Prisoner of the Infidels: The Memoir of an Ottoman Muslim in Seventeenth-Century Europe 9780520383401

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Prisoner of the Infidels

The publisher and the University of California Press Foundation gratefully acknowledge the generous support of the Constance and William Withey Endowment Fund in History and Music.

Prisoner of the Infidels The Memoirs of an Ottoman Muslim in Seventeenth-Century Europe

Osman of Timişoara Edited, Translated, and Introduced by Giancarlo Casale

UNIVERSIT Y OF CALIFORNIA PRESS

University of California Press Oakland, California © 2021 by Giancarlo Casale Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Osman Ağa, active 1671–1725, author. | Casale, Giancarlo, editor,   translator, writer of introduction. Title: Prisoner of the infidels : the memoir of an Ottoman Muslim in  seventeenth-century Europe / Osman of Timişoara; edited, translated, and introduced by Giancarlo Casale. Other titles: Gâvurların esiri. English. Description: Oakland, California : University of California Press, [2021] |  Includes index. Identifiers: lccn 2020053128 (print) | lccn 2020053129 (ebook) |  isbn 9780520383395 (paperback) | isbn 9780520383401 (ebook) Subjects: lcsh: Osman Ağa, active 1671–1725. | Austro-Turkish War,  1716–1718—Personal narratives, Turkish. | Prisoners of war—Romania— Timis.oara—Biography. | Prisoners of war—Turkey—Biography. Classification: lcc dr545 .o8513 2021 (print) | lcc dr545 (ebook) |  ddc 943.6/031092 [B]—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020053128 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020053129 Manufactured in the United States of America 25  24  23  22  21 10  9  8  7  6  5  4  3  2  1

For Sinem A prisoner of this infidel

c ontents

List of Maps Acknowledgments A Note on Transcription from Ottoman Turkish A Note on the Translation Introduction: On Being Osman

ix xi xiii xv 1

1. Surrender

25

2. Ransom

35

3. Crime and Punishment

46

4. Death and Resurrection

57

5. Respite

67

6. Bonds of Love

78

7. To the Capital

90

8. A Friend in Need

99

9. An Unexpected Turn of Events

109

10. Into the Lion’s Den

119

11. Grifters

129

12. To the Border

140

13. The End

153

Appendix: The Main Characters in Osman’s Narrative Notes Index of People Index of Places

161 169 193 197

list of maps

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

The Ottoman Balkans, 1683–1718  xxii Behind Enemy Lines, 1688–1690 (chapters 1–5)  24 To Vienna and Beyond, 1690–1698 (chapters 6–9)  77 Osman in Vienna, 1691–1699 (chapters 7–9)  89 Osman’s Border Run (chapters 10–13)  118

ix

acknowled gments

I have worked on this edition of Osman’s memoirs on and off for the better part of ten years. Over that time, Osman and I have become old friends, and I am now left with a bittersweet feeling, knowing that, our work complete, we shall no longer be seeing much of each other. I suppose that is a sign that our time together was well spent. Besides Osman, there are of course many other friends, colleagues, and relations to whom I owe a debt of gratitude for their help with this little book. In fact, I hesitate to name them all, in part because the longer the list of people one thanks, the greater the risk that someone unjustly left off will take offense (a lesson I memorably learned on my wedding day, some years ago). So, let me stick to the absolute essentials. Molly Greene, Eric Dursteler, and David Do Paço all read and generously commented on the entire manuscript, sharing helpful advice and saving me from many embarrassing errors (those that remain are of course my own). My stepmother, Patricia Brown, also read an early draft of the translation, providing feedback and encouragement. Later in the writing process, Selim Kuru and Bruce Fudge made important suggestions for the Introduction. Arda Akıncı contributed to the notes. Vuk Uskoković helped with translations of several phrases in Serbo-Croatian. Nazlı Songülen prepared the maps. Peter Dreyer edited the final draft. Lastly, special thanks to my editor at the University of California Press, Eric Schmidt, for the opportunity to introduce Osman to a wider circle of friends. xi

a n ote on transcrip tion f rom ot toman turkish

The transcription of the Ottoman Turkish alphabet is a perpetual problem for scholars, with no single system that is either universally accepted or suitable for all purposes. The present edition uses two different systems, one for the text, and another for the accompanying notes. In the interest of creating a translation that is as accessible as possible to nonspecialists, I have chosen to avoid diacritical marks or characters from the Turkish alphabet in the main body of Osman’s memoir. Instead, Ottoman Turkish proper names are rendered according to their closest approximation in American English spelling (so: Koja Jafer Pasha; not Koca Caʿfer Pāsha or Koca Cafer Paşa), while place-names are written according to the official spelling of the nation-state where they are located today (a choice discussed in more detail in the Note on the Translation). By contrast, the scholarly notes that accompany this translation feature a number of direct citations of Osman’s original Ottoman Turkish. Since these will be of interest primarily to specialists, they are rendered in full transliteration. The system employed is the following: ‫—ا‬ā, ‫—ب‬b, ‫—ت‬t, ‫—ث‬s, ‫—پ‬p, ‫—ج‬c, ‫—ح‬h., ‫—خ‬h–, ‫چ‬- ç, ‫— د‬d, ‫— ذ‬z, ‫— ر‬r, ‫— ز‬z, ‫— ژ‬j, ‫— س‬s, ‫— ش‬ş, ‫— ص‬s., ‫— ض‬ż, ‫— ط‬t., ‫— ظ‬z. , ‫‘—ع‬, ‫—غ‬ġ, ‫— ف‬f, ‫— ق‬k. , ‫— ك‬k or ñ, ‫— ل‬l, ‫— م‬m, ‫— ن‬n, ‫— ه‬h, ‫— و‬v or ū, ‫— ي‬y or ī, ‫;‘— ء‬ Short vowels are rendered using the modern Turkish alphabet: a, e, ı, i, o, ö, u, ü. xiii

A N ote on the Transl ation

Alongside an adventurous life as a soldier, captive, and diplomat, Osman of Timişoara was a literary trailblazer. With only a rudimentary formal education, and without any direct cultural models to guide him, Osman composed the first book-length autobiography ever written in Ottoman Turkish, essentially creating a new genre from scratch. The fruit of his labors, Prisoner of the Infidels, is a unique, compelling, and stylistically inventive text that presents the translator with more than its share of linguistic challenges. First among these is undoubtedly the challenge of reproducing, in English, the effect of Osman’s straightforward and uncannily “modern” prose style, a quality that immediately strikes anyone reading his text in the original Ottoman Turkish. Generally speaking, the standards of eloquence in early modern Ottoman literature prioritized baroque erudition over clarity, with a heavy emphasis on elaborate metaphors, learned allusions, and the ostentatious use of Arabic and Persian vocabulary. This had the cumulative effect of making literary language starkly different from spoken language, with complex layers of meaning that revealed themselves only gradually and that were fully comprehensible only to a chosen few. By contrast, Osman’s prose is a model of simplicity and clarity. His sentences are short and straightforward, he revels in vernacular turns of phrase, and he makes prodigious use of first-person speech. Together, these qualities give his writing an unusual level of accessibility and readability—a paradoxically disorienting experience for a xv

xvi      A Note on the Translation

reader of the original Ottoman text that can be reproduced only imperfectly in translation. As a gesture in this direction, my own English rendering of Osman’s most colloquial expressions has wavered between direct translation where the meaning is readily apparent and “freer” translation when the immediacy of his language might otherwise be lost. Typically, instances of the latter are flagged and explained in the accompanying backnotes. Another, related challenge of translation involves Osman’s frequent use of multiple languages, a stylistic feature that—one is tempted to say intentionally—documents the polyglot environment of Osman’s home region, the Ottoman Balkans, as well as highlighting Osman’s own remarkable dexterity as a linguist. Thus, while Osman writes primarily in Ottoman Turkish, and consistently identifies this as “his” language, he also displays a comfortable command of a seventeenthcentury variant of vernacular Serbo-Croatian (which he calls “Serb”) and of Romanian (which he calls “Vlach”). The latter he presumably learned growing up in his native Timişoara, where it was widely spoken, while the former might even be considered his “mother tongue,” inasmuch as both his parents were originally from what is now Serbia. In addition, Osman prayed in Arabic, knew a smattering of Hungarian, and over the course of his adventures progressively learned more German, eventually to the point of being able to read and write it competently and almost to pass as a native speaker. All of these languages make appearances at various points in the text, particularly when Osman is reporting dialogue, a technique that considerably enhances the immediacy and realism of his account. Occasionally, he even reports a phrase in a foreign tongue without providing a Turkish equivalent, thereby vividly reproducing for the reader his own perplexity or inability to communicate at certain moments. To preserve this effect in English, unfamiliar words and phrases in languages other than Turkish have usually been let stand in the text without English translation, but with clarification in the accompanying note. Still another, more grammatically subtle aspect of Osman’s fondness for direct speech and stylistic immediacy is that he habitually refers to himself in the first-person plural as “we” (biz in Turkish). While this usage was not unheard of in early modern Ottoman prose, it was comparatively more common to refer to oneself in the third-person singular, usually together with a creatively self-deprecatory qualifier (e.g., “this

A Note on the Translation    xvii

poor one,” or more ostentatiously, something like “this miserable slave without existence who rolls his face in the dust”). The first-person singular, on the other hand, was considered presumptuous and not normally used in writing except by authorities speaking ex cathedra (especially the sultan). Obviously, none of this translates easily into an Englishspeaking context, in which the first-person singular is the norm and to speak of oneself in the first-person plural (the “royal we”) is an indicator of extreme privilege. As a result, in the translation below, Osman always refers to himself as “I.” The reader should consider, however, that because of Osman’s habitual use of “we” when relating conversations or narrating events in the original Turkish, it is often unclear whether something is being said or done only by him or collectively by a group. The translation reflects what is sometimes merely my best guess. Readers should also note that the only surviving manuscript of Osman’s memoir is written as a continuous, uninterrupted text, without breaks or subheadings of any kind. The chapter divisions, chapter titles, and paragraphs that appear in the present translation are therefore all my interpolations, deemed necessary for the sake of readability, but not a feature of Osman’s original work. The same is true of punctuation: prior to the nineteenth century, Ottoman Turkish had no full stops, quotation marks, question marks, or exclamation points, which all must be inserted in an English translation according to the best judgment of the translator. Place names present another thorny problem, in part because many names have changed over the past three-hundred years and in part because the same place can have multiple names, depending on the language of the speaker—yet another legacy of the multilayered, polyglot history of southeastern Europe. For the sake of consistency, I have used the official place names as established by the nation-state in whose territory the place is located today, rather than trying to approximate the name used by Osman himself. For example, I have normally referred to the capital of Hungary as “Budapest,” even though Osman uses the more geographically precise term “Buda” in reference to the walled Ottoman city on the west bank of the Danube—known in German as “Ofen.” I have, however, made exceptions to this rule in the few instances where a place has a standard English-language name that differs from its local name (e.g., “Belgrade” rather than “Beograd,” and “Vienna” rather than “Wien”).

xviii      A Note on the Translation

Ethnonyms present a similar sort of challenge, since both the Ottoman sultan and the Habsburg monarch ruled multi-ethnic empires, later broken up and replaced by nation-states. As a result, fierce scholarly battles—and, sadly, also flesh-and-blood battles—have been waged over the question of if, when, and under what circumstances modern ethnic identities can be applied in reference to the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. In fact, for at least some readers, the specific language that Osman employs to describe religious and linguistic affiliation is likely to be one of the more immediately interesting elements of his text. For this reason, I have tried to systematically mark in the notes any instances in which Osman’s use of such terms is ambiguous or worthy of additional interpretation. One such case that deserves special mention here is the term “Nemçe”, originally a Slavic term for “German speaker” (literally meaning “mute,” in the sense of “someone who cannot speak our language”) and which I have translated from Osman’s Turkish as “Austrian.” This is against the better judgment of many respected colleagues, since historians in recent years have become increasingly reluctant to use “Austrian” in reference to the eighteenth-century Habsburg state. As they rightly point out, this description fits few of the relevant historical actors in a way that would be recognizable today and often implies a national identity that was at the time completely lacking. To give just one concrete illustration of this from Osman’s text, repeated many times over, General Caraffa, the “Austrian” commander who first captured Osman, was in fact a nobleman from Naples, Italy. The problem for the translator, however, is that Osman clearly uses Nemçe in a range of ways that elude any direct translation into modern English: sometimes to imply an affiliation with the Habsburg state (or the even more widely dispersed lands of the Holy Roman Empire), sometimes in reference to the territories of Upper or Lower Austria, sometimes to describe a person who speaks German, and sometimes a combination of all three (or a subset thereof). As such, to translate this word as either “Habsburg” or “Austrian,” or “German” depending on context seems an unacceptable distortion of Osman’s actual usage. So, for lack of a better alternative, and with all the necessary caveats, in the present translation I have rendered Nemçe as “Austrian,” except in the few instances where Osman explicitly refers to language (Nemçe lisānı).

A Note on the Translation    xix

An analogous case involves the terms “haiduk” (Ottoman haydūt) and “hussar” (Ottoman k. at. ana), which in Osman’s text frequently appear paired together. Derived from the Hungarian terms for “foot soldier” and “cavalryman,” respectively, Osman sometimes employs these words simply to distinguish between Habsburg irregulars who are either on horseback or on foot. More often, however, he appears to mean something closer to “bandits” (in the case of haiduks) and “highwaymen” (in the case of hussars), but with the implication in both cases that the individuals involved are Christian. In still other instances, Osman seems to give an ethnic tinge to these words, “haiduk” implying Serbian ethnicity and “hussar” Hungarian ethnicity. But confusingly, he also occasionally uses both words in sequence to describe the same person, suggesting that they are interchangeable. And in at least one instance, he refers to his closest friend in Vienna, a Christian from his hometown of Timişoara, as a haiduk, apparently not without affection. Complicating the picture still further, by the nineteenth century—but perhaps not yet in Osman’s day—the word “haiduk” gained the meaning of “freedom fighter” in most languages of the Balkans, and retains it today. Given this enormous semantic complexity, in my translation I have chosen simply to use “haiduk” and “hussar” without further elaboration, leaving to the reader the task of sorting out possible shades of meaning. Finally, a word about the title. Osman gave no title to his memoir, such that his manuscript was first catalogued in the nineteenth century under a literal description of its contents: “The Life and Adventures of Osman Agha of Timişoara, written by Himself.” This descriptive title also adorned the earliest published edition of the text (in German translation) in 1954, but a new, more colorful title was given to this text when it was republished in 1962: “The Prisoner of the Giaours: The Adventurous Fortunes of the Interpreter Osman” (Der Gefangen der Giauren: die abenteuerlichen Schicksale des Dolmetschers ‘Osman Ağa aus Temeschwar). Thereafter, in 1971, an abbreviated version of this new title, “Prisoner of the Giaours” (Turkish Gavurların Esiri), was adopted for the first modern Turkish edition of the text. It has since been used in most subsequent editions in other European languages and is now so widely associated with Osman’s text that it seems impractical, in the present translation, to completely part with established practice. However, it is also true that the word “giaour”

xx      A Note on the Translation

carries in Turkish the unsavory flavor of a racial slur and is nowhere used by Osman himself, whose preferred term is kefere, literally, “unbeliever.” As such, Prisoner of the Infidels seems closer to the spirit of what Osman might have named his memoir, had he given it a title. Let me conclude by noting that, while the present edition is the first English translation of Osman’s text, its preparation has benefitted greatly from earlier editions in other languages. In particular, I have used Richard Kreutel’s edition of the original Ottoman Turkish as my main source for translation, comparing it when necessary with a facsimile of the manuscript from the British Museum. In moments of uncertainty, I have also cross-checked my renderings in English with Frédéric Hitzel’s very careful and scholarly French translation. A number of historical notes and philological observations from both Hitzel’s French edition and the modern Turkish edition prepared by Harun Tolasa have also made their way into my apparatus criticus and are indicated where appropriate in my notes. Interested readers can find a more complete account of the rather complicated publication and translation history of Osman’s text at the conclusion of the Introduction, immediately following this translator’s note.

map 1. The Ottoman Balkans, 1683–1718.

3 to Venice, 1699–1715 4 to Russia, 1700–1711

Introduction On Being Osman

In 1688, in the tumultuous aftermath of the failed Ottoman siege of Vienna, a Muslim soldier surrendered to the Habsburg army and became a prisoner of war. Young and from a well-connected family, he expected to be quickly ransomed and reunited with his loved ones. Instead, Osman of Timişoara would spend twelve long years in captivity, finally regaining his freedom only after a daring cross-border escape that could easily have cost his life. By that time, although still a comparatively young man, Osman had faced enough adversity to last many lifetimes: torture by a sadistic master, brutal confinement in a dungeon, the hunger and contagion of an army camp in winter, and worse. But Osman persevered, and as the years of his captivity wore on, he managed gradually to improve his condition and even to win the esteem of his captors. Eventually, Osman became a household servant of one of the highest-ranking noblemen of Habsburg Vienna, a position of relative privilege from which a range of completely unforeseen opportunities were opened to him. Through his master’s patronage, he learned a most unexpected trade, apprenticing with a Parisian chef to become an expert pâtissier. In his master’s service, he traveled throughout the Habsburg realms and well beyond, even to distant lands in Germany and Italy barely known to his Ottoman contemporaries. Thanks to his master’s connections, he also became a man of influence among Vienna’s many Ottoman Muslims, intervening on behalf of some of them both with the authorities and with their captors. And repeatedly, as a 1

2      Introduction: On Being Osman

charming, exotic man with a mysterious past and experience beyond his years, he tasted the flames of love, dangerously exciting the passions of both women and men with whom he crossed paths. Remarkably, all of this is recorded by Osman himself in Prisoner of the Infidels, a vivid and unvarnished memoir he composed several decades later, as an older man living in Istanbul. Today, this priceless text survives as the most detailed account of life in early modern Europe from the perspective of an Ottoman captive. Just as important, it also stands as a major literary milestone, the first book-length autobiography ever to be written in the Ottoman Turkish language. Yet paradoxically, many aspects of Osman and his text remain shrouded in mystery. Beyond what Osman himself reveals in his memoir, surprisingly little has been corroborated about his time as a captive from other sources. And curiously, although Osman is known to have pursued a long and successful career as a diplomat after returning to Ottoman territory, his account seems not to have attracted any significant attention from his contemporaries. Instead, Prisoner of the Infidels was virtually forgotten, only gaining general recognition for its historical and literary importance over the past few decades. As a result, many questions linger about Osman the author and the text he produced. What inspired him to write, and by whom did he hope to be read? To what extent was he conscious, as he composed the first autobiography ever written in his language, of creating something truly new? Was he inspired, directly or indirectly, by literary models encountered during his long years in Christian Europe? And what kind of reaction to his work did he hope to provoke from his readers? For the moment, these are all questions without definitive answers. But if, as argued by the celebrated memoirist and memoir scholar Jill Ker Conway, “every biography is a prisoner of history”—a comment perhaps more applicable to Prisoner of the Infidels than to any other memoir— an obvious first step to a deeper understanding of the story of Osman’s life is to describe more fully the time and place in which he lived.1 G R OW I N G U P I N A “SI LV E R AG E”

Osman of Timişoara was a child of the seventeenth century, a period of world history rarely remembered as a happy one. On the contrary, in both Christian Europe and the Ottoman empire, it was a century of

Introduction: On Being Osman    3

political turmoil, sectarian conflict, economic and demographic malaise, and above all, unprecedented military violence.2 But in the midst of all this turbulence—and in stark contrast to more recent periods of history—Osman’s home region, the Ottoman Balkans, was an island of comparative tranquility in this wider sea of troubles.3 Admittedly, this would have been hard to predict from the way the century began: with a bloody conflict between the Ottomans and Habsburgs (the so-called Long War) that ravaged the northern Balkans for more than a decade before ending inconclusively in 1606.4 But thereafter, for almost seventy-five years, peace, only rarely interrupted, reigned across the long border between Christian and Ottoman Europe. At first, this was largely the result of both sides being preoccupied with affairs on other fronts: the Habsburgs with the all-consuming brutality of the Thirty Years’ War (1618–48) and the Ottomans with their own religious conflict (from 1623 to 1639) with Iran’s Safavids, a dynasty professing the rival Shi’ite version of Islam.5 Throughout these years of conflict, however, and for many decades after they concluded, peace prevailed along the Ottoman-Habsburg frontier, the two sides preferring to accept each other as neighbors rather than disrupt the status quo. The only real exception was a brief outbreak of hostilities in the early 1660s, resolved quickly with the signing of a twenty-year truce. For the rest, while religious wars and epidemics ravaged the Latin West, and bandits and Safavid armies plagued the Ottoman East, the people of the Balkans lived in a kind of “silver age” of stability and relative prosperity—indeed, one of the longest periods of uninterrupted peace in the recorded history of this frequently troubled part of the world.6 Osman of Timşoara was born toward the tail end of this “silver age,” probably in 1658 although his exact date of birth is not known with certainty (a problem to which we shall return in the pages below). His native city, Timişoara, today in far western Romania, was at the time a major economic and administrative hub in the vital heart of the Ottoman Balkans, the kind of place to which ambitious, upwardly mobile subjects of the empire would naturally gravitate to seek their fortunes. This profile, in fact, seems to fit both of Osman’s parents: his father, a middle-ranking officer in the Ottoman army, moved to Timişoara from his native Belgrade, while Osman’s mother hailed from a much smaller town about fifty kilometers further up the

4      Introduction: On Being Osman

Danube (also in what is today Serbia). Osman gives few additional details about his family origins and his early childhood, but everything he does reveal suggests that he grew up in comfortable circumstances, although unremarkably so. In short, his family was composed of just the sort of people best positioned to benefit from the peace and stability of the Ottoman Balkans in the middle decades of the seventeenth century. This is not to say that Osman’s early years were without hardship. In truth, he suffered his first tragedy at the tender age of nine, when his mother passed away from illness and, only two months later, was followed to the grave by his father. Sadly, for Osman, this was only the first, cruel installment in a long succession of loved ones lost too early. But for the time being, Osman was at least lucky in that his father had made provision for him before his death, leaving each of his children with a healthy inheritance and arranging for Osman and his two younger siblings to be raised by their older sister and brother-in-law (a fellow military officer and protégé of Osman’s father’s). As a result, despite being orphaned before his tenth birthday, Osman’s financial and social circumstances seem not to have changed for the worse in the years that followed. Meanwhile, in the wider world beyond Timişoara, one would have searched in vain for signs that the Balkan “silver age” was on the verge of coming to an end. On the contrary, under the capable leadership of Fazıl Ahmed Pasha (Ottoman grand vizier, 1661–76), the Ottoman state seemed to be entering a resurgent new era of expansion. In 1669, for instance, Fazıl Ahmed negotiated a successful end to the most protracted and frustrating military operation in Ottoman history, the twenty-one-year siege of the Venetian fortress of Chania. Under the terms of the settlement, Venetian forces were completely evacuated from the city, leaving the largest and wealthiest Venetian possession in the Mediterranean, the island of Crete, completely in Ottoman control.7 Then, in 1672, the grand vizier turned his attention to the north, leading a large army into the territory of the Polish-Lithuanian confederacy. The result, formalized in a treaty in 1676, was that PolandLithuania ceded the regions of Ukraine under its control to the sultan.8 At this point, Ottoman holdings in continental Europe reached their greatest extent in history, with every expectation that there would be even more significant conquests in the near future.

Introduction: On Being Osman    5 C OM I N G O F AG E I N A G R E AT WA R

In 1676, Osman of Timişoara was on the cusp of manhood, a young warrior-in-training ready to make his mark on the world. And in November of that year, Osman’s coming of age was matched by a changing of the guard in Istanbul, when the elderly Fazıl Ahmed died in office and was replaced as grand vizier by his younger brother-inlaw, Merzifonlu Kara Mustafa Pasha. A man of outsized ambition, the new grand vizier was widely believed to be planning a direct confrontation with the Habsburgs, for which he was said to be anxiously awaiting the expiration of the twenty-year peace the two sides had concluded in 1664. Such suspicions were confirmed in 1682, when negotiators for the Habsburg emperor Leopold I, hoping to renew this agreement, were turned away and sent home from Istanbul empty-handed. Preparations for war then began in earnest, and by the following spring Merzifonlu Kara Mustafa headed for Belgrade, where he formally took command of the armies led there by the sultan. From there, he began the long march north into Habsburg territory, reaching the outskirts of Vienna by mid July 1683. The great war had begun. The story of what followed—the epic siege of Vienna—has been told and retold many times, and need not be recounted here in any detail. Suffice to say that by early September, after a grueling two months of fighting, Ottoman forces had undermined a significant portion of Vienna’s defenses, and appeared close to victory. But on 12 September 1683, a relief force headed by King Jan Sobieski of Poland, who had signed a defensive treaty with the Habsburg emperor a few months earlier, reached Vienna. Attacking the besiegers from the rear, in what is remembered as the largest cavalry charge in European history, Sobieski routed them and forced a disorderly retreat that left the Ottoman frontier almost completely defenseless.9 The situation then spun quickly out of control, with Ottoman forces in disarray and the strength of their enemies increasing steadily. In December, Merzifonlu Kara Mustafa, the architect of the war, was executed on the sultan’s orders. But by this point, neither the grand vizier’s death nor the temporary end to hostilities brought about by the onset of winter could reverse the war’s course. On the contrary, by the early months of the following year, a nightmare scenario had unfolded for

6      Introduction: On Being Osman

the Ottomans: on 5 March 1684, representatives of the Habsburg empire, the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth, and the Republic of Venice formed the “Holy League,” a three-way anti-Ottoman alliance, subsequently joined by Russia. The powers agreed to wage war together, to coordinate their forces for as long as the war should last, and to remain in a permanent defensive alliance thereafter.10 Thus, by the summer of 1684, the besiegers had become the besieged, as the armies of the newly formed Holy League marched into Hungary and surrounded Buda (modern Budapest). The city was heroically defended by the Ottoman garrison, which turned the allies back. But they could not save Peşt, on the opposite side of the river, and during the campaigns of the following summer, Nové Zámky and Košice, the most important Ottoman cities in Slovakia, also fell to Habsburg forces. Then, in 1686, the allies returned to Buda, this time conquering the city decisively. A general slaughter of its population followed, and from there Habsburg forces penetrated ever deeper into Ottoman territory. In the early pages of his memoir, Osman tells us that both his older brother and his brother-in-law were sent north at this time, and were direct participants in some of the bloodiest fighting in Slovakia and Hungary. For his part, Osman stayed behind in Timişoara to serve in a local cavalry unit, and there faced a different but equally brutal side of the war: the complete breakdown of the existing social order. According to his account, the Habsburg army began supplying weapons to local Christians, encouraging them to become what Osman calls “haiduks” (“bandits” in Turkish, but, in a measure of the war’s complexity, something closer to “freedom fighters” in modern Serbian, Romanian, and Hungarian).11 Unable to prevent the depredations of these outlaws, Osman and his companions were instead ordered to carry out retaliatory raids into the areas under their control—raids during which, in Osman’s words, he and his men “plundered everything.” Then, in August 1687, the war entered its darkest hour when Ottoman and Habsburg forces met outside the Hungarian city of Mohács. This was a battlefield drenched with symbolism: the site, one hundred and sixty-one years earlier, of Sultan Suleyman the Magnificent’s glorious victory over the Hungarian King Louis II, which had ushered in the era of Ottoman hegemony over much of central Europe.12 But this time, in the second battle of Mohács, the outcome was almost exactly the opposite. Outmaneuvered and outgunned, some 10,000 Ottoman

Introduction: On Being Osman    7

troops lost their lives, while as few as 600 died on the Habsburg side. The unprecedented defeat prompted a mutiny of the remaining Ottoman soldiers, and the grand vizier, Sarı Suleyman Pasha, abandoned his post and fled back to the capital. Like his predecessor, he too faced summary execution shortly after his arrival in Istanbul. In his memoir, Osman does not mention whether his older brother or brother-in-law fought at Mohács, but it is likely that they did, and possible that they had a hand in the subsequent mutiny. In any event, following this debacle, Ottoman resistance all but collapsed, leaving the Habsburgs to seize full control of Slovenia and Hungary, with the door open to Serbia. Meanwhile, far to the south, in what is now Greece, the allied forces of the Republic of Venice completed their conquest of the Peloponnesus, where they had first landed troops two years earlier, and from there besieged Athens (badly damaging the Parthenon in the process). By November, the situation had become so dire that Sultan Mehmed IV was deposed in a palace coup, after a reign of thirty-nine years, and replaced on the throne by his younger brother Suleiman II (r. 1687–91). But this desperate act brought no relief to the beleaguered Ottoman defenses. Instead, Habsburg forces crossed the Danube and Sava rivers as soon as the spring rains permitted and penetrated into the heart of Serbia. By the end of the summer of 1688, just two years after the fall of Budapest, Belgrade, the crown jewel of the Ottoman Balkans (and Osman’s father’s ancestral home) fell to the Holy League. The complete expulsion of the Ottomans from continental Europe—something almost unimaginable just a few years before—was now a serious possibility.13 BEHIND ENEMY LINES

Osman of Timişoara was captured by the enemy at precisely this moment of deep imperial crisis, the circumstances of his surrender directly reflecting the panic and confusion of the long, hot summer of 1688. Ordered to escort a shipment of currency to Lipova, a garrison town a day’s ride to the north of Timişoara, Osman arrived just before an ambush by a huge Habsburg army, not even suspected to be in the area. Worse still, Lipova’s defenses were dangerously depleted, its garrison having sustained heavy casualties in skirmishes over the previous weeks—a fact initially hidden from Osman by local officials. Surrounded

8      Introduction: On Being Osman

and hopelessly outnumbered, he and his men put up the best resistance they could. But the outcome of the siege, and Osman’s eventual capture, were foregone conclusions from the beginning. Then, ever so briefly, it appeared that Osman’s ordeal might end as quickly as it had begun. Together with several of his comrades, he was allowed to return home and collect a ransom payment for himself and another soldier from his unit. But instead of his freedom, this perilous trip gave him only a new perspective—that of a victim—on the lawlessness and complete social disintegration of the lands left behind by the retreating Ottoman armies. While crossing a deserted forest with payment in hand, and despite carrying travel papers from the Habsburg authorities, Osman was attacked by Hungarian bandits, men who only a few years before had been loyal Ottoman subjects. He was despoiled of everything, barely escaping with his life. Thereafter, Osman’s experiences would continue to be inseparable from the war unfolding around him, but from the vantage point of an observer perpetually “behind enemy lines.” First, he was reunited with his captor, the venal and sadistic Lieutenant Fischer, in the midst of the great Habsburg military crossing of the Danube at Erdut. He then accompanied a large army led by Ludwig Wilhelm von Baden-Baden, a.k.a. Prince Louis—a hero of the siege of Vienna—on a rampage through Serbia and Bosnia, at one point spending a surreal, sleepless night listening to the sound of “friendly fire” from a nearby Ottoman battery of guns. Conditions deteriorated thereafter: Osman was locked up as an enemy combatant, offered for sale to a Venetian slave merchant, and eventually sent far from the front with a contingent of invalid Habsburg soldiers, witnessing horrible mortality as they died from dysentery—a disease to which he, too, eventually fell victim. Quite unexpectedly, however, this nearly fatal illness is the great turning point of Osman’s narrative, a symbolic death caused by his captors’ shocking disregard for humanity, but followed by a rebirth enabled by the first genuine acts of kindness shown to Osman since his captivity began. With no small measure of poetic justice, Osman’s miraculous recovery also coincided with Osman’s captor, Lieutenant Fischer, taking a blade to the belly and very nearly dying. And here, without doubting the veracity of Osman’s account, it is difficult not also to give an allegorical reading to his narrative. For, as it turned out,

Introduction: On Being Osman    9

the Ottoman empire—also recently left for dead on the war front— was simultaneously on the verge of its own improbable recovery. During the campaign season of 1690, in fact, Ottoman forces not only halted the Habsburg advance but counterattacked, regaining control of most of Bosnia and Serbia, including Belgrade. Meanwhile, in a separate campaign in the south, they similarly reversed Venetian gains in the Peloponnesus, Montenegro, and Albania. This Ottoman resurgence did not last long. Just one year later, its principal architect, the new grand vizier Fazıl Mustafa Pasha (younger brother of the late Fazil Ahmed), was killed at the battle of Slankamen, a disastrous defeat for the Ottomans. But by this time, the Ottomans’ enemies were also tiring of the conflict and preoccupied by the outbreak of the so-called Nine Years War, which would quickly draw in almost all the major powers of Christian Europe (as well as their overseas colonies), in what has sometimes been referred to as the “first global war.”14 As a result, although the Great Turkish War would officially continue for the rest of the decade, for several years after 1691, there was in reality very little active fighting, as the Habsburgs and their allies turned their attention to the new war in western Europe, and the Ottomans waited to see if events there might strengthen their bargaining position. All of this is palpably, if indirectly, reflected in Osman’s narrative, beginning with the long convalescence of Osman’s captor and perennial tormentor, Lieutenant Fischer. Once fully recovered from his wound, Fischer abruptly decided to resign his commission and take another job in Vienna, presumably related to the Habsburgs’ new war to the west. Fischer also announced an intention to bring Osman with him to the capital, a fate he only narrowly avoided by hiding with some locals in Ivanić, a provincial town outside of Zagreb, just long enough for Fischer to leave him behind. There he would remain for the better part of two years, working as a menial laborer in the custody of General Otto von Stubenberg, the local commanding officer. Eventually, in early 1691, Stubenberg noticed Osman working in the stables and offered to hire him as a private groom. Osman accepted, and although unclear to him at the time, this was a momentous decision that, within a few months, would mean leaving behind the Balkans, the region that had always been Osman’s home, and traveling with the general into the exotic and unfamiliar world of Austria proper.

10      Introduction: On Being Osman C R O S SI N G B O R D E R S

Osman’s first steps on this grand journey were to Graz and then to Kapfenberg, the home territory of his new master. Here Osman found that he had very little work, and in his new life of comparative ease, he quickly won the hearts of both his master’s wife, Countess von Lamberg, and the staff of her household. In fact, Osman intimates that the countess, who was widowed shortly after his arrival, became emotionally dependent on him and in her grief pressured him to become a Christian, so that he would be unable ever to leave her service. Osman resisted, all too aware that conversion could forever close the door to returning home. Instead, at some personal risk, he asked—and eventually received—permission to transfer to a new master in the Habsburg capital. In this way, Osman passed into the service of Count Christoph Dietmar von Schallenberg, a relative of the countess’s and one of the bluest-blooded aristocrats in Habsburg Vienna. As a new arrival with no previous experience in the capital, Osman began working for Schallenberg in the humblest possible capacity: he and another man from Timişoara were charged with carrying the count through town in a litter mounted on their shoulders. But in short order, from this lowest of entry points, Osman quickly rose in the count’s esteem, while the count, for his part, was busy ascending the upper echelons of Viennese high society, marrying a woman close to the palace and becoming Emperor Leopold’s high war commissioner (Kriegshauptkommissär). From this point forward, although technically still a captive, Osman’s developing association with this powerful, well-connected household would become the basis for his social identity and even his sense of self. This was particularly true with regard to his relations with Vienna’s surprisingly large community of Muslims, who recognized in Osman a means to access the corridors of elite power, which would otherwise be closed to them.15 But Osman’s service to the count likewise enhanced his status in the eyes of Vienna’s Christian inhabitants, enabling him to integrate into the larger social fabric of the city. As such, the sections of his narrative about his years in the capital are populated with a cast of colorful characters that reveal Osman’s full immersion in Viennese society. Filled with earthy anecdotes that Osman clearly took pleasure in retelling, they also provide tantalizing

Introduction: On Being Osman    11

glimpses of the seedier aspects of life in the capital, to which he was certainly no stranger. As for Osman’s personal relationship with Count von Schallenberg, this became one of deep trust, to the extent that the count frequently insisted on keeping Osman with him even when traveling abroad. Osman tells us that he accompanied Schallenberg on a sensitive military tour through occupied Ottoman territory in Hungary, traveled with him on visits to the count’s mother and sister in the German cities of Augsburg and Regensburg, and most ambitiously, crossed the Alps from Austria to Italy, visiting Trent and Brescia and staying in Milan for a full five months. This last trip, probably undertaken in late 1696, was of a sensitive diplomatic nature, directly connected to Habsburg maneuverings to end the Nine Years’ War after Louis XIV of France (the Habsburgs’ principal enemy) and Amadeo of Savoy (a Habsburg ally) made peace in the Treaty of Turin. Given the delicate nature of this mission, it is fascinating to imagine it as a precursor to Osman’s later career as a diplomat (on which more below). But, unfortunately, his experience in Italy is a topic about which he is uncharacteristically reserved. Osman is equally circumspect about two other international developments of the following year, although given their potential impact on his own future, there is no doubt that he followed both with extreme interest. The first of these was the Ottomans’ final major military offensive in their war against the Holy League, a campaign that began hopefully with an attack on Szeged in southern Hungary, and ended in disaster when retreating Ottoman forces were ambushed while recrossing the Tisza river back into Serbia on 11 September 1697—an attack masterminded by Eugene of Savoy, the rising star of the Habsburg army. Here, in just a few hours of fighting, over ten thousand Ottoman soldiers (and by some accounts many times more) lost their lives, those who drowned in the river possibly outnumbering those who fell in combat. Tragically for Osman, his younger brother Suleyman was among those killed, although Osman did not learn of his death until several years later. This defeat, known as the battle of Zenta, was a crushing blow for the Ottomans, particularly as it came after two promising years in which an energetic new sultan, Mustafa II (r. 1695–1703), had personally led his armies to several small but meaningful battlefield victories. Moreover, its significance was dramatically compounded when, in the

12      Introduction: On Being Osman

weeks immediately following the battle, the Nine Years’ War, between Louis XIV’s France and a coalition of the Habsburg emperor and several allies, officially came to an end with the Peace of Rijswijk. Thus, humiliated on the battlefield, and with no other conflicts to distract the attention of their enemies, the Ottomans finally came to the negotiating table in earnest. The outcome, the Treaty of Karlowitz, was a four-way agreement between the Ottomans, Venice, Poland, and the Habsburgs, signed on 26 January 1699 (Russia made a separate peace a year later). It was an unprecedented event in Ottoman history, marking the first time that an Ottoman sultan agreed, in writing, to permanently surrender significant territory to European powers, ceding all Ottoman holdings in Hungary, Croatia, and Slavonia to the Habsburgs, Podolia and western Ukraine to Poland, and the Peloponnesus and the island of Lefkada to Venice. And yet, as steep as these losses were, the treaty also preserved for the Ottomans substantial territories that they might easily have been obliged to surrender, including most of Serbia (the birthplace of both of Osman’s parents), and even Timişoara, besieged and nearly captured as recently as 1696.16 Just as important, the end of the war opened the door for Muslim captives in Habsburg territory to return home, although for Osman, the question of his release was more complicated than for many of his countrymen. Ironically, the source his elevated status during his years in Vienna—his connection to a prestigious noble household—now became an obstacle to his freedom, since both the Count and his wife were so keen to keep Osman in their service that he could not risk asking for emancipation papers. Instead, he hatched an intricate, dangerous plan to forge the necessary documents and sneak across the border incognito. Adding to the drama of this decision, Osman agreed to make the journey with several fellow captives in tow: a young family (composed of Osman’s friend Mehmed Sipahi, his wife, and their four-year-old daughter) and a mysterious female companion, a countrywoman from his native Timişoara. Without ever revealing her name, Osman makes clear that this woman of elegance and singular beauty had lived through an adventure every bit equal to his own: after surviving a bullet to the head, she had been taken by force to distant Lorraine in the Franco-German borderlands and then escaped, somehow crossing all

Introduction: On Being Osman    13

of Christian Europe before finally being recaptured in southern Hungary. Like Osman, she then became a domestic servant in the household of Count von Schallenberg, where the two presumably formed a tight bond as co-workers (although, here again, Osman is frustratingly circumspect regarding the details). The story of Osman’s daring escape from Vienna to the Ottoman frontier in the company of these companions dominates the final chapters of his memoir. Posing as Christians, the five fugitives made their way back across former Ottoman territories now officially in Habsburg hands, through Bratislava, Budapest, Baja, and Petrovaradin. Their final, hair-raising border dash provides a crescendo of excitement— concluding with an unexpected twist—and, appropriately for a life lived in tandem with the vicissitudes of the Great War, ends with Osman crossing back into Ottoman territory from Karlowitz (Sremski Karlovci in Serbo-Croatian), the place that gave its name to the historic treaty ending the conflict. A F T E R T H E WA R : E M P I R E A N D AU T O B IO G R A P H Y

Had Osman’s narrative ended with his safe return to Timişoara, this alone would have secured the status of Prisoner of the Infidels as a work of primary historical and literary importance. For of the huge number of Ottoman Muslims who spent time as captives in early modern Europe—tens of thousands, even by the most conservative estimates— surprisingly few left testimonies of their experiences.17 And of the handful that did, none were written with anything approaching the narrative voice, level of introspection, or eye for detail of Osman’s account.18 But Osman’s memoir does not end with this return from Habsburg territory. Instead, just as he begins his account with the history of his family and early childhood, he concludes with an overview of the decades that followed his emancipation, right down to the 1720s, when, as a much older man, wisened by experience, he finally sat down to write it. In so doing, he created something considerably more innovative and ambitious than a narrative of captivity: a complete, book-length account of a life lived—in other words, an autobiography in the fullest sense. Stated simply, this was something that no Ottoman Muslim had

14      Introduction: On Being Osman

ever done before, neither sultan, nor grand vizier, nor victorious general, much less a provincial soldier and former captive such as Osman. In this sense, Osman was a literary pioneer. Curiously, there is today no fully convincing explanation for why Ottoman autobiography was so undeveloped before Osman.19 In part, this is because, to a previous generation of scholars, it seemed selfevident that the urge to describe one’s life in a coherent, written narrative was a unique characteristic of the modern West—a cultural universe to which the Ottomans were outsiders.20 But this way of imagining history is now no longer so credible, thanks to a growing recognition that the Islamic world, too, had rich traditions of autobiographical writing that long preceded the onset of Western modernity.21 Already in the sixteenth century, for example, the founder of India’s Mughal dynasty, Babur the Great (1483–1530), composed—in his native Chagatai, a language closely related to Ottoman Turkish—an famously unflinching narrative of a life marked as frequently by failure as by success, in which he dwelt on his repeated humiliation on the battlefield, his life-long weakness for opium, and even his unrequited infatuation with an adolescent boy.22 By contrast, literate Ottoman Muslims of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, when they wrote about themselves at all, typically did so in poetry rather than prose, and almost never in a form that could be considered a record of one’s complete life experience. There are, to be sure, a few attenuated exceptions to this rule, scattered across a variety of genres that range from dream logs, to diaries, to personal letters.23 Perhaps the most significant is in the realm of travel literature, a genre whose greatest Ottoman representative, the monumental ten-volume Seyahatname or “Book of Travels” of Evliya Chelebi (1611– 82), has been described as a sort of life story told through travel.24 Indeed, it is tempting to imagine that this colorful and exhaustively detailed text might have served as a model for Osman, since it deals extensively with the Ottoman-Habsburg borderlands and even Vienna, which Evliya visited as part of a diplomatic mission in 1664. In reality, however, it seems extremely unlikely that Osman ever read, or was even aware of, Evliya’s Seyahatname.25 Even if he did, it remains the case that, for all its autobiographical content, Evliya’s text is essentially a travel narrative, in which the author’s experiences are included in order to fully document his journey—the reverse of the approach

Introduction: On Being Osman    15

adopted by Osman, who related his travels in order to document his life fully. So, in the absence of any obvious Ottoman models to inspire his memoir, a second intriguing possibility is that Osman was somehow influenced by the popularity of autobiographical writing in the flourishing vernacular languages of contemporary Europe (German in particular). On the face of it, the likelihood of this kind of influence seems obvious: Osman states openly that he became literate in German over the course of his captivity, and although he never describes his reading habits, many elements of his writing seem uncannily similar to those found in contemporary European “ego documents.”26 The problem, however, is that while Osman as a writer is completely unique among his Ottoman contemporaries, his experiences as a captive were less so. On the contrary, given the very large number of Ottoman Muslims known to have been captured and later redeemed over the course of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, there must have been hundreds, and more likely thousands, who returned home highly literate in European languages.27 Why, then, was it only Osman who chose to write about the experience in a way that emulated European forms of literary expression? O SM A N I N T H E AG E O F T U L I P S

This enduring puzzle points to a third possible frame for understanding Osman’s text: a return to the idea of his memoir as a “prisoner of history,” but of the time in which he wrote (the 1720s) rather than the time of which he wrote (the 1680s and 1690s). For as Osman reveals in his memoir’s last, heartbreaking pages, the quarter century that separated his return to Ottoman territory in 1699 and his final written reckoning in 1724 was filled with as many swings of fortune as his years in captivity. First came the devastating discovery that all his siblings had perished in the war. Next, a fresh start as a translator and negotiator, a position bringing unexpected professional fulfillment and a chance to begin a family of his own. Then, the sudden return of war and almost unbearable tragedy: the fall of Timişoara (1716) to the Habsburg army, and then the siege of Belgrade (1717), during which Osman saw most of his family and all of his wealth vanish before his eyes.28 These losses brought him, finally, to Istanbul, where in a kind of

