Dankoff in collaboration with James Kelly, 3 vols (Cambridge, MA, 1982–4) PS 1090 Nizam al-Mulk, The Book of Government or Rules for Kings: The Siyar al Mülk or Siyasat-nama of Nizam al-Mulk, translated from Persian by Hubert Darke (London, 1960) PS 1110 Abu Hamid Muhammad al-Ghazali, Nasihat al Muluk, Eng. trans. by F. R. C. Bagley entitled Ghazali’s Book of Counsel for Kings (Oxford, 1964) [medieval progenitor of the mirror for princes’ genre from the Seljukid period relating the qualities of the ideal ruler and the art of statecraft in its Muslim theoretical context] PS 1190 (c.) Abdurrahman b. Nasr b. Abdullah (al-Shayzari), Nahc al Suluk fi Siyasat al Muluk (Manual of Conduct Concerning Kingly Governance)

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[an advice treatise written for the Ayyubid ruler Salah al Din (d. ah 589/ ad 1193), noticed by Ottoman historian Naima c.1710 and later translated and printed for a wider audience of nineteenth-century Ottoman readers. See below, PS c.1780, where an account of the nineteenth-century printed editions is also given.]

Sources From Ottoman Times PS 1348 Mülknane of Sultan Orhan dated July 1348, in Tahsin Öz, Topkapı Saray Müzesi Arşivi Kılavuzu (Istanbul, 1938), documentary appendices, Doc. No. 1 [document of intent issued by Orhan (d. 1362) to fix shares in eventual property rights among his sons and eventual heirs as he was contemplating handing over a greater share of responsibility for governing the realm to his eldest son and presumed successor Süleyman Paşa, who in the end predeceased his father and died in 1357] PS 1350 Pseudo-Kodinos, Jean Verpeux (ed. and trans.), Pseudo-Kodinos Traité des Offices (Paris, 1966) [text on Byzantine court ceremonial associated with the reign of Emperor John VII Cantacuzenos (r. 1347–54)] PS 1436 Yazıcıoğlu Ali’s Turkish translation of Ibn Bibi’s Selcukname completed in 1281; printed edition edited by Theodor Houtsma, Histoire des Seldjoucides de l’Asie mineure d’après Ibn-Bibi, Volume 3: Texte Turc publié d’après les mss. de Leide et de Paris (Leiden, 1902) PS 1444 (AZ) Azadname of Murad II dated mid-December 1444; in H. Inalcik, Fatih devri üzerinde tetikler ve vesikalar (Ankara, 1954), documentary appendices, No. VIII (pp. 217–19) [post-dated manumission commitment issued by the sultan for a group of his closest associates belonging to his personal entourage, in acknowledgement of their ‘long and dedicated service’; the document was issued soon after Murad’s voluntary abdication and retirement to Manisa] PS 1444(GA) Gazavat-i Sultan Murad ibn Mehmed Han, edited and transcribed by Halil Inalcik and Mevlud Oğuz (Ankara,1978) [anonymous contemporary account of the battle of Varna preserved from oral sources] PS 1465 Ahmed Enveri, Düstürname, edited by Mükrimin Halil Yınanç (Istanbul, 1928) Translation into French by Irene Melikoff (Paris, 1954) [a versified laudatory work on the exploits of the Turcoman raiders of western Anatolia in the early fourteenth century; it includes a detailed account of the Izmir-based sea raider Umur Beg (d. 1348), who was a close contemporary of Osman I (d. 1324)] PS 1473 ‘Matbah-i Amire [Harc] Defteri (Şaban 878)’, edited by Ahmed Refik in Tarih-i Osmani Encümeni Mecmuası VIII/62 (1335), pp. 24–58 [expense account for imperial kitchens for the month of July 1473, giving an idea of

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the form and scale of sultanic hospitality not long after the relocation of the court from Edirne to Istanbul] PS 1478 ‘Defter-i mevacib-i mülazimin-i Dergah-i Ali, min gürre-i Safer ila gayet Rebi al ahir, sene 883’, Ahmed Refik (ed.), in Tarih-i Osmani Encümeni Mecmuası VIII/62 (1335), pp. 5–23 [This pay-register of palace administrative personnel dates from a period scarcely a decade after the completion of Mehmed II’s New Palace in 1468 and covers the period May to July 1478.] PS 1479 Kanunname-yi al-i Osman: Suret-i hatt-i hümayun-i Mehmed Han [-i Sani] M. Arif (ed.), Tarih-i Osmani Encümeni Mecmuası iii ⁄ 13 (1330 ⁄ 1912), Supplement (ilave), pp. 1–16 and TOEM iii ⁄ 14 (1330 ⁄ 1912), Supplement (ilave), pp. 17–32 [first attempt ascribed to Leys-zade Mehmed Efendi, Chief of the Ottoman Chancellery 1477–80, to identify and codify current practices for court ceremonial and state administration; known in short as the teşkilat kanunu or regulations on state organization] PS 1480 (c.) Yahya bin Mehmet (el-Katip), Menahic ül inşa, facsimile edition, Şinasi Tekin (ed.) (Cambridge, MA, 1971) [a government secretary’s manual of style and composition dating from the later part of Mehmed II’s reign and giving examples from contemporary state correspondence] PS 1481 Hasan ibn Mahmud Beyati, Cam-i cem-ayin: silsilename-yi selatin-i Osmaniye (Istanbul, 1331/1915) [a late fifteenth-century Ottoman genealogical text emphasizing the importance of the Oghuz Turkic nomadic origins of the dynasty as a source of its power and legitimacy. The text reflects an early stage of the conceptualization and formulation of an ideology of sovereignty prior to the development of fully-fledged institutions of centralized state control and suggests also that opposition to the development of such institutions had not yet lost its vigour and appeal among certain political constituencies, especially in broadly Turkic Anatolian provincial society.] PS 1484 (c.) Edirneli Ruhi [pseudo-Ruhi], Tarih (Chronicle), Halil E. Cengiz and Yaşar Yücel (eds), Ruhi Tarihi, transliterated text published in Belgeler xiv/18 (1989–92), pp. 359–472 [another useful account for teasing out the influence of the chivalric code of the frontier warrior caste on Ottoman notions of dynastic honour in the early (pre-1450s) proto-imperial developmental phase; cf.below, PS 1507 (Şikari)] PS 1488 Tursun Bey, Tarih-i Ebu’l-Feth, facsimile edition with summary English translation by H. Inalcik and R. Murphey (Minneapolis and Chicago, 1978) PS 1490 (c.) Derviş Ahmed ibn Aşık, Tarih (Chronicle), Ali Beg (ed.), Aşıkpaşazade Tarihi (Istanbul, 1332/1916); Friedrich Giese (ed.) (2nd edn, Leipzig, 1928) [dynastic annals compiled c.1490 but incorporating earlier written and oral sources, including what purports to be the gist of Osman I’s

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advice (vasiyyet) delivered to his son and successor Orhan in 1326; see Ali Bey edition, p. 32: ‘Sana muti olanlara hoş tut, ve nökerlerine da’im ihsan edici ol. Senin ihsanın onların tuzağıdır’] PS 1494 Anonymous Tevarih-i Al-i Osman (Chronicle), Friedrich Giese (ed. and transcr.), Tevarih-i Al-i Osman (Breslau, 1922) [Both this text and PS 1495 (Oruc) are retrospective chronicles of the Ottoman dynasty copied down during the middle years of Bayezid II’s reign, but both also incorporate into their narrative fragments of earlier texts some of which bear the clear marks of oral transmission.] PS 1495 Oruc ibn Adil, Tevarih-i Al-i Osman (Chronicle), Franz Babinger (ed.) (Hannover, 1926) PS 1507 (c.) Ahmed Şikari, Tarih (Chronicle), M. Mesud Koyman (ed.), Şikari’nın Karaman Oğulları Tarihi (Konya, 1946) [a sixteenth-century Turkish translation with updated references to events from the translator’s own times, based on a fourteenth-century versified eulogistic account of the Karamanid dynasty in Persian. Throughout the first half of the fifteenth century and into its second half, the house of Karaman and the house of Osman vied for imperial hegemony in central Anatolia and it was not until the 1470s that the Ottomans gained a decisive upper hand in this ongoing dynastic rivalry. Şikari’s is one of the few surviving accounts which tell the story of this rivalry from the standpoint of the frontier warriors who, though fighting on opposite sides in the conflict, shared a common set of values and universally accepted, tribally based, chivalric honour code to which Ottoman sultans, even the would-be autocrat Mehmed II, had to pay careful heed.] PS 1508 Korkud b. Bayezid, Dawat al nafs al taliha ila’l amal al saliha Aya Sofya Library Ms. no. 1763 [a treatise on good governance (and Ottoman lapses) written by, or possibly for, a contender for the Ottoman succession, the eldest son of Bayezid II; for a brief description, see the article by al-Tikriti in the bibliography of secondary works] PS 1512 siyaset-name (political advice), Enver Ziya Karal (ed.), ‘Yavuz Sultan Selımin oğlu Sehzade Süleyman Manisa sancağını idare etmesi için gönderdiği siyaset-name’, Belleten vi/21–2 (1942), pp. 37–44 [a father (Sultan Selim I)’s advice on governance sent to his son (prince Süleyman) as he took up his princely governorate in Manisa] PS 1526 (c.) Kemalpaşazade, Tarih (Chronicle) in ten books (defter) [Books I (events up to 1326), II (1326–60), IV (1389–1403), VII (1451–81), VIII (1481–1510) and X (1520–6) have been published by the Turkish Historical Association (d.p. various between 1954 and 1997). In addition, a fragment of book VI covering the years ah 847–55/ad 1444–51 has been preserved in a manuscript found in the Bibliothèque Nationale (Paris), Ms. Supp. Turc 157.]

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PS 1528 Ottoman treasury accounts for year 1527–8; O. L. Barkan (ed.), ‘933–4/1527–8 mali yılına ait bir bütçe örneği’, Iktisat Fakültesi Mecmuası XV (1953–4), pp. 251–329 PS 1541 Seyyid Muradi, Gazavat-i Hayreddin Paşa, edited in Roman characters by Mustafa Yıldız (Aachen, 1993) [account of the sea battles of Sultan Süleyman’s ally, proxy warrior and later admiral in the period 1520–39; for an extended account, see PS 1546 below.] PS 1544 Lutfi Paşa, Asafname, R. Tschudi (ed. and trans.), Das Asafname des Lutfi Pascha nach den Handschriften zu Wien. Dresden Und Konstantinopel (Berlin, 1910), and idem, Ahmet Ugur (ed.), Asafname (Ankara, 1982) [pioneering figure among the Ottoman memorialists or writers of advice to rulers/princes on the principles and practices of good government whose work served as a model for many of his successors writing in the early 1600s; see below, PS 1631 by Koçi Bey] PS 1546 Seyyid Muradi, Gazavatname-i Hayreddin Paşa, Vienna, Österriechische Nationalbibliothek Ms H.O. 55 [semi-biographical historical account of the life and exploits of the admiral Barbaros Hayreddin, fl. 1509–1546] PS 1548 Ottoman treasury accounts for year 1547–8; O. L. Barkan (ed.), ‘954–955/1547–1548 mali yılına ait bir Osmanlı bütçesi’, Iktisat Fakültesi Mecmuası XIX (1957–8), pp. 219–76 PS 1550 (c.) Dede Korkut, The Book of Dede Korkut, translated with and introduction and notes by Geoffrey Lewis (Harmondsworth, Middlesex, 1974) [tales of a minstrel bard written down around the middle of the sixteenth century but recording Oghuz Turkic tribal lore and oral traditions preserved over long centuries] PS 1555 Celalzade Mustafa Pasa, Tabakat ul-Memalik ve Derecatul Mesalik, Petra Kappert (ed.), Geschichte Sultan Suleyman Kanunis von 1520 bis 1557 [ah 926–964] (Wiesbaden, 1981)[court chronicle with detailed coverage of Süleyman’s reign ending in 962/1555] PS 1557 Foundation Deed of Süleymaniye Mosque, K. Kürkcüoğlu (ed.), Süleymaniye Vakfiyesi (Ankara, 1962) PS 1559 Itaatname; Paris BN, Sup. Turc 162, ff. 1–47 [anonymous account of the succession struggle between Süleyman’s two sons Selim and Bayezid, written from the viewpoint of a supporter of Selim] PS 1560 Edicts issued by the imperial divan in 1559; A. Refik (ed.), ‘Konya muharebesinden sonra şehzade Sultan Bayezidin Irana firari: Divan-i hümayunun gayrı matbu vesaikine nazaren,’ TOEM V/36 (1331/1916), pp. 705–27 PS 1561 Prince Bayezid’s letter to his father; Cahit Öztelli (ed.) Şehzade Bayezidin Babası Kanuniye Irandan Gönderdiği Son Mektub (Ankara, 1976)

