Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

Frontiers of Ottoman Studies:

State, Province, and the West

Volume II

Edited by
Colin Imber, Keiko Kiyotaki and Rhoads Murphey

I.B. Tauris
London . New York
Published in 2005 by I.B. Tauris & Co. Ltd
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Copyright © Colin Imber, Keiko Kiyotaki and Rhoads Murphey, 2005

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Volume 1.
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Volume 2.
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 Contents

Introduction Rhoads Murphey 1

Chapter 1: Ottoman-European International Relations

Ibrahim Peçevi on War: a Note on the ‘European Military

Revolution’ Colin Imber 7

Some Remarks upon the Ottoman Geo-Political Vision of

the Mediterranean in the Period of the Cyprus War (1570-
1573) Maria Pia Pedani 23

Ottoman Accounts of the Hungarian Movements against

the Habsburgs at the Turn of the 17th and the 18th
Centuries Sándor Papp 37

Chapter 2: Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe

The Collection of Ottoman-Turkish Documents in

Sweden Elżbieta Święcicka 49

Non-Ottoman Documents in the Kâdîs’ Courts (Môloviya,

Medieval Charters): Examples from the Archive of the
Hilandar Monastery (15th-18th C.) Aleksandar Fotić 63

Johannes Heyman (1667-1737) His Manuscript Collection

and the Dutch Community of Izmir Jan Schmidt 75

Calendars and Guidebooks in Greek Language as Sources

for Getting to Know an Ottoman City Engin Berber 91
Chapter 3: Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange

East is East and West is West, and Sometimes the Twain

Did Meet Diplomatic Gift Exchange in the Ottoman
Empire Hedda Reindl-Kiel 113

Mapmaking in Ottoman Istanbul between 1650 and 1750:

A Domain of Painters, Calligraphers or Cartographers?
Sonja Brentjes 125

Egyptian and Armenian Schools Where the Ottoman

Students Studied in Paris Adnan Şişman 157

Arab Scholars from the Ottoman Empire in Russian

Universities in the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth
Centuries Svetlana Kirillina 165

Wakfs in Ottoman Cyprus Netice Yıldız 179

Chapter 4: Christian Influence and the Advent of the

Europeans

Negotiating for State Protection: Çiftlik-Holding by the

Athonite Monasteries (Xeropotamou Monastery,
Fifteenth-Sixteenth C.) Elias Kolovos 197

Construction of Churches in Ottoman Provinces

Muammer Demirel 211

Accidents, Sabotage, and Terrorism: Work Hazards on

Ottoman Railways Peter Mentzel 225

Being a Part of the Cinderella Service: Consul Charles Blunt

at Salonica in the 1840s Bülent Özdemir 241

Contributors 253
Index 255
 Introduction

Rhoads Murphey

The sixteen articles selected for inclusion in this volume offer a

comprehensive overview of the breadth and scope of Ottoman
Studies and collectively make a significant contribution to the sub-
fields of diplomatic history and international relations, Ottoman
geographical knowledge and understanding and the nature of
Ottoman artistic and architectural aesthetics. Interactions and
exchanges (intellectual, cultural, technological and human) between
the Ottoman world and the world which lay outside its own borders
form a unifying theme for several of the contributors to the volume.
Particularly in chapter three subtitled: ‘Ottoman-European Cultural
Exchange’ this theme predominates.
The fact that the Ottomans perceived their own world in non-
spatial terms is brought out in the contribution by Brentjes on
Ottoman map-making conventions. She concludes that rather than
perceiving the world in terms of current dynastic geopolitical
realities, Ottoman map-makers of the seventeenth and early
eighteenth centuries tended to place the emphasis on common
religious identity. Thus, rather than delineate the current political
boundary between the Ottoman and Safavid empires in his
Djihannuma, Hadji Khalifah opted instead to portray the Muslim
world as a unit, indicating only the regional names inherited from
Arab geographical literature of the early medieval period which
reflected the political realities of a bygone era when the Abbasid
caliphate ruled over the four corners of the Muslim world. Brentjes
concludes (see pp.148-9) that for Ottoman geographers such as Abu
Bakr al Dimishki: ‘political geography as a means to represent
statehood was not a concept emphasised by [the authors] or the
painters who produced [their] maps’.
Pedani’s contribution to the volume addresses similar issues
relating to Ottoman cartography and the conceptualisation of space.
Pedani however concentrates not on the terrestrial sphere but on the
Ottomans’ perception of their place in the shared maritime world of
the Mediterranean characterised by wide cultural diversity and
2 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
jurisdictional complexity. She notes that the effort to delineate
maritime boundaries was a relatively late development both for the
Ottomans and the Europeans and that the proprietary instincts of a
later age cannot be applied un-problematically to the states bordering
the shores of the Mediterranean in the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries. In Pedani’s view, prior to the late eighteenth century the
Ottomans tended to regard the maritime space which surrounded
them in neither political nor in religious terms and gave priority in
their thinking to economic considerations and pragmatic concerns.
Shared sovereignty and co-operative arrangements, in particular with
Venice, were considered the necessary and acceptable price to pay in
exchange for general security and the protection of international
commercial navigation from the ravages of piracy on the one hand
and keeping the sea lanes vital to communication and exchange
between Ottoman provinces open and safe on the other. According
to Pedani, the key change to these mutually supportive interstate
arrangements and consequently to Ottoman attitudes towards the
shared maritime sphere came in the late eighteenth century when
Russian fleets entered the Mediterranean with predominantly
expansionist as opposed to commercial aims (see pp.23-35).
The findings presented in the contributions by Brentjes and
Pedani relating to Ottoman spatial perceptions and self-definitions
provide a salutary reminder about the dangers implicit in over-
interpretation of similarities and superficial resemblances between
the Ottomans and their European contemporaries in the post-
Suleymanid era. They show, if indeed its demonstration can be still
be considered necessary, the un-tenability of the premise and
automatic assumption that all such apparent similarities ought to be
regarded as indications of a consist and unswerving ‘Westernisation’
affecting all spheres of Ottoman life in the later imperial era. While
its is certainly true that the Ottomans and their cohabitants in the
Balkan and Mediterranean world shared many features in common,
it is not always possible to infer a simple one-to- correlation between
institutions, techniques and cultural traditions seemingly ‘borrowed’
from the West. The form which these European ‘borrowings’
assumed in the Ottoman environment involved a process of
adaptation, reformulation and subtle transformation that gave them a
new aspect.
Identifying the ways in which the Ottoman empire remained
different in spite of the widening scope if its dialogue with the West
after circa 1700 remains one of the still largely unmet challenges
facing Ottoman Studies as practiced today. By examining the world
of Ottoman transport in the nineteenth century Mentzel observes
that while marching in close parallel with other parts of the world in
terms of the pace and impact of the modernisation and expansion
 Introduction 3
of its rail network, the Ottomans experienced a much higher
incidence of politically-motivated attacks and acts of sabotage. Thus,
if only in terms of the underlying causes of rail accidents the
Ottoman experience of transport modernisation remained distinct.
What of patterns of rail use, integration of rail networks and a whole
host of other dimensions of study and comparison? Mentzel’s
contribution, though focused primarily on accident rates, provides a
significant start along a path of much needed revisionist thinking
that must now begin to re-evaluate and problematise other
dimensions of the process of Ottoman modernisation that was once
thought to be synonymous with Westernisation.
The multi-layered interplay between opposing attitudes, values and
cultural traditions is treated most comprehensively in the
contribution to this volume by Reindel-Kiel which analyses the
superficially similar but, in terms of indigenous audiences and their
interpretive instincts perceptibly distinct, forms and practices of
diplomatic gift-giving relying on detailed examples drawn from the
late seventeenth century. As Reindel-Kiel rightly emphasises, the
meaning and message which such gifts were meant to carry –
typically Ottoman superiority and its logical counterpart Western
subordination – was not always clearly understood by its recipients.
Even when understood, it could be conveniently ignored or re-
interpreted and registered in an appropriate place which accorded
more closely with an assigned place belonging to the recipients’
cultural code and aesthetic norms. According to Reindel-Kiel signs,
symbols even language itself could easily become the source of
miscommunication which arose from the differing value and
significance attached to the words, symbols and objects exchanged
between the two sides involved in diplomatic negotiation and
interchange. The distinctiveness of Ottoman culture and cultural
norms deriving from their own rich blend of pre-Islamic Turkic
traditions and later Islamic overlay is clearly revealed in Reidel-Kiel’s
sensitive and insightful treatment of this key aspect of East-West
relations in the early modern-modern era.
Continuing on the theme of East-West diplomatic interchange,
Papp’s article places similar stress on the fact that the diplomatic
dialogue between the Hungarians and Ottomans was subject, on
both sides, to both deliberate and inadvertent misinterpretation of
the motives and intentions of the other during the involuted and
often prolonged course of the treaty-negotiating process. The use of
multiple languages alongside with the practice of exchanging
preliminary draft versions of the final treaty texts left both sides
relatively free to interpret the spirit of the agreement in ways that
served their respective interests best. The notion of fixity of meaning
was noticeably absent even from diplomatic agreements where one
4 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
might have assumed that unambiguousness was the order of the day.
Multiple meanings could and in a seventeenth and eighteenth century
diplomatic context often did coexist comfortably in documents
which had the superficial appearance of what, at one level of
interpretation, seem to be jointly-agreed terms of a mutually-declared
political settlement. Reindl-Kiel and Papp both note the tolerance on
both sides for the circulation of disparate and contradictory
interpretations–whether to save face or to avoid confrontation–of
commonly employed diplomatic terms such as ‘gift’ and ‘present’
which implied a degree of free volition and ‘tribute’ which carried
the strong suggestion of obligation and compulsion.
The lesson gained from these contributions on Ottoman
diplomatic practice is that the Ottoman world was constructed, both
domestically and in its international relations, in a way that
accommodated the full complexity of its multi-dimensional make-up
and inherent multi-cultural composition. Through these
contributions and others to volume two we gain a fuller appreciation
not only of the complex composition of he Ottoman world itself,
but of Ottoman techniques and success in navigating within and
between an impressive array of different cultural, ethnic, religious
and linguistic contexts. We learn too that, in spite of the many
attempts to pigeon-hole it and characterise it as, according to some,
exclusively Middle Eastern and Islamic or conversely, by others, as
predominantly Western oriented and inspired, Ottoman civilization
was anything but homogeneous.
My remarks in this introduction have revolved in large part
around the theme of the landscapes and seascapes that made up the
Ottoman world and the relationship of this world to the worlds
which surrounded it. This concentration in no way implies that the
work contributed by authors focusing on other topics and themes is
of secondary interest or importance. CIEPO, true to its institutional
aims and organizational principles, has once again, in its fifteenth re-
convening, provided us with a typically rich pot pourri of diverse
disciplinary methods and approaches, all presented with equal
intellectual rigour and offering at least something to suit all tastes.
The subset of contributions which makes up the sixteen articles
presented in this volume has truly succeeded in extending the
frontiers of Ottoman Studies, making it fully deserving of the title
which identifies it, not just for the limited and transitory purpose of
the book trade, but also for the more permanent and non-
commercial aim of library classification. This volume opens our eyes
to the richness and diversity both of the modern interpretive
communities encompassed by Ottoman Studies in its current
academic context, but also of the richness and diversity of the
 Introduction 5
cultural, political, scientific and aesthetic world inhabited by the
Ottomans themselves.
 1
___________________________________

OTTOMAN-EUROPEAN
INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS

Ibrahim Peçevi on War: a Note on the

‘European Military Revolution’

Colin Imber

The Problem

The idea of an early modern ‘European military revolution’, which

eventually allowed western Europe to dominate much of the globe,
remains a subject of debate. Protagonists of the idea are not
unanimous as to whether to place the ‘revolution in the sixteenth or
seventeenth centuries,1 while opponents reject the concept
altogether,2 arguing that changes in military practices were
evolutionary rather than revolutionary, and that the changes which
occurred in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were no more
‘revolutionary’ than, for example, the introduction of gunpowder
weapons in the fourteenth and fifteenth. Within this debate, there is
a further discussion as to whether the ‘military revolution’—if such a
thing occurred—gave European armies the advantage over the
forces of the Ottoman Empire, which, it is assumed, did not adapt to
the new practices. Geoffrey Parker argues that the Ottomans
suffered from a failure to adapt to new forms of warfare already
during the sixteenth century.3 Rhoads Murphey, on the other hand,
maintains that there were no major disparities between Ottoman and
western European armies before 1680.4
Among the most important of the new military practices,
supporters of the ‘military revolution’ have identified the bastioned
fortress and, on the battlefield, the increasing use of firearms, with
8 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
arquebusiers or musketeers often ranged in formation on the flanks
of protective pike squares. A corollary of the new battlefield
formations was a growth in the proportion of infantry to cavalry, and
an increase in the size of armies. The new tactics also necessitated
the introduction of battlefield drill. By training soldiers in the use of
weapons and in how to co-ordinate their actions in battle, it became
possible, in theory at least, for arquebusiers to maintain continuous
volley-fire and for ranks of pikemen to form a barrier to attacking
cavalry without skewering any of their own side.5 To this one might
add that the increased use of trenches and other battlefield
fortifications was another feature of the new style of warfare. These
essentially defensive tactics contrasted with Ottoman practice. There
is, as yet, no evidence to suggest that the Ottomans adopted the new
style of fortification, while on the battlefield it seems that the
preferred Ottoman tactic was offensive: to disorganise the enemy
with the shock of a cavalry charge and to drive them against the
fortified centre of the line, within range of the gunfire of the
Janissaries. Tactics varied according to the terrain and according to
circumstances but, in essence, Ottoman armies relied primarily on
the attack, the formations of the ‘military revolution’, primarily on
defence.