16      Introduction: On Being Osman

internal exile he sought, through his writing, to find some measure of meaning and coherence in all that he had seen and lived through. True to form, these final episodes of Osman’s memoir continue to track the larger biography of the Ottoman empire. For like Osman, the Ottoman state had staggered home after the Treaty of Karlowitz dizzy and disoriented, then unexpectedly found its footing and, for a time, seemed on the verge of a full recovery—building new international relationships (notably with Sweden) and scoring decisive military victories against Russia (1711) and Venice (1714–15). But then, a renewed war with the Habsburgs brought a stunning series of military reverses, beginning with the death of the grand vizier, Damad Ali Pasha, and twenty thousand of his men before the walls of Petrovaradin on 5 August 1716. This was followed in rapid succession by the capture of Timişoara and Belgrade, deeply humiliating losses that the Ottomans were forced to recognize in the 1718 Treaty of Passarowitz (Požarevac in Serbo-Croatian). Compounding the misery, a year after this capitulation, Istanbul was struck by a devastating earthquake that destroyed much of the city. The final, unpredictable outcome of these disasters was the socalled Tulip Period, an incongruous decade sandwiched between the wars of the 1710s and an equally disruptive general insurrection (the “Patrona Halil Rebellion”) that in 1730 toppled the long-reigning Sultan Ahmed III.29 In between was a period of disorienting contradictions in the Ottoman capital: of hedonism, exoticism, and ostentatious consumption (hence the tulips), but also of urban renewal, artistic and intellectual experimentation, and a search for new forms of sociability, spirituality, and political expression. Because of this complexity, the Tulip Period is among the more hotly debated eras of Ottoman history (even the name itself—an invention of the early twentieth century—inciting controversy among historians).30 One aspect of the period about which there is general agreement, however, surrounds an effort by a small but organized group of politically connected intellectuals to study, in a more systematic and sophisticated way, the history, scientific culture, and political institutions of Christian Europe—in part to improve the Ottomans’ own diplomatic operations abroad and in part to develop models for political reform at home.31 Among the most important protagonists of this effort was Yirmisekiz Mehmed Chelebi, a former janissary and director of the imperial mint,

Introduction: On Being Osman    17

who led an Ottoman diplomatic delegation to Paris in 1720.32 Upon his return, he wrote a lengthy account of his trip, rich in both personal experience and ethnographic detail, that was without real precedent in Ottoman literary history.33 He was accompanied on this mission by his twenty-year-old son, Mehmed Said, who became fluent in French during his stay and would later compose his own narrative of travel as an envoy to Poland and Sweden.34 Back in Istanbul, Mehmed Said became an important intellectual in his own right, and developed an important collaboration with Ibrahim Müteferrika, a Hungarian convert to Islam fluent in Latin, who went on to set up the first Western-style printing press using the Ottoman Turkish language.35 In retrospect, it appears self-evident that Osman’s Prisoner of the Infidels was aligned with the larger “occidentalist” project of the likes of Yirmisekiz Mehmed, Mehmed Said, and Ibrahim Müteferrika, being (among many other things) a scrupulous, ethnographically informed account of a life spent among the “infidel other.” By his own account, Osman was also, by the 1720s, a rather experienced diplomat in his own right, and it seems, too, that he was a personal acquaintance of Ibrahim Müteferrika, who was originally from the Transylvanian city of Cluj, not far from Timişoara. Just as important, Prisoner of the Infidels was but one of several works that Osman composed while in Istanbul during the early 1720s, in what proved to be a sort of personal “Tulip Period”—a frenetic phase of intellectual experimentation as he settled into life in the imperial capital. Osman completed the first of these texts between 1722 and 1723, a year or two before his autobiography.36 Entitled “The History of Austria” (Nemçe Tārīhi),37 it might more accurately be described as a general history of the Holy Roman Empire from the reign of Charlemagne down to Ottoman times. It is possibly an incomplete work, its narrative ending abruptly in the 1660s. Nevertheless, in its own way it is as original as Prisoner of the Infidels, since until that time there was no established historical genre in Ottoman Turkish dedicated specifically to the history of foreign states, or, more generally, to historical research based on the systematic use of Western languages.38 Curiously, it remains today unpublished and still largely unstudied. Meanwhile, another work, completed in 1725, a year after Prisoner of the Infidels, is in some respects an elaboration of the part of Osman’s professional life described only in passing at the end of his memoir: his

18      Introduction: On Being Osman

career as a diplomat for the governor of Timişoara in the years following his return from Habsburg territory. Among other things, it documents Osman’s activities between 1707 and 1709, when he was engaged in delicate negotiations with the semi-autonomous Prince Rákócczy of Transylvania and the Habsburg General Nehem in Petrovaradin.39 The untitled text, published in the mid-twentieth century in German translation, is far more technical than Osman’s memoir, and oriented primarily toward the professional interests of bureaucrats.40 Still, it is worth noting that, when making, passing reference to these negotiations in the closing pages of Prisoner of the Infidels, Osman remarks that to recount them in full would require “another entire volume”—a clear sign that he was already considering such a project as a natural “sequel” to his memoir. This leaves the strong impression that, as an author, at least one of Osman’s motivations was to enhance his credentials as a member of the rapidly growing Ottoman diplomatic corps of his day, a group for whom worldliness, eloquence, and intellectual creativity were increasingly important qualifications. Much the same could be said of Osman’s last known work, an undated “Anthology of Correspondence” (Kitāb-ı İnşā) compiled as a kind of professional dossier and as a guide for other scribes when drafting official letters. Its contents, although never published, are of considerable interest and cover a wide range of topics. In addition to Osman’s own letters drafted during his diplomatic missions, it includes an account of the Habsburg siege and eventual conquest of his native Timişoara in 1716, as well as Osman’s translations of a series of letters addressed to the sultan by Habsburg diplomats.41 In their ensemble, these various texts constitute an extraordinary amount of documentary material about Osman’s life. If combined with additional sources surely waiting to be discovered in both Ottoman and European archives, scholars would have the makings of an unusually detailed historical biography of one of the most original creative minds of the “Tulip Period.” Until now, however, no one has undertaken such a project, and, as noted above, aside from his remarkable autobiography, Osman remains a strangely unknown figure. Even the dates of his birth and death remain uncertain. The latter was long assumed to have come shortly after 1725, when Osman composed his last known written work. But a recently discovered archival source from the 1730s suggests a different and quite surprising final

Introduction: On Being Osman    19

chapter in Osman’s life story. In 1726, it seems, he voluntarily returned to Vienna, this time as an interpreter for Omer Agha, the first permanent Ottoman consular representative in the city—an indication that Osman’s frenetic activities as an author, if intended to buttress his credentials as a diplomat, yielded fruit.42 The same archival source, a report written by the young Habsburg interpreter Heinrich von Penckler, describes Osman as a “dignified, elderly gentleman” and indicates that he was widely respected in Vienna, where he remained until 1731. Unfortunately, the report sheds no light on what Osman may have done after that date, or the circumstances of his eventual death. Meanwhile, Osman’s birth presents a different but even more difficult problem—not because of the silence of the available sources, but rather because Osman’s own memoir provides such deeply contradictory answers as to raise fundamental doubts about where his historical self ends and his literary self begins. O SM A N ’ S L I T E R A RY SE L F

Exactly how old was Osman when he surrendered to Habsburg forces and became a “prisoner of the infidels” in June 1688? At various points in his narrative, Osman gives the impression that he was very young indeed, repeatedly alluding to his tender age, lack of experience, and youthful rambunctiousness in recounting his adventures. Occasionally, he is more specific. In one passage, he claims to have “barely turned eighteen” at the time of an amorous encounter some months after his capture, and somewhat later (again in the context of an amorous encounter), he describes himself as “still just twenty-one years old.” But, confusingly, Osman seems to contradict both of these assertions in the very first pages of his memoir, where he states quite clearly that when his mother died in 1077 of the Hijra (corresponding to 1666– 67 CE), he was already nine years old. If accurate, this would make him much older than he elsewhere claimed: just shy of thirty at the beginning of his captivity, and over forty by the time of his redemption. Of course, it is possible that the stated year of his mother’s death is simply an error in a text that survives in only one, hastily drafted autograph copy. Indeed, as readers, we want to dismiss it as nothing more than that.43 Unfortunately, there are other aspects of Osman’s narrative that seem equally hard to reconcile with his claim to having been quite

20      Introduction: On Being Osman

so young, and comparatively more difficult to explain away as the simple result of carelessness. Most notably, Osman claims to have been an experienced officer when taken captive and, by that time, to have already spent “several years” fighting the enemy in that capacity— assertions hard to square with the idea that he was still only a teenager. Similarly, at the end of his narrative Osman describes himself as an old man “spending my days preparing for death”—but would have been only in his early fifties had he been eighteen at the time of his capture. To these considerations, we can add another detail about Osman’s latter career revealed in the report, already mentioned above, by the Habsburg interpreter Heinrich von Penckler. Specifically, Penckler records that between 1719 and 1726, he worked at the Habsburg embassy in Istanbul as a diplomatic apprentice and language-specialist-intraining, and throughout these years regularly studied Turkish with Osman, setting the stage for the two eventually to return to Vienna together and to collaborate there for several more years.44 This astonishing fact—that Osman wrote his tale of enslavement to the Habsburg “infidels” while voluntarily in the pay of a Habsburg diplomat, and while actively planning to return with him to Habsburg territory— highlights a deep moral ambivalence in the arc of Osman’s life, which is, in the end, the stuff of great literature. Indeed, it is through this contradictory lens that his memoir reveals itself to be, rather than a strictly factual account, a profound meditation on belonging, on self-discovery through alienation, and on the impossibility of ever truly returning home. And for all of these purposes, we can speculate that to present himself, at the start of his adventure, as an extreme youth with a personality still not fully formed was, for Osman, a literary necessity, regardless of whether it was historically accurate. Admittedly, Osman’s narrative reveals these complex themes only gradually, the opening sections of Prisoner of the Infidels presenting what appears at first to be a morally uncomplicated tale of perseverance in the face of cruelty and injustice. But this changes once the violence and hardship of Osman’s initial captivity pass, and as the everyday mundanity of his new life reveals a gentler but more insidious order of danger: enslavement to the bonds of loyalty, friendship, and erotic love. Then, in a kind of climax of moral ambiguation, Osman realizes that in order to escape these bonds and return home, he must pretend to embrace the identity that he has so far resisted with all his

Introduction: On Being Osman    21

being: that of a Christian convert and a loyal subject of the Habsburg emperor, who intends to remain permanently in Habsburg territory. All of this leads to what are arguably the most profound and unsettling passages of the book, in which Osman recounts his return to Muslim territory after half a life spent in foreign captivity. Here, rather than a joyful reunion with his loved ones, he is instead faced with the realization that both the border itself and the solidarity he expected from his compatriots are illusions, as is his dream of fully reintegrating into Ottoman life. In fact, the closest thing to a “tearful reunion” at the conclusion of his narrative comes only when Osman—this time as an official Ottoman negotiator— travels back to Habsburg territory several years later, and is welcomed and embraced by some of the same Habsburg officials who had previously been his mortal enemies. Thus, in producing a complete record of his life, Osman offers his readers a complex deconstruction of the very idea of selfhood—a remarkable achievement for someone writing the first autobiography ever composed in his language. And in so doing, he brings us back again to the same basic question with which this essay began: how to account for his meticulous, richly layered, and completely original exposition of self, so different from the bureaucratic, diplomacycentered “occidentalism” of Osman’s other known works, and apparently without parallel in the writings of his literary predecessors? For many scholars of Ottoman cultural history, the impulse remains strong to interpret Prisoner of the Infidels as the product of a new preoccupation with the self and self-narration of the Ottoman “Tulip Period.” As several recent studies have noted, this seems to have been a surprisingly widespread cultural phenomenon during the first decades of the Ottoman eighteenth century, involving provincial centers far beyond Istanbul, and individuals from diverse walks of life (including soldiers, dervishes, and even barbers), all experimenting with new ways of externalizing—through writing—their understanding of the evolving balance of self and others, and of public and private.45 But in the end, Osman’s Prisoner of the Infidels stands head and shoulders above all of the other Ottoman “ego documents” of his time, whose tentative, two-dimensional self-presentations look by comparison like hastily sketched graffiti beside an exquisite Roman portrait bust. And ultimately this serves as an important reminder that historical context can go only so far in helping us to decode Osman’s

22      Introduction: On Being Osman

memoir. Instead, like any truly innovative work of creative genius, it is a text that expresses the essence of the human condition in a way that transcends its own time and place, and that strikes us with an unexpected immediacy some three hundred years after it was written. R E D I S C OV E R I N G O SM A N

Ironically, Prisoner of the Infidels seems not to have held the same resonance for readers in its own time. As noted above, it survives from the eighteenth century in a single manuscript, in Osman’s own hand, now preserved in the British Museum in London.46 No copies are known to have ever been made, either while Osman was alive or in the decades after his death, and there are no known references to his work by either Ottoman or Western authors for well over a century after he completed it. If any of Osman’s contemporaries read his memoir, or were influenced by it, no trace of this has been found in the historical record. Instead, the slow “rediscovery” of Prisoner of the Infidels began only in the year 1880, in a kind of reverse version of Osman’s journey. In that year, the Habsburg diplomat and scholar Alfred Kremer returned to Vienna from an extended stay in Istanbul, where he had acquired an extensive collection of Oriental manuscripts. Five years later, in 1885, he published a small catalogue of his acquisitions, including a short entry on Osman’s text.47 Kremer then sold his collection en bloc to the British Museum, which in 1888 published a catalogue of its own in which Osman’s text appears.48 Thereafter, the manuscript went largely unobserved for several more decades, until two Austrian Turkologists, Richard Kreutel and Otto Spies, published a full German-language translation in 1954.49 It was only at this point that Prisoner of the Infidels began to attract significant attention from readers. In 1961, a “biography” of Osman, loosely based on this German translation, was published in Turkish, and subsequently reprinted several times, including in the periodical Hayat Mecmuası, the Turkish version of Life Magazine.50 In 1962, the German translation was republished in a more widely accessible edition.51 In 1971, a modern Turkish translation (from German, rather than the original Ottoman) was published in a popular Turkish history series.52 And in 1980, Kreutel published an edition of the original Ottoman text.53 Since then, it has been republished many times in various formats, including several modern Turkish “adaptations” of the original Otto-

Introduction: On Being Osman    23

man, as well as both scholarly and popular translations in Hungarian, French, Czech, Croatian, and, most recently, Romanian.54 In all likelihood, it is today the most widely translated Turkish-language text from any period of Ottoman history. Even so, there remains a strong tendency to read Osman’s account as a historical curiosity rather than a serious literary memoir, and until now only a few short excerpts have appeared in English. A full English-language edition is presented here for the first time in the hope that Prisoner of the Infidels might gain wider recognition, both in the English-speaking world and elsewhere, as a pioneering work by one of early modern Europe’s most visionary Muslim authors. And now, without further ado, it is time to step aside and leave the stage to Osman of Timişoara.

map 2. Behind enemy lines, 1688–90 (chapters 1–5).

Contested Territory, 1683–1699

1

Surrender

Allah, He of immense glory, has alone brought His servants from nothingness into existence, and through His might has preordained the lives and the circumstances of all. Anything that may befall a person—be it for good or for evil—is already known to Him, the Possessor of Might and Majesty. And so it is that I, a poor wretch from Timişoara, who fell into hopeless captivity in the hands of our enemies, now wish to reveal some of my secrets, by relating in the form of a story a share of the many adventures that have befallen me. Let me begin with my dearly departed father, Ahmed Agha, son of Mahmud. Originally from Belgrade, he first came to Timişoara about a hundred years ago and settled in the city together with his three brothers.1 After marriage, he served for some time as a lieutenant in the first detachment of the Timişoara city garrison.2 Then, about ten years before his death, the position of infantry commander of Timişoara’s local janissaries became available.3 My father received the commission, and it was from this time that our family began to live in very comfortable circumstances. Before marrying my mother, my father had one or two previous marriages, and had brought several children into the world. But by the command of the Almighty, all of them—both his children and his wives—passed into the hereafter before my birth. Then he wed my mother, a girl from Slankamen, and brought her to live with him in Timişoara.4 Over the next twenty-five years, she bore him nine children, five of them boys and four of them girls. 25

26      Surrender

Of these, three of the boys and two of the girls were still alive when, in the year 1077 of the Hijra of the Prophet of Islam, may peace be upon him [1666–67 CE],5 my mother died, and she was followed to the grave only two months later by my father, may Allah be merciful to him. Thus my parents both left this transitory world and moved on to the House of Eternity. Their earthly remains were buried beside the rest of our departed relatives in the family plot, located in front of the central prayer niche of the Grand Mosque in Timişoara’s Szeged neighborhood, a building that had previously been a Jesuit church.6 At the time of our parents’ death, my older brother Bektash Agha was sixteen years old, my two sisters Atiye Kadın and Vasıfhan Kadın were fourteen and ten years old respectively, I was nine years old, and my little brother Suleyman was only two. Having not yet reached maturity, I and my younger brother, along with my youngest sister, were assigned a guardian by the court. This, however, was done in accordance with the last will and testament of my late father, who on his deathbed made arrangements for all of us. According to his wishes, my older brother was awarded a military commission, while my older sister Atiye was given in marriage to Zulfikar Kethuda, a protégé of my father’s, who was also assigned guardianship over the rest of us not yet of age.7 Zulfikar and my sister were to live together with us in our family house and ensure that we had all of our needs taken care of. Affairs being thus arranged, we were each awarded our inheritances from both our mother’s and our father’s estates, according to the requirements of the Sharia.8 My older brother and sister, being of age, received their shares directly, while those of us who were still minors had our shares placed in a trust. Either way, this amounted to quite a bit of money for each of us. Shortly thereafter, thanks to this inheritance, my older brother was able to marry, and upon reaching maturity, I and my younger brother went to live with him, at the same time learning how to read and write from a number of different teachers. Soon enough, however, our life of relative ease came to an end. With the siege of Vienna, the land was engulfed by war, and my older brother, being an officer, was called up for service. He spent several years at the front, fighting in both the Szatmár and Košice campaigns with his unit.9 During this same period, both of my sisters passed

Surrender    27

away. Neither of them had any children, so their property was again divided up and redistributed among those of us who remained, each receiving his due. Because my older brother and my brother-in-law were both military men and always had horses and every sort of weapon around the house, I had been fascinated by horseback riding and swordplay since I was very young. And so, when I inherited this money from my sisters’ estates, I immediately fitted myself out with a horse, weapons, and all the necessary equipment and signed up with a local military unit, participating in raids and border skirmishes. As it turned out, I had a natural inclination for the arts of warfare, and my exploits were eventually noticed by Piri Agha, an old friend of my father’s and the commander of Timişoara’s first cavalry company. When a position opened up in his unit, he recommended me for the job, and once my older brother and brother-in-law had given their consent, I was appointed to the rank of squad leader.10 In this capacity, I spent two or three years in the service of the sultan. It was at this time that General Heissler besieged and captured the towns of Szolnok and Szarvas, forcing all of their residents to flee and take refuge in Timişoara.11 He also attacked the town of Arad, killing or capturing the soldiers of the Rumelian army inside, along with most of its inhabitants, and burning the town itself to the ground.12 He then briefly besieged the city of Cenad after ransacking all of the surrounding lands on both banks of the river.13 But because he had no large siege guns and was not prepared to remain in the area for more than a few days, he finally headed back toward Szarvas without taking Cenad, although not before setting ablaze its unprotected suburbs. While all of this was happening, our troops also tasted defeat at Szeged, which similarly fell to the forces of General Wallis.14 In consequence, the valleys of both the Tisza and Mureş rivers were left completely depopulated, as the Serbian peasants of these regions all fled and allied with the Austrians as haiduks and hussars.15 Occupying the countryside, and arming themselves, they continually attacked and harassed the people of Timişoara, often riding right up to the walls of Timişoara itself, striking at will, and carrying off whatever they could find, including travelers, fieldworkers, and other peaceful people— killing some and holding others to ransom. We, for our part, answered in kind, setting out toward their towns in our own small riding parties

28      Surrender

or on foot, and plundering everything we could find along the way. In this fashion several years went by, during which I witnessed many battles in defense of the faith and saw my fair share of combat. One day, at the beginning of the month of Shaban in the year 1098 of the Hijra [mid June 1687], during the governorship of the late Koja Jafer Pasha, a considerable shipment of money arrived in Timişoara from the Ottoman central treasury to pay the salaries of all the janissaries, artillerymen, and regular infantry of the garrison of Arad.16 This money was needed urgently, and since the regions surrounding Arad were entirely in the hands of the enemy, His Excellency the pasha charged my unit, the First Cavalry Banner, with the responsibility of providing an escort, ordering us to transport the money safely by night as far as the district of Lipova.17 As ordered, I assembled the men under my command, about eighty in all, in Baba Hussein Field about one hour before sunset. His Excellency the pasha came personally to inspect us, handing over the treasury funds to our custody and saying a prayer for our safety before sending us on our way. We then departed in all haste, riding through the night without ever dismounting, halting only two or three times to give our horses a chance to empty their bladders. By morning, after a journey of around ten hours, we entered Lipova through the Timişoara gate, safely delivering the treasury funds to the citadel. Having brought such an important cargo, the men from our party were welcomed into the homes of the various high-ranking military officers and fief-holders of the city, and we were treated as honored guests. Now Lipova is famous for its gardens and orchards, and as our arrival happened to coincide with the cherry harvest, there were at that time cherries in great abundance. In the markets, they could be had for less than an asper per okka, and no one passed by without stopping to eat them with abandon.18 So we said to ourselves: “Let’s stay an extra day and enjoy the cherries!” But that very evening, just before sunset, as we lingered with our hosts in great pleasure and enjoyment, a company of Hungarian hussars came riding up the banks of the Mureş River from Transylvania, charging straight up to the city walls and firing several rounds from their muskets before abruptly turning around and riding away. A can-

Surrender    29

non was then fired from inside the fortress to sound a general alarm, and all of us with mounts immediately took off in pursuit of the enemy. Now just above Lipova, on the other side of the Mureş River, there is a high mountain with a fortified town at the summit called Solymos. From this vantage point, its residents could see down to a place on the other side of the mountain where the enemy was waiting in ambush. Thus, as we were passing by, the people called down to us, saying: “The enemy is ahead of you! Don’t go any farther because they have set up an ambush!” Hearing this, and since it was already nightfall and impossible to investigate the situation further, we decided to return to Lipova, everyone taking refuge at the home of his respective host. Since we were new arrivals, the lord of Lipova and the notables of the town should have been more forthcoming regarding the situation in which we found ourselves. But instead they kept quiet and concealed the truth from us, namely, that there were very few fighting men in Lipova. This was because of several recent attacks, in each of which more than a hundred men had been either killed or taken prisoner, leaving fewer than three hundred men from the regular garrison to defend the city. Fortunately, there was another cavalry commander like myself, who had come with seventy or eighty men to transfer the money we had brought to Lipova on to the fortress of Ineu.19 So, locals and visitors all told, we numbered around five hundred. The next morning, just before daybreak, the sound of Austrian battle horns was heard from the top of Táncos, a hill where Lipova’s orchards are found. Within the walls of the citadel, all of us jumped to our feet, eager to mount our horses and go out to face the enemy. But we found that the main gate had already been firmly shut, and it was impossible to get out. The reason was that the Austrian forces gathering outside were none other than the main army of General Caraffa, with eighteen full regiments of infantry and cavalry.20 This force had wintered in Transylvania, and in the first days of spring had set out on a course along the Mureş River to Lipova, having transported all of its heavy supplies and artillery by river barge and unloading them here. And so that morning all the townspeople were thrown into confusion, asking one another, “What is to become of us?” As for us visitors, we tried to leave town by means of the bridge rather than the gate, hoping to cross the river to Radna on the opposite bank, and from

30      Surrender

there to head for Ineu. But what did we see once assembled at the Mureş bridgehead? In whatever direction we looked, thousands of haiduks and hussars were advancing on us, both on the Solymos side of the river where we stood and on the opposite bank, blocking the roads and making it impossible to go in any direction. Of necessity, we therefore stayed in the citadel, and since this was without fortifications on the side that faced the river, we also burned the bridge to keep the enemy from entering from that bank. In reality, Lipova’s “citadel” was a small area enclosed by a stockade of wooden planks, surrounded by a moat filled with water, and with three or four small bastions, each defended by four or five cannons. Beyond this, the town walls enclosed a much larger area, but these outer walls consisted only of a simple, low stone barrier with a few towers and windows. As the town was unprotected on the side facing the water, this wall began at the riverbank, encircled the town, and rejoined the riverbank on the other side, enclosing in all about two thousand houses. This being our situation, the Austrian general and his men completely surrounded us and began to lay siege to the town. They worked very methodically, without firing a single round of artillery or even a hand gun throughout the entire day. From our side, we continuously fired both cannons and muskets until nightfall, some of our men also venturing outside the walls with muskets, moving through the orchards, and approaching the Austrian lines in order to fire upon them. In this way the first day of combat passed. But all the while, the Austrians were busy moving nine large siege guns and three or four mortars into position, working throughout the day and into the night until they had brought them through the orchards to within five hundred paces of our outer walls. The next day, around the time of the morning prayer, they began a fierce bombardment with these guns, and by the time of the afternoon prayer they had opened a sizeable breach in the walls, large enough for a man to walk through.21 From inside, we used a combination of earth, tarps, and mattresses to close this breach and kept the Austrians back by firing guns from the citadel. But with one heavy shot from their side, the breach would open up again. Sometime after the afternoon prayer, the enemy began a direct assault, as units of Austrian soldiers came right up to the mouth of the breach and tried to force their way inside. Most of our men rushed to block their way, attacking them with grenades and muskets. But in

Surrender    31

doing so, they left the rest of the walls undefended, and from the side of the Battal and Timişoara gates, a group of Serbian and Hungarian hussars and haiduks put up ladders. From here, they scaled the walls and then broke down the gates from the inside. Realizing that the enemy had entered the city, we gave up our defense of the walls to withdraw to the citadel. But as we turned to retreat, the Serbians and Hungarians occupied the principal streets of the town, blocking our way. Seeing this, we flung ourselves directly at them, intending to fight our way back to the citadel. In the end, we did open a path and made our way inside, but many of our number fell along the way, and many were injured. The fighting continued until nightfall, by which time the Austrians were in complete possession of the city beyond the citadel walls. There were fires everywhere, some lit by the invaders and others by the defenders, which burned all night. And since the citadel was separated from the rest of the town by only a narrow moat, the flames eventually crossed over, setting fire to the citadel’s tower gate and several houses inside. At this point, there was a general panic in the narrow streets of the citadel, crowded with horses, farm animals, and people crying, “We’ll all perish in the flames!” To stop the fire’s spread, men were sent up the burning towers and onto the roofs of the houses. But as they did so, they were targeted by Austrian snipers on the minarets and rooftops outside the walls, who picked them off one by one, decimating them. Near the citadel walls, just on the other side of the moat, there was a stone warehouse whose roof had burned in the fire but whose four walls were still standing. In this place the Austrians set up a battery of mortars and started launching shells, at the same time firing across the moat relentlessly with their muskets. This continued for three days and three nights, with a vast number of both people and animals losing their lives. During this time, we were assigned to the defense of a main bastion of the citadel, a very dangerous spot in the middle of the most intense combat. From here, we loaded our large guns with explosive shells and defended our position with musket fire. Seeing how desperate the situation was becoming for the people of the city, those in command eventually took counsel as to whether or not to surrender. In the end, they decided to do so and raised a white flag

32      Surrender

over the battlements. When this was seen from outside, it was reported to the Austrian officers, who announced a cease-fire. Then someone from the Austrian side came out and asked: “What are your intentions?” We responded, from inside the walls: “We want to surrender the city. Give us appropriate hostages, and we will send someone out to negotiate terms.” Then two Austrian captains were chosen as hostages and entered the citadel in exchange for two officers from Lipova. The bey of Lipova, our commanding officer, also chose a black horse from his personal stable and, adorning it with a saddle and silver trappings, sent it along as a gift for General Caraffa. When our men arrived before the general, they were asked again: “What are your intentions?” They responded: “Since you have come with the armies of the emperor, besieging our town with the intention of taking it, and we do not have the strength to resist you, we propose to hand over the city in exchange for safe passage to Timişoara for ourselves, our families, and our property and valuables.” The general answered: “There will be no surrender according to the terms you seek. We’ll offer you the following terms instead: You will come out of the citadel unarmed, accompanied by your families but without any of your property. If we so wish, we shall then set you free. And if we so wish, we shall take you prisoner instead.” Our envoys, disappointed with this reply, tried to reason with the general, saying, “How can we accept such terms?” But for all they tried, their efforts to reach an agreement came to nothing. The general sent back both the envoys and the bey’s gift horse, saying: “Then go back inside and fight!” Thus our men returned to the citadel, the Austrian hostages were released, and we had to return to fighting as before. Meanwhile, during this lull in the fighting, some Austrian officers and their men had come out of their trenches and walked right up to the edge of the citadel’s moat. In the most elegant manner, they sat down and began to eat and drink, some of them casually throwing stones and pieces of wood into the moat—supposedly for their dogs to fetch—while others tested its depth with their pikes. Through such trickery, they prepared for a renewed assault, reckoning that the fortress would be theirs in short order. Then the fighting recommenced, and the citadel was fiercely bombarded for another full day and night, to the great suffering of both man and beast inside. Finally, the people of the city, fearful for the safety of their families, children, and rela-

Surrender    33

tions, became of one mind to again raise the white flag and beg for a ceasefire, no matter the terms. A man was then sent out to parlay, and an unconditional surrender was agreed as demanded by General Caraffa. That night, Austrian soldiers took formal possession of the outer city while we retained control inside the walls of the citadel. Then, according to the terms of surrender, all of the men and women inside began to emerge unarmed. From our position in the upper bastion, we could see the Austrian soldiers lined up outside to wait for them, standing in two rows that stretched all the way from their camp to either side of the citadel’s gate, a distance that would take more than a quarter hour to walk. From inside, men started to come out with their wives and children, four or five at a time, sometimes more, sometimes fewer. If anyone had a weapon, it was immediately taken from him at the gate. Then, as they gradually continued on by ones and twos, the soldiers began striking them, whether they were grown men, women, or children, and stripping them of their clothes and possessions. A few who tried to resist were struck down dead and had everything taken from their lifeless bodies. In the same way, the soldiers farther down the line followed the example of their comrades, such that a very great number of our people were killed and despoiled of everything. In some cases, they even had their bellies cut open to see if they had swallowed any coins, their corpses and guts left lying on the ground. The Austrian officers did try to prevent all of this, but it was impossible. I even saw mounted officers who fired and killed a few of their own troops as they despoiled and murdered the Muslims, but this did not prevent the rest, who continued as before. As for myself, I emerged from the gates in a group of more than sixty men that included the bey of Lipova, the municipal judge, and all of the town notables. Both in front and behind us, we were accompanied by a protective escort of mounted generals and other high-ranking Austrian officers. Even so, there were still soldiers who approached us, pulling some of us from our horses and taking what they could. In this way we proceeded to General Caraffa’s war tent. We found no one else there, and had no idea what had become of all those who had exited the fortress before us. We were detained there for the rest of

34      Surrender

the day and through the night, guarded by soldiers. The next morning, a general came and counted the lot of us, then divided us into groups of between two and five men and sent us with some soldiers to be distributed as spoils of war to the generals, colonels, and other officers, each receiving a share according to his rank—including even the lieutenants, who received one captive each.22 In the end, General Caraffa enslaved virtually every Muslim from the town of Lipova: military officers, men of property, young men, boys, women, and young girls. The only exceptions were around one hundred very poor old men and their wives, who were loaded on wagons and sent to Timişoara. As for myself, I and another Muslim from Ineu were turned over to an Austrian, and together we were taken to the officers of the infantry regiment commanded by Prince Louis.23 We were delivered to two officers sitting in a tent, each of whom had been allotted one captive in accordance with their rank of lieutenant. They began to argue with one another about who should take which of us, and as they were unable to agree, they took out some dice and threw a game to decide our lot. In the end, one of them won my companion and the other took me.

2

Ransom

Because the surrender of Lipova had been carried out in great haste and had reduced everyone to a state of desperation, people had taken whatever of their possessions they could carry on their backs and had left everything else behind in the city. Indeed, most people—thinking of themselves rather than their property or possessions—were so preoccupied with saving their own heads that they simply abandoned everything, leaving the doors to their rooms and the lids of their storage chests completely open. I personally witnessed many extremely valuable things simply lying there in open chests, as if they had no importance to anyone. There were, however, a few imbeciles who gathered up as many of these valuables as they could and tried to take them along, piling them onto their backs in huge loads. And among these fools was my new fellow captive, a member of the cavalry corps of Ineu, who in the hopes of making off with some spoils had left the city loaded down with as many things as he could lay his hands on. All of it was immediately found by his new master, who claimed possession of it along with his person. Then he ordered the man stripped naked and searched to see if he was hiding anything else. I, on the other hand, having taken stock of the situation, had left behind even my weapons and had exchanged my uniform for simple civilian clothes. My reasoning was that the hussars and haiduks in this and adjoining regions were for the most part men who had previously 35

36      Ransom

been our own peasants and journeymen and had fled from our service when war broke out. So if the Austrians handed us over to the likes of them, it was extremely likely that they would recognize us and torment us with attempts to extort money. Fearing such an outcome, I had gotten rid of all of my own clothes and had disguised myself with the following costume: a green felt cloak of the kind worn by the local peasants, a pair of tightly wrapped scarlet trousers with light red bands, a red peasant belt of braided cords, and a wool hat of the same color, turned inside-out. I also wrapped myself in a white rain cape and smeared dirt over my face and my eyes. In this condition I was presented to my new master, a certain Lieutenant Fischer, who was “lieutenant auditor” in Prince Louis’s infantry regiment, which is to say a kind of military judge with jurisdiction over the regiment.1 He was a man very short in stature and of such an evil disposition that he confirmed the proverb “All tall men are half-wits, and all short men are devils.” He had a one-pole tent, and no servants at all, except for a single Saxon girl that he had brought from Transylvania. She had a rather sour look to her, but she was still a passably pretty young girl, with dark eyes and eyebrows and a good figure. She saw to her master’s various corporeal needs. Besides her, the lieutenant had been issued a wagon, a tent, and a few soldiers from his regiment, who each served him for three or four days and were then replaced by others. When I was brought into his tent, since I could not speak his language, he made me understand by signs that he wanted money. When I replied that I had none, he was unconvinced and had me stripped. Once I was completely naked—may heaven protect those who hear it!—he very diligently searched my private parts with his own hands to make sure I didn’t have something stashed there. Finding nothing, he gave back my cloak and produced a set of iron manacles, chaining together one of my hands and one of my feet and leaving me for the night under a wagon in front of his tent. The next day, I was put to work, beginning what was to become a daily routine. Every morning, I was issued as a daily ration a half profond of bread,2 after which I would spend the entire day scrubbing walls, washing the windows of the lieutenant’s carriage, and doing other similar chores until late in the evening. I would then be sent for

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the night to the guardhouse, before being put to work again the next morning. The Austrian forces remained in Lipova for ten days or more. Finally, they broke camp and headed down the Mureş Valley toward Szeged, at which time I was assigned to drive the two lead horses of the team of four that were pulling the lieutenant’s carriage. With my hand and one of my feet still in irons, I was to mount one of the horses and to take the reins of the other in my hands. Guiding the carriage in this fashion would have been hard enough, but in addition I was completely ignorant of the customs and the terminology of the Austrian teamsters, not knowing even how to say “Giddyup” in their language. So I had the greatest difficulty—and suffered blows for my trouble. In this way, we followed the Mureş River toward Cenad and Szeged. Once we reached a place called Felnac,3 just below Arad, my master called me into his presence in order to discuss my ransom. Making ourselves understood partly through signs, and partly with the help of his servant girl, who spoke Vlach,4 we argued for quite a while. Eventually, by concealing my true identity and convincing him that I was a man of little reputation, we settled on the figure of sixty gold pieces. Since it was necessary for me to go back to my home in Timişoara to collect this ransom, my master demanded that I first provide him some surety of payment before he would release me. So I found another captive by the name of Muhziroğlu Ibrahim, from the same military unit in Timişoara, who agreed to stand as my guarantor on condition that I return from Timişoara with his ransom also, a sum fixed at nine gold pieces. According to our arrangement, approved by the lieutenant, I was to return to Szeged with the money within seven days, and to this end I was issued an official document, affixed with a large seal and written in both German and Latin, to ensure my safe passage across the military frontier.5 There were, at that time, four other Muslim captives like myself, all of whom had made arrangements with a guarantor and agreed to return to Szeged within the same amount of time. So the five of us formed a party, agreeing to travel together. We left the Austrian camp on the 28th day of Shaban [28 June 1688], walking back up the Mureş

38      Ransom

valley toward Arad for about two hours. We then turned right once we reached Arad and headed toward Timişoara, guessing our way, because there was no marked path, and continued about six more hours until the evening. When we were about three hours away from Timişoara, we stopped for the night at a place in the forest, it being extremely dangerous to travel at night. Most of the peasants in the vicinity had either fled or had been chased away, and with their lands abandoned, the whole region was completely insecure. The next day, around midmorning, our party entered Timişoara, and everybody headed to his own house or lodging. When I got to my home and was reunited with my brothers, I was overwhelmed with emotion and told them of all the disgraces that had befallen me. They responded by simply thanking God for my safe return and reassured me that the money I owed for my ransom would be an easy thing to collect. Then a number of friends and relations came to see me as well, and when they learned of all my adventures, they too were overjoyed at my safe return. In all I stayed just four days in Timişoara, raising the money for my ransom and buying some expensive handkerchiefs and other things as gifts. Then I made arrangements with my traveling companions, and on the third day of the holy month of Ramadan [3 July 1688], we gathered together and set out once more on the road for Cenad.6 From there, on the third day of travel, which was the seventh and final day that had been allotted to us, we reached Szeged.7 We were taken into custody outside of the city, at a patrol station guarding the bridge over the Tisza River, and from there were brought in to General Caraffa, who asked us a few questions and inspected our papers. When he was satisfied, we were sent into the walled town, which at that time was under the command of Lieutenant-Commander Obrist, baron of Nehem. When we were brought into his presence, he said to us: “Your masters and the soldiers from their units have left Szeged and have gone to Erdut and Osijek, in the direction of the Danube.8 If you have your ransom money with you, give it to us and we will send it to them once they have reached their destination.” Then we were placed under lock and key inside the fortress, where we remained for seven days. Finally, we were summoned for another audience with the commander, who presented the seven of us with traveling papers and, as he signed them, said to us, “Your masters have arrived in Osijek. Go there yourselves and deliver your ransoms to them.”

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So we purchased bread and other rations to last four or five days and left Szeged for the country of Báčka, crossing over lands that had been left ravaged and depopulated by the Austrian troops in their wake.9 Here, during the daytime, it became suffocatingly hot, and crossing those endless open fields, it was impossible to find either a patch of shade or a sip of water to drink. Only in the places where the Austrians had camped was there some water to be had, as they had dug wells, which contained quite a lot of water. However, this was at such a depth that we could reach it only by tying together our belts and lowering ourselves down until we could scoop it up with our hands. In this way we passed across this deserted land, tormented by the heat of the sun and the flies by day, and by night unable to sleep because of the mosquitoes—so thick in the air that a man could bat at them with a two-handed basket to no effect at all. And all of this in addition to the danger of wild animals and bandits. Still, we were lucky that over the course of the first three or four days and nights, we on only two occasions encountered a group of haiduks, who questioned us but otherwise left us unharmed. Finally, on the fifth day, we caught sight of the Danube at a place close to the town of Sombor.10 It was flood season, and the river had overflowed its banks in some wooded areas nearby, leaving them and the area round about inundated. We figured to be about an hour and a half or two hours past Sombor, which was completely deserted, and as we followed the trail left behind by the Austrian army, we came up to the edge of the aforementioned woods. Here we found it to be so comfortable under the shade of the trees that we agreed to stop and sleep for a while. But since we had run out of provisions the day before, and our stomachs were empty, sleep would not come. Then, as we lay there taking stock of our circumstances, we noticed, at some distance, a boat moored on the banks of the river. Wondering if its owners might not have some bread to sell us, we decided to send someone down to ask them, and after some discussion I was chosen for the task. If only I had known the catastrophe that was in store for me! My companions stayed behind in the woods to wait for me, while I struck out in the direction of the boat. As I drew near, I saw five or ten Hungarian haiduks. They had tied their boat to the riverbank and had

40      Ransom

lit a fire, where they were cooking fish, and some of them had taken off their clothes and were delousing themselves. I approached them and greeted them, making a point of speaking in Serbian, and asked, “Might any of you have some bread to sell?” One of them responded, also in Serbian ,“Who are you?” I answered, “I am a captive.” He replied, “What is a Muslim captive doing here? Where are you going? Where were you taken prisoner?” I explained: “We were in Lipova when the Austrian army came, and when they captured the city, they took us prisoner. Fifteen days ago our masters sent us back to Timişoara to collect our ransom money, but when we returned we found that they had already left with the army for Erdut and Osijek. We are on our way to join them there in order to keep our word.” Upon hearing this, they began to speak amongst themselves in Hungarian, saying, “What should be done with him? If we take him, strip him, and kill him, in this wilderness there would be no one to witness the crime. And in any case, what weight do his words carry? Who can say that he’s not some kind of spy? Now that he is in our hands, can we just let him go?” Suddenly, a pair of them leaped up and grabbed me by the throat, while another one grabbed my hands, tied them behind my back, and threw me into the boat. Then they unmoored the boat and jumped on board, and as the current carried it along the Danube, they began to strip me down. They first found the three or four silver-embroidered handkerchiefs that I had brought as gifts and kept in my side bag. They also found a silver coin worth four or five kurush,11 which they took, as well my documents, which they tore to pieces and threw into the river. Then they found the seventy-three gold coins that I had brought to pay the ransom for myself and my guarantor, sewn into the seam of my trousers, and took those as well. Having stripped me of my money and my clothes, in the end they left me with nothing but a shirt and underpants. While I lay there with my hands tied, they said: “If we kill him on board, our boat will be soiled with blood and ruined!” So they brought their boat ashore at a deserted spot on the opposite side of the river, and made me get out. Then one of them came at me with a sword and forced me down on my knees, ready to kill me. By this point I had abandoned all hope, and I silently said the following prayer: “O Most Exalted Allah, Creator of Heaven and Earth and

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Provider of All Things, Your judgment is beyond question. If it is Your will that I, Your faithful servant, must die at such a young age and in such a forsaken place without having fully tasted the joys of life, then I pray that You might forgive my earthly faults through Your grace and nobility, and give me faith in my final hour.” Then I said out loud: “I bear witness that there is no god but Allah, the one and only, who has no partner! I bear witness that Mohammed is His servant and His messenger!” With these words, I was ready for death. I looked at the blade in the infidel’s hand as he readied his arm, wondering only if it was sharp enough to sever my neck with one blow, and if so how much pain I would feel when it struck. Meanwhile, the others in the boat had disembarked to watch the spectacle of my execution, gathering around us and yelling, “Kill him, kill him!” But the perfection and grace of God Almighty is without bounds, and if there be anyone whom He has not assigned to die, it is in the power of no man to end his life. For He alone creates the reason for things, and decides whether or not to spare his servants’ lives. And so it was that, at just this moment, the Hungarian who had earlier acted as interpreter suddenly fell silent and became visibly disturbed. The infidel who was about to kill me said: “Why are you so quiet? Is something the matter?” The other, from what I understood of his words, responded as follows: “Yes, there is something the matter! Let’s say we kill this fellow. That’s the end of him. But what about his traveling companions? After all, we too are headed to the Austrian camp, and when they go and tell the Austrians what has happened, we are certain to fall under suspicion. If they testify that we have killed a prisoner, how are we to defend ourselves?” Reflecting on this, the others asked, “Then what are we to do?” He answered: “If we can just lay our hands on the rest of his companions, we can take them all someplace and kill them, and seize all of their possession for ourselves. In a wilderness such as this, who would be any the wiser?” The others took this under consideration and decided they liked the idea. So they said, “Ask him where his companions are now, if they have gone or if they are still waiting for him, whether or not they have any money or horses with them, and how many of them there are.” When these questions were put to me, I replied: “My companions wouldn’t just leave me here. They sent me to try to buy some bread,

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while they waited behind in the woods. They were going to try to get some sleep, because it has been four days and four nights since any of us has had any rest, and we are all hungry, so they must be waiting for me hoping for some bread. There are four of them, and they all have some money, at the very least the money for their ransoms. One of them has a horse as well, which he is bringing to his master as part of his ransom payment. Besides that they are completely unarmed, and if you look for them they should be easy to find.” I said all of this thinking to myself that my companions had surely seen me being captured and would be long gone by now. But I figured that by playing along, I might at least win myself a few more breaths of this transitory life. And indeed, my captors, after consulting with one another, decided they liked what I had to say. Grabbing their weapons, loading their guns, and leaving their boat moored by the riverbank, they crowded into a small dinghy or raft that they had with them and took me, naked and still tied up, back to the place where they had originally seized me. Here one of the Hungarians kept me in the raft while the rest of them got out and searched all around the area. Finding nothing, they came back to the raft and said to me: “Your companions are not here, they must have left!” I said: “It must be that they are frightened and have gone into the forest to hide. They’ll be afraid to come out if they think that you killed me. But why don’t you let me out of the raft, and you’ll see that they will surely come if I call them.” So they took me out and brought me some way into the forest, where I called to each of my companions by name, saying, “Hey, so-and-so! Run while you can! You are in grave danger!”12 I yelled at the top of my lungs, but there was no sign of them anywhere. After about a half hour or hour of yelling like this, with me calling out and the rest searching the woods, my captors returned for a third time and said: “There’s nobody here. Let’s go ahead and kill him!” But I made one last effort to convince them, saying, “I mean, they must be asleep or just hiding somewhere. If you take a good look in those woods over there, I’m sure you’ll find them.” So they went off once more to look, and as they did, I said to myself: “After this, there is really no escape. Whatever happens now, they are sure to kill me, so with the favor of the Almighty it is time for me to make my last effort. If I can just free myself from the grip of this Hungarian, I’ll take off

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across the open field and see how far I can get. If I manage to get away, fortune is mine. If not, and I must die here, then let me die!” With a sudden jerk, I pulled myself free of the Hungarian and jumped away. Having freed myself with God’s favor, I started running for my life. Behind me, the first Hungarian began to chase after me, screaming and howling and brandishing his weapon. The others, who were in the woods to my right, heard the ruckus, and, as I sprinted along the military path toward Sombor, they ran crosswise toward me at great speed, all the while yelling: “Don’t run! You’ll never get away!” They chased me across the field just as a pack of hounds would chase a rabbit, firing a few rounds as they ran. This went on for about half an hour, until one or two of them had closed in to within ten paces of me as they kept shouting, “Stop!” I paid them no heed, going as fast as my legs would carry me, but with my hands still tied behind my back, I was quickly exhausted and was reaching the point of collapse. Then, unexpectedly, a brook appeared ahead of me, clearly cutting across the path followed by the Austrian army. It had a strong course of water running through it, and its right bank was covered with reeds. When I reached it, I threw myself in without thinking, hoping to take cover in the bed of reeds to the right. But as I entered the stream the water rose above my head, and since my hands were still tied I was unable to swim. I sank down below the water, fighting my way back to the surface once or twice. As I struggled for air, a few of the Hungarians could see me through the reeds. But since the water appeared so deep, they dared not enter it after me. At this desperate moment, the Almighty once more favored me. It turned out that the water was not so deep everywhere, and I soon came upon a shallower spot where I was able to get my head above water. Here the reeds were very thick, and as my pursuers could no longer see me, they assumed that I had drowned and left. Once they were gone, I tried to climb out of the water on the opposite bank, but since the sides of the stream bed were very steep, I was unable to do so. However, in the meantime the ropes around my hands had started to loosen from the water, and with a little effort I was able to work my way out of them. With my hands free, I then managed to climb to safety and make my escape. Thus I was saved from those villains. Once back on land, I ran for another hour or more, finally coming to rest at an open place on the

44      Ransom

top of a hill, about a half hour away from Sombor. From here I took a moment to survey the landscape, scrutinizing the horizon from right to left, but there was neither a living soul nor even a ghost to be seen anywhere. Even the sun was just an hour or two from disappearing. As I sat there, alone in the world, I began to reflect on my situation. “Now what is to become of me?” I thought. “Forget about my hunger, or the fact that I am naked and completely forsaken in this lonely wilderness. The truth is that sitting here, even before the sun has set, I can barely stand the bites of these mosquitoes, such that when night does fall, they are sure to be the death of me. So what was the point of all that effort and intrigue, and no small measure of divine assistance, to escape from those Hungarians? At least if they had made me a martyr, with one blow of the sword, I’d have been spared any more misery in this world. Better that than mosquitoes piercing me with their poisonous needles until my whole body swells and I die the death of a thousand cruel torments!” I was in such a state that I even regretted having escaped, thinking that I should have let myself be killed. Breaking down in tears, I called out to God, saying: “O Powerful and Exalted One, was I such a sinful servant to You that I must now face such a miserable death at such a young age? Is this Your judgment?” As I carried on weeping, I turned to the west and my eyes suddenly fell upon a tree standing in the ruined fields that had once been the orchards of Sombor. Under the tree, I caught sight of something that seemed for an instant to be there, and then disappeared. I thought to myself, “Is this a man, a ghost, or just an animal? And if it is a man, who could it be?” Then I thought that, even if it were a man, there was certainly no reason to expect him to be a friend in a place such as this. “Then let him be an enemy!” I said. “I have nothing left to be stolen, so he can kill me straightaway.” With this intention, I got up and headed toward the tree. My way was blocked by ditches, brambles and thorny patches, and because I was barefoot, the thistles and thorns tore into my flesh, and I began to bleed profusely. By clawing my way through the underbrush with both hands, I finally emerged in a place close to the tree. From there, what should I see but several people, who started to run away as soon as I appeared. To my surprise and delight, I realized that they were none other than my traveling companions! I called after them, shouting their names, but although they looked back they did not at first recog-

Ransom    45

nize me, naked as I was. I called out to them again, and this time they recognized my voice. Understanding that I was alone, they stopped and waited for me, and so we were reunited. They asked me to tell them all that had happened, but I said to them: “Now is not the time for questions. Come, let’s try to put as much distance between ourselves and this place as we can, for here we are not safe. I will tell you everything later.” We started to walk as fast as we could, and as we went, I told them the entire story from beginning to end, to their great marvel and astonishment. I thanked the Creator for having emerged safe and sound from this adventure, and thought: “As long as there is life, there is hope. Property can be retrieved when lost, but the head on your shoulders cannot!” It also occurred to me that no one can ever know the judgment that God in heaven has passed upon him. All we can do is follow our star and see where it leads us.