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PS 1562 Ogier Ghiselin de Busbecq, Letters 1554–1562, Edward Seymour Forster (ed.), The Turkish Letters of Ogier Ghiselen de Busbecq (Oxford, 1927) [letters of the Habsburg special envoy to court of Süleyman I (r. 1520–66) reflecting on the competition for succession to the throne during Süleyman’s last decade on the throne] PS 1568 Ottoman treasury accounts for year 1567–8; O. L. Barkan (ed.), ‘974–975/1567–1568 mali yılına ait bir Osmanlı bütçesi’, Iktisat Fakültesi Mecmuası XIX (1957–8), pp. 276–332 PS 1575 Sa’d al-Din Mehmed ibn Hasan Can, Tac al-Tevarih 2 vols (Istanbul, 1279–80/1862–3) [a retrospective history of the Ottoman dynasty up to the death of Selim I in 1512. This work, the Crown of Histories, marks an end of an era of historiography focusing on the beginnings of the dynasty. After Sa’d al-Din, Ottoman historians adopted an increasingly contemporary perspective.] PS 1580 Domenico’s Istanbul, Geoffrey Lewis (ed.) and Michael Austin (trans.) (Cambridge, 2001) PS 1582 (NO) Intizami (author) and Nakkaş Osman (illustrator), Surname-yi Hümayun, Nurhan Atasoy (ed.), 1582 Surname-yi Hümayun: An Imperial Celebration (Istanbul, 1997) [Atasoy focuses on the analysis of the illustrations by Nakkaş Osman.] PS 1582 (IN) Intizami (author), Surname-yi Hümayun, Gisela Prochazka-Eisl (ed.), Das Surname-i Hümayun (Istanbul, 1995) [Prochazka-Eisl focuses on Intizami’s text and provides a transcription in Roman letters based on the Vienna manuscript.] PS 1589 Seyyid Lokman (author) and Nakkaş Osman (illustrator), Kiyafetu’linsaniye fi şemaili’l-Omaniye (Ankara, 1987) [an illustrated retrospective genealogical portrait of the dynasty showing a growing preoccupation of Ottoman rulers with the legacy (cultural and historical) of the dynasty as the calendar approached the millennium of the Islamic era (ah 1000/ ad 1592) and the tri-centennial of the founder Osman I’s ‘declaration of independence’ from the authority of his Seljukid overlords in Konya in ah 699/ad 1299–1300] PS 1598 Excerpt on principal officers of the palace and structure of the Ottoman central administration from Mustafa Ali’s Kunh ul Ahbar (Essence of the Histories): ‘der tafsil-i ayan-i devlet-i al-i Osman’ Kunh ul-Ahbar’, Istanbul University Library Ms, TY 5959, ff. 89b–95a. See now also the Romanized text on pp. 543–74 in Ahmed Uğur et al. (eds), Kayseri Raşid Efendi Kütüphanesindeki 901 ve 920 No.lu nushalarına göre Kitabu’t-Tarih-i Kunhu’l-Ahbar [li] Gelibolulu Mustafa Ali Efendi, Vol. I, Part 1 (Kayseri,1997) (Erciyes Üniversitesi Yayınları No. 106); excerpt on the ceremonies associated with Mehmed III’s accession in 1595, Nuruosmaniye Library Ms, 3409, folios

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427a et seq. [Ali’s account of the ‘classical’ state structure as put in place by Mehmed II (r. 1451–81) assumes its perfection and comments on the ‘corruption’ of this ideal form of government, which he believed was gaining pace during the period corresponding to his own creative and literary peak in the years 990–1006/1582–97.] PS 1600 Selaniki Mustafa Efendi, Tarih (Chronicle) Mehmed Ipşirli (ed.), Tarih-i Selaniki, 2 vols (Istanbul, 1989) [court-centred account of the events of 971–1008/1563–1600] PS 1607 Telhisat (grand vizierial memoranda), 1597–1607, Cengiz Orhonlu (ed.), Osmanlı tarihine ait belgeler: Telhisler, 1597–1607 (Istanbul, 1970) PS 1611 Domenico Hierosolimitano, Domenico’s Istanbul, translated with an introduction and commentary by Michael Austin, edited by Geoffrey Lewis (Cambridge, 2001) PS 1614 Mustafa Safi, Zubdet-i Tevarih edition in Roman letters prepared by Ibrahim Hakkı Çuhadar, 2 vols (Istanbul, 2003) [detailed chronicle of the first part of the reign of Ahmed I covering the years 1012–23/1603–14, with a long prologue on the state of the realm at the time of Ahmed I’s succession in 1603. On the importance of this prologue as a source for Ottoman notions of ideal kingship and governmental norms in the seventeenth century, see R. Murphey’s article in Frontiers of Ottoman History (Vol. I, London 2005) cited in the secondary sources.] PS 1616 Bostan-Zade Yahya Efendi, Tarih-i Saf, Necdet Sakaoğlu (ed. and transcr.), Duru Tarih (Istanbul, 1978) [retrospective account of the Ottoman dynasty focusing on the personalities of the sultans] PS 1630 (Anon.) Gazavatname-i Halil Paşa Topkapı Saray Library Ms., Revan 1482 [semi-biographical, semi-historical, account of the life and exploits on land and sea of the admiral and general and sometime grand vizier Halil Pasha, who served under four sultans, Ahmed I, Mustafa I, Osman II and Murad IV during the years 1603–30. The text of 167 folios begins on folio 17b, with an account of the ups and downs of the vizier’s adult career after the accession of Ahmed I, by which time he had already achieved the rank of çakırıcı-başı (chief falconer) in the palace service.] PS 1630 Mustafa Koçi Bey, ‘Telhisler’, R. Murphey (ed. and trans.), ‘The Veliyuddin Telhis: Notes on the sources and interrelations between Koçi Bey and contemporary writers of advice to kings’, Belleten 43 (1979), pp. 547–71 [text of seven memoranda serving as the nucleus and draft version of Koçi Bey’s first treatise (risale) in 22 chapters submitted to Sultan Murad IV in 1631; see PS 1631 below] PS 1631 Mustafa Koçi Bey, ‘birinci risale’, A. K. Aksüt (ed.), Koçi Bey Risalesi (Istanbul, 1939), pp. 18–75 PS 1632 Aziz Efendi, Kanunname-i Sultani, R. Murphey (ed. and trans.), Aziz

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Efendi’s Book of Sultanic Laws and Regulations: An Agenda for Reform by a Seventeenth-Century Ottoman Statesman (Cambridge, MA, 1985) PS 1634 Atayi (Nevi-zade), Hedayik al-hakayik fi tekmilet al-şekayik, 2 vols (Istanbul, 1268) PS 1635 Hasanbeyzade Tarihi (Chronicle), edition in Roman letters by Nezihi Aykut, 3 vols (Ankara, 2004) [Ottoman court chronicle covering 1520–1635] PS 1638 Defter-i Teşrifat, 1 Şevval 1046 ila 20 Zilhicce 1048 [register of daily expenditure for allowances, awards and imperial benefactions between 26 February 1637 and 25 March 1638, a 13-month period during which the sovereign (Murad IV) was in residence in Istanbul between his two campaigns to Erivan (in 1635) and Baghdad (in 1638, summer and autumn)] PS 1639 (Advice) Anon., Kitab-i mesalih al-müslimin ve menafi al- müminin (Ankara, 1980) [advice treatise in 52 short chapters whose main focus is on urban affairs and in particular market regulation and food supply] PS 1639 (Peç) Ibrahim Peçevi, Tarih (Chronicle), 2 vos (Istannbul 1281–3) [Ottoman court chronicle covering the period 1529–1639] PS 1640 (KB) Mustafa Koçi Bey, ‘ikinci risale’, A. K. Aksüt (ed.), Koçi Bey Risalesi (Istanbul, 1939), pp. 77–127 [second treatise consisting of 19 memoranda on state protocol and court traditions, submitted to Ibrahim I (r. 1640–1648) at the beginning of his reign] PS 1640 (SM) Sultan Murad IV’s imperial rescripts, Suvver-i Hutut-i Hümayun, Istanbul University Library Ms, TY 6110 [This corpus of the imperial orders, issued both by sultanic initiative and in response to incoming petitions and requests, gives a uniquely detailed overview of the style of rule and portrait (both personal and official) of an Ottoman ruler in his element. For a partial analysis, see the article by R. Murphey (Turcica, 1996) cited in the secondary sources.] PS 1641 (TK) Topçular Katibi, Tarih (Chronicle), edition in Roman letters edited by Ziya Yilmazer, 2 vols (Ankara, 2003) [general Ottoman history covering the years 1001–51/1593–1641. The account derives much of its interest from the author’s privileged access to detailed knowledge of both the military and the ceremonial functions of the palace troops – knowledge acquired through his position as a member of the sultan’s Imperial Corps of Cannoneers (topçuyan-i hassa/topçuyan-i dergah-i ali).] PS 1641 (Ruus) Ruus Defteri (Register of Appointments and Transfers of Office), AH 1041–51/AD 1631–41, BOA (Istanbul), Kamil Kepeci Defterleri, No. 266 PS 1652 Solakzade Mehmed (Hemdemi), Nasihatname, Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz MS, Or. Oct. 1593, ff. 125b–172b and Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek Ms, N.F. 283 PS 1656 Jean Thevenot, The Travels of Monsieur de Thevenot into the Levant

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in Three Parts (London, 1687/based on French edn of 1664) [account of Thevenot’s sojourn in Istanbul in 1655–6 offering his observations regarding court events such as the reception of foreign ambassadors and the rituals associated with the payment of the Janissaries wages; see Part I (Turkey), pp. 18–89] PS 1659 Ebul Ghazi Bahadur Han, Şecere-i Terakime, Ottoman translation from the Chagatay Turkic original by Ahmed Vefik Paşa (Istanbul, 1280/1864) [a retrospective account of the Shaybanid dynasty, c.1450 to c.1650, with forays into earlier ‘tribal memory’ including accounts of the semi-historic, semi-legendary, Oghuz Han] PS 1660 Eremeya Kömürcüyan, The Great Fire of Istanbul, 1660 (Istanbul, 1991) PS 1669 Bernard Randolph’s account of his travels in the Aegean in the later years of the Veneto-Ottoman conflict over Crete, 1666–9, published under the title Present State of the Islands of the Archipelago (London, 1687) [useful for establishing a sense of the real and practical limits to the reach of sultanic ‘absolutism’ in a seventeenth-century Ottoman maritime context] PS 1675 (JC) John Covel’s ‘Diary’ in James Theodore Bent (ed.), Early Voyages and Travel in the Levant (London, 1893) (Hakluyt Series One, no. 87) [section on the imperial celebrations held in Edirne on pp. 190–275] PS 1675 (HF) Hüseyn Hezarfen, Telhis ul Beyan fi kavanin-i Al-i Osman, edition in Roman letters, Sevim Ilgürel (ed.) (Ankara, 1998) [account of Ottoman government structure and institutions in the reign of Mehmed IV (1648–1687)] PS 1675 (NA) Nabi, A. S. Levend (ed.), Nabi’nin Surnamesi (Istanbul, 1944) PS 1675 (EC) Evliya Çelebi, Seyahatname 10 vols (Istanbul 1314/1896–1938) [For an account in English translation of the monuments and charitable endowments of the city and a detailed account of the procession of the guilds held as part of the elaborate celebrations to mark a prince’s right of passage into adulthood during his circumcision festivities, see J. Hammer Purgstall (trans.), Narrative of Travels in Europe, Asia and Africa in the Seventeenth Century, 2 vols (London, 1834–50). For an account in English of the married life and clientage relations within a royal household, see R. Dankoff (ed. and trans.), The Intimate Life of an Ottoman Statesman: Melek Ahmed Pasha (l588–l662) as Portrayed in Evliya Chelebi’s Book of Travels (Albany: SUNY Press, 1991).] PS 1676 Abdurrahman Abdi (Tevkii), ‘Osmanlı Kanunnameleri’, Milli Tetebbuler Mecmuası I/3 (Temuz-Agustos 1331), pp. 497–544 [renewal of regulations on court ceremonial first drafted by Leys-zade Mehmed (see PS 1480 above). The work was commissioned by the grand vizier Kara Mustafa Pasha in 1087/1676, at the beginning of his extended term of office between