The Evidence

In seeking an answer to the question of whether these new

European tactics amounted to a ‘revolution’ and, if so, when exactly
the ‘revolution’ occurred, European wars against the Ottomans
might provide some answers. It is worth noting in the first place how
effectively the Ottomans had adapted to earlier apparently
revolutionary changes in warfare. During the fourteenth century
Ottoman forces had evolved from a band of armed raiders to
become an army capable of undertaking formal sieges, constructing
castles and, as the Crusade of Nicopolis proved in 1396, defeating a
western European army on the battlefield. During the fifteenth
century, Ottoman armies adapted to the ‘gunpowder revolution’.
Development was particularly rapid after the Hungarian wars of
1443-4, a period which also saw the Ottomans follow the
Hungarians in adopting the Wagenburg as a battlefield formation. In
the late fifteenth century, the French revolutionised siege warfare
with the discovery that batteries of small cannon that were quick
firing and manoeuvrable were more effective than single very large
guns. In the early sixteenth century, probably after encountering
French artillery at the siege of Mitylene in 1501, the Ottomans too
began to use smaller cannon in sieges, reserving for specialised tasks
the monster guns for which they had been renowned. It seems
 Ottoman-European International Relations 9
therefore that the Ottomans successfully absorbed the lessons of
pre-sixteenth-century ‘European military revolutions’. Furthermore,
wars against European enemies between 1500 and the war of Cyprus
of 1570-3 do not suggest that Ottoman armies were at a tactical
disadvantage before the last quarter of the century. This suggests that
the ‘military revolution’—if indeed such a thing happened—had
either not yet taken effect, or that the Ottomans had simply
absorbed its lessons and adapted their own strategies.6
After 1573 there was a twenty year gap in hostilities in the west.
Between 1579 and 1590 the Ottomans fought a war in the east, but
the terrain in which it was fought, the tactics of the Safavid enemy
and the political context of the war were very different from
anything the Ottomans would experience in Europe. In 1593,
therefore, when war with Austria broke out, Ottoman commanders
would have been unaware of developments in European warfare
during the previous twenty years. Indeed, the Ottomans had not
fought the Austrians since 1566, and it was probably on the wars
fought during the reign of Süleyman I (1520-66) that they based their
assessment of Austrian capability in 1593. For this reason, the ‘Long
War’ of 1593-1606 is important in assessing the question of whether
there was ‘European military revolution’, and if so when it occurred,
and whether the Ottomans adapted to it as easily as they had to
earlier military changes.
One source in particular—the chronicle of Ibrahim Peçevi7—
gives a remarkable account of the Long War, which allows us to
assess the impact of changes in the European style of warfare on
Ottoman armies. This work concludes with the death of Sultan
Murad IV in 1640, but it is clear that its author had compiled much
of his narrative long before this date, and what is particularly
important is that he bases his account of the Long War on his
experiences as a participant in the following of Lala Mehmed Pasha,
who became both grand vizier and army commander in 1604. Peçevi
himself was a native of Hungary, born in Pécs in the early 1570s. He
clearly spoke Hungarian and German as well as Turkish, and so had
a role in negotiations between the opposing sides. Notably, it was he
who negotiated both the Ottoman surrender of Esztergom in 15958
and, to his obvious delight, the Austrian surrender of the same
fortress ten years later.9 But what is most important is that he took a
close interest in warfare and in assessing the factors that determined
the outcome of battles and sieges.10 As the late Vernon Parry
remarked, ‘Peçevi was the only Ottoman historian who understood
warfare’.11 It is true that Peçevi’s ultimate concerns were theological
rather than secular, and it is these that shape the literary structure of
his narrative. His account of the battle of Mezö-Keresztes in 1596,
for example, hinges on the prayer which the Sultan’s tutor Sa‘deddin
10 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
offered at a crucial moment when the battle appeared to be
irrevocably lost. It was this prayer that God answered in granting an
Ottoman victory. Other events such as the explosion of the
Austrians’ powder magazine at Kanizsa in 1600, or the descent of a
thick mist on the battlefield during the same action he also sees as
signs of God’s grace. Equally, in ascribing Shah Abbas’ great victory
over the Ottomans at Sufiyan in 1605—a defeat which he attributed
to the incompetence of the Ottoman commander Cigalazade Sinan
Pasha—he interpolates the comment: ‘When the decree of God, the
Praised the Exalted, does not favour an undertaking, it is men like
this who become commanders of the troops of Islam’.12 These
theological points do not, however, negate a secular understanding
of events. It is simply that Peçevi attributes the events that
determined the outcome of battle to the hand of God. His story of
the Long War is more interesting to military historians than it is to
theologians.
The war began successfully with the Koca Sinan Pasha’s capture
of Veszprem and Paluta in 1593, and then of Györ in 1594, but
Peçevi makes it clear that the conquest of Györ was ‘a miracle of his
Excellency the Bearer of Prophecy’ rather than an indication of
Ottoman superiority, since the garrison had no need to surrender. It
was at full strength, and the overflowing river Raab had flooded the
ditch around the fortress, hindering the miners, and allowing the
attacking troops to approach the walls only after crossing the water
four or five abreast over planks.13 Furthermore, Austrian victories at
Novigrad and Hatvan and the capture of other smaller forts had
already suggested that the Austrians now enjoyed a military
advantage. This is a point which Peçevi makes very forcefully when
he appends to his account of the fall of Esztergom in 1595, the
Austrian commander Palffy’s comments on the Ottoman army. ‘The
accursed man called Palffy’, he writes, ‘was an extremely effective
and intelligent infidel. For whatever he said, he would usually
provide a metaphor. The grand vizier Hoca Murad Pasha travelled to
the infidels several times to negotiate peace, and he reported some of
the accursed man’s sayings. One of these came from the time he was
negotiating the surrender [of Esztergom], when Palffy said: “We
used to compare the Muslims to a box which our ancestors did not
dare to open. Anyone who asked what was in it received the reply
that it was full of snakes, centipedes and scorpions. If the box were
to be opened, they would swarm all over our land, biting and killing
people. As this story went the rounds, they came to believe it, and so
became firm in their mistaken convictions. Each of our emperors
and kings put a lock on it, so that the box would not be opened and
the world not be destroyed in his time. Now, out of necessity, we
have opened it, and it turns out that the box is empty. There is
 Ottoman-European International Relations 11
nothing at all inside. What a pity that up until now we have lived our
lives in this erroneous belief!’’’.14
Palffy’s comments, as Peçevi reports them, suggest a confidence
in Austrian arms, which contrasts with the views of his predecessor
in the 1560s, Lazarus Schwendi, who warned against attacking the
Ottoman army during the summer when it was at full strength, and
in particular against attacking the fortified Wagenburg at the centre of
the line. He recommended instead a defensive strategy based on
‘well-equipped fortresses’.15 The contrast between the opinions of
the two men suggests that, unless the Ottoman ‘box’ was already
empty in the 1560s without Schwendi realising it, that there had been
a major advance in Austrian effectiveness between the 1560s and the
1590s. Peçevi’s narrative suggests that this was indeed the case, and it
was precisely on the battlefield, which Schwendi had seen as an
Austrian’s weakest point, that Austrian superiority became evident.
This is very clear from Peçevi’s narrative of two encounters which in
fact ended in Ottoman victories. The first of these was the battle of
Mezö-Keresztes in 1596. The battle followed the capture of Eger,
when the victorious Ottomans found themselves confronting ‘a great
army of all sorts from Bohemia and Poland (çeh ve leh), the Pope and
the depths of the Frankish lands, ready to attack the troops of Islam
when they were off their guard in the imperial camp’. On the first
day of the battle, the vizier Hadim Ca‘fer Pasha reported that the
enemy were too numerous to attack, but none of the commanders,
including the Sultan who had accompanied the army, believed him
and sent him forward for a second time. As he prepared for battle,
his men ‘saw a limitless number of troops, an enemy without bounds
… advancing rank on rank’. Ca‘fer Pasha himself ‘was standing firm
when he saw that the troops were fleeing the field. Finally several of
his experienced officers (ağas) … took their reins and willy-nilly,
returned at a gallop to the imperial camp. All the zarbzens, tents and
heavy items that they were carrying passed to the miserable enemy’.
This event convinced the commanders that it would be necessary to
encounter the enemy with the full strength of the army. When, on
the following day, the Tatar troops captured ‘more than sixty
infidels, clad in armour and fully armed’, each of these informants
separately confirmed that ‘all the kings and dukes of the infidels had,
by agreement, collected such an army that this many troops had
never before been assembled. They are boundless and innumerable,
greater than whatever you may estimate’. This intelligence led to the
decision to attack the enemy before they attacked the Ottoman army.
The battle that day was, however, limited in scale. ‘There was a
ruined church near to a swamp,’ writes Peçevi. ‘Several thousand
pigs had made a lair in the swamp, and brought up a few zarbzens
and culverins to the place. They did not allow the Muslims to
12 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
approach, but there was a battle with arquebus and cannon fire from
both sides’. When the enemy emerged from the swamp, Cigalazade
Sinan and the Tatars in the van of the army ‘attacked them and put
most of them to the sword’. There was, however, another element in
the battle which Peçevi notes in particular, and this was a new
artillery weapon: ‘The accursed ones had culverins with a very long
range. One of them even fired over the Felicitous Sultan’s array, and
ricocheted behind it’.
On the third day, the Ottomans engaged the entire Austrian army.
The attack failed because the advancing cavalry could not withstand
the enemy gunshot: ‘… the Muslim troops, rank on rank, crossed the
swamp and began to advance on the enemy army. There was no
movement on the enemy side, but the cannon shot from the army of
the accursed ones kept the army of Islam at bay. Up until the time of
the afternoon prayer, the accursed ones did not show themselves.
Not a single one emerged from the army ready to fight. But when it
was the time of the afternoon prayer, they advanced rank on rank’.
Peçevi describes the Austrian line of battle: ‘Many Germans had
assembled in one place like a parade of pigs, all of them in armour,
and each with a single pike (harbe) in his hands; and many more ranks
like this, clad in iron, in their hands the gun called ‘musket’, throwing
a shot of ten to fifteen dirhems; and many Hungarian arquebusiers,
that is hayduds. It is certain that there were a hundred—no more than
a hundred—formations (alay) of infantrymen, with each formation
made up of four or five hundred infidels. In the same manner, the
ranks of Hungarian cavalrymen … looked—God Most High knows
best—like a huge mountain. There were many ranks of German, and
Bohemian and Polish (leh ve çeh) cavalry, with each one carrying at
least three and at most five arquebuses’. As the enemy advanced, the
Ottoman ‘ranks could not resist them. Not a single man could go
against them … The infidels passed through the swamp … firing
cannon and arquebus, and advancing straight towards the camp’.
When the Rumelian troops on the right wing tried to block the
enemy at the entrance to a pass, they found that ‘they could not
resist for one moment or advance a single pace. As soon as the
enemy arquebuses scattered shot into the company, the entire troop
dispersed and joined their scattered companions’. The Austrians
advanced with no effective resistance and, as they entered the
Ottoman camp, the Janissaries and the cavalrymen of the Six
Divisions who were guarding the Treasury withdrew. To complete
the Ottoman rout, the sultan’s inner pages who had fled from the
camp spread the rumour that the sultan himself had fled, causing
panic and desertion among the already defeated troops. The
Austrians in the meantime had abandoned themselves to plunder.
 Ottoman-European International Relations 13
It was at this point that ‘a miracle of God’ occurred. As ‘the
troops of Islam abandoned all worldly hope … signs of victory and
the favour [of God] were made manifest. At that moment the
horsegrooms, chief cooks, cameleers, muleteers and other ghazis
known as ‘orderlies’ (karakullukçu) attacked the accursed ones who
had in places seized the tents, with things like tent pegs, wood-
cleavers, axes, cudgels and sticks. They gave a few of the infidels
their just deserts and, from all sides, shouted out: “The infidel’s
fled!” The troops who were wandering scattered and at a loss around
the camp at once advanced and killed whomever they met wherever
they met them. By the time of the evening prayer—before even an
hour had passed—fifty thousand enemies of religion and state had
fallen into the dust of destruction’.16
Peçevi not only gives a clear account of why the Ottomans won
the battle of Mezö-Keresztes—something which confused the
Austrians at the time and has confused historians ever since, he also
gives a clear picture of the reasons for Austrian superiority on the
battlefield. The first important point to emerge is the unprecedented
size of the Austrian army; the second is the Austrian tactic on the
final day of battle of luring the Ottoman cavalry to attack a strongly
defended position and destroying it with gunshot. His description of
the Austrian army as it emerged from behind its defences suggests a
cavalry force reinforcing an infantry army composed of pike-squares
protecting sleeves of musketeers and arquebusiers. The fact that
Peçevi bothers to describe the Austrian line of battle in some detail
suggests that this was the first time that he had encountered such a
formation. It is noteworthy, too, that Peçevi also describes two new
weapons, the long-range culverin17 and the musket,18 a firearm that
was heavier than the arquebus and fired from a tripod, making it
especially suitable for defensive fighting from fixed positions. These
were not the only new weapons that Peçevi noticed. He devotes a
section in his History to describing a petard.19 This was the weapon
that Palffy used to blow in the gate at Györ in 1597, allowing him to
recapture of the fortress.20
The victory at Mezö-Keresztes had a lasting effect on Ottoman
fortunes. The Austrians clearly believed that, by retreating and
allowing them to enter the camp, the Ottomans had deliberately
lured them into a trap, and it was this mistaken idea that allowed the
Ottomans to secure a similar victory at Kanizsa in 1600. As the
Ottoman army prepared to besiege Kanizsa, an Austrian field army
came to relieve the fortress: ‘One day,’ writes Peçevi, ‘because the
weather was wet, the people were soaking. A fog clothed the oak-
groves and forests. Suddenly the infidel ranks appeared, driving the
troops in the van back into the camp’. As at Mezö-Keresztes, the
Ottoman troops were unable to withstand the enemy fire and fled:
14 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
‘The beylerbeyis, beys and other troops mounted their horses and went
to encounter [the Austrians], but were not able to withstand the
accursed ones’ gunshot. Because there was a need for infantry, they
left no arquebusiers behind except the French,21 and brought all the
Janissaries into the line. But these too, as soon as they met [with the
enemy] were disobedient and fled to take up position in the camp,
which they considered to be a place of safety… However, through
the miracles of Muhammad, and with the blessing which came from
the blow which they had suffered at Eger, they did not pursue them
and enter the camp. They brought the cannon so close that shot
which did not pass over our encampment struck our trenches’. At
this stage the Austrians began to fortify their lines: ‘Their lines stood
like this until evening, when their infantry began to dig trenches for
the army. By morning the accursed ones had enclosed a vast area,
encircling hills and plains with trenches to the depths of a lance. In
places they built towers and yanyasdı trenches, and placed cannon and
zarbzen in them’. The scene which followed recalled Mezö-
Keresztes: ‘When morning came, the accursed ones drew up their
ranks. They placed their arquebusiers in ranks in the van. The
[Ottoman] commander was on horseback and drew up the troops in
formation behind a swamp. The ağa of the Janissaries and the
Janissaries were, as is customary, in rows, and the beylerbeyis drew
up their ranks on the appropriate wings. However, the moment the
infidels advanced, they retreated, and when they attacked the
Janissaries, these too fled. There was no one left in the field but the
honourable, the standard-bearers and those bearing the title of
officer. Everyone took refuge by hiding in the forests, reed-beds and
swamps. The unhappy Ibrahim Pasha was in floods of tears’. What
saved the Ottomans from destruction was the Austrians’ belief that
the flight of the Ottoman troops was a trick: ‘By the Grace of God
Most High, everywhere was covered in mist and the infidels could
not see properly. They thought that [our failure] to confront them
and subsequent flight was a trick. All in all, eight days passed like
this. On the ninth day they departed at midnight, saying: “The aim of
the Turks in not confronting us or even showing their ranks is to
find an opportunity to play a trick on us”’. With the departure of this
force, the siege of Kanizsa proceeded to a victorious conclusion.22
Once again Peçevi describes a victory against the odds. In a direct
confrontation, the Austrian tactic of combining gunfire and
battlefield fortifications was so effective that the Ottoman soldiers
saw flight as their only chance of survival. It was only their mistaken
belief that the Ottomans had laid a trap that led to the Austrian
withdrawal. In his description of an earlier confrontation at Vác in
the autumn of 1597 Peçevi gives another clear account of this
Austrian tactic. In a vain attempt to recapture Vác the Ottoman
 Ottoman-European International Relations 15
army had encamped on the plain at a time when ‘the rain and snow
did not allow one to open one’s eyes’. There follows a description of
the enemy position: ‘Now the enemy had come with an army (tabur)
and encamped in a narrow pass above Vác on the shore of the
Danube. They had evacuated the fortress and dug great trenches in
front of the army. They had built redoubts on each hill and at the
top of each slope, filling them with arquebusiers. As a result, it was
impossible to approach’. A drawback of the style of warfare which
the Austrians practised was that it was essentially defensive. The best
form of attack was therefore to trick the enemy into approaching the
entrenchments and annihilating them with gunfire. This is what the
Austrians did: ‘When we reached the plain and came into contact
with the enemy, stopping out of the range of gunfire, three or four
Hungarian columns emerged. We fought them for a while, and they
fled before us, drawing the Muslim troops into the sights of the
cannon and onto the arquebusiers in the redoubts. There was quite a
battle for three days. A number of infidels were killed but, because
they were in range of the guns, a lot of our men also took the road to
non-existence’.
In concluding his description of this encounter, Peçevi hints that
few in the Ottoman army realised that traditional Ottoman cavalry
tactics were ineffective against the new style of warfare that the
Austrians were practising. Instead they put the blame for the failure
at Vác on the commander: ‘At that time, Tiryaki Hasan Pasha was
beylerbeyi of Bosnia. He suffered reproach from the tongues of men
who were ignorant of the situation, claiming that he had not attacked
the enemy, and that if he had, the enemy army would have been
broken. The truth is that their army was in a fortress-like place, on
one side a high hill, on the other the Danube, which could not be
circumvented from behind in three of four days. In front, there was
a great ditch with ranks of arquebusiers arranged along it. The
infidels escaping from the battlefield fled as far as this, and their
pursuers followed until they came within range of the cannon and
arquebus’. Furthermore, the Austrians were aware enough of their
military superiority to reject an Ottoman peace overture shortly after
the encounter at Vác. As Peçevi puts it: ‘The accursed ones’ noses
were stuck up in the air, and they themselves were flying high, so
nothing resulted’.23
The problem for the Ottomans, however, was not simply a failure
of the commanders to understand Austrian tactics and to work out
counter-measures. Another difficulty was that the troops themselves
did not easily adapt to the new forms of warfare. Lala Mehmed
Pasha’s failure to recapture Csepel island in the Danube in 1603
examplifies the problem.
16 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
Lala Mehmed himself was an Ottoman commander who clearly
understood that the old methods no longer worked. This is evident
in the memorandum which he sent to the grand vizier Yemişçi
Hasan Pasha in 1600: ‘Most of the troops of these accursed ones are
on foot and arquebusiers. Most of the troops of Islam are horsemen,
and not only are infantrymen few, but experts in the use of the
arquebus are rare. For this reason, there is great trouble in battles
and sieges’.24 He was also, it seems, quick to adopt enemy tactics. In
his story of the Austrian conquest of Esztergom in 1595, Peçevi
devotes space to what was evidently a new style of bombardment:
‘That night [the Austrians] brought up forty-one or forty-two great
guns … At dawn they began the bombardment. Most of the time,
when the sound of one cannon stopped, another one fired, and the
earth and sky were filled with smoke. In this way, they fired
sometimes forty-one and sometimes forty-two shots in continuous
rotation. Sometimes they fired the ones in each trench in unison, as
though they were using a stone of the fortress as a target and firing
at one spot … If each gun threw at least fifty balls a day, it would
make more than two thousand …’25 This technique impressed Lala
Mehmed Pasha sufficiently for him to adopt it in the following year
at the Ottoman siege of Eger: ‘Our late lord’, writes Peçevi, ‘the
vizier Mehmed Pasha … was allotted eight siege cannon … Then, as
the infidels had done when they bombardeded Esztergom, they
aimed all eight at one stone in particular and fired them
simultaneously, so that it was as though the balls were piling up one
on top of the other. Sometimes they fired in turn. Before the sound
of one cannon had died away, they fired another. All the soldiers said
the Mehmed Pasha had learned to bombard a fortress in this way at
Esztergom’.26
In 1603, when faced with the task of ejecting the Austrians from
Csepel island in the Danube, as a preliminary to the recapture of
Pest, Lala Mehmed clearly realised that in order to defeat the
Austrians he would have to adopt their tactic of using fortified
emplacements for the infantry. The action which followed, however,
indicates not simply that some elements in the army were in position
to defy the commanders, but also that they had not grasped the
principles of the new style of warfare.
Peçevi notes the outcome of the commanders’ deliberations: ‘“We
too should build a bridge to the island and attack the enemy’s
bastion (tabya)…”’, and outlines the plan: ‘Orders were given that in
the evening a number of arquebusiers from the bölüks, with the
promise of a pay rise, should begin to cross, together with sekbans
[attached to] the beylerbeyis and commanders, and three, four or five
thousand sekbans from the jelalis. They were instructed, by morning
to, to build a stockade for the bastion and to dig a ditch around it’.
 Ottoman-European International Relations 17
The plan failed. In the first place, the ağa of the Janissaries insisted
that the Janissaries should cross to the island. Then the Janissaries
demanded cavalry reinforcements. The commanders objected: ‘That
number or troops cannot resist the [enemy] army. When the enemy
advance, only infantry should enter the bastion and fight with
arquebus. By the time the bridge is ready, then the cavalry can cross.
This is our plan’. The Janissaries, however, whom Peçevi describes
as ‘thoroughly insubordinate’ had the strength to enforce their
demands. The sequel indicates that the troops not only disobeyed
the commanders of the army, but also that they had not understood
Austrian tactics or how to counter them. Peçevi recalls what
happened during the night: ‘It was exactly midnight. The architect
came and said: “Not a stake has been planted for the fortification,
and not [even] a hoe has been wielded for the ditch.” When he said
this to the jelalis, they replied: “We fought many battles in Anatolia,
but we never dug a ditch or set up a stockade, and we won’t do it
now!’” This response from the jelalis was perhaps unsurprising, since
their experience of warfare was in plundering defenceless settlements
and fighting off usually ill-planned Ottoman attempts to suppress
their activities. However, the Janissaries who had experienced
warfare on the Hungarian front seem, according to Peçevi, to have
been equally unable to understand their enemy: ‘As for the
Janissaries, it was as if each one of them was digging a grave for
himself. The sekbans and the bölük halkı [who had been promised] a
[pay] increase followed the Janissaries’. The formation which the
Ottoman troops adopted in attacking the Austrian position matched
their unwillingness to construct fortifications in the field. Peçevi
describes what he saw: ‘ … it was already morning. What we saw
opposite was like a new graveyard. The men who had crossed should
at least have stood [firm as a single body], waited in ambush in one
place, or at least have drawn up their ranks. They had done none of
these things. Instead they approached the enemy fortification in
groups of two, five or ten’. The Austrian counter-attack came
towards midday: ‘The accursed ones, firing cannon and arquebus,
advanced one after the other like a herd of pigs. The Hungarian
cavalry confronted our cavalry’. Pecevi’s description is imprecise, but
gives the impression that after repelling the uncoordinated Ottoman
attacks, the Austrian troops advanced in a cohesive formation under
the shelter of gunfire, driving the Ottoman soldiers who survived the
onslaught into the Danube.27
The problems which Peçevi highlights in this passage have to do
with the nature of the Ottoman army. The army commanders seem,
by this time, to have felt the need to adopt the Austrian tactic of
establishing a strong defensive position on the battlefield and, in
confronting the enemy, to co-ordinate the actions of the troops. This
18 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
presumably was a lesson which they had learned from the experience
of Austrian volley-fire and the lethal combination of mutually
supporting pike and shot. In Peçevi’s version, the defeat on Csepel
island was a result of the troops’ refusal to fortify their position
properly or to co-ordinate their attack. The insubordination of the
jelalis is not difficult to understand. Their training as soldiers, as
Peçevi implies, came from their experiences as Anatolian brigands.
They were used to defying Ottoman officers rather than to obeying
them, and they looked to their own experience of warfare as the
guide to action rather than to the orders of the army commanders.
Peçevi also comments on the behaviour of the Janissaries: ‘This was
a time when the Janissaries were thoroughly insubordinate and there
was a fear of their unseemly behaviour’. As a result nobody dared to
resist their demands: ‘Nobody dared to utter the words: “The
Janissaries should not cross. There is no need for Janissaries” …
Instead, fearing the sword of the Janissaries, they said:
“Welcome!”’.28 In this action, therefore, the Ottoman troops acted
contrary to their commanders’ wishes and attacked the enemy in an
uncoordinated fashion. This contrasted with the Austrian tactics
where troop movements seem to have been disciplined and
coordinated.
From Peçevi’s account, it is clear that the Ottomans experienced
great difficulties in field warfare. The next question is whether the
modernised fortresses of the ‘military revolution’ presented them
with similar problems. Certainly these were not impregnable as Lala
Mustafa’s conquest of Nicosia had shown already in 1570. However,
Peçevi’s description of the re-conquest of Esztergom in 1605
suggests that they could form a very serious obstacle.
The Austrians had captured Esztergom in 1595, and reconstructed
it as a complex of fortresses between the citadel and the Danube. ‘A
mighty fortress’, writes Peçevi, ‘had been built on the crag, and three
more fortresses had been built up to the Danube. These had been
linked to one another by cutting a great ditch’. Furthermore, he
makes it clear that before Lala Mehmed Pasha’s successful attack,
Ottoman commanders had regarded it as unassailable: ‘In the
previous year it had proved impossible even to approach the wall of
the fortress of Esztergom. Everyone was terrified of its strength and
despaired of conquering it’. In view of Esztergom’s apparent
invulnerability, the majority of those assembled in a war council
advised against putting it under siege, and instead prepared to send
raiding parties into Austrian territory. It was in the end the
complaints of the soldiers who were expected to undertake these
raids that swung the decision in favour of the siege.
The factors which Peçevi emphasises in his account of the victory
are more or less the opposite of those which had led to disaster on
 Ottoman-European International Relations 19
Csepel island. In the first place, the army clearly carried out all the
details of Lala Mehmed’s plan. The siege began with a ten day
bombardment of the outer fortresses. Then came the command for
a full-scale assault. The troops mustered overnight in the trenches.
Then ‘there was an announcement that, as soon as the first sign of
dawn appeared, when three cannons fired together, and earth and
sky resounded to the cry of “Allah! Allah!”, the ghazis should
immediately advance and envelop the enemy in red blood’. At day
break, under the cover of fog, the Ottoman army entered the upper
fortress ‘before the infidels had even opened their eyes’. The same
tactics were successful against the other outer fortresses. In his
description of the assault on the town and citadel, Peçevi lays
emphasis on the improved morale of the troops: ‘It was as though
every one of the Muslims, who had been regarded as weak and
helpless, became a ferocious lion, or a warrior as bold as Rustem of
legend. At other times, great care was taken to motivate the troops
for an assault. Increases were given and fine promises made. But this
time they had only to say “There’s an assault,” and by morning not a
single man would be left in the camp’. The assault again began at
dawn, but the breach in the wall was wide enough for only one man,
a testimony perhaps to the ability of the new style of fortress to
withstand a ten-day bombardment. By the time the sun rose, the
Austrians had driven back all assaults. Nevertheless, the fortress fell,
and it is again the morale of the troops that Peçevi stresses in
accounting for the victory. When Lala Mehmed saw that the initial
attacks on the breach had been unsuccessful, he sent Peçevi to
convey the instruction to the ağa of the Janissaries: ‘Encourage the
ghazis! Whatever you promise them, do it; give them whatever
you’re going to give! Don’t let the ghazis turn back! If once they lose
their keenness, it will be very difficult to drive them forward again’.
It was an assault under the command of the ağa after he had received
this order that finally forced the breach. When the Ottoman troops
entered, most of the defenders ‘drank the wine of death. Very few of
them escaped, and all who did were taken prisoner’. The fact that
‘they took plentiful booty in the suburb’ must have further raised the
morale of the victorious troops.29
The last phase of the battle opened with a ten-day bombardment
of the citadel with plans for another dawn assault. Before, however,
the soldiers left their trenches, the garrison sought a negotiated
surrender. With the capitulation of the citadel, the modernised and
supposedly impregnable fortress of Esztergom fell to the Ottomans.
This victory was the last major action in the ‘Long war’ of 1593-
1606.
20 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
Some Conclusions