3

Crime and Punishment

That evening, at dusk, we came to yet another place where the Austrian army had camped. There were a number of hitching posts still in place where the cavalrymen had fed their horses, as well as some hay that was no more than two days old. We gathered together a good deal of this hay, made a large circle of it around the camp, and set fire to it, seeking in this way some relief from the evil of the mosquitoes. There was also plenty of water, but we had to be satisfied with that in our stomachs. In fact, for the previous three days, our only nourishment had been the occasional moldy crusts that the Austrian soldiers had cut from their bread and thrown by the roadside. These were sodden and covered in yellow mold, and were at least ten or fifteen days old. Some were bitter, some were sour, and some were downright poisonous, but we ate every one. While we lingered in this place, at about the time of the evening prayer, a saddled, bridled, bay-colored horse suddenly appeared and stopped right in front of us. We recognized it as being from the Austrian army, and when we hitched it to a post we saw that it also had a pair of pistols, a cloth rain cape, and a black saddlebag tied to it. As I had nothing else, I took the rain cape to cover myself with that night. I emptied the saddlebag to see what was inside it but found nothing but some underclothes, stockings and related items. We left these, and everything else, in their place, thinking that we wouldn’t want to be found with anything in our possession if the owner came back looking for it. 46

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The next morning, we awoke and set out once more, walking for another hour or two before we came upon an Austrian cavalry patrol station. The officer there asked us who we were, and my companions showed their papers, which indicated whose captives each of us were. Another officer then came in his place, who took us to where a causeway was being built over the Danube. The Danube had overflowed its banks as a result of the spring thaw, and this place, which is called Erdut and is the lowest-lying point on the Báčka side of the river, was so inundated as to defy description.1 It was about an hour’s distance from the edge of the flood line to the causeway, and for this entire distance, the Austrian army had to bring all of its wagons and baggage through the open water, setting out from five or ten different collection points. We came to one of these points, where there was a great crowd of people, with everyone preparing for the trek across the water in the greatest confusion. In the midst of the chaos, I was separated from my companions and couldn’t find them again. In the end I grabbed onto an Austrian wagon and threw inside it all of my clothes—a shirt, a coarse cape I had found on the road, and a black lamb-skin cap with the top missing. Now naked, I half walked, half swam, and half clung to the side of the wagon as I crossed the water. Finally, I got to the causeway and reached the other side of the river. At no point did anyone ask who I was. So once I had crossed, I searched throughout the Austrian camp, both among those troops preparing to march and those who were just setting up camp. But it was impossible to find any sign of either my master or any of my traveling companions. I was suddenly overcome with sadness, and in this melancholy state, I came up to the edge of the river, at a place where the bank stood very high over the water. Down below, beyond the causeway, there were countless boats, both those belonging to the military and a number of merchant and other civilian craft, all lining up along the riverbank. Unexpectedly, as I was watching all of this, a large boat came up the river and prepared to dock alongside the other vessels. To my delight, I recognized it as the boat belonging to the men who had robbed me. I watched closely as it was moored, and made a mental note that it was the seventh boat docked on the bank to the far side of the bridge. I then hastened back to the camp to have another look around, thinking, “If I can just find either my master or my companions, I’ll sort all of this out.”

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I looked all over until nightfall. But I had a very hard time, because I did not know their language and in my naked state had the look of a young vagrant about me. Indeed, whenever I tried to approach someone, his first impulse was to chase me off with blows. So I searched through the camp by looking into the tents myself one by one, singling out the one-poled tents of the kind that had belonged to my master. But alas, I couldn’t find anyone I recognized. By evening, hungry and at my wit’s end, I went down to the road leading to Osijek. As I lay down by the side of the road thinking to myself and watching the people passing by, I suddenly noticed— through the Almighty’s divine intervention—two men on horseback with a reserve horse by their side, about fifty paces away and riding quickly in the direction of Osijek. I seemed to recognize my master and his horse, so I ran to get a closer look and saw that it was indeed him. I grabbed onto his horse and shouted, “Pane! Pane!”2 Because of my nakedness, he did not at first know me, and knocked me away with a blow from his whip. But then he recognized my voice and said, “Osman!” He made signs with his hands, first asking, “What has happened to you?” and then “Where is my money?” As I could not answer with words, I tried to mime out an explanation through all manner of signs and gestures but could not get my meaning across. So my master mounted his reserve horse and put me on the horse belonging to his squire, and we galloped off at some speed toward Osijek. We rode for two or three hours, and finally reached an Austrian camp. Here they found someone who could speak Turkish, and through this translator I was asked to explain everything that had happened. With God as my witness, I told the entire story from beginning to end. When I had finished, he asked, “Do you know where those Hungarians or their boat are now?” I answered, “I know exactly where they are.” My master then went and asked Prince Louis for ten Austrian cavalrymen and an interpreter, and that same night we set out once more, arriving at our destination shortly before daybreak. At sunrise, I led everyone to the boat, and said, “Here! These are the ones who attacked me!” On board, the Hungarians were still asleep, so I leapt onto the boat and found the infidel who had wanted to kill me. I gave him a nice kick to the head, and then, addressing him in his own language, said, “Kelj fel, ördög lelkű!” which is to say, “Get up, you soul of a devil!”3 The guy lifted up his head, and turning quite pale

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said, “Edes barátom,” which is to say, “My dear brother, we meant you no harm! Had you not run away, our only desire was to bring you here in our boat!”4 While he was saying this, my master, the interpreter, and the Austrian cavalrymen were dismounting from their horses, which they left with one of their men while everyone else surrounded the boat. Then my master, the interpreter, and three or four Austrian soldiers came on board and, addressing me, asked, “Who took the money, and how much was it?” So I showed them the cursed infidel lying on the ground, and said, “He’s the one who took it, and gave it to that woman over there!” The soldiers then began to beat him about the head, the face, and everywhere else with the butts of their carbines, manhandling him so violently that blood began to pour from all over his body. In reality, the Hungarians had divided my money among everyone in their group. But the man on the ground, at this point knocked almost senseless, took out whatever money he had from a purse tied to his trousers. The Lord knows how many blows he had taken by then. The Austrians immediately snatched the purse, ripped it open, took everything that was inside, and then moved on to the rest of the group, giving them all the same treatment. They even threw down and searched the woman, sending her skirts flying over her head so that everyone could see what was underneath. When they found her share of the gold they beat her savagely and took not only that but her own silver as well. Because these Hungarians had treated me in such a cruel and treacherous manner, I had intentionally exaggerated to the Austrians the amount of gold that they had taken from me. As a result, when they did not surrender as much gold as was expected, they were beaten even more violently. Finally one of them, when it was his turn to be searched, decided to make a run for it rather than face both a beating and the certain loss of his property. Leaping into the water, he tried to get away by swimming from boat to boat. But my master saw him, and when the man jumped, he pulled out a pistol and took aim. As he swam, the Hungarian bobbed up and down in the water like a duck, and when he came up at the right spot, my master fired and struck him clean in the head. He immediately spun upside down, his head sinking into the water and his feet sticking up in the air. The Austrians fished his lifeless body out of the river with some boat hooks, taking his money and sending his soul to hell. Once they had

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all of his money, they simply threw his corpse back into the water and let him float away. All of this took place in broad daylight, in full view of several thousand people, who watched the whole scene from their boats or from the shore, asking one another what was going on. My master then sent a man to the officer in command of the causeway, asking that the Hungarians be arrested. An Austrian officer and some men came down to the boat, and bound all of them together with a chain that was rung around all of their necks and then tied to their knees. As they were led off, together with the woman, all bloody and humiliated, the crowd commented on their fate. Some said, “They got just what they deserve! Why would they molest a poor, helpless captive?” Others said, “They did indeed get what they deserved! They were given a golden opportunity, so why didn’t they kill the guy instead of letting him get away? If they had killed him, how would anyone here have known anything about it?” Thus everyone had his say. In the meantime, the criminals were arrested and taken into custody by the officer in command of the causeway, and all of my money was recovered and returned to me. I also got my old clothes back, and once I had put them on I began to feel like a human being again. Later that day, my master took me down to the patrol station on the causeway to get something to eat and to debrief the officer there about what had happened. He offered me some very fine bread and some other dishes as well. But because I was at that time still afraid to eat their food, I didn’t take anything except some bread and cheese and some quite delicious cinnamon water.5 After we had eaten, we got back on our horses and rode to Osijek, a distance of about eight hours. There the main army of the Austrian emperor, under the command of the duke of Bavaria6 and many other dukes and generals, was assembling in preparation for a march on Belgrade. We stayed in Osijek for three days. On the second day, communicating through hand gestures, I said to my master, “You have now been paid my ransom money and then some! So issue the necessary papers of emancipation and set me free.” But because he was wily and deceitfully disposed toward me, he called an interpreter and said through him: “In truth, my captive Osman has paid the ransom money

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promised to me in full, and I wish I could give him his certificate of emancipation and send him home to Timişoara. However, if I give him his freedom now and send him alone to Erdut and from there to Szeged, I can only imagine what kind of treatment he can expect from the Hungarians there. He could never safely cross those desolate plains even if he had a thousand lives and a thousand heads—the Hungarians would surely catch him and do him in.” I had to admit that there was some truth in what he said, since without traveling companions it would indeed be very difficult for me to safely cross that country alone. So I said, “Let me go to Belgrade instead.” But he would not accept this, saying, “Our armies are just about to head for Belgrade. Our general would never allow you to go there now. However, Prince Louis has appointed a company of troops to go to Bosnia on a separate mission, and I am preparing to leave with them. Once we get there, I promise to give you your emancipation papers as you have asked and to send you on your way. But take care not to try to escape before then. Even if you’ve paid your ransom and have been freed, if you run away it’s likely you’d be captured right back again by someone else, or even killed. That would be a shame!” I didn’t trust a word he said. But at the same time, now that I was all alone and had no way to find my companions, where else was I to go? I had no other choice but to be patient. At the very least, I thought, if my master keeps his word and brings me to Bosnia, I will be back in a Muslim country. With these thoughts in my mind, the time passed, and soon enough we left Osijek with Prince Louis and eight regiments of infantry and cavalry, marching toward the Sava River and Croatia. After three or four stages of our journey, we came to the city of Brod on the Sava, where there were Muslim forces stationed on the opposite side of the river.7 With carbines and artillery, they fired on the Austrian forces that came too close to the river, and the Austrians responded in kind, such that a battle raged despite the distance between them. The Austrians then set up camp for the night, and stationed a large number of troops to guard the riverbank in case of an attack. They didn’t set out again until the next morning, and that night I could have escaped if I had tried. But my swindler of a master pretended to be very well disposed to me. Under the guise of friendship, he advised me not to flee, and I foolishly listened to him.

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Thus we departed the next day with the Austrian army for Požega, Sirač, and Pakrac.8 From there we entered a great forest known as Garešnica,9 which separates Croatia from Bosnia. In order to cross it, we first needed to take a few days to find some local Croatians who knew the way and could clear a path for our wagons. We then spent two days crossing through very dense forest, during which we saw neither the sun nor the sky. Once we entered the province of Croatia, the first place we passed was Božjakova and then several other small forts. After traveling another five or maybe ten days, we passed by the city of Ivanić and then came to Sisak, which lies at the confluence of the Kolpa and Sava rivers, where a causeway over the Sava was being built.10 We stayed here for a week or ten days to gather together men, weapons, and other necessary provisions. Once the armies of the Ban of Croatia, the bishop of Zagreb, and the commanders of various Croatian fortresses and their retainers had all assembled, their numbers exceeded twenty thousand men all told. With this force we then crossed the causeway over the Sava and headed over the plain of Zrin toward the town of Kostajnica on the Una river.11 One morning, during this leg of the journey, some men came from the Austrian military police and gathered together the captives from Lipova and Ineu—thirteen in all, including myself. They handed us over to the custody of a lieutenant from Prince Louis’s regiment, who was in command of a company of forty-five infantrymen ordered to stay behind and guard a supply depot and some soldiers who had fallen ill. We captives were then locked into a barn guarded by a headman and about ten musketeers, while my master continued on his way with the army, leaving us behind. For ten days we were kept there under lock and key, and fed nothing but a ration of bread once every two days. While there, as we talked among ourselves, we eventually settled on a plan to escape. Since the barn we were in was built of old, worn-out wood, we decided that it should be possible to cut an opening big enough to crawl out. Once we were agreed on how to do it, we worked day and night, whenever the opportunity presented itself, to pierce a hole in the roof. From there, we could jump down, since the roof was only slightly taller than the height of a man. And once outside, it would be easy to get away, because the surrounding countryside was totally deserted.

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One night, about midnight, when all of the Austrians of the guardhouse were asleep except for the one guard at the door, we put our plan into action, and one by one began to climb onto one another’s shoulders in order to reach the roof. The first to go up were the two oldest men in our group, who had insisted on this, saying, “Lift us up first! Otherwise there will be no way for us to climb up by ourselves, and we’ll have to stay behind! If you leave us here, we will betray you to the Austrians!” So they climbed up first, the rest of us helping as we could from underneath. But then, just as the third man made it up to the roof, one of these two began to cough. The Austrian guard heard him, and immediately called out, “Who’s there?” When he got no reply, he came closer and asked again who was there, at which point two of the three on the roof made a break for it. The third, however, stayed frozen in his tracks, and the guard grabbed him. Amazed to discover that it was one of us prisoners, he raised the alarm and all of the other Austrians woke up, lighting torches and checking to see if the rest of us were still inside. When they counted us, and realized that three of our number had escaped, a great uproar ensued, and for the rest of the night they kept us under armed guard with torches blazing. The next morning, they reported what had happened to the lieutenant, and on his orders they took all eleven of us and, around mid-morning, loaded us into a boat and took us across the river to Sisak.12 Here there was a fortress whose gates were always tightly locked, such that it had the appearance of a monastery.13 When we arrived, they took us inside and a Croatian came with eleven pairs of shackles, with which they chained our feet together. Then they threw us into the castle dungeon, where there were already two other captives from Kostajnica, making our group once more thirteen in number, all imprisoned together. So what was this dungeon like? If I had to describe it, the best way would be to simply say that it is a wonder what a man can endure in this transitory world. The dungeon was built within an enclosure on the outside of the city fortress, and was completely surrounded by walls. Except for the dungeon itself, there was nothing at all inside this enclosure but a ladder leading up to a sliding gate on one of the walls, from which you could pass inside to where a group of Croatian priests made their home. The defense of the fortress was in the hands of some

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Croatians, who were some kind of irregular soldiers from the army of the bishop. These men worked in week-long shifts, such that every seven days a group of them would come and replace the ones there before. At any given time, five or ten of them were assigned specifically to guard the dungeon. The dungeon was built on a frame of thick wooden planks, on top of which there was something like a room. It was always guarded. On the floor of this elevated chamber there was a trapdoor or hatch, small in size, but so heavy that it could only be lifted by means of a ring at its center with two men pulling at once. Inside, the ceiling was too low for a man to stand up, and you could only move about completely hunched over. Here were two stocks made of long wooden planks that ran the entire length of the room, one with foot holes and the other with holes just large enough for a man’s head. After you squeezed your head through one of these, only your face stuck out, after which they put an iron bolt around your neck to fix your head in place and tightly fasten it with a lock. Then they would put your feet into the foot holes in the other plank, passing the shackles on your feet through to the opposite side of the holes, and lower down another plank over these holes and lock this into place as well. Finally, they would pass a heavy iron chain through the links on these shackles, which were then pulled up and fastened with a heavy lock to rings hanging from the ceiling. Once we were fully fastened in, we lay on our backs with our heads and feet in these stocks, and with cuffs on our wrists as well, in such a state of bondage that it was impossible to make any movement whatsoever. We were locked in like this every day at about the hour of the afternoon prayer, and wouldn’t be freed again by the guards until the next morning. This was because the keys to the dungeon were in the custody of the head priest of the fortress and, since they had to be brought back to him every day, they could only be retrieved again at the appointed time. I spent six months in that dungeon in misery and torment. I suffered particularly from the scarcity of food, because our rations were only a hundred dirhems of bran bread per day and bitter well water to drink.14 It was impossible to get anything else, since the fortress was run like a monastery and kept completely shuttered at all times. If somebody happened to come by, he had to notify the guard at the gate, who could only let him in after asking the priests for permission—

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which they never gave. In consequence, there was no way for any of us to buy extra provisions from outside. After many long months passed in such harsh deprivation, one day some Venetian slave traders arrived bearing a letter and some kind of written receipt. They claimed that in Bosnia, my master had offered to sell me to them, and that they, without ever having laid eyes on me, had paid him twenty-two gold pieces. They had now come to take possession of me, showing their papers as proof of their right to do so. This turned out to be a stroke of luck, for it so happened that on that very day the previously mentioned lieutenant—the one assigned to look after the invalids and war supplies left behind by the Austrian army—had been ordered by his superiors to go to Brod and was invited by the priests to dine in the fortress before he left. After finishing their meal, the priests were accompanying him back to the main gate just as the Venetians were bringing me out of the dungeon.15 I recognized him, and immediately ran over to him and threw myself at his feet, saying to him in Croatian: “Is this the way you do things in your country? That after you have received the ransom from a captive, you subject him to months of torment and misery in a harsh dungeon, and then sell him to some Venetians? Is it the will of the most glorious Allah for you to behave in this way?” The lieutenant was taken greatly by surprise, recognizing me but not understanding what I had said. So he turned to the priests and asked, “What is this captive saying?” The priests, having understood my speech, explained it to him. He then exclaimed in Latin, “I know for a fact that this captive brought his ransom to his master and paid it in full. If his master is so unjust as not only to refuse him his freedom, but to throw him into a dungeon and to sell him to some Venetians, this is an act forbidden by all law and custom.” Hearing this, the priests took pity on me and said to the lieutenant: “If there is any way you can help him, please do so!” And so the lieutenant, now overcome with zeal, went up to one of the Venetians and said, “I will not surrender this Muslim to you!” The Venetian replied: “What interest could you possibly have in this Muslim? His master offered me a price, I paid it, and I have a receipt. I have come here to claim my rightful property and go.” But the officer

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held firm: “Both that receipt and the man who gave it to you are beyond the bounds of the law. If our commander, Prince Louis, were to hear of this, he would have the man flogged. There is simply no way I will hand this captive over to you!” Then he grabbed my arm to free me, but the other held fast, and a brief struggle ensued. Finally, the lieutenant lifted his cane as if he meant to strike the Venetian over the head, at which point the latter released me and took his leave. The lieutenant then took me with him back to his own residence, handing me over to the care of the officers in the guardhouse next to his quarters.

4

Death and Resurrection

Shortly after I was freed from the dungeon, an order arrived from Prince Louis instructing the lieutenant to leave that place and return to Brod, along with all the healthy men under his command and the more than 150 invalids in his care. To that end, he got ready as many as seventy wagons, onto which he loaded all of the invalids, and departed. I, too went along with this caravan, still under arrest and accompanied by the guards. However, because the local authorities were responsible for supplying the lieutenant’s expedition with all its food and drink at their own expense, he assumed a most leisurely pace for our march in order to take full advantage of this windfall. By day we would travel at most three or four hours before setting up camp again for the night. And yet, while the lieutenant ate and drank his fill, the invalid soldiers under his care were denied everything but plain bread and water. As a result, most of them fell sick with diarrhea, sapping them of all their strength. On the road, when anyone was seized with a bout of this sickness, he would yell, “Oy, Scheissen!” from his wagon to a healthy soldier nearby, which is to say, “I need to relieve myself!”1 This happened so frequently that, if our whole party stopped to wait every time someone had such a need, we would cover less than half an hour’s march per day. So the poor souls were simply pulled off their wagons instead to do their business on the side of the road, while the wagons continued on their way. For fear of being left behind, the healthy soldiers accompanying them would hurl abuse to get them to finish 57

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quickly. Then, since many of the sick were too weak to walk, let alone to run, once they finished, the soldiers would beat them with their pikes or whatever else they had handy to urge them on. They were treated so savagely that by the time they returned to the wagons they were half dead and could climb back inside only with the encouragement of further blows. Indeed, on any given day some of them actually would die. When this happened, once we reached camp, the soldiers would dig a shallow trench two spans deep,2 strip the fellow of his uniform and cloak, and bury him in the trench in nothing but his undershirt and stockings. In the end, besides the original invalids, very few of the others were still healthy by the time we reached Požega and Brod, since most overindulged in food and drink and then fell ill themselves. When this happened, the formerly healthy men were thrown into the wagons with the rest of the invalids. Meanwhile, a few of those who were ill would sometimes regain their health and change places with their guards. These would seize the opportunity to inflict their revenge, showing the same merciless treatment to their newly ill comrades that they had experienced. To see them laying waste to one another in such a senseless fashion was truly a marvelous thing to behold. There is yet another strange story from this journey across Croatia that is worth relating. At one point during the trip, one of the invalids was so weak that when we arrived at our stopping place, he lacked the strength to get out of his wagon. The others grabbed him by the legs and pulled as hard as they could, causing him to fall and to hit his head with such force that he was knocked unconscious. Thinking that he was dead, the others dug a trench and buried him in his shirt and stockings, and continued on their way. As it turned out, some Croatians were following in the soldiers’ path, scouring the trail in the hopes of finding something that had fallen or was left behind by the army. When they came to this grave site, what should they see but a man buried under a pile of dirt, but with his legs sticking out and waving back and forth in the air. Exclaiming to one another, “Whatever is this?” they cleared away the dirt and saw the Austrian lying there, and understood that he was weak but by no means dead. So, after bleeding him a little, they gave him some soup and a bit of wine and some other nourishing foods and he quickly

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came back to his senses. Once he had the strength to stand up and walk around, they gave him a large loaf of bread, a gourd of wine, and a walking stick and sent him on his way back to the army. Two nights later, as our convoy was camped at the edge of the mighty forest of Garešnica at the farthest extreme of Croatian territory, the solder appeared out of nowhere, a walking stick in his hand and still wearing nothing but his undershirt. The guards, upon seeing him, ran to the officers to report, shouting, “So-and-so, whom we left dead and buried, has risen from the grave! What are your orders?” Our lieutenant had him seized and placed under arrest, and for several days he was kept under guard along with me. In this way we crossed the province of Croatia. After two days spent in the forest of Garešnica, we reached Podboria,3 and from there we passed by the stronghold of Sirač and entered the city of Požega, where we stayed for fifteen days. Here our ration of army bread was discontinued, and instead the remaining flour was divided up and distributed among the men, each soldier receiving a few okka.4 I too was given a share. By this point none of us had eaten anything for more than two days, and we were dazed from hunger after our journey. But most of the soldiers hadn’t the faintest idea how to make bread and were at a loss as to what to do with this flour. Fortunately, during the many experiences of my short life, I had learned a bit of baking, and although I didn’t have any proper utensils or equipment, I decided to try my hand at making something. I was at that time lodged with some guards in the stable of a house that had previously belonged to some Muslims. So I looked around and gathered up some firewood from here and there, and lit a fire in the oven. Then I found some flattish boards and spread out the flour on top of them, mixing it with water to make some unsalted dough. This I shaped into little loaves more or less resembling poğaça, which I then put into the fire.5 Once these were cooked, I took them out to eat, and when the soldiers staying with me saw them, some of them came and asked me for a taste. I gave them each a little, and they all agreed that it was most delicious, since to a hungry man even stale bread is as sweet and pleasing as sugar.

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Then the corporal and all ten of his guardsmen, along with the five or six prisoners under their watch, all came to me with their shares of flour and offered them to me, asking to bake it for them as I had done for myself. And so it was that I became a baker, working all night without sleep. In exchange for my troubles, I kept a small share of everyone’s flour for myself, and in this way I was able to accumulate several days’ worth of extra bread for my labor. By now winter was quickly approaching, and after fifteen days, the captain6 was ordered to depart for Brod, where he was to await the arrival of the Austrian forces from Zvornik in Bosnia.7 Once in Brod, the captain took up residence in a large house, while the men of the guard—and myself along with them—were left to sleep at a place at the foot of the stairs leading up to this house, completely exposed to the elements. Here, since the troops were inadequately clothed, and were forced to remain out in the open both by day and throughout the cold of the night, many of the Austrians fell ill. When this happened, even before they were dead, the others would take them out and throw them onto a rubbish heap at some distance from where we were camped. At this time, it was the will of the most exalted Allah that I too should fall ill from the severe cold. For the first three or four days, I lay incapacitated at the guard post, until I was so overcome with a burning fever that I became delirious. Then, after two more days in this condition, the soldiers said: “This Turk is on the brink of death. We’ll need to take his body and throw it somewhere.” So with the captain’s permission, the soldiers dragged me to an open area about fifteen or twenty paces away from the front of the house and left me on a heap of rubbish and horse manure. There I lay for some ten days, without water or a single mouthful of food, completely out of my wits and consumed by fever.8 Thinking I was already as good as dead, the soldiers continued to heap manure and filth on top of me and otherwise paid me no heed. But behold how infinite is the Lord’s wisdom! For true it is that any man, as long as he clings to an ounce of life—no matter how much he may suffer and despair—can still be restored to health and happiness if mighty Allah so wills it. After lying there for so long, unconscious and

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outside of my wits, a day came in which I opened my eyes and realized that I was lying half-buried in a pile of manure. Wondering how I had ended up there, I tried to focus my sight on the house in front of me, but I was so dazed from weakness that it seemed as if both the house and the yard were spinning and swimming before my eyes. Asking myself what could possibly be happening, I stirred from my place and made an effort to raise myself. But I had no strength after so many days spent parched and hungry, and try as I might I could not sit up. I was desperate for water, my thirst being so extreme that the roof of my mouth was like cooked flesh, with the skin peeling off of it in flakes. Fortunately, the place where I lay happened to be near the path they used to bring water from the Sava River to the house, and when a few women walked by with a load of water, I asked them for some. When I drank, I began to realize how empty my stomach was and became ravenously hungry—and with the return of my appetite I knew that I was on the road to recovery. But where to lay my hands on something to eat? No one was likely to give me anything while I was lying on the ground, but I thought that if I could reach the house, the Serbian women living inside might give me some bread or some other food. Still unable to stand, I managed to crawl on all fours over to the front steps of the house, and as the Serbian women came in and out, I begged and pleaded for some food. Taking pity on me, they each gave me a piece of millet cake and some bread. At that moment, those crusts of millet cake and black Austrian army bread tasted to me like roses and sugar. But they were by no means enough to satisfy me, for those few pieces they gave me couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred dirhems,9 and a man who has been ill and without food for so many days needs to eat enough to satisfy his hunger. And so, slowly and with the greatest effort, I dragged myself up the stairs and into the house. The house was very large with a number of different rooms, and Serbs from many different families and from different places lived in each one. There was only one kitchen, however, where they all cooked for themselves at a single hearth. Their diet was very Spartan, and most of what they ate consisted of a bitter stew of lentils, beans, chickpeas, and bran.10 In all there must have been ten people in the kitchen, each with his own place at the hearth cooking his own food in an earthenware pot.

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Whenever one of them spooned some stew out into his bowl, I would draw close and say, “Would you kindly give me a spoonful?” This I would ask to everyone in turn as they sat down to eat, holding out a broken potshard in place of a spoon, and without fail they would give me a spoonful or two of various things. I stayed three whole days in this kitchen, and in this fashion I was able to eat my fill. Eventually, the captain saw that I had regained my health, and came over with an interpreter to talk. That same day, he sent me back outside to my old place with the guards, and reassigned me my daily ration of military bread. After four or five more days, the officer received orders to bring his men to Požega, and I set out with his traveling party, consisting of a number of his men and two wagons. The winter was by then at its most violent depth, with heavy rains and snow, and during the trip, we spent two or three nights exposed to the elements. Since I was still too weak to march under my own strength, I kept a tight hold on one of the wagons for support, while walking along behind it with my bare feet in the mud and snow. After a day of marching like this, at dusk we would stop and camp under some trees, cold, tired, and miserable. It was here that I learned the truth of the old saying “A man is tougher than stone or wood.” Our first task was to set up the captain’s tent. Here he slept completely untroubled by the cold and snow and without a care in the world, kept warm in bed by my master’s servant girl, who had been left in his care. Meanwhile, the soldiers went off to collect wood and light a bonfire where they would sit together to eat and then sleep by the warmth of the embers. However, since I could not go out to collect firewood with the rest of the men—both because of my weakness and because they would not allow it, out of fear that I might escape—they would not let me close to the fire, saying, “You brought us no wood!” Thus, in the cold and the wet, with the snow falling and nothing at all with which to cover myself, I shivered though the long night. At one point, after all the Austrians were asleep, I crept in front of a solder and tried to warm myself a little by the fire. But as it had started to snow heavily, he soon woke up, and when he saw me there in front of him he gave me a couple of good knocks and chased me away. Sometime later I tried to sit in front of a second sleeping soldier, but he also

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woke up and gave me the same treatment as the first. So I spent the rest of the night huddled alone. The next day our road took us along a stony mountain path. The rocks on the ground tore at my naked feet until they ran with blood, leaving me to wonder whether the cold or my wounds were a greater torment. Finally, we reached the town of Požega, where we were given proper lodgings in a house. We had been staying in Požega for a few days when Prince Louis’s infantry regiment arrived from Zvornik in Bosnia. Lo and behold, my old master Lieutenant Fischer was with them, and immediately came to the neighborhood where we were lodged to see the captain of our detachment. A frightful quarrel broke out between the two of them, the cause being a dispute over some property left by Fischer in the captain’s care, as well as the captain’s use of Fischer’s servant girl and the fact that he had rescued me from the Venetian merchant to whom Fischer had sold me. Before long, what should I see but both men brandished their swords and attacking one another. The fight ended with my cursed rogue of a master taking a blade a span deep in his belly and falling to the ground. Then they took him back to the main army camp, and the army surgeons came to examine his wounds. They determined that the blade had passed through the side of his belly and, since it was bleeding very little, had not hit any interior organs. So they bled him, and then treated and dressed the wound. Throughout the procedure, he simply lay there as if he were dead, neither uttering a word nor even opening his eyes. Then they handed me back over to my wounded master, and before long we departed with the rest of the army in the direction from which I had just come, following the same road that I had already traveled twice before. The regiment was destined for Sisak in Croatia, and from there to Jasenovac, which lies at the confluence of the Sava and Una rivers, where they had orders to build a fortress and secure the region. But after traveling for a few days, we set up camp at a place near the Croatian town of Ivanić.11 Here my master was attended to by a surgeon, while I was taken to the surgeon’s house to look after my master’s belongings and his two horses. My master decided to stay here for

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treatment, and the next morning the rest of the army left us there and continued on its way. We stayed there for one, then five, then a whole month of days, until my master finally recovered and sent the doctor away. In the meantime, I took care of the horses and did other jobs of various kinds. One day, after my master had started to walk again, I was sitting in front of the door of the house when suddenly a man came up and greeted me, saying, “Selam alaykum.” I had no idea who he was, but since one never fails to return such a greeting—even if it comes from an infidel—I answered him in some fashion.12 At this he clapped his hands and said, “May Allah protect you!” To which I responded, “May you also be under the protection of the Almighty.” Then, speaking in the most fluent Turkish, he said, “My brother, so it is true that we are both of the community of Muhammed, and share the same religion! I am a captive like you, and when I heard that you were here, I came to pay you a visit.” Hearing this, I immediately apologized for not returning the Muslim greeting, saying, “I’m terribly sorry. Since your appearance is half-Muslim and half-Austrian, I could not be sure which you were.” Then he sat down with me and we began to talk, asking each other about our hometowns, and where, when, and how we had been captured. He told me that he had been taken prisoner during the siege of Vienna, and had been given to Count Strattmann, the imperial chancellor.13 He had obtained his release in an exchange for a horse and the freedom of an Austrian prisoner, and while he awaited an opportunity to return to the lands of Islam, he had been placed in the custody of General Otto von Stubenberg, the commander of Ivanić.14 Before he was taken prisoner, he had been a high-ranking sipahi in the Ottoman imperial cavalry, and he was also a hajji, having visited the Holy Cities of Mecca and Medina. When he in turn asked how I had lost my freedom and ended up in this place, I told him the whole story from beginning to end: of how my master had taken all of my ransom money; of how, after being paid in full, he had thrown me into that dungeon; of how much I had suffered as a result; and of how, even now, he was so cruel and unjust as to refuse to give me my freedom.

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Hearing all this, the man said, “There may still be a remedy: I am on good terms with the general, so I’ll simply talk to him and do my best to make him understand just how unfairly you have been treated. God willing, he will free you from that tyrant, and when it’s time for me to return to Bosnia and the Abode of Islam, perhaps you and I will travel together.” I was delighted to hear this. After talking for a while longer, we said our good-byes and he went back into the fortress, while I returned to the house where I was lodged outside the city walls. About an hour later, the man emerged once more from the fortress gate, this time accompanied by a Franciscan friar. The two of them came to the house and went straight into my master’s quarters, where they spent at least an hour talking. I could not hear what they said, but it was clear that they were speaking about me on behalf of the general. After an hour had passed, the two of them came out again and went back to the fortress without saying a word to me. Once they had gone, I was left quite perplexed, and wondered what kind of answer my master could have possibly given them. Then, later that same day, my master was invited to the fortress. I readied his horse, and he went on his way, while I stayed behind in the house. At that time, I had been assigned a daily ration of a pound of beef and bread and an okka of wine, and after a month of this I had recovered some strength. But at the end of that day, what should I see but my master returning home quite drunk. I took his horse and tied it up with the others, and a little later three or four hulking Croatian infidels arrived and entered the room where my master was. Then the landlady, a woman of intuition, came out and called to me in the Croatian tongue, saying: “Osman, be on your guard! Your master has a mind to give you a beating!” I was taken by surprise, and just as I was wondering to myself what the reason might be my master came out and said, “Osman, come!” I climbed the stairs, and as soon as I was inside he locked the door. He had the Croatians seize me, then came up to me and searched me for a knife or any other weapon. He found my old pocket knife for slicing bread that I had tied to my belt, which he cut off and threw to the side of the room. Then he bound my hands and feet with some rope he had ready, threw me to the ground, and with a cane in his hand, he started in on me. When I asked, “Why are you beating me?”

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He answered, “Just wait! I’ll show you how to go back to Timişoara and the land of the Muslims!” Then he redoubled his efforts, striking me relentlessly about the head, feet, flanks, wherever he could. After perhaps a hundred blows, I shouted, “Have mercy, I can take no more!” and lost consciousness. So he paused to smoke a pipe, waiting for me to regain my wits, and then started in on me again. This lasted for such a long time that the surgeon and his wife, moved by pity for me, eventually came to the door and pleaded with my master in tears, saying, “For Allah’s sake and for the love of Jesus—Peace Be Upon Him—stop beating this poor creature and open the door!” But that tyrant had no mercy and would not open. Finally, when he had beaten me quite as much as he wanted, he opened the door and had the Croatians take me down to the blacksmith’s workshop, where I was fitted with a pair of shackles. Then he sent me to the jail in the inner fortress.

5

Respite

I was taken by the jailer to where the other Muslim prisoners were kept. During the daytime, they stayed in a small building by the guardhouse near the main town gate. But at nightfall, they took us to a cell between the inner and outer gates, a large windowless room built into the ground and fitted with stocks. Each evening, the jailer would assemble the prisoners and bring us into this place, and by candlelight would lay us down one next to the other. After placing our shackled feet into the stocks and fastening them, he ran a chain around our necks and through a ring, which he attached to our hands with manacles. Then, after locking us up this way, he would place a sentry at the door, who stood watch over us all night long. Besides myself, there were only five other Muslim prisoners held in this jail. One named Hasan had been taken from the fortress of Pakrac in Bosnia some sixteen years before.1 Another had been captured in Pećs,2 where he was a muezzin. His name was Mustafa Chelebi. There was another Mustafa from Valpovo,3 an Ahmed from Miholjac,4 and the last one was named Mahmud. After I’d been with them for twenty days, my master appeared at the jail “Still on your way to Timişoara, Osman?” he said. “If you give up the idea of going back there, I’ll get you out of this jail. Otherwise, you’re stuck here!” I thought a moment about what I should say. Finally, I answered: “Kill me if you wish. Or take me away from here. It’s all the same to me.” So he had me released, sent me down to the blacksmith to have my shackles cut off, and took me back to his quarters, where he once again assigned me to care for his horses. 67

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A few days later, my master decided to resign from his position as regimental tribune and prepared to leave. He planned first to travel to a place called Jasenovac on the Sava River, where he could settle his accounts with the regiment and collect his pay, and from there to continue on to Vienna. I was ordered to ready the horses for this journey. For him, I fitted out his thoroughbred riding horse. For me, there was a miserable black pack mount whose front legs were half crippled, upon which I also loaded a large chest filled with his things. We set out with two Croatian footmen as guides. On the first day, we left Ivanić and headed toward the Sava River, making good progress. But on the second day, the weather quickly turned wintry, with both rain and snow beginning to fall, such that the roads became flooded and nearly impassable. After a few hours, my horse was exhausted, both from the heavy load and because its front legs were half lame. And since I had neither spurs on my feet nor a riding crop in my hand, I simply could not make him go. My master made the most of my difficulties, shouting, “Carry on, Turk!” and riding up behind me on his powerful horse, striking me two or three times for every blow he dealt my mount. I was at my wit’s end by the time evening fell and we reached our stopping place. But praise be to Allah! Through His wisdom, the Sava had overrun its banks, making the river crossing to Sisak impossible on horseback. My master decided to cross by boat, and to leave me with the horses in a Croatian village near our second stopping place, where I was lodged with a Croatian family.5 My master left me under the watch of a regimental supply officer spending the winter there, while he set out for Jasenovac by boat. I continued to tend to the horses. But when my work was finished, I had a chance to spend time with my new neighbors and the other people of the village, with whom I soon became very intimate. Men and women alike were most eager to talk with me, saying, “A Muslim Turk has come to our village!” Some of them invited me to gatherings, or to their homes to share food and drink. In addition, every day someone from the village would be charged with bringing a meal to my lodgings, and whoever’s turn it was, he would first come and ask, “What would you like to eat?” I would always answer, “Don’t cook

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anything with pork or pork fat. Anything else you make, I’ll eat!” I also got an okka of wine every day to wash down my meal.6 I stayed in that village about fifteen or twenty days and enjoyed myself immensely, even to the point where grown Croatian girls would take me by the hand, one on one side and one on the other, and bring me to their private chambers. They would show me every attention, sitting alone with me for an hour or two in the greatest intimacy, and suggesting songs for me to sing in the Muslim or Bosnian style. At that time, I myself was still at a tender age, having barely turned eighteen.7 And while I hardly counted as handsome, neither was I ugly, since every creature in his youth can claim some measure of beauty. At such a stage of life, and under such circumstances, it is no easy task to keep control of oneself when presented with such an opportunity. But the Almighty—exalted be His name—in His grace and goodness created me bashful, such that I let thousands of perfect opportunities slip by. Then, while reasoning with myself, my libido8 would scold me, saying, “But the opportunity was there for the taking! Those fresh young girls were right next to you, and you knew how eager and willing they were! If you’d gone to work on them, what of it? You’re a guest here for ten or fifteen days, what else were you waiting for?” And with such thoughts I would be overcome with regret. Then my judgment would answer these thoughts with more sensible ones, saying, “Here you are nothing but a forsaken captive! If you act improperly and the word gets out, who knows what the laws and customs of this place are, and who can say what will happen if they decide to apply them? For one little moment of pleasure, you could get yourself in a heap of trouble! And what if you spread your seed and leave someone with child, then what?” With such thoughts, together with my aforementioned bashfulness, I held myself back, and a thousand opportunities passed me by. During this time, because of all the invitations I was receiving, I neglected the horses to the point that they became mangy and malnourished. One day, the supply officer who was lodging me came to see the horses and realized that I had been neglecting my duties. Now my master, when he had left me in this man’s custody, had said: “If my captive fails to take proper care of my horses, teach him a lesson with a

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good beating!” So the supply officer called me up to his house, saying, “I’ve got something to tell you.” Not suspecting anything, I went over to the house and climbed the stairs, when what should I see but the supply officer carrying a rope and a heavy cudgel into a storage room. Inside, the supplier had a captive, a ten-year-old boy named Mahmud who was the son of an imam from Lipova.9 He sent the boy outside, and when he came out I saw that he was in tears. “Why are you crying?” I asked. “My brother,” he said, “my master is about to give you a beating, that’s why I’m crying.” As soon I heard this, I leapt down the stairs and turned left, running back toward the house where I slept, which was four or five houses away. Then, without being seen, I crossed the yard and went into a barn or feeding house in the rear, where I hid beneath some bales of hay. The supply officer came out, asking everyone, “Where’s the Turk?” They all answered, “He ran away.” Then he came to the house where I was hiding and asked the owners about me. Since they would have protected me even if they had seen me, they said, “We haven’t seen him, we don’t know where he is.” Then the supplier searched every corner of the premises, but couldn’t find me. By this point, he was beside himself, thinking: “Oh, now I’ve really gone and done it! I let the Turk get away, and if he runs off, I’m the one who has to answer to his master!” In all I stayed hidden in that straw for two days and two nights. Each day, the daughters of the house brought me food and drink. Finally, with their reassurance that the supplier had agreed not to beat me, I came out, and from that point on I took good care of the horses. One day, less than a week later, a French cook10 arrived in the village from Jasenovac bringing news from my master. Along with the horses, I was told to accompany this cook to Ivanić, where my master would meet up with us from somewhere else. So hearing this, the next day I readied the horses and the cook and I set out with a guide for Ivanić. We arrived on the second day, and found my master already there. We stayed there for a few days, taking lodgings with the same surgeon who had housed us previously. It was my master’s intention to leave for Vienna, and one day he said to me, “Osman, I’m taking you with me. Once I have received my