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1087 and 1095/1676 and 1683, and places renewed emphasis on the proper observance of protocol as one of the essential props or pillars (erkan) of the sultanate. It is to be noted that basic notions of dynastic dignity underwent very little change in the intervening two centuries following the promulgation of Leys-zade’s regulations. The 1676 document should be characterized not as revision but rather as renewal of long-standing principles in an amplified, expanded and elaborated form reflecting the vast expansion in the size of the Ottoman state’s bureaucracy during the time of Sultan Süleyman (d. 1566) and after.] PS 1677 Eyyubi Efendi, Kanunname, edition in Roman letters by Abdülkadir Özcan (Istanbul, 1994) PS 1682 Abdurrahman Abdi Paşa, Vakaname, Istanbul University Library Ms, TY 4140 [court chronicle covering the years 1058 to 1093/1648 to 1682, written by a palace insider who served at the end of his career as chief of the chancellery (nişanci/tevkii); see above, PS 1676] PS 1683 the grand vizier Kara Mustafa Pasha’s pronouncement (beyanname) to the populace of Sopron on the eve of the Ottoman attack on Vienna in 1683, Halil Edhem Eldem, ‘Kara Mustafa Paşa’nin Şöprun ahalisine beyannamesi’, Tarih-i Osmani Encümeni Mecmuası ii/15 (1328/1912), pp. 924–37 [an appeal to affiliation and loyalty to the Ottoman regime on the basis of a leading statesman’s perception of and reflection on core Ottoman values] PS 1685 Albertus Bobovius, Topkapi: Relation du Sérail du Grand Seigneur (Arles, 1999) [comprehensive account of the physical and functional layout of the palace compound in the mid to latter decades of the seventeenth century] PS 1695 (K) Eremeyan Kömürcüyan, Istanbul Tarihi: XVII. Asırda Istanbul (Istanbul, 1952) [useful source on the social side of life of the capital in the seventeenth century] PS 1695 (S) Silahdar Mehmed Ağa (Findiklı), Tarih (Chronicle), Ahmed Refik (ed.), Silahdar Tarihi, 2 vols (Istanbul, 1928) [Also known as the Zeyl-i Fezleke or continuation of Katib Çelebi’s court chronicle called Fezleke-i Tevarih, which ends with the events of 1065/1655, this court chronicle covers the years 1065–1106/1655–95 benefits from the insights and proximity as well as from the free access to the sultan and court ceremonial provided by the author’s official position as the sultan’s ‘sword-bearer’ (silah-dar), who functioned as overseer of ceremonies and chief protocol officer in the palace household.] PS 1699 Teşrifati-zade Mehmed Efendi, Defter-i Teşrifat, Vienna Staatsarchiv Ms, Konsularakademie Lib. No. 283 and Istanbul University Library Ms, TY 9810 [account of Ottoman court ceremonial by the son of the Master of Ceremonies (teşrifatci) serving under Sultan Mustafa II (r. 1695–1703)]

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PS 1710 Mustafa Naima, Tarih-i Naima (Chronicle), 6 vols (Istanbul, 1281–3/1864–6) [Ottoman court chronicle covering the years 1592–1655] PS 1718 (RA) Mehmed Raşid, Tarih-i Raşid, 2 vols (Istanbul, 1153/1741) [court chronicle covering the years 1071–1130/1660–1718 written by the one-time official Historiographer Royal (vekayi-nüvis)] PS 1718 (SL) Silahdar Mehmed Ağa (Findiklı), Nusretname edition in Roman letters by Ismet Parmaksizoğlu, 2 vols (Istanbul,1962–69) [continues court chronicle of same author (see PS 1695/S) for the years 1106–30/1695–1718) PS 1720 (HV) Hüseyn Vehbi, Surname, Reşat Ekrem Koçu (ed.), Seyyid Vehbinin Surnamesi (Istanbul, 1938) PS 1720 (LE) Levni, Surname, Esin Atil (ed.), Levni and the Surname: The Story of an Eighteenth-Century Ottoman Festival (Istanbul, 1999) PS 1751 (AR) Ahmed Resmi, Hamilet’ul kübera, Ahmed Nezihi Turan (ed.), Ahmed Resmi Efendi’[nin] Hamilet’ul-kübera (Istanbul, 2000) [biographies of the chief officers of the sultan’s harem, the officers (guardians) of the Gate of Felicity (Bab-i Saadet), gateway to the final and innermost of the three palace courtyards containing the private living quarters of the sultan’s personal household. The work covers the period 1574–1751.] PS 1751 (SI) Süleyman Izzi, Tarih-i Izzi (Istanbul, 1199/1784) [court chronicle covering the years 1157–65/1744–51. The text derives much of its interest from the fact that its author served for a time as Master of Ceremonies (teşrifatci) and thus had a detailed knowledge based on hands-on experience of all aspects of court ceremonial.] PS 1755 (Anon.) Tarih-i Cami-yi Şerif-i Nur-i Osmani, Tarih-i Osmani Encümeni Mecmuası vii/49 (1339/1919), Supplement (ilave), pp. 1–51 [detailed account of ranks of precedence observed in public gatherings where Ottoman officials assembled, in this case to celebrate the official opening of the mosque commissioned and built for Mahmud I (r. 1730–54) starting in 1748 but dedicated on its completion to Osman III (r. 1754–57); see in particular text at p. 31] PS 1758 Na’ili Abdullah Paşa, ‘Divan-i Hümayuna Ait Teşrifat’, Türk Tarih Encümeni Memmuası xvi/93 (1926), pp. 250–6 [reflections on state protocol composed by the former grand vizier Abdullah Pasha shortly after leaving office in 1755] PS 1780 (c.) Translation into Turkish by Mehmed Emin (Nahifi) of the Shayzari’s Arabic advice treatise of c.1190, prepared for presentation to the Ottoman ruler Sultan Abdulhamid I (r. 1774–89) [The work later gained a wider circulation when it was reprinted three times in quick succession, twice in Egypt and thereafter in Istanbul: first printing, Bulak 1257 (ad 1841); second printing, Bulak 1272 (ad 1856); third printing, Istanbul 1286 (ad 1869).]

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PS 1791 Teşrifati Naim Efendi’s history, based on the court calendar of 1203–6/1789–91; partial publication in Roman letters by Aziz Berker, ‘Teşrifati Naim Efendi Tarihi’, Tarih Vesikaları (TV) iii/13 (1944), pp. 69–80; TV iii/14 (1944), pp. 150–60; TV iii/15 (1949), pp. 230–40 [text in standard Ottoman court chronicle format providing a convincing demonstration that, despite the reputation (or assumption based on a retrospectively imposed post-imperial historical dialectical framework) that some early nineteenth-century Ottoman sultans such as Selim III can (ought to) be regarded as innovator/moderniser figures, so far as court ceremonial and the annual holding of the state levée on the occasion of the Feast of the Sacrifice (bayram muayedesi) was concerned, sultans still placed considerable emphasis on the importance of the strict observance of the rituals performed in public that signalled the renewal of bonds of fealty and trust between the ruler and his servants and state officials of all ranks and classes.] PS 1795 Grigor Inciciyan, XVIII. Asırda Istanbul (Istanbul, 1956) [Inciciyan’s account of eighteenth-century Istanbul focuses mostly on geography and topography, but the record of buildings and monuments also gives us an invaluable glimpse into the use and functional allocation of Istanbul’s urban space.] PS 1802 Ahmed Efendi, Ruzname, Sema Arikan (ed.), III. Selim’in Sırkatibi Ahmed Efendi tarafindan tutulan ruzname (Ankara, 1993) [Ottoman court calendar covering daily events of 12 key years, between 1205 and 1271/1791 and 1802, of the reign of Selim III (1789–1808); composed by the sultan’s private secretary (sır katibi)] PS 1822 (Anon.) Nasihatname, Istanbul University Library Ms, TY 1608 [short treatise couched in classical ‘Advice to Princes’ format but written in a very colloquial and down-to-earth literary style by an anonymous but seemingly highly placed bureaucrat, perhaps one of Sultan Mahmud II’s personal confidantes/advisers (musahib). The author conveys a sense of urgency, which is closely linked to the disastrous events of 1821 that marked the beginning of the Greek Revolution, which culminated in 1829 with the permanent secession of Greece from the Ottoman ‘union’. The treatise bears a close relationship in terms both of tone of expression and of general purpose to the nasihatname of Solakzade addressed to the newly installed sultan Mehmed IV in the fourth year of his reign (cf.PS 1652 above).] PS 1824 state correspondence and private letters (münşeat/inşa) of Hayret Efendi (d. 1825), Hayret Mehmed Efendi (Darendevi), Riyaz al-küteba ve hıyaz al-üdeba (Bulak 1242/1826) [Hayret Efendi served for a time as personal secretary to the deputy grand vizier and later governor general of Anatolia Şakir Ahmed Paşa, and to other high-placed government officials, which thus makes his collection of state correspondence a uniquely detailed

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guide to norms of politeness and correct behaviour among the sultan’s court favourites and inner-circle advisers. Unlike other collections of state correspondence by Ahmed Feridun for the sixteenth century and by Sari Abdullah for the seventeenth, this collection specializes not in intrastate correspondence so much as in the flow of internal communication governing daily operations and other minutiae and transient details relating to dismissal and/or promotion that formed the typical focus of attention as experienced by a high-level Ottoman bureaucrat] PS 1826 Ahmed Cevdet Paşa, Tarih-i Cevdet, 12 vols (Istanbul, 1301–3/1884–6) [general history of the dynasty covering 1188–1242/1774–1826, corresponding to the period of the increasing encroachment of Europe – in a military, diplomatic and internal administrative sense – on the once wellprotected domains (memalik-i mahruse) of the Ottoman Empire; a good source for the survival of classic Ottoman governmental institutions and practices in the twilight of full Ottoman sovereignty over its own domestic and international affairs, in the middle decade of Mahmud II’s reign c.1812 to 1828] PS 1830 Hızr İlyas (Hafız), Letayif-i Vekayi-yi Enderun (Istanbul, 1276/1860) [detailed account of appointments, dismissals and general shifts within the inner circle of the state bureaucracy in the transition period between 1227–1246/1812–1830 by a palace insider. Until the late 1820s the state’s bureaucratic apparatus was itself anchored in the palace household. But, after Mahmud II’s reforms following the abolition of the Janissary Corps in 1826, a marked division emerged between the palace and the civil bureaucracy. The whole state apparatus had formerly been presided over by the grand vizier, who had functioned as the sutan’s vekil-i mutlak (delegate with absolute authority) whose competence for decisions over all the important matters of state was unchallenged and largely undivided. From the late 1820s he assumed a greatly altered role serving as chief minister (Baş-Vekil), but lost his formerly undiluted authority as the sultan’s chosen representative with powers of universal scope within the Ottoman bureaucracy. Although the official pronouncement of this change in titulature was deferred until 1838, the real dilution of his powers came with the separation of the supreme military command from his sphere of competence after 1826] PS 1844 Charles White, Three Years in Constantinople, or Domestic Manners of the Turks in 1844, 3 vols (London, 1846) [detailed account of the vestiges and survival of key Ottoman court traditions into the mid-nineteenth century. See in particular Vol. 1, pp. 216–34: public festivals; pp. 234–47: circumcision festivals; Vol. 2, p. 359 ff.: the sultan’s household; Vol. 3, pp. 354–60: Ottoman headdresses (with 31 illustrations)]