Peçevi’s narratives of the sieges and battles of the ‘Long War’

provide a basis for an assessment of the impact of the ‘military
revolution’ on Ottoman warfare. What emerges most clearly is that
the Ottomans found themselves at a disadvantage in field warfare.
The course of the battle of Mezö-Keresztes before its unexpected
dénouement indicates that the Ottoman cavalry which depended for
its effect on the shock of the attack were unable even to approach
the Austrian formations of pike and shot. It is also clear from the
actions at Vác and Kanisza, that the Ottomans had no tactic that was
effective against sustained firepower from entrenched positions.
Peçevi’s narratives also show how the Austrians tried to overcome
the drawback of these tactics. The problem with pike and shot and
more so with trench warfare was that they were very effective in the
defence, but not in the attack. At Mezö-Keresztes, the Austrians
evidently did not emerge from their defensive positions until they
had broken the shock of the Ottoman cavalry. At Vác they used
cavalry to lure the Ottoman attackers into the range of shot from
their entrenchments. The preferred tactic was not so much to attack
the enemy, as to encourage the enemy to attack. By the time of the
engagement on Csepel island, Ottoman commanders clearly wished
to emulate Austrian tactics, but this they were unable to do. The
operation failed, in Peçevi’s version, as a consequence of the
indiscipline of the troops. In the last years of the war, the Ottomans
clearly wished to emulate the Austrian example by increasing infantry
numbers, whether by expanding the Janissary Corps or recruiting
irregulars from Anatolia. This, however, was not a complete solution
to their problems. Effective infantry tactics, such as the Austrian
armies employed, required a new form of training which, in principle
at least, made it possible for musketeers and arquebusiers to fire in
continous volleys, for pikemen to act in unison, and to co-ordinate
pike and shot. The way to inculcate these disciplines was through
military drill, which historians have identified as an element in the
‘military revolution’ but which was not, it seems, something which
the Ottomans adopted. The Janissaries certainly practised
sharpshooting, and the other infantrymen were undoubtedly skilled
in handling weapons, but the disaster on Csepel island shows that
they had not learned, or even understood the need, to co-ordinate
their actions.
Although Peçevi makes it clear that the Ottomans faced severe
difficulties in field battles, Ottoman success in capturing Austrian
fortresses, and Esztergom in particular, might seem to indicate that
the modernised fortresses of the ‘military revolution’ were not
especially effective. Nonetheless, it is worth noting Peçevi’s
 Ottoman-European International Relations 21
comment that before the assault in 1605, the Ottomans had regarded
Esztergom as impregnable and taken the decision not to put it under
siege. Furthermore, to capture the complex of fortresses required
almost a month of continuous bombardment. Esztergom, in short,
while not impregnable was remarkably difficult to overcome.
In sum, therefore, Peçevi’s narrative of the ‘Long War’ suggests
that the ‘military revolution’ was real, and that the tactics that it
introduced were extremely effective against Ottoman armies,
especially in the field. Peçevi also allows us to date the ‘revolution’ at
least insofar as it affected Austria. Schwendi’s comments from the
1560s suggest that he still considered Ottoman armies to be superior
to the Austrians in the field. By the 1590s, experience showed that
this was no longer true, suggesting that a major phase in the ‘military
revolution’ in Austria occurred in the twenty year period between
1570 and 1590. On this evidence therefore one can say that there
was indeed a ‘European military revolution’ and that it is possible to
date the major transformation to the last three decades of the
sixteenth century. The evidence of Peçevi alone is not enough to
make this conclusion definitive. Nonetheless, Peçevi is a vitally
important source and historians must take into the account the
evidence which he provides.

Notes
1
For a summary of the debate, see Thomas F. Arnold, ‘War in sixteenth-century
Europe: revolution and renaissance’, in Jeremy Black (ed.), European Warfare, 1453-
1815 (London, 1999), 23-44.
2
For example, John Childs, Warfare in the Seventeenth Century (London, 2001), 16-17.
3
Geoffrey Parker, The Military Revolution: Military Innovation and the Rise of the West,
1500-1800 (Cambridge,1988).
4
Rhoads Murphey, Ottoman Warfare, 1500-1700 (London, 1999).
5
Geoffrey Parker, The Military Revolution; Thomas Arnold, The Renaissance at War,
(London, 2001).
6
For the development of Ottoman military practice, see Gabor Ágoston,
‘Ottoman artillery and European military technology in the fifteenth and
seventeenth centuries’, Acta Orientalia (Budapest), XLVII (1994), 15-48;
‘Habsburgs and Ottomans: military changes and shifts in power’, Turkish Studies
Association Bulletin, 22 (1998), 126-41; Colin Imber, The Ottoman Empire: The structure
of power, 1300-1650 (Basingstoke, 2002), chapter 7.
7
İbrahim Peçevi, Tarih-i Peçevi (Istanbul, 1980), reprint, with introduction and
index by Fahri Ç. Derin and Vahit Çabuk, of Tarih-i Peçevi (Istanbul, 1866). The
printed text is highly unreliable.
8
Peçevi II, 181-4.
9
Peçevi II, 305-7.
10
On Peçevi, see Ahmed Refik (Altınay), Peçevi (Istanbul, 1933).
11
My thanks to Dr Colin Heywood for recording this hadith.
22 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

12
Peçevi II, 264-5.
13
Peçevi II, 153-4.
14
Peçevi II, 187-8.
15
Quoted in Vernon Parry, ‘La manière de combattre’ in V.J. Parry and M.E. Yapp
(eds.), War, Technology and Society in the Middle East (London, 1975).
16
Peçevi II, 195-202.
17
Peçevi II,198.
18
Peçevi II, 199.
19
Peçevi II, 212-213.
20
Peçevi II, 211-212.
21
On the French, see Caroline Finkel, ‘French mercenaries in the Habsburg-
Ottoman war of 1593-1606: the desertion of the Papa garrison’, Bulletin of the School
of Oriental and African Studies, LV (1992), 451-71.
22
Peçevi II, 232-5.
23
Peçevi II, 208-9.
24
Quoted in V.J. Parry, ‘La manière’.
25
Peçevi II, 179.
26
Peçevi II, 193.
27
Peçevi II, 271-6.
28
Peçevi II, 273.
29
Peçevi II, 301-7.
Some Remarks upon the Ottoman Geo-Political Vision of
the Mediterranean in the Period of
the Cyprus War (1570-1573)
Maria Pia Pedani

A Declaration of War

According to a widespread historiographical tradition, the Cyprus

war was fought because, at the beginning of his reign, Selim II
wanted to imitate his father’s great deeds and because a friend of the
sultan, the Jew Joseph Nassí, disliked Venetians and `wanted to
create a Jewish settlement in the island. On the contrary, according
to the declaration of war, issued in February 1570 and given to the
doge Pietro Loredan by the çavuş Kubad at the end of the following
March, the reasons which pushed the Ottomans to fight were
different.1 This long document contains a list of charges against the
Republic, that is to say: (i) [in Dalmatia] Venetians were building
castles and villages beyond the borders which had been established at
the time of Mehmed II and Bayezid II and, in the country near Klis,
at the time of Süleyman the Magnificent; (ii) in summer [1569]
Christians privateers received food and water in Cyprus and, thus,
they were able to destroy two Ottoman ships and kill the persons
who were on board; moreover Venetians refused to give the names
of the privateers when the Ottoman authorities of Alexandria asked
for them; (iii) in autumn [1569] another Ottoman ship was plundered
between Alexandria and Rosetta in Egypt by privateers who had
previously stopped in Cyprus; (iv) Venetians killed the levends they
captured while, according to the capitulations, they were required to
give them back to the Ottoman authorities; (v) the Venetian bailo in
Istanbul did not receive instructions regularly and, in this way, many
affairs could not be quickly solved; (vi) the father of a Christian
Ottoman merchant was charged by the Venetians for trading in steel,
that is a forbidden good, and then killed; (vii) the merchant Hacı Ali
who went to Cattaro to trade was robbed by Uskoks and he was not
indemnified, notwithstanding the guarantees by the Venetian
authorities for the safe arrival of goods in Venice.
From the Ottoman point of view the basis of the war was not
Selim’s pride or Nassí’s envy, but had clear geo-political reasons, as
24 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
the historian Selânikî Mustafa Efendi was also to point out.2 The
major crimes that the Venetians had committed in the Mediterranean
were to allow Christian privateers to stop in Cyprus before attacking
Ottoman ships on the route between Istanbul and Alexandria, and to
be unable to protect Ottoman merchants in the Gulf of Venice, as
they proudly called the Adriatic sea.
However, in those months in Istanbul two parties were struggling
against and in favour of the idea of declaring war upon Venice. The
sultan’s lala, Lala Mustafa Pasha, Piyale Pasha, the third vizier Pertev
Pasha and the şeyhülislam Ebussuud Efendi wanted to fight, while the
grand vizier Sokollu Mehmed Pasha did not.3

Mediterranean Geo-Strategy in the Sixteenth Century

The historian Ibn Khaldūn4 considered the Mediterranean not as a

single sea but as a series of water enclosures, such as the Black Sea
and the Adriatic Sea, divided by larger or narrower straits; many
centuries later another historian, Fernand Braudel, expressed the
same ideas.5 In the same way, for centuries the Republic of Venice
considered the Adriatic Sea its own Gulf, while the Ottoman sultan
did not reject the idea that he could exert the same kind of
sovereignty over the Black Sea and over the Eastern part of the
Mediterranean.6 However, Ottoman geo-political strategy evolved
over time and it underwent some important alterations, above all
during the sixteenth century. In 1517 Selim I conquered Egypt; in
1522 Süleyman I acquired the island of Rhodes; in the same period
Hayreddin gave Algiers to the sultan. In this period the Ottomans
probably thought it was possible for them to conquer the whole
Mediterranean by taking possession in advance of its wider, if weaker
parts and only later of the most heavily fortified places.7 It has been
written8 that in Süleyman’s age, between the battles of Prevesa
(1538), and Lepanto (1571), and even after this date, the Ottoman
Empire was the greatest single naval power in the Mediterranean, but
this sea never belonged completely to the Ottomans; several states
exerted their influences on its waters, and even in the middle of the
sixteenth century, Spain, France and several Italian states used to
patrol wide parts of this sea.
In this period, vigorous Ottoman action was chiefly centred round
the control of the Sicilian narrows, a vital area for the control of the
whole Mediterranean. The unsuccessful siege of Malta (1565)
frustrated this attempt and the following year the island of Chios, the
last Genoese enclave in the Levant was taken. The following
campaign was against Cyprus. It seems that in the years just before
the battle of Lepanto there was a change in Ottoman strategy. In
fact, after the siege of Malta, the Ottomans abandoned the idea of
 Ottoman-European International Relations 25
swallowing all the Mediterranean in favour of conquering only some
strategic places; their aim became that of conquering all the islands
and zones still in foreign hands, one after the other, proceeding from
East to West. Moreover, if until this moment they had tried to guard
every single merchant ship which sailed from Istanbul to Egypt and
vice versa, now they began to watch over the route itself, which
united the wealthiest province of the Empire with the capital.9
After the conquest of Chios, Cyprus remained the only Christian
enclave in an Ottoman sea, and this presence troubled the pilgrimage
and trade routes, these being the most important sea passages in the
eyes of the central government.10 Since 1517 the Alexandria-Istanbul
route had become the inner commerce of the empire. Ships usually
proceeded along the Anatolian coast, went on between Rhodes and
the mainland, called at Famagusta, Beirut, Sidon, continued
southwards as far as Egypt and then they came back using the same
route. Several far eastern products were brought to Istanbul by these
ships, having come via Baghdad-Aleppo as well as via the Red Sea,
together with Egyptian and Maghrebine goods. In fact the Indian
Ocean and the Persian Gulf were still of great importance for the
Ottoman Empire, and also for their Western commercial partners, as
for instance Venice, notwithstanding the presence of the Portuguese
in that area. However, these commercial rivals pushed the Ottomans
to look for new routes. In fact around 1531-2 and later in 1568 and
1586, the Istanbul government began to think it possible to dig a
Suez canal; the Venetians had had the same idea in 1504 when they
tried to convince the Mamluks to build it. Moreover, around 1569,
the Ottomans began to dig another canal to unite the Don with the
Volga river, with a view to expelling the Russians from Kazan and
Astrakhan, and to reaching the Caspian sea and attacking the
Persians in the rear. This last enterprise, interrupted by the Cyprus
war, was supported above all by the grand vizier Sokollu Mehmed
Pasha, who clearly understood that what happened in the east of the
Empire might also influence the sea of the Levant and their trade.11
Besides trade, the Istanbul-Alexandria route was also used by
pilgrims who went from Anatolia and the Balkans to Mecca and
Medina. By conquering Egypt in 1517, Selim I became ‘Servant of
the Holy Places’ and for this reason he had to protect the pilgrimage
routes. In this way his power had a new religious basis. Muslim
pilgrims were not respected by Christian pirates and privateers, who
often made them prisoners or slaves. For instance, we know from
Ottoman sources that when Famagosta surrendered to the
Ottomans, fifty Muslim pilgrims were still prisoners of the Christians
and their murder on the night of the vere (surrender) was one of the
things which greatly irritated Lala Mustafa Pasha.12
26 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
In a sea still crossed by ships such as galleys, with a limited range,
Cyprus was a vital port for Christian pirates and privateers seeing to
plunder the ships on the Istanbul-Alexandria route. In that period,
and even later, the usual Mediterranean war ship was the galley. It
was not very big but it had a crew of as many as 200-300 men and it
could not store enough supplies for all these persons. For this reason
it had to stop every day, or every other day, in a harbour to take on
water and food.13 This fact explains why, for instance, the towns of
the Dalmatian coast are at a day’s distances from one another. It was
possible to spend some days without going ashore but it happened
only for unavoidable reasons.14 However, a galley could be easily
steered between the many small islands and in the shallow waters of
the Mediterranean coasts since it had both oars and sails. The huge
oceanic ships, with so many sails, were much more clumsy in an
environment of this kind and it was much more difficult to steer
them; thus, they were never able to oust the galleys from their
position in the Mediterranean, and even in the eighteenth century,
Venetians continued to teach other people...Baltic sailors how to
build this kind of ship.
Before the Cyprus war, Christians often attacked Ottoman ships
after a stop at that island. For instance, in 1569 the ship on which
the treasurer (defterdar) of Egypt had embarked, was taken by pirates
and, according to the historian Kâtip Çelebi, this was another of the
reasons which pushed the angry sultan to declare the war against
Venice.15 This episode, which took place in autumn was quoted in
the declaration of war, together with another one which had taken
place in the summer of the same year.
To sum up, if we consider Ottoman land campaigns, we discover
geo-political reasons for Ottoman behaviour, based for instance on
the distance between Istanbul and the battlefields.16 The same
happened for their sea campaigns, even if in this environment people
had to consider not only the distances, but also the type of ships and
the harbours. With this in mind, it is clear that in order to expel the
privateers and pirates from the eastern part of the Mediterranean the
Ottoman sovereign had to conquer the island of Cyprus.
After about eighty years, the same geo-political considerations
pushed the Ottomans to fight again against the Serenissima. This
time the goal was the conquest of the island of Crete, the last
Christian enclave in the eastern Mediterranean and the last Venetian
possession. If we look at a map of the Near East, we see that the
intention of this conquest was to change the whole Levant sea into
an Ottoman lake.
 Ottoman-European International Relations 27
Cyprus, a Muslim Island?

At the beginning of his reign, just after his father’s death, Selim II
ratified a peace agreement with Venetians. For this reason, from a
religious point of view, he could not declare war against them and
break the peace, without a right reason confirmed by a fetva of the
most important Muslim dignitary of the state, the şeyhülislam.
However, the grand vizier Sokollu Mehmed Pasha was trying to
avoid war and had secret contacts with the Venetian diplomatic
envoy in Istanbul, Marcantonio Barbaro. Sokollu feared the
formation of a Christian league, as in fact occurred after the opening
of hostilities.
To justify the declaration of war, Selim II asked for Ebussuud’s
opinion about the possibility of a Muslim conquest of the island. The
famous şeyhülisam answered that a ruler could not make peace with
infidels if it was not useful for all the Muslims. If an advantage did
not exist, the peace was not legitimate but could be broken if
necessary. The Prophet acted in the same way when he made peace
with the infidels and then broke it in order to conquer Mecca: thus,
the «Caliph of God»’s behaviour had to imitate the sunna of the
Prophet.17 In other discussions some Ottoman ulema reminded the
sultan that the island of Cyprus had been in Muslim hands for about
thirty years from the first raids in 647 and 653-4 to the time of the
caliphs Mu‘āwiya (661-80) and Yazīd (680-3) and that its mosques
had been converted into Christian churches.18
However, the island of Cyprus could be considered the land of
Islam also from another point of view. In 1427 King Janus of
Lusignano was made prisoner by the sultan of Egypt and secured his
liberty only by promising that he and his heirs would pay 8,000
ducats in cloth every year. In the Mamluk period this revenue was
assigned to the Holy Cities. Venice then acquired the island from the
last king’s widow, Caterina Corner, in 1489, and went on paying the
tribute. It is most likely that precious Venetian cloth was sent to
Mecca and Medina in that period. The Ottomans conquered the
Mamluk kingdom in 1517 and the Venetians went on paying the
8,000 ducats every year, but now in gold coins. Cyprus was then on
the same level as the Republic of Ragusa or of the island of Zante,
another land for which Venetians paid tribute from 1485 until
1699.19 Last but not least, some sources says that the inhabitants of
the island of Cyprus desired Ottoman rule since they were oppressed
by the Venetians and had to pay them an excessive amount of
taxes.20
28 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
Pirates and Privateers

In the 1570 declaration of war there were also other complaints

about Ottoman merchants who had been robbed by Uskoks in the
Adriatic sea. The Venetians considered this inner sea as their own
Gulf and usually considered its south border an imaginary line which
united Santa Maria di Leuca, on the Italian coast, to Valona, in
Albania. They did not allow foreign warships, Christian or Muslim,
to enter it. They had fought for years against the boats of Adriatic
pirates, above all the Christian Uskoks, protected by Habsburgs, and
Ottoman subjects from Dulcigno. The sultan could recognize this
sovereignty only if the Venetians were also able to protect the
Ottoman merchants who crossed the Adriatic en route to Italian
ports, such as Venice or Ancona. When his subjects were robbed
and, above all, when the Venetians refused to refund the stolen
goods or to rescue the enslaved persons, then he threatened to send
his war ships to that part of the Mediterranean. The Ottoman
government often suspected a secret agreement between the
Republic and the Uskoks even though, according to Venetian
sources, this never existed.
At the end of the sixteenth century, and even later, other
privateers reached the Adriatic sea. These were levends from the
Maghreb who were looking for rich new prey. In the 1570s, after the
battle of Lepanto (1571) for some historians, or after the battle of
Alcazar (1578) for others, the Ottoman government began to reduce
the size of the central fleet and to limit the scope of its operation.21
The best example of this policy was perhaps the behaviour of the
kapudan paşa Venedikli Hasan Pasha, who was a better book-keeper
than a sailor and during his Istanbul career made only one raid with
the imperial fleet.22 In this period the Ottoman central government’s
attention shifted towards the land and looked for a less expensive
policy in the Maghreb. This meant, above all, leaving the levends free
to attack whoever they wanted. This policy created great troubles for
the sultans above all in the eighteenth century, after the peace of
Karlowitz (1699), when the Ottoman authorities were obliged to
keep the agreements signed with the European states and to stop
their raids. However, in the sixteenth century too, North African
sea-captains created troubles. In this period they also began to
plunder Christian ships also in the Adriatic;23 and, worse than this,
they taught their way of fighting to Albanian seamen. After a time,
pirates, above all from Dulcigno, began to raid ships in the Adriatic
by themselves, disguised as Maghrib levends. From 1593 until 1634,
a number of imperial letters ordered the governors and kadis of
Herzegovina, Scutari, Castelnuovo, and Narenta to prevent their
subjects from building ships, to burn the ships used by these pirates
 Ottoman-European International Relations 29
and to oblige them not to dress as Maghrebis.24 However, the
situation did not change in the following period and after a century,
after the peace of Passarowitz (1718), other imperial orders of the
same kind, against the pirates of Dulcigno, can be found among the
papers kept in the archives.25
When, after some raids, the Venetians captured Albanian or
Maghreb seamen they used to kill them without distinguishing
between pirates and privateers; this happened notwithstanding the
peace agreements which had been ratified with the sultan where it
was written that they had to give back those who had been seized.