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new appointment in Vienna, I’m going to make you my trumpeter.” He continued on about this plan, speaking most gently to me, and even gave me a new outfit, including his own gray cloth robe, trousers, boots, and a blue cape lined with fox fur. He had had all of this tailored to my size and had me try it on. From this, I understood God’s will, namely, that my master had no intention of ever granting my freedom. And once he took me to Vienna, perhaps he would force me to worship according to his faith. With these thoughts running through my head, and not thinking at all clearly, I eventually fell upon the following plan: once we departed from Ivanić, either while traveling on the road, or while camping at night, or at any other opportunity, I would take my master’s sword or his gun and kill him. This accomplished, they were at liberty to put me to death by whatever method they wished. I was determined to see this plan through. But just one day before our departure, my master sent me to shoe both of the horses, telling me to have them fitted with crampons for the ice. So I took the horses to a blacksmith I knew with a horseshoe shop, a man who was also enlisted with the soldiers stationed at Ivanić as a “head of ten,” or corporal.11 The corporal had a big, hulking son who began questioning me as he set to work shoeing the horses, speaking in Croatian. “When you were here before, why did your master beat you so savagely?” he asked. I told him the reason. Then he said, “Well, if your master is so cruel and oppressive, why don’t you run from him and go back to Muslim territory?” I answered that Muslim country was far and I didn’t know the way. Besides, I was alone, and with no one to guide me, I would just be taken captive once more. “Maybe you don’t know,” he said, “that Bosnia is Muslim territory, and Bosnia is not far. From here it’s just three days to the Sava, and once you’ve crossed that you’re in Muslim territory. It would be easy for you to escape there, if you wanted to. The only problem is that you’ll never make it with those clothes. If you change them and find yourself a guide, you’ll be seeing fellow Muslims in two or three days.” I was greatly encouraged to hear this, especially considering how distraught I was about my master’s intention to take me to Vienna, knowing that from there I would likely never return to Muslim territory—not to mention how much danger there was in my own plan to deal with my master. But I said to the blacksmith’s son: “I have no money, and no one is going to help me out of love for Allah. So there’s no use to me in what

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you have to say.” But he, having seen my rich clothes, and furs, and accoutrements, had hatched a deceitful plot to deprive me of them. He said: “If you give me all the clothes you’re wearing, we’ll give you a shepherd’s outfit, and we’ll find someone to take you safely to the border of Muslim territory.” Trusting in his words, I asked how I might keep my master from finding me. Then the blacksmith said: “Leave quietly tonight at one o’clock, and come to our house. We’ll hide you there for one or two days. Your master will look for you, and when he doesn’t find you, he’ll leave. Then we’ll get you changed and go.” I agreed. Once the horses were shod, I brought them back to the house, and that same evening I was told that we would depart first thing the next morning. I was ordered to ready the horses and to attach a carriage to them to carry my master, his traveling chest, and his other belongings. I was to drive this carriage, and two Croatian guides would escort us as far as Varaždin.12 That night, I had no thought for sleep, only for escape. At one o’clock, once everyone had drifted off and passed into the world of dreams, I grabbed my clothes and, following the plan, quietly walked out and headed to the blacksmith’s house, where I found the door open and lit by a candle. When they saw me, they brought me inside and greeted me warmly. The blacksmith-corporal bade me sit down together with his wife, his son, and his two grown daughters, and they all kept me company and tried to put me at ease, saying, “We take pity on captives. Don’t worry, we’ll see to it that you are soon with your fellow Muslims, just as you want to be.” Then they put some food and drink before me, and after sitting together for another hour or two, they went to bed. I also lay down in a corner and tried to sleep a bit. In the morning, the man’s wife got up and took me to a storeroom, where there was a large barrel about half full of wheat. She put me in the barrel, lining it with a few felt blankets, and put some bread and an okka of wine next to me. “You’ll have to make do with this for today,” she said, “then we’ll see how things go.” Then she covered me, that is to say, she covered the lid of the barrel with some things, locked the storeroom door, and left. Before daybreak, my master arose, shouting, “Osman! Osman!” and urging me to make myself ready. When he got no answer, he came

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downstairs to look for me and found the door open. He looked for me in my room, and called for me again, but found nothing. Then he asked the landlord, at which point everyone woke up and started searching for me until dawn, checking everywhere and exclaiming, “Where could he be?” Now beyond the city walls, the town of Ivanić was surrounded by a moat, with drawbridges and sentry posts. On the other side of the water, there was a suburb of about three or four hundred houses in all. It was still winter at that time, it being March, so it was cold and snowy, and the moat was icy. My master went to General Stubenberg and reported what had happened, telling him that I had escaped. Since it was impossible that I had left the city, he asked that all of the houses inside the walls be searched. The general consented, assigning men for the task, who began by searching the town perimeter. As it turned out—through His divine wisdom—some people from surrounding villages or farms had come into town that night to visit a friend’s house or a tavern, and had stayed up drinking until late. Then they had crossed back to the other side in the middle of the night by sliding over the ice with a small boat. In the morning, while inspecting the edges of the moat, the general’s men had found their footprints and believed that I must have gone that way. Taking measure of the situation, they guessed that I had in all likelihood headed for the village on the Sava River where I had stayed before, knowing that I had made friends there. So without even bothering to search the rest of the town, they immediately sent men in that direction. That night, the owner of the house where I had taken refuge closed the doors and had me come out of the barrel. I then sat down with them as before, eating and drinking, while they filled me in on all the details of the search and reassured me, saying, “We have nothing to fear.” Then, in the morning, they put me back in the barrel and covered me. I passed three days in this fashion. In the meantime, having searched for me beyond the city walls and finding nothing, my master decided that he could wait no longer and set out for Austria. Before leaving, he left instructions with the general in the town, saying, “If my escaped slave should turn up, seize him and keep him. He’s yours!” Once my master was gone, they no longer made me hide in the barrel, but kept me in the house. If anyone came by, they would hide

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me behind the oven, although the neighbors’ little boys and girls certainly must have seen me. Then, as we had agreed, they took all of my clothes and dressed me in a shepherd’s outfit. One day, they took me up to the mountains to make charcoal and had me work there for two or three days. When I asked, “When will you take me to the border of Islam?” they said, “Be patient for another day or two. There is a man from beyond the Sava River who will take you, a relative of ours. He’s just sent word and is on his way.” What else could I do? I waited. We finished with the charcoal and came back to the house, and the same day the relative they had told me about also arrived. They spent the whole rest of the day and night preparing a feast for him, and said: “Here he is, this man will take you all the way to the Muslim border!” Although they convinced me, it seems that the truth of the matter was quite different: this Croat lived in Sremski Karlovci, near the Venetian border, and intended to make an agreement to send me to Venice, where I would be sold.13 But Allah, who possesses all majesty, had decided that the dice would come up otherwise. For the evening before I was supposed to be led away, near sunset, while the father of the house, his guest, his son, and the rest of the family were all at home enjoying themselves, an Austrian burst through the door without warning. I immediately ran and hid behind the oven, and heard the man, speaking in Croatian, say the following: “Our most honorable commander has heard that the Austrian captain’s captive, the one that escaped a few days ago, is with you. Our commander wants him, so bring him out and surrender him to us.” The master of the house denied this: “Heaven forbid! That fugitive isn’t here—if he were, why wouldn’t we have handed him over? His Excellency the general has been misinformed!” Then he offered the man a glass or two of wine and sent him on his way. But before an hour had passed, as the evening light was still fading, what should we see? Ten soldiers coming down the street, led by a corporal with a pike in his hand. When they came to the door, the wife of the house hid me behind the oven, covering me with fifteen or twenty spare rags. “Stay here and don’t move!” she warned me. While the other soldiers stood guard outside, the corporal and a few of his men came in, and the corporal approached the dinner table. “Brother, our general has sent us, believing that a fugitive is being

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sheltered here, and has ordered that we search the premises,” he told the master of the house.14 The man was rattled but managed to control himself, and with a cheerful expression got up from the table, saying, “Heaven forbid! My brother, there is no way that the man you speak of is to be found here.” With a show of affection, he presented the corporal a full cup of wine. But the corporal refused it, saying, “Until the general’s orders have been carried out, there is no call for wine.” Pike in hand, he then began to search the house from one end of the room to the other. Of the remaining solders, some stood at the door; the rest stayed outside. The family stayed seated at the table, watching and listening in confusion, fearful that I might appear at any moment. Finally, the corporal’s search brought him to the back of the oven, where he found a pile of empty sacks. He pulled them up one by one and threw them aside, until he had cleared them all away and found me sitting there, squeezed down beneath the back of the oven. Grabbing me by the hands, he pulled me out, saying, “Pojdi sim, ne boj se!” in Croatian, which means “Come out, and fear not!” He hauled me outside, while the landlord’s son followed behind, begging me not to give them up, saying, “Deny that we hid you, and God willing we will try to find some other way to get you out of here!” He kept up with this, repeating himself a thousand times, until we reached the gates of the city. Once inside the city gates, they took me to the general’s palace, where the general, together with a Franciscan father and my master’s landlord the surgeon were pacing back and forth in a large room. They brought me inside, and when the general saw me, he asked the others if I was the escaped captive. They had not seen me in my current outfit, and did not immediately recognize the shepherd boy they saw before them, such that the surgeon said: “This is not the escaped captive.” I had not taken off my shepherd’s cap, and had rather pulled it down all the way to my eyes, so the monk came forward and took a good look at me from up close. “Yes, it is the escapee, I recognize him,” he said. The general approached me. “Tell the truth,” he said. “Why did you run off, who helped you, what happened to your clothes, and who gave you these?” I gave my answer in Croatian, saying, “I paid my master the price of my ransom and more some time ago. He took the money, but for all this time he failed to set me free, instead treating me unjustly and cruelly. Then he put me in the dungeon to suffer and starve, leaving me

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there to rot. And after finally releasing me from there, he wanted to take me to Vienna. I was terrified that, once there, he would never release me from slavery, or possibly that he would sell me to someone else. So I escaped. I walked alone for two days in the forest, until I finally came upon some shepherds. I gave my clothes to them, and got these in exchange, so that no one would know that I was a Muslim. Then I continued through the forest for a time, but could not find my way to the Sava River. I came across the blacksmith and his family while they were making charcoal, and approached them to beg for some bread. They asked who I was, and I told them: ‘I am a pauper, a Serbian Christian from a far-off land. I came this way with the Austrian army and, falling ill, am now left alone and forsaken. I long to return to my country, but I have nothing, and no means to travel. I simply don’t know what I will do.’ Hearing this, they took pity on me and gave me some bread, so for a day I stayed and helped them make more bread. Then they took me back here and put me up in their house.” The general would have none of it. “You lie,” he said. Then, after a few more words, he said: “No matter, in any case your master has left, and has given you to me. Come, take him to the dungeon!” So the corporal beside me took hold of my hand and brought me back to the dungeon, tying me up next to the other captives. I was a slave once more.

map 3. To Vienna and beyond, 1690–98 (chapters 6–9).

6

Bonds of Love

Several days passed. Along with the other captives, I endured the same hardships and misery as before, and at night, while I and my companions staved off the biting cold with conversation, I shared with them all the details of what had happened on account of the blacksmith. Actually, because there was no other blacksmith in town, after the first night of my imprisonment, the general sent me back to the very same blacksmith to have my feet once more fitted with irons. As he was shackling my feet, I looked his son in the face and said under my breath: “Why did it have to come to this? Was there no other way?” He answered with encouraging words, saying: “Don’t worry. Give us a few days, we’ll find a way to make things right with you.” But after watching my feet being clapped back in irons, as I sat once more in the dungeon, I could not avoid the conclusion that the blacksmith was making a fool of me. While keeping me quiet with a few empty words, he had made off with every last stitch of my clothing. And now that I was once more a prisoner, he was free to pass by the sentries as he pleased, without even stopping to look me in the face as he walked by! At first, I shared all of this only with my fellow prisoners. But one day an interpreter came, to whom I explained my situation and asked if he could present it to the general. The interpreter reported to the general, who then had me brought back to him for questioning, and this time I gave him a statement in which I revealed everything. Once I was finished, he said, “But why didn’t you just tell me the truth to 78

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begin with, instead of concealing it?” So I told him truthfully that they had begged me not to and had promised to try to get me released. After this, the corporal and some men called upon the blacksmith, thoroughly investigated the matter, and arrested him. They recovered all of my clothes and returned them to me. After holding the blacksmith for five or ten days, they let him go, fining him a hundred forints for his misdeeds.1 I was thus once more a prisoner in the fortress of Ivanić, now a slave of General Stubenberg. Here, day and night, I suffered and toiled with the other prisoners. For rations, we were given a pound of bread every two days and nothing else. For work, we were responsible for removing all dead animals from the city and the surrounding settlements. In the case of a dog or a cat or something of similar size, the soldiers would bring us to them and have us dump them outside the walls. But in the case of larger animals, like a horse or ox or cow, they would have us first skin the body before dumping it. In short, whatever vile and degrading tasks there were to be done, they would reserve them for us captives. They also sent us out to work in the fields and pastures, to dig ditches, to thresh grain, and do other such tasks. Now let’s return to the matter of my clothes, which I had recovered from the blacksmith. It turns out that the treacherous interpreter who had retrieved them for me was, in addition to being an interpreter, a sort of boon companion and court jester to the general, with whom he frequently dined as a guest at his table. This interpreter had his eye on my fur-lined cape, which was worth twelve kurush, and came one day wanting to purchase it, saying, “You’re a captive, it doesn’t suit you to wear a fur cape. Sell it to me, and with the money you can improve your situation.” It was difficult for me to refuse him, so I told him to make me an offer. But the interpreter was so miserably stingy that he wouldn’t give me more than six forints for it, of which he made a down payment of two forints and agreed to pay the other four a few days later. In the meantime, he took the fur and left. Not days, but months and then an entire year passed without the remaining money ever being paid. When I would occasionally ask him for it, he would say, “Don’t worry! I’m always looking out for your interests through my influence with the general, which is to your

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benefit.” So with empty chatter, he kept me quiet, all the while owing me money, and in this way the interpreter collared my fur. But things went differently with my vest, which I sold for four or five forints— receiving payment in full and then spending every cent. After countless days passed in the toil and misery described above, the captive of the chancellor of Vienna, a man named Hajji Ahmed, whom I have already mentioned, wanted to go to Bosnia.2 He made a request to the general, who agreed to let him go on condition that we, the captives in the dungeon, stood as guarantors. So this Hajji Ahmed came to the dungeon, and with a thousand supplications tried to persuade us five captives to agree to this, promising that once he reached Bosnia, he would appeal to the governor, Topal Huseyn Pasha, and have us all released.3 After consulting together, we all gave our consent, thinking that after so many years as forsaken captives of the enemy, and with no news from any of us, there was no longer anyone working to secure our release. It was agreed that, within four months, Hajji Ahmed would either return from Bosnia himself, or send back an Austrian prisoner and a horse in exchange for our release. A few days later, as he was preparing to depart, I said to Hajji Ahmed: “You once said that you wanted to take me with you back to Bosnia as your traveling companion. Now that there is an opportunity, why don’t you find a way to bring me along?” But he declined, saying, “You need to get a grasp of the situation. Do you really think that just because the general has been given a captive for free, he should give you up for nothing in return? If your previous master cheated you and took your money, it’s of no importance to the general. Don’t expect him to free you purely out of the goodness of his heart.” Then, one day, Hajji Ahmed was issued the general’s travel pass and left with a man assigned to escort him to the border. The appointed time of his return came and went with no sign of him, but we continued waiting patiently, saying, “Tomorrow he will come, bringing glad tidings!” Then another four months passed, still with no trace of him and no news of his whereabouts. With every passing day, we became more fearful of the consequences, thinking of the tortures and punishments the general was surely planning for us. But after seeing no sort of reaction whatsoever from the general, we took council among ourselves on what

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to do, and resolved to make the following request of him: “Whereas no news of the captive Hajji Ahmed has so far arrived, we propose to stand as guarantors so that another member of our group can be sent after him. Wherever he should find him, in Bosnia or elsewhere, he will see to his arrest, as is required by both holy and secular law, so that he either sends the ransom that he has promised to pay, or returns here himself.” To this the general answered: “So, one by one you propose to send your companions to safety? When the first fails to return you send another after him, and when he doesn’t appear you’ll send another to look for him! Who will be left at the end?” But despite his sharp words, he agreed to send another of our group, Mustafa Chelebi of Pećs, with guarantees from the rest of us that he would return within three months. Once again, these three months came and went, and then another two months or more without any news. In short, exactly what the general had predicted had come to pass. “Now what can we do?” we asked one another. “How can we face the general again? And now that he is out two captives, who knows what he will ask of us in return!” For us, these were fearful days. Once or twice, the interpreter came to talk to us, asking why neither of our companions had appeared and what we intended to do about it. Our response was as follows: “It isn’t possible for two captives, one after the other, to safely reach home without some news reaching us after all this time. The governors and officials on the Muslim borderlands take careful note of the comings and goings of such captives. Also, when Mustafa Chelebi left, we sent with him a heartfelt plea to Huseyn Pasha, the governor of Bosnia, along with other letters to the authorities along the border and to our brothers in religion, begging them to free us of our obligations to our captors. After all this time, we would have received answers from them, or at least some news. As a result, we are convinced that they never reached their destination, being treacherously killed along the route. By law, no captive can cross the border without letters being sent, and there is no way that our companions are in safety, as you yourself must know. What else can we say? We are here in the general’s custody. He can do with us as he wishes. We can only trust in his judgment and clemency.” A full year went by without any answer from the general, leaving us bewildered. Then, one day, I was in the shelter where we captives

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stayed in the daytime. This was only one street down from the general’s stables, and every morning we would go there to clear out the dung, and to bring a barrel of water for the horses to drink. On this particular day, a man named Odom was there, a drunk who was the general’s groom or chief saddler. The previous night, he’d had too much wine, and his head was still in such a fog that he was in no shape to tend to the general’s horses. So he offered me some bread and meat and said, “Groom the horses for me, and make them look nice for the general should he come by.” Although my feet were still in shackles, I groomed three horses to perfection, and while I was still at work the general suddenly came to the stables and saw me. Admiringly, he said to me in Croatian: “Tako, tako, moje sinko!”4 He watched me as I worked for a while longer, liking what he saw. Then he went to the interpreter and said: “Tell that captive that if he promises not to escape, I’ll free him from his shackles, and, in exchange for help with grooming the horses, I’ll provide his food and drink and clothing.” The interpreter brought me this offer, to which I responded: “If I escaped, where would I possibly go? If escape were an option, I would have done so before I became the general’s property.” The interpreter brought this answer to the general, who said it was not enough, and that I should take an oath that I would not escape. So I vowed, “By Allah, I will not escape.” Within the hour, I was back at the same old blacksmith shop, where they took the irons from my legs. I started work in the stables. However, the general’s stable had nine riding horses and twelve draught horses, and the servants responsible for them each gave me different tasks, such that the work soon became too much for me. Among the most difficult jobs was collecting fodder for the horses, which involved collecting enough feed for a full day and night from the fodder house of a country manor outside the city walls, which was then tied in bundles and carried back to the city on our backs. Once I arrived at the stables, it became my job to carry fodder for everyone else, which was an exceedingly difficult task. I suffered a great deal carrying so much hay around, moving each bundle a distance of one or two thousand paces. Besides this, the head cook would order me around too, saying “Come and turn the kebabs.” And the head waiter: “Put that bucket on your head, go back to the manor outside the walls, and bring me twenty or thirty okka of ice from the icehouse.”

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So between one saying, “Bring this” and another saying, “Take that,” I had too much to do. And when I couldn’t get to everything, someone would say, “I told you to do this, why isn’t it done?” and start beating me. I soon came to regret that I had ever been freed from my shackles. Now our general was in the habit of staying in Ivanić only during the summer, bringing his family and relations to stay with him. Then, in the winter, they would all go to a city named Graz in the region of Styria, and from there to the town of Kapfenberg where he had his own lands and estate. So as the winter was now approaching, the general prepared to return to his country. One day, a lieutenant came to me and said, “You’ll need to accompany the general’s baggage train from Ivanić as far as Varaždin.”5 Hearing this, I became extremely worried that I might be forced to accompany him all the way to Austria, and once there, who could say if I would ever see a Muslim country again, or if they wouldn’t force me to become a Christian? I considered every angle, trying to find some way to avoid going, but it was no use. They had promised to take me only as far as Varaždin, not to Austria, and it was not in my power to refuse in any case. So I told myself: “Forbearance is the key to paradise, and wisdom belongs to Allah. Whatever happens is by His decree, and behind His curtain there is light.” The general departed, and I accompanied his baggage train. After three days on the road, we reached Varaždin, and from there the general continued on to Graz, while his stewards and other dependents stayed behind with his heavy luggage. I was expecting to be sent back to Ivanić, but instead the stewards told me to continue traveling with them. “That wasn’t our agreement,” I said. But they reproached me, saying: “You are the general’s captive. He can send you wherever he wants, and can do what he wishes. You have no say in the matter.” The issue was decided, whether I liked it or not. We departed for Graz, passing through many cities and towns along the way.6 When we arrived in Graz, I was amazed, for it is a truly grand city, unlike any other that I had ever seen before. Right in the middle of the city, there is a great palace, half of which belonged to my general, and the other half to his brother, Georg von Stubenberg, who governed the province at that time.7

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We stayed there for fifteen or twenty days, after which our general and all of his retainers departed for the above-mentioned city of Kapfenberg, a pleasant place on the banks of the Mürz River.8 The walled town is built on the side of a tall mountain and contains numerous houses and gardens, inhabited by local artisans and town notables. Since the road to Vienna runs through here, there is a toll collector’s station, and the wagons and other merchandise that pass through all pay a toll or fare. Including the town itself and the surrounding villages, there are one or two thousand residents in all. These residents pay a poll tax and other duties at fixed times, and on these days a great crowd forms in the town center. Besides myself, the general had one other male captive and four or five females, all of whom were kept in this town. Now back to my story. Because of the great number of retainers that traveled with the general, when we came to Kapfenberg there was no place for me to sleep. So, on the orders of the general’s wife, I was sent for a few days to sleep with the toll collector, who had a small room with a mattress and some bedding. The toll collector was a fleshy, still immature youth, no more than fifteen or sixteen years old. He seemed not at all displeased to share his room and gave me a very friendly reception. When evening fell, he took off his clothes, jumped trouserless into the bed, and called out to me: “Come! Take off your clothes and get in!” Like it or not, I stripped down to my drawers and undershirt and climbed in, the bed being just barely wide enough for two people to squeeze next to one another. For me, this was a most astonishing situation. Had another man—a sodomite—been in my place, he would have been overcome with boundless desire, for the boy was fresh and open to everything. As we lay there, he began the most wide-ranging of conversations, asking me about the unnatural vices of the Turks that he had heard spoken of and wondering aloud what these might be like—all the while lying naked on the mattress! For my part, I used every means to control myself, and while I was at moments aroused, I did not lose my composure to the point that this became obvious.9 Sometime after this, the general went once more to Graz, followed by his wife, Countess von Lamberg,10 and all of his retainers. There, as he did every year, he gave himself over to drinking and debauchery, and

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suffered a flare-up of gout. But this time it became so severe that he was overcome by it, and after a few days, by the command of Almighty Allah, he died. The news of his passing provoked deep expressions of grief and mourning.11 After his death, his body was prepared according to their laws and customs, lowered into a coffin, placed in a carriage, and transported back to Kapfenberg. There the locals and their notables were waiting to escort the body to the palace where, for a night and a day, a visitation was held.12 Several rows of priests, who came from various surrounding areas, presented themselves. Together with the priest of the town’s main church, they lifted up his body while chanting and burning wax candles, according to their custom. Then they brought him to the church in which his ancestors had been buried since olden times and placed him there beside them. In memory of his soul, they held a feast for the priests, the notables, and all the residents of the town for three consecutive days, with much food and drink being consumed. Then alms were distributed to the priests and they left. Now back to my story. After the general died, his wife stayed two months in Graz to settle affairs for her two young children.13 Then, still in her mourning garments, she returned by carriage to Kapfenberg accompanied by two or three valets and a driver. She dismissed the remainder of her retainers, all of whom left and went elsewhere. This woman, to whom I now belonged, then had a Hungarian robe cut for me from black cloth and gave it to me to wear as a mourning garment. After a few days more, she sent away the other male and female captives, sending them as gifts to people in Graz or elsewhere, and keeping only myself and four girls and women. I was assigned to care for her two riding horses and also served her, with her stewards, at meals and with other tasks. Because those provinces are extremely rocky and mountainous, most of the gentlemen and ladies of those parts travel by horseback when they visit one another. When she had to go somewhere, my lady would call for me to make ready her horse. For special occasions, she had a beautiful gelding which I would fit out nicely with a woman’s saddle. After leading this horse to the mounting stone, I would lift her up onto it, mount my own horse, and lead the way wherever she

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wanted to go. When we arrived, I would rush to get off my horse, take my lady in my arms, and help her down. In this way, I spent about six months in her service. The truth is that there wasn’t much work, and there was food and drink to be had. But the town was known as a very out-of-the-way place, and were it not for the fact that the road from Graz to Vienna ran through it, there was no reason why anyone would ever want to go there. So if this was where my lady and her children were to live, was I, too, destined to spend the rest of my days in Kapfenberg? With these thoughts, I began once more to imagine how I might be able to win my freedom. One day, I decided go to the town steward and beg him to intercede with my lady by saying: “Your servant Osman’s situation is already known to you. His previous master received payment in full for his ransom, but rather than freeing him, he instead treated him with tyranny and cruelty. He has now spent four years serving the crown in various capacities, or suffering in dungeons, and he has no desire to stay here any longer. He begs you either to release him by granting him a certificate of emancipation or to give him to someone else and send him away, to Vienna or elsewhere, as you have done with your other captives.” The town steward dined frequently with my lady. One day he said: “I had occasion to present your request to our lady. But when she heard what I had to say, she completely refused to consider it. ‘I have no intention of sending him anywhere else, as I have no wish to see him separated from me,’ she said.” I learned this a few days after it had happened, when I went to see the steward and he related to me all the lady had said. But I could not accept her answer. “She must do something for me!” I begged. “If not, I might as well escape, for if I am to be held here as a captive, I’ll be no worse off as a captive somewhere else.” With these words, I persuaded the steward to go back once more to my lady and argue my case. This time, my lady became extremely upset, and immediately afterward she had me brought to her quarters. Speaking to me gently, she said: “Why are you not happy here? I love you well and for this reason keep you at my side. Do you want for something? Is your food, drink, or clothing somehow lacking? Has someone hurt you? If so, tell me! Your work here is not onerous, so why are you unsatisfied?” She said these and many other things, and as she spoke, tears came to her eyes

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and she wept. I could do nothing but stand there as if struck dumb— neither could I say that I would leave, nor that I would stay. I went back downstairs, and the girls and the others of the house came after me. One after the other, they all spoke to me kindly, saying, “Why do you want to leave us?” And for the next several days, I couldn’t get this out of my head, constantly pacing back and forth and going over what had happened. It being the summer, I was then living in a small vaulted stable in the palace, just big enough to hold my lady’s two riding horses and my bed. One day, just before daybreak, while everyone was still asleep, I was visited by one of my lady’s handmaidens, a girl named Margot. She was fifteen years old, a darling dark-haired beauty with breasts like two oranges and a delightful figure. She climbed right into my bed and lay beside me, embraced me with both arms, and started kissing me! I opened my eyes, and could hardly believe the situation in which I found myself. Was I dreaming? Was she an apparition? When I found the words to speak, I said: “Most gentle girl, however could you lower yourself to the level of a miserable wretch such as I? How could you come to such a place? How could I be the one whom you honor by revealing your passion?” She responded: “Oh my love! My heart is in torment and follows a mind of its own. I have loved you for so long, but I kept the secret deep within me. Now that you are determined to abandon me and leave, I can bear it no more, it is impossible to conceal the love I hold inside. If you leave, know for certain that the pain of your absence will kill me. Have mercy, don’t leave! I am yours, take me and do what you will—I surrender myself!” She kept kissing me as she begged me to stay, and all the while her tears dripped down one by one until they covered my face. I was in a state of total bewilderment, thinking, “My God, what am I to make of this? Can this girl be believed, or is this just an act?” But in the end, the passions of the flesh take hold. How could I let a moment like this pass me by? After all, I was at the time still twentyone years old, in the fire of youth. So I returned her kisses and embraces, and we twisted and turned together this way and that. But all the while, I feared in my soul that things might go too far, for both

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the girl and I were two young flames, and brought together we might burst into a raging fire. Then, for the sake of one fleeting moment of pleasure, a person can find himself bound by both legs and made captive to the most miserable kind of slavery, even harsher than the one I had experienced up to that point. So I kept control of myself, and did not sin to excess. In truth, the girl was ready and waiting for it, but I held firm. Making excuses, I managed to hold her off, and then to send her away. Over the next day or two, she returned more than once, each time with the intention of slipping into sin. Eventually, I started locking the stable door from the inside to put an end to this. The girl still kept coming in search of me, pounding on the door, but I paid her no heed, determined to put the matter behind me. Meanwhile, I continued my efforts to secure my release, refusing to take no for an answer from my lady. Finally, she gave in and said: “Since you do not want to stay with us any longer, should I send you to Georg von Stubenberg in Graz or to Sigmond von Stubenberg, the prefect of Görtz, who is now in Vienna?” I asked to be sent to Vienna.14 So the woman wrote letters and had a man come for me in a coach. When the carriage arrived, she made me a gift of fifteen or twenty zolota,15 along with all of my clothes, and sent me on my way. As I left, the Almighty preordained that all of the palace staff, men and women alike, broke down in tears at my departure. Most of them then accompanied me all the way to the edge of town and waved and clapped their hands a thousand times as they sent me off.

map 4. Osman in Vienna, 1691–99 (chapters 7–9). Locations named by Osman (in order of appearance): 1. Falckenhayn’s residence; 2. Stubentor; 3. Osman’s pastry shop; 4. Ballhaus; 5. “Green Tree” Tavern; 6. New City Gate (Neue Kärntnertor); 7. New Gate Barracks; 8. Schlossergasse; 9. Landhaus; 10. New Market (Neuen Markt); 11. Ambassador’s residence; 12. Carmelite Church; 13. Palatine Palace; 14. Schottentor; 15. Palace of Count Hoyos; 16. “Chicken Hole”; 17. Schottentor Barracks; 18. Count Jörger’s Palace.

7

To the Capital

The coach took me through a mountain pass to Schottwien.1 We then entered Austria proper,2 arriving first at the city of Neustadt, and from there to Vienna via Baden.3 Here the man who was my escort brought me to a house belonging to my new master, where we stayed for a few days. Then my new master’s steward came for me, saying, “I have orders to take you somewhere else. Bring everything with you, because you’ll be staying there from now on.” What could I say? I followed him, and he brought me to a place called Wollzeile Street.4 Count von Schallenberg, my new master, was an unmarried nobleman who had just returned from Saxony, where he had been sent as an ambassador by the emperor.5 His father and mother lived in the city of Linz, but owned one or two estates in the area around Vienna. He served the emperor as head chamberlain or privy steward, and was a member of his war council, the Kriegsrat, holding the rank and drawing the salary of a general. Together with the steward accompanying me, they brought me before this man, whose full name was Christoph Dietmar von Schallenberg. He looked me over for a moment, tipped the steward who had brought me, and sent me to the valets’ room. A little while later, whom should I see but my new master’s clothier coming from the treasury with a haiduk outfit of blood-red broadcloth, which he handed to me, saying, “Wear this.”6 I took off my old clothes and put on this new outfit. Besides myself, there was another boy originally from the outskirts of Timişoara, a Serb who had been taken in the battle of Belgrade by 90

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Leopold or Ehrenreich von Schallenberg, my master’s brother, who then gave him to my master.7 He had a haiduk outfit just like myself, and the two of us made quite a pair. Whenever our master would decide to ride his state carriage, be it to the royal palace or anywhere else, he had us run alongside the carriage as footmen. I spent a few days thus occupied and was given food and drink along with the other valets. Then one day our master set out from his palace to the residence of a man named Falckenhayn who lived on Arsenal Street.8 When we arrived, he said, “Come back at 9 o’clock with my litter” and sent his coach and valets back home. When we got back to his palace, my companion, who went by the name of Ratz,9 said to me: “My brother, you’re here with us now, and I’m afraid that you will soon regret it. Do you think it’s easy to carry a man like our master around the streets of Vienna in a litter? Well, you’re about to find out.” And sure enough, a little later they came and attached the straps of the litter to my neck, buckling them like sandal straps. Carrying the empty litter, we set out from our palace in Stubentor, and by the time we reached Arsenal Street my shoulders were flayed and numb from the pain.10 I shuddered at the thought of what it would be like once my master was sitting in it, for he was corpulent in addition to being a very tall man, perhaps weighing as much as a hundred okka.11 At one o’clock in the morning, my master finally came out, came down the stairs, and sat down in the litter. Then the valets lit candles, and we lifted up the litter. As we began to walk, all the bones in my back began to crack and pop, and by the time we passed through the palace gate my legs were jiggling like chess pieces. In fact, my companion, who was more robust than I, was in back bearing the brunt of the weight, while I was in front. But even so, we didn’t make it more than fifteen steps beyond the gate before my feet tangled and I started to fall. My master, seeing this, began shouting: “Stop! Stop! Open the litter door and let me down!” Once he was out, he cursed us, yelling, “Tomorrow, I’ll have you tied and whipped!” Then he returned home on foot, while it was all we could do to carry back the empty litter and put it back in its place. The next morning, we were expecting the worst, but nothing of the sort happened. On the contrary, Allah saw fit to have our master show us kindness. For two days later, he said, “Take the litter and bring it to a woman at the Royal Palace, a certain Countess Breunerin. Take the

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litter and bring it to her there.”12 At the time, we had no idea as to the reason, thinking perhaps that we were to take the woman somewhere. But it turned out that our master had made her a gift of the litter, and when we reached the palace the woman’s mistress of accounts come out to meet us. She had four zolota in her hand, which she gave to us as a tip, asking us to convey her greetings to our master and thanking him for the litter. Taking two zolota each, the two of us rejoiced at our deliverance from that evil burden and celebrated by spending our windfall on food and drink. When I had spent one or two years in my new master’s service, he decided to ask for the hand of a girl from the palace, a lady of the court who was sister to General Styrum.13 So my master asked his very close friend Prince Salm to intercede on his behalf.14 Prince Salm was a steward to King Joseph,15 so he saw to it that my master’s request was communicated by the stewards’ corps of Emperor Leopold. Once the two were engaged, for several days various grandees invited the couple to visit them. Whatever color outfit one of them wore on one of these visits, the other wore the same; and according to their custom, they exchanged bejeweled gold medallions engraved with their respective likenesses. My master wore hers on his upper arm, and his bride wore his on her breast. A few days later, after the necessary arrangements had been made, the wedding procession began. The bride had four lackeys, two haiduks, and a page appointed to escort her. From among the officers, a bride’s warden was also assigned. Whenever she was to go somewhere, he would lead her by hand and help her into her coach or litter, and then follow behind on horseback. The bride’s coach was richly embellished, pulled by six Danish horses. In addition to the driver, it was accompanied by ten riders, each wearing a red page uniform with black-and-white-checkered braids. Black and white ostrich feathers were also given to everyone in the escort. In the month of May, the emperor Leopold goes to a place called Laxenburg, and weddings are held there.16 According to their law and custom, when a girl of the imperial court is married a banquet is held at the emperor’s residence, and the bride and groom dine with the emperor and his wife at a table where no other state officials may sit. On that day

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and night, the bride has the right to wear any of the jewels belonging to the empress, and our new lady was literally drowning with every sort of jewelry when it was her turn to be a bride: her head, her ears, her shoulders, and her arms down to her wrists were covered with gems, as were her breasts and her back down to her waist. To match these embellishments, they fitted her out in a sumptuous gown of brocaded cloth. After the emperor got up from the table, the other ministers, grandees, and nobles sat down to eat in turns, each new group sitting down when the last had finished. Then came the desserts, with cakes, sweets, and ice creams loaded onto enormous trays in piles an arm and a half high. Once the nobles had eaten and drunk their fill, an officer divided up and distributed to the rest of us some kebabs of pheasant and other fowl, as well as all the remaining meat and a dessert for each of us. The next day, as is their custom, a large company of ministers and nobles gathered on horseback, and formed a procession to accompany my master all the way back to his residence in Vienna. Shortly thereafter, the emperor named my master his high commissioner of war, that is to say, his Kriegshauptkommissär. This was because the previous high commissioner, Falckenhayn,17 had passed away, and it is customary for anyone who marries a lady of the imperial court to expect a similar appointment. This new commission came with a salary of eighteen thousand zolota a year, in addition to a general’s salary of six thousand zolota. All told, my master drew thirty thousand zolota a year in revenue from various state appointments.18 My master was a strict man and very hard to please. As a result, the head of his wardrobe and all of those working with him always had a very difficult time. But as for my own service, my master was always satisfied with it, and he sometimes gave me special responsibilities that went beyond my normal duties. On a few occasions, he took me with him on trips, during which he fell ill, keeping me at his side night and day throughout his illness. Many other times he fell ill while traveling and would return home, needing me. Whenever he came back to Vienna, he would, in my absence, communicate to his wife his praise for me and his gratitude. His wife, too, always looked on me kindly. Once or twice, in private, she even said openly, “My husband is very fond of you. If you

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were to adopt our faith, he would make you his head of wardrobe, that is to say, Kammerdiener, such that we would become your patrons.” My response was simply to bow before my mistress and say, “I am not the man for such an appointment, but I pray that my lord will never regret his looking kindly upon me, his slave.” Thereafter, they offered to send me as an apprentice to a confectioner, and in order to not reveal my true intentions, I accepted. At that time, Franz Mansfield, who became chief minister of the Imperial War Council after the death of Starhemberg,19 had a French master confectioner in his employ who was the best in Vienna. I was sent to work for him, and every day would go to his house to assist him and to learn the art of making sweets. Sometimes, I would go with him to help decorate the prime minister’s table with pastries and candied fruits, so that I could see and learn this art as well. Within a year, I had mastered everything, after which I was transferred to a shop belonging to a certain Haveis, a member of the imperial archers’ corps, near the imperial palace and across from the Ballhaus.20. Here I learned to make confections with ice cream. My master rewarded both of these men generously for their trouble. After that, according to my master’s wishes, I spent several years serving him as a cook and a pastry chef. On two or three occasions, I went with my master to visit his mother and sister, traveling through the cities of Linz, Regensburg, and Augsburg.21 In addition to these trips, I also traveled with my master when a treaty was signed ending the war between France and the allied forces of the emperor and the princes of Germany.22 Although this peace lasted less than three years, after it was signed, the emperor sent my master to Milan to settle the accounts of the Austrian soldiers still in France and to organize their withdrawal. He took me with him, traveling by stages through the Tyrol, an extremely mountainous country, and then down to the city of Brescia and finally to Milan.23 On this trip, I saw many wondrous and marvelous sights. We stayed five months in Milan, and once my master’s business was complete, went back to Vienna. I had many adventures during my seven years in Vienna, and to put down in writing all of the things I experienced, day by day, would

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be impossible. The best I can do is to record one experience in a thousand. On one occasion, when my master and his wife were invited out for the evening, one or two of the other house staff were eager for me to join them for a night of carousing in town, and would not leave me in peace. Under duress, I finally agreed to join them, and we ended up at a tavern called “The Green Tree” just inside the New City Gate.24 Here there were musicians playing their instruments, dancers dancing, and plenty to eat and drink. We sat down at one of the tables and had some food and wine, then one of my companions got up and started to dance a jig. Some girls joined in, and things started heating up. Before we knew it, it was almost midnight, and as the hour advanced, passions increased. Eventually, we pulled some girls away from some other guys, and when one didn’t want to let his go, a quarrel broke out. This turned into an all-out brawl, in which we smashed a couple of fellows over the head with wine goblets and threw them out of the place.25 The tavern-keeper was not pleased, since most of his customers had run off when the brawl broke out. In fact, only we three, the girls, and the musicians were left. So he said to us: “Since you’ve driven away all of my customers, out with you as well! The hour is late, and there is a company of ‘new soldiers’26 lodged upstairs that are unable to sleep and have asked to be left in peace.” We answered by hurling insults at both these “new soldiers” and the tavern-keeper and then went back to our business, fully intending to carry on as before. Then, when the musicians were afraid to continue playing, we picked a fight with them too, grabbing them and striking one or two with the butts of our pistols. At this point, a general melee broke out, and more than twenty “new soldiers,” armed with swords, gathered around the entrance of the tavern, intending to attack us as we left. Seeing them, and taking account of our situation, we looked at one another, saying, “How do we get out of here?” The fact was, the soldiers had occupied the entrance and the head of the stairs, and were guarding the door as well. So we decided to rush straight toward the door, brandishing our swords and rapiers, and hoping to force our way through. As we approached, they all gathered before the door and waited for us with their swords bare, but they lacked the courage to attack.

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The tavern-keeper then opened the door, giving us a way through, and we went for it one after the other, I being the last in line. It was a small door, and as I tried to slip through, I took one or two sword blows to the head, but although they hurt, they were not sharp enough to draw blood. I finally jumped through, and from the outside grabbed the door with my sword in hand, yelling: “That’s no way for a man to fight! Come out here, you bitch’s cunts, and we’ll show you!” But they dared not come out, for the first to do so would see a blade come down on his head. In the meantime, we saw a corporal from the New Gate Barracks approaching us with five or ten soldiers to see what all the ruckus was about.27 With no time to lose, we headed down the street, away from the New Gate toward the corner where the command office of the Rumor Corps stood.28 Thirty or forty “new soldiers” followed behind us, all with swords in their hands, while to the left of us the army corporal and his men approached, also armed and intending to arrest us. The three of us formed a circle, each defending the others’ backs, and held our ground. When some of the soldiers moved in and attacked us with swords, we struck back so fiercely that flames flew from our blades, wounding some on the hands and others from below until they pulled back. We continued fighting our way down the street until we passed in front of the abovementioned command office, from which ten or fifteen soldiers of the Rumor Corps emerged to block our way, each holding a long pike. Quickening our pace, we managed to get them behind us. But we were pursued all the way down Graben, Schlossergasse, and Strohgasse streets, and had to fight our way past the Landhaus.29 Here we finally reached our home at Polheim Palace. The gatekeeper, hearing the noise and seeing the commotion, recognized us and immediately opened the door, and we made it inside. All the neighbors, wondering what the fighting was about, came to their windows to see. Thankfully, our master and lady heard nothing of our mischief that night. But the steward and all of the house staff certainly did, and the next day our master was issued a complaint about us from the city prefect, saying: “Last night, your retainers were the cause of a disturbance involving both ‘new’ and ‘old’ soldiers, as well as members of the Rumor Corps, which led to an armed street fight in which blood was spilled. Either punish those responsible yourself or the authorities will.”

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When my master returned from the imperial palace that evening, he investigated the charges regarding our behavior the previous night. There were serious consequences, although I got off easily by blaming the others for the mischief. My companions were both punished. Besides this, let me briefly put down in writing a few other misfortunes that befell me while in Vienna. However, the reason for doing so is not to brag about my heroism, but simply to record some of the things I have experienced, including the following: One day, a Muslim slave who claimed to be my brother came looking for me at the palace where I was staying. I was not at home at the time, having gone elsewhere, so some of my master’s attendants came to find me, saying, “Your enslaved brother came looking for you.” I asked about his build, his complexion, his age, and so forth, and after hearing their answer I said, “I have no such brother.” But the attendants insisted, saying, “He really looks like you,” such that I eventually became curious and wondered who this man could be. Since falling captive, I had received absolutely no news from Timişoara, much less from my relatives and kin. And based on some of the things this man had apparently said, it seemed to me that he must really be from Timişoara, and that he must know me quite well. Then, some days later, the man they had described suddenly came back and appeared before me. At first I did not recognize him, but as he spoke, I began to realize who he was: a boy about my age from our town, who used to always come by our house, because he was related to a friend of my younger brother’s. We used to see quite a lot of each other, and he was still living in Timişoara when I was taken captive. Since then, he too had experienced his fair share of hardship, having fallen captive twice. The second time, he was captured outside the fortress of Gyula30 and was given as a gift to the commander of Tokay, General Heissler.31 The general, in turn, had given him to the Swedish ambassador in Vienna, a man named Count Horn.32 Having been in the city for a few days, he had met several other captives and continually asked them about my whereabouts. Having finally managed to find and recognize one another, we kissed and greeted each other warmly, and I asked him, “What is this? How have you ended up here?” He answered by telling me his whole

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story, and since I had had no news at all of our home since falling captive, I asked after my brothers and about all kinds of other things. He answered by telling me all that he knew, and I was delighted to hear everything he had to say. After exchanging news for an hour or two, it was time to take our leave of one another. He begged a favor of me, saying: “I was able to find you by saying that you are my brother. Please, don’t tell anyone that I am simply from your town and that we were acquaintances. Instead, tell anyone who asks that you really are my brother.” I was embarrassed to say no, so I consented. But inside, I was by no means happy about this, because I remembered that he had had such an unruly disposition as a youth that he was almost impossible to stand. But thinking that perhaps the conditions of his captivity had somehow changed his nature, I did not protest, and agreed that I would say he was my brother—a decision that I would go on to bitterly regret a thousand times over. Not that it did me any good!

8

A Friend in Need

After my countryman and I were reunited, I was soon obliged to meet a great number of other people, for it turned out that he was on intimate terms with practically every captive—male or female—who found themselves in the city of Vienna. He dragged me with him on his visits, although I often refused to go. Among these acquaintances was a most delicate slave girl, originally from Budapest, who belonged to the emperor’s Chief of the Hunt. And this “brother” of mine, who was named Ali, fell in love with her. At night, he would appear before her window, each time causing a great disturbance and engaging in all sorts of mischief. Finally, he was stopped by soldiers of the Rumor Corps in the Neuen Markt, which means “New Bazaar.”1 He resisted arrest and was badly wounded in the face by a lance in the ensuing fight. He then found his way back home, completely drenched in blood. He sent word to me, and I decided to see for myself what condition he was in. When I reached him, I saw that he had a wound as wide as an outstretched hand across his face. “Was this really necessary?” I said. “All because of that woman? To be a captive and love-sick in the capital—and right in front of the emperor’s palace! Not even his boon companions, parading around in their finery, would behave thus. It’s a wonder they didn’t kill you.”