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PS 1865 Hayrullah Efendi (d. 1865), Devlet-i Aliye-yi Osmaniye Tarihi, 15 parts (Istanbul, 1271–81/1854–64) with a 3-part (pts 16–18) continuation published posthumously (Istanbul, 1289–92/1871–4) [a retrospective of the Ottoman dynasty organized in a traditional way, according to regnal periods, but accompanied by critical analysis and interpretation. The first 15 parts cover Ottoman history up to the end of Ahmed I’s reign in 1617, but its continuation in pts 16–18 runs up to the events of Ibrahim I’s reign (1640–8).] PS 1870 Mehmed Esad Efendi (Sahaflarşeyhi-zade), Usul-i atika: teşrifat-i devlet-i aliye-i Osmaniye’ye dair (Istanbul, 1287/1870) PS 1879 Mustafa Nuri Paşa (b. 1238, d. 1307/1823–91), Netayic al-Vukuat, 3 pts (Istanbul, 1294–6/1877–9) [a retrospective survey of the main trends in the history of the Ottoman dynasty, offering an analytical account of its governing institutions and written by a government bureaucrat and member of the Ottoman intelligentsia who lived in an era (the Tanzimat reform era) which witnessed the systematic dismantling of the traditions of imperial rule that had governed the empire during the five centuries preceding his own lifetime] PS 1902 Anna Bowman Dodd, In the Palace of the Sultan (New York, 1903) [account of the changed rhythm and pace characterizing Ottoman court ceremonial and protocol after the removal of the centre of court life from the old city at Topkapı to a newly constructed palace (Dolma-bağçe) on the Bosphorus after 1853, and after the further removal of the palace household during the reign of Abdulhamid II (1876–1908) to the even more secluded enclave of the Star Kiosk, completely cut off from the public gaze, on the hilltop above] PS 1910 Abdulaziz ibn Cemaleddin, Adat ve merasim-i kadime [ve] tabirat ve muamelat-i kavmiye-yi Osmaniye, 2-volume edition in Roman letters published by Kazım Arısan and Duygu Arısan Günay (Istanbul, 1995) [a nostalgic, retrospective look at traditional Ottoman values and customs based on the folkloric explorations of an Ottoman gentleman of the late imperial era. His account is particularly valuable for details about the celebration of religious holidays (Volume 1, pp. 246–72) and practical aspects of the operation of a system of palace patronage for the arts, especially with regard to the competition between poets for royal favour and patronage (Volume 2, pp. 449–51).] PS 1921 Ali Seydi Bey, Teşrifat ve teşkilat-i kadimemiz, edition published in Roman letters by N. A. Banoğlu (Istanbul, 1970) [Tercuman: 1001 Temel Eser, No. 17] [retrospective account of Ottoman court ceremonial written around the time of its permanent disappearance]

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SECONDARY SOURCES AND COMPARATIVE WORKS Since most library catalogues are now electronically searchable for the purpose of retrieving full bibliographic details, we have considered it unnecessary here to give full data on each book’s publisher or the series in which a particular book has appeared and contented ourselves with providing data on the year of publication only. In some cases where a multi-volume book has been published over a number of years as part of a series with non-consecutive series volume numbers (for example, Armağan below) we have made an effort to provide fuller bibliographic details. In the notes, numbers given in Roman numerals stand for particular volumes in multi-volume publications. EI stands for the new edition of the Encyclopaedia of Islam in 12 volumes. See ‘reference works’ below.

General Accounts Imber, Colin, The Ottoman Empire, 1300–1650 (London, 2002) (includes a chronological overview in Chapter 1, pp. 1–86) Finkel, Caroline, Osman’s Dream: The Story of the Ottoman Empire, 1300–1923 (London, 2005)

Technical Aids and Reference Works Alderson, Anthony Dolphin, The Structure of the Ottoman Dynasty (Oxford, 1956) Bosworth, C. E., The New Islamic Dynasties: A Chronological and Genealogical Manual (Edinburgh, 1996) Danişmend, İsmaıl Hami, İzahlı Osmanlı Tarih Kronolojisi, 4 vols (Istanbul, 1971–2) [abbreviation: IOTAK] Encyclopaedia of Islam (New Edition), Vols 1–12 (Leiden, 1960–2004) [abbreviation: EI] Islam Ansiklopedisi (Milli Eğitim), Vols 1–13 (Istanbul, 1940–86) [abbreviation: MEIA] Islam Ansiklopedisi (Diyanet Vakfi), Volumes 1–29 covering letters A–M (Misr) (Istanbul, 1988–2004) [abbreviation: DVIA] Langer, William L., An Encyclopaedia of World History; Ancient, Medieval and Modern, 4th edn (Boston, 1968) Meninski, Franciscus à Mesgnien, Thesarus Linguarum Orientalium TurcicaeArabicae-Persicae (Vienna, 1680), reprint in 3 vols (Istanbul, 2000) Redhouse, James, A Turkish and English Lexicon (Constantinople, 1890) reprint (Beirut, 1974)

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Steingass, Francis, A Comprehensive Persian–English Dictionary (London, 1892) reprint (Beirut, 1970) Tarama Sözlüğü XIII. yüzyıldan beri Türkiye Türkçesiyle yazılmış kitaplardan toplanan tanılklarıyle Tarama Sözlüğü, 8 vols (Ankara, 1963–77) Wehr, Hans, A Dictionary of Modern Written Arabic, 3rd printing (Wiesbaden, 1971)

Encyclopaedia Entries (arranged alphabetically by title of entry with author’s name in parentheses) ‘Khwadjegan-i Divan-i Hümayun’, EI IV: 908–9 (Cengiz Orhonlu) ‘Marasim’, EI VI: 529–32 (Alexander H. De Groot) ‘Mawakib’, EI VI: 858–65 (Özdemir Nutku) ‘Nasihat al-Muluk’, EI VII: 984–8 (Clifford E. Bosworth) ‘Örf ’, MEIA IX: 480 (Halil Inalcik) ‘Padişah’, MEIA IX: 491–5 (Halil Inalcik) ‘Wazir (Ottoman Empire)’, EI XI: 194–7 (Halil Inalcik)

Monographs and Articles Adamson, John (ed.), The Princely Courts of Europe (London, 1999) Afyoncu, Erhan, ‘Osmanlı Müverrihlerine Dair Tevcihat Kayıtları (II)’, Belgeler XXVI/30 (2005), pp. 85–193 Akman, Mehmet, Osmanlı Devletinde Kardeş Katli (Istanbul, 1997) Aksan, Virginia, An Ottoman Statesman in War and Peace: Ahmed Resmi, 1700–1783 (Leiden, 1995) Al-i Ahmad, Jalal, Occidentosis: A Plague from the West, translated by R. Campbell and edited by Hamid Algar (Berkeley, CA, 1984) Alexandrescu-Dersca Bulgaru, Marie Matilde, ‘Sur le pechqueche (pişkeş) du bayram envoyé à la porte par les principautés Roumaines’, in Cüneyt Ölçer (ed.), Festschrift Presented to Ibrahim Artuk on the Occasion of the Twentieth Anniversary of the Turkish Numismatic Society (Istanbul, 1988), pp. 65–77 Ali [Beg] (Miralay), ‘Osmanlı Imparatorluğunun ilk sikkesi ve ilk akçeleri’, Tarih-i Osmani Encümeni Mecmuası viii/48 (1334), pp. 355–78 Allsen, Thomas, The Royal Hunt in Eurasian History (Philadelphia, PA, 2006) And, Metin, 40 days, 40 nights: Ottoman Weddings, Festivities, Processions (Istanbul, 2004) And, Metin, Istanbul in the 16th Century: The City, the Palace, Daily Life (Istanbul, 1994) Arjomand, Said, ‘Perso-Indian statecraft, Greek political science and the Muslim idea of government’, International Sociology 16 (2001), pp. 455–73

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Armağan, Mustafa (ed.), Istanbul armağanı, 3 vols (İstanbul, 1995–7) (İstanbul Büyükşehir Belediyesi Kültür İşleri Daire Başkanlığı yayınları; nos 17, 26, 47); Vol. 3 (series, no. 47), Gündelik hayatın renkleri (Istanbul, 1997) Arslan, Mehmet, ‘Osmanlı saray düğünleri ve şenlikleri, ve bu konuda yazılan eserler: surnameler’, in idem, Osmanlı Edebiyat-Tarih-Külür Makaleleri (Istanbul, 1999), pp. 169–89 Artuk, Ibrahim, ‘Osmanlılarda veraset-i sultanat ve bununla ilgili sikkeler’, Tarih Dergisi 32 (1979), pp. 255–80 Ash, Ronald G. and Adolf M. Birke (eds), Princes, Patronage and the Nobility: The Court at the Beginning of the Modern Era, c.1450–1650 (Oxford, 1991) Ash, Ronald G., ‘Introduction: Court and household from the fifteenth to the seventeenth centuries’, in Asch and Birke (eds), Princes, Patronage and the Nobility (Oxford, 1991), pp. 1–38 Atalar, Munir, Osmanlı devletinde surre-i hümayun ve surre alayları (Ankara, 1991) Atasoy, Nurhan, Otağ-i hümayun: The Ottoman Imperial Tent Complex (Istanbul, 2000) Atil, Esin, ‘The story of an eighteenth-century Ottoman festival’, Muqarnas 10 (1993), pp. 181–200 Aykut, Nezihi, ‘Damad Ibrahim Paşa’, Tarih Enstitüsü Dergisi 15 (1995–7), pp. 193–219 al-Azmeh, Aziz, Muslim Kingship: Power and the Sacred in Muslim, Christian, and Pagan Politics (London, 1997) Babel, Rainer, ‘The courts of the Wittelsbachs, c.1500–1750’, in John Adamson (ed.), The Princely Courts of Europe, pp. 189–209 Barış Y. Izzettin, Osmanlı padişahlarının yaşamlarından kesitler, hastalıklar ve ölüm sebebleri (Ankara, 2002) Barkan, Ömer Lütfi, XV ve XVIinci asırlarda Osmanlı Imperatorluğunda zırai ekonominin hukuki ve mali esasları (I): Kanunlar (Istanbul, 1943) Barthes, Roland, Empire of Signs, English translation by Richard Howard (London, 1982) Baumann, Richard, Folklore, Cultural Performances, and Popular Entertainments (Oxford, 1992) Birchwood, Matthew and Dimmock, Matthew (eds), Cultural Encounters Between East and West, 1453–1699 (Cambridge, 2005) Black, Anthony, The History of Islamic Political Thought from the Prophet to the Present ((Edinburgh, 2001) Bogucka, Maria, ‘Gesture, ritual and social order’, in Bremmer and Roodenburg (eds), A Cultural History of Gesture, pp. 190–209 Bogucka, Maria, ‘La Geste dans la vie de la noblesse Polonaise aux XVIe– XVIIIe siècles, Acta Poloniae Historica 45 (1982), pp. 49–66

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Bonner, Michael, Ener, Mine and Amy Singer (eds), Poverty and Charity in Middle Eastern Contexts (Albany, NY, 2003) Bonney, Richard, L’Absolutisme (Paris, 1989) ——The European Dynastic States, 1494–1660 (Oxford, 1991) Boyden, James M., The Courtier and the King: Ruy Gómez de Silva, Philip II, and the Court of Spain (Berkley, CA, 1995) Bremmer, Jan and Herman Roodenburg (eds), A Cultural History of Gesture (Ithaca, NY, 1991) Brummett, Palmira, ‘A kiss is just a kiss: Rituals of submission along the East–West divide’, in Birchwood and Dimmock (eds), Cultural Encounters Between East and West, 1453–1699, pp. 107–31 Burke, Peter, The Fortunes of the Courtier: The European Reception of Castiglione’s Cortegiano (Oxford, 1995) Butterfield, Herbert, The Whig Interpretation of History (Cambridge, 1931) Cannadine, David and Simon Price (eds), Rituals of Royalty: Power and Ceremonial in Traditional Societies (Cambridge, 1987) Cerasi, Maurice, The Istanbul Divanyolu: A Case Study in Ottoman Urbanity and Architecture (Würzburg, 2004) Çetin, Birol, ‘Encouragement and awarding in Ottoman state administration’, in Çiçek et al., eds, The Great Ottoman–Turkish Civilization: Vol. I: Politics (Ankara, 2000), pp. 575–83 Çiçek, Kemal et al. (eds), The Great Ottoman–Turkish Civilization 4 vols (Ankara, 2000) Cudsi, Alexander S. and Ali E. Hillal Dessouki (eds), Islam and Power (Baltimore, 1981) Darling, Linda, Revenue-Raising and Legitimacy: Tax Collection and Finance Administration in the Ottoman Empire, 1560–1660 (Leiden, 1996) Davis, Natalie, The Gift in Sixteenth-Century France (Oxford, 2000) Dickens, Arthur Geoffrey (ed.), The Courts of Europe: Politics, Patronage, and Royalty, 1400–1800 (New York, 1977) Daiber, Hans, ‘Political philosophy’, in Nasr and Leaman (eds), History of Islamic Philosophy, Volume I: Part II, pp. 841–85 Duindam, Jeroen, Myths of Power: Norbert Elias and the Early Modern European Court (Amsterdam, 1995) ——‘The court of the Austrian Habsburgs, c.1500–1750’, in Adamson, J. (ed), Princely Courts (London, 1999), pp. 165–87 ——Vienna and Versailles: The Courts of Europe’s Dynastic Rivals, 1550–1780 (Cambridge, 2003) Durand, Yves, Hommage à Roland Mousnier: Clientèles et fidelités en Europe à l’époque moderne (Paris, 1981)