Ottoman-Venetian Borders

Another complaint made by Selim II in 1570 was about Ottoman-

Venetian relations in Dalmatia. He said that a border in that area had
been established since Mehmed II’s period. In fact the Ottoman
government began to agree to establish a real border, at least
between Venice and the empire, only in the second half of the
fifteenth century. The distance of a foreign state from the sultan’s
territory influenced international relations in the early modern
period. The Ottomans’ greatest enemies were the countries which
bordered them, while the others were usually considered friends, as
for instance France. Other Muslim rulers followed the same pattern
of behaviour and distinguished between distant and nearby
countries: the sovereigns of Egypt, for instance, used to give safe-
conducts (amān) to the subjects of foreign European countries and to
ratify truces (hudna) with the Christian kings of the Levant coast.26
The Ottomans also accepted the idea that a ruler might exert his
influence on inner waters, such as the Gulf of Venice or the
Ottoman Marmara and the Black Seas. In fact Muslims thought that
a country might rule over waters, while Europeans had difficulty in
accepting this principle. According to some Muslim jurists, coastal
waters were fay’, that is to say a zone acquired by a prince in a pacific
way as, for instance, the land left by the sea when waters withdrew.27
In the second half of the fifteenth century, the first agreements to
divide the waters were made by the Ottomans and the Knights of
Rhodes and were respected by both Christian privateers and levends,
even if they referred only to small zones between that island and the
mainland.28 Other discussions about limits of waters took place
between the Ottoman Empire and the Republic of Venice, albeit
somewhat later. In 1670, for instance, the existence of a jurisdiction
over coastal waters is clearly expressed in an Ottoman-Venetian
peace agreement.29 After the fall of Crete to the Ottomans a question
arose about some small islands which the Venetians needed as
harbours for their merchant ships. These islands, together with the
30 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
waters within cannon-range, were left to them and it was only in
those years that European jurists began to define territorial waters
according to this distance. There is also a hüccet issued by a kadi in
1701 where Ottoman and Venetian officials agreed about the
freedom of navigation between the mainland and the island of Aya
Mavra. A temessük issued on the same occasion by the Ottoman
official in change of the border, Osman ağa, refers to a partition of
waters in the gulf near Lepanto.30 In May 1709 the kapudan paşa
ordered the reises of public ships and the levends of Algiers to
respect three Venetian ships, in accordance with the bailo’s request.
This document is a kind of passport and the kapudan paşa stated
that it was valid ‘when these ships arrive at the limits (hudud ) of our
waters’.31
After Passarowitz, the sultan himself established a kind of sea
border, in response to Venetian requests. The document was issued
at the beginning of March 1720. The sultan ordered the beylerbeyis of
Tunis, Tripoli and Algiers to respect Venetian ships in the Adriatic,
the Aegean and in a zone of thirty miles from the Ottoman coast,
from Rhodes as far as Alexandria. This order was not completely
fulfilled and it was sent to Tunis again in 1726, 1733 and 1734; in
these years, especially when the levends of Tunis plundered Christian
ships, letters of the same kind were written also by the kapudan paşa
and the grand vizier.32
The most important document on this subject was perhaps an
imperial order issued at the beginning of the war between France
and England (1742-8), a war which was fought also on the seas of
the Levant. On this occasion the sultan quoted the old line
established in 1720 to protect Venetian ships from the attacks of
pirates and levends, but since it was no longer of use, a new line had
to be established; it had to unite the Morea with the coast of North
Africa opposite and warships could not cross it, either along the
coasts or on the high sea. If a Christian warship (not a merchant
ship) crossed it, the Ottoman fleet was obliged to attack it and to
take its crew captive.33
If, until that moment, the Mediterranean had been a frontier, with
this document a new sea-border was created. If the Mediterranean
had been a Mare Nostrum in the period of ancient Rome, which had
ruled over all its coasts, now the eastern Mediterranean was changed
into an Ottoman Mare Nostrum, according to the logic for which
the wars of Cyprus and Crete had been fought.
This new order collapsed some years later, during the war of 1768-
74, when the Russian fleet entered the Mediterranean.34 The
Ottomans tried to resist35 but everything had changed, since the
Russians had come not to trade, as the Venetians, or to engage in
 Ottoman-European International Relations 31
privateering, as the North African levends or the knights of Malta,
but to change borders.

Who Actually Won the Battle of Lepanto?

Ebussuud’s fetva allowed Selim II to begin the war against Venice

while Sokollu Mehmed Pasha tried to avoid it: he maintained
contacts with the Venetian bailo, tried to take the island without
fighting and sent the çavuş Kubad to request it from the doge. His
hope was disappointed and he was compelled to fight but, at the
same time, he began another struggle with his political enemies,
belonging to the party which wanted the war, as the Venetian
secretary Alvise Buonrizzo had already pointed out in 1570, when
considering how the grand vizier had got rid of his enemies on other
occasions.36
It is clear that Sokollu used the Cyprus war to destroy his enemies
and to secure his position. The only person of the war party who did
not loose either his life or his position in those years was the
şeyhülislam Ebussuud. The others disappeared from the political
scene, at least for some years. Lala Mustafa Pasha, the conqueror of
Famagusta, was charged with negligence for having lost too many
men during the siege and he had to stand aside until 1577. In the
same way the other captain who had a share in the conquest, Piyale
Pasha, was charged with having lost some ships in the waters near
Cyprus and was compelled to resign. The kapudan paşa Müezzinzade
Ali Pasha was killed during the battle of Lepanto, while the serdar,
Pertev Pasha, fled from that battlefield and was dismissed (mazul )
from his post. He saved his life by means of his wife, who was
connected to the harem party, but he died just one year after the day
of the famous sıngın donanma.37
During the years of the Cyprus war, among the sultan’s most
powerful servants, Sokollu alone maintained his position. He used
the conquest of the island to remove Lala Mustafa Pasha and Piyale
Pasha and, perhaps, he also had a hand in the Ottoman defeat at
Lepanto for a similar purpose. At the beginning of the campaign the
imperial fleet received the command to find and to fight the
Christian fleet. Not one but two leaders were sent to command the
sultan’s ships, neither of whom was an experienced mariner. Even if
some historians reject this hypothesis, considering behaviour of this
kind too Machiavellian, others think it was possible. The Venetian
bailo’s secretary, Alvise Buonrizzo, who knew Sokollu Mehmed
Pasha personally, seems to consider him to have been a politician
who might have behaved in this way if it was necessary.38 If so,
Lepanto has to be considered a monument, not only to Christian
32 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
bravery, but also to this Ottoman grand vizier’s political shrewdness:
he lost a battle, but he won the war and destroyed his enemies.

Notes
1 Archivio di Stato di Venezia (hereafter ASVe), Documenti turchi, b. 6, No. 808 (first
part of ramazan 977); in M.P. Pedani Fabris (ed.), I ‘Documenti Turchi’ dell’Archivio di
Stato di Venezia (Roma, 1994), 201-2, No. 808; cf. also 202-3, No. 810, on the same
date; the letter of the grand vizier Sokollu Mehmed Pasha to the Venetian Signoria
on the same subject.
2 Selânikî Mustafa Efendi, Tarih-i Selânikî, prep. M. İpşirli (Istanbul, 1989), vol. I,
77-9.
3 G. Veinstein, ‘Sokollu Mehmed Paşa’, in The Encyclopaedia of Islam (hereafter EI),
(Leiden, 1972-), IX, 706-11; J.H. Kramers, ‘Mustafā Paşa, Lala’, EI, V, 640; F.
Babinger, ‘Piyāle Paşa’, EI, VIII, 316-317; F. Babinger, ‘Pertew Paşa’, EI, VIII,
295-6; R.C. Repp, ‘Shaykh al-Islām’, EI, IX, 399-402; R. Dündar, ‘Conquest of
Cyprus’, in H.C. Güzel, C.C. Oğuz, and O. Karatay (eds.), The Turks (Ankara,
2002), III, 332-43.
4 Ibn Khaldûn, The Muqaddimah. An Introduction to History, trans. F. Rosenthal (New
York, 1958), I, 98-9.
5 F. Braudel, Civiltà e imperi del Mediterraneo nell’età di Filippo II (Torino, 1982), I, 102.
6 It is possible that they derived this idea from the Venetians. H. İnalcık, The
Ottoman State: Economy and Society, 1300-1600, in H. İnalcık, D. Quataert (eds), An
Economic and Social History of the Ottoman Empire, 1300-1914. (Cambridge, 1994), 9-
410; 192.
7 M.P. Pedani, Gli Ottomani e il Mediterraneo: considerazioni di geo-politica in età moderna
in Meditando sull’evento di Lepanto. Odierne interpretazioni e memorie (Venezia, 2002), 1-
10.
8 C. Imber, ‘The Navy of Süleyman the Magnificent’, Archivum Ottomanicum, 6
(1980), 221-82.
9 D. Panzac, Commerce et navigation dans l’Empire Ottoman au XVIIIe siècle (Istanbul,
1996), 195-216.
10 S. Faroqhi, ‘Crisis and Change, 1590-1699’, in An Economic and Social History cit.,
411-636; 487-9; 507-9.
11 İnalcık, Part I. The Ottoman State, 327-31; R. Fulin, ‘Il Canale di Suez e la
Repubblica di Venezia (MDIV)’, Archivio Veneto, 2 (1871), 175-213.
12 Peçevî İbrahim Efendi, Peçevî Tarihi, prep. B.S. Baykal (Ankara, 1999), vol. I,
469-70. These prisoners are also mentioned by Paruta but he said only that they
existed; cf. P. Paruta, Dell’historia vinetiana della guerra di Cipro (Venezia, 1573), 125.
13 U. Tucci, L’alimentazione a bordo, in Storia di Venezia, XII, Il mare, A. Tenenti and
U. Tucci (eds.) (Roma, 1991), 599-618.
14 About the Ottoman fleet, see İ. Bostan, Osmanlı bahriye teşkilâtı: XVII. yüzyıda
tersâne-i âmire (Ankara, 1992); İ. Bostan, ‘Garp ocaklarının Avrupa ülkeleri ile siyasi
ve ekonomik ilişkileri (1580-1624)’, Tarih Enstitüsü Dergisi, 14 (1994), 59-86; about
the Ottoman fleet as seen by Venetians, see E. Alberi (ed.), Le relazioni degli
ambasciatori veneti al Senato, III/1 (Firenze, 1840), 271-98; 280; 291-5; ‘Relazioni di
ambasciatori veneti al Senato, XIV’, M.P. Pedani-Fabris (ed.), Costantinopoli.
Relazioni inedite (1512-1789) (Padova, 1996), 197-8; 429-31; 665.
15 Kâtip Çelebi, Tuhfetü’l-kibar fi esfari’l-bihar, prep. O.Ş. Gökyay (Istanbul, 1980),
Vol. I, 903.
 Ottoman-European International Relations 33

16 R. Murphey, Ottoman Warfare. 1500-1700 (London, 1999), 14.

17 Fetva quoted in Peçevî, Peçevî Tarihi, 466-7.
18 M.P. Pedani, La dimora della pace. Considerazioni sulle capitolazioni tra i paesi islamici e
l’Europa (Venezia, 1996), 36; Relazioni degli ambasciatori veneti al Senato, 145-6.
19 M.P. Pedani, ‘Le prime “sottoscrizioni a coda” dei tesorieri nell’imperio
ottomano’, Quaderni di Studi Arabi, 8 (1990), 215-28.
20 B. Arbel, Roots of Poverty and Sources of Richness in Cyprus under Venetian Rule, in X.A.
Maltezou (ed.), Plousioi kai Ftoxoi sten koinonia tes Ellenolatinikes anatoles, (Venetia
1998), 351-60; B. Arbel, ‘Cypriot Population under Venetian Rule: a Demographic
Study’, Meletai kai upomnemata, 1 (1984), 181-215; B. Arbel, ‘Entre mythe et histoire:
La légende noire de la domination vénitienne à Cypre’, Etudes balkaniques, 5 (1998),
81-107.
21 A.C. Hess, The Forgotten Frontier. A History of the Sixteenth-Century Ibero-African
Frontier (Chicago and London, 1978), 74-87.
22 When he was beylerbeyi of Algers he was master of Miguel de Cervantes who
portrays him in Don Qixote. A. Fabris, Hasan ‘“Il Veneziano” tra Algeri e
Costantinopoli, in Veneziani in Levante. Musulmani a Venezia’, Quaderni di Studi
Arabi, 15 suppl. (1997), 51-66.
23 A. Tenenti, Venezia e i corsari (Bari, 1960); S. Bono, I corsari barbareschi (Torino,
1964); S. Anselmi (ed.), Piratei e corsari in Adriatico (Cinisello Balsamo [Mi], 1998); E.
Giannetti and L. Tosi (eds.), Turchi e barbareschi in Adriatico (Ortona, 1998). Cf. for
instance ASVe, Bailo a Costantinopoli, b. 251, reg. 334, cc. 122a-121b; Istanbul,
Başbakanlık Osmanlı Arşivi (hereafter BOA), Maliyeden Müdevver Defterler, reg. 6004,
cc. 109-10.
24 ASVe, Bailo a Costantinopoli, b. 250, reg. 330, cc. 98 (beginning of şevval 999/23
July-1 Aug. 1591), 136; b. 252, reg. 343, cc. 14 (beginning of ramazan 1001/1-10
June 1593), 33 (end of zilhicce 1001/18-26 Sep. 1593), 57 (middle of muharrem
1003/26 Sep.-5 Oct. 1594), 62 (beginning of zilkade 1003/8-17 July 1595), 66
(beginning of receb 1005/18-27 Feb. 1597), 87-9 (without date); b. 250, reg. 331, cc.
14 (middle of receb 1013/3-12 Dec. 1604), 22 (beginning of şevval 1013/20 Feb.-1
Mar. 1605), 22-3 (end of şevval 1013/12-20 Mar. 1605), 57 (middle of cemaziyülevvel
1014/24 Sep.-3 Oct. 1605), 58 (middle of cemaziyülevvel 1014/4 Sep.-3 Oct. 1605),
59 (end of cemaziyülevvel 1014/4-13 Oct. 1605), 60 (beginning of cemaziyülahır
1014/14-23 Oct. 1605), 79 (end of şevval 1015/19-27 Feb. 1607), 85-6 (beginning
of zilkade 1015/28 Feb.-9 Mar. 1607); cc. (from the other side of the same
register), 28 (middle of cemaziyülahır 1021/10-19 July 1612), 29 (middle of rebiyülahır
1021/11-20 June 1612), 38 (zilkade 1021/24 Dec. 1612-22 Jan. 1613), 42 (middle
of muharrem 1022/3-12 Mar. 1613), 47 (middle of muharrem 1022/3-12 Mar. 1613),
64-8 (middle of cemaziyülevvel 1022/29 June-8 July 1613); cf. also the following
registers of the same series.
25 ASVe, Bailo a Costantinopoli, b. 255, reg. 351, c. 1 (letter of the Venetian bailo, 27
Nov. 1723); c. 2 (order of the great vizier); 6-7 (name-i hümayun, first part of
rebiyülevvel 1136/29 Nov.-8 Dec. 1723); b. 256, reg. 353, c. 11 (10 Feb. 1727); cc.
12-13 (name-i hümayun, end of cemaziyülahır 1139/24 Jan.-2 Feb. 1727); b. 258, reg.
359, passim (1739-42); b. 259, reg. 361, cc. 47-8 (name-i hümayun, first part of
muharrem 1160/13-22 Jan. 1747); reg. 362, passim (1746-8).
26 M.P. Pedani, Dalla frontiera al confine (Roma, 2002), 75-91, 103-4; Fabris, ‘The
Ottoman Venetian Frontier’, in The Great Ottoman-Turkish Civilization, 171-7.
27 Khalilieh, Islamic Maritime Law. An Introduction (Leiden, Boston, and Köln, 1998),
133-48; D. Santillana, Istituzioni di diritto musulmano malichita con riguardo anche al
sistema sciafiita, 2 Vols., (Roma, 1926-38), I, 318-9.
28 N. Vatin, L’ordre de Saint-Jean-de-Jérusalem, L’Empire ottoman et la Méditerranée
orientale entre les deux sièges de Rhodes. 1480-1522 (Paris, 1994), 115-29.
34 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

29 BOA, Ecnebi defterleri, 16.4, cc. 11-17.

30 Documenti turchi, nn. 1615-17.
31 ASVe, Bailo a Costantinopoli, b. 253, reg. 346, cc. without number (1121/1709); b.
332, reg. 250, c. 91 (middle of rebiyülahır 1023); A.C. Hess, ‘The Forgotten Frontier:
the Ottoman North African Provinces during the Eighteenth Century’, in T. Naff
and R. Owen(eds.), Studies in Eighteenth Century Islamic History (Carbondale and
Edwardsville, 1977), 74-87.
32 BOA, Mühimme Defteri, 129, cc. 207-8; ASVe, Bailo a Costantinopoli, b. 254, reg.
348, cc. 183-6 e 206-7, letter of the kapudan paşa Süleyman. Cf. also ASVe, Bailo a
Costantinopoli, b. 254, reg. 349, cc. 89-91 (letter from Algeri), 100-2 (letter from
Tripoli, first part of rebiyülevvel 1133/30 Jan.-8 Feb. 1721); b. 256, reg. 353, s.n.,
şaban 1140/13 Mar.-11 Apr. 1728; b. 257, reg. 356, cc. 30-32; b. 258, reg. 359, c.
158 (1153/1740-1); reg. 360, cc. 38-38v (i’lâm del kadı di Corinto, first part of receb
1157/10-19 Aug. 1744). M.P. Pedani, ‘Spunti per una ricerca sui confini del mare:
gli Ottomani nel Mediterraneo’, Iacobus, 11-12 (2001), 221-39.
33 ASVe, Bailo a Costantinopoli, b. 258, reg. 360, cc. 1-2; Pedani, ‘Dalla frontiera al
confine’, 89-90.
34 Hess, The Forgotten Frontier. A History, 371-3.
35 They also asked Venetians not to give the Russian ships from the Baltic free
access to the Adriatic sea through some Italian river. There was somebody in the
Ottoman court who did not know geography very well. B. Lewis, Europa barbara e
infedele. I musulmani alla scoperta dell’Europa (Milano, 1983), 150.
36 ‘Relazioni di ambasciatori veneti’, 156-7: ‘La Serenità Vostra ha inteso che questa
impresa de Cipro è proposta et ha da esser trattata principalmente da Mustaffà
bassà, la grandezza del quale non può ragionevolmente piacer a niun modo al
magnifico Memet, il quale potrebbe dubitar d’esser descavalcato dal grado
principale da detto Mustaffà se appresso il molto amor che ’l Signor li porta li
riuscisse anco felicemente una tal impresa, ch’è tanto a cuore a Sua Maestà; et però
si deve creder che esso Memet procurerà con destrezza che detta impresa riuscisse
vana per non aggrandir maggiormente il suo principal nemico, massime non la
sentendo lui come ho già detto. La qual cosa non deve parer impossibile da
rendere, poiché Vostra Serenità sa che appresso quei ministri dove si tratta di un
loro minimo interesse non si ha alcuna consideratione al servitio del suo Signor, et
per non andar cercando li essempii molto lontano la Serenità Vostra deve haver a
memoria quello che è successo già dui anni fra li medesimi Memet e Mustaffà
bassà, che esso Memet andò così lento in far le provisioni per la guerra del Gemen
[Yemen], che causò li danni a Turchi che si sono intesi; et questo fece acciò che il
predetto Mustaffà, che haveva il carico di quell’impresa, ne restasse con vergogna,
perché esso magnifico Memet procurò poi col Signor di farli tagliar la testa, et per
tal effetto mandò anco il chiausbassì, con altri chiaussi, se ben detto Mustaffà
seppe così ben diffendersi che non solamente non hebbe danno, ma anzi ritornò in
maggior consideratione che mai apresso il Signor, il che è un acutissimo spin negli
occhi del magnifico Memet’.
37 Pertev’s wife was the widow of Mehmed, Sultan Selim II’s brother. She died at
the end of February 1572. In June of the same year four reises who fled from
Lepanto were hanged and twenty others were demoted. ASVe, Senato, Dispacci
Costantinopoli, f. 5 (27 Feb. 1572, 13 Jun. 1572).
38 M. Lesure, Lépante, la crise de l’empire ottoman (Paris, 1972), 64; İ.H. Danışmend,
İzahlı Osmanlı tarihi kronolojisi (Istanbul, 1948), Vol. II, 388-420; İ. Bostan, ‘Kıbrıs
seferi günlüğü ve Osmanlı donanmasının sefer guzergâhı’, in Dünden Bugüne Kıbrıs
Meselesi (Istanbul, 2001), 11-38; H. İnalcık, ‘Lepanto in the Ottoman Documents’,
in Il Mediterraneo nella seconda metà del ’500 alla luce di Lepanto (Firenze, 1974), 185-92;
R. Mantran, ‘L’écho de la bataille de Lépante à Constantinople’, in Il Mediterraneo,
 Ottoman-European International Relations 35

243-56; A.C. Hess, ‘The Battle of Lepanto and its Place in Mediterranean History’,
Past and Present, 57 (1972), 53-73; Ö.L. Barkan, ‘L’Empire Ottoman face au monde
chrétien au lendemain de Lépante’, in Il Mediterraneo, 95-108.
 Ottoman Accounts of the Hungarian Movements against
the Habsburgs at the Turn of the Seventeenth and the
Eighteenth Centuries

Sándor Papp

In the second half of the seventeenth century, as a consequence of

the absolutist ambitions of the Habsburg Empire and the counter-
reformation, the Hungarian Estates were hostile to the Viennese
Court.1 There were five movements between the end of the
seventeenth and beginning of the eighteenth centuries, which,
ranging from plots and uprisings to wars of independence, were
directed against the Habsburg House. These movements have a
common character: they were trying gradually to make contacts with
the Ottoman Empire.