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A few days later, after Ali’s wound had begun to heal, the Swedish ambassador planned to leave for his home country, pending the arrival of another ambassador to take his place. Upon learning this, Ali came to me and said: “Brother, if my master takes me to Sweden, we’ll never see each other again. So I implore you, please—please!—take your master’s hand, throw yourself at his feet, and have him request me as a gift. I’m sure my master would never refuse such a request, if asked.” He was so insistent that I finally gave in and went to beg the favor from my master the general and his wife, humbling and abasing myself and saying, “My lord,2 the slave Ali, who is my brother, is about to be taken by Count Horn, the ambassador, back to his home country of Sweden, so I may never see him again. I thus beg and implore you to not let me be separated from my brother. Send one of your servants to the abovementioned ambassador and have him ask for my brother as a gift to Your Lordship.” So my master and my lady immediately sent a steward to the abovementioned ambassador to ask for the captive, explaining: “His brother, who belongs to the general, is crying and begging not be separated from him. Should you be unwilling to give him as a gift, name the price at which you might be willing to sell him.” But the ambassador answered back sharply, saying “There is no way that I would ever part with my slave, either for money or for any other reason.” Offended when the steward brought so rude an answer back to them, my master and his lady asked the opinion of various high dignitaries about how else they might get hold of Ali, among them Cardinal Kollonitsch.3 Meanwhile, [Ali’s] master had him brought before him and asked: “Your brother’s master has requested that you be given to him. Do you desire to go?” To which he answered: “Of course, my lord,4 I would so like to remain with my brother.” Upon hearing this, the ambassador had him clapped in irons, and sent him to the prison in Leopoldstadt5 for fifteen days, until it was time to depart for Sweden. While he was held there, I would go and visit him every day or two, and as we talked we brainstormed about how we might be able to secure his release. In addition, my master and his wife also asked after him every day, in fact working harder for his release than I myself did. Together with Cardinal Kollonitsch, my lady eventually devised a plan to rescue the captive while he was being transferred from prison back to the ambassador’s residence. Along the way, in Leopoldstadt,

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there was a large Carmelite church, or rather a monastery, and if there was some way that he could reach it, they reckoned that from there it would be easy to get him safely out of the city.6 My mistress told me about this plan, and I in turn managed to find out on which day he was to be transferred. Informed of this plan by my mistress and the cardinal, the abbot of the monastery agreed to cooperate, as did I. On the appointed day, in the afternoon, four of the ambassador’s retainers came to free Ali and escort him back to the ambassador’s palace. I was lying in wait in a corner beside the monastery, with a sword around my waist and a club in my hand, and when they came into view, I suddenly attacked, yelling, “Hand him over!” Taken by surprise, they did so, and, as we had planned, I immediately grabbed him and thrust him through an open door into the monastery. I then ran past them back toward the city gate. Reaching the bridge, I saw that they were just arriving back at the ambassador’s residence, which was the third palace just before the bridge.7 As soon as his men arrived, the ambassador asked, “What happened to the captive?” They answered, “His brother arrived suddenly, armed to the teeth, and attacked us, and as we were reaching for our weapons, the captive escaped into a door of the monastery, which closed behind him. That’s what happened.” The ambassador became extremely agitated on hearing this and scolded them, saying, “There are four of you, and as my retainers, you’re all armed. And yet a lone Turk has relieved you of your prisoner! Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves?” Then he immediately called for his carriage and went to the office of the prime minister to lodge a complaint. Demanding an audience with the emperor, he said, “That slave is not my property, but rather the property of my king. It is intolerable that he should be liberated by force while we are under the jurisdiction of His Majesty the emperor. It is impossible for me to leave unless he is returned to me.” Eventually, the matter came to the personal attention of Emperor Leopold. After closely looking into the matter, he issued a response to the ambassador’s demand through his chief minister, as follows: “Since ancient times, granting a measure of autonomy to monasteries and certain other places has been the law and custom of our Well-Protected Domains.8 As a result, when someone who has committed an offence takes refuge in such a place, no one is allowed to enter the premises or cause any other disturbance for three days and three

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nights. After three days, they may no longer be kept inside, and are compelled to leave. Now, to satisfy the concerns of the ambassador, let a number of soldiers be dispatched to surround the monastery, so that they can arrest and take the captive into custody should he try to escape before the three days expire. This is my order.” The ambassador was in some measure reassured by this, and had all of his own retainers join the imperial soldiers in guarding the monastery. Then, on the morning of the third day, Cardinal Kollonitsch went with a full entourage to celebrate mass in the chapel of the monastery, after which his carriage came up to the door of the monastery to take him back to his residence, some ten miles outside Vienna. Once it got as close as it could, his men rushed the captive inside it, the cardinal himself got in, and the coach departed. That night at midnight, when the third day had expired, the soldiers demanded that the captive be turned over to them. But the priests inside answered, “The captive has escaped. If you don’t believe us, come and search the entire monastery yourselves.” Some of the soldiers went inside and had a look around, but found no trace at all of him. When they reported this to the ambassador, he flew into a fury again, crying: “They’ve used every trick in the book to rob me of my captive!” Although the ambassador was expecting to depart right away, in the end he spent well over two more months in Vienna going from door to door in search of his captive. But Cardinal Kollonitsch had sent him to his country estate, and he was able to keep him there in safety for this entire period, while the cardinal himself came back to Vienna after only a few days. In the meantime, the ambassador told his retainers: “Anyone who manages to find and kill the Turk’s brother will be handsomely rewarded in gold.” Learning of this, I tried to be as careful as I could. But one night, near the Strohgasse,9 in the vicinity of the Palatine Palace,10 I happened upon the ambassador’s coach as he was traveling by candlelight back to his residence. As the coach came by, some of his retainers recognized me and informed the ambassador. Then the coach came to a halt, and two or three lackeys immediately jumped out and came after me. Once I passed the small street called “The Wolf

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Preaches to the Geese,”11 near the Landhaus, I stopped, readied my sword, and prepared myself for a fight. But when they reached the same place, after approaching to within perhaps ten paces of where I was, they stopped and came no closer. After they had gone, I quietly crept back home. A few days later, my “brother” Ali came out of hiding and returned to Vienna, unable to wait until the ambassador had left town. Still tormented by his love for the girl mentioned above, such that he could neither eat, nor drink, nor sleep, he showed up one night at our palace. I immediately informed my master and lady, who asked, “Why has he returned when the ambassador has not yet departed? If anyone hears about this, he will surely start causing trouble.” My lady therefore ordered that he should be brought into the house and remain there until the ambassador left. We did as she told us. Once the ambassador was gone, and we were free to come out, Ali was assigned to serve at my side, and was given clothes and everything else he needed. But after just a few days, he was back to chasing women. As before, this was frequently the cause of fights, in which I was caught in the middle, causing me no end of trouble. But no matter how much I tried to reason with him to change his behavior, it was no use whatsoever. Thereafter, he began to fall out of favor with my master and lady, who asked me more than once: “This brother of yours, why is his character nothing at all like yours?” Eventually, I had no choice but to reveal the truth of the matter. When they heard the whole story, they were astonished, and immediately dismissed him from their service. He later went to Regensburg with an ambassador, and that was the last I heard of him. Many other things of this kind befell me, so many that to tell them all would be impossible. But on one occasion I met death face to face. My master was to go on a campaign in Hungary, and preparations were being made for the voyage. I was to travel by barge down the Danube with provisions and the greater part of his luggage, while he rode overland with his full entourage. He was then supposed to travel with just a few of his attendants by post road to join up with our barge.

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So, on a very large vessel loaded down with a great deal of luggage, I set out in the company of one or two lackeys and a stewardess. The latter was a very famous woman, originally a Lutheran, who had crossdressed as a dragoon and served in a military regiment for several years. She was only discovered to be a female after being wounded in battle. For a woman dismissed from a military regiment, she was quite beautiful, with a long white neck, although she was also a love-sick whore.12 Besides her, there were one or two other servant girls on board, charged with various tasks. We sailed down the Danube past Bratislava, Györ, Komárno, and headed to Mohács. By this time, there were already sparks flying in the tinder box.13 One of the lackeys lost his head over the aforementioned stewardess, and the others spent night and day drinking and feasting with the servant girls. All had their fill of the finest wines and the rarest sweets from the ship’s pantry, and I too had my fair share of these. When we reached Mohács, we waited fifteen or twenty days for the troops to reach us. There we met a famous man, originally a lackey to General Hofkirchen, who had risen to become an officer in the same regiment in which the stewardess had served, where he had had a fling with her. Now, he came aboard our vessel wanting to show her around town. Her new companion became desperately jealous, an argument broke out, and the two men challenged each other to a duel. In solidarity with my companion, I too went along, and we all ended up in a general brawl. In the end, neither I nor my companion were hurt, but the officer had a large wound across his forehead, and five or ten days later he died. Our vessel was moored near a grain storehouse on the shore, together with several other government vessels. One evening, my companions and I had gone out for a night on the town, and as we were returning to our ship, stumbling drunk, and walking along the bank of the Danube, we came across a small dinghy that had been pulled up on the shore next to a house. I said: “Let’s take this and tie it to our vessel. When we continue down the river, if we should ever need to, some of us can use it to cross from the boat to the shore.” So my companions took the dinghy and pushed it into the water, and I, although it was the middle of the night, climbed in and sat down. My companions then left me, continuing along the riverbank toward our ship.

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Since the dinghy had no oars, I began pushing against the neighboring boats, moving from one to the next and gradually picking up speed. But because I was drunk, and clumsy in my movements, I soon found myself, with my haiduk’s robe, my Kurdish sleeve coat, and my Polish boots, tumbling into the Danube as the dinghy slipped away from under me. The water was deep at the point where I fell in, and I sank to a depth of two or three times my height without touching bottom. Struggling with my hands and feet, I fought my way back to the surface long enough to take a breath. But with my clothes waterlogged, and weighed down by my boots and sword, I was soon pulled below once more, swallowing many okka of water as I went down. Meanwhile, since the current was quite strong, it began to carry me downstream. It was the middle of the night, with everyone sound asleep, and no one was likely to come to my rescue in the darkness. As I flailed in the water in despair, I had a moment of clarity and said to myself: “So, this is how I’ll die. I’m finished for sure.” By this point I had no strength left, and it was all I could do to lift just one hand above the water. But behold the wisdom of the Almighty Creator, who never lets his servants die before their appointed hour.14 Until that time, however deserving he might be of punishment, or however afflicted with misfortune, God will find a way to deliver him safely. In my death throes, and completely beyond any hope, His Divine Wisdom carried me with the current toward a watermill. The miller, who was suffering from a toothache, was unable to sleep, groaning in pain as he sat on deck. When he saw something struggling in the water, he got up, and when my hand popped out of the water, he grabbed it and pulled me onto the sideboard of the mill. I was barely conscious, and my belly was filled with water. So he held my head down for a time, as water poured out of my mouth and nose. As it came out, I started to regain my senses, and realized that I was on a watermill. “Who are you?” the miller asked in German. “And why were you drowning in the dark of night?” I went through the whole story, and when I told him whose service I was in, he put me into a dinghy and took me back to the place where my vessel was moored. My companions were still looking for me, but had almost given up hope, fearing that I had drowned. Despite my pitiful condition, they rejoiced when they saw me. But once I had on some fresh clothes, and my head began to clear, I felt shame and remorse for my sinfulness

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and began to take a good hard look at myself. Truly, whatever evil an individual finds in himself begins with the bad influence of mischievous companions. As the famous proverb states: “For man, the Devil is man himself.” And so it is that a person never sees the Devil, but is rather led astray by misbehaving friends, who guide him away from the straight path. What’s more, youth makes men behave like sheep, such that whatever one does, the next will do the same. But praise be to Allah, I was spared the consequences of my foolishness. There is still another story of the same kind which took place while I was in Vienna. Near the Schottentor, close to the barracks behind the palace of Count von Hoyos, there was a famous tavern called “The Chicken Hole.”15 Inside, it was never without musicians and dancers, both girls and boys. In short, it was the kind of place for watching and touching alike. One day, the Serbian haiduk Ratz, whom I’ve mentioned before,16 and another of my master’s lackeys took me there. We ate and drank with abandon, and the wine had its effect. Once we were feeling that all was right in the world, we got up and started dancing with the girls, and the dancing soon turned intimate. The evening hours passed, we kept drinking and dancing with the tavern girls, and at about one o’clock in the morning, a fight broke out between the lackey and someone else over a girl. They called each other outside, drew their rapiers, and a sword fight ensued. But the lackey’s rapier soon broke in two, and he was left holding half a blade and unable to continue the fight. In the meantime, some soldiers from the nearby barracks arrived to lend a hand to the lackey’s rival, and so it fell on us to intervene on behalf of our man as well. I and the Serbian haiduk Ratz prepared to fight, standing together before the door to the tavern with swords drawn, while the soldiers stood before their barracks across the street, all with rapiers. A corporal, brandishing a halberd,17 and four or five others attacked me and the Serb. The lackey, in the meantime, had taken his broken blade and run off. Joining battle, we wounded one or two of the enemy on the hand, after which the halberdier and the others withdrew back inside one of the rooms of the barracks and closed the door. Eager to continue the fight, the two of us ran to the door they had escaped through. I kicked it with my foot, hoping to break it, but

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couldn’t. Then I saw a hole about a span wide in the middle of the door, so I shoved my hand through the hole and waved my sword back and forth from one side to the other hoping to strike someone. Then, after I pulled my hand out again, my companion Ratz, that idiot of a haiduk, wanted to look through the hole. As soon as he did, the halberd came shooting through the hole, struck him right in the throat, and was pulled back inside. “I’m hit!” he said. “Quick, run home!” I told him. He did, but with blood gushing from his throat, such that he was barely alive as he stumbled back to our residence. The house staff, when they saw him arrive in this state, shouted in alarm, and immediately sent for priests and a surgeon. Then our lady came personally to his room to see to his care. Meanwhile, I was left to fight alone, and had to let go of the barracks’ door. As soon as I did, those inside pushed their way out again and attacked me as a group, with every intention of killing me. With God’s grace, I was able to struggle as far as the palace of Count Jörger, with my assailants still behind me.18 Then I turned once more toward them, sword in hand, and when I attacked, they fled around the corner and down the street. They did not come back. When I arrived back home, I saw Ratz lying in his room, surrounded by people. Since my lady was with him as well, I ran back down the stairs, hoping to find a secluded spot to hide. But she, although concerned about Ratz, asked about me too, saying, “What could have happened to him? Is he wounded? Have they killed him?” She ordered her other lackeys and haiduks to search for me, saying: “Quick, go see if he is alright and bring him safely back here.” Just as they were about to go out looking for me, one of them caught sight of my hiding place. “Come, our lady is asking for you!” he said. But partly out of fear, partly out of shame, I refused, answering, “I won’t come out until my lady is gone!” Then someone went and reported this to her. Learning that I was safe and hiding inside the house, she was somewhat relieved. But she was still considerably distressed, wondering how to protect me from my master’s wrath when he learned next morning what had happened. Once my lady was gone, I ran up to the room where Ratz lay wounded, and when he saw me, he said,“Brate, oprosti mi mogu da umirem,” which is to say, “Brother, if I die, forgive me.”19 To which I answered, so as to give him courage, “But what is that supposed to

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mean? Can a man die from such a minor wound?” In truth, I would have preferred to have such a wound myself rather than being involved in this business, because my lady and master, even though they normally treated me well and thought highly of me, were sure to be very displeased. But what use is regret when a deed is already done? The next day, General Starhemberg20 and Count Jörger21 lodged a formal complaint with my master, saying, “Some of your men went to such-and-such a tavern, and after eating and drinking and fighting with the clients, they attacked some of our soldiers that reside in the vicinity. Three of our men have been wounded as a result. As you know, such criminal behavior is totally unacceptable, and for the satisfaction both of His Majesty the emperor and ourselves, the representatives of His Imperial Authority, we declare that the punishment of these criminals is a matter of the utmost urgency and importance. Therefore, if you still wish to keep these men in your service, they must be punished appropriately, such that they never again dare to commit such mischief. If you no longer want them, surrender them to us, and we shall see to it that they receive the retribution they deserve.” Our master replied: “I will punish them most harshly! If necessary, I will give each of them a thousand lashes, and throw them in shackles until they have learned their lesson!” He then began an investigation, wanting to know everyone who was involved in the fight. The steward said: “The wounded Serb Ratz and the other lackey must have been the ones who started it. Evidently, they pressured Osman into going along, because it’s entirely unlike him to frequent such a place, and he would never have gone otherwise.” To this the steward added many other marvelous words in my defense, inasmuch as our lady had instructed him to say whatever was necessary to save me. She herself also spoke at length in my defense, hoping to spare me a flogging. In the end, the Serb was left with only his battle wound as punishment, although the other lackey was treated very harshly. As for myself, for a few days, whenever my master caught sight of me, he yelled, “You! I’ll do this to you, and that to you!” And that was it.

9

An Unexpected Turn of Events

Now a great many other events of this kind took place, but if I were to tell them all one by one, this tale of mine would be very long indeed. To make a long story short, I lived in Vienna for seven years, and did many things. For four or five years, I worked in the service of a restauranteur and a pastry chef, and there I saw a great deal, both good and bad. Since I was responsible for the storehouse accounts. a considerable amount of silver also passed through my hands. After covering all the regular expenses, I was allowed to keep whatever money was left over at the end of the month, which was a lot. In this way, although I didn’t have wages of my own, I earned far more than that in tips.1 But I was incapable of saving any. Mostly, I spent it eating and drinking at restaurants, where I met with my countrymen for evenings on the town.2 Several times each year, my masters would host a social event at our residence, and whenever they did, I would prepare all the necessary ice creams, sherbets, chocolates, and other delicacies. At the end of the evening, I would earn my fair share of gold from the card tables. That is to say, they would put out twenty or thirty tables for the guests to play, and at each table, they would leave sometimes three, sometimes four, sometimes two gold coins, which together would total a hundred gold pieces or more. Our lady would give most of this to the service girls as a tip, but I too would end up with ten or fifteen, or sometimes as many as twenty coins for myself. I got along well with the rest of the house staff. In particular, there were three Muslims, two girls and one adult woman, working in our 109

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palace. Our lady, while she was still living in her parents’ home, had sent the girls to a convent for their education, and then brought them with her once she was married and came to live with our master. One of these girls was originally from Arad.3 In the year of the siege of Budapest, General Heissler marched with twelve thousand soldiers on the city of Szolnok, the fort at Szarvas, and the town of Arad, burning them to the ground.4 Among those that were taken captive was this girl, who was the daughter of the late Hazinedar Ali Agha.5 She was seven years old at the time, and was fourteen when she came with our lady to live in our master’s house. She was an extremely graceful and well-mannered girl, being the daughter of a man of high rank. Our steward, Seyfried von Eyrsperg, was deeply in love with her. The second girl had been captured together with her mother at the siege of Budapest. She was very young at the time, and was taken from her mother and raised in a monastery. She came to our palace when she was eleven years old. She was also a very beautiful girl, although her manners were a little too bold, for which, on occasion, she got a beating from our lady. The third Muslim in our household was had been taken captive in the Austrian campaign against Belgrade led by the prince of Bavaria and the duke of Lorraine.6 She was originally the daughter of a hajji from Timişoara and was married to a military man serving in Belgrade as a corbacı or haseki.7 During the siege, she was seized by a cavalryman. But after he brought her out of the city, the commander of his regiment, Count Mercy, who is today the governor of Timişoara, laid eyes on her.8 As she was young, graceful, and elegantly dressed, he was struck by her, and wanted her for himself. But the cavalryman could not be moved to part with her, either through sweet words or promises of money, and refused the count’s request. Now according to the laws and customs of the Hungarian army, officers have the right to claim for themselves any captives taken by their troops without compensation. This being the case, the count decided to force the cavalryman to hand over the woman. But the latter instead drew a pair of pistols from his belt and fired two bullets at the woman, wounding her on the side of the head with his first shot, and a second time on the leg as she fell from the first wound. He did this to deprive anyone else of her if she could not remain his own.

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Although she was badly wounded, the count took her with him back to his tent and ordered his surgeon to care for her. After two months of intensive treatment, she was restored to health, and the count took her to his mother in Metz, a large city in his home province of Lorraine.9 She lived there for a few years, after which she escaped and made her way to the city of Pécs.10 Then Cardinal Kollonitsch came there in search of stray captives and recaptured her. Thereafter, our mistress requested her from the cardinal, and this was how she came to our household. In all, she and I were there together for three or four years. During this time, there was a development involving Eyrsperg, the steward of our household and a shameless skirt-chaser, which would eventually open a path for me to regain my freedom. This man was originally from a place they call Neustadt, meaning “New City,” which is a town some twelve leagues from Vienna. His father was the burgermeister of Neustadt, which is to say the city prefect, and in this capacity had responsibility for Chonka Bey, the famous lord of Novigrad, following his capture.11 The prefect lodged Chonka Bey in his own home, together with his family, and as a result the steward had learned quite a lot of Turkish. One night, while my master and lady were out for the evening and there was no one else at home, the steward got good and drunk and entered the servant girls’ room. He went to the bed of the young girl from Budapest, who was not yet thirteen years of age, and looked more like nine or ten. Caressing her here and there, and telling her who knows what, he managed to get into her bed and to break the seal of her virginity. When the deed was done, he then tried to hide the evidence by wiping away the blood with his handkerchief, but to no avail. The next morning, the girl came to me in tears, pleading: “My dear countryman, something has happened to me this night, and if you ask what, it is this: Our steward came to my bed while I was sleeping, and led me astray like a devil. Partly through persuasion, partly through force, he took my virginity, and has broken me. My bed is covered in blood. Now what is to become of me? If our mistress finds out, she’ll kill me. And if it turns out that I am pregnant, my greatest fear, there

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will be no way to conceal it.” Hearing all this, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. So I asked her: “Have you told your secret to anyone else?” “No,” she said. I told her: “Whatever you do, don’t say another word to anyone. You must keep this a secret. If word gets out and the mistress hears of it, she’ll kill you for sure. So you must do exactly as I say.” The girl agreed not to say anything else to anyone and to have patience. Later that morning, I went to see the steward and what did I find? He had gotten up early and was looking out the window onto the street, lost in thought. Trying to gain his confidence, I said: “What’s this? You look worried, and out of sorts! Why so gloomy?” He immediately blushed, and began to fumble an answer, saying: “What do you mean? Why would you ask me that?” I said: “I don’t know. But this morning, the young girl came to me in tears and told me all about something that happened last night. She’s terrified, and if the madame hears anything, no good will come of it.” At this, his complexion turned an even darker shade of red. “Really? What happened?” he asked. “What do you think happened?” I said. “You’ve taken her maidenhood and ruined her, and now she’s afraid that she may be pregnant. That’s no small thing. If anyone finds out, you know what will happen. And to think, you are the one responsible for the entire household, charged with preventing others from doing this sort of thing! I certainly never would have expected something like this from you. Now what remedy do you propose?” Hearing this, he was bewildered and unable to answer. He stood there for a time in silence. Finally, I said: “Don’t worry. I can take care of this for you. I’ll see to it that the girl tells no one else about this. It will remain between us.” At this, the steward came back to his senses, and began promising me all manner of favors. I answered by saying that I was a person of lowly rank and was in no position to demand a favor from someone like him. But in the current situation, our master and lady would surely dismiss him from their service within the hour if they ever heard what happened, and might be so enraged as to order an even more severe punishment than that. So he insisted, declaring: “If it is in your power to take care of this matter discreetly, then do so. In return, I swear that in the future I will help you in any way I can, no matter what it might be that you need of me.” So I agreed to do as I had already promised and to handle the matter as we had discussed—no

An Unexpected Turn of Events    113

one outside of our room was to know anything. The only exception was the young Muslim girl who had been the steward’s lover, and I had already severely warned her against speaking to anyone. And so, in this way, the steward came under my power. From then on, he was always respectful and deferential in my regard and was never able to say a single word against me. It was at this time, in the one thousand and seven hundredth year of Jesus—may peace be upon Him—that by order of the most exalted Allah certain intermediaries arranged a meeting between representatives of the Ottoman and Habsburg empires to discuss the terms of an armistice at a place called Karlowitz.12 After long and arduous negotiations an agreement was struck and peace was established between the two sides.13 I myself saw the courier from Petrovarardin who passed before the walls of Vienna blowing his horn in order to announce the glad tidings. As the news of peace between the two sides spread far and wide, most Muslim captives—men as well as women, and those who had converted as well as those who had not—all made plans to return to their native countries. Some did so through the intercession of Cardinal Kollonitsch, others through organized prisoner exchanges, and still others by whatever opportunity happened to present itself, all assembling into groups and beginning to depart. I too was very eager to leave, but I could not find a way to make my desire known to my master and lady. I wracked my brains trying to come up with the best strategy, but I could never in the end bring myself to go through with it. In the meantime, I consulted with some other captives in Vienna and found a suitable companion for the eventual trip. He was a young man known as Mehmed Sipahi, who was originally from the administrative district of Strumica, and had served in the Rumelian cavalry corps.14 He was taken prisoner at the siege of Budapest and became a captive of General Dünewald.15 Pretending to convert to Christianity, he then married one of the Muslim women who had fallen captive to the general, a woman known as “the Little Lady” who was famous for her beauty, and who had previously been the wife of the alaybey of Esztergom.16 This Mehmed knew some French as well as Italian and German, and the two of us formed a partnership, agreeing to depart together.

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Then, just as I was gathering my provisions, and trying to come up with some sort of plan, who should happen by and see me lost in thought but the steward! He asked me what was the matter, and before answering I made him swear that he would keep anything I told him in strict confidence. Then I revealed my secret as follows: “I am a Muslim by birth and belief. By the command of Allah it was my fate to be taken captive and held in bondage. Although I paid my full ransom price to my captor, I was subjected to all manner of cruelty and injustice rather than earning my freedom and labored for years as a slave. I too have kin and family. My siblings and relations are all waiting for me in my homeland, and all I wish for is to return to them. If I ask our master for permission to do so, do you think he will grant it?” The steward thought for a minute, then answered: “No, I think not, because the master and lady love you well and would feel your loss too deeply. Indeed, they think so highly of your service that they hope to free you and make you their protégé. The truth is that they would have done so already if you had shown any inclination to embrace our faith. That being the case, it seems obvious that they would not willingly grant you leave to depart. So if you are sure that this is your desire, you must arrange to do so in some other way. Keep your eyes open, and when a possibility presents itself, take advantage of it. Should you need it, you will find that help from me will not be lacking.” I spent the next day or two considering my options. The other Muslims who had been gathering under the auspices of the cardinal were about to be transferred to the frontier, where they would certainly be exchanged for prisoners from the other side. But if I were to try to join them, the cardinal was likely not to accept me, out of consideration for my master and lady. And if he did reject me, and they ended up hearing about it, they would be disgusted with me. Meanwhile, there were other captive men and women who were now inventing every excuse to travel to Budapest or elsewhere in order eventually to escape back to Ottoman territory, despite having converted to idolatry.17 A large group that had come all the way from Saxony were even now making their way by ship down the Danube toward freedom. I now knew German quite well, praise Allah, and I could easily pass for one of them, particularly if I planned in advance and dressed appropriately. So I decided to try this and told my intention to the steward, who agreed that it was a worthy idea.

An Unexpected Turn of Events    115

Having settled on this plan, I began to consider what I would need to put it into effect. Above all, a travel document, certified with my master’s sign and seal, would be most useful and also easy to obtain, since I had the key to my master’s office. When he and his wife went out in the morning, I used it to let the chambermaids in to sweep the floor and make up the bed. When they were finished cleaning, I would close up the rooms myself and leave the key in the pantry closet. When the master returned, I then opened the rooms again. So I had easy access to his seal. Besides this, the steward had another, larger copy of this seal in his possession. This was the one always used when documents were sent out that required a great seal. So we had the seals. But I still needed to reproduce his signature, Christoph Dietmar, Count von Schallenberg, with a single stroke of the pen. How was I to do that? I happened to already have a good number of letters and other registers and documents bearing the master’s signature, so I practiced copying it. I did this by placing a signed letter under a pane of glass, fitting a large sheet of paper above it so that the image showed through, and then tracing the signature as if it were a drawing. The result wasn’t half bad. Now the steward was also eager to help send me on my way, reasoning that on account of the secret I knew about him, I was the only person in the household whom he had reason to fear. If he could get rid of me, he would no longer have anything to fear from anyone. So he drafted the text of my travel document, which stated that I had originally been a Muslim but had accepted the Christian faith, that I was single, that I was now authorized to travel to Budapest and Petrovaradin and to take up residence there, and that no one was to hinder my movements during my travels or to otherwise molest me after my arrival. In this way, I had what seemed to be a perfectly legitimate travel document, complete with my master’s seal affixed and with his signature traced out in the manner described above. It looked completely convincing. Having prepared my papers, all that was left was to pack my bags and wait for the right opportunity for departure to present itself. This came at the beginning of May, a time when most of the grandees of Vienna and their wives left for the countryside. One place they often went was to the thermal baths of Teplice, which are about six miles from Vienna.18 That year, my master and his wife decided to visit these

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baths, planning to leave at the beginning of May, with the intention of staying there for the entire month. When the time came, they set out with only a few attendants. This was my chance, so I began readying myself for my own journey. First, I turned over to the steward all of the fine silverware and showed him everything else from the storerooms for which I was responsible. Making sure that it was all accounted for in the registry, I then handed the keys over to him. With everything in his possession, we agreed that when asked about my whereabouts, he would answer as follows: “I don’t know. Every time he goes somewhere, he always brings the keys and leaves them with me, and that is just what he did this time. After a couple of days passed and he didn’t return, I checked the storehouse to make sure everything was in order. But there was not a piaster’s worth of anything missing, so I didn’t see any reason to send someone after him.” Meanwhile, there was a merchant vessel in Vienna that was just about to leave for Budapest and Petrovarardin, and I went to speak with its owner. His name, or rather surname, was Kupferschmied. He was a merchant who had loaded his ship with all manner of supplies for the army, including drink, food, clothing, and other goods that he was taking downriver. He agreed to take me with him and to bring me as far as Budapest. For this I paid him a fare of two gold pieces. Then, just as everything was set for my departure, there was a hitch. The Muslim woman I mentioned above, the one whom Cardinal Kollonitsch had given to my mistress, got wind of my plans and came to me in tears.19 With pitiful wails and a thousand pleas, she begged me to take her with me, saying: “Please! Don’t leave me! Bring me with you to safety!” This put me in a very difficult position. On the one hand, since we shared the same faith and were from the same hometown, I did want to help her. On the other hand, I could see that it could cause no end of trouble, since my traveling companion, Mehmed Sipahi, was already bringing his own wife and his small daughter, who was three or four years old. Wondering what to do, I consulted with him about the best course of action. In the end, we decided that the woman should pretend to be my wife, and that Mehmed Sipahi and his wife should pass as our servants. I went back to the owner of the ship and

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told him this, and he showed us a suitable place on board for the four of us, assigning this to our group. For the journey, I then got permission from the steward to take four big bottles of the best Tokay wine, as well as some Tyrolese wine and a few other wines from the master’s cellar, and loaded these onto the ship. I also loaded plenty of things to eat, a set of bedding, and an assortment of the finest weapons, including a pair of excellent pistols, a flintlock, and a high-quality carbine. I had long black hair, and wore a Genoese linen vest with white stripes, trousers, thin stockings and matching shoes, and a blue broadcloth cape. In a separate chest, I also kept a separate set of clothes and a doublebreasted waistcoat. Altogether, I looked like any ordinary military officer, and no one would have ever supposed from my appearance that I was a Muslim. The woman by my side was also dressed smartly and convincingly looked the part of an officer’s wife. The other two had clothes in the Austrian style appropriate to their rank. We all agreed never to utter a word of Turkish and always to address one another in German. In my new outfit, I went to see the steward one last time. Bidding him farewell, I said: “If we encounter any obstacle on our way, I will write to you. But if I do so, take care to guard the letter carefully and speak of it to no one.” He gave me his word, and we said our good-byes.

map 5. Osman’s run for the border (chapters 10–13).

10

Into the Lion’s Den

We departed on the thirty-fifth day of Lent, boarding our vessel in Leopoldstadt near Vienna’s Red Tower Gate and descending down the river toward Bratislava.1 Although a contrary wind obliged us to stop for a while every day, we made good progress. During the trip, we frequently invited the owner of the ship to dine with us, together with one or two other passengers on board, and shared with him some bottles of Tokay along with the rest of our wine. As a result, he began to hold us in very high regard and to treat us with respect and generosity. One morning, when we had passed Esztergom and were approaching Budapest, a bit downstream from Visegrád, we ran into a very violent wind that made it impossible for the ship to continue.2 Impatient for the journey to be over, I boarded a small fishing boat to go the rest of the way to Budapest, along with the woman traveling with me. The boat had four rowers, but there was so much wind, and so many waves sweeping across the Danube, that we nearly capsized and died a hundred times before finally reaching Budapest and safely disembarking. As we were the first of our party to reach the city, I went looking for a nearby hotel. I had to be careful, since there were people there who knew me and might very well betray me to the authorities if they happened to recognize me. In the end, we spent the night in a small tavern outside the city walls, on the side facing Vienna. Our ship arrived the next day and was planning to stop there for five or ten days. We were eager to continue on our way as quickly as possible, with no intention of remaining so long in Budapest. But 119

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because we were unable to find another vessel right away, it being just two days till “red-egg” Easter,3 we were obliged to lodge in a guesthouse run by an old widow. On Easter Sunday, when we had been there for two days and two nights, all the Christians headed to their churches for religious services. But because the four of us did not go out, keeping to our rooms, the innkeeper questioned us, saying: “Everyone else, great and small, has gone to church for worship over the past few days. But as for you all, you go nowhere. What kind of Christians are you?” I answered: “We are Lutherans and have different observances. We do not go to your churches. When traveling, we worship in private.” But from then on, she was suspicious of us. I spent the next day or two visiting Budapest’s famous bathhouses, where I enjoyed myself and left feeling restored. After Easter, a large fair was to be held at a place called Baja, and some large merchant vessels were preparing to make the journey there.4 I found one of these vessels and agreed with its owner on a price to take us all with him to Baja. I paid the fare and had all of our things loaded onto the ship, but just as we all boarded and took our places, what should I see but an officer, an interpreter, and ten or fifteen soldiers assembling at the dock. Surrounding our vessel, they said, “There are disguised Muslims on board who have escaped from Vienna. Whoever they are, they must come out!” They then arrested the owner of the ship and took him into the city, after which they wanted to search the ship. In total there were about twenty merchants on board, who all remained seated in their places, so we too kept to our seats and pretended as if the matter had nothing to do with us. Then the soldiers and their officer came aboard, and began questioning the passengers, asking, “Which of you are the escaped Muslims?” When it was finally our turn, they said: “There is no one left, you must be them!” I immediately sprang to my feet and said, “Who dares call me a fugitive!” The officer answered: “You can take it up with the general and the judge back in town.” Then he arrested us all. It being the third day of Easter, they detained us temporarily at the main guard station, since General von Pfeffershofen and all his officers were attending mass at the main cathedral.5 When services were over, a throng of Austrians and all manner of other people came to the

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guard station to gawk, and when they saw us they were astonished, saying: “Just look at that! Who would ever guess that people dressed like this were Muslims?” For our part, we remained completely silent, never uttering a word. As we later found out, the reason for our capture was the following: While exploring Budapest, I had run into a couple of other Muslim runaways who were old acquaintances, and they joined our traveling party, such that we became six or seven people instead of four, counting both men and women. It then turned out that there were some convert women in town who knew us from Vienna and when they saw us here they realized that we were trying to escape. In addition, three or four days before our arrival, a group of thirty or forty men and women had escaped on two boats, and once this was learned, men were sent downstream to recapture them. It was because we happened to have arrived at this time that we had been reported to the general and he had ordered our arrest. Soon enough, the general himself together with all of his officers left the cathedral for the palace and had us brought to him. When we arrived, the general was standing with his officers in the middle of the audience hall. I came in first, and saluted the general according to their customs and manners. He responded in kind, saying: “Welcome to you, and best wishes for your continuing journey. You are headed to Belgrade?” Speaking in German, I answered: “No, my lord,6 our destination is not Belgrade. We are headed for Baja, and from there hope to reach Petrovaradin.”7 He continued, still speaking very politely: “If you do not mind my asking, where were you born?” I responded: “There is no way to conceal my origins. I was born a Muslim and am originally from Lipova. But when General Caraffa conquered Lipova, I was taken prisoner and became a captive, after which I was sent to Austria. There my master introduced me to the Christian faith and emancipated me. Now that I am a free man, I am taking what earnings and property I have and heading for Petrovaradin, with the intention of finding a suitable place to settle in that region—with Your Excellency’s permission, of course.” The general rejoined: “Might you have any documentation from your former master that verifies what you say about your service to him?” “I do,” I answered, and immediately pulled out and handed over to the general the letter I had forged so carefully. He opened it, read it

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from beginning to end, and nodded his head. Then he turned back to me and said: “Very good. Your documents are in order and I have no cause to doubt you. But what of the women you are traveling with?” “This is my lawful wife,” I said. “And the other one?” he asked. “She and her husband are my servants.” “Are they Christians as well?” he asked. “Yes,” I answered. At this point Mehmed Sipahi, who was at my side and had his own emancipation papers from the cardinal, gave them to the general. He inspected and approved them. “And what of the others? Do they have papers?” They did not and were taken away. Then the general addressed me once more: “Please excuse me, I was misinformed about you. But you are also not without fault, because I am the governor and commanding officer here, and you should have informed me yourself of your presence. If you had come to me of your own accord and shown me your documents, I would certainly have welcomed you graciously.” He then immediately called his privy secretary and said: “I order a passport from here to Petrovaradin to be issued to this petitioner with my signature and seal.” Then he excused himself. Outside, a group of men and women, some of them the troublemaking converts who had informed on us to the general, as well as some Armenian and Greek turncoats, had come to the citadel assuming that the general would put us to death, and curious to see what form of execution he would choose. They were all crowded around the general’s door when it opened and I, a fugitive, marched out of the great general’s palace with pomp and arrogance, my sword on my belt, my staff in my hand, and my companions at my side. As we emerged, we turned past the guard station and continued down toward the Serbian settlement outside the walls, leaving the crowd with their mouths agape and practically dying with envy. “Look, you see that?” they said to one another. “This shyster has duped even a wise man like General von Pfeffershofen. Who knows with what manner of lies he has managed to save himself!” Once we got back to the ship, we discovered that the owner had offloaded our luggage, with yet another group of gawkers gathered around to watch. I shouted to the crowd, “Who has offloaded our luggage?” They answered “The owner of the ship!” So I turned on him and reviled him in the harshest terms, until he moved our luggage back on board and sat us back in the same place we had occupied before.

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I spent the rest of the day strolling around Budapest completely at my ease. For the upcoming journey, I ordered a whole lamb, stuffed and roasted, and purchased everything else I would need. Then we boarded our ship and were on our way to Baja. We reached Baja two or three days later, disembarked, and found lodgings, where we stayed for a few days. I was quite alarmed, however, to learn that the officer in charge of the place was a certain campaign commissioner by the name of Helm, a man who knew me quite well. He heard of our presence, and summoned us to an audience so that he could learn who we were. I feigned illness from the journey, and sent my companion Mehmed Sipahi in my stead. I gave him instructions about exactly what to say in order to excuse my absence. Mehmed Sipahi did go see him, and when asked who we were, he produced the passport that the general in Budapest had given to us. He looked it over and after reading it, he gave it back without saying a word. In both Vienna and Budapest, I had heard that there were some Greeks and Armenians who specialized in helping captives to escape for a fee, and among these was an Armenian named Patarich, who had taken a converted Muslim woman as wife and settled down with her in this place. I asked about him, found his house, and spoke with him at some length, hinting at my intentions as I did so. He invited me to dinner a few days later, and after eating and drinking together, I found an appropriate moment to reveal the truth about myself and my secret plans and swore an oath to keep everything he told me in strict confidence. Having convinced him of my sincerity, we began to discuss the best way for me to reach Belgrade. We considered all the various possibilities. The one problem for which there was no remedy was the need to pass by the walled city of Petrovaradin, unless we could find a place to cross to the other side of the Danube before reaching Petrovaradin, and from there continue into Syrmia.8 Fortunately, since it was at that time market season in Baja, merchants and other travelers had come with their carts of wares from all around, most of whom would then continue on from Baja downriver. One of these cart drivers was from a place near Petrovaradin named Futog.9 Patarich arranged to meet with him privately, and he agreed to take us there in his cart, a distance of eighteen miles, for thirty

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kurush.10 The conditions of our agreement were that he would take us into Futog at night. From there, he would bring us across the river by boat. Then he would either convey us into Syrmia himself or hire a cart to take us there, agreeing that he would cover any costs that might arise. For helping us with these arrangements, I gave Patarich a few gold pieces and some spare items from my luggage. Then we loaded ourselves onto the cart and set out toward Bač and Sombor.11 On the second day we approached Futog. I was assuming that we would stop there, as agreed, and wait until cover of night. Instead, what did I see but the driver preparing to enter Futog in broad daylight just around the lunch hour. “What are you doing?” I asked in his language. “This was not our agreement!” The driver answered: “I’m afraid of the general in command of Petrovaradin. If we do as you say, he will surely learn of it, and I’ll end up impaled on a sharp stake! Why don’t you go and ask General von Nehem for a travel permit. I’ll be happy to take you to Belgrade.”12 And with that he grabbed the reins and drove his horses on, taking us into Futog in broad daylight and unloading us from his cart right in front of his own house, in full sight of everyone. We were stunned, with no idea what to do. But since Allah sides with those who endure with patience, we calmly collected our things and strolled toward the Austrian guesthouses, choosing a tavern run by a widow and three servants, where we rented lodgings. I picked this place with the idea that hardly anyone was likely to come by. We booked a room for one day and one night. They asked us who we were, from whence we had come, where we were headed, and what our business there was. I answered that I was a merchant who had come to trade, and that my goods would arrive later in the ship of the trader Kupferschmied. The innkeeper woman then sent someone to Petrovaradin to inform the general. He sent four mounted officers back to Futog, who rode straight to our inn, dismounted, and sat down to interview me. They too asked who I was, what business had brought me there, and what my intentions were. When I answered as before, they asked what sort of merchandise I had and to whom I planned to sell it. I said that I had various foodstuffs and supplies of use to the army. They asked me again about when I had left my ship.

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“We traveled by ship as far as Budapest, but because I was hoping to buy some additional goods and find some customers for my wares at the fair at Baja, I left the ship behind and traveled there independently,” I replied. “From Baja, I came here by carriage. I am hoping that the boat will be here within seven or eight days.” They seemed convinced by this. My intention in giving them this story was to buy some time, thinking that within seven or eight days, I would be able to find a way to escape. The officers remounted and went back to Petrovaradin. They reported my story to the general, who took it under consideration. The very same day, while killing time in Futog, I unexpectedly ran into two men I knew from Budapest, Arabacı Huseyn and Papasoğlu. We exchanged news, and they told me that they had come to Futog on a riverboat, with twenty or thirty Muslim men and women on board (some who had converted and others who had not). They had hidden them in a bed of reeds on the other side of the river, and were awaiting one of their companions, who was getting carriages ready to take them into Syrmia. Their plan was to make their escape that very evening. I brought the two of them to my hotel, put them up in a room, and tried to convince them to do something to help our party as well. They said: “Stay here for another three or four days. We’ll hire a carriage for you and take you wherever you want to go after we’ve taken the others to Zemun.”13 It was a great relief to hear this. Papasoğlu then took his leave of us, but Arabacı Huseyn decided to stay for the night. He was my dinner guest that evening at the inn, and we spent the entire night, past midnight and well into the morning hours, talking together in Turkish about where we would go and what we would do. But as it turned out, there was a boy, the son of the innkeeper, who also knew Turkish. While we were there, this boy had come in and lain down before the open hearth in the kitchen. We assumed that he was asleep, but he heard and understood everything we said to each other and reported it all to the innkeeper. This woman, in turn, closed the doors on us from the outside. Later that night, I got up to go the water closet and found the door locked. “That’s not a good sign,” I thought, and I was unable to sleep for the rest of the night.