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Elias, Norbert, English edn translated by E. Jephcott, The Court Society (Oxford, 1979) Ergene, Boğaç, ‘On Ottoman justice: Interpretations in conflict, 1600–1800’, Islamic Law and Society viii/1 (2001), pp. 52–87 Ergin, Nina, Christoph Neumann and Amy Singer (eds), Feeding People, Feeding Power: Imarets in the Ottoman Empire (Istanbul, 2007) Ertug, Zeynep Tarim, XVI. yüzyıl Osmanlı devletinde cülûs ve cenaze törenleri (Ankara, 1999) Evans, R. J. W., The Making of the Habsburg Monarchy, 1550–1770 (Oxford, 1979) ——‘The court: A protean institution and an elusive subject’, in Asch and Birke (eds), Princes, Patronage and the Nobility, pp. 481–91 Faroqhi, Suraiya and Christoph Neumann, Ottoman Costumes: From Textile to Identity (Istanbul, 2004) Findley, Carter, Bureaucratic Reform in the Ottoman Empire: The Sublime Porte, 1789–1922 (Princeton, 1989) Fisher, Carol and Fisher, Alan, ‘Topkapı sarayı in the mid-seventeenth century: Bobovi’s description’, Archivum Ottomanicum 10 (1985(87)), pp. 5–81; cf.PS 1685 Flemming, Barbara, ‘Political genealogies in the sixteenth century’, Osmanlı Araştırmaları 7–8 (1988), pp. 123–37 Fletcher, Joseph, ‘Turco-Mongolian monarchic tradition in the Ottoman Empire’, Harvard Ukrainian Studies 3–4 (1979–80), pp. 236–51 Fodor, Pal, ‘The grand vizierial Telhis: A study in the Ottoman central administration, 1566–1656’, Archivum Ottomanicum 15 (1997), pp. 137–88 Friedrich, Karin (ed.), Festive Culture in Germany and Europe from the Sixteenth to the Twentieth Century (Lampeter, 2000) Freeley, John, Inside the Seraglio: Private Lives of the Sultans in Istanbul (London, 1999) [focuses, rather sensationally, on the drinking, sexual and other excesses of the Ottoman sultans gleaned from the reports, not always ‘eye-witness’, offered by western travelers] Frye, Richard N., ‘The charisma of kingship in ancient Iran’, Iranica Antiqua 4 (1964), pp. 36–54 Gellner, Ernest and Waterbury, John (eds), Patrons and clients in Mediterranean Society (London, 1977) Genç, Mehmet, ‘State and economy in the age of reforms: Continuity and change’, in Kemal Karpat (ed.), Ottoman Past and Today’s Turkey (Leiden, 2000), pp. 180–7 Gervers, Veronika, The Influence of Ottoman Turkish Textiles and Costume in Eastern Europe (Toronto, 1982) Giersay, Ralph E., Cérémonie et puissance souveraine: France, XVe– XVIIe siècles (Paris, 1987)

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Giry-Deloison, Charles and Roger Mettam (eds), Patronages et clientelismes, 1550–1750: France, Angleterre, Espagne, Italie (London, 1995) Gökalp, Ziya, ‘Eski Türklerde ictimai teşkilat ile mantiki tasnifler arasında tenazür’, Milli Tetebbuler Mecmuası i/3 (1331), pp. 385–456 [Section on şölen (feast), pp. 414–18] Gökbilgin, Tayyib, XV. – XVI. Asırlarda Edirne ve Paşa Livası (Istanbul, 1952) Gökyay, Orhan Şaik, ‘Osmanlı donanması ve kapudan-i derya ile ilgili teşrifat hakkında belgeler’, Tarih Enstitüsü Dergisi 12 (1981–2), pp. 25–84 Goodwin, Godfrey, History of Ottoman Architecture (London, 1971) ——Topkapi Palace: An Illustrated Guide to its Life and Personalities (London, 1999) [approach largely limited to the repetition of gossip and title-tattle collected from writers of fantasy and fiction, most of whom never set foot in the Ottoman capital, let alone the hallowed precincts of the palace proper; cf.Freely, Grosrichard, Wheatcroft, and for some notable exceptions, see PS 1562 (Busbecq) and PS 1611 (Domenico)] Gordon, Stewart (ed.), Robes and Honor: The Medieval World of Investiture (New York, 2001) Greenwood, Anthony, Istanbul’s Meat Provisioning: A Study of the Celebkeşan System (unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Chicago, 1988) Grosrichard, Alain, The Sultan’s Court: European Fantasies of the East (London, 1998) Hagen, Gottfried, ‘Legitimacy and world order’, in Karateke and Reinkowski (eds), Legitimating the Order, pp. 55–83 Hanawalt, Barbara and Kathryn Reyerson (eds), City and Spectacle in Medieval Europe (Minneapolis, MN, 1994) Heyd, Uriel, Studies in Old Ottoman Criminal Law (Oxford, 1973) Hofmann, Christiana, Das spanische hofzeremoniell, 1500–1700 (Frankfurt, 1985) Holme, Bryan, Princely Feasts and Festivals; Five Centuries of Pageantry and Spectacle (London, 1988) Huart, Clement, Ancient Persia and Iranian Civilization (London, 1976) Imber, Colin, The Ottoman Empire 1300–1650 (London, 2002) [especially the chapters on the dynasty and the palace] Inalcik, Halil, ‘Comments on “sultanism”: Max Weber’s typification of the Ottoman polity’, Princeton Papers in Near Eastern Studies 1 (1992), pp. 49–72 Inalcik, Halil and Peter Burke (eds), History of Humanity: Scientific and Cultural Development – Volume 5: From the Sixteenth to the Eighteenth Century (London, 1999) Inalcik, Halil, Fatih Devri Üzerinde Tetkikler ve Vesikalar (Ankara, 1954) ——Hicri 835 Tarihli Suret-i Defter-i Sancak-i Arvanid (Ankara, 1954) ——The Middle East and the Balkans under the Ottoman Empire: Essays on

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Economy and Society (Bloomington, IN, 1993) [a collective volume of studies which includes an English translation of his seminal essay of 1959 entitled ‘Veraset Usulu’. Cf.Essays on Economy and Society, pp. 37–69, ‘The Ottoman succession and its relation to the Turkish concept of sovereignty’, in which he traces the gradual development in the two centuries between 1300 and 1500 of a notion of ‘absolute’ sovereignty, according to which the state and ruler came to be regarded as indivisible and indistinguishable representations of the same unlimited authority, as distinct from the traditions of collective authority which the Ottomans had inherited from their Turco-Mongol dynastic predecessors. All of these polities had been governed, to a greater of lesser degree, by notions of ‘shared’ sovereignty conceived of as residing in the body of the tribe as a whole. This distinction between personal or patrimonial rule as opposed to governance in accordance with shared traditions and tribal custom is fundamental to a proper understanding of the forms and mechanisms of rule which governed the Ottoman state in its post-fifteenth century phase] ——Şair ve Patron: Patrimonyal devlet ve sanat üzerinde sosyolojık bir inceleme (Istanbul, 2003) Ipşirli, Mehmed, ‘Şeyhülislam Sunallah Efendi’, Tarih Enstıtüsü Dergisi 13 (1983–7), pp. 209–56 ——‘Osmanlılarda cuma selamlığı: halk-hükümdar münsaebetleri açısından önemi’, in Prof. Dr. Bekir Kütükoğluna Armağan (Istanbul, 1991), pp. 459–71 Karpat, Kemal, Ottoman Population, 1830–1914 (Madison, WI, 1985) Karateke, Hakan and Reinkowski, Maurus (eds), Legitimating the Order: The Ottoman Rhetoric of State Power (Leiden, 2005) Kaufmann, Thomas Da Costa, Variations on the Imperial Theme in the Age of Maximillien II and Rudolf II (New York, 1978) Kettering, Sharon, Patrons, Brokers, and Clients in Seventeenth-Century France (Oxford, 1986) ——Patronage in Sixteenth- and Seventeenth-Century France (Aldershot, Hampshire, 2002) Klingensmith, Samuel John, The Utility of Splendour: Ceremony, Social Life and Architecture at the Court of Bavaria, 1600–1800 (Chicago, 1993) Köprülü, Mehmed Fuad, ‘Bizans müesseselerinin Osmanlı müesseselerine te’siri hakkında bazı mülahazalar’, Türk Hukuk ve Iktisat Tarihi Mecmuası 1 (1931), pp. 165–313 [see in particular pp. 273–6 on hilat (robes of honour) and pp. 277–8 on alay (procession)] Köprülü, Mehmed Fuad, ‘Türk edebiyatın menşeii’, Milli Tetebbuler Mecmuası ii/4 (1331), pp. 5–78 [sections on şölen (feast) pp. 27–34, and sigir/çerge (hunt), pp. 35–42] ——Islam ve Türk hukuk tarihi araştırmaları ve vakıf müessesesi (Istanbul,

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1983) [reprints of articles on legal and institutional history including, ‘amme hukundan gayri bir Türk amme hukuku yok mudur’, pp. 5–35, and ‘Islam ve Türk hukuk tarihine ait unvan ve ıstılahlar’, pp. 105–7; see in particular çavuş (pusuirvant) fıkıh (Islamic law) hacib (chamberlain/gatekeeper)] Kunt, Metin, ‘Derviş Mehmed Paşa: Vezir and entrepreneur’, Turcica 9 (1977), pp. 197–214 ——Bir Osmanlı valisinin yıllık gelir-gideri: Diyarbekir, 1670–1671 (Istanbul, 1981) Kurz, Otto, ‘A gold helmet made in Venice for Sultan Suleyman the Magnificent’, in O. Kurz (ed.), The Decorative Arts of Europe and the Islamic East: Selected Studies (London, 1977), pp. 249–58 [an example of Ottoman eclecticism, heterogeneity and syncretism in their adoption and use of imperial regalia and symbols of power] Kütükoğlu, Bekir, ‘Şehnameci Lokman’, in Prof. Dr. Bekir Kütükoğluna Armağan (Istanbul, 1991), pp. 39–48 Ladurie, Emmanuel Le Roy, Saint-Simeon, ou le système de la cour (Paris, 1997) Lambton, Ann, Theory and Practice in Medieval Persian Government (London, 1980) [Collected studies including: ‘The internal structure of the Saljuq empire’, Cambridge History of Iran: Volume 5 – The Saljuq and Mongol Periods, edited by J. A. Boyle (Cambridge, 1968) = No. VIII and ‘Quis custodiet custodes: some reflections on the Persian theory of government’, in two parts (Paris, 1956) = Nos II and III.] ——‘Changing concepts of authority in the late ninth/fifteenth and early tenth/sixteenth centuries’ in Cudsi, Alexander S. et al. (eds), Islam and Power (Baltimore, 1981), pp. 49–71 ——‘Pishkash: Present or tribute?,’ Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies LVII (1994), pp. 145–158 Laswell, Harold, Daniel Lerner and Hans Speier (eds), Propaganda and Communication in World History: Volume 1: The Symbolic Instrument in Early Times (Honolulu, 1979) Lybyer, Albert, The Government of the Ottoman Empire in the Time of Suleyman the Magnificent (Cambridge, MA, 1913) MacHardy, Karin J., War, Religion and Court Patronage in Habsburg Austria: The Social and Cultural Dimensions of Political Interaction, 1521–1622 (New York, 2003) Malmberg, Simon, Dazzling Dining: Banquets as an Expression of Imperial Legitimacy (Uppsala, 2003) Martinez, Peter, ‘Atavistic and negotiation states’, Archivum Ottomanicum 12 (1987–92), pp.105–74 McGowan, Bruce, ‘Ottoman political communication’, in Lasswell, Lerner and Speier (eds), Propaganda and Communication in World History: Volume 1:

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The Symbolic Instrument in Early Times (Honolulu, 1979), pp. 444–92 Meeker, Michael E., A Nation of Empire: The Ottoman Legacy of Turkish Modernity (Berkeley, CA, 2002) Mettam, Roger, Power and Faction in Louis XIV’s France (Oxford, 1988) Menage, Victor, ‘Some notes on the Devshirme’, Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies [BSOAS] 19 (1966), pp. 64–78 ——‘On the Ottoman word Ahriyan/Ahiryan’, Archivum Ottomanicum 1 (1969), pp. 197–212 ——review of Die Schreiben Suleymans des Prachtigen an Vasallen, Militarbeamte, Beamte und Richter, by Anton Schaendlinger, in BSOAS 50/3 (1987), pp. 564–6 [discussion of the exceptional circumstances under which ‘blanks’ of imperial fermans, decorated (validated) in advance with the sultan’s cipher (tughra), were issued for use when sending duplicates of orders to multiple addressees] Miles, Michael, ‘Signing in the seraglio: Mutes, dwarfs and gestures at the Ottoman court, 1500–1700’, Disability and Society 15 (2000), pp. 115–34 Miles,William (Colonel), The Shajrat al Atrak, or Genealogical Tree of the Turks and Tartars, translated and abridged by Col. Miles (London, 1838) Miller, David B., ‘Creating legitimacy: Ritual, ideology and power in sixteenthcentury Russia’, Russian History 21 (1994), pp. 289–315 Mousnier, Roland, Social hierarchies: 1450 to present (London, 1973) Muchembled, Robert, ‘The order of gestures’, in Bremmer, Jan and Roodenburg, Herman (eds), A Cultural History of Gesture (Ithaca, NY, 1991), pp. 129–51 Mumcu, Ahmed, Osmanlı devletinde rüşvet (Istanbul, 1969) Murphey, Rhoads, ‘Provisioning Istanbul: The state and subsistence in the early-modern Middle East’, Food and Foodways 2 (1988), pp. 217–63 ——‘Communal living in Ottoman Istanbul: Searching for the foundations of an urban tradition’, Journal of Urban History 8 (1990), pp. 115–31 [on norms governing the Ottoman concept of privacy and its definition in the personal domestic and residential sphere. The same norms applied (though with greater precision and refinement) to the sultan, both in his living space and in his controlled and choreographed passages to and fro, into and away from, the public spaces surrounding his palace, known as the abode or threshold of felicity (Dar ul-Saadet); see PS 1751] ——‘Solakzade’s treatise of l652: A glimpse at operational principles guiding the Ottoman state during times of crisis’, Beşinci Milletlerarası Türkiye Sosyal ve Iktisat Tarihi Kongresi Tebliğleri, 2 vols (Ankara, 1990), Vol. 1, pp. 27–32 ——‘An Ottoman view from the top and rumblings from below: The sultanic writs of Murad IV (r. 1623–1640)’, Turcica: Revue d’Etudes Turques 28 (1996), pp. 319–38

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——‘The cultural and political meaning of Ottoman rituals of welcome: A text-linked analysis based on accounts by three key Ottoman historians’, in M. Köhbach, G. Prochazka-Eisl and Cl. Römer (eds), Acta Viennensia Ottomanica: Akten des 13. CIEPO-Symposiums (Wien: Institut für Orientalistik, 1999), pp. 247–56 ——‘The Ottomans and the sustaining of tradition: Teşrifatî-zade Mehmed Efendi’s Defter-i Teşrifat as a guide to understanding the principles animating Ottoman dynastic ritual at the turn of the eighteenth century’, in T. Gökçe (ed.), Uluslararası Osmanlı Tarihi Semposyumu (8–10 Nisan 1999) Bildirileri (Izmir, 2000), pp. 335–40 ——‘Seyyid Muradî’s prose biography of Hızır ibn Yakub, alias Hayreddin Barbarossa: Ottoman folk narrative as an under-exploited source for historical reconstruction’, in Acta Orientalia Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae, Vol. 54 (2001), pp. 523–36 ——‘The historian Mustafa Safi’s version of the kingly virtues’, as presented in his extended preface to Volume 1 of the Zubdet’ul-Tevarih or Annals of Sultan Ahmed, ah 1012–23/ad 1603–14, in C. Imber et al. (eds), Frontiers of Ottoman History, Vol. 1 (London, 2005), pp. 5–24 ——‘Adalet across time: Halil Inalcik’s contributions to identifying and elucidating some of the core governing principles associated with the Ottoman state and social system throughout the whole span of its imperial history’, in Özvar, E. (ed.), Türk Tarihciliğinde Dört Sima: Halil Inalcık, Halil Sahillioğlu, Mehmed Genç ve İlber Ortaylı (Istanbul, 2006), pp. 18–25 ——‘The development of Istanbul’s commercial capacity, 1700–1765: The role of new commercial construction and renovation in urban renewal’, Acta Orientalia Hungarica 61 (2008), pp. 149–57 Nasr, Seyyed Hossein and Oliver Leaman (eds), History of Islamic Philosophy, Volume I [Parts I–II] (London, 1996) Necipoğlu, Gülrü, Architecture, Ceremonial and Power: The Topkapi Palace in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries (Cambridge, MA, 1991) Neumann, Christoph, ‘How did a vizier dress in the eighteenth century?’, in Faroqhi and Neumann, Ottoman Costumes, pp. 181–217 Nutku, Özdemir, IV. Mehmet’in Edirne şenliği (1675) (Ankara, 1972) ——‘Eski Şenlilkler’, in Armağan, Mustafa (ed.), Istanbul armağanı, Vol. 3, Gündelik hayatın renkleri (Istanbul, 1997), pp. 97–138 Orhonlu, Cengiz, ‘Derviş Abdullahın Darüssade Ağaları hakkında bir eseri: Risale-i tebardariye fi ahval-i Darü’s-Saade’, in İsmail Hakkı Uzunçarşılıya Armağan (Ankara, 1976), pp. 225–49 Osiander, Andreas, ‘Before sovereignty: Society and politics in ancien régime Europe’, Review of International Studies 27 (2001), pp. 119–45 [reprinted as

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Ottomanica: Studies in Memoriam Prof. Dr. Nejat Göyünç (Haarlem and Ankara, 2001), pp. 659–74 Taneri, Aydin, Türk devlet geleneği: dün ve bugün (Ankara: Ankara Üniversitesi Dil ve Tarih-Coğrafya Fakültesi, 1975) ——Osmanlı devletinin kuruluş döneminde hükumdarlık kurumunun gelişmesi ve saray hayatı-teşkilatı (İstanbul: Millî Eğitim Bakanlığı, 2003) Terzioglu, Derin, ‘The imperial circumcision festival of 1582: An interpretation’, Muqarnas 12 (1995), pp. 84–100 Tezcan, Hülya, ‘Furs and skins owned by the sultans’, in Faroqhi and Neumann (eds), Ottoman Costumes, pp. 63–79 Toğan, Zeki Velidi, Umumi Türk tarihine giriş, 3rd printing (Istanbul, 1981) Uzunçarşılı, Ismail Hakkı, Osmanlı devletinde saray teşkilatı (Ankara, 1945) ——Osmanlı devletinin merkez ve bahriye teşkilatı (Ankara, 1948) Veinstein, Gilles and Vatin, Nicolas, Le Sérail ébranlé (Paris, 2003) Vocelka, Karl, ‘Habsburg festivals in the early modern period’, in Friedrich (ed.), Festive Culture in Germany and Europe, pp. 124–48 Vuilleumier, F., ‘La Rhétorique du monument: L’inscription dans l’architecture en Europe au XVIIe siècle’, XVIIe Siècle 38 (1987), pp. 291–312 Wheatcroft, Andrew, The Ottomans: Dissolving Images (London, 1995) [Chapter 7, ‘The Lustful Turk’, 208–30; Chapter 8, ‘The Terrible Turk’, 231–9; illustrations, 240–60] Yarshater, Ehsan, ‘Iranian common beliefs and world-view’, in Ehsan Yarshater (ed.), The Cambridge History of Iran: Volume 3: The Seleucid, Parthian and Sasanian Periods (Cambridge, 1983), pp. 343–58

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Index

Diagrams and pictures are given in italics Abaza Mehmed Pasha 105 Abbasid Caliphate 21 Abdi Pasha (historian) 104, 127, 227–8, 243–6 Abdülaziz (son of Mahmud II) 205 Abdülaziz, Sultan (1861–76) 12–13 Abdülhamid I, Sultan (1839–61) 211 Abdülhamid II, Sultan (1876–1909) 11, 12, 13, 82, 153, 250, 282n.24, 283n.30 Abdullah (recruitment candidate) 261–2 Abdülmecid (son of Mahmud II) 205 Abdurrahman Abdi Pasha (chancellery chief) 104, 295n.12 ‘Abode of Felicity’ see Istanbul Abu Zayad al Balkhi 36 accession donatives (cülus bahşişi) 120–31, 128 ‘Adab al-Katib’ (Kutayba) 263 Adrianople see Edirne 2 Afyoncu, Erhan (writer) 240 Ağacık-oğlu Yusuf 240 Ahmed Cevdet Pasha (historian) 259 Ahmed (half brother of Mehmed IV) 214, 216 Ahmed I, Sultan (1603–17) 18, 35, 39, 92, 142, 208–9, 221, 238, 249 Ahmed II, Sultan (1691–95) 100, 106 Ahmed III, (1703–30) Sultan 57, 182, 205, 212 Ahmed Pasha, Fazil Köprülü-zade (grand vizier) 59, 97, 216, 220 Ahmed Pasha Cebeci 190 Ahmed Pasha (grand vizier) 95 Ahmed Refik (writer)112

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Ahmed Resmi (historian) 258 Ahmed (son of Mehmed IV) 216–17, 220 Ak-Koyunlu 3 Ak-Pinar residence 216 Ak-Şemseddin 48 akinci forces 46–7, 54 Aksan, Virginia (writer) 258 Akşehir 113 Aktav Tatars 47 Alaeddin (Karamanid ruler) 41 Albania 53, 66 Alexander I, Czar 8 alms-giving (tasadduk) 164–6, 165 Amasya 96, 113–15 Anadolu see Anatolia Anatolia 25, 42–3, 47, 49, 51–9, 63, 77–9, 82, 94, 97, 107, 111–13, 124–5, 157–9, 225, 239, 243, 245, 268 Ando, Clifford (writer) 22 Ankara 27, 49, 58, 138, 227 Annotated Chronology of Ottoman History (Danişmend) 4 Antiquities Museum 16 Ashi (goddess) 20 Ashikpashazade see Dervish Ahmed askeri class 244 asylum seekers 61–255 Atil, Esin (writer) 205 Austrians 37, 67, 69, 84, 138, 240 Avlonya district commander 57, 230 Aydın-oğulları 55 Ayni Ali Efendi 240 azeb recruits 46, 54 Azerbaijan 212

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Aziziye 282n.27 al-Azmeh (writer) 24 baki-i ferman 92 Bamsi Beyrek 31–2 barley commissioner (emin-i cev) 87, 165 Barthes, Roland (writer) 228 Bashkent , battle of 42, 53–4, 79 battue shooting see royal hunt Battuta, Ibn (traveler/historian) 31 Bayezid I, Sultan (1389–1402) dynastic origins/influences 27 political values/identity 43, 47–50, 57–9, 77–8, 288n.34 family enterprise 108, 110–11 Bayezid II, Sultan (1481–1512) 55, 62–3, 107, 119, 182 Bayezid (half-brother of Murad IV) 105 Bayezid, prince (son of Süleyman I) 63, 74, 110–15, 185, 201, 217 Bayezid (son of Mehmed II) 179 bayramlaşma 184, 215, 219 Bekir Agha 64 Beşiktaş residence 208–9 Bey, Miralay Ali 292n.9 Black, Anthony 24 Bodin, Jean 209 Book of Ceremonies (Teşrifat Defteri) 230 Boston Çelebi 197, 199, 201–2, 239, 247 Bowman Dodd, Ann 11–12 bravery (bahadurluk) 36 bread ration (jiraiye) 35 Büçüktepe uprising 48 bureau chiefs (hacegan-i divan-hümayan) 257–8 buried treasure (rikaz) 9 Bursa 21, 23, 25, 42, 105, 222 Byzantines 21, 23, 78, 80, 100 Cafer Iyani (historian) 240–1 Cahun, Léon (writer) 263 Cairo 33 calumny/vituperation (shatm) 95 Canbuladzade Hüseyn Pasha 190–1