The Wesselényi Movement

The first case was the plot of the Hungarian magnates, among whom
the most important was the Palatine,2 Ferenc Wesselényi. After the
victory of the Habsburg Army in 1664 at Szentgotthárd (Vas county
in Hungary) came the Peace of Vasvár.3 The Hungarian nobility
expected the Viennese Court to claim two fortresses, Várad4 and
Érsekújvár5 which fell in 1660 and in 1663 respectively, and were
converted into seats of two vilâyets by the Ottomans. However, the
treaty was based on the status quo. The clauses of the peace-treaty
were composed in a charter (‘ahdnâme) by Grand Vizier Köprülü
Fazıl Ahmed on behalf of Sultan Mehmed IV in the camp at
Érsekújvár between 22 September and 1 October 1664 (1-10 Rebi’ü
levvel 1075 A.H.). The Hungarians protested against the 4th, 5th, and
the 9th clauses, according to which the successors of the princes of
Transylvania supported by the Habsburgs were excluded from
power and banished from Transylvania. The Treaty also forbade
both parties to accept refugees from the other side.6
The movement of Palatine Wesselényi was mentioned in Sarı
Mehmed Pasha’s chronicle under the year 1092 A.H. (1681).7 The
Ottoman chronicles mixed up the plot of Palatine Wesselényi and
the subsequent insurrection, and the execution of Ferenc Nádasdy,
38 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
Péter Zrínyi and Ferenc Frangepán. Another chronicler, Silahdâr
started the account of this epoch with a religious classification of
Hungarian society. According to his opinion, the Hungarian nation
was split into two parts: an idolator (putperest) and a non-idolator
(puta tapmaz). The editor of this chronicle, Ahmed Refik reminded
the Turkish reader in a foot-note that the first category meant the
Catholics and the second one the Protestants.8 Unfortunately, this
simplification got into the Turkish historical literature and it is a still
existing misconception for Turkish historians that the Hungarian
opposition consisted only of Protestants.9
The program of the Ottoman alliance (or subordination) was
made public by a document of Palatine Ferenc Wesselényi, on 27
August 1666, which was also an instruction for a Transylvanian
envoy travelling to the Ottoman Porte. It was the first attempt of the
Hungarian side to submit a draft of a treaty (‘ahdnâme) to the
dignitaries of the Ottoman Porte. The most important issue in it was
that the Hungarians agreed to pay a yearly tribute and accept the
terms of vassalage. The tribute was as much as hundred thousand
thalers. However, Palatine Wesselényi laid down several conditions.
One of the paragraphs stated that Hungary was ready to pay taxes if
its wishes were accepted. Palatine Wesselényi stipulated a tax of
maximum one hundred thousand thalers and that the amount of the
tax would be reduced in accordance with conditions the court of the
sultan was willing to offer. The taxes from the part of Hungary
under Ottoman rule which had been defined earlier were not to
change and the Ottomans were not to interfere in the possessions of
the nobility or carrying of arms and migration. If you read the draft
carefully it is clear that this freedom of migration was basically
supported by nobles who had their estates on the borderline with the
territory under Ottoman rule and they wanted to secure their
position. They also demanded that in return for paying the tax the
Porte should not interfere with the country’s internal affairs and it
should not encroach upon the liberties and the customs of the
people. In addition, the Porte was to refrain from obstructing the
election of its king and from forcing the country to make war
without its consent. The Hungarians wished to call the payment not
a tax or tribute but a ‘present’ as was customary in the Ottoman–
Habsburgs relations. Customarily, the sum of thirty thousand
Hungarian gold Forints paid to the Porte annually in the sixteenth
century was called ‘Ehrengeschenk’.10 In the draft-contract
Wesselényi requested that the sultan should be called the ‘patron’ of
Hungary and not its lord.11 The entreaty of the Hungarian lords was
sent to the Grand Vizier Köprülü Fazıl Ahmed, who was busy
besieging Kandia, and refused by him, because of the peace-treaty
with the Habsburg Empire.12
 Ottoman-European International Relations 39

The Péter Zrínyi Movement

Later, the Ban13 of Croatia, Péter Zrínyi was in charge of Hungarian-

Ottoman relations. Unfortunately, we only have records of the
interrogation, which were made after the movement had been
suppressed and the participants were put in prison.14 It may be
important to find original Ottoman documents about the movement,
because it is apparent from the material, available that Péter Zrínyi
was preparing his inaguration as king to the Hungarian throne by the
sultan. The historical sources mention a hatt-i šerîf (it can be similar to
a berât-i šerîf ) and a flag (sancak), which according to the Ottoman
inaguration process are two insignia, symbolizing a vassal ruler. This
theory can be confirmed by Ottoman narrative sources to the effect
that Péter Zrínyi would have been helped by Köprülü Fazıl Ahmed,
if he had not been busy in the war of Kandia.15 A short draft
‘ahdnâme proves this theory as well, which was sent to the Sublime
Porte 1670 probably by the envoy of Péter Zrínyi and the conditions
in the draft disclosed to the Turkish interpreter of Transylvania,
Dávid Rozsnyai by a trusted man of the grand vizier.16 Probably, the
same conclusion about Péter Zrínyi’s diplomatic relation can be
drawn from an ‘ahdnâme of the ‘King of the Kurucs’, Imre Thököly.17

The Imre Thököly Movement

The next period to be examined is the period of Kuruc18 attacks, it is

the period of the insurrection led by Imre Thököly at the 70’s and
80’s in the seventeenth century. Then many people fled to
Transylvania because several Hungarian aristocrats—rebels—were
executed and their property was confiscated and because of the
abuse of the Habsburg troops. These refugees soon started an armed
uprising against Habsburg rule. Armed fights all over the country
began only then. The Porte recognised the Kuruc king in the
summer of 1682, who was at the zenith of his power, as the prince
of Central Hungary in a letter of appointment by the sultan (berât-i
hümâyun)19 and in a letter of contract consisting of 14 paragraphs
(‘ahdnâme-i hümâyun).20
The first subject treated in the ‘ahdnâme was legitimacy of power,
i.e. who would inherit the power in case Thököly should die.
Thököly, who ‘was working hard for the interest of my empire and
who was always sincerely faithful to it’ was under the protection of
the sultan. The document emphasises that the Kuruc king is related
to the family of Gábor Bethlen, who occupied and annexed
important territories to Transylvania in the first third of the
seventeenth century with with Ottoman backing.
40 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
We learn from the document that the sultan took the same
measures in case of the king of Central Hungary as in the case of
Transylvania when recognising the prince. He declared Thököly
‘according to the kind elections and prayers of the people in Central
Hungary’ the king of Central Hungary. When Thököly dies ‘the
successor should be elected by the Hungarian nation and his name
should be reported to my Sublime Porte. But no papists21 should be
proposed for the Hungarian throne. If someone becomes a papist,
but nevertheless he applies for this position he should be hindered
by my empire and not allowed to become a king’. The quotation
above partly regulates succession. It is highly interesting that the
Ottomans declared their opposition to Catholics (papists). In relation
to this paragraph I would like to call attention to two important
elements. First, as we could see from narrative sources, the Ottoman
chronicles say that the only reason for anti-Habsburg movements in
Hungary is the conflict of religions which is in accordance with our
quotation. Secondly, the fact that the Hungarian word ‘pápista’ is
used in the original Turkish text instead of the word Catholic shows
that the document in question relies on a Hungarian document. In
my present study I wish only to refer to the fact that every
Hungarian movement beginning with the Wesselényi movement
wished to subjugate the rest of Hungary to the sultan in return for
military support against the Habsburg Empire. The conditions of
submission were organised in paragraphs and they were handed in to
the Porte as a draft ‘ahdnâme. I believe that the document in
question was made the following way. At first they translated the
Hungarian sentences of the draft into Turkish where it was possible.
If there was no adequate terminology in Turkish, they used the
Hungarian word written in Arabic letters. There is another example
of it in the third paragraph of the ‘ahdnâme, where it says: ‘the
religious ceremonies (âyîn), customs (‘âdet) and the rights in Hungary
and Croatia as part of Hungary should be respected. Accordingly, the
ceremonies of the Calvinist22 and Lutheran23 religions must not be
disturbed...’. It is noteworthy that the writer of the Turkish text was
not acquainted with the real facts as the overwhelming majority of
Croatians were Catholics. The abovementioned opinion is proved by
the existence of a draft ‘ahdnâme (conditione; athname) from the year
of 1681, which survived in the collection of a famoust Jesuit-scholar,
Gábor Hevennesy. The content of the Latin version is 90% identical
with the well-known Turkish text.24
By economic relations between Hungary and the Ottoman
Empire they meant only tax paying and commerce. The sultan
allowed the merchants of Central Hungary to trade freely. The
annual tax was forty thousand kara (black) guruş which was the
equivalent of the silver (imperial) thaler. The permanent Hungarian
 Ottoman-European International Relations 41
envoy at the Porte and the envoy extraordinary, whose task was to
deliver the tribute from Hungary, were supported by the Porte. The
same practice was applied in Transylvania. The anti-Catholic
character of the document is evident. There is an extra paragraph
about the Order of Jesuits.
The last paragraph is about the relations between the Ottoman
Empire and the new Hungarian state. It says that Ottoman troops
must not disturb the Hungarian population. The castles, palisades
(palanka) occupied by the Ottoman army must be handed over to the
Hungarians so that they can reconstruct the ruined territories.
Hungarian matters must be included in the peace treaty between the
Ottomans and the Habsburgs. The Ottoman Empire must protect
the Hungarians in the future. Clause 9 refers to parts of the
agreement signed in 1664 by the Habsburgs and the Ottomans, the
so-called Peace of Vasvár, which concerns Hungarians: ‘The
paragraphs of the treaty in 1075 signed between us and the
Habsburgs, which were made in the interest of Central Hungary in
the frame of a letter of contract (‘ahdnâme-i hümâyun) must be
respected. According to the conditions of the above treaty
Hungarians must have the right to keep their villages, communities,
the government of the country and other affairs as they used to’. The
sultan confirmed the treaty with his oath as was customary.

The Ferenc Rákóczi II Movement

The next movement to be examined is the War of Independence

under the leadership of Ferenc Rákóczi II. Ottoman chroniclers
hardly ever mention his name when they speak about the War of
Independence in 1703-11. Râšid was well acquinted with the fact that
the fight started near the border between Hungary and Poland. He
writes that Ferenc Rákóczi had an army of sixty thousand people. He
gives an interesting fact: five hundred soldiers were sent to support
Rákóczi both from the town of Belgrade and Temesvár.25 There is
no evidence of it in Hungarian documents, but a nearly identical
description can be found in the chronicle of Sarı Mehmed Pasha.26
Prince Ferenc Rákóczi II had decided to establish contacts in the
same way as his forefather had with the French King Luis XIV.
However, the great king supported the Hungarians since the first
days of the revolt, because the Hungarian rebels made the position
of the French army easier in the War of the Spanish Succession. At
the same time the French king did not make an official alliance with
the rebels, who revolted against their ‘anointed king’. Also, the
Sublime Porte was considered as a most important ally. The
Hungarian and Ottoman relations were necessary, because Hungary
in revolt could obtain war material, provisions and cloth only from
42 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
the Ottoman Empire. The ‘Kuruc State’ started a great diplomatic
manoeuvre in 1704 to find a foreign supporter. Prince Rákóczi
wanted to get involved in the conflict between Sweden and Russia,
namely he wanted to turn the Ottoman State against the tsar, Peter
the Great. He sent his envoy Pál Ráday to the Swedish King Carl XII
and offered to help with arbitration between the Swedish king and
the Ottoman Porte. The Swedish king did not want to have an
official agreement with the Ottomans, but it would have been useful
for him, if the sultan had gone against the tsar, too.27 It was enough
for Prince Rákóczi to have an acquiescence of the Swedish king and
he sent his envoy, János Pápay to the Sublime Porte. His instruction
survives in Hungarian.
The envoy has to inform the grand vizier in an audience about the
election of Rákóczi as prince both in Hungary and Transylvania. He
was to talk about the plan of his prince to wage a war against Russia
and ask for eight thousand Albanian (Arnot) infantry and four
thousand Ottoman cavalry, but the Porte should not send all of its
army, because that might prompt the European states to intervene
on the side of the Habsburg Empire. If the abovementioned
conditions were accepted by the Porte he had to ask for such a
contract (‘ahdnâme), in which Rákóczi, Hungary and Transylvania
would be taken under protection by the sultan. If the Hungarians
elected a new king, he would be protected by the Ottoman Porte
too. Moreover, the border between the Ottoman Empire and
Hungary, which was fixed by the Peace of Karlowitz (1699) would
not be changed. If Hungary was attacked, the Ottoman sultan would
give military support. If the above mentioned conditions of
‘ahdnâme were accepted by the sultan, Rákóczi would give a yearly
tribute of thirty thousand thalers for Transylvania and forty
thousand thalers for Hungary.
The reasoning by which the Hungarian prince wanted to provoke
the Ottomans against the Russians was very interesting. As the
dependents of the Ottomans in the Balkans, the Greeks, Serbs,
Albanians, Bulgarians, Moldavians, Wallachians alike were all
Ortodox-Christians the same as the Russians. It would be possible
that they might side with the Russians if the Russians were to attack
the Ottomans. Keeping out of harm’s way it would be better to fling
back the enemy from the northern borders of the Ottoman
Empire.28 On reflection, we have to admit that the above mentioned
reasoning was valid. For example, the Moldavian Voivode Dimitrie
Cantemir, who was raised and educated in Istanbul, crossed to the
side of the tsar in the battle on the Prut in 1711.29
The negotiations between the Hungarians and the Ottomans in
Istanbul finished without success. One could continuously follow the
diplomatic efforts of the Sublime Porte and Prince Rákóczi from the
 Ottoman-European International Relations 43
documents of the permanent Hungarian legation. It could already be
seen by the summer of 1706 that the Ottoman Porte was reacting to
the Hungarian proposal very slowly. When the Porte postponed the
official answer for many years, the Russian Tsar Peter the Great
offered the Hungarian prince the throne of the Polish King, Sanislo
Leszczyński (1707).30 In the last years of the Hungarian War of
Independence there was a possibility to make an agreement with the
Ottoman Porte twice, through the beylerbeyi of Belgrade. In both
cases the former conditions were repeated, so these efforts were
unsuccessful as well.31
A much more detailed description can be found about an event
which is considered to be only an episode in Hungarian history.
After long years of exile Ferenc Rákóczi II received an invitation
from the Porte. In Ottoman sources and in the special literature by
Turkish specialists based on such primary sources it is stated that it
was Ferenc Rákóczi II who took the initiative to enter into relations.
He sent his confidential secretary János Pápay as his envoy to
Wallachia who arrived at the Porte with the help of the Voivode of
Wallachia ‘İskerletzâde Nikola’ (Nikolae Mavrocordat). Then the
grand vizier sent one of his ağas, Lipveli Ahmed together with Pápay
to the Prince who was then in France. Râšid in his chronicle quotes
from the letter sent to Rákóczi: ‘We present you the kingdom of
Transylvania and Hungary—like my noble forefathers used to
present it to your forefather and to your father—which are parts of
our well-defended empire and which have been occupied by the
Habsburgs for a short time’ (dated the 2nd decade of Rebiyülâhir
1128/3-13 April 1716).32 As opposed to Râšid, Uzunçarşılı writes
that it was Küçük Bahri Ağa who escorted János Pápay, Rákóczi’s
diplomat at the Porte back to the Prince. His rank was more
important in this case than his person; he was a kapucıbaşı. People in
this rank used to be the representatives of the Porte when the Prince
of Transylvania was inaugurated and they used to deliver the sultan’s
letters of confirmation. Fortunately we know the Turkish copies of
documents issued by the sultan and the grand vizier in those times.
The most important data concerning my topic are that the above
mentioned letter of the sultan sent to Rákóczi is nothing other than
the document which installed him as Prince of Transylvania: ‘As you
have spared no effort to defend and guard the country of
Transylvania—our inherited possession—like your glorious fore-
fathers who used to be the Princes of Transylvania and as you have
met our lordly requirements of friendship we present you the
principality of Transylvania’.33
44 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
József Rákóczi Movement

To close this study I would like to refer to the successful

negotiations of the last Hungarian pretender, the son of Ferenc
Rákóczi, József Rákóczi and the contents of his contract (‘ahdnâme)
given to him by the sultan. It is well-known that the Prince Ferenc
Rákóczi died on 8 April 1735 in Tekirdağ. Then the Habsburg and
the Ottoman Empires waged war against each other again. The
grand vizier wanted to start a Hungarian uprising supported by the
Ottomans behind the Habsburg borders. In March 1737 József
Rákóczi arrived at Tekirdağ, from whence he handed his
memorandum to the Sublime Porte on 8 September.34 The timing of
presenting the memorandum was carefully chosen as this period saw
the worsening of relations between the two great empires. József
Rákóczi achieved what his father could not years previously during
the War of Independence. The Porte recognized him as Hungarian
and Transylvanian Prince with all solemnity and a sultan’s ‘ahdnâme
was issued and handed over to him. The ratification of this ‘ahdnâme
in Latin preserved in Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi Arşivi presents the
circumstances of its issue. At first, according to the interposition of
the Grand Vizier Yegen Mehmed Pasha an application (telhîs) was
handed to the sultan, which was based on the abovementioned
memorandum. Then the Sultan’s order was issued to make
conditions acceptable for the Hungarians. Subsequently, a draft
‘ahdnâme was handed to the sultan, who accepted it and issued an
‘ahdnâme-i hümayun.35 The text of the contract was handed over to
József Rákóczi, who compiled his agreement with the help of his
men on 20 January 1738.36 The conditions of the ‘ahdnâme are as
follows:

1. According to the old diplomatic traditions the rulers of

Transylvania were confirmed by the Ottoman sultan after the free
election of the estates. The former rulers’ family, the Bethlens and
Apafis soon died off, but József Rákóczi, who descended from
the old ruler family of Rákóczis is living at present. Therefore, he
is confirmed as a Transylvanian governor (Erdel hâkimi) and as a
Hungarian prince (Macaristan dukası).
2. Rulers, who have not been elected by the Hungarian nation, are
not accepted by the sultan.
3. The reoccupied territories will be divided between the
Hungarians and the Ottomans. The borders between the
mentioned states will be fixed by the embassies of neutral states,
which are accredited to Istanbul.
4. The Hungarian population should have the benefit of the
freedom of religion; the destroyed churches should be rebuilt.
 Ottoman-European International Relations 45
5. Hungary should be friend of the friends and enemy of the
enemies of the Ottoman Porte. Transylvania should keep twenty
thousand soldiers inside the country and ten thousand outside of
his border and Hungary should keep hundred thousand soldiers
inside the country and thirty thousand ones outside of his border.
In case of need, the Sublime Porte promised to send an army of
eighty thousand soldiers.
6. After the proclamation of the prince, if somebody does not take
the side of Rákóczi and the Ottomans, this person will be
considered an enemy.
7. Until the liberation of Hungary and Transylvania, the
Hungarian refugees, who arrived to support the Hungarian
princes, will be accepted by the Porte.
8. Because the Ottoman sultan is a protector of Hungary and
Transylvania both countries should give a present (yearly tribute)
to the Sublime Porte.
9. Between the two sides a trade agreement should be made and
Hungarian consulates should be opened in the Ottoman Empire
and an embassy will be established in Istanbul with three
diplomats by the Hungarians and all of this will be supported by
the Porte.
10. After finishing the war new conditions should be included in a
renewed contract.
11. If the effort is not crowned with success, the Hungarian
refugees should stay in Tekirdağ under the same circumstances, as
in the times of the former Prince Ferenc Rákóczi. If they want to
leave the Ottoman Empire and move to another Christian
country, it will be allowed by the sultan. The ‘ahdnâme was
concluded with the oath of the sultan, and the ratification-
document of the Hungarian with the oath of József Rákóczi.

In the ceremonious audience of the grand vizier the documents of

the contract were exchange on 25 January 1738 in Istanbul. Two
days later Rákóczi published his manifest for the Christian European
rulers explaining his contract with the sultan and the circumstances
of the war against the Habsburg Empire.37 After the diplomatic
arrangements he left Istanbul with his small army and made his way
towards Vidin to participate in the liberation of his own country.38
His efforts were not crowned with success; he died on 10 November
1738 from plague.39
To sum up, it can be proved that for a part of the Hungarian
Estates it was imaginable to break away from the Habsburg House,
which based its rule on absolutism, and to accept the sultan’s
supremacy. We have examined five Hungarian movements from
1666 to 1738. During these movements the Hungarian Estates
46 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
offered to accept the sultan’s supremacy, if he guaranteed Hungarian
autonomy and the rights of nobility. In exchange the Hungarians
were willing to pay a tribute called ‘present’. Out of five efforts, two
were successful with contracts between Hungarians and Ottomans.
The Hungarians handed in a complete draft of ‘ahdnâme in all of the
above mentioned cases. They were accepted by the Ottoman Porte
with slight modifications. It can be seen that the proposals of the
two Rákóczis submitted to the sultan had something in common.
The conditions of the contracts were constructed always according
to the political conditions of that time. Both ‘ahdnâmes from the
years 1682 and 1738 contain conditions on the freedom of worship
and the rebuilding of destroyed churches, but the ‘ahdnâme from the
year 1682 has an anti-Catholic overtone. It is very important that
both ‘ahdnâmes included a condition about a trade agreement, which
would be realized after the peace treaty. By accepting to pay tribute
the Estates of Hungary and Transylvania acknowledged Ottoman
supremacy. It was well-known for the Hungarian politicians in this
epoch that for small countries like Hungary and Transylvania, it was
not possible to be independent between the two great empires. The
only problem was, which ruler would guarantee more autonomy.