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By the morning, I reasoned that if they had shut me in, it must be that they had heard our conversation. In that case, the only thing to do was to go straight to the general myself, show him my papers, and gain his confidence before he had me arrested. At dawn, Arabacı Huseyn ran off and hid somewhere. Now behold God’s wisdom! That night, the situation of the convicts and other fugitives hiding in the reeds had taken a dramatic turn. An Armenian lowlife from the outskirts of Petrovaradin who passed by the name “Number Nine” came through town. With him, there was a convert woman they called Fatima of Belgrade. She was a great beauty and had grown up as the daughter of a Belgrade hajji. But after her capture she had acquired a taste for Christian customs, to the point of becoming a notorious whore. Indeed, while living in Vienna, she had twice contracted syphilis as a result of her whoring, and had been reduced to walking the streets in squalor.14 Eager as her compatriots to save her from this fate, the rest of us organized a collection to pay for medicine and have her treated. Having heard of the boatload of Muslim fugitives, this shameless ingrate now conspired with her husband to blackmail them and came to demand a bribe. When they refused to pay, the man and his wife went to the outskirts of Petrovaradin and reported them to the captain of the local Serbian irregulars, a man named Sava. He in turn went into the city to report to the general on what he had heard, and the general ordered the captain to take his haiduks, set an ambush for the fugitives, arrest them, and bring them back to the city. The captain did as he was ordered, taking his men by night to the river. That night, while they were waiting on the bank just opposite Futog, a corporal of the Serbian irregulars who went by the name of Sava Desetnik took a small boat across the river, approached the ship, and inquired about the fugitives’ intentions. They, in turn, offered him a large sum of money for his help in escaping. This Serbian infidel advised them on a course of action and agreed to act as their guide. His plan was to drift down the Danube by night as far as Petrovaradin, then to disembark just above the fortress, where he had horses and carts ready for them. By means of these, they were halfway to Belgrade by morning. Having accomplished this, Desetnik was towing the empty ship back into the river when some haiduks from the guard station found him and asked, “What ship is this?” Taken before the captain, he answered, “I

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found this ship sitting empty while I was going up the bank of the Danube. I don’t know whose it is. It must belong to someone from upstream. I’m towing it in that direction so as to find its owner.” Hearing this, the others became suspicious. Thinking that the fugitives were on board, they began an inspection of the vessel, but no matter how much they searched they could find no trace of them. In the end, they brought both the ship and the Serbian infidel back to Petrovaradin and informed the general, who was furious. “Do you see what has happened because of your carelessness?” he said contemptuously to Captain Sava. “These fugitives might have fallen right into our lap, but instead they’ve slipped by our noses and escaped. Is this not a disgrace?” Then he deployed hussars to search the entire Syrmia region as far as the outskirts of Belgrade in the hopes of recapturing them. They raised a huge number of men, and rode as far as the banks of the Sava River. But the escapees, having traveled without stopping even once along the way, had by this time already reached Belgrade safely, and the hussars had to return home empty-handed. It was just while the general was recovering from this debacle that I and my companion Mehmed took our travel papers and hired a boat in Futog to go to Petrovaradin. Once there, we went to the citadel and announced ourselves to the guard or sentry at the main gate, asking him to report to the general that there were two individuals who had come from Vienna to Futog, and that with the general’s permission they hoped for an audience to pay their respects to him. Shortly thereafter we were taken inside and brought before the general, who asked us: “Where are you arriving from? Do you have papers? What do you want? What nationality are you? And what place are you from?” We gave him our papers, and presented ourselves in the same way that we had in Budapest, saying that our desire was to settle permanently in this region. General von Nehem looked at us, looked at our papers, looked back at us, and then starting asking more questions, which we went on answering for another half hour. Finally, he said: “Go back to your hotel in Futog, because I will be going there myself tomorrow. When I arrive, come and see me and I’ll have more to say to you.” Then he dismissed us, but kept our papers, putting them up on a counter. We said our good-byes and left. When we got back to Futog, the women were not at the inn, and we asked where they had gone. They said: “Word has spread in town that

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you escaped. For that reason, the captain took your women into custody.” So, we went to find the captain, and asked: “Why have you arrested the women?” He gave the same answer that we had already heard and then asked, “Where have you been?” I answered: “We went to see the general in Petrovaradin. We met with him and have just come back.” “What did the general say to you?” And I: “He asked us some questions, examined our papers, and said that he would be coming here tomorrow and that we should come see him again once he arrives.” This convinced the captain, so he released the women with his apologies. We all went back home. The next day, the general arrived and we went once more to see him as he had ordered. He received us and took us into the garden, where he asked questions in ever greater detail, using every trick to get us to contradict one another or to reveal our true intentions. Finally, he gave us leave, saying, “Go back to your lodgings.” We went back to the inn and stayed there all day and all night. “Now what are we to do?” I thought. “Papasoğlu and Arabacı Huseyn have both fled, vanishing without a trace, and aside from the two of them we have no guide and are certainly in no position to reveal our secret to everyone. What now?” The next morning, just before daybreak, a corporal and seven Hungarian foot soldiers arrived from Petrovaradin and stopped in front of the inn. Their officer, brandishing his weapon, came inside and addressed me, saying: “General von Nehem has sent our company here with orders to arrest all of you and take you back to Petrovaradin. You must leave immediately. Collect your things and we will go to our boat.” I knew what was in store for us. But thinking that, whatever happens, Allah sides with those who endure with patience, we grabbed the few things that we had and went with the guards onto their vessel.

11

Grifters

We reached Petrovaradin less than an hour later. We disembarked, were taken to the citadel, and brought to a room. While we were waiting for the general to summon us and explain the situation, who should appear but two Jesuit priests. Addressing us angrily, they said, “Tell us why have you come and what you want here!” I began to give the same answer that I had previously given the general, but before I could finish, they cut me off, saying: “No, it is not as you say! You have certainly come here with evil intentions. Turn back now or the general will throw you into the dungeon and hold you there until he has time to write to Vienna and find out who you really are. Then he’ll decide what to do with you!” I answered: “Heaven forbid! We are not fugitives, and you do us a great injustice. If we were as you say, why would we have documents that prove otherwise? Shame on you for using such a tone with us!” “No,” they answered. “The general gives no importance to those documents, which are in all likelihood forgeries. Already on several previous occasions people like you have come here and fooled the general with a convincing story, only to escape to Belgrade. That is why a strict order has now been sent from the War Council in Vienna instructing him not to give anyone else permission to pass, even if they have travel documents in their possession, until the authorities in Vienna have been consulted and their identities have been verified. As a result, there is no other option for you than to do as we say. Go back immediately from whence you have come or you will be arrested!” 129

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“We are in God’s hands. If we are to be arrested, then so be it,” I said. “I ask only this: Might I at least be allowed to write a letter to Vienna to inform my former master about my situation here?” They went to the general with this request and he granted permission. So I sat down and composed a letter in the loftiest language, which I addressed to the steward as we had agreed. I wrote as follows: To my honorable, eminent, and capable protector, the Steward. As is well known to your noble personage, when our exalted and gracious Lord and Master, together with his most excellent Lady, released me from their service while in your presence, they bid me farewell with a parting command: “If any obstacle to your journey or other difficulty should present itself, write to us immediately and inform us of your situation.” Saying this, they declared their determination to do whatever they could for my aid and protection. I have now safely traveled the full distance from Vienna without obstacle or misfortune and have reached Petrovaradin safely thanks to the travel papers issued to me by my most illustrious Lord, which have been honored and accepted by every commander and general along the way. Now, however, due to the intrigues of certain liars and hypocrites, the general of Petrovaradin has mistaken me for an escaped captive and intends to send me back to Vienna. Moreover, since he does not accept my travel documents as legitimate, he has placed me under arrest and says that I will remain in detention until he can write to Vienna and receive confirmation of my status. Now that this is known to you, I ask, in keeping with my master’s earlier instructions, that you communicate to him my current situation, such that he, in his infinite compassion, might see fit to come to the aid of his poor servant and from his manifest nobility might write a letter of recommendation addressed to the general here, such that he should no longer doubt me or vex me with accusations that I am no more than an escaped captive. I ended the letter with my own signature, affixed the date, and then, without sealing it, brought it to the general’s privy secretary, a man named Kirchner.1 He examined the contents, read the entire text, and nodded his head in approval. Then he immediately brought it in to the general, who also looked it over and read its contents carefully.

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Now it so happened that my lady in Vienna belonged to the family of Count von Styrum, one of the most ancient noble families of Westphalia.2 For many years, she had been a lady-in-waiting in the harem of the Habsburg emperor,3 and her brother, General von Styrum, was a famous commander.4 It turned out, too, that General von Nehem was himself from the same province and city as the two of them, and was also an old friend of my master’s. Because of all these relationships, he was convinced by my letter and decided to release me rather than having me cast into the dungeon. The scribe came out of the office with my letter still in his hand, bearing a greeting from the general. “Please accept our apologies, for we have been overzealous in our treatment of you,” he said. “From what we understand of your letter, it seems that your master and his lady will certainly write back to confirm what you say. Please seal your letter and give it back to us, and we’ll have it sent with our own mail back to Vienna. We can expect a reply within three weeks, so there’s no reason for you to worry any further. Until then, the general has ordered an attendant to be assigned to keep you company. Choose a place to stay in one of the houses in the lower citadel, and you can wait there until the mail returns.” I was immensely relieved to hear this, reckoning that, with Allah’s blessing, three weeks would be more than enough time for me to find a way to get to Belgrade. Rejoicing to myself, I left with the attendant that was assigned to me and headed down to the lower citadel. However, because peace had only recently been concluded, most of the houses there were either still in the process of being built or in such a condition that they didn’t seem suitable places to stay. So I made a show of finding nothing that I liked and went to look outside the city walls, where I spotted a small walled military camp on the other side of the river.5 There was nothing even remotely resembling a place to stay within its walls, apart from the soldiers’ barracks. But outside there was an open area with five or ten buildings that had guest rooms for travelers. One of these was a carpenter’s house with an extra room to let, which I asked about and rented. Then I showed it to the attendant and told him to report to the general. He went back up to the citadel and told the general where we intended to stay, to which he

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answered: “If they’ve rented a house on the opposite shore, which is the side of the river that is completely under our control, they must not have any evil intentions.” Thus the letters were sent off, and we settled into our new quarters. I knew that the steward would never show my letter to the master or lady. But I couldn’t be sure if General von Nehem might write to them directly and was also afraid of what kind of answer might come back from the War Council. I was left only with the hope that, in the next five or ten days, I might find a guide who could take us safely away. My constant thought was that an escape should be possible from such an open place right on the banks of the river. A few days passed. Every day, at least once and sometimes twice, I would go to the Serbian bazaar outside of town to buy food, drink, and other essentials. While shopping, I was also on the lookout for someone who might be a reliable guide to help me. But every time I showed up there, that cursed convert woman6 would spot me and start saying: “Just look at that! This guy has even fooled a wise man like General von Nehem, and now that he’s made himself believed, he strolls around as he pleases, all the while waiting for the opportunity to escape!” Hearing her, Serbian, Greek, and Armenian infidels there would approach me in a secluded place or with some excuse, saying: “If you want to escape to Belgrade, you can trust me to find a safe way to get you there.” Most of the time, I would send them off with a dirty look. I did talk to one or two of them, revealing my secret, but in the end none of them could do what I needed. In the meantime, that accursed woman would come to my neighborhood every morning with the excuse of fetching water and would peer into my window to see if I had escaped. One day, I had closed the window and was fast asleep, because the landlord had gone out for the day and left me alone to sleep in. When the woman came and found the windows closed and nobody home, she jumped to the worst of conclusions and assumed that we had run off. As soon as she got home from fetching the water, she said to her man: “The Muslims I was talking about have up and left.” Then she went with her husband and reported this to the Serbian commander. The captain immediately passed this on to the general, and once he learned of it, he sent five or ten soldiers and an officer to my landlord. They ran into him while they were still approaching the house and

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said, “Where are the Muslims that have been staying at your house? The general has received a report that they have escaped to the Turk. Why weren’t you more careful? Now the general has issued an order that you be arrested in their place and taken into custody.” They said all this as they were standing in front of the house, without entering. I was still inside lying in bed, and heard the officer shouting. But not knowing what it was, I paid no attention and went back to sleep. An hour or two later, they took the landlord into custody but released his wife. She came home in a tizzy, wailing: “May God punish them! Who would have guessed that they would run off? And now it is we who are captives!” Hearing this, I was alarmed and thought, “I wonder who could have run off?” Then I shouted to the landlady from inside: “What is the matter? Who has run away, and why has it caused trouble for you?” As I said this, I opened the door and looked out from inside, and when the woman saw me, she was astonished. “May God punish whoever it is who has lied about you! Someone has reported to the general that you escaped, and because of this they arrested us and took us into custody. My husband is still in custody, while I have been released on condition that I stay confined to the house!” When she said this, I laughed and answered: “The only one who could have told such a lie about us is that convert woman.” Then the landlady went to the citadel and told this to the general. He seemed to believe her, but only released her husband on condition that his guests always remained at home, never going out for any reason. “I have some things I’d like to say to them, and I’ll come there myself in a little while,” he added. When the landlord got back home, he stood and looked at us as if he was half out of his mind, cursing the name of the convert woman. About an hour later, General von Nehem got into his carriage with his mistress. She was the wife of Lieutenant Fesel, the standard bearer of the regiment, and was both beautiful and well educated. The general kept her always by his side, passing the time with her. He continually sent her husband out on various assignments in order to enjoy himself with his wife. Seated in his carriage, the general and this woman now headed in our direction, stopping on the road in front of our building and asking us to come out. I did so and saluted him in the customary way. As I stood before him, he addressed me, saying: “Today, a report

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was filed against you, which I believed. My apologies. Don’t worry, and stay here in comfort. An answer to our letters should arrive within a week.” I thanked him, replying: “May you be granted long life and much success! Troublemakers cannot stop themselves from causing trouble. But in this case, they have caused an injury not only to myself but also to Your Excellency.” He answered: “Rest assured that I will investigate and find out who it was who has said these things, and see that they are punished.” Then he bid me farewell and headed in the direction of Futog. As for myself, I intentionally strolled back toward the Serbian quarter as pompously as I could, so that the people who had been so concerned about my whereabouts should take note and regret it. But in truth, the general’s assurances that the letters would arrive within a week had left me quite worried, since I knew that any answer arriving from either the War Council or my master would certainly not be good news for us. I was thus more anxious than ever to find a guide to help us escape. Then, unexpectedly, the aforementioned Serbian corporal, Sava Desetnik, carefully approached me and said: “If it is still your intention to reach the Muslim territory of Belgrade, you can trust me with your secret. By God’s grace, even if you were a prisoner in the high citadel of Petrovaradin, it would be an easy thing for me to take you from there to Belgrade. Explain your situation and we’ll see what can be done.” We agreed on a price of forty gold pieces for the transport of four people. He asked for an advance of twenty pieces for the guide and several others who needed to be paid, since a vessel would have to be brought down from Sremsi Karlovci.7 He convinced me, and to seal the deal I had a whole lamb roasted for him, along with all the accompanying side dishes and drinks to entertain him in style. Then I paid him twenty coins of Kremnica gold.8 “I’ll pay you the rest once we have arrived safely, God willing,” I said. “But don’t delay—we don’t have a day or even an hour to spare!” He replied, “May it be so!” and, having repeated our agreement, headed for his lodgings. The next day there was no sign of him, however, nor was there on the day after. I went down to the Serbian quarter to look for him, and he suddenly appeared by my side. We headed together past the village and toward the bank of the Danube, and once there we discussed the

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situation. He said: “I sent someone to Sremski Karlovci to fetch a man with a vessel, but it turns out the man wasn’t there, since he had already left for somewhere else with another passenger. So much for that plan. Now the only option is a pine rowboat stored on some land belonging to a friend of mine. I spoke with him today, and he wants two gold pieces for the rowboat. Give me the two coins, and I’ll pay him. In the meantime, ready yourselves, and if possible, we’ll carefully bring the boat down to the river, put you on board, and leave tonight.” I took out two more gold coins and handed them over to him. He took them and left, and I went back to my room to get everything ready for the trip. We were all prepared by the time evening fell, and waited all night long until it was almost morning, but there was no sign of anybody. We wondered to each other what might have happened, and what had prevented him from coming. Then, when the first birds began to sing, I went back to the Serbian quarter and looked all over for him, finally catching sight of him sitting in one of the taverns, boozing it up with some other Serbian infidels. I walked back and forth in front of the place three or four times, expecting him to look up, but he never turned in my direction. He seemed lost in a world of his own, but in a way that appeared suspicious. So that day was wasted. The next day, I did just as I had the day before and waited for him outside of the same tavern. He was drinking wine like a pig, and never once turned in my direction, having no intention of looking at me. All the while, the boat that he had supposedly bought with my money was still lying in the same place as before. By this point the situation was clear: I had been hustled. He had taken my money, and was now happily eating and drinking it away at his ease, and there was no way I could even call him out for it. What could I do? I forgot about the money I had spent to “entertain” him, trusting that rather than receiving his just desserts from my own hand, he would taste bitter fruit in the afterlife. In this way, I spent another day or two in extreme distress. Other infidel Serbs continued to approach me with various pretexts, asking if I needed a guide, and offering to take us away in secret. But I refused to listen to any of them, instead loudly telling them off in German. For I was all too aware of the dangers, having witnessed with my own eyes the fate of a

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group of prisoners belonging to Prince von Liechtenstein,9 and others like them, who had fled from Vienna and made it as far as Petrovaradin. I had met them here and learned from them that they had found guides to take them to Belgrade. The next evening, we met together again, and I even talked with these guides. But no sooner had they boarded the boat and shoved off than the guides killed them, splitting open their bellies, dumping their bodies in the river, and taking all their possessions for themselves. We saw the evidence of this the next morning. And now, that accursed convert woman started spreading more rumors about us, both within the walls of Petrovaradin and here in the Serbian quarter, saying, “These Turks are about to escape with sacks full of gold!” And when that miserable Sava, the one who had already hustled me, heard this he came back to me and said right to my face: “Why did you hide this from me? You gave me just a little gold, and now I’ve heard from people in the know that you have sacks full of it!” I answered, “That’s absurd! How would any Muslim fugitive in Habsburg territory ever lay his hands on a sack of gold?” He responded: “Then give me however much of your fortune you see fit, I don’t need any more than that.” I gave him something to keep him from betraying me to the authorities. By this point, there were only two or three days left before the letters arrived from Vienna, and still there was no obvious way for us to escape. I was haunted by this thought night and day. One night, I dreamt that we had boarded a boat and were escaping down the Danube toward Belgrade, but the boat had neither a rudder, nor oars, nor a pilot. When we reached Slankamen, the river became cluttered with logs, and our boat, without rudder, oars, or a pilot, was buffeted from one log to the next. “Now we’re bound to capsize!” I cried in terror. But once we passed Slankamen, the river widened and the current cleared, carrying our boat downstream. Seeing this, I woke up. I thought about my dream, which I interpreted as follows: “If Allah the Merciful so wills it, we will find a way to escape. We may suffer great hardship, but by the grace of Almighty Allah we will arrive safely!” Then I spoke of my dream to my companions, explaining my interpretation to them, and they were greatly encouraged. The next night, which was two nights before our escape, I had another dream. I had escaped from Petrovaradin by land, and was heading toward the mountain at Sremski Karlovci.10 But as I ran,

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enormous dogs appeared to my left and right and attacked me. I clambered straight up the side of the mountain. When I reached the top, what should I see but a palace built of bricks perched on the summit. I ran right into that palace, and once inside was safe from the dogs. I looked around, and low and behold, I saw my lady from Vienna walking around the palace all alone. When she saw me, she smiled, and said, “Do not be afraid. We are happy to see you, too.” I woke up when I heard this, and once again I interpreted this dream as an omen that we would arrive safely, which lifted my spirits. The rascal Sava, mentioned above, had a companion named Petra, a penniless, infidel Serb. Three days after that accursed Sava swindled us, this Petra came up to me and said: “My Most Excellent Lord. I have one or two truthful words to share with you. If you are willing, I will share them.” I replied: “Out with it, then! Let’s hear what you have to say.” He continued: “You can expect nothing from the man to whom you’ve given your money. Do not have any faith in him. I am a poor man, but my word is good. Trust me. If you still intend to escape to Muslim territory, I’ll do what I can to get you there discreetly. Only, that rascal Sava is my superior officer, and I’m afraid of him. The best I can do is this: I have some friends and relations in Sremski Karlovci. Let me go there and speak with them to see if there is a way for them to take you from there.” “Very well, but let me have some time to consider the options before I tell you what to do,” I answered. “As you wish,” he replied. I thought things over, then gave him the following instructions: “This is what I want you to do. Go to Sremski Karlovci, find some people that you can trust, and arrange for them to come back here by boat on the Danube by night. Tell us when they will arrive, and we’ll board the boat when it gets here. Once we get back to Sremski Karlovci, they should have a covered wagon or cart with three horses ready and waiting for us, so that we can disembark and get right into the wagon. We’ll need to get as far as Slankamen, or even closer to Belgrade, by morning.” “Very well, I can do as you ask,” he said. But then he kept standing there, as if he had something else to say, obviously waiting for me to pay him something. So, remembering our ancestors’ proverb “The horse won’t come to an empty sack,” I threw him some tasty oats in the shape of three or four gold pieces. “If you take good care of us and find

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a suitable guide, I’ll pay you the same amount again once we’re there,” I said, and he promised that he would leave for Sremski Karlovci that day. I then sent him on his way, thinking to myself, “If this guy swindles us too, there are no other options. We’re finished.” That evening, I undressed, got into bed as usual, and went to sleep. In Allah’s infinite wisdom, I fell into the deepest, most beautiful summer slumber, until about a third of the way through the night what should I hear but someone banging on the window from outside. “Who’s there?” I said, waking up. “Open the window! What did I tell you?” the infidel Petra replied. “Petra, is that you?” I said, opening the window. “It is,” he answered. It was late May, and although it was dark, with no moon at all, the night would last only eight and a half hours in all, and at least four had already passed. “What news?” I asked. “I’ve done as you ordered and brought a guide with a boat. There is a wagon waiting for you in Sremski Karlovci. If you still want to escape, get up and let’s go!” “Who is the guide? Tell him to show himself!” I said. Out of the darkness, a hairy Serbian infidel came up to the window. I whispered to him, as I was afraid the innkeeper would hear, and he answered, “If you want to go, your boat is here, and a wagon is ready in Sremski Karlovci.” Hearing this, and trusting in Most Mighty Allah, we got up and dressed as quickly as we could, grabbed our weapons, and fetched the two women and Mehmed’s child. We were afraid, though, of waking the innkeeper, who slept in the room immediately outside our bedroom door. Moreover, she had put up some other guests, who were sleeping side by side all along the floor. How would we ever get by them? And even if we did, beyond the next door, leading outside, there was a nasty, ferocious dog, which normally stood guard all night and never let anyone pass. He was the one I was most afraid of. Placing ourselves in Allah’s hands, I sent everyone out of the bedroom one by one, myself going last and carefully closing the door behind me. Once we were all through, I then carefully opened the outside door, and thanks to His Almighty Wisdom, I found the dog fast asleep. So we were all able to slip past the sleeping Austrians and the dog as well. Then, as we headed down toward the river with our guide, I fell into a well, probably no more than ten paces away from the inn.

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Fortunately, it wasn’t deep, but I was drenched up to my waist and made my way down to the river soaking wet. Then we saw the boat, really nothing more than a river skiff, big enough to seat two people. We were four, five including the guide, in addition to the child. Once we had all crammed ourselves in, the sides of the boat rose no more than a finger’s width above the waterline. One strong gust of wind, or a sudden movement, and we would all drown. But what choice did we have? Before pushing off, the infidel Petra asked to be paid, and according to our agreement, I gave him three or four more gold pieces.

12

To the Border

Now come and see how we made it to Sremski Karlovci.1 The spot where we set out on the river was no more than thirty paces away from one of two guardhouses on opposite sides of the Danube, positioned so that they could see vessels traveling up- and downstream. But because our skiff was small enough to look like a fishing boat, I told the boatman that if the guards asked who we were, yelling, “Berdo?” he should yell back, “Ribar!” meaning “fisherman” in their language.2 The rest of us tried to duck down as low as possible to keep from being noticed, and sure enough, as we passed by the guard post, they yelled, “Berdo?” We gave them their answer, drifting by a couple of other fishing boats, and slipped past. Then, as we approached Sremski Karlovci, a wind began to blow and we were sure we would drown. But it seems that we had not yet reached our appointed hour and were saved. After a journey of about two hours in all, we pulled into shore at Sremski Karlovci. Climbing out of the boat, I said, “There’s no time to lose, find where the wagon is and let’s go!” The guide left us, going into town. He came back about a half hour later with two or three infidel Serbs in their shirtsleeves. They came up to the boat, greeted us according to their custom, and then just stood there. “Where is the wagon?” I asked. They said: “We had our horses hitched to the wagon and waiting for you through half the night. But once morning approached, we assumed you weren’t coming. The horses were hungry by then, so we fed them, since we’d lose even more time if 140

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we had to feed them later. But now it’s just an hour until morning, and it will be daylight before we’re even halfway over the mountain. We can’t take you now.” “What? By morning they will know that we have escaped, and they’ll send riders out in every direction to search for us, tracking us by land and river, and are sure to find us. How could you do this to us? This was certainly not our agreement!” They replied, “What else could we have done? For today, we’ll have you hide in the reeds. When night comes, we’ll fetch you in the wagon and head to Syrmia. We should be there before dawn.”3 I did not consider this to be an acceptable plan, above all because I did not completely trust them. For in addition to being our ancient enemies in matters of religion, Serbs are rough, ignorant people who would sell out anyone for the sake of a little worldly gain. This was the first problem. Besides this, the reed bed was completely unsafe, the kind of place where we could easily be finished off without any chance to defend ourselves. And even if these men didn’t betray us, we would still be in danger from others. A few days earlier, about twenty Muslims had managed to escape from the dungeon in Petrovaradin fortress by digging a hole in the wall and climbing out at night. They had fled by boat downriver, made it to Sremski Karlovci, and hidden in these reeds. But the next day, a search party came after them, followed their tracks, and found the place they were hiding. They were seized, dragged away, and thrown back in the dungeon. With all this in mind, I could not be persuaded to accept their plan and refused to do as they suggested. They replied: “Well then, we’ll hide you on that wooded hill over there, and when night falls and you come out, we’ll take you in the wagon.” But again I was unsatisfied. Cursing me under their breath, they said, “Then what should we do?” I answered, “If you really want to protect us and bring us to safety, you should hide us in your homes. Then we’ll get in the wagons when night arrives and you can take us to Syrmia.” They consulted with one another and finally agreed. However, their houses had only recently been occupied and were still only half built in the Serbian manner, which is to dig a trench in the ground, then to erect a kind of trellis covered in reeds above it. They fit a wooden door over an opening in this trellis, and lay a few boards along the floor inside. In this case, they had not yet covered the exterior with mud or

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clay, so the underlying trellis was still showing. These were the huts they brought us to. They were too small for all four of us to hide together, so they put us into two huts side by side, with two of us in one and two of us in the other, each pair hiding underneath the floorboards. From where we lay, we could see and even talk to one another. When morning came, we saw people walking around and were afraid that they might have come looking for us. There were Austrians and hussars all over the place. Suddenly, one Austrian came up to the door of the hut I was in and sought to enter it. But the father of the owner, an old infidel Serb who was sitting at the door and keeping watch, would not let him in, so he turned away. From this I understood that they were not searching for us but were merely on the lookout for some easy plunder. Night fell. The men from the previous night returned and met with us, asking what we would pay them for their services as guides. We agreed that I would pay them thirty gold pieces, plus all of our Austrian clothes and some of our other things. But I also made it a condition that they should hide us in the huts for another day and take us on the following night. I reasoned that two days and nights would be enough time for any hussars sent looking for us to ride all the way to Syrmia and back, meaning that the road should be safe. Our guides were convinced by this argument. On the third night, we gave them all that we had agreed on and found the wagon ready. We departed, walking slowly on foot until we were out of Sremski Karlovci. But when it was time to get on the wagon, the driver demanded an additional two gold pieces per person and refused to let us board until we paid this. I reluctantly, offered six pieces for everyone, which I would pay only once we were all on the wagon. Insisting, I showed him the money. I had carefully hidden this in my clothes and managed to take it out only with a thousand difficulties. Finally, I held out my hand to show him the gold, saying I would give it to him once we were all on the wagon, and he allowed us to get on. I first helped everyone else to get on, intending to board last. When it was my turn, I put the gold in my mouth so as to free my hands to climb into the wagon. But when I opened my mouth to tell the driver, “Let’s go!” the coins slipped out, falling under the wagon and disappearing in the dust of the road. The driver had started the wagon on its way, and I yelled, “Stop! The gold fell!” We both got out and started

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searching for the coins in the darkness. “Did you find it?” “I didn’t,” the driver said, and neither had I. In the end I had to pull out six more pieces, and all of this meant that we wasted a good half an hour on the outskirts of Sremski Karlovci. I paid him and we set off. But thirty paces down the road, we came to the bed of a stream, and one of the horses broke its bridle crossing it. And that’s how it goes: the harder you try to do something quickly, the longer it takes! We worked on fixing the bridle for quite a while, then led the wagon very slowly down into the stream and back up again. Finally, we were able to make some progress, and at about one o’clock in the morning, we arrived at a small village just before Slankamen, which was so close to the new frontier that we could see the border markings. In fact, the joint border commission of the two states had just then begun to mark the new border, which cut from Slankamen, across the plains of Syrmia, to the Bossut River.4 We crossed the border and turned toward Belgrade, at which point the driver said: “That’s it, you are now inside Muslim territory. From now on you have nothing to fear!” We were overjoyed, saying: “Thanks and praise to Almighty Allah, we have arrived safely!” We continued on our way in the highest of spirits, and just before dawn, we approached the village of Banovci,5 from which it is only four hours more to Zemun, opposite Belgrade. Here the driver said, “My horses are tired. Let me stop to feed them, and then we’ll make the final run to Zemun.” We agreed, and the driver unhitched the horses. Less than an hour later, as the sun was just about to rise, what should we see? Five or six wagons were coming straight toward us from Banovci, along the Petrovaradin road. I said to the driver: “Those people coming toward us, who could they be?” He replied: “Whoever they are, they are no threat to us in this place.” But I could not be persuaded. “Come, ready the horses and get everyone on board,” I said. “The sooner we get to Syrmia the better.” He did as I asked, and as we started moving the other wagons got close enough that we could see men on board wearing white turbans. Understanding that they were Muslims, and we had nothing to fear, we stopped trying to avoid them, instead turning straight in their direction. We could see seven wagons in all, carrying seven or eight former Muslim soldiers who, now that

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peace had been declared, must have taken some trade goods and were traveling to Petrovaradin. On the other hand, the drivers were all haiduks from Petrovaradin. They too had some things of their own, as well as other goods that they were carrying for merchants in Petrovaradin, and in order to make the trip they must have hired the Muslims as their escort. As the wagons approached, we waved a salute to the Muslims. But as they passed by, the haiduks on board realized who we were, saying, “Those are fugitives trying to escape!” Stopping just behind our wagon, from a place we could not see, five of them suddenly jumped out and came for us. At the time, I was sitting in the back of the wagon, wearing a blue broadcloth cloak and an Austrian rain cape, with two guns, or rather pistols, on my belt, and my sword in my hand. My companion Mehmed Sipahi was holding my carbine. They grabbed me from behind and pulled me out onto the ground, where three of them held me down, while a fourth took my pistols from my belt and my sword from my hand. Another one or two jumped into the wagon and went for Mehmed Sipahi. As soon as he realized what was happening, Mehmed dropped his rifle, jumped from the wagon, and ran toward Banovci. But they unhitched the horses from the wagon, mounted them, and rode off after him. They caught up to him, grabbed him, and tied him up. In the meantime, they tied me up too, and gave the driver a good beating. All the while, the discharged Muslim soldiers aboard the other wagons just sat there and watched. In all, there were eight haiduks and seven Muslims, all of them armed with guns and blades. Addressing the Muslims, I said: “Brothers, aren’t we all Muslims? We are escaped captives, who have just now safely returned to Muslim territory. Is it right and proper that these infidels should be allowed to take us back into the land of unbelief right before your eyes? Is there no religious feeling left in you?” One of them spoke up, saying to the haiduks, “Come on, spare these poor wretches from any further suffering.” But they pushed him, and said, “Listen, you! Stay out of this!” Then the others turned to us, saying “It’s a dirty business, but we can’t get involved,” and they stood aside. Having tied and secured us, they then had our driver turn the wagon around and head toward Petrovaradin. The others followed us in their wagons, guarding us closely. The women beside me were weeping, and

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Mehmed was too, yet no tears would come to my eyes. They asked, “How can you stay quiet? This time we’re really done for.” I said: “Things will be however Allah wills them to be. If He has preordained it, we’ll be sent back to Petrovaradin, and whatever we suffer there will originate from His Magnificence. Weeping and wailing will change nothing. So I take refuge in the oneness of Almighty Allah. If someone comes to our rescue, this too will be from Him. Nothing else is possible.” In this way, we continued our journey back for another three or four hours, until we once more crossed the border. Then, as we continued on our way, a thought came to me: Wasn’t it still possible to reason with these miscreants? So I said to one of them, “Where are you taking us now?” He answered, “We’re taking you to the general in Petrovaradin. You have escaped from Petrovaradin, we’ve found and arrested you, and now we’ll turn you over to the general. He has already announced that whoever lays hands on fugitives such as yourselves can keep all of their property once they are back in custody. So now we’re going to strip you and search you and take everything we find. Then we’ll hand you over.” Just then, they stopped the wagon and made us get out, searching every inch of us and grabbing everything. I had some silver pocket money, which they found, as well as some silverware, rings, some small silver boxes, and other things. They took all of these, as well as my weapons and my clothes. Mehmed Sipahi didn’t have so much, but they found all kinds of things when they searched the woman traveling with me, taking everything. They also stripped all four of us down to our undershirts. Mine was an Austrian shirt, into which I had sewn sixty Kremnica gold pieces, tied with a black scarf. These they did not notice, having failed to look very carefully. Taking what they had found, they then loaded us back on to the wagon and we started moving again. As we continued, it turned out that one of them was a man from Petrovaradin who had himself been taken captive in Muslim territory and was still working to pay off his ransom. About ten days earlier, he and his brother, who was a Serbian haiduk, had come to me in Petrovaradin and offered to help me escape. I had said to him: “Prove that you are a man I can trust by putting me in touch with your master in Belgrade. If you do that, I’ll go with you.” So he addressed a letter to his master, letting me write what I wanted inside and sealing it. What I had

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written was this: “If this is a trustworthy man, send three date pits back with him.” Then the captive took my letter and went back to Belgrade with all of his companions, where they were all put up at the house of his master, a certain Uzun Ahmed Beshe of the 19th Janissary Company. He showed him the letter, and when his master read it, he gave him the token I had asked for. The man had then returned from Belgrade. Not knowing this, I called him over to my side, and asked him what had ever happened with the letter. He produced the three pits and gave them to me, saying, “If you had waited just a few days more, I would have been able to take you safely and easily to Belgrade.” “It was impossible to wait any more,” I told him. “Answers to the letters sent from Petrovaradin to Vienna were expected within three weeks of their being sent, so there was no way that we could remain any longer. We had a chance to leave, so we took it.” I continued: “But there’s something else I’d like to say. Please communicate this to your companions and your brother. Now you’ve arrested us, and you’re taking us to Petrovaradin, but what good will it do you? The general will take us into custody, and you’ll get to keep all of our belongings and our money. But what happens if Ali Pasha, the prefect of Belgrade, finds out about us, and learns that you have seized someone on the Muslim side of the border? If he writes back to the general to lodge a complaint, you may all end up arrested and punished. So come on, let us go, and we’ll promise to pay you even more than what you have now once we get to Belgrade. Neither the general nor the pasha need know anything about it.” After I said this, the man called his brother and companions and they spent about half an hour debating among themselves. Then they came back to me and started bargaining with us over a price, as though we were for sale in the horse market. Their opening offer was for four hundred kurush, plus the debt of ninety kurush that the captive from Petrovaradin still owed his master in Belgrade. I made as if I were doing the math in my head, and said: “No, that’s too much, we can’t pay that, try to be reasonable!” They then started lowering their price by fifteen or twenty kurush, until they came down to three hundred, plus the ninety for the captive’s master, and we had a deal. We shook on it. We were to pay within ten days of arriving in Belgrade and agreed that neither the Habsburg general nor the Ottoman commander would hear anything about it during that time. The Ser-

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bian captive would accompany us during the interval to ensure our compliance. This agreed, one of the haiduks took me by the hand and handed me over to the captive, saying, “Within ten days, you will pay us three hundred kurush by way of this captive.” I made all the necessary vows that I would stand by the agreement. But in my heart, I said to myself: “By Almighty Allah, if I’m delivered from your clutches now and can reach Belgrade safely, that will be the end of our deal!” All of this concluded, they put us back in our wagon along with the captive, and turned us around again toward Belgrade, but not before also taking for themselves the fare that we had paid the driver. Then we were on our way. At the place where we had been stopped by the haiduks, we came upon three or four Serbian cavalrymen, who lingered and inspected our wagon attentively as they passed by us. After another hundred paces or so, they stopped and started talking among themselves on the road. Seeing this, my heart froze, thinking that they too might have recognized us as fugitives. They gestured toward us with their hands, and I decided we should all get out of the wagon and find a place to hide by the banks of the Danube. “Go to Banovci, bring back a small boat, and take us to Belgrade by river,” I said to the Serbian captive. The captive immediately set off, while the rest of us got out of the wagon and hid as I had suggested. Meanwhile, the driver unhitched his horses and took them to feed at a place about a hundred paces away from us. Before he had even got there, the cavalrymen went up to him, and we heard them asking, “Who were the people in your wagon, and where have they gone?” The driver tried to give them some kind of an answer, but the cavalrymen did not accept it, and started both beating and verbally abusing him, saying, “Quick, tell us how many people you were carrying!” Then they began to search for us, coming right up to the banks of the river on their horses, to within ten paces of where I was hiding. They looked all around, but our guardian Allah kept us safe, and no matter how hard they searched, they could not find us. In the end, they forced the driver to turn his cart around and he left with them. We learned later that they were hussars from Titel,6 who, after the end of the war, had come to the villages of Syrmia as guns for hire. Had they found us, they certainly would have seized us and taken us away, so we were spared once again.

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An hour or two later, the captive returned with a boat and called out, “Where are you?” Hearing him, we showed ourselves. He had us board the boat, and we floated down the Danube toward Belgrade. Rendering a thousand thanks to Allah, we reached the city of Belgrade that day, a Friday, around noon. It turned out that our captive guide’s owner, Uzun Ahmed Beshe, had a residence right on the river in the port of Borča,7 with storerooms on the ground floor and accommodation for himself and his harem upstairs. We went directly there, and when we pulled up beside the house, and Ahmed Beshe saw us, he was astonished. “I just wrote an answer to your letter, with the appropriate tokens, and sent it today! Weren’t you in Petrovaradin? How could they possibly have reached you and brought you here so quickly?” I told him the entire story of our adventure from the beginning to the end. “This is an outrage!” he responded. “These infidels came here from Petrovaradin in peacetime as merchants, and they found you on our side of the border. How dare they seize you, shake you down, and demand money? How fortunate that my captive was there to help you! He’s clearly earned his ninety kurush. But as for the others, don’t pay them a single asper!” This was all very fine to say, but the truth was that I had no intention of paying anything to anyone. Nevertheless, I kept my mouth shut for the time being, and instead went down to the central market in Belgrade. Seeing me there, everyone was curious, and began asking: “Who are you? Where have you come from?” And I told them all about how I had managed to escape, but after safely reaching Muslim territory was once more taken captive. Their advice was as follows: “There’s no need for you to pay anyone even an asper. Instead, write a petition to His Excellency the governor, explaining everything that has happened, and especially how you were attacked on this side of the border. In all likelihood, he will demand the return of both your property and your money.” I took some time to think about all of this. When I went back to the house, our hussar captive and his master, Ahmed Bushe, asked me where I had been and what I had been up to. “I have neither three hundred kurush nor even ninety,” I said. “And here there is no one who knows me well enough to lend me even ten kurush. However, the

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governor here is a high-ranking vizier of His Majesty the sultan, so let me present a petition to him, and perhaps he’ll take pity on me and provide me with some charity. Then I’ll be able to pay at least something to you.” Neither Ahmed Beshe nor his captive were pleased at this. For if the pasha became aware of what Ahmed Beshe’s captive was guilty of, namely, that in peacetime he had been a party to the arrest and capture of fugitives who had safely crossed into Muslim territory, demanding a ransom for their release, he would clearly see this as a violation of both the Sharia and the terms of peace between the two empires. He might have the captive arrested and perhaps even executed. Ahmed Beshe gave me a menacing look and said, “No, get that scheme out of your head. If you try to make a petition to the pasha, know that I will no longer guarantee your safety here.” He said this because of how much money he was making trading goods back and forth between Belgrade and Petrovaradin. Hearing this, I decided to switch houses and found a new place to stay. Then I wrote a detailed petition and brought it to Ali Pasha’s pleasure pavilion.8 I found him practicing archery, and showed him my petition. One of his attendants took it from me and read it, and his steward came to me and said, “His Excellency the lord pasha has ordered that a letter be written and sent to the general in Petrovaradin. For this, please prepare a record with the names and physical descriptions of the haiduks you have mentioned in your petition, as well as the goods and possessions that you have lost, and give it to our translator. Based on this, a letter will be drafted and sent requesting the return of your property.” So, I compiled a list of the haiduks’ names and the things they had taken and gave it to the translator. But this character, as I realized, was a despicable Hungarian convert, who gave me the runaround for two or three days without writing anything, clearly expecting me to pay him something for drafting the letter. Eventually, I went back to the steward, who when he saw me took what I had written and asked, “Have you sent this?” “No,” I said. “Why not?” he said. “The translator wants me to pay him something, but I have no means to pay what he asks.” He immediately called one of the pasha’s carabineers standing guard and ordered that the translator be brought to him. As soon as he saw him, he stared

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him down and said, “You Godless miscreant! When I’m finished with you, I’ll be swimming in your innards! Get out of here and translate this poor captive’s letter!” Then he ordered the carabineer to keep watch on him and not to leave him until he had finished the letter and handed it to me. I went with him back to his house and sat down. He picked up his pen, but he still seemed to have no intention of writing anything. “When His Excellency the pasha asks me to write a letter for someone, I charge one gold coin,” he said. “When I’m asked by the lord steward to write one, I charge a kurush. Because you are a captive and a robbery victim, all I ask is that you have those two jugs over there filled with wine and brought to me. But until you do that, I won’t write a word.” I looked over at the jugs, each of which was large enough to hold four okka, meaning it would take eight okka to fill the pair.9 Since an okka of wine cost eight pares that totaled two silver aspers!10 I laughed and glanced at the carabineer, who was losing patience. He shot some harsh words at the translator and finally forced him to start writing. The translator wrote his letters in Hungarian and had a pile of papers ready on his table for use as needed with the pasha’s signature affixed to the top in the form of a tuğra.11 He did this with my letter as well, closing it with a seal once he was finished. But I was suspicious of its contents, since he had written it gratis, and I thought there was a chance he might not have done a proper job. So I wrote my own letter in German to go along with it, which I addressed directly to Baron von Nehem, general at Petrovaradin. The contents of this letter, from the beginning, were as follows:  o my dear and beloved friend, His Excellency, the venerable T and esteemed general: As your most excellent personage already knows well, whenever anyone is unfortunate enough to find himself captive in a foreign land, his mind remains preoccupied, day and night, with the thought of how he might find a way to free himself, as he plots in a thousand different ways the strategies or tricks that might bring him back to the land of his origin and reunite him with his family and friends. I too was in this condition, but I then found a way to collect my ransom, and to pay my captor in full. Nevertheless, I was

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not granted my freedom, and instead, in the most unjust manner, I was left to suffer in captivity for twelve long years. Finally, I risked everything in an attempt to gain my freedom at long last, and made it safely from Vienna to Petrovaradin. Once there, despite the great difficulties posed by your own efforts to stop me, I finally found a chance to escape and successfully set foot in Muslim territory. But then, as I was approaching Banovci, on the date indicated below, eight haiduks for hire from Petrovaradin, whose names are also indicated below, unjustly attacked me, took me prisoner, and seized the property listed in the register accompanying this letter as well as a quantity of money. Furthermore, they demanded that an additional sum of three hundred and ninety kurush be paid within ten days for my release, and because they acted in violation of the recently established peace treaty, they demanded that this agreement be kept secret both from the pasha and the general. In short, they violated our rights in open disdain of both holy law and the principles of friendship. In addition to this, one of the irregular soldiers resident in Petrovaradin, a certain Sava, had previously approached me offering to take me to Belgrade. For this we agreed on a price and he took my gold, after which he failed to respect our agreement. My dear friend, most venerable and esteemed general, I beg you to be understanding of my own transgressions, undertaken to secure my freedom, and to forgive me. But as for those villainous Serbs who have so wronged me, I hope that you will arrest them, retrieve my property, and send it back to me. For this reason, the current governor of Belgrade, His Excellency, the pure-hearted vizier Ali Pasha, has had a letter prepared and sent to you. Once you have been informed about this affair, it is hoped that you will decide for yourself what the proper course demanded by your mutual friendship is and act accordingly. I then signed and sealed the letter and had it sent with a Muslim captive who was traveling back across the border. As we learned later, when the general first heard that we were trying to escape, he had sent men in all four directions to search for us, and when they failed to find us, he had arrested and punished our

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landlords. Then, after my letters arrived and he had a chance to read them, he summoned the haiduks named in my inventory as well as the soldier Sava and interrogated them. To the latter he said: “Why, when you knew that those Muslims were intending to escape, didn’t you inform me, rather than taking their money?” And to the former: “Why, when you caught those fugitives, didn’t you bring them back into imperial territory, instead of robbing them of their money and possessions? Why didn’t you bring them to me? Instead, you made an agreement to take them to Belgrade for an additional three hundred and ninety kurush, on condition that neither I nor the governor of Belgrade should hear anything about it. Look, it’s all written here in these letters, one from the governor and one from the Muslim himself!” Then he had the lot of them shackled and thrown in the dungeon. He also managed to recover all of our money and possessions. A few days later, he had one or two of the haiduks strung up by the neck to make an example of them.