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Candarids 51 Çandarli Khayr al-Din Halil Paşa 48 Çandarlı-oğlu Ali Paşa 48, 287n.4 capital punishment (siyaseten katl) 244–8 cash present (saçu) 180 Castelnuevo fortress 185 Cavalcade of the Prince 189, 195, 201–2 cavalrymen salaries 125 Çavuş-başı (head of palace ushers) 243 Celalzade (historian) 126, 195 Cem, prince 56 Cem Sultan 62–3, 290n.71 ceremony see protocol Chaldiran, battle of 66 ‘chelebi’ (prince) 80 Chief of Tasters 150 China 189 Chiraghan residence 211 Cinci Hoca (preacher) 128 circumcision rituals (khitan) 175–9, 182, 185, 189, 194–7, 199, 201, 204–5 city illuminations (donanma) 178 coins (sacmça) 79, 82, 192, 193, 201–2 communication 265–6 confiscation (musadere) 241 consensus opinion (idjma) 109 Constantinople 53 consultation (meşveret) 226 Çorum 47, 113 council (divan) see Imperial Council Counsel for Sultans (1581) 262 Covel, Reverend Dr John 187–90, 194–5, 199–200, 204, 307n.43 Crete 219–20 cülus bahşişi see accession donatives Cuma selamlığı 12–13 Czehreyn 231–5 Dalmatia 185 Damad Ibrahim Pasha (second/grand vizier) 132, 134–5 damage (zarar-i hass) 109 Danişmend, Ismail Hami 4 Dar al-Saadet see Istanbul

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INDEX

Davud Paşa residence 208–9, 221 day of division (ruz-i kasim) 211, 236 Dede Korkut (epic tale) 31 deputy of the royal stirrup (rikab-i hümayun kaim-mekam) 213 Derdhanoğlu (brigand) 245 Dervish Ahmed (historian) 48, 54 Devlet Shah (wife of Bayezid I) 108 Dil-Ashub Sultan (mother of Mehmed IV) 106 diplomacy/protocol 67–8 diplomas of privilege 86 ‘dismissed, the’ (mazul) 190 ‘distinguished persons’ (müteferrika) 154–8 divan-i hümayun see Imperial Council Domenico Hierosolimitano (doctor) 152 ‘dressing up the city’ (donanma) 156 Dulkadr province 94 Dundar 25 Ebu Bekir Pasha 59 Ebu Eyüb al-Ansari 100, 295n.6 Ebu’l Ghazi 32 Edirne 2, 4, 42, 50, 74, 77, 174, 179, 182, 205, 208, 211–12, 214–17, 220–1, 244 Egypt 33–5, 195, 307n.35 Elkas Mirza 63–4, 290n.77 Emir Gûne-oğlu 64–5 epithets self-reference, external 82–5 self-reference, internal 85–93 of disrespect 93–8 Ergene (Uzun Köpru) 50–1 Erzurum 63, 239 Esmahan (Selim II’s daughter) 129 eulogistic odes (kasayid-i medayid) 180 evlad-i ümera (sons of governors) 158 Evliya Chelebi (traveler/historian) 67–71, 291n.95/100 exile (sürgün) 239 exiting from the palace service (çıkma) 118 fasilat’ ul-sultanat 44 Fatamid jurisdiction 184, 306n.14

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345

favour (ihsan) 86 Fazil Ahmed Pasha (grand vizier) 59, 215–16, 220, 309n.20 feasts 200 Felike village 246 Ferdinand I, Emperor 84 Ferhad Pasha (grand vizier) 131–3, 135, 299n.46 Feridun Beg (Head Chancellor) 83, 130 Festival of the Sacrifice 229 Fethullah Arifi Chelebi 66 Finch, Sir John 187 food distribution 201–2 form of approach see protocol fortunate/felicitous (devletlu/saadetlu) 85 ‘fracticide’ (law of) 103–4, 295n.13 Franco-Ottoman relations 7 Frenk Yazusu, battle of 41, 54 Friday Salutation 11, 12–13, 72, 151 Frye, Richard (writer) 20 Fuad Köprülü (writer) 72 fortress, Hungary 240 Gallipoli see Gelibolu Gate of Felicity 143, 149, 220, see also Topkapi Palace gatekeeper (Iskender) 92 Gazavat-i Sultan Murad Han 45 Gazi Evrenos Beg 45–7, 287n.19 Gelibolu 51 Genç, Mehmed (writer) 260–1, 285 George Rakoczy 59 Germanid principality 49, 57, 108 Germiyan 111–12 ‘ghazi’ (warrior for the faith) 97 al-Ghazzali 23 Ghenghiz Khan 27 girding the sword (kılıç kuşanması) 100 ‘Great Exodus’ (Büyük çıkma) 117, greater festival 102, 184 Greece 249 Greenwood, Anthony (writer) 164 guilds procession 197, 199 Gül Baba 235

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Gürcü Mehmed Pasha (grand vizier) 134, 228–9 gureba regiments 125 Györ (Raab) 60 Habsburgs 37, 83–4, 121 Haci Ibrahim Pasha 35 Haçova, battle of (1596) 240 Hadice Sultan (Süleyman I’s sister) 195 Hagen, Gottfried (writer) 263 Hajib, Yusuf Khass 30–1 ‘half train’ (nisfiyet üzere) 213–14 Halil Pasha (grand vizier) 60–1, 127, 238 Hamid-ili 80 Hamidiye mosque 11 harvani 7, 281n.9 Hasan Agha (chief warder) 134–5, 299n.57 Hasan Beşe 94 Hasan Beyati (historian) 56 haseki sultan 216 Hayir Beg 158 Hayreddin Barbarossa (admiral) 237 Hayreddin Hoca 118 head falconers 159 Heavenly Turks (Gök Türk) 29 hediye (gift of the subordinate) 191 Heraklion, siege of 59 high imperial age 5–6 hilats (robes) 7, 88, 187–8, 191, 222, 232, 232–3, 235–8 Hippodrome 201–2 historians Abdi Pasha 104, 127, 227–8, 243–6 Ahmed Cevdet Pasha 259 Dervish Ahmed 48, 54 Ibn Kemal 46, 53–4, 182 Mustafa Safi 221, 249 Mustafa Selaniki 136 Naima 64, 72–4, 249 Peçevi 73, 74, 115 Rashid 190–1 Silahdar 127–8, 213–14, 219–22, 232 Thévenot 223 Yazıcıoğlu Ali 242

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Hoca Sa’deddin (historian) 54 horsetail standards (tug) 71 Huart, Clément (writer) 20 hundkar/hudawendigar 80 Hungary/Hungarians 5, 68, 73, 109, 127, 128, 137, 240, 247 Hurram Sultan (wife of Süleyman I) 110–11 Hüseyn Hezarfen (historian) 188, 190 Ibn Kemal (historian) 24–5, 46, 53–4, 182 Ibn Kutayba 263 Ibrahim I, Sultan (1640–1648) 89, 105, 127–8, 246 Ibrahim Pasha (grand vizier) (1523–1536) 17, 73, 195 Ibrahim Pasha (Damad), grand vizier (1596–1601) 132, 134–9 Ibrahim Peçevi (historian) 73 Idris Bidlisi (historian) 66 Ilkhanids 21, 25, 33, 43, 78 Ilyas Bey (sancak bey of Çorum)113 imperial artillery barracks 14 imperial commands/writs (ferman ve hatt-i hümayun) 255 Imperial Council 6, 9, 142–3, 149, 174, 219, 241–2, 248, 256, 265 imperial edicts (fermans) 264–5 Imperial Household 171–4 Imperial Stables 167–8, 167, 168, 244 incremental pay rises (terakki) 128 indecent abuse 94 Inner Household Service 150 ‘institutional corruption’ (post-1570) 210 ‘institutional perfection’ (pre-1570) 210 intisab (clientage) 154 Intizami (poet/historian) 204 Iran 19–20, 24 Iskender Bey 65 Istanbul 42, 54, 82, 85, 89, 113, 141, 146, 164, 166, 174, 178, 201–2, 208, 211, 215, 220–1, 247 Istanbul Aghası 87–8 Istanbul kaim-mekamı 212–13 Istavroz residence 214

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INDEX

Itaatname see ‘Profession of Loyalty’ Izmir-oğlu Cüneyd Bey 44 Jalayrid rule 35 Jami, poet (1414–92) 66 Janissary corps 8, 46–8, 65, 87, 92, 101, 120–8, 144, 147–9, 164, 170, 192, 287n.16, 297n.12/13, 298n.42, 303–4n.64 Jihanshah (Moghul Emperor) 223 Joseph Hamon see Moses (Musa) ibn Hamun Juvayni 26–7 kadi leşker (Seljukid office) 47 kadi’s court 264–5 Kaghithane residence 211 kaim-mekam (deputy grand vizier) 219, 221–3, 245 Kamçecioğlu (brigand) 245 Kanije see Kanizsa Kanizsa 137–8 kapaniçe 228 kapukulu süvarisi (cavalry units) 147, 149, see also Janissary corps Kara Ağaç Kasrı residence 217 Kara Koyunlu rule 35 Kara Mehmed Agha 67–9 Kara Mustafa Pasha (grand vizier) 61, 224, 231–2 Karaman 273 Karamanid Principality 41, 47, 51, 53, 57 Karmanid-Ak-Koyunlu axis 53 Kasab-oğlu Mahmud Bey 50–1 Kashgar 27 Kasim (brother of Murad IV) 105 Kastamonu, emir of 31 Kayit Bey, sultan 62 Kazan, Prince 31–2 keepers of birds of prey 170 Kemalpaşazade see Ibn Kemal Khan, Ghenghiz see Ghenghiz Khan kılıç kuşanması 100 ‘Kings of the Territorial Divisions’ 22 Kipchak Turkic dynasty (Egypt) 33 Koca Mehmed Paşa 51

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Koca Sinan Pasha (grand vizier) 132–3, 299n.54 Koçi Bey 230 köhne (former service) 119 Konya, battle of (1559) 19, 41, 63, 111–15, 130, 150 Köprülü Mehmed Paşha 215, 228–9 Köprülüzade Ahmed Pasha (‘Fazil’) 97 Korkud (brother of Selim I) 108 Köse Ali Agha (envoy) 234–6 Kosovo, battle of 57, 108 Köstendil 229 Küçük Çekmece 221 Küçük Kaynarca, Treaty of 7–8 Kül Tegin Inscription 30 Kurşuncu Mehmed 255 Kütahya 111–13, 115, 124 Lala Mustafa Pasha (tutor) 130 left-handed guards 192 Leopold I, Emperor 67–9 lesser festival 102, 184 literary composition (insha) 66 literary stylist (münshi) 258 livelihoods (dirlik) 240 ‘Long War’ (Hungary) 137 lords of the frontier (uc beyleri) 45, 47 Louis Philippe, King 9 Louis XIV, King 301n.27 Lutfi Pasha (grand vizier) 73 McGowan, Bruce (writer) 312n.93 Mahidevran Gülbahar Sultan (wife of Süleyman I) 110 mahmal/palanquin 225 Mahmud II, Sultan (1808–1839) 3–5, 8–10, 15, 166, 170, 205, 211, 249, 261, 282n.19–21 Maksud Khan 64 Malik Shah I (1072–1092) 38 Malkara 51 Mamluks 33–5, 62, 78, 158 manelike 70, 291n.100 Manisa 110–11, 113, 119 market inspectors 33

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maslaha 36 Master of the Stables 159 ‘masters of binding/unbinding’ 102–3, 108 Mecca 225 meclis-i mahsus 9 Medina 225 Meeker, Michael (writer) 154 Mehmed Beg (emir) 158, 225 Mehmed Çelebi (Hayreddin Hoca’s son) 118 Mehmed (grandson of Süleyman I) 110 Mehmed Khan 63, 239 Mehmed I, Sultan (1413–21) 44, 47, 50, 53, 78, 80 Mehmed II, Sultan (1444–46) (1451–1481) dynastic origins/influences 34 political values/identity 42, 48, 50–1, 53–4, 56, 66 dynastic image 79–82, 85 family enterprise 103–4 institution 141, 146, 152, 154, 159–60 ceremony 179 communication/bureaucracy 262 power through ceremony 262 Mehmed III, Sultan (1595–1603) dynastic origins/influence 35 political values/identity 59–60, 68 dynastic image 85, 93 family enterprise 117 consolidation 122–3, 126, 131–3, 135–9 ceremony 204 power through ceremony 210, 240 Mehmed IV, Sultan (1648–87) dynastic origins/influences 16 political values/identity 67–70, 74–5 dynastic image 84 family enterprise 100, 105 consolidation 127–8 institution 151, 174 ceremony 194 power through ceremony 210–17, 219–22, 225, 227, 231–6, 243, 245 Mehmed Pasha Gürcü (grand vizier) (1651–1652) 134, 228 Mehmed Pasha Köprülü (grand vizier) 228