Notes
1 Gábor Ágoston and Teréz Oborni, A tizenhetedik század története (Budapest, 2000),
202-210.; László Benczédi, Rendiség, abszolútizmus és centralizáció a XVII. század végi
Magyarországon (1664-1685) (Budapest, 1980).
2 Palatinus (or palatine in English) is locum-tenens of the Hungarian kings.
3 The first copy was published in Latin by J. Du Mont , Corps universel diplomatique
du droit de gens, VII/2 (Amsterdam et à la Haye, 1730), 23-5.
4 Nowadays Oradea in Roumania, Varat in Turkish, and Großwardein in German.
5 Nowadays Nové Zámky in Slovakia and Uyvâr in Turkish.
6 Mu‘ahedât Mecmu‘ası, 3 (İstanbul, 1297), 89-92. The original issue of the Peace of
Vasvár is in ÖStA HHStA (Österreichische Staatsarchiv Haus-, Hof- und
Staatsarchiv) Türkische Urkunden 1. 10, 22 September 1664.
7 Defterdar Sari Mehmed Pasha, Zübde-i vekayiât. Tahlil ve metin (1066-1116/1656-
1704) in Abdulkadir Özcan (ed.) (Ankara, 1995), 124.
8 Silahdâr Fındıklılı Mehmed Pasha, Silahdâr Tarîhi. I (İstanbul, 1928), 741.
9 Yaşar Yücel and Ali Sevim, Türkiye tarihi. 3 (Ankara, 1991), 173. Tayyib
Gökbilgin, ‘Rákóczi Ferenc II. ve osmanlı devleti himayesinde Macar Mülteciler.
In, Türk - Macar kültür münasebetleri ışığı altında II. Rákóczi Ferenc ve Macar
mültecileri.; Thököly İmre ve Osmanlı - Avusturya ilişkilerindeki rolü. Birinci ölüm
(1670-1682)’, Symposium on Rákóczi Ferenc II and the Hungarian Refugees in the Light of
Turco - Hungarian Cultural Relations, 31 May–3 June 1976, University of İstanbul
(İstanbul, 1976), 1-17.; 180-210.
10 Ernst Dieter Petritsch, ‚Tribut oder Ehrengeschenk? Ein Beitrag zu den
habsburgisch-osmanischen Beziehungen in der zweiten Hälfte des 16.
 Ottoman-European International Relations 47

Jahrhunderts. Ein Beitrag zu den habsburgisch-osmanischen Beziehungen in der

zweiten Hälfte des 16. Jahrhunderts, Archiv und Forschung’, Das Haus-, Hof- und
Staatsarchiv in seiner Bedeutung für die Geschichte Österreichs und Europas. Wiener Beiträge
zur Geschichte der Neuzeit, 20 (1993), 49-58.
11 Farkas Deák, A bújdosók levéltára (Budapest, 1888), 227-32.; Benczédi, 20.
12 Gyula Pauler, Wesselényi Ferencz nádor és társainak összeesküvése 1664-1771, I
(Budapest, 1876), 151-3.
13 The Hungarian king’s locum-tenens in Croatia.
14 Pauler I. 1876, 312-14.
15 Sarı Mehmed Pasha, 124.
16 Sándor Szilágyi, Rozsnyai Dávid, az utolsó török deák történeti maradványai, XXX.
MHHS VIII (Pest, 1867).
17 Ilona Zrínyi is also mentioned in the sultan’s ‘ahdnâme of Imre Thököly. She was
the daughter of Péter Zrínyi and the wife of Thököly. According to Turkish
understanding the martyrdom of Péter Zrínyi was a sacrifice made for the sultan.
Therefore the Ottoman dynasty is obliged to protect the ones who lost their
parents and even their husbands and wives.’ [Thököly] ‘devlet-i ‘alîyemün sadâkatı
ogurına cânını bezl ėden Zerîn oglınun İlona nâmında kızı zevcesi olmagla
kadîmden tasarrufında olan emvâl u emlâkı devlet-i ‘alîyem cânibinden hıfz u
siyânet oluna’, Göttingen, Niedersächsische Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek 4°
Cod. Ms. Turc. 30. (Turcica 30.) (henceforth abbreviated: Göttingen, Turcica 30)
51v.-52v.
18 The word of ‘kuruc’ (read kuruts) means in Hungarian a soldier, who revolted
against the Habsburgs at the turn of the seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries.
19 ÖStA HHStA Türkishe Urkunden 26 July- 23 August 1682./Şaban 1093.
German translation, Joseph Hammer-Purgstall, Geschichte des Osmanischen
Reiches (henceforth abbreviated: GOR) VI. 731-2.
20 Göttingen, Turcica 30. 51v.–52v., Turcica 30. 51v.-52v.; Zdenka Veselá-
Přenosilová, ‘Quelques chartes Turques concernant la correspondance de la Porte
Sublime avec Imre Thököly’, Archiv Orientální (AO, Praha) 29 (1961), 553-6. és
566-8.; Ahmet Refik, Türk hizmetinde kıral Tököli İmre (1683-1705). Orta Macar Kıralı
Tököli İmre’nin Türkiye'de geçen hayatına dair Hazinei Evrak vesikalarını havidir (İstanbul,
1932), 8-10. The latter document—although its translation was available in
Hungarian archives—escaped the attention of researchers. It was supposed that
the document of appointment issued by Hammer-Purgstall was the so-called
‘ahdnâme (treaty) of Thököly. The part of the document written in Turkish was not
taken notice of by Hungarian researchers. Its translation into French and its
written version in Arabic were published by Zdenka Veselá-Přenosilová. A short
representation, Vojtech Kopčan, ‘A török Porta Thököly-politikája’, in Benczédi
László (ed.), A Thököly-felkelés és kora (Budapest, 1983), 125-6.
21 pâpişta, pápista in Hungarian.
22 kâlviništa, kálvinista in Hungarian.
23 lûterân, lutheránus in Hungarian.
24 Egyetemi könyvtár, Budapest. Coll. Hev. Tom. 69., 61–3. 1681. ‘Conditiones
Athnamae Literarum assecuratoriarum Turcici Imperatoris propriae manu
Subscriptarum, Sigillosque munitarum genti Hungariae elargitarum’.
25 Timişoare, nowadays in Roumania. Mehmed Râšid, Târih-i Râšid, III (İstanbul,
1282), 128.
26 Sarı Mehmed Pasha, 839.
27 Kálmán Benda, Tamás Esze, Ferenc Maksay, and László Pap (eds.), Ráday Pál
iratai 1703-1706, Ráday Pál iratai I. (henceforth abbreviated, Ráday I.) (Budapest,
1955), 248-96. Documents of the Swedish and Polish legations in Latin.
48 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

28 Ráday I. 1955. 442-4.; Benda, Kálmán, ‘II. Rákóczi Ferenc török politikájának
első évei 1702-1705’, Történeti Szemle 5 (1962), 207.
29 Dimitri Kantemir (Dimitrie Cantemir), Osmanlı İmparatorluğu'nun yükseliş ve çöküş
tarihi, II. (İstanbul, 1982), 865.
30 Benda, Kálmán and Maksay, Ferenc, Ráday Pál iratai (henceforth abbreviated,
Ráday II) (Budapest, 1961), 208-74.
31 Ráday II, 403, 408. (12-13 April 1708); Thaly, Kálmán, Történelmi naplók 1663-
1719 MHHS XXVII, (Budapest, 1875), 178-256. The conditions of the contract in
Latin (February, 1709), Puncta Athname, 252-5. This conditions are identical with an
other charter, which was compiled on 26 or 27 October 1705. The draft made by
the chancallery, Dunamelléki Református Egyházkerület Levéltára. Ráday család
levéltára. Ráday I. Pál iratai. Kancelláriai iratai. Külpolitikai iratai. IV. d/2-13.
(Diplomáciai kapcsolatok a török Portával. 1703-10.) (later to be referred to as
Ráday 1t. IV. d/2-13.) No. 10. document 49-51.
32 Râšid, IV. 219.
33 BOA (İstanbul), Nâme-i hümâyun defteri 6. 377-8.
34 Mikes, 123-4.; H.I.S., Leben und Thaten des Prätendenten von Ungarn und Siebenbürgen,
Joseph Ragoczy und seiner Vorfahren aus zuverläßigen Nachrichten und Urkunden.
(Franckfurt und Leipzig, 1739), 79-84. The text of the memorandum, Thaly,
Kálmán, Az utolsó erdélyi trónjelölt törtnetéhez (Történeti Tár, 1890), 401-5. Copia di
Memoriale presentanto alla Porta Ottomana in nome del Principe Gioseppe Rakotz. Li 8. 7-re
1737.
35 ‘tarafımuzdan iltimâs olunan hususlar vekîl-i mutlak hazretlerinün vesâtetleriyle
pâye-i serîr-i â‘lâ-yi saltanatlarına ‘arz u telhîs olunub müsâ‘ade-i pâdišâhâneleri bî-
dirîg buyurılub der-i devlet-i ‘alîyeleriyle müzâkere olunmak üzre emr-i
hümâyunları sudur ve iltimâslarımız suret-i ‘ahdnâmeye ifrâg olunmasına geregi gibi
tetebbü‘ ve su‘ubetlü olan maddeler tenzîl u teshîl ve tarafeynün re‘yi ile tertîb u
tekrîr olundukdan sonra rikâb-i şehrîyârîye yine ‘arz u telhîs ve makbul-i
hümâyunları buyurılub tarafeynün re‘yi ile ‘ahdnâme-i hümâyun suretine ifrâg
olunub ism-i hümâyun ve nişân-i şerîfleri ile devletlü se‘âdetlü vezîr-i â‘zam ve
vekîl-i mutlak-i efhem hazretlerinün vesâtetleri ile yedimüze i‘tâ u şâyeste olan i‘tibâ
u ta‘zîm birle makbul olub’. TSMA E. 8217. 32-9.; BOA Dîvân-i hümâyun defteri
7, 489-90.; Akmed Refik, Memâlik-i ‘Osmânîyede krâl Râkoçî ve tevâbi’i (1109-1154)
(İstanbul, 1333 A.H.) 57-60, 13. Ramazân 1150/13 December 1737). BOA, Nâme-
i hümâyun defteri 7, 483-6.
36 This copy was found by Kálmán Thaly at the end of 19 century in Topkapı Saray
Müzesi Kütübhanesi, and edited in Latin. The Turkish translation from the Latin
text is in Topkapı Saray Müzesi Arşivi (TSMA E. 8217.) and in BOA Nâme-i
hümâyun 7. defteri. ‘Krâlzâde prinç Yojef Râkoçîya i‘tâ olunan ‘ahdnâme-i
hümâyun siyâkı üzre krâlzâde tarafından dahi lisân-i lâtin üzre ‘ahdnâme-i hümâyun
mevâddıdur ‘ahda olundugını müş‘ir ‘ahdnâmeyi devletlü ‘inâyetlü sâhib-i devlet
veliyü n-ni‘am mürüvvetlü efendimüz hazretlerinün hâk-pây-i devletlerine teslîm u
mübâdele olun magla ‘ahdnâme-i hümâyun min evvelihi ilâ âhirihi tercüme olunub
qrâlzâde-i mumâ ileyhün te‘ahhüdini müş‘ir ‘ahdnâmesinde bast eyledügi ancak
dibâce vü hâtimenün tercümesidür" TSMA E. 8217. 1-5.
37 Leben und Thaten ...’, 1739. 88-95.
38 Refik, 1333. 60-8.
39 Kelemen, Mikes, Törökországi levelek. Budapest, 2000. Publishing House of
Osiris 10.
 2
___________________________________

OTTOMAN MANUSCRIPTS IN EUROPE

The Collection of Ottoman-Turkish Documents

in Sweden

Elżbieta Święcicka

After centuries of contact between Sweden and Ottoman Turkey,

Sweden possesses a large collection of documents of archive quality.
The bulk of existing documents, which constitutes the original
historical records and copies of records, are kept in the Swedish
National Archives (Riksarkivet) in Stockholm.1 The original letters
from the sultans and the grand viziers (1656-1859), the Collection of
Treaties (1657-1868), records belonging to the Royal Chancery
(Kungl. Maj:ts kansli) as the minutes (Riksrådets protokoll), letter-books
for foreign affairs (registratur i utrikesärenden), the records of payable
accounts in connection to state visits (likvidationer) in the Treasury
(Kammarkollegiet), all give evidence of the diplomatic relations
between Sweden and the Ottoman Empire and its vassal states,
especially the Tatar Khanate in the Crimea.2 A lesser number of
documents are to be found in the Royal Library (Kungliga Biblioteket),
in the Uppsala University Library (Carolina Rediviva) and in the
Swedish Military Archives (Krigsarkivet). Some of the documents have
been translated into Latin, Swedish and other languages. These
translations were made either when the letters were dispatched or
later by specially trained translators, known as dragomans. Some texts
have been transcribed into Latin characters. In these Swedish
collections there are also documents concerning matters of state of
other foreign powers. These found their way to Sweden in the form
of booty.3
50 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
Content of Documents

Most of the historic records are notifications written according to

etiquette, informing of personal occurrences: ascensions to the
throne, marriages, births and departures from life. There are also
letters either congratulating or condoling these important events. A
large number of documents relate to the credentials of newly
appointed envoys. When concerning matters of state, such as
negotiations of alliance and trade agreements, senior officials, often
the grand viziers wrote the letters. In contrast to the letters of the
sultans, these letters are often not dated; yet another category of
letters is the private correspondence between different individuals.
Ahmed III’s three letters to the Swedish court are a good example
of the most frequent type of correspondence. Two of them are
congratulations to King Fredric I and to his wife Queen Ulrica
Eleonora on their ascension to the throne. The third one is a
passport issued for a Swedish sea captain on account of the Ottoman
envoy’s, Kozbekçi Mustafa Ağa, home journey to Constantinople in
1728, through the territorial waters of Northern African states, called
in Sweden the Barbary States (Barbareskstaterna). 4
All the letters sent from the Ottoman Empire to Sweden had been
written at the Sublime Porte, in the official Turkish language, which
was named Ottoman, after the governing dynasty, on the large sheets
of paper, most often in dīvānī style. Two kinds of paper were used,
the white, which was the most lasting, and the yellow which was
more fragile. The yellow paper was regarded as more elegant and was
therefore used for the sultans’ correspondence with the royalties. All
the sultans’ letters carry the respective monarch’s monogram, tughra,
and were delivered in single-coloured silk bags, called kese or kise.5
Nowadays these silver, gold or purple bags are kept separately,
sometimes together with pear shaped tickets, labels with the names
of addressees, called kulak. The oldest authentic document in
Swedish possession, dated 1587, is a ‘deed of gift’ from the Sultan
Murad III to the Grand Vizier Mehmed Pasha. This approximately
three meters long letter has no specific connection to Sweden.

Relations between Sweden and the Ottoman Empire

There is a copy of a letter closely connected to Swedish affairs, from

the same year, 1587. The letter had been sent by John III to Sultan
Murad III, regarding the absence of a ruler on the Polish throne.6
The name of the emissary is not known. The first emissary, not an
official envoy, to the Ottoman Empire in 1616, whose name is
known, was Bengt Bengtsson Oxenstierna, called in Sweden ‘Bengt
the Traveler’ (Resare-Bengt).7 Seven years later, in 1623, another
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 51
unofficial messenger, Sten Svantesson was sent to the same
destination.
In 1631 King Gustavus II Adolphus sent the first official envoy to
the Ottoman Empire, Paul Strassburgk, to assess the possibility of
Ottoman military and political aid against the Habsburg Empire or
the Polish Kingdom. Sultan Murad IV rejected the King’s two
proposals, suggesting that the Ottomans should declare war against
Austria and give their support to Gustavus II Adolphus’s brother in
law, the Prince of Siebenburgen, Bethlen Gabor. Strassburgk’s letter
to the king and his report about this diplomatic mission are to be
found among the documents in Swedish National Archives. During
the reign of Queen Christina, yet another unofficial emissary, Bengt
Skytte appeared in 1652. His journey has been described, for some
unknown reason, as unsuitable and unnecessary.8
During the Swedish-Polish war of 1650-5, King Charles X
Gustavus sent two legations, one with Claes Rålamb and another
one with Gotthard Wellingk. Both had an important mission: to
persuade Turks to attack Poland and to request the sultan order the
Crimean Tatars to take the same course of action. Rålamb made a
speech in Latin and handed over the king’s letter wrapped in a blue-
golden cloth, equivalent to the Ottoman kese.
The missions of both envoys were a disaster and resulted in a
harsh diplomatic protest from the grand vizier to the Swedish King,
stating that a war with the Ottoman state’s friend Poland was out of
the question and would only strengthen the common enemy,
Moscovy. Both journeys became very well documented. Rålamb kept
a comprehensive diary, now to be seen in KB. Wellingk’s mission
was described by an accompanying priest, C. J. Hiltebrand, and was
published by Babinger in 1937. The two gentlemen’s reports to the
king are kept in the Swedish National Archives.
In 1669, Charles XI’s Regency Council corresponded with Sultan
Mehmed IV about the safety of Swedish merchant vessels, which
were often attacked and robed by the pirates from the afore-
mentioned Barbary States. These states were Ottoman vassals and
Ottoman sultans had the power to require and receive the obedience
of their rulers. The messenger in this particular matter, who also
came with the answer, was a certain Aslan Ağa, who visited Sweden
in 1669 and 1671.9
The Swedish dual attitude towards this potential ally or enemy was
clearly exemplified during the coronation parade of Charles XI in
1672. In Ehrenstrahl’s famous pictures one can admire the riders’
fantastic clothing and excellent horses. Swedish aristocrats were
grouped and dressed as ‘Goths, Poles, Turks and other European
Nations’. The riders were so grandiosely clothed, that ‘one was under
impression, that these represented the very best their nation could
52 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

‘The Turkish Supreme Commander, in the Persian clothing, on the horse covered
with an elegant caparison. He is followed by the musicians in the Turkish fittings’.
The picture no 32 in Ehrenstrahl’s Certamen equestre. Photo: Royal Library.
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 53
afford’. However during the festivities’ dialogues, the Europeans
proclaimed the own superiority and mocked the Turkish group.10

The Debts of Charles XII

As it is well known, the Swedish King, Charles XII, called by

Ottomans Demirbaş Şarl, spent five years in Bender, on Ottoman
soil11. He had regular contacts with the Sublime Porte through his
messengers, M. Neugebauer and S. Poniatowski.12 It is also known
that he was in debt both to the Ottoman state and the other lenders,
merchants and bankers.13
After his death, the Grand Vizier Ibrahim Pasha was of the
opinion, that Charles XII’s successor, Fredric I, should pay the royal
debts. In 1727, an envoy Kozbekçi Mustafa Ağa was sent to Sweden.
This was the first official visit of such a high ranking envoy to
Sweden. His legation resided in Stockholm in a house, which still
exists, called Insenstiernska House. Kozbekçi Mustafa Ağa got many
promises of settlement of the Swedish debts and many assurances of
eternal friendship.14 His portrait, by Georg Engelhard Schröder,
showing him smoking nargile (water-pipe) is to be found in
Gripsholm Castle.15 Nevertheless he returned home empty-handed.
The Sublime Porte waited indulgently for five years and then a
new envoy, Çelebizāde Said Mehmed Efendi was sent. He came to
Stockholm in 1733 accompanied by a retinue of 43 people to fulfill
Ottoman expectations that a well educated and more experienced
diplomat would be more effective in achieving repayment of the
debt. But according to Johannes Kolmodin, the Swedish diplomat
and dragoman, another, much more important motive led the
legation: the Ottoman fear, that Sweden might sign a treaty with
Russia. Said Mehmed Efendi’s visit coincided with a change of
alliances among the European states. Most probably the envoy
wanted to probe the Swedish position on this matter. As it will
appear later these misgivings were not unmotivated.16
Said Mehmed Efendi was received with great pomp, accompanied
by the firing of cannons. But the result of his visit was more or less
the same as Kozbekçi Mustafa Ağa’s. Schröder also portrayed him,
together with his retinue. The painting belongs to the famous Bibyer
Collection of Turkish portraits and landscapes. The collection was
initiated by Charles XII’s companion in arms and the first Swedish
chargé d’affaires in Turkey, 1709-13, Gustaf von Celsing. Another trace
of Said Mehmed Efendi’s visit to Sweden is his letter, kept at the
Swedish National Archives, (Ekeblad’s Collection), to the countess
Hedvig De la Gardie, written in French, after his return to
Constantinople in 1734.
54 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