13

The End

We waited fifteen days in Belgrade for our property, but it never arrived. Then, with my companion Mehmed Sipahi, I went back to the pasha’s court and submitted another petition, this time asking him to write a letter to the pasha of Timişoara on my behalf, and another to the pasha of Rumelia1 on Mehmed’s behalf, requesting that we be reinstated in our old posts, or alternatively appointed to those held by our fathers. Mehmed Sipahi then left for Rumelia, traveling together with the woman he had brought with him, whom he married once he was there.2 The other woman in our company also went with them.3 As for myself, I traveled to Timişoara, but when I arrived almost none of my family and loved ones were left there. I found that my older brother, Bektash Agha, had passed away about a year before my return, leaving behind a seven-year-old daughter. My younger brother Suleyman Agha, who had enrolled in an elite unit of the imperial Janissary Corps, had been martyred at the battle of Zenta.4 As soon as I arrived in Timişoara, I was brought to the Janissary commander, and from there was sent for an audience with His Excellency Sarı Ahmed Pasha, the governor of Timişoara.5 He asked me about my journey and how long I had been a captive, and I answered all his questions. My answers were confirmed by the people in town who knew me, as well as the soldiers of the local garrison and their officers. Then I showed my letter from the governor of Belgrade, and after he read it the pasha immediately summoned the first officer of the cavalry and asked, “Who is the current barracks chief here?”6 The 153

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officer answered: “That position is still open, since the person holding it now is serving provisionally.” “Then I present you your new barracks chief,” the pasha said. “See to it that the salary connected to that position is paid to him in full.” A day or two later, the pasha summoned me once again and asked me several more questions, which I answered to the best of my ability. “Have you mastered the German language?” he asked. “Yes, my commander,” I answered, “and I have also learned a bit of their writing.” He was extremely pleased, and made me the following proposal: “Keep your salary as barracks chief, but come to work here by my side. I’ll promote you to the rank of officer, and, God willing, after you’ve worked with me for a while, I’ll make you a member of my personal staff under any conditions you desire.” Rather than giving a definitive answer, I told him I needed some time to think about his offer. Privately, I felt that it would be shameful for someone like me, who was a native of this place and had my origins here, to enter the service of a pasha and become his dependent, so I declined the pasha’s offer.7 Nevertheless, he continued to call upon me whenever an Austrian came to his court, and in this way I started to work for him as a translator. Some time thereafter, peace being established, a high official arrived from the Ottoman capital, who conducted a full review of all the existing revenue assignments in the district of Timişoara. He compiled a new cadastral survey of all the agricultural lands, their yields, and the people who worked them, including tracts allocated for public revenue as well as those that belonged to the sultan’s private domains. He also made an inventory of everyone in government service in the district’s “forty flagged units,” a list that included salaried state servants and members of the various cavalry corps and infantry units. In all, including the janissaries, provincial infantry, artillery units, and local volunteers, their aggregate salaries reached a total of three hundred and forty imperial purses.8 Some of these he assigned to be drawn from the revenues of the province of Timişoara, and others from the Vidin treasury.9 It was at this time that the local administration put in a request, on my behalf, to hire a permanent translator at a salary of sixty aspers a day. Once this was approved, an imperial patent was issued from the central government authorizing the position of “interpreter of the Timişoara Provincial Divan,” and the pasha formally appointed me to

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this new office. Soon thereafter, work began on redrawing the borders of Timişoara province, and an interpreter from the imperial council who had previously worked for the border commission in Bosnia came to Timişoara for this purpose. But shortly after his arrival, this man died of the plague and the pasha appointed me to take over his duties. So for the next eight months, I served on the border commission, an extremely difficult assignment. During this period, once the missions of the ambassadors representing their respective states were completed, each returned to the border and was repatriated.10 The Ottoman ambassador returning from Habsburg territory was His Excellency Ibrahim Pasha who, after safely arriving in Belgrade, was granted the governorship of Timişoara. He arrived in the city with a very large retinue and took control of the local administration.11 As Ibrahim Pasha was favorably disposed toward me, it was at this time that I decided to take a wife. Among my surviving relatives, there was a woman, my paternal aunt, whom I asked, in my mother’s stead, to look for a suitable bride. She fixed a match with the niece of Ibrahim Alaybegi, the regiment commander of Timişoara. After we were married, His Excellency Ibrahim Pasha, in his infinite generosity, granted me the revenues of the very lucrative town of Uzdin, in the district of Pantchevo.12 He did this without asking me for so much as an asper in return and even promised to add a neighboring district to the assignment as soon as it became available. Such were the favors and kindness that he showed me. But then the emperor reassigned him, appointing him governor of Rumelia, and in his place as governor of Timişoara came Koja Huseyn Pasha, a three-horsetail general who had previously served as chief of the Bostancı palace guard.13 Thereafter, over the next seventeen years, I served as a translator for eleven different pashas, most of them with a three-horsetail rank.14 Allah be praised, through His grace and generosity I was given responsibility for official correspondence, negotiations, and many other charges, and many times I was sent to Transylvania, Arad, Szeged, Petrovaradin, and other places all over the map to meet with Habsburg generals about matters of the highest importance. Not once on any of these occasions was I greeted with a harsh word or a sour look from any of them. Rather, I was always treated with the utmost politeness and grace. I genuinely enjoyed the generals’ company, respected them,

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and treated them with goodwill. In return, I received all manner of gifts from them, and in this way friendship and good neighborliness was established between us, as it should be. Indeed, the generals had such a degree of trust and deference in my regard that, in matters of particular importance, they would send two separate letters, one addressed to the pasha and the other directly to myself, while in most other instances they would simply write directly to me. In these cases, I would sometimes translate these letters in full; at other times I would open them in the pasha’s presence, read them, and interpret their contents for him viva voce. Then he would tell me the appropriate response, I would prepare and issue the necessary documents, and the matter would be settled. In cases when a letter was addressed to the pasha, I would first show it to him, then open it, read it, and prepare a translation, which I would read out loud in the pasha’s presence. Based on the issue at hand, the pasha would issue an order with the necessary response, which I would put down on paper using formal language and the appropriate titles. I would then read this back to the pasha, and if he approved, I would translate it in writing into the German language. The pasha would sign it with his name in Turkish, it would be sealed with his great seal, and then after closing it in an envelope and affixing my own seal to the outside I would send it out. During the time that Karayılanzade Ali Pasha, the former chief of the Bostancı palace guard, was in Timişoara,15 and Ambassador Ibrahim Pasha was the prefect of Belgrade,16 there were some disturbances in the regions of Kecskemét, Bosnia, and other regions that caused a dispute between the two states.17 Both sides appointed special representatives to negotiate in the border town of Slankamen. They held talks and disputations for sixteen months. Those representing the Ottoman imperial government were Ibrahim Efendi, secretary of the imperial Cebeci Corps,18 Osman Beg, the standard-bearer of Serem,19 Mehmed Agha, agha of the Gönüllü Corps,20 and Ahmed Zaim. Those representing the Austrian emperor were Lackowitz, the head translator of the Viennese war council,21 Lieutenant Colonel Türckh, who was chief military architect of Petrovaradin, and Captain Kastner.22 Then, after lengthy negotiations, and before any resolution to the dispute had been achieved, Ibrahim Pasha died.23 Ali Pasha, who had

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been in Timişoara, took his place as prefect of Belgrade, and responsibility for the negotiations thus fell to him. As he was preparing to go to Belgrade, the pasha was reluctant to leave me behind, so he secured an edict from the Ottoman court authorizing him to bring me to Belgrade and make use of my services in the ongoing negotiations. He then drafted a very friendly letter to General von Nehem in Petrovaradin, and sent me to deliver it in person. At that time, the interpreter in Petrovaradin was a certain Marcantonzade Mamuca.24 When I arrived, he and the city steward came to welcome me and arranged extremely grand and dignified accommodations for me. The general himself also conveyed his best wishes for my arrival, sending me coffee, sweets, and various other necessities, and assigning me a personal escort of ten soldiers and a corporal. He also sent personal instructions to the proprietor of my lodgings, ordering him to attend to my every need and never to deny any request I might make. Although I had exchanged many letters from Timişoara with General von Nehem, I had not seen him in person since the time of my escape. But the next day, I went to meet him. He was waiting for me together with General Tige, other high officers, and Lakowitz, and when he saw me from afar, he greeted me with a laugh. We approached each other, and he started to speak: “Welcome! You are most welcome! Can it really be nine years since we last saw each other? It seems like only months, or days! Praise God, what a handsome beard you’ve grown, it suits you! I’m so pleased you have come, how wonderful to see you. And I’m equally pleased to have His Excellency Ali Pasha of Timişoara as a new neighbor, and so grateful that he has sent you here.” As he said these kind words, he took my hand in his, and did not let go even after he finished. For my part, I returned his warm greeting, and brought an equally kind message from the pasha. Then I gave him the letter that I had brought. He read it and was pleased by the contents, saying: “This is very good news. His Excellency the pasha has written that he will use you, my old friend, in the negotiations between us, and with your mediation I’m sure we can settle the matter.” For the next two or three days, the general showed me every hospitality, treating me with great deference and hosting me at his own table. He then presented me with gifts, and a letter to take back, and sent me on my way.

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When I got back to Timişoara, I presented the letter to His Excellency the pasha, and gave him a full report, which he was greatly pleased to hear. He then headed to Belgrade, and although I had no desire to accompany him there, the pasha soon sent a letter by courier to Hasan Pasha, the new governor of Timişoara, asking for me.25 I was ordered to join him in Belgrade within the next few days, and I left immediately. Once in Belgrade, I participated in the negotiations regarding the ongoing dispute with the Habsburgs, and if I were to write a full account of everything that happened there, I would need to write another entire volume.26 As I mentioned above, the talks had by this point continued for no less than sixteen months under the most difficult conditions, and it seemed to those involved that they would never be concluded. Finally, the negotiators from our side sent a petition to Belgrade asking that the negotiations be called off, since the general in Petrovaradin had no real intention of reaching an agreement. As a result, the pasha now gave me full responsibility for this affair. Over the next weeks, I traveled seven times to Petrovaradin to see the general, and within a month the entire matter was resolved. Through God’s good graces, the dispute in Kecskemét was settled with the payment of an indemnity of seventy purses.27 I then traveled to Bosnia and took care of another matter, which involved French ships that had been seized at Dürres.28 Both sides were extremely pleased with the outcome, and I returned to Timişoara in honor and esteem. However, while we were negotiating in Bosnia, in the town of Gradiška, my counterpart Lackowitz fell ill and died suddenly. During my life in Timişoara, I had three daughters from my first marriage, and then five sons. One of my daughters is still alive, and is now married and lives in Istanbul. Of the sons, only one, Ismail, is still alive. All the others have passed away. In all, I spent seventeen years in Timişoara. Between my property, my salary, and two separate revenue assignments, I became quite rich. Then Ali Pasha, the one who later became a martyr for the faith at Petrovaradin,29 granted the fief of Jarkovac to my son Ismail.30 At that point, I had achieved everything I could have hoped for of the things of this world. I truly believed that my troubles were behind me, and

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that I would spend the rest of my days enjoying the good things of life. But this is never the case for anyone in this faithless world, and I was soon to face the same destiny as the kings of old recorded in the history books who in their time say, “The world is mine!” but then vanish without a trace. Indeed, in this regard there is a well-established saying of the Prophet Mohammed, according to which there are three kinds of affliction in life, and no believer can escape from all three. The first is affliction itself, that is to say, a physical malady or illness. The second is the affliction of poverty. And the third is the affliction of abasement, meaning losing one’s station in life. Every man must face at least one of these. But most mighty Allah be praised, I have faced all three. First, in the siege of Timişoara, I lost all my property, and my sight was impaired.31 Then, in the siege of Belgrade, I suffered a far greater calamity: my wife and my children, together with nine or ten of my relatives, were all killed when the munitions depot exploded.32 In a moment, they were all gone, and with them what wealth I had left. I did remarry, and over the space of seven years, my wife bore me three sons. One of them died, but two are still alive. By God’s command, I have ended up here, in the imperial capital, where I scratch out a living, and spend my days preparing for death. Often, I think of the wisdom of the Prophet Mohammed, who said, “This world is the prison of the believers, and the paradise of the unbelievers.” Truly, it is so. All I can do is to try to be satisfied with my lot, and to pass what is left of my life with as much forbearance and serenity as I can. Truly, most Magnificent and Mighty Allah is the creator, provider, protector and supporter of all his creatures. I take refuge in the oneness of the most Lofty and Exalted God. Through my prayers, to the extent that I am able, I render Him thanks and praise, and beg, through His kindness and grace, that He might pardon and forgive me, together with the rest of Mohammed’s Community. O Lord of the Universe, Amen. Completed by the poor and humble translator, Osman Agha of Timişoara, in the Tophane neighborhood of Istanbul, in the year 1136, on the twenty-third day of the month of Shaban. [18 May 1724]

appendix

The Main Characters in Osman’s Narrative In order of appearance

bektash agha

Osman’s older brother, with whom Osman lived as an adolescent. A lifelong military officer, he dies, presumably of natural causes, a year before Osman’s return from captivity. “Agha” is a title, akin to “Sir,” not a surname.

atiye kadın

Osman’s oldest sister, who raised Osman and his two younger siblings (brother Suleyman and sister Vasıfhan) after their parents’ death. Both she and Vasıfhan die shortly after the outbreak of war in 1683. “Kadın” is a title, akin to “Lady,” not a surname.

suleyman agha

Osman’s younger brother, seven years his junior. During Osman’s captivity he becomes a soldier, enrolling in the Janissary corps. He is killed at the battle of Zenta in 1697.

zulfikar kethuda

A protégé of Osman’s father, chosen by the latter on his deathbed to marry Osman’s sister Atiye. Zulfikar lives in the family house with Osman and his siblings. Kethüdā ˘ is an Ottoman military rank, roughly equivalent to “lieutenant.” koja jafer pasha Timişoara’s governor at the beginning of Osman’s adventure. He is remembered in Ottoman history as “the hot-blooded graybeard” (delikanlı ihtiyar) for offering, during the siege of Timişoara in 1696, to face the much younger Habsburg commander in hand-tohand combat. He died at the Battle of Zenta (1697) along with Osman’s brother Suleyman. 161

162      Appendix general antonio Habsburg commander at the siege of Lipova, originally von caraffa from Naples, Italy. He is remembered by historians for his ruthlessness. True to his reputation, Caraffa’s refusal to accept a negotiated surrender of Lipova’s garrison leads directly to Osman’s capture. prince louis Known as “Türkenlouis” or “Turkish Louis” for his [ludwig wilhelm many military successes against the Ottomans. As the von baden-baden] commander of the main Habsburg army during the late 1680s, he is a frequently mentioned figure in the early chapters of Osman’s narrative. lieutenant fischer

Osman’s first owner and the primary villain of the early, dark chapters of Osman’s narrative. A low-ranking military judge, described by Osman as a “lieutenant auditor,” he exits the story after resigning his commission to seek different employment in Vienna, sometime toward the end of 1689.

the lieutenant

(later promoted to “Captain”) After saving Osman from an attempt by Fischer (described above) to sell him illegally to a slaver, this unnamed Habsburg officer nearly kills Osman himself through his corruption and gross negligence. Eventually, he and Fischer come to blows over rights to a servant girl, and he lands a blade in Fischer’s belly.

hajji ahmed

Silver-tongued and mysteriously well-connected with the local Habsburg authorities, this fellow Ottoman captive proves to be no friend to Osman. Instead, he first provokes Osman’s master into beating him savagely; then uses the good names of Osman and his companions to spring himself from captivity, vanishing without a trace.

the blacksmith

A local Croatian artisan who, during Osman’s stay in the town of Ivanić, offers to help him escape. The attempt fails, and Osman—convinced that the blacksmith and his family have intentionally duped him—reports them to the authorities.

count otto von stubenberg

The military governor of Ivanić, and Osman’s second master after Lieutenant Fischer departs for Vienna. He first leaves Osman to rot in a dungeon for a year or more, then hires him as his personal groom, and finally brings him to his ancestral estate in Austria. He dies shortly thereafter, in late 1691.

Appendix    163 the toll collector

Osman’s bedmate for one memorable night in Kapfenberg, which the two spend lying dangerously close to each other and with provocatively few clothes on, all the while discussing the “unnatural vices of the Turks.”

countess von lamberg

The graceful young wife of Count von Stubenberg (described above), who becomes Osman’s third owner upon the death of her much older husband. Roughly the same age as Osman (she is widowed at twenty-five), she develops a deep affection for him, but finally agrees to send him to Vienna to take service with her kinsman Count von Schallenberg.

margot

Just fifteen years old, and hopelessly in love with Osman, this handmaiden to Countess von Lamberg sneaks into Osman’s bed in a desperate attempt to persuade him not to leave for Vienna. Osman resists her charms—barely.

count christoph Osman’s difficult and exacting fourth master, his patron throughout his years in Vienna.He grows profoundly dietmar von schallenberg attached to Osman, and when the latter decides to escape at war’s end, he forges the count’s signature rather than asking for his emancipation papers. “ratz”

An Orthodox Christian from Osman’s native Timişoara, and his closest friend in Vienna. Their relationship begins during Osman’s first week in the city, with a failed attempt to carry their corpulent master on a litter. It culminates in a drunken brawl with Austrian soldiers at “the Chicken Hole,” a seedy Viennese dive. “Ratz” = “the Serb” here.

the lady schal- The highborn wife of Osman’s master, Count von lenberg [char- Schallenberg. Much like Osman’s previous mistress, lotte ursula von Countess von Lamberg (described above), she develops limburg-styrum] a deep affection for Osman and serves as his protector— even appearing in a dream to calm him during the darkest hour of his escape. “brother ali”

A childhood friend of Osman’s brother Suleyman, and, like Osman, a captive in Vienna. At Ali’s urging, Osman pretends the two are brothers, causing no end of trouble. Eventually, Osman is drawn into a complicated, dangerous plot—spearheaded by his master’s wife and Cardinal Kollonitsch—to rescue Ali from his master, the Swedish ambassador.

164      Appendix ambassador horn Count Fredrick Wilhelm Horn, Swedish ambassador in Vienna from May 1690 to July 1694. As the owner of Osman’s “brother” Ali, Horn is on the receiving end of the plot, described above, to prevent Ali from being taken to Sweden. Outraged, Horn appeals to the emperor and very nearly causes a diplomatic incident. cardinal While known to historians as a fearsome enforcer of leopold karl Catholic orthodoxy, Osman’s narrative reveals an von kollonitsch entirely different side to the cardinal, as a close friend of Count von Schallenberg’s and willing to use his office for his friend’s, and Osman’s, benefit. the stewardess

An intriguing unnamed woman, whom Osman describes as having previously cross-dressed as a man in order to serve in a Habsburg military regiment. While traveling by barge down the Danube with Osman, she becomes the center of a deadly love triangle between Osman’s companion and an old lover from her former battalion.

seyfried von eyrsperg (aka “the steward”)

The head of Count von Schallenberg’s domestic service, who learned Turkish as a child from an Ottoman renegade lodged in his father’s home. As an adult, he becomes infatuated with a captive Muslim girl in his service (see next entry), whom he eventually rapes—unexpectedly paving the way for Osman’s escape.

captive muslim girl

Osman’s co-worker, the daughter of a high-ranking Ottoman official. Taken captive at the tender age of seven, she is raped at the age of fifteen by her supervisor, Seyfried von Eyrsperg (see preceding entry). By confiding in Osman, she unwittingly aids his escape. Her own fate remains a mystery.

captive muslim woman

Osman’s co-worker and his countrywoman from Timişoara. She is every bit Osman’s equal as an adventurer, having survived a bullet in the head and a daring escape from distant Lorraine, in what is now northern France. Hearing of Osman’s plans for a border run, she persuades him to bring her along.

Appendix    165 mehmed sipahi

A captured Ottoman cavalryman who, during his many years in Vienna, feigned conversion to Christianity and then married a captive woman. Fluent in French, Italian, and German, he and Osman form a partnership to escape together, along with Mehmed’s wife, his four-year old daughter, and Osman’s female co-worker (described just above).

kupferschmied

The riverboat captain who brings Osman and his party from Vienna to Budapest, the first leg of their escape route. Osman plies him with fine wine during the journey, and later, when questioned by the authorities, uses him as an (unwitting) character reference.

general pfeffer- The governor of Budapest, Osman’s first adversary shofen during his run to the border. He initially arrests Osman and his party after informants report their absence at Easter mass, but then issues travel passes for their journey on to Petrovaradin, convinced by Osman’s forged emancipation papers. patarich

An Armenian resident of Baja, married to a convert from Islam, who specializes in helping Muslim captives across the border. After meeting Osman, he arranges a carriage to take his party the rest of the way by night, but the driver betrays them, leaving them in broad daylight in the border town of Futog (now part of the city of Novi Sad, Serbia).

arabacı huseyn

A fellow Muslim fugitive, who arranges a carriage to take Osman and his companions across the border (his name means “Huseyn the Carriage Driver”). Unfortunately, while he and Osman discuss their plans in Osman’s hotel, the innkeeper’s young son—fluent in Turkish—overhears their conversation and reports it to his mother.

fatima of belgrade (aka “the convert woman”)

Although the daughter of a pious Muslim, this famously beautiful captive falls into loose living after becoming a Christian in Vienna, contracting syphilis twice. Reconnecting with Osman in Futog, she grows suspicious of his intentions and spreads malicious rumors about him, almost leading to his arrest.

166      Appendix “number nine”

An Armenian Christian and the husband of Fatima of Belgrade (see preceding entry). Told by his wife about a group of Muslim fugitives attempting to cross the border, he first attempts to blackmail them, and then reports them to the authorities in Petrovaradin.

captain sava

The captain of the local militia of Petrovaradin, who fails to prevent a large group of fugitives led by Arabacı Huseyn (described above) from escaping. Not to be confused with Sava Desetnik, described below.

sava desetnik

A corporal in the local militia of Futog, known to have previously helped other Muslim fugitives to escape. Osman trusts him to hire a boat, but Sava swindles him. Then, prompted by Fatima of Belgrade’s gossip, he tries to shake him down for hush money.

general nehem

The Habsburg governor of Petrovaradin for more than twenty years, from 1691 until his death in 1713. Although fiercely dedicated to preventing Osman’s escape, in the years that follow, the two men regularly exchange letters. Nehem eventually welcomes Osman back to Petrovaradin as an official Ottoman envoy, showing him affection and lavish hospitality.

petra

A member of the local Serbian militia. After Osman is swindled by Petra’s superior Sava Desetnek, Petra offers to hire the boat and carriage necessary for his escape. Petra makes good on his promise, but without enough time for the voyage to proceed as planned.

the driver

One of a group of Sremski Karlovci locals hired to take Osman’s party on the last leg of their journey, after first hiding them for two nights in their own ramshackle huts. During the final run to Belgrade, the Driver misjudges the safety of the route, for which both he and Osman pay a heavy price.

the captive haiduk

After participating in the illegal recapture of Osman and his companions in Muslim territory, the haiduk reveals that he is himself the captive of a Belgrade Muslim, and was on his way to Petrovaradin to help Osman escape. He persuades his comrades to let Osman’s party go free and escorts them to Belgrade— for a fee.

Appendix    167 uzun ahmed beshe

The master of the “captive haiduk” described above, this well-to-do Ottoman merchant at first warmly welcomes Osman to Belgrade, then reveals himself to be interested only in profiting from Osman’s misfortunes.

[hazinedar] ali pasha (of belgrade)

The prefect of Belgrade when Osman and his companions finally reach the city in safety. Receiving Osman at his residence, he orders his staff to help recover Osman’s lost property. Not to be confused with Karayılanzade Ali Pasha of Timişoara (mentioned below).

the translator

A Hungarian convert to Islam who serves as interpreter for Ali Pasha of Belgrade. When ordered to translate Osman’s letter to General Nehem in Petrovaradin regarding his lost property, he solicits a bribe. Osman becomes so mistrustful that he drafts his own letter in German.

sarı ahmed pasha Timişoara’s governor and Osman’s first benefactor upon his return to his native city. After offering Osman an appointment in his personal retinue (which Osman declines), he hires him as a translator for the local administration, and then appoints him to the newly formed Ottoman-Habsburg border commission. ambassador ibrahim pasha

Timişoara’s next governor after Sarı Ahmed Pasha (see preceding entry). Having previously visited Vienna on a diplomatic mission, he proves a generous patron to Osman who, flush with the income from his new revenue assignment, decides to find a wife. Ibrahim later becomes prefect of Belgrade.

[karayılanzade] Another governor of Timişoara who is reassigned as ali pasha (of prefect of Belgrade in the midst of delicate negotiations timişoara) with the Habsburgs. He sends Osman to Petrovaradin as an envoy, and then puts him in charge of the negotiations. Not to be confused with Hazinedar Ali Pasha (discussed above). ismail

The only one of five sons born to Osman in Timişoara still living when he wrote his memoir, and the only one whose name is given in the text. Of Osman’s three daughters, only one survived. Osman also had three more sons from a second marriage after moving to Istanbul, two of whom were still alive (and presumably very small children) when the memoir was written.

notes

I N T R O D U C T IO N

1.  Jill Kerr Conway, When Memory Speaks: Exploring the Art of Biography (New York: Vintage Books, 1998), 8. 2.  For a recent reinterpretation of the seventeenth century as an era of “general crisis,” a concept originally proposed by Hugh Trevor-Roper in the mid-twentieth century, see Geoffrey Parker, Global Crisis: War, Climate Change and Catastrophe in the Seventeenth Century (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2014). 3.  For a general overview of the history of this period, see Peter Sugar, Southeastern Europe under Ottoman Rule, 1354–1804 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1983). 4.  Caroline Finkel, The Administration of Warfare: The Ottoman Military Campaigns in Hungary, 1593–1606 (Vienna: Verband der Wissenschaftlichen Gesellschaften Österreichs, 1988). 5.  On the Thirty Years’ War, see Tryntje Helfferich, The Thirty Years War: A Documentary History (Indianapolis: Hackett, 2009); on the OttomanSafavid conflict, see Özer Küpeli, Osmanlı-Safevi Münasebetleri (Istanbul: Yeditepe Yayınevi, 2014). 6.  For a recent overview of Balkan history, see Marie-Janine Calic, The Great Cauldron: A History of Southeastern Europe (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2019). 7.  On the Ottoman conquest of Crete and its aftermath, see Molly Greene, A Shared World: Christians and Muslims in the Early Modern Mediterranean (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2000). 169

170      Notes to Pages 4–13 8.  On Ottoman-Polish relations, see Dariusz Kolodziejczyk, OttomanPolish Diplomatic Relations (15th–18th Centuries): An Annotated Edition of ’Ahdnames and Other Documents (Leiden: Brill, 2000). 9.  For a recent, highly readable account of the siege (told from the Habsburg perspective), see Andrew Wheatcroft, The Enemy at the Gate: Habsburgs, Ottomans, and the Battle for Europe (New York: Basic Books, 2010). 10.  For a general account of the war from a diplomatic perspective, see Kenneth Setton, Venice, Austria and the Turks in the Seventeenth Century (New York: American Philosophical Society, 1991). 11.  See the Note on the Translation following this introduction for a more complete discussion of this term. 12.  For a recent study of the foundation of Ottoman Hungary, see Pál Fodor, The Unbearable Weight of Empire: The Ottomans in Central Europe—a Failed Attempt at Universal Monarchy (1390–1566) (Budapest: Research Centre for the Humanities, Hungarian Academy of Sciences, 2016). 13.  On the Habsburg emergence as a major power through this conflict, see Michael Hochedlinger, Austria’s Wars of Emergence: War, State and Society in the Habsburg Monarchy, 1683–1797 (New York: Routledge, 2013). 14.  In this conflict, the principal adversary of the Habsburgs was Louis XIV of France. See John A. Lynn, The Wars of Louis XIV, 1667–1714 (New York: Longman, 1999). 15.  On the Muslim community of Vienna, see David do Paço, L’Orient à Vienne au dix-huitième siècle (Oxford: Voltaire Foundation, 2015). 16.  For some recent reevaluations of this historical turning point, see Colin J. Heywood and Ivan Parvev, The Treaties of Carlowitz (1699): Antecedents, Course, and Consequences (Leiden: Brill, 2020). 17.  For a French translation of the most complete surviving example that predates Osman, see Ma’cûncızâde Efendi, Le Captif de Malte: Récit autobiographique d’un cadi ottoman, trans. and ed. Hayri G. Özkoray (Toulouse: Anacharsis, 2019). Özkoray’s introduction (pp.14–18) also gives a bibliography of the few other known examples of the genre. See also Halil Sahilioğlu, “Akdeniz’de Korsanlara Esir Düşen Abdi Çelebi’nin Mektubu,” İstanbul Üniversitesi Edebiyat Fakültesi Tarih Dergisi 17 (1962): 241–56; and Nicolas Vatin, Sultan Djem: Un prince Ottoman dans l’Europe du XVe siècle d’après deux sources contemporaines: Vakıât-ı Sultan Djem, Oeuvres de Guillaume Caorsin (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1997). Belkis Altuniş Gürsoy, “Siyasetname Hüviyetinde Bir Esaretname,” Erdem: Insan ve Toplum Bilimleri Dergisi, 60 (2011): 77–142. 18.  This contrasts sharply with the popularity of captivity narratives in contemporary Christin Europe. See Linda Colley, Captives: Britain, Empire

Notes to Pages 13–16    171 and the World, 1600–1850 (London: Anchor Books, 2004); Mario Klarer, Piracy and Captivity in the Mediterranean: 1550–1810 (London: Routledge, 2018). 19.  For a consideration of this problem with specific reference to the period in which Osman lived, see Cemal Kafadar, “Self and Others: The Diary of a Dervish in Seventeenth-Century Istanbul and First-Person Narratives in Ottoman Literature,” Studia Islamica, no. 69 (1989): 121–50. 20.  See, e.g., Early Modern Autobiography: Theories, Genres, Practices, ed. R. Bedford, L. Davis, and P. Kelly (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2006). 21.  See Dwight F. Reynolds, Interpreting the Self: Autobiography in the Arabic Literary Tradition (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001); also Many Ways of Speaking about the Self: Middle Eastern Ego-Documents in Arabic, Persian, and Turkish, Fourteenth–Twentieth Century, ed. Ralf Elger and Yavuz Köse (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2010). 22.  Zahiruddin Muhammad Babur, The Baburnama: Memoirs of Babur, Prince and Emperor, ed. and trans. Wheeler M. Thackston Jr. (New York: Random House, 2002). And see also Stephen Frederic Dale, “Steppe Humanism: The Autobiographical Writings of Zahir al-Din Muhammad Babur, 1483–1530,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 22, no. 1 (February 1990): 37–58. 23.  See Derin Terzioğlu, “Autobiography in Fragments: Reading Ottoman Personal Miscellanies in the Early Modern Era,” in Autobiographical Themes in Turkish Literature: Theoretical and Comparative Perspectives, ed. Olcay Akyıldız, Halim Kara, and Börte Sagaster (Würzburg: Ergon; Istanbul: Orient-Institut, 2007), 83–100. 24.  Evliya Çelebi, An Ottoman Traveller: Selections from the Book of Travels of Evliya Çelebi, ed. and trans. Robert Dankoff and Sooyong Kim (London: Eland Publishing, 2011). 25.  As noted by Dankoff, Evliya’s text—much like Osman’s—seems not to have been widely read until its “rediscovery” by German-speaking orientalists in the nineteenth century. 26.  For a recent reconsideration of German ego-documents in the early modern period, see Mapping the ‘I’: Research on Self-Narratives in Germany and Switzerland, ed. Claudia Ulbrich, Kaspar von Greyerz, and Lorenz Heiligensetzer (Leiden: Brill, 2015). 27.  Ariel Salzmann, “Migrants in Chains: On the Enslavement of Muslims in Renaissance and Enlightenment Europe,” Religions 4, no. 3 (2013): 391–411. 28.  Both of these defeats were inflicted by Prince Eugene of Savoy, who had also masterminded the Ottoman defeat at Zenta in 1697. 29.  The famous Turkish Letters of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu provide a fascinating contemporary description of Istanbul at the beginning of this

172      Notes to Pages 16–18 period. See Mary Wortley Montagu, The Turkish Embassy Letters, ed. Anita Desai (London: Virago, 1994). 30.  For a recent reevaluation, see Selim Karahasanoğlu, “Challenging the Paradigm of the Tulip Age: The Consumer Behavior of Nevşehirli Damad İbrahim Paşa and His Household,” in Living the Good Life: Consumption in the Qing and Ottoman Empires of the Eighteenth Century, ed. Elif Akçetin and Suraiya Faroqhi (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 134–60. 31.  See Harun Küçük, Science without Leisure: Practical Naturalism in Istanbul, 1660–1732 (Pittsburg: University of Pittsburg Press, 2020), 183–202. 32.  Ibid., 186–94; also Fatma Müge Göçek, East Encounters West: France and the Ottoman Empire in the Eighteenth Century (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987). 33.  For a modern French translation of this text, see Mehmed Efendi, Le paradis des infidels: Yirmisekiz Çelebi Mehmed Efendi, ambassadeur ottoman en France sous la Régence, trans. Julien-Claude Galland (Paris: La Découverte, 1981). 34.  To date, the only published version of this text is in Ottoman Turkish. See Yanko İskender Hoçi, “S.adr-ı aʿz. am Saʿīd Meh.med Paşa Merh.ūm’uñ h–ovācegān Divān-ı Hümāyūn iken İstok. holm’a vuk. ūʿ bulan sefāreti,” in Tārīh– -i ʿOsmānī Encümeni Mecmuʿası 11 (H. 1329 / 1911 CE), 658–77. 35.  Orlin Sabev, Waiting for Müteferrika: Glimpses of Ottoman Print Culture (Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2018). 36.  The translation of the problematic word Nemçe is discussed in more detail in the Note on the Translation that follows this introduction. 37.  There were, to be sure, individual examples of this kind of writing, including a history of France composed as early as the late sixteenth century. See La première histoire de France en turc ottoman: Chroniques des padichahs de France, 1572, ed. and trans. Jean-Louis Bacqué-Grammont (Paris: Institut français d’études anatoliennes, 1997). 38.  The text survives in a single manuscript, preserved in Istanbul’s Köprülü Library. See the translator’s introduction in Osman Agha de Temechvar, Prisonnier des infidèles: Un soldat ottoman dans l’empire des Habsbourg, ed. and trans. Frédéric Hitzel (Arles: Sindbad, 1998), 25. 39.  See Jovan Pešalj, “Early 18th-Century Peacekeeping: How Habsburgs and Ottomans Resolved Several Border Disputes after Karlowitz,” in Empires and Peninsulas: Southeastern Europe between Karlowitz and the Peace of Adrianople, 1699–1829 [proceedings of an international conference hosted by the Sofia University Faculty of History in October 2009], ed. Plamen Mitov, Ivan Parvev, Maria Baramova, and Vania Rachev (Berlin: LIT, 2010), 29–42. 40.  Zwischen Paschas und Generälen: Bericht des Osman Aga aus Temeschwar über die Höhepunkte seines Wirkens als Diwansdolmetscher und Diplomat, ed. and trans. Richard F. Kreutel (Graz: Styria, 1966). The sole copy of

Notes to Pages 18–22    173 the original manuscript is preserved in Vienna’s Austrian National Library, Or. 657. 41.  Osman, Prisonnier des infidèles, ed. Hitzel, 24. 42.  David Do Paço, “Une collaboration économique et sociale: Consuls et protecteurs des marchands ottomans à Vienne et à Trieste au xviiie siècle,” Cahiers de la Méditerranée 98 (2019) : 61. 43.  Had Osman given the Hijra year of his mother’s death (1077) in figures, a slip of the pen might be thought more likely, but since he spelled it out, biñ yetmiş yedi, that seems improbable. 44.  Do Paço, “Collaboration économique,” 61. I thank David Do Paço for providing additional details from this source not included in his published article. 45.  For a fascinating case study of this phenomenon, see Dana Sajdi, The Barber of Damascus: Nouveau Literacy in the Eighteenth-Century Ottoman Levant (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2013); Other comparative examples include Nir Shafir, “Moral Revolutions: The Politics of Piety in the Ottoman Empire Reimagined,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 61, no. 3 (2019): 595–623, and Selim Karahasanoğlu, Kadı ve Günlüğü: Sadreddinzade Talhisi Mustafa Efendi Günlüğü (1711–1735) Üstüne Bir İnceleme (Istanbul: Türkiye Iş Bankası Kültür Yayınları, 2013). For a more general consideration of the evolving sense of public and private during this period, see Tulay Artan, “Forms and Forums of Expression: Istanbul and Beyond, 1600–1800,” in The Ottoman World, ed. Christine Woodhead (London: Routledge, 2011), 378–405. 46.  British Museum NR MS Or. 3213. 47.  Alfred von Kremer, Über meine Sammlung orientalischer Handschriften (Vienna: Carl Gerolds Sohn, 1885), entry no. 61. 48.  Catalogue of the Turkish Manuscripts in the British Museum, ed. Charles Rieu (London: British Museum, 1888), 73–74. 49.  Osman Aga, Leben und Abenteuer des Dolmetschers Osman Aġa, Eine Türkische Autobiographie aus der Zeit der grossen Kriege gegen Osterreich, trans. Richard Kreutel and Otto Spies, ed. H. Griesbach (Bonn: Selbstverlag des Orientalischen Seminars der Universität, 1954). 50.  M. Şevki Yazman, Osman Ağa’nın Anıları (Istanbul: Tanyeri Yayınları, 1961). 51.  Osman Aga, Der Gefangen der Giauren: Die abenteuerlichen Schicksale des Dolmetschers ‘Osman Ağa aus Temeschwar, tran. Richard Kreutel and Otto Spies, ed. H. Griesbach (Graz: Styria, 1962). 52.  Temeşvarlı Osman Ağa, Gāvurların Esiri, trans. Esat Nermi (Istanbul: Milliyet Yayınları, 1971). 53.  Die Autobiographie des Dolmetschers ‘Osmān Aġa aud Temeschwar, ed. Richard F. Kreutel (Cambridge, MA: Gibb Memorial Trust, 1980). Somewhat

174      Notes to Pages 23–28 unusually, this text was printed in Ottoman characters rather than in Latin transcription. 54.  The first scholarly edition to appear in modern Turkish was Kendi Kalemiyle Temeşvarlı Osman Ağa, ed. Harun Tolasa (Konya: Selçuk Üniversitesi Basım Evi, 1986). In Hungarian: Osman Aga, A gyaurok rabságában: Pasák és generálisok között, trans. Imre Bánkúti (Budapest: Balassi Kiadó, 1996). In French, Prisonnier des infidèles, ed. and trans. Hitzel. In Czech: Osman Aga z Temešváru, Ve stínu kříže, ed. and trans. Petr Štěpánek (Prague: Brody, 2001). In Croatian: Autobiografia Osman-Age Temišvarskog, ed. and trans. Ekrem Čaušvić (Zagreb: Srednja Europa, 2004). In Romanian: Osman Aga de Timişoara, Ostatec Printre Ghiauri: Un soldat otoman in imperiul Habsburgic, trans. Mihaela Pasat (Timişoara: Ariergarda, 2019). 1 . SU R R E N D E R

1.  Since Osman is writing in the 1720s, his father must have settled in Timişoara around 1620, presumably as a relatively young man. 2.  Literally, “lieutenant in the first hearth of the Timişoara Azap corps” (T. emeşvār’ıñ ‘azebān-ı evvel ocağında kethüdā). The ‘azap were salaried volun˘ teers in the Ottoman army, frequently used for local garrison duty in the seventeenth-century Balkans. 3.  The “local Janissaries” (yirli k. ulları) were an elite force of Ottoman infantry. By the late seventeenth century, its members were primarily freeborn Muslims, although in earlier periods they were Christians conscripted as boys and forcibly converted to Islam. 4.  Slankamen is a settlement on the Danube, about 50 kilometers upstream from Osman’s father’s native Belgrade. 5.  Osman here gives the date according to the Muslim or Hijri calendar, which begins in 622 CE, the year the Prophet Muhammed left Mecca and led his followers to Medina (an event known as the Hijra, or “migration”). Converting Hijri dates to Western dates can be quite complicated, since the Islamic calendar follows the lunar year, between ten and twelve days shorter than a solar year. As a result, after his captivity Osman will frequently give dates according to the Christian calendar, presumably because he was no longer sure of the exact Hijri date. 6.  A difficult passage to interpret. Although the wording is unambiguous (Seged mah.allesinde vāk. iʿ sābik. ā Yezüvīt kelisāsından bozma cāmiʿ-i şerīf ), there were certainly no Jesuit churches in Timişoara before the Ottoman conquest. It is possible that Osman uses “Jesuit” (Yezüvīt) simply to mean a Catholic as opposed to an Orthodox church, but also very likely that the text confuses the temporal sequence: the Great Mosque of Timişoara, where his parents were

Notes to Pages 28–30    175 buried, was converted into a Catholic church shortly after the Habsburg conquest in 1716, just a few years before Osman composed his memoir. 7.  Kethuda (Ottoman kethüdā) is not a surname per se, but rather a mili˘ tary rank, roughly equivalent to “lieutenant.” 8.  Islamic family law has quite specific rules regarding the division of inheritance, with shares of different sizes apportioned based on gender, birth order, and relation to the deceased. 9.  Szatmár (Satu Mare in Romanian) is a region on the border between modern Hungary and Romania. Košice is today in eastern Slovakia (see map 2). It was captured by Habsburg troops in October 1685, a major Ottoman defeat. 10.  Literally, “room head” (oda başı), the lowest-ranking officer in the Ottoman military hierarchy. 11.  Donatus Johann Heissler, Count von Heitersheim (1648–96). The campaigns described by Osman took place in 1684–85, as a reward for which Heitersheim was promoted general. See Wilhelm Edler von Janko, “Heißler von Heitersheim, Donat Johann Graf,” Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie 11 (1880), 671. Szolnok and Szarvas are both towns in southeastern Hungary, respectively 250 and 160 kilometers from Timişoara (see map 2). 12.  Arad is within the borders of modern Romania, just 60 kilometers from Timişoara (see map 2). The Rumelian army (Rumeli ʿAskeri) was one of the two main armies of the Ottoman military, the other being the Anatolian army (Anadolu ‘Askeri). 13.  Cenad (Csanád in Hungarian) is on the Romanian side of the modern border with both Serbia and Hungary, roughly 75 kilometers from Timişoara (see map 2). 14.  Ernst George Olivier Wallis (d. 1689), not to be confused with his son, the more famous George Olivier, Count von Wallis (1671–1743). Szeged, today the third largest city in Hungary, lies roughly 150 kilometers to the northwest of Timişoara. It surrendered to Wallis on 23 October 1686. 15.  On these two terms, which have many possible shades of meaning, see the Note on the Translation at the beginning of this volume. Here Osman uses them to mean something akin to “bandits” and “highwaymen.” 16.  Koja Jafer Pasha (d. 1697) was governor of Timişoara between 1688 and 1690. He returned to successfully defend Timişoara from a Habsburg siege in 1696 and was nicknamed the “hot-blooded graybeard” (delikanlı ihtiyar) for offering to decide the siege by facing the much younger Habsburg commander in hand-to-hand combat. He died a year later at the battle of Zenta. See Mehmed Süreyya, Sicil-i Osmani, ed. Nuri Akbayar and Seyyit Ali Kahraman (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfı, 1996), 2: 382. 17.  Lipova is on the Mureş River, roughly 30 kilometers downstream from Arad and 60 kilometers overland from Timişoara (see map 2).

176      Notes to Pages 30–40 18.  The okka, a standard Ottoman unit of weight, was equivalent to 1.22 kilograms. The asper, or akçe in Turkish, was a standard Ottoman monetary unit, but with a silver content that was continuously devalued over the course of the seventeenth century. See Şevket Pamuk, A Monetary History of the Ottoman Empire (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000). 19.  Ineu is roughly 50 kilometers north of Lipova (see map 2). 20.  General Antonio von Caraffa (1646–93) was a Neapolitan nobleman in Habsburg service. In 1688, he was Generalkriegskommissär (general war commissioner), then the highest rank in the Habsburg army. He would later become the subject of a eulogistic biography by the Neapolitan philosopher Giambattista Vico, De rebus gestis Antonj Caraphaei (Naples, 1716). 21.  Muslim prayer times are calculated according to the position of the sun. The morning prayer is recited at dawn, the afternoon prayer at the moment when a rod casts a shadow twice its own length plus the length of the shadow it cast at noon. In June, when the battle of Lipova was fought, this would have been quite late in the day. 22.  For “lieutenant,” Osman uses the term bayrak. kethüdāsı, literally, “flag ˘ steward,” an Ottoman military rank that does not exactly correspond to its Western equivalent. For “general,” Osman uses cenerāl, a transliteration of the European word, rather than Ottoman Turkish pasha. 23.  Ludwig Wilhelm von Baden-Baden (1655–1707), a hero of the siege of Vienna and later the mastermind of the Ottoman army’s humiliating defeat at Slankamen in 1691. For these exploits, he was known as “Türkenlouis” (“Louis of the Turks”), a name later also given to a variety of the oriental poppy. See Hans Schmidt, “Ludwig Wilhelm,” Neue Deutsche Biographie 15 (1987): 350–54. 2 . R A N S OM

1.  Here, in contrast to his earlier use of Ottoman military terminology to describe Habsburg ranks, Osman carefully spells out his understanding of the original German in Ottoman characters: Āudit. ür lāyindenānd. 2.  Probably a pfund or German pound, equivalent to 0.474 kilograms. 3.  Felnac is roughly 50 kilometers west of Lipova (see map 2). 4.  Vlach (Eflāk. in the original) is the ancestor of modern Romanian. 5.  Note that Szeged is another 90 kilometers to the west from Felnac (see map 2), making the return trip from Timişoara much longer (roughly 200 kilometers in all), a considerable distance to cover on foot in just seven days. 6.  Cenad is 75 kilometers northwest of Timişoara (see map 2), today on the Romanian side of the border with Hungary.