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Mehmed Pasha Sokullu (grand vizier) 112, 129, 131–5 Mehmed (son of Süleyman I) 111 Mehmed ‘The Fugitive’ (Firari) 240–1 Mehmed V, Sultan (1844–1918) 13 merhametlu 90 Mezraa 281n.27 Mihal-oğlu Mehmed Beg 46–7 Moldavia 170, 185, 224 monarchie seigneuriale see patrimonial rule Mongols 71 Moses (Musa) ibn Hamun 119–20 Mschatta Gate 9 mücahid lalam (champion) 237 müceddid-i devlet 53 muluk al-tawaif 43, 55 Muntaner, Raymond 22 Murad I, Sultan (1362–89) 43, 47, 54, 57, 80 Murad II, Sultan (1421–44) (1446–51) dynastic origins/influences 23 political values/identity 42, 44–6, 48, 50–3, 55, 57, 288n.37 dynastic image 77–81, 293n.17 family enterprise 109 consolidation 136–7, 300n.63 institution 152 Murad III, Sultan (1574–95) 106, 126–32, 142, 151–2, 192, 204, 210, 247 Murad IV, Sultan (1623–39) 64, 67, 87, 105–6, 242 Murad (son of Selim) 113 Muradi (author) 237 Murphey, R. (writer) 285n.41–2 Müshahere-horan (senior scribes) 257 Mustafa (kadi) 91 Mustafa Ali (historian) 8, 262 Mustafa Çelebi (Düzme) 4, 46–7 Mustafa I, Sultan (1617–18) 126–7 Mustafa II, Sultan 100, 127, 212 Mustafa Pasha (Governor of Sivas) 132 Mustafa Pasha (Kara/Merzifonlu) (grand vizier) 61, 231 Mustafa Pasha Lala 115, 130 Mustafa Pasha (The Mad) 192–3

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INDEX

Mustafa, Prince (1421) 105, 109 Mustafa Safi (historian) 221, 249 Mustafa Selaniki (historian) 136 Mustafa (son of Mehmed II) 179 Mustafa (son of Mehmed IV) 214, 220 Mustafa (son of Süleyman I) 110–11 müstensih (lower-level scribes) 257 Nabi (poet) 203 Nadir Shah Afshar 58 nahils (waxwork towers) 195–6 Naima (historian) 64, 72–4, 249 Nasuh Pasha-zade 59 new corps (Yeni-Çeri) 46 ‘New Palace’ (Saray-i Cedid-i Amire) 50 Necipoğlu, Gülrü (writer) Nizam al-Mulk (theoretician) 38, 249 Nointel, Marquis de 204–5 Nutku, Özdemir 195 obedience (obeisance), rituals of 26, 56, 67, 69, 100–1, 133, 183–4, 197, 220 officers of the stirrup 160 Oghuz Han 32 Oghuz Turks 19, 24, 26, 55 one-off bonuses (bahşiş) 128 Orhan (1324–62) 41, 78–9, 292n.10 Orhan (son of Bayezid) 113 Osman I (founder of Ottoman dynasty, d. 1324) 24, 32, 41–3, 57, 61, 103 Osman II, Sultan (1618–22) 103, 105, 108, 127 Osman (son of Bayezid) 113–14 Osmancik 51 Ottoman chronology 4–5 Ottoman princes 176–86, 189–90, 195–6, 200 Ottoman–Safavid Treaty (1612) 60–1 padişah 37, 83 Palace Administrative Corps 161–2 palace artisans 169 palace gatekeepers 168–9 palace kitchens 162–5, 163, 169, 303n.61 palace protocol book 64

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panj-yak (pencik) 54 patrimonial rule 209 Pax Ottomanica 4 Peçevi (historian) 73, 74, 115 Peirce, Leslie (writer) 213 Pertev Pasha 113 petitions 11, 86, 91, 93, 282n.22 ‘pillars of state’ 108 Pir Ahmed Beg 53 Piri Mehmed Pasha (grand vizier) 158 pishkesh (tribute) 133–4, 136, 188–90, 194, 224, 237 post-Sulaimanid era 152 pre-departure banquets 218 pre-Timurid era 42 ‘Profession of Loyalty’ (battle of Konya) 112–14 protocol 67–73 Protocol Book (1637) 242 public order offenders (ehl-i fesad) 243 Public Treasury 149 Ramazan, fast of 19 Rashid (historian) 190–1 record keeping 264–6 recruitment standards 261–2 ‘reduced’ (ihtisar üzere) 213 rejoicings (shenlik) 177–8 Reshadiye (ship) 13 retainers (kuls) 124 Right-Conduct (Rast Ravishan) 249 Rome 28 Rose Garden Rescript 248 Royal Cypher (tughra) 7, 230–1, 231, 281n.10 royal falconers (doğancı) 227 royal feast 28–31, 33 royal honour (namus-i sultani) 56 royal hunt 26–8, 33, 149, 153, 159, 186, 209 Royal Mint 149 royal standard (tuğ) 218, 220 rulership (beylik) 53 Rum Seljuks 242 Rum-i Kadim 113 Rumelia 45, 63

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Rumelihisar prison 247 Rumilinlu 45 Rüstem Pasha (grand vizier) 17 Sabra, Adam (writer) 34 sadaka 36 Safavids 11, 24, 60–1, 63, 65, 81, 93, 95–6, 107, 225 safety/security 86 Safi al-Din 60 Safi, Shah 64 Safiye Sultan, Queen Mother 90 sahib-kiran 78 St George’s Day Festival (Hizir Ilyas günü) 211 Salonica, siege of 50 Saruca Paşha 50–1, 288n.43 Saruhan 111 Sassanid Persian tradition 36 ‘scrambling for the food pots’ 196, 198 scribal apprentices (shagird) 258 scribal class (katibs) 256–7, 262–3 şehzade 80 Selaniki (historian) 117, 122, 124, 151, 178, 211, 298n.26 Selim Giray Han II, Khan of the Crimea 109, 296n.23 Selim Giray I, Khan of the Crimea 129 Selim (half brother of Mehmed IV) 214, 216 Selim I, Sultan (1512–20) 66, 85, 107–8, 118, 120 Selim II, Sultan (1566–74) 74, 92, 106–7, 118–24, 129–30, 133, 152, 178, 210–11 Selim III, Sultan (1789–1807) 258 Selim, prince (son of Süleyman I) 110–16 Seljukids of Anatolia 19, 41, 43, 47, 49, 72, 80, 97, 208, 241–2 Seljukids of Iran 19–21, 24, 33, 38 seniority (ekberiyet) 109 Serbs 41, 286n.1 Seven Towers prison 247 şevketlu (majestic) 85 Şeyh Bedreddin 44 şeyh’ ül-islam 47, 287n.23

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Shah Ismail 66 Shah Tahmasp 93, 95 Sharaf al-Din Ali Yazdi (historian) 58 sharia law 242, 245, 248 Shaykh al-Islam Ahizade Hüseyn Efendi 105 Shiite 81, 95 sığın see royal hunt Silahdar (historian) 127–8, 213–14, 219–22, 232 Silahdar Mustafa Pasha 255 Silivri posting station 221 Sinan Pasha Koca (governor of Egypt) 123, 131–4 sipahis 48 Siyasat-nama 31, 38 Siyavush Pasha Abaza (grand vizier) 134 slaves 136–7 ‘slaves of the Porte’ (kapu kulları) 164 ‘slaves of the sovereign’ (hünkar kulu) 121 Söğüt 33 Sokollu Mehmed Pasha (grand vizier) 123, 129–31 Sopron (Oldenburg) 37 Soranzo (historian) 60 State Treasury (hazine) 48 Sublime Porte 15 Sulaimanid era 107 Süleyman Agha 235 Süleyman (brother of Murad IV) 105 Süleyman, Emir (1405–13) 50 Süleyman (half brother of Mehmed IV) 214, 216 Süleyman (half-brother of Murad IV) 105–6 Süleyman I, Sultan (1520–66) dynastic origins/influences 2–3 political values/identity 63, 66 dynastic image 85, 93, 95–6, 294–5n.56 family enterprise 107, 109–15 consolidation 118–24 institution 144, 152, 154, 158 power through ceremony 210, 217, 231, 237, 239, 247 communication/bureaucracy 266 Süleyman II, Sultan (1687–91) 106, 126–9

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INDEX

Süleyman, Prince 205 ‘al-sultan al-azam’ 78 ‘al-sultan ibn al-sultan’ 80 Sultan Ibrahim I 89, 230 Sultan Osman (ship) 13 sultans supremacy 8, 15 and their subjects 9–10 dereliction of duty 11, 282n.23 Seljukid 19–21, 24, 72, 283n.1 meaning/power 36–9, 83, 91 leadership attributes 53–4 protocol 67–73 household bands 72 credibility 74 origins 77–9, 292n.9 granting of recognition 86–7 amnesty/forgiveness 87 succession 99–116 post-accession 117–20, 131–4 largesse (atiyye) 120, 166 officeholders’ dismissal 135–9 isolation 141–4, 152–4, 301n.26 loggia (hünkar kasrı) 143 and the palace household 149–51, 167–71, 174 changes of residence 152–3, 208–9 and the müteferrika 154–8 ceremonies 175–89, 192–7, 199, 201, 204–5, 226–38 receipt of gifts 190–1 forms and rituals 207–9 residence patterns 210–18 departure/return rituals 218–25 administration of justice 238–50 bureaucracy 253–63, 266–8, 313n.13 role 269–71 Ottoman 283n.32 summoning agents (okuyucu) 179 Sunnis 81, 95–6 sur-i khitan 179, 304n.4 surs (gatherings) 179–92, 194–7, 199–205, 216–17 Syria 33–4

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351

Tahmasb I 63 talismanic banner (sancak-i şerif) 233 Teke Principality 51 tent (otağ) 71 tent pitchers/standard bearers 169–70 Terkos 153 Tersane Residence 208–9 Thessalonki 4, 50, 81 see also Salonica Thessaly 50 Thévenot (historian) 223 Thököly, Emre 37 Thrace 50–1 timar system 266 time-keeping/measurement 259–60 Timur 24, 27–8, 42, 44, 48, 53, 55, 57–9, 79 Topkapi Palace 2, 11, 141–7, 143, 145–6, 148, 149–51, 154, 161–2, 162–9, 208–9, 213–15, 217, 301n.14 Transylvanians 59, 127, 224 Treasury 149 treaties 71–2 tribute (harac/cizye) 224, see also pishkesh (tribute) Turahan Bey 287n.20 Turanian world 28 Turco-Mongol tradition 28 Turcoman tribes 41, 79 Turhan Sultan (mother of Mehmed IV) 214–16 Tursun Bey 65 ulema class 47–8, 177, 179–80, 186, 195–7 ümera class 186, 188, 195–7 unigeniture 80 Üsküdar Residence 208–9, 211, 220 Uzun Hasan 41–2, 53, 157 Vakf Investment 50–2 Valide Sultan Mosque complex 215 Valide Sultan Nurbanu Sultan 213, 216 Varna, battle of 81 vassal princes (voyvodas) 224 Vizier Han 215

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Walachians 224 White, Charles (traveler/historian) 211 Wilhelm II, Kaiser 9 wood–stacking 87–8 yaghma (free-for-all, scramble) 202–3 Yakub (brother of Bayezid I) 108 Yanbolu 244–6 Yarshater, Ehsan (writer) 20

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yavuzluk 45 Yazıcıoğlu Ali (historian) 242 Yemişci Hasan Paşa 90, 293n.35 Yunus (müteferrika) 240–1 yürüks 48 Yusuf Pasa see Emir Gune-oglu Yusuf Paşha (chief gatekeeper) 226–7 Zulkadr province see Dulkadr province

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