The Turkish envoy to Sweden and Poland 1733

No 138 at the Exhibition Wojna i Pokój

Said Mehmed Efendi is also known for having founded the first
Turkish printing house, together with Ibrahim Müteferrika, In this
printing house were printed these thirteen Turkish incunables, which
are today in possession of the Royal Library in Stockholm.17 They
were bought in Constantinople by the Swedish diplomats, Edvard
Carleson and Karl Fredrik von Höpken, (1735-42/45). Buying
Turkish manuscripts and pieces of art was not the primary task of
Swedish diplomats. The primary task was to discuss a trade
agreement with the Ottoman Empire, and of course, the repayment
Said Mehmed Efendi on his way back to Constantinople stopped
in Warsaw, where he wanted to get information about Stanisław
Leszczyński’s chances of regaining the Polish throne.18 He was
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 55
received with all the marks of honour by interrex primate Teodor
Potocki. At this occasion another portrait was made, a little
engraving in half-length, which was used as an illustration in a book.
Recently this picture was displayed at a Polish Turkish exhibition,
entitled ‘anonymous Turkish envoy to Sweden’.19
of the Charles XII’s debts. The permanent Swedish embassy had
been put up in 1736 during Carleson’s and von Höpken’s time in
Constantinople. They left the interesting collection of letters and the
journey reports to Ephesus and the Holy Land.
With time the number of the duties increased and their successors,
the sons of Gustaf von Celsing, Gustaf junior (1745-71) and Ulric
(1756-60, 1769-79), among other commercial affairs continued the
efforts to obtain further subsidies for Sweden, despite the fact that
Sweden had not yet been able to pay back all the money borrowed
by Charles XII. These two gentlemen collected a large number of
oriental objects d’art and oriental manuscripts, among them also
Turkish ones. Most of them were donated to Uppsala University
Library, Carolina Rediviva. The Celsing family had also in their
possession forty documents, among them letters from the sultans
and Crimean Khans to the Swedish Royal House. The location of
these documents is, as I understand, rather unclear.20
Since the financial situation in Sweden was still deplorable the
successors of Celsings in Constantinople inherited the same mission
to borrow more money. In 1789 the Ottoman government promised
one million piaster in a long subsidy agreement, signed by Selim III,
‘under the obligation not to conclude a separate peace treaty with the
Russians without a preceding agreement with the Ottomans. This
promise was not kept by Gustav III’.21

Registers and Catalogues

Since permanent diplomatic relations with the Ottoman state were

established, the number of official documents kept at the Swedish
embassy increased considerably. Some transcriptions of Turkish
documents were at an early stage moved to Carolina Rediviva in
Uppsala, where they came to constitute the primary sources for the
above mentioned researcher and diplomat, Johannes Kolmodin’s
studies. The lion’s share of diplomatic records was placed at the
Swedish National Archives (RA), divided between the collection
Turcica, (which constitutes a part of the National States Archives’
Diplomatica Collection) and the Archive of the Head of Chancellery,
which later on was transferred to the archive of the Ministry of
Foreign Affairs.22 The greater part of the embassy archive, for the
years 1734 (1675)-1949, is stored in the branch of the National
Archives situated in Arninge, Täby, outside Stockholm. This archive
56 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
contains correspondences with the Swedish Ministry of Foreign
Affairs, with foreign authorities and individuals. The Turcica
Collection comprises the correspondence and reports from the
Swedish envoys, the copies of the 134 letters of the sultans and the
grand viziers to Sweden and a number of miscellaneous records. The
original letters are kept in the collection of ‘Over-sized Turkish and
Oriental records’.23
The very first catalogue of Turkish documents in the Swedish
National Archives was prepared by T. Westrin in 1890 and in 1895
the first list of treaties concluded by Sweden with foreign powers, in
which documents concerning the Swedish-Turkish relations are
mentioned. The Turkish part was compiled by Herman Almkvist.
This part comprises the diplomatic correspondence between Sweden
and the vassal states of the Ottoman Empire: Siebenburgen, Tripoli,
Tunis, Alger and the independent Sultanate of Morocco.24 All these
states had Ottoman-Turkish as their official language. A part of these
documents are letters to the Sublime Porte regarding the vassal states
piracy against the Swedish ships. Within this part, under the heading
‘Turkey’, alongside the treaties ratified by the Ottoman sultans and
the berats (description of duties and rights for interpreters), are
named the documents of King Charles X Gustavus’s authorization,
written in Latin, for Claes Rålamb and Gotthard Vellingk giving
them the right to conclude an alliance with the Ottoman Empire,
from 1657.
The person who presented a near complete list regarding the
Ottoman-Turkish documents in Sweden was Karl Vilhelm
Zetterstéen, (1866-1953). He published in the catalogue of the
manuscripts from Carolina Rediviva, Die arabischen persischen und
türkischen Handschriften der Universitätsbibliotek zu Uppsala and wrote the
first part of a comprehensive catalogue of documents kept in the
Swedish National Archives, Türkische, tatarische und persische Urkunden
im schwedischen Reichsarchiv verzeichnet und beschrieben.
The catalogue Türkische, tatarische und persische Urkunden im
schwedischen Reichsarchiv covers 218 different documents, 134 of them
are mostly the letters to the Swedish Royal House from the sultans
and grand viziers of the Ottoman Empire. The remaining two parts
of the catalogue, still in the form of manuscript are stored in three
boxes, containing numbered sheets of paper. Most of these Turkish
documents originate from ‘the Embassy Archive in Constantinople’.
They are numbered from 869 to 1298 and 1299-1734. Among them
are letters from Mahmud I, Mustafa III, Abdülaziz and Abdülhamid
to the Swedish kings and also fermans (permissions), diplomas and
memoranda. Both unpublished parts have been microfilmed, but
some of the notes are difficult to read.
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 57

The letter from Mustafa III. to Gustaf III, 1772, Swedish National Archives.
Photo: Kurt Eriksson
58 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
The Diplomatica Collection was also presented by Zetterstéen in a
number of separate articles.25
In 1980 Sören Tommos published a topical up to date description
of Swedish diplomatic correspondence for the period 1634-1809, The
Diplomatica Collection in the Swedish National Archives. The Diplomatica
Collection was followed in 1981 by the inventory of the Swedish
historical sources regarding North Africa, Asia and Oceania,
published in English as a UNESCO project. The Turkish part was
elaborated by the Senior Archivist Folke Ludvigs.26
In the Swedish National Archive there are also a number of
special registers. The register called ‘Person-, family- and estate
archives’ (Person-, släkt-, och gårds arkiv) contains information about
specific individuals, for instance about Muradgea d’Ohsson, the
dragoman and later on the Swedish ambassador in Constantinople.27
In another register, Subject Collections (Ämnessamlingar), under the
heading Militaria—the register of the collection regarding the history
of wars (Förteckningen öfver krigshistoriska samlingen)—it is possible to
find records concerning the Swedes’ sojourns in Turkey.
As mentioned previously, Zetterstéen accomplished and published
(in two parts, 1930 and 1935) his opus magnum: Die arabischen persischen
und türkischen Handschriften der Universitätsbibliotek zu Uppsala. He based
his work on the preparatory works, done during the years by
Swedish translators and researchers, especially Peter Rubens, Carl
Aurivillius and C. J. Tornberg. Most of these manuscripts and
documents, kept in Carolina Rediviva, were bought or donated by
different individuals who are all mentioned in Zetterstéen’s preface
to the Handschriften. Among the donors we find the Swedish scholars:
J.G. Sparwenfeld, M. Sturtzenbecher and also Oscar II of Sweden,
who in 1891donated to the library twelve valuable manuscripts,
offered him during the official visit (1885) to the Ottoman Empire.
Zetterstéen’s Uppsala Catalogue, (Handschriften), contains
information about a large number of documents: original letters
from the Ottoman sultans to the Swedish kings and vice versa, the
messages from the dragomans, letters of safe conduct, the passes and
fermans. Many of them concern Charles XII’s sojourn in Bender.
Several documents, such as a treaty between Ahmed I and the British
King James (1612) are of foreign provenance.
In Carolina Rediviva there is also a handwritten catalogue started
by Tornberg and continued by Zetterstéen. This catalogue is from a
time before 1930 and contains information about a number of
literary works, collections of fetvas and some dictionaries. Additional
material about Charles XII (Demirbaş Şarl), excerpted from the
Ottoman Archives by A. Refik and J. Kolmodin is listed separately.
It contains non-catalogued letters in Turkish, diplomatic reports,
clippings from Turkish newspapers, translations of articles etc.28
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 59
According to documents in the Royal Library the manuscripts
catalogue, Katalog över Kungl. Bibliotekets orientaliska handskrifter, was
elaborated and published 1923 by W. Riedel, a Germen orientalist
living in Sweden. According to the preface, the collection consists of
manuscripts and documents bought in the Ottoman Empire on the
behalf of the government office in Stockholm, which after 1727
were handed over to the Royal Library. Actually, among mainly
literary works, there are some single documents, such as the Turkish
passes for different ships and a ferman for a certain Swede, signed by
the grand vizier, with permission to visit libraries in Constantinople,
which apparently required as much hardship as today.
Besides Riedel’s catalogue, there are two folders, entitled
‘Manuscripts, […] and Oriental Codex29 with information regarding a
few records. At least one of them, ‘A description of the Turkish
system of ziameti and timar’, possesses the qualities of a document.
Both of them contain a reference to the Engström collection, again
material about Charles XII’s stay in Bender. The Royal Library has
also a large collection of Rålambiana, envoy Rålamb’s diary and
drawings and obtained in Turkey paintings and miniatures.
More about Charles XII, the subject which most interests Swedes,
is to be found in the Swedish Military Archives, inter alia the letters of
his officers (C. Sparre, C. Loos and H. Gyllenskepp), and records
regarding the military administration of the Swedish forces in the
Ottoman Empire and their return journey.30

Published Documents

Few of the documents from Swedish archives and libraries have

been analyzed and published. Most of them are sleeping like the
princess in the fairy tale, untranslated and sometimes not even read,
neither at arrival nor later. The aforementioned author, H. Almkvist,
published 1899 a berat, a dragoman diploma, which had been issued
for a interpreter who worked for the Swedish embassy. However the
berat’s translation is regarded as erroneous.
Forty years later, Zetterstéen in cooperation with the Turkish
historian A. N. Kurat published thirteen documents from different
archives. Three of them are from the Bibyer collection.31 The
documents are presented both in facsimile form, rewritten versions
and are translated into German. All of them except one, again, have
a connection to Charles XII’s stay in Bender. The exception is a
letter from Mehmed IV to the Polish King John Casmir. This letter,
and three others, which concern Polish matters, has been
commented on by Zygmunt Abrahamowicz in his article for Folia
Orientalia in 1961.32 The Polish King John Casimir is also the
addressee of the letters from Grand Vizier Kara Murad Pasha. The
60 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
fourth letter has the Polish Chancellor Koryciński as addressee. The
letters were dispatched from the Sublime Porte either with the Polish
envoy Bieczyński or with the Turkish envoy to Poland, Mustafa Ağa.
These two traveled together to Poland and were imprisoned near
Warsaw, which was in 1655 under Swedish occupation. The letters
were confiscated by Mazovia’s governor, Erik Oxenstierna.
The last published document is the oldest document in Swedish
possession, a deed of gift from 1587. It was published 1955 by
Walter Björkman. Many years have passed since then, and there is a
great deal to be done in this field, and much new historical
knowledge to be gained.33

Notes
1 I am grateful to Swedish National Archives (Riksarkivet) for the possibility to
publish the Ottoman letter from the TURCICA COLLECTION; and to Carolina
Rediviva Library for the pictures from Ehrenstrahl’s book. I also would like to
express my gratitude to the Senior Archivist of the Swedish National Archives
Folke Ludwigs, for his valuable comments during writing this article. I owe much
to Dr. Birgit Schlyter, the editor of Dragomanen, the annual of Swedish Istanbul
Research Institute in which the Swedish version of this article was published 2000
and to David Williams who read the English version of the manuscript.
2 For a description of the Swedish National Archive’s collections of original letters,
treaties, Turcica, Extranea, and the other records, see Riksarkivets beståndsöversikt (BÖ),
Folke Ludwigs, Lisbeth Näslund & Stefan Söderlind, ‘Sources in Sweden’, in:
Sources of the History of North Africa, Asia and Oceania in Finland, Norway and Sweden,
(München, 1981); Sören Tommos, ‘The Diplomatica Collection in the Swedish
National Archives’, in Skrifter utgivna av Svenska Riksarkivet, (Stockholm 1980). For
the historical background, especially concerning the period when Sweden and the
Ottoman Empire were superpowers, see T. J. Arne, ‘De äldre förbindelserna
mellan Sverige och Turkiet’ [The Earlier Relations between Sweden and Turkey],
in Hävd och Hembygd (Norrköping, 1927); Walther Björkman, ‘Die schwedisch-
türkischen Beziehungen bis 1800’, in Festschrift Georg Jacob zum siebzigsten Geburstag
(Leipzig, 1932a); Walther Björkman, ‘Schwedisch-türkische Bezichungen seit
1800’, in Mitteilungen des Seminars für Orientalische Sprachen zu Berlin (MSOSW) 35, II
(1932b); Ulla Ehrensvärd, ‘Sverige och Turkiet. Introduktion till utställning i
Kungl. Biblioteket, Stockholm 14 april-7 augusti med anledning av Svenska
Forskningsinstitutets i Istanbul 15-årsjubileum’, [Sweden and Turkey. Exhibition
Catalogue...] in: Meddelanden 2 (1977); Gunnar Jarring, ‘Sveriges diplomatiska
förbindelser med tatarerna på Krim’ [Diplomatic Relations between Sweden and
the Crimean Tatars], in [ Utrikespolitik och historia. Studier tillägnade Wilhelm M.
Carlgren (Stockholm, 1987); Elżbieta Święcicka, ‘Den diplomatiska trafiken mellan
Sverige, Tatariet och Osmanska riket från Gustav Vasas tid till Karl XII’
[Diplomatic Traffic between Sweden, Tartary and the Ottoman Empire, from
Gustav Vasa’s time to Charles XII], in Den nordiska mosaiken, (Uppsala, 1997); Kaj
Falkman, Turkiet/Gränsfursten. Utsikter från Svenska Palatset i Istanbul [Turkey/The
Boundary Prince...] (Stockholm, 1999).
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 61

3 They are to be found within the ‘EXTRANEA’ Collection: ‘Turkey, records and
letters’. (Turkiet, handlingar, och brev). The Swedish term ‘arkivhandlingar’ is used to
convey the meaning of two Anglo-Saxon terms: ‘(archival) documents’, and
‘historical records’. I wish to extend my thanks to Dr. Staffan Smedberg for his
helpful review of the terminology. The Swedish collections contain also
manuscripts, miniatures, incunables, maps, etc, but these are not objects of this
article.
4Zetterstéen, K. V., Türkische, tatarische und persische Urkunden im Schwedischen
Reichsarchiv verzeichnet und beschrieben [Nos.1-218], (Uppsala, 1945), No 7, 8 and 9.
Alger, Tunis and Tripoli. They were very important for the Swedish sea trade and
there were Swedish consuls in their capital towns.
5 The excellent description of these oriental letter covers is to be found in Agnes
Geijer & Carl Johan Lamm, ‘Orientalische Briefumschläge in schwedischem
Besitz’ in: Vitterhets-historie- och antikvitetsakademiens handlingar (VHAAH) 58:1,
(1945).
6K. V. Zetterstéen,., ‘De orientaliska urkunderna i svenska riksarkivet’ [The
Oriental Documents in the Swedish National Archives], in: Kungl. Vitterhets Historie
och Antikvitets Akademiens Handlingar, Part 80, (Historiska studier, I.), (Stockholm,
1952b), 212
7 T. J. Arne, Svenskarna och Österlandet [The Swedes and the Orient] (Stockholm,
1952); Sven Hedin, Bengt Bengtsson Oxenstierna (ResareBengt) (Stockholm, 1919).
8 Arne, Svenskarna, 154
9 Kaj Ettlinger, ‘Aslan Aga – turkisk ambassadör till Sverige eller svenskt sändebud
med diplomatiska uppdrag till Turkiet?’[Aslan Aga – the Turkish Ambassador to
Sweden or the Swedish Envoy with Diplomatic Mission to Turkey?], in
Personhistorisk tidskrift (1998).
10 The quotations after Ehrenstrahl 1685 (?) in translation from German
11Eric Tengberg, Från Poltava till Bender. Studie i Karl XII:s turkiska politik 1709-1713,
[From Poltava to Bender...], (Lund, 1953); see also Karolinska Förbundets Årsböcker,
especially the article of A. Refik, KFÅ 1919; BÖ, Vol I, Part 2, 87, 283, 317.
12 They were received in audience by the Sultan in 1709. Neugebauer was later
succeeded by T. Funk.
13 BÖ, Vol. I, Part 1, 87, Part 2, 145
14 Arne, 93
15The Topkapı Museum has another portrait of Kozbekçi Mustafa Ağa.
16 Kolmodin’s later comments to the translation of Said Mehmed Efendi’s report
on journey in Karolinska Förbundets Årsbok 1920, 256-303.
17 Faik Reşit Unat, Osmanlï Sefirleri ve Sefaretnameleri, (Ankara 1968); John
Rohnström, ‘The Turkish Incunabula in the Royal Library’, in: Turcica et Orientalia,
Studies in honour of Gunnar Jarring on his eightieth birthday 12 October 1987, editor Ulla
Ehrensvärd, (Stockholm, 1988), 122
18 S. Leszczyński was supported by France, the Ottoman Empire and initially by
Charles XII. His concurrent, Augustus III of Saxony, was supported by Russia.
19 Wojna i Pokój: Skarby sztuki turekiej ze zbiorów polskich. Katalog wystawy, Muzeum
Narodowe [War and Peace: Ottoman-Polish Relations in the 15th-19th Centuries],
National Museum, Exhibition Catalogue (Warszawa, 2000), No 138, 244
20 Kurat & Zetterstéen published the full list of these documents in 1938. In 1968
Reychman and Zajączkowski wrote as follows: ‘Oriental documents […] exist in
the Bibyer Archives’. According to Fredrik von Celsing from Biby Estate, all the
documents have been transferred to Carolina Rediviva. Although, I could not find
any notation about this fact. According to the unprinted, undated catalogue by
Tornberg & Zetterstéen in the Uppsala University Library (Carolina Rediviva), the
Library possesses only ‘the duplicates of the documents, which are kept at the
62 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

Celsings’ Trust Biby, in Södermanland’. I went through this archive’s minutes

without finding any trace of these forty documents. Perhaps the original letters
were given to Muradgea d’Ohsson while he was writing his monumental ‘Tableau
Générale’.
21 Arne, 93
22 Utrikesdepartamentet med föregångare, Huvudarkivet 1681-1952
23 The complete list of Ottoman-Turkish documents in BÖ, Vols. I, II and index
in Vol. VII.
24 Bernhard Taube & Severin Bergh, ‘Förteckning öfver Samlingen af
Originaltraktater i Svenska Riksarkivet’, [The Collection of Original Treaties] in:
Meddelanden Riksarkivet (MRA), Vols XVII, XVIII 1894, XIX 1895, 329
25 Zetterstéen 1930, 1936, 1941 and 1948.
26 Ludwigs, Näslund.& Söderlind, ‘Sources in Sweden’.
27 Most of d’Ohsson’s papers were donated to the Lund University Library.
28 Carolina Rediviva, Caps. Fol. Q15:11, Q15:12, Q15:20.
29 VU and Cod. Orient.
30 Krigsarkivet: Stora nordiska kriget, VII Turkiet. See also B. Broomé, ‘Privatarkiv
och enskilda personers arbetspapper i Kungl. Krigsarkivet’ [Private Papers in the
Royal Military Record Office], in: Kommissionen för riksinventering av de enskilda arkiven.
(Stockholm, 1963).
31 Among them, there are letters written to Charles XII by the high Ottoman
officials
32 The letters No 2, 54, 55 and 112 in Zetterstéen’s Catalogue.
33 A part of collection of the diplomatic letters in Ottoman-Tatar language, written
by the Crimean Khans’ mothers and wives, became published by I. Ianbay
(Jerusalem) in Manuscripta Orientalia T. VIII/1, 2002 and Elżbieta Święcicka
(Uppsala) in Rocznik Orientalistyczny T. LV/1, 2002.
 Non-Ottoman Documents in the Kâdîs’ Courts (Môloviya,
Medieval Charters): Examples from the Archive of the
Hilandar Monastery (15th–18th C.)