Notes to Pages 40–54    177 7.  Szeged is the largest city in southern Hungary, a distance of 40 kilometers from Cenad (see map 2). 8.  Osijek, today the largest city in eastern Croatia, is roughly 200 kilometers from Szeged. Erdut is a smaller settlement 40 kilometers to the east, on the modern border between Serbia and Croatia (see map 2). In either case, the news meant that Osman now had to travel more than twice as far as he originally expected. 9.  Báčka is a multi-ethnic region of the Pannonian plain, today mostly within the borders of modern Serbia but also stretching into southern Hungary and Romania. It is bordered by the Danube river to the west and south and the Tisza river to the east (see map 2). 10.  Sombor, in far western Báčka, is 100 kilometers from Szeged (see map 2). 11.  This would have been a very large coin indeed, as a kurush (kuruş) was worth 120 aspers (akçe). The coin would have therefore contained between 250 and 300 grams of silver. 12.  Thusfar, Osman had spoken to the haiduk who questioned him in Serbian, but here he is clearly shouting in Turkish, which his captors do not understand. 3 . C R I M E A N D P U N I SH M E N T

1.  Erdut is roughly 40 kilometers from Sombor (see map 2). 2.  Osman’s rendering of “Master! Master!” in Serbo-Croatian. This would not have been intelligible to an Ottoman Turkish reader but appears without any translation in the original text. 3.  As with the Serbo-Croatian “Pane! Pane!” above, Osman writes the original Hungarian phrase in Ottoman transliteration, but in this case, he supplies a translation into Turkish. 4.  In reality, edes barátom means only “my dear friend” in Hungarian. 5.  The implication is that Osman was afraid to eat Austrian meat because it was not halal (or worse, pork). Indirectly, this signals to his readers that he will eventually get over this reluctance. 6.  Maximilian II Emanuel von Wittelsbach (1662–1726), prince-elector of Bavaria and duke of Luxembourg, a hero of the siege of Vienna, who led Habsburg forces to the successful conquest of Belgrade later in the year. 7.  The distance between Osijek and Brod is roughly 100 kilometers. 8.  See map 2. 9.  Garešnica is today the name of a town, although the surrounding area remains heavily forested. 10.  The total distance from Brod to Sisak is only around 150 kilometers, with the Sava river directly connecting both towns. But it took the army many

178      Notes to Pages 54–63 days to make the journey through an indirect route across wild terrain, apparently because the land closer to the river was still firmly controlled by Ottoman forces. See map 2. 11.  In crossing the Una river, the Habsburg army exited Croatia and entered Bosnia, but Osman does not immediately accompany them (see next note). 12.  That Osman was across the river from Sisak shows that he and the other prisoners did not, in fact, accompany the army all the way to Kostajnica. See map 2. 13.  The imposing, triangular fortress of Sisak, completed in 1550 by the architect Pietro di Milano, still stands today and houses a local history museum. There are, however, no remains of the wooden dungeon described by Osman. 14.  A hundred Ottoman dirhems amounted to approximately 350 grams. 15.  The word used here to describe the nationality of the slave traders is “Frenk,” which could refer to any Latin Christian. But from the reference to Venice in the previous paragraph, the text implies that these men are specifically Venetian. 4 . D E AT H A N D R E SU R R E C T IO N

1.  Osman’s translation into Turkish is clearly a good deal more polite than the original German, for which a literal translation might be “Hey, shit!” 2.  Two spans is roughly 45 cm. 3.  Būdbūriyā in the original. I have been unable to identify this specific location. 4.  As noted in chapter 1, an Ottoman okka was equivalent to 1.22 kilograms. 5.  Poğaça is a general word for oven-baked pastries, still prepared with infinite local variations throughout the Balkans, Greece, and Turkey. The name is ultimately derived from the Latin panis focacius (that is, “oven bread”) and is thus related—both conceptually and etymologically—to Italian focaccia. 6.  This “captain” (k. apūdan) appears to be the same person as the “lieutenant” of the previous chapter, although Osman does not explain this change in rank (or clarify if it was, instead, a different person). 7.  Zvornik is just under 200 kilometers south of Brod on the Drina River, Bosnia’s frontier with Serbia. 8.  Because the human body can’t normally survive more than a few days without water, it is likely the Osman lost track of time in his delirium. 9.  Approximately 350 grams. 10.  Considering the time of year (early winter), this Spartan diet may be due to the Nativity fast, when Orthodox Christians abstain from meat, fish, oil, and dairy products for the forty days leading up to Christmas.

Notes to Pages 65–76    179 11.  Osman is here condensing an account of a rather long journey, since from Požega to Ivanić is a distance of well over 400 kilometers. See map 2. 12.  The implication here is that Osman gave an answer, but not the traditional “Wa ‘alaykum as-selām,” normally reserved for fellow Muslims. 13.  Count Theodor Heinrich von Strattman (1637–93) was an influential diplomat who served Protestant German electors before entering the service of Emperor Leopold I. 14.  Count Otto VIII von Stubenberg (1637–1691). As described in later chapters, Stubenberg eventually became Osman’s master, leaving him when he died in the service of his young widow, Countess von Lamberg-Ortenegg. 5 . R E SP I T E

1.  Evidently different from Pakrac in Croatia, visited by Osman in chapter 3. I have been unable to identify its exact location. 2.  Pećs, one of the principal cities of Ottoman Hungary, fell to the Habsburg army in October 1686. See map 2. 3.  Valpovo is on the Drina river, 25 kilometers upstream from Osijek. See map 2. 4.  Donji Miholjac is another 25 kilometers upstream from Valpovo on the Drina river. See map 2. 5.  Osman does not give the name of this village, but it was possibly the modern settlement of Mahovo or nearby Lijeva. 6.  Although careful to document his avoidance of pork, it seems that Osman felt no need to hide his taste for wine from his readers. 7.  A statement at considerable odds with a date given in chapter 1, according to which Osman would have been at least ten years older. See the Introduction for a more in-depth discussion of this discrepancy. 8.  For “libido,” Osman uses the unusual construction nefs-i immāre, meaning literally “the un-chastened spirit of the self.” 9.  Lipova was, of course, the site of Osman’s original capture in chapter 1. 10.  The word “chef ” does not have an exact equivalent in Ottoman Turkish, but the specific description of this man as French suggests he was more than a simple mess cook. 11.  Here Osman gives the term both in German and in its closest equivalent in Turkish, on başı yah. ūd k. üporāl. 12.  Varaždin is in the far north of Croatia, just a few kilometers from the Slovenian border. See map 3. 13.  Sremski Karlovci (Karlowitz) was not in fact near the border of Venetian territory, raising the possibility that Osman may not have been treated quite as treacherously as he believed. See map 1.

180      Notes to Pages 77–90 14.  The text here in fact says “the master of the house said to the corporal,” but from context it is clear this is a scribal error. 6 . B O N D S O F L OV E

1.  The forint in that era was a Hungarian coin containing 3.5 grams of gold; a hundred forints would thus have been a hefty fine. 2.  Although this is the first point in the text in which Osman gives his name, this man first makes his appearance in chapter 5, when he offers to speak to the general on Osman’s behalf regarding his ransom (leading to Osman’s savage beating and subsequent detention). He was not among Osman’s companions in the dungeon. 3.  Gazi Topal Hüseyn Pasha was governor of Bosnia from 1688 to 1690, providing an important clue about how much time had passed since Osman’s capture. See Süreyya, Sicil-i Osmani 3: 727. 4.  “Very good, my little one.” Inasmuch as Osman leaves the phrase untranslated from Serbo-Croatian, it would have been unintelligible to a Turkish reader. 5.  Varaždin, the main entry point into Croatia from Austria, is roughly 100 kilometers from Ivanić. See map 3. 6.  From Varaždin to Graz is a distance of approximately 140 kilometers (see map 3). Graz is today the second largest city in Austria and the traditional capital of the region of Styria. 7.  Georg von Stubenberg was prefect (Landeshauptmann) of Styria from 1672 until his death in in 1703. His palace in Graz still stands. 8.  Kapfenberg lies 60 kilometers to the north of Graz (see map 3). 9.  K.abāh.atımız z. uhūr itmedi. A highly ambiguous turn of phrase meaning either “My fault did not become visible” or “Our sin did not become manifest,” implying either that the boy did not notice Osman’s arousal or that Osman’s arousal did not reach the point of inciting a forbidden act between the two of them. 10.  Countess Isabelle von Lamberg-Ortenegg (1667–1728). 11.  Stubenberg’s death is recorded in 1691, providing another important data point for fixing the chronology of Osman’s narrative. 12.  By “visitation,” Osman is presumably referring to an open-casket viewing, which was not practiced among Ottoman Muslims. 13.  Countess von Lamberg-Ortenegg was only twenty-four at the time, thirty years the general’s junior. Their marriage had lasted five years. 14.  Note that Osman did go to Vienna, but for unexplained reasons ended up with a different master than the one mentioned here, Count Christoph Dietmar von Schallenberg, described in the next chapter.

Notes to Pages 90–94    181 15.  The zolota was a large Ottoman silver coin, issued in varying denominations beginning in 1690, but in this instance Osman almost certainly means the Reichsthaler of the Holy Roman Empire, containing 25.98 grams of silver. 7 . T O T H E C A P I TA L

1.  Schottwien is 60 kilometers from Kapfenberg (see map 3). 2.  “Āvustrīyā Vilāyeti,” or “the province of Austria,” by which Osman presumably means Lower Austria, of which Vienna was the capital. 3.  Osman calls Baden “Ilıca,” meaning “hot spring” or “spa” in Turkish. It is approximately 90 kilometers from Schottwien to Vienna (see map 3). 4.  See map 4. Osman transcribes “Wollzeile” into Ottoman characters, perhaps in an intentional play on words, as “Bol Sā’il,” meaning “The One Who Questions Much,” when read literally in Ottoman Turkish. In reality, the name in German means “Wool Line Street.” 5.  Count Christoph Dietmar von Schallenberg (1646–1708). 6.  Since haiduks—in the sense of Ottoman Christian subjects who had rebelled against the sultan—were equivalent to bandits for Osman, to be asked to dress like one must have been a humiliating welcome to life in the count’s household. 7.  Belgrade fell to an imperial army under Max Emanuel of Bavaria in 1688 but was retaken by the Ottomans two years later. It is unclear whether this boy was captured in the battle of Belgrade or simply entered the count’s service at that time. Osman’s description of him as a “Serb” implies that he was an Orthodox Christian. “Leopold” apparently refers to the emperor Leopold I (r. 1658–1705). 8.  Count Friedrich von Falckenhayn (d. 1692), named Kriegshauptkommissär (high commissioner of war) in 1691. His residence exists today at no. 8 Renngasse (see map 4). By “Arsenal Street” Osman apparently means Zeughausgasse, inside Vienna’s city walls, which housed the imperial arsenal from 1587 until 1870. It is not to be confused with the modern Arsenalstrasse, outside the walls. See Osman, Prisonnier des infidèles, trans. and ed. Hitzel, n. 133. 9.  Considering the ethnicity Osman attributes to him, this is almost certainly a nickname. “Ratz” is the German variant of “Rác,” a Hungarian word originally meaning “Serbian,” but by the early modern period also a common Hungarian surname. It can also mean simply “rat.” 10.  From Stubentor to Renngasse is a distance of roughly a kilometer (see map 4). 11.  In other words, over 100 kilos. 12.  Probably Maria Barbara Elisabeth, the wife of Siegfried Christoph, Count von Breuner. See Osman, Prisonnier des infidèles, trans. and ed. Hitzel, n. 138.

182      Notes to Pages 94–97 13.  Count Hermann Otto II von Limburg-Styrum (1646–1704), later field marshal. His sister Charlotte Ursula married Dietmar von Schallenberg on 14 May, 1692. See Osman, Prisonnier des infidèles, trans. and ed. Hitzel, n. 138. 14.  Karl Theodor Otto, Prince von Salm (1645–1710). A hero of the defense of Vienna and later of the siege of Buda, he became field marshal in 1687 and a member of the Konferenzrat, or imperial council, in 1692. 15.  Joseph I, the son of Emperor Leopold I, was at the time king of Hungary. He would become emperor in 1705. In addition to his military appointment, Prince von Salm was his Oberhofmeister, or “lord steward.” 16.  The “Old Castle” of Laxenburg, roughly 20 kilometers south of Vienna, originally dating from the fourteenth century, was rebuilt for Emperor Leopold by the celebrated architect Ludovico Burnacini (and then rebuilt and expanded by Burnacini after being damaged during the Ottoman siege of 1683). The building still stands. See map 4. 17.  It was from Falckenhayn’s residence that Osman and Ratz had been told to fetch Count von Schallenberg in a litter, in the incident described above. 18.  As noted in chapter 6, n. 14, by zolota, Osman means a Reichsthaler of the Holy Roman Empire, a large coin containing 25.98 grams of silver. 19.  Here Osman is updating information about these individuals’ careers from after his return to Ottoman territory. Count Ernst Rüdiger von Starhemberg (1638–1701) served as head of the Supreme War Council (Hofkriegsrat) from 1691 until his death in 1701, when he was replaced by Count Heinrich Franz von Mansfeld (1640–1715), who served from 1701 until 1703. Mansfield’s appointment thus took place after the year of Osman’s escape, in 1700. See Adolf Schinzl, “Starhemberg, Ernst Rüdiger,” Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie 35 (1893): 468–47. 20.  Ballhausplatz, where the seat of the Austrian government is located today, was at that time still the site of an indoor tennis court (or Ballhaus) originally built by the emperor Ferdinand I (d. 1564). The building was later converted to an office and finally torn down in the late eighteenth century. See map 4. 21.  Regensburg and Augsburg are both in Bavaria, more than 400 kilometers west of Vienna and well beyond the borders of Austria. See map 3. 22.  Osman refers here to the Nine Years’ War, or the War of the League of Augsburg (1688–97). His trip probably came at the end of 1696, following the signing of the Convention of Vigevano in which France, Spain, Savoy and the Emperor Leopold agreed to a general armistice in Italy. The official end of the Nine Years’ War came in the following year. 23.  The total distance from Vienna to Milan along the route described by Osman is more than 800 kilometers in all (see map 3). 24.  The Neue Kärntnertor (New Carinthian Gate), demolished under Emperor Franz Joseph in 1857. The Vienna State Opera currently stands near this site. See map 4.

Notes to Pages 97–102    183 25.  For clarity, I have translated this and the following passage in the plural first person active, but in the text the entire action is presented in the passive, making it unclear (until several sentences later) who is responsible—and whether Osman was directly involved. 26.  The “new soldiers” were an urban armed guard created by the imperial field marshal Annibale Gonzaga between 1657 and 1663. See Osman, Prisonnier des infidèles, trans. and ed. Hitzel, n. 158. 27.  See map 4. 28.  The Rumor Corps was established in 1635 to guard Vienna’s city gates. Its headquarters was called the Rumorhaus, later the Diebschergenhaus. See Osman, Prisonnier des infidèles, trans. and ed. Hitzel, n. 159. 29.  See map 4. 30.  Gyula was an important fortress in southern Hungary, roughly 100 kilometers from Timişoara. 31.  Donatus Johann Heissler, Count von Heitersheim, mentioned in chapter 1. 32.  Fredrick Wilhelm Horn, Swedish ambassador in Vienna from May 1690 to July 1694. See Osman, Prisonnier des infidèles, trans. and ed. Hitzel, n. 167. 8. A FRIEND IN NEED

1.  See map 4. 2.  In Turkish, Osman here addresses his master as “My Sultan” (Sult. ānım). While this might be interpreted as a strategically employed “self-orientalization” to sway his master’s sympathies, Osman’s use of the same term elsewhere suggests that he was simply translating a polite German form of address. See n. 4 below, and chapter 10, n. 6. 3.  Leopold Karl von Kollonitsch (1631–1717) fought as a knight of Malta in the failed defense of Crete against the Ottomans in the early 1660s. He was later named bishop of Raab (1666) and of Vienna (1669), then cardinal (1685) and finally archbishop of Gran and primate of Hungary (1695). Kollonitsch was a leading figure in the effort to stamp out Protestantism in Habsburg lands, but his policy toward Orthodox Christians and Muslims was more nuanced. The events recounted by Osman show an entirely different side of the cardinal. For a basic biography, see Franz Menges, “Kollonitsch, Leopold Graf von,” Neue Deutsche Biographie 12 (1979), 467–69, www.deutsche-biographie.de /pnd118564927.html#ndbcontent. 4.  Like Osman, in Turkish, Ali addresses his master as “My Sultan” (Sult. ānım). See n. 2 above. 5.  Leopoldstadt, Vienna’s historic Jewish quarter until World War II, was ironically named for Emperor Leopold in 1670, the year in which he ordered

184      Notes to Pages 103–110 the expulsion of its Jewish community. In the 1690s, it was still a sparsely populated suburb. 6.  See map 4. This monastery, which no longer exists today, gave its name to the Karmelterviertel, or “Carmelite Quarter,” of Vienna, where it once stood. In the late seventeenth century, it marked the edge of the Vienna’s settled suburbs, immediately next to a swampy area that would have provided an easy escape route out of the city. My thanks to David Do Paço for this observation. 7.  See map 4. 8.  Osman’s Turkish here closely matches the language and structure typical of an Ottoman sultanic response to an arż, or official petition, including this reference to Leopold’s demesne as “our Well-Protected Domains.” 9.  Strohgasse = “Straw Street,” which Osman has translated into Turkish as Samān sokaġı, “Street of Straw.” Today’s Strauchgasse, or “Shrub Street.” See map 4. 10.  Palāt. īn Nūş Sarāyları, meaning the Viennese residence of Paul Eszterházy, elected Palatine of Hungary in 1681. See map 4. 11.  Here Osman gives a literal translation of this name in Turkish: K. urt k. āzlara vaʿz. ider. Known today as Walnerstrasse, it apparently took its name from a mural (no longer extant) depicting a wolf preaching to geese. The emperor Maximilian II had forbidden violence on the street, making it a place of public refuge. See Osman, Prisonnier des infidèles, ed. and trans. Hitzel, n. 176. 12.  In Osman’s Turkish, “love-sick whore” is şūrīde bir fāh. işe, a rhyme. 13.  Osman calls Bratislava Pojon, and Györ, Yanık (literally, “Burnt”). See map 3 on this journey of more than 400 kilometers in all. 14.  Bir k. ūlınuñ dünyāda āb ve dānesi tamām olmadık. ça anı öldürmez. Literally, “Who never lets a servant die who still has water and seed.” 15.  This name is transcribed Hīnerlūh (from the German Hühnerloch), not ˘ given in Turkish. The Schottentor, or “Scottish Gate,” now a Viennese metro hub (see map 4), one of the gates of the old walled city, was named after a Scottish monastery nearby. 16.  In chapter 7, Osman and Ratz try unsuccessfully to carry their master’s litter. Here, Ratz is referred to repeatedly as “the Serbian haiduk” or “the lackey” and is mentioned by name only twice later in the chapter. For clarity, I have inserted his name throughout. 17.  A halberd is a battle axe with a long handle, a very dangerous weapon. 18.  This grand residence is still extant in Vienna at No. 3 Teinfaltstrasse (see map 4). See Osman, Prisonnier des infidèles, ed. and trans. Hitzel, n. 187. 19.  Ratz is speaking in Serbo-Croatian. 20.  Ernst Rüdiger von Starhemberg, head of the Supreme War Council (already mentioned in chapter 7).

Notes to Pages 110–113    185 21.  Probably Count Andreas Christoph Jörger von Tollet (1630–1700), named quartermaster general (Generalquartermeister) of the Habsburg imperial army in 1695. 9 . A N U N E X P E C T E D T U R N O F EV E N T S

1.  The word Osman uses here for “tips” is bahşīş, “baksheesh.” ˘ 2.  The word Osman uses for “countryman,” hemşehrī, implies not just an Ottoman Muslim but someone from his hometown, Timişoara. 3.  Arad is a city in what is now western Romania; it and General Heissler’s campaign are mentioned by Osman in chapter 1. For details, see map 2. 4.  These events are mentioned briefly in chapter 1. 5.  The identity of the father is unclear. There was indeed a highly placed figure by the name of Hazinedar Ali Agha (d. 1713), who served as treasurer of the imperial harem. However, since he was a eunuch, it is unlikely that he was the father of the girl mentioned here. Another possibility is Hazinedar Ali Pasha (d. 1701), a former vizier and governor of Egypt, who was governor (muhāfıż) of Belgrade between 1697 and 1701 and makes an appearance in the ˘ last chapter of Osman’s narrative. See Süreyya, Sicil-i Osmani, 1: 288. 6.  Belgrade fell to the forces of the Holy League, commanded by Maximilian II Emanuel von Wittelsbach (1662–1726), prince-elector of Bavaria, in 1688, the year of Osman’s own capture. 7.  Hajji is a title given to a man who has returned from the holy pilgrimage to Mecca. Corbacı and haseki both indicate an officer in the Janissary Corps. 8.  Another instance in which Osman updates his narrative with respect to events at the time of writing. Claudius Florimund von Mercy (1666–1734) was commander of the Hungarian cavalry corps from 1684 to 1690, and a hero of the battle of Zenta in 1697. Many years later, after the Habsburg conquest of Timişoara in 1716, he would serve as its governor-general for well over a decade (until 1732). As such, he was still in command of Osman’s native city when Osman wrote Prisoner of the Infidels. See Helmut Neuhaus, “Mercy, Claudius Florimund Graf von,” Neue Deutsche Biographie 17 (1994), 126–27. 9.  Metz is today in eastern France, but in the late seventeenth century, it was part of the Habsburg Duchy of Lorraine. 10.  Pécs, today in southern Hungary, fell to a Habsburg army commanded by Ludwig Wilhelm, margrave of Baden-Baden, in 1686. See map 3. This is quite a distance from Lorraine, making this adventurous woman even more well-traveled than Osman. 11.  Chonka Bey was a commander of the Ottoman defenses during the siege of Budapest, after which he was captured and imprisoned together with his wife and son in Neustadt. He eventually converted to Christianity under

186      Notes to Pages 114–121 the name Franz Xaver Zungenberg and joined the Habsburg army, serving as colonel of a hussar regiment and later as vice marshal. See Osman, Prisonnier des infidèles, ed. and trans. Hitzel, n. 199. The Novigrad referred to here is on the Una River in northern Bosnia, one of several towns with the same name in Serbia, Bosnia and Croatia. 12.  The modern name of Karlowitz is Sremski Karlovci; it is just outside Petrovaradin in what is today Serbia. It is interesting that Osman refers here to the Habsburg empire as the “Devlet-i Çāsāriyye,” the literal Ottoman translation of the German Kaiserreich. 13.  The treaty, discussed at some length in the introduction, was signed between the Ottoman sultan, Venice, Poland, and the Habsburg empire on 26 January 1699, with Russia adding its signature to the agreement on 15 July 1700. It was a major turning point in Ottoman history, making Osman’s use of the Christian rather than the Hijjri date for it noteworthy. 14.  Mehmed Sipahi’s name in fact means “Mehmed the Cavalryman.” Strumica is today in the Republic of North Macedonia. 15.  Johann Heinrich von Dünewald (1617–91) was general of the Habsburg imperial cavalry at the siege of Buda. He was promoted to field marshal in 1688. See Reinhold Lorenz, “Dünewald, Heinrich Johann Graf von,” Neue Deutsche Biographie 4 (1959): 161. 16.  Esztergom was captured from the Ottomans in 1683; it is today in Hungary (see map 3). An alaybey is an Ottoman military officer, just below the rank of sancakbeyi. 17.  Muslim captives who converted to Christianity were considered to have renounced any intention of returning to their lives as Muslims. Equating the religious imagery in Catholic churches with idol worship, Osman here describes such converts in openly pejorative terms. 18.  Teplice is in fact almost 400 kilometers from Vienna, in what is today the Czech Republic. 19.  This was the woman, mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, who was taken to Metz by Count Mercy after being shot and wounded by a Hungarian cavalry officer. 1 0 . I N T O T H E L IO N ’ S D E N

1.  The date corresponds to 15 April 1699, inconsistent with Osman’s earlier assertion that he left following his master’s departure in early May. Rotenturmstrasse, the main thoroughfare running from St. Stephen’s Cathedral to the Danube, takes its name from the Red Tower Gate, which no longer exists. 2.  Visegrád is on the south side of the Danube, roughly 20 kilometers downstream from Esztergom and 50 kilometers upstream from Budapest (see map 5).

Notes to Pages 122–133    187 3.  Osman refers here to the custom of dying hard-boiled eggs red during Orthodox Christian Holy Week, widely practiced throughout the Ottoman Balkans. 4.  Baja is on the Danube in southern Hungary, roughly 150 kilometers downstream from Budapest (see map 5). 5.  Baron Johann Valentin von Pfeffershofen (1638–1715) was governor of Buda between 1699 and 1710. 6.  In Turkish, Osman addresses the general as “my sultan” (Sult. ānım). See chapter 8, n. 2. 7.  Petrovaradin, today part of the larger city of Novi Sad on the opposite side of the Danube (see map 5), was an Ottoman city until 1690. After the Treaty of Karlowitz, it became the main Habsburg fortress guarding the Ottoman frontier and the main border crossing into Ottoman territory. 8.  Syrmia (Serem in Ottoman Turkish) is the region south of the Danube today split between Croatia and Serbia. However, it is clear from context in subsequent passages that Osman uses the term specifically to mean the Ottoman territory between the border and Belgrade. 9.  Futog is a few kilometers upstream from Petrovaradin on the opposite bank of the Danube (see map 5). 10.  An Ottoman mile was 1.89 kilometers, for a total distance of 34 kilometers. Since the distance from Baja to Futog (see map 5) is actually close to 150 kilometers, it seems unlikely that Osman could have covered it in just two days as stated below in the text, suggesting that he may have misremembered here. 11.  In fact, Sombor would have been their first destination, roughly 60 kilometers from Baja on the road to Futog. Bač is another 50 kilometers south of Sombor and roughly the same distance from Futog (see map 5). 12.  Baron Dietrich Heinrich von Nehem was governor of Petrovaradin from 1691 until his death in 1713. His tomb is still to be found in the Church of St. George there. 13.  Zemun, on the outskirts of Belgrade, roughly 60 kilometers from Futog (see map 5), was the main entry point into Ottoman territory from Habsburg land after 1699. 14.  Osman’s term for syphilis is “the French Affliction” (Frenk zah. meti). 11. GRIFTERS

1.  Johann Georg Kirchner (1668–1721), regimental secretary to General von Nehem. See Osman, Prisonnier des infidèles, trans. and ed. Hitzel, n. 231. 2.  The house of Limburg-Styrum, which traces its lineage back to the twelfth century.

188      Notes to Pages 133–152 3.  Literally, “a palace woman in the palace of the Kaysar’s harem” (Çāsār h. aremi sarāyında sarāy k. adını). 4.  Hermann Otto II von Limburg-Styrum (1646–1704), already mentioned briefly in chapter 7. 5.  This is the site of Novi Sad, today the second largest city in Serbia but at the time only a tiny village. 6.  Osman refers here to “Fatima of Belgrade,” first mentioned in chapter 10. 7.  This is the Serbian name of Karlowitz, where the treaty of 1699 between the Ottomans and the Holy League was signed. 8.  Kremnica is a town in central Slovakia famous for its gold mines. 9.  Field Marshal Prince Philipp Erasmus von Liechtenstein (1664–1704). 10.  Fruška Gora mountain, today a Serbian national park. 12. TO THE BORDER

1.  A rare instance in which Osman “breaks the fourth wall” by directly addressing his readers. In Turkish, he speaks in the first-person plural imperative: “Gelelim, K.arlofça’ya nasıl gideriz görelim.” 2.  While ribar means “fisherman” in Serbo-Croatian, berdo does not have an obvious meaning. It is possibly German “Wer du?” literally, “Who you?” 3.  As already noted in chapter 11, Osman uses “Syrmia” to mean the territory stretching from the Ottoman border to Belgrade, which is different from the geographical meaning of the term as it is used today. 4.  It is unclear what river Osman means here. Other than the Daube and Tizsa, which join at Slankamen, the Sava is the only other river in this general area. 5.  It is about 40 kilometers from Sremski Karlovci to Banovci (see map 5). 6.  A town on the Tisza River about 10 kilometers upstream from Slankamen, where the Tisza meets the Danube. 7.  A suburb on the opposite side of the Danube to Belgrade. 8.  Hazinedar Ali Pasha (d. 1701), a former vizier and governor of Egypt, was governor (muhāfıż) of Belgrade between 1697 and 1701. See Süreyya, Sicil˘ i Osmani, 1: 288. 9.  An okka being equivalent to 1.28 liters, each jug would have held about 5 liters. 10.  Since the Ottoman asper, or akçe, consisted of 40 pares, Osman seems to be slightly exaggerating the total, which would be a bit more than one and a half aspers. 11.  The tuğra was a highly stylized form of signature used as authentication on official Ottoman documents.

Notes to Pages 155–157    189 13. THE END

1.  Rumelia was at that time the Ottoman province to the northwest of Istanbul, with its administrative capital in Sofia. 2.  Previously, Osman had indicated that Mehmed and this woman were already married. Presumably, their marriage was not considered legal, inasmuch as Mehmed had, at that time, declared himself a Christian. 3.  It is unclear why this woman, who was originally from Timişoara, and had been married to a man from Belgrade, would have gone to Rumelia rather than staying with Osman. 4.  On the battle of Zenta, a great Ottoman defeat, which took place on 11 September 1697, see the Introduction above. 5.  Sarı Ahmed Pasha was governor of Timişoara for two years, from 1699 to 1701. I have not been able to uncover anything more about him. 6.  “Barracks chief ”: literally, “room head” (oda başı). Janissary companies were organized into “rooms” (odalar) and “hearths” (ocaklar). 7.  Osman seems to be suggesting that, as a native of Timis.oara, he should have been able to rely on local contacts to obtain a position with more stable prospects. Pashas were regularly rotated to different postings throughout the Ottoman empire, and typically had volatile careers, often ending in summary execution. Partially for this reason, their closest retainers were often slaves, foreigners, or other “new men.” 8.  A “purse,” or kīse, was an accounting unit equal to 50,000 aspers. The total value of 340 purses would thus come to seventeen million aspers. 9.  Vidin province, whose capital, Vidin, is in Bulgaria today, lies to the southeast of Timişoara in modern Romania (see map 5). 10.  Osman is here referring to the official exchange of ambassadors between Istanbul and Vienna following the Treaty of Karlowitz. 11.  Elçi Ibrahim Pasha (d. 1708), served as governor of Timişoara from 1701 until 1703, following his return from Vienna as the Ottomans’ chief diplomatic representative at the Habsburg court (his name means “Ibrahim the Ambassador”). He later became governor of Rumelia and was promoted to the rank of vizier. His final appointment, as noted by Osman, was in Belgrade. See Süreyya, Sicil-i Osmani, 3: 780. 12.  Uzdin is roughly 90 kilometers from Timişoara in what is today western Serbia (see map 5), but was part of the province of Timişoara in the early eighteenth century. 13.  The Bostancılar, literally, the “gardeners,” were troops responsible for guarding the sultan’s outer palace, which was also used as a garden. They were an elite unit whose commander was among the most trusted officials in the Ottoman state.

190      Notes to Pages 157–160 14.  Ottoman pashas were distinguished in rank by the number of horsetails they wore on their regalia, three being the highest rank. 15.  Karayılanzade Ali Pasha (literally, “Ali, son of the Black Snake”), served as governor of Timişoara between 3 July 1706 and 8 December 1708. He subsequently served as governor of Bosnia between 1710 and 1712. See Süreyya, Sicil-i Osmani, 1: 289. 16.  Ambassador (Elçi) Ibrahim Pasha is the same figure mentioned previously, who governed Timişoara at the time of Osman’s marriage. 17.  Among these disputes was the massacre of forty Muslim merchants in Kecskemét in central Hungary, between Budapest and Szeged (see map 5), for which the Ottoman state demanded reparations. 18.  The Cebeci, or “armorers,” were a division of the Janissary Corps serving as armored infantry. 19.  Serem is in Thrace, today on the Turkish border with Greece. 20.  The Gönüllü, or “Volunteers,” were a combat unit of the Janissary Corps. 21.  Johann Adam Lackowitz (d. 1709) served as a secretary for Oriental Languages at the Habsburg court for nearly three decades. See Osman, Prisonnier des infidèles, ed. and trans. Hitzel, n. 281. 22.  Probably Johann Christian Kastner, who also participated in the negotiations at Passarowitz in 1718. See Osman, Prisonnier des infidèles, ed. and trans. Hitzel, n. 283. 23.  Ibrahim Pasha was Osman’s benefactor from Timişoara, who had gone on to serve as prefect of Belgrade. His death is recorded in late August 1708. Süreyya, Sicil-i Osmani, 3: 780. 24.  Marcantonio Mamuca Della Torre, the grand dragoman of the Habsburg court since the 1690s. Shortly after the conclusion of the Treaty of Karlowitz, his sons commissioned a celebratory biography of his service as a negotiator during the war: Vincenzo Giulio Lodi, L’Immortalità del Cavalier Marc Antonio Mamuca Della Torre, Conte del. Sac. Rom Imp., Consiglere Attuale di Guerra di Sua Maestà Ces. &c (Vienna: Andreas Heyinger, 1701). 25.  Çakırcı (Yörük) Hasan Pasha, who became governor of Timişoara in December 1708 with the rank of vizier. Süreyya, Sicil-i Osmani, 2: 646–47. 26.  In fact, as discussed in the introduction to this text, Osman did write another volume about these negotiations. 27.  A payment from the Habsburgs to the Ottomans, equivalent to 3.5 million aspers. On Vidin, see n. 9 above. 28.  Dürres (Durazzo in Italian) is a port city in what is now Albania (see map 1). 29.  Not the Ali Pasha discussed until this point but Grand Vizier Silahdar Ali Pasha, who fought Prince Eugene of Savoy at Petrovaradin and died in battle there on 5 August 1716.

Notes to Pages 160–161    191 30.  Jarkovac, in what is now eastern Serbia, is less than 20 kilometers from Uzdin, where Osman had his own revenue assignment. 31.  Following the outbreak of renewed hostilities between the Ottomans and Habsburgs, Timişoara was besieged for seven weeks by Prince Eugene, falling to him on 13 October 1716. 32.  On 14 August 1717, during the siege of Belgrade by Prince Eugene, an artillery shell hit the building in which the Ottomans’ gunpowder was stored, causing a violent explosion that killed some three thousand people in the city.

Index of People

Ahmed (Hajji), 80–81, 162 Ahmed Agha (Osman’s father), 3–4, 7, 25–27 Ahmed Beshe (the master of the “captive haiduk”), 146, 148–49, 167 (Sarı) Ahmed Pasha (Governor of Timişoara), 153–55, 167 Ahmed Zaim, 156 Ali (“brother Ali”), 99–101, 103–5, 163–64 (Hazinedar) Ali Agha, 110, 185n5 Ali Pasha (Governor of Belgrade), 146, 149, 151, 167. See also (Hazinedar) Ali Agha (Karayılanzade) Ali Pasha (Governor of Timişoara), 156–58, 167 Arabacı Huseyn (a Muslim fugitive), 125–26, 128, 165 Atiye (Osman’s oldest sister), 4, 26, 161

Caraffa, General Antonio von, 29, 32–34, 38, 121, 162 Chonka Bey (an Ottoman commander), 111, 185n11 Çakırcı (Yörük) Hasan Pasha (Governor of Timişoara), 158, 190n25 driver, the, in Futog, 124, 165 driver, in Sremski Karlovci, 142–44, 166 Dünewald, Johann Heinrich von, 113 Eyrsperg, Seyfried von (“the steward”), 90, 96, 108, 110–17, 130, 132, 164.

Bektash (Osman’s older brother), 6–7, 26–27, 98, 153, 161 blacksmith, the, 71–72, 76, 78–79, 162 Breunerin (Countess), 91

Falckenhayn, Count Friedrich von, 89map4, 91, 93 Fatima of Belgrade (“the Convert Woman”), 126, 132–133, 136, 165–66 Fesel (lieutenant), 133 Fischer (lieutenant and Osman’s first master), 8–9, 36, 63, 162. See also master (the first) French master confectioner, 94

captive Muslim girl, the (Osman’s co-worker), 110–13, 164 captive Muslim woman, the (Osman’s co-worker) 12, 110–11, 116, 153, 164

Haiduk, the (Serbian captive Haiduk), 145–46 Haveis (member of the imperial archers’ corps), 94

193

194      Index of People Heissler, Donatus Johann (Count von Heitersheim), 27, 97, 110 Helm (campaign commissioner in Baja), 123 Hofkirchen (General), 104 Horn, Count Fredrick Wilhelm (Swedish ambassador), 89map4, 97, 100–103, 164. Hoyos (Count von), 89map4, 106 (Koja) Huseyn Pasha, 155 (Topal) Huseyn Pasha (Governor of Bosnia), 80 Ibrahim (regiment commander of Timişoara, Osman’s wife’s uncle), 155 Ibrahim Efendi (secretary of the imperial Cebeci Corps), 156 Ibrahim Pasha (Ambassador and Governor of Timişoara), 155, 167 Joseph I (king), 92 Jörger (Count), 89map4, 107–8, 185n21 Kastner (captain), 156, 190n22 Kirchner, Johann Georg, 130 Koja Jafer Pasha (Governor of Timişoara), 28, 161 Kollonitsch, Cardinal Leopold Karl von, 100, 102, 111, 113–14, 116, 122, 163–64 Kupferschmied (riverboat captain), 116, 124, 165 Lackowitz, Johann Adam, 156, 158 Lamberg-Ortenegg, Isabelle von (Countess von Lamberg, lady), 10, 84–88, 163. Leopold I (the Habsburg emperor), 5, 10, 12, 21, 92–93, 101, 131 Liechtenstein, Field Marshal Prince Philipp Erasmus von, 136 lieutenant, the (captain), 52–53, 55–57, 59, 60, 62–63, 74, 162. Limburg-Styrum, Charlotte Ursula von (Lady Schallenberg; lady), 93, 96, 100, 103, 107–14, 131–32, 137, 163 Limburg-Styrum, Count Hermann Otto von, II, 92, 131

“the Little Lady” (Mehmed Sipahi’s wife), 113, 116, 122, 155 Louis, Prince, 8, 34, 36, 48, 51–52, 56–57, 63, 162 Mamuca Della Torre, Marcantonio, 157 Mansfield, Franz, 94 Margo, 87–88, 163 master (the first), 1, 36–38, 47–52, 55, 62–73, 75–76, 80, 86. See also Fischer master (the third), 1, 10, 90–97, 100, 103, 106–15, 131–32. See also Schallenberg, Christoph Dietmar von Mehmed Agha (Chief of the Gönüllü Corps), 156 Mehmed Sipahi (Osman’s companion), 12, 113, 116, 122–123, 127, 138, 144–45, 153, 165 Mercy, Count Claudius Florimund von, 110 Muhziroğlu Ibrahim (guarantor of Osman), 37 Mustafa Chelebi, 67, 81 Nehem, Baron Dietrich Heinrich von, 18, 124, 127–28, 131–33, 150, 157, 166 “new soldiers,” 95–96, 183n26 “Number Nine,” 126, 166 Obrist (lieutenant-commander), 38 Odom (“the drunk”), 82 Osman Beg (standard-bearer of Serem), 156 Papasoğlu, 125, 128 Patarich, 123–24, 165 Petra, 137–39, 166 Pfeffershofen, Baron Johann Valentin von, 120, 122, 165 Piri Agha (friend of Osman’s father), 27 Ratz (Osman’s companion), 91, 106–8, 163 Rumor Corps, the, 96, 99, 183n28 Salm, Karl Theodor Otto von, 92 Sava (Captain), 126–27, 166 Sava Desetnik (the rascal), 126, 134, 136–37, 151–52, 166

Index of People    195 Schallenberg, Count Christoph Dietmar von, 10–11, 13, 90, 115, 163–64. See also master (the third) Starhemberg, Count Ernst Rüdiger von, 94, 108 Schallenberg, Leopold or Ehrenreich, 91 stewardess, the, 104, 164 Strattmann, Count Theodor Heinrich von, 64 Stubenberg, Count Otto von, VIII (General), 9, 64, 73–76, 78–85, 162. Stubenberg, Georg von, 83, 88 Stubenberg, Sigmond von, 88 Suleyman (Osman’s younger brother), 11, 26, 38, 97–98, 153, 161, 163 surgeon, the, 66, 70, 75

Tige (General), 157 toll collector, the, 84, 163 translator, the, 149–50, 167 Türckh (lieutenant colonel), 156 Vasıfhan (Osman’s younger sister), 26, 161 Venetian Slave Merchant, 8, 55–56, 63 Wallis, Ernst George Olivier (General), 27 Wittelsbach, Maximilian Emanuel, II (the duke of Bavaria), 50, 110 Zulfikar Kethuda (Osman’s brother-inlaw), 4, 6–7, 26–27, 161

Index of Pl aces

Arad, 24map2, 27–28, 37–38, 110, 155 Arsenal Street, 89map4, 91, 181n8 Augsburg, 11, 77map3, 94 Austria, 9, 11, 73, 83, 90, 121

Carmelite church, 89map4, 101, 184n6 Cenad, 24map2, 27, 37–38 Croatia, 12, 51–52, 58–59, 63 Danube, 4, 7–8, 38–40, 47, 103–5, 114, 119, 123, 126, 137, 140, 148; bank of, 127, 134, 147

Baba Hussein Field, 28 Bač, 118map5, 124 Báčka, 39, 47, 177n9 Baden, 77map3, 90 Baja, 13, 118map5, 120–21, 123, 125 Ballhaus, 89map4, 94, 182n20 Banovci, 118map5, 143–44, 147, 151 Belgrade, 3, 9, 25, 51, 110, 121, 123–24, 126–27, 129, 131, 132, 134, 136–37, 143, 146–49, 151–53, 155, 157–58; battle of, 90; fall of, 7; governor of, 151–53; prefect of, 146, 156; siege of, 15, 159 Bosnia, 8, 51–52, 55, 60, 63, 65, 71, 80–81, 155–56, 158 Bossut, 143 Božjakova, 52 Bratislava, 13, 77map3, 104, 119 Brescia, 11, 77map3, 94 Brod, 24map2, 51, 55, 57–58, 60 Budapest, 6, 13, 114–16, 118map5, 119–21, 123, 125, 127; fall of, 7; siege of, 110, 113

Erdut, 8, 24map2, 38, 40, 47, 51 Esztergom, 77map3, 119 Felnac, 24map2, 37 Futog, 118map5, 123–27, 134 Garešnica, 24map2, 52, 59 Graben, 89map4, 96 Gradiška, 158 Graz, 10, 77map3, 83–86, 88 Györ, 77map3, 104 Gyula, 97, 183n30 Hungary, 6–7, 11–12, 103 Ineu, 24map2, 29–30, 34–35, 52 Istanbul, 2, 5, 7, 15–17, 20–22, 158–59 Ivanić, 9, 24map2, 52, 63, 68, 70–71, 73, 79, 83; commander of, 64. See also Stubenberg, Otto von, VIII

197

198      Index of Places Jarkovac, 158, 191n30 Jasenovac, 24map2, 63, 68, 70 Kapfenberg, 77map3, 83–86 Karlowitz, 13, 113; treaty of, 12, 16, 22map1. See also $Sremski Karlovci Kecskemét, 118map5, 156, 158 Kolpa, 52 Komárno, 77map3, 104 Košice, 6, 24map2, 26 Kostajnica, 24map2, 52–53 Landhaus, 89map4, 96, 103 Laxenburg, 89map4, 92 Leopoldstadt, 89map4, 100, 119, 183n5 Linz, 90, 94 Lipova, 7, 24map2, 28–30, 34–35, 37, 40, 52, 70, 121; bey of, 32–33 Lorraine, 12, 111 Metz, 111, 185n9 Miholjac, 24map2, 67 Milan, 11, 77map3, 94 Mohács, 6–7, 77map3, 104 Mureş, 27–30, 37 Mürz, 84 Neuen Markt, 89map4, 99 Neustadt, 90, 111 New City Gate, 89map4, 95–96 New Gate Barracks, 89map4, 96 Osijek, 24map2, 38, 40, 48, 50–51 Pakrac, 24map2, 52, 67 Palace of Count von Hoyos, 89map4, 106 Palace of Count Jörger, 89map4, 107 Palatine Palace, 89map4, 102, 184n10 Pantchevo, 155 Pećs, 24map2, 67, 81, 111 Petrovaradin, 13, 16, 121, 123–27, 129–30, 134, 136, 141, 143–46, 148–49, 151, 155–57; general of, 124, 128, 149–50, 158 Podboria, 59 Polheim Palace, 89map4, 96 Požega, 24map2, 52, 58–59, 62–63

Radna, 29 Red Tower Gate, 89map4, 119 Regensburg, 11, 77map3, 94, 103 Royal (Imperial) Palace, 89map4, 91, 94, 97 Rumelia, 153, 155, 189n1 Sava, 7, 51–52, 61, 63, 68, 71, 73–74, 76; banks of, 127 Saxony, 90, 114 Schlossergasse, 89map4, 96 Schottentor, 89map4, 89, 106, 184n15 Schottwien, 77map3, 90 Sirač, 24map2, 52, 59 Sisak, 24map2, 52–53, 63, 68 Slankamen, 24map2, 25, 118map5, 136–37, 143, 156; battle of, 9 Solymos, 29–30 Sombor, 24map2, 39, 43–44, 124 Sremski Karlovci, 13, 22map1, 74, 118map5, 136–38, 140–43. See Karlowitz Strohgasse, 89map4, 96, 102, 184n9 Strumica, 113, 186n14 Stubentor, 89map4, 91 Styria, 83 Syrmia, 123–25, 127, 141–43, 147, 187n8, 188n3 Szarvas, 24map2, 27, 110 Szatmár, 24map2, 26, Szeged, 11, 24map2, 27, 37–39, 51, 155; Timişoara’s neighbourhood, 26 Szolnok, 24map2, 27, 110 Táncos, 29 Tavern, 73, 95, 106, 108, 119, 124, 135; Chicken Hole Tavern, 89map4, 91, 106; Green Tree Tavern, 89map4, 95 Teplice, 115 Timişoara, 3–4, 6–7, 10, 12–13, 16–18, 25–28, 31–32, 34, 37–38, 40, 51, 66–67, 97, 153–58; city garrison, 25; commander of, 27, 155; fall of, 15; governor of, 18, 153, 155, 158, 161, 167; outskirts of, 90; siege of, 159 Tisza, 11, 27, 38 Titel, 147 Transylvania, 18, 28, 155

Index of Places    199 Tokay, 117, 119; commander of, 97 Tyrol, 94 Una, 52, 63 Uzdin, 118map5, 155 Valpovo, 67 Varaždin, 24map2, 72, 83 Venice, 6–7, 12, 16, 74 Vienna, 9–10, 12–14, 19–20, 22, 68, 70–71, 76, 77map3, 80, 84, 86, 88, 89map4, 90–91, 93–94, 97, 99, 102–3, 106, 109, 111, 113, 116, 119–21, 123, 126–27, 129–31,

136–37, 146, 151, 162–65; grandees of, 115; outskirts of, 5; siege of, 1, 5, 8, 26, 64 Visegrád, 118map5, 119 Wolf Preaches to the Geese, 102–3, 184n11 Wollzeile Street, 89map4, 90 Zagreb, 9; bishop of, 52 Zemun, 118map5, 125, 143 Zenta, 118map5; battle of, 11, 153, 161 Zrin, 24map2, 52 Zvornik, 60, 63

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