Aleksandar Fotić

Between the fifteenth and eighteenth centuries, and subsequently as

well, there circulated in the Ottoman Empire not only documents
written in Arabic script and the Ottoman Turkish or Arabic
languages but also those in other scripts and languages. They were
composed both by the Ottoman administration and by other
institutions and individuals. Official documents in languages other
than Ottoman issued by the Porte or by local Ottoman authorities in
the first centuries of the empire have long been known and they are
not relevant to the subject of this paper; nor is the correspondence
of Ottoman high officials, frequently written in various languages,
especially in the empire’s border regions.
What is interesting and has not been sufficiently studied is the use
and validity in the Ottoman shari‘a court of old medieval charters,
and of various contemporary documents, contracts, involving non-
Muslim subjects. Many of these documents were issued by the
church chancellery, or are related to matters of indebtedness of
persons or institutions, especially churches and monasteries. What is
particularly worth emphasizing is the fact that these contemporary
documents written in Cyrillic script and in the Serbian/Bulgarian
language, as well as those in the Greek language, sometimes involved
Muslim dealings with non-Muslim subjects. Muslim subjects were
involved even in very important documents, such as those
concerning payment of debts or giving land as security. The fact
should also be pointed out that such agreements were not only made
in border regions or recently conquered areas, but also in those that
had been under Ottoman rule for centuries, i.e. in the regions where
the zimmîs were familiar with the functioning of the Ottoman shari‘a
courts and were accustomed to turn to them often and of their own
free will even when a problem was soluble without the intervention
of the Ottoman authorities.
The purpose of this paper is to demonstrate the use of non-
Ottoman documents and their validity in the shari‘a court. Naturally,
64 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
I am well aware of the fewness and limitations of the examples I am
about to discuss.

Môloviya

The sixteenth- and seventeenth-century documents from Hilandar

Monastery (Mount Athos) written in Cyrillic or in Greek scripts have
been known to scholarship for almost one hundred years. They
comprise sales contracts, realty exchange contracts, certificates
confirming discharge of debt, settlement acts concluding long
disputes etc.1 Also long-known are numerous similar documents
from the archives of the Monastery of Cetinje, the seat of the
Montenegrin metropolitan. The latter also include documents about
donating fields and vineyards to the Monastery of Cetinje for the
peace of one’s soul. In some documents, even in those just
mentioned, local Muslims occur along with Christian witnesses. In
some, on the other hand, for example in documents concerning the
exchange or sale of plots of land, there occurs a Muslim acting as
party to a contract. There are also classical documents confirming
that the Monastery took land as security until the debt was paid.
Interestingly, the Muslims also used to take loans from the
Monastery of Cetinje, and to compose contracts in Serbian and
without Muslim witnesses.2
Such documents have been relied on as a historical source in
various ways and countless times. It seems, however, that a crucial
question has never been posed: why were they written in the
languages of local Christians, especially when one of the parties
involved was a Muslim? Furthermore, were those documents valid in
the Ottoman state court and did the kâdîs consider them admissible?
Also, if they were not accepted as valid proof in the shari‘a court, did
they make any sense at all?
It is clear today that a number of such documents were either free
and abridged translations of the tapunâmes and hüccets originally
composed before the Ottoman authorities, made for internal use, or
constituted a special type of official documents derived from
tapunâmes and hüccets. Their purpose must have been to facilitate
communication with the other party, and to make the monastic
archive easier to handle. And yet, even those translations
occasionally contain the signatures of Muslim witnesses and the seals
of Ottoman officials, as, for example, the bôstâncı zâbıt’s seal in some
Hilandar documents. At times they were even more accurate than
the Turkish originals in describing the boundaries of the fields
bought or exchanged. This is the case of the Cyrillic documents
concerning the exchange of fields in Komitissa and
Proavlax/Prevlaka between a Hasan Çelebi and the monks of
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 65
Hilandar in 1590.3 The case of the cerificate of settlement concluding
the 1644 dispute between Hilandar and Zographou over some land
is different. This case shows clearly that the dispute had been settled
by the kâdî, and that according to the hüccet, each brotherhood
composed its own Cyrillic document омолоћиа (omolodjia), which they
sealed and exchanged.4
Transactions including sale, purchase or exchange of land, or
other immovable property had to be registered in the kâdî’s court,
and confirmed by Ottoman officials. Not only were fees assessed on
such transactions, but also the holder of the land had to be known to
the authorities. However, contracts and certificates concerning debt
payments and the giving of realty as a security could have missed the
kâdî’s court at any time, despite the fact that the recording of such
contracts in the sicills, and the obtainment of hüccets would have
provided an additional guarantee that a particular obligation would
be fulfilled. Nevertheless, it seems that the parties found it sufficient
to put the contract together in Greek or Slavic, or any other language
depending on the region. Such cases did happen, and the Ottoman
documents from the Hilandar Monastery Archive themselves
provide the proof.
The first hüccet I dealt with no more than indicated the problem.
The solution was suggested only later, when I came across some
documents expressing a similar situation in a slightly different way.
In the summer of 1716 Mübâşir ‘Ali Ağa was assigned to act for the
state and take over the property of the late ‘Ayşe Hâtûn of
Thessaloniki. Among her papers he found a certificate which was
titled ‘môliya’ (‫)ﻤﻮﻠﻴﻪ‬, stamped with the seal of Hilandar, and
concerned a 500-gurûş debt (…manâstır-i mezbûr mühr ile memhûr ),
stamped with the seal of Hilandar, and concerned a 500-gurûş debt
(…manâstır-i mezbûr mühr ile memhûr môliya [sic] ta‘bîr olunur
temessükleri…). Actually, the monastery had given one of its metochia
(çiftlik) in Kalamaria, near Thessaloniki, as security for the loan. The
monks paid their debt to ‘Ali Ağa and the metochion was released
from its pledge.5 Unfortunately, the hüccet reveals nothing else. The
following examples will show that the kâtib of the hüccet omitted
one letter ‘vav’ (‫ )ﻮ‬while writing a term unfamiliar to him.
In another document, the same type of certificate was referred to
in a somewhat more precise manner. ‘Ali Beğ, son of ‘Abdullah, a
cündî from Thessaloniki, had given a loan to Hilandar. In the summer
of 1610, when the monks discharged their debt with interest (22,000
akçes), that was registered in the shari‘a court of Thessaloniki. The
kâdî issued a hüccet containing ‘Ali Beğ’s acknowledgment of the full
discharge of their debt. The following part of his statement is worthy
of quoting: ‘…should I subsequently produce the certificate called
môloviya [sic] in relation to this case, let it not be enforced…’ (…eğer
66 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
ba‘de zamân bu husûs içün môloviya nâmında tezkirelerin ibrâz edersem ‘amel
olunmıya…).6 Naturally, until it has become clear what it all was
about, this word written in Arabic script (‫ )ﻤﻮﻠﻴﻪ‬could be read in a
variety of ways (mevleviye, müvelviye, etc.).
It was only thanks to a third document that it became possible to
draw some reliable inferences. Once again, it concerned a secured
loan. The brotherhood of Hilandar had taken a loan from Süleyman
Beğ, son of ‘Abdulmenan of Siderokavsia (Sidrekapsi), giving as
security a meadow and a summer pasture near Novo Selo/Yeñi Köy
(today Neohorion). As a certificate of security, the monks ‘…gave
him a môloviya [sic] stamped with the seal of the aforesaid monastery
and written in their script…’ (…yedine manâstır-i merkûm hâtemile
mahtûme ve kendü hattlar ile tahrîr olunmuş môloviya virmişler…). After
Süleyman’s death, the document was inherited by his underage
children. That is what ‘Ayşe Hâtûn, the mother and representative of
his children, said before the shari‘a court in 1616, when the monks
decided to repay the debt of 8,000 akçes. Having been given the
money, ‘Ayşe Hâtûn released the monastic property from pledge.
Also, in a form similar to the hüccet described above, she obliged the
court to consider this môloviya inadmissible should she ever reopen
the case again. And she emphasized that, because she had lost the
document and was therefore unable to return it to the monks:
‘…çayırı ve yaylakı teslîm edüb fekk-i rehn eyledi lakin zikr olunan
môloviyaları zâyı‘ olmağın mezbûrlara virilmedi ba‘d el-yevm eğer môloviya ibrâz
olunub husûs-i mezbûre müte‘allık da‘vâ u nizâ‘ sâdire olursa led el-hükkâm
ül-kirâm mesmû‘a ve makbûla olmasın…’.7
What inferences may be drawn from the three hüccets? First of
all, we obviously are dealing with documents written in a non-
Ottoman language. Given that Hilandar was a Serbian monastery,
and that a mixture of Serbian and Bulgarian was widely in use in the
Chalcidice, such documents could have been written both in Greek
or in Cyrillic scripts. Having been issued in the name of the
monastery, the documents bore the latter’s seal. A thorough reading
of several Cyrillic documents of a similar type and of those from the
monastery’s archive makes it clear that for such contracts the Serbs
and Bulgarians almost as a rule used the word: ωмологїа, ωмолоћїа
(omologia, omolodjia). Obviously, this is the Greek word omologia
(οµολογία), meaning: admission, confession, debenture etc.8 That is to
say, the exact equivalent of the Ottoman terms: temessük and tezkire.
There is almost no doubt that the term used in the hüccets was
omologia, but slightly modified to suit the Turkish pronunciation.
So, the word in Arabic script should be read as môloviya, or môlôyia
and not in any other way.
The omologias, as we have seen, were accepted by the shari‘a
court as valid proof. This is demonstrated by the one allowing a suit
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 67
to be filed before the kâdî. It could be said with certainty that a
challenge to the authenticity of an omologia by one side would,
according to the Islamic law, require the witnesses to be called to
testify. Many of such documents contain the names of the witnesses
to the case, written after the main text.
The other conclusion is that the procedure of lending money and
giving security was not necessarily registered in court. Not even
when one party was Christian and the other Muslim. Once the debt
was discharged, the related omologia was simply returned to those
who had written it. It is quite clear why the discharge of a debt and
the release from pledge were registered in cases where the original
omologia was lost. What remains insufficiently clear is the reason for
the registration in court in the case where an omologia existed. Why
would the discharge of a debt be registered by the kâdî when the
loan itself had not been? Apparently the decision was made
exclusively by the actual parties to the contract, who could—but did
not have to—protect themselves against any claims or future
litigation. Some previous experience must have taught the
monastery’s administration the lesson that a discharge of debt should
be additionally confirmed by the kâdî’s official hüccet.
The existence of omologias in mixed milieus, with predominantly
Christian population, shows that the Muslim community sometimes
accepted the local customs and traditions of the zimmîs. They
observed local customs although there was a safer possibility, that of
registering loans in the kâdî’s shari‘a court. An attempt to avoid the
registration costs does not seem to me a satisfying explanation.
These costs were insignificant compared with the possible loss.
Rather, this could be the universally known legal action of taking a
loan going together with the borrower’s written obligation, the
language of the document being legally irrelevant. Of course, to write
omologias in Greek or Bulgarian/Serbian was just one possible way
of putting a contract on paper, not a custom in Sidrekapsı or in other
areas with a mixed population. The majority of loan contracts were
registered in the kâdî’s protocol book (sicill), as evidenced by a
number of examples from Hilandar Monastery’s Ottoman archive. I
shall once more emphasize the fact that in all the three mentioned
cases it was not a Muslim lender who turned to the shari‘a court in
order to protect himself, but the Christians who wanted an official
confirmation that they had paid the debt back.
The occurrence of documents written in ‘another’ language has
been also noticed in areas that came under the rule of Islamic states
in the early period of Islamic expansion. This is encountered in areas
where the shari‘a court had functioned for centuries prior to the
Ottoman conquest. A student of the life of the Jewish people in
Jerusalem under Ottoman rule, Amnon Cohen, has found among the
68 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
sicills of the kâdî of Jerusalem from the first half of the sixteenth
century a few cases of the use of documents written in ‘Jewish script’
or in the ‘Hebrew language’ (muktatab bi-hatt al-yahûd; al-muktatab bi’l
‘ibrânî ). In addition to witnesses providing evidence for their cases,
the Jews of Jerusalem also submitted their marriage certificates and
documents concerning financial transactions, most commonly the
giving or taking of a loan. Examples included two contracts written
‘in Jewish script and in Hebrew’ made by a Muslim lender and a
Jewish borrower.9 These case are very similar to the cited examples
from the Balkan area. It is therefore reasonable to infer that the
recognition of documents in ‘other’ languages and scripts was a
practice known in the shari‘a court even before the Ottoman
conquest.

Medieval Charters

The use of medieval charters also pertains to the subject discussed in

this paper, although the date of such documents precedes the
Ottoman conquest of the Balkans, sometimes by several centuries.
The Ottoman documents preserved in the Hilandar Monastery
Archive provide information about the way this category of non-
Ottoman documents was used and accepted by the shari‘a courts.
Almost all of the medieval charters mentioned in Ottoman
documents are false. However, their being original or false is
irrelevant to this topic.
There were many reasons to watch very carefully over old
medieval charters. Their practical significance was unquestionable in
the Ottoman period too. In addition to having been accepted as
proof in the Ottoman shari‘a court, they were often taken to the
Metropolitan courts and the Patriarchal court in Istanbul, which also
used to settle many an inter-monastic dispute. On the other hand,
the Athonite monks sometimes took the old charters with them on
their alms-collecting tours of the Balkan hinterland. They were to
illustrate the great appreciation of the monastery showed by the
earlier medieval nobility, conveying the clear message that the future
donors should follow their example in accordance with their own
means.
After the Ottoman conquest of the Balkans, charters of medieval
rulers and nobility, Byzantine, Serbian and other, were accepted as
the certificate of origin and tenure of the monastic metochia and
other estates, despite all the difficulties accompanying the
recognition of such possessions including selective attitude, changes
in property status and boundaries. In Ottoman documents, such
charters were frequently referred to as vakfiyye or vakıfnâme, terms
designating a Muslim deed of foundation.10
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 69
The fact that such documents were accepted as proof in Ottoman
courts is unambiguously testified to in the statement the monks of
Hilandar gave in court during a well-prepared and capably managed
dispute with Esphigmenou over a part of their usurped estate on
Mount Athos. In a hüccet of 1561, the monks of Hilandar,
defending their rights and delineating the estate’s boundaries,
explained that the plot of land in question had before the imperial
conquest been donated to their monastery in conformity with their
‘false customs’, that it had since ancient times been registered in their
‘worthless’ vakfiyye [deed of donation] and that, after the imperial
conquest, everything concerning them was confirmed by the
previous rulers the way it had always been, upon which the fermân
was issued: ‘...feth-i hâkâniden akdem âyîn-i bâtılumuz üzere manâstırımuza
vakf olub ve kadîm ül-eyyâmdan vakfiyye-i ‘âtılamuzda mestûr olub feth-i
hâkâniden soñra mülûk-i mâziyye rahamahum-llah kemâkân cümle
umûrumuzı mukarrer tutub fermân sâdır etmişler...’.11
A ‘arz of Fethullah, kâdî of Gömülcine (present-day Komotini),
dated 1485/86 testifies that the 1347 charter of the emperor Dušan
(although apparently being false) was produced as proof in the
dispute between the monasteries of Hilandar and Zographou over an
estate in Komitissa: ‘…This is a vakıf of the Hilandar monastery of
Despotic origin … for this we have our vakıfnâme and witnesses also
… we have shown the document that this bounded plot of our land
was donated 144 years ago…’ (...Despôt aslından Hilândar manâstırına
vakf olub ... bu vechle olduğuna vakıfnâmemüz ve şâhidlerimüz dâhî var ...
mahdûd yerimüz yüz kırk dört yıldan berü vakf edügine nâme ibrâz edüb...).12
After Ebu’s-su‘ud’s systematization of land regime and land taxes
in 1568/69, remembered among the Christian subjects as the
‘confiscation affair’, all the monasteries had to possess tapunâmes (or
hudûdnâmes – if the possessions were within the borders of Mount
Athos) as a proof of their right to hold a piece of land.13 After that
date one would not expect the medieval charters to have appeared in
the kâdî’s courts any more, but in fact they did.
In a hüccet issued in 1583, concerning Hilandar’s dispute with
Esphigmenou, relevant witnesses confirmed that certain sites on
Mount Athos belonged to Hilandar. They pointed out that the
monks: ‘possess the papers written some four or five hundred years
ago, in the Greek language’ (...dört beşyüz yıldan Rûm dilince yazılan
kâğıdlarımızda her manâstırıñ yerleri ki ta‘yîn olunmuşdur...).14 In this
dispute, the charter was not presented as a key proof; Hilandar had
provided itself with relevant Ottoman documents. The charter was
mentioned here just as an illustration of Hilandar’s ‘centuries-old’
right to those sites. It was used to enhance that right and to facilitate
the introduction of the new relevant witnesses, the Athonite elders
and the protos himself. In intermonastic disputes over the property
70 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
within the limits of Mount Athos, the opinion of the members of
Athonite Synaxis was of great importance. In this case, their oppinion
was presented to the kâdî just as a notification that the Athonite
community was on Hilandar’s side and that his possible acceptance
of invalid arguments produced by the other side would not pass
smoothly.
On the other hand, Hilandar once objected to the use of
Byzantine charters as a proof in favour of the opposing party. In
October 1614, in the course of its long dispute with Iviron, Hilandar
requested from the Porte that the fermân be issued forbidding
encroachments on its pasture in Komitissa/Styliaria. As a result, the
kâdî of Thessaloniki was ordered not to accept the certificates dating
from the times of the ‘infidel’, which were submitted by Iviron
(...elimüzde kâfir zamânından temessükümüz vardır deyü...), should
Hilandar’s claim turn out to be true that it had been holding the land
regularly, with a title-deed (tapu ile), for thirty years.15 In this case, the
fermân pointed to the validity of a proof. An official Ottoman
document could not be contested by a Byzantine charter. In order to
contest the official tapunâme, Iviron had to provide additional
evidence, which it was unable to manage for centuries.
Similar examples can be found in the archives of other Athonite
monasteries as well. I am indebted to Dr. Ilias Kolovos for the data
from the Xeropotamou Monastery Archive. During the dispute with
the monks of Xeropotamou in 1615, the brotherhood of
Simonopetra submitted to the kâdî of Thessaloniki a document
written in Greek script (Rûm hattile). It was, without doubt, the well-
known copy in Greek of a false (?) charter of Despot Jovan Uglješa,
dated 1364. Simonopetra failed to obtain the land in question
because their rivals produced a valid hüccet proving their rights.16
Although there is not sufficient evidence to confirm, it may be
easily assumed that the acceptance of charters was not associated
exclusively with the territory of Mount Athos and its monasteries. In
1638 when the local villagers tried to arrogate the ‘baštine’ of the
Monastery of Cetinje (Montenegro) to themselves, the metropolitan
Mardarije brought his suit to the ‘emperor’s kâdî’. Why to the kâdî?
‘Because’—as the metropolitan explained in the same document—
‘the Turks ruled at the time’. The following words also belong to the
metropolitan: he ‘produced to the kâdî the chrysobulls of Ivan
Crnojević and other documents given to us by the Turkish squires’.
Thereupon ‘the kâdî confirmed the monastery’s property [baštine]’.
We know the whole story about the dispute from a settlement act in
Serbian Cyrillic written in the metropolitan’s office.17
It should be emphasized though that, in addition to medieval
charters, the Athonite monasteries always substantiated their cases by
providing witnesses who were either to confirm the charter’s content
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 71
or to give independent testimony. This should not be considered the
sign of distrust of charters as such. Rather, in Islamic law, oral
testimony always had precedence over written documents. Although
mostly in theory, written documents were to be accepted as evidence
only if their content was confirmed by the testimony of witnesses. If
it applied to Islamic documents, it must also have applied to non-
Islamic documents. If their content had been challenged, even
hüccets, although bearing the kâdî’s personal signature and seal, were
sometimes only accepted as valid proof after having been
authenticated by the witnesses in attendance. Although neglected in
theory, in practice written documents were widely accepted by all
Islamic governments.18
It is clear that centuries-old charters would have been worthless in
the kâdî’s court without witnesses to confirm their contents,
particularly if the opposite party supplied the court with valid
contemporary Ottoman documents relevant to the case. The
examples from the history of Hilandar and its possessions show that
the monks presented the charters almost exclusively in the disputes
for which they were not able to provide valid Ottoman documents.
Once they had won a case on the basis of an old charter and
witnesses, and had obtained the lawful hüccet, tapunâme, or
hudûdnâme in the case of estates within Mount Athos, they ceased
using the charter. From that time on, all the disputes, over the same
location were built on the arguments contained in the Ottoman
documents. This can be clearly seen from the history of the disputes
in the Komitissa region and from the way the hudûdnâme was issued
and used.19
Self-evidently, medieval charters as a form of document have
nothing to do with documents, omologias, from the Ottoman
period. What links them together in this research is the fact that both
forms, as documents written in some of the Balkan languages and
scripts, were officially used in the Ottoman shari‘a courts and in
approximately the same historical period. The examples, although
limited in number, have shown that both forms of documents did
have legal force. Especially if their authenticity and content were
confirmed by witnesses. The spread and use of non-Ottoman
documents in the Balkans and other parts of the Ottoman empire
seems to have been a much more common phenomenon than may
be inferred from the few sources studied. The legal life of such
documents was not reduced to a single level determined by the
requirement that the parties involved both belong to the same
religious or ethnic community. As the Islamic legal system placed no
bar on the acceptance of such documents in the shari‘a court,
Muslims were free to join in if they wanted to. The study of the
everyday life of non-Muslim peoples in the Ottoman empire,
72 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
particularly when based on the sources such as shari‘a sicills and
hüccets, frequently raises new and exciting questions. Given the
small amount of information, I am far from proposing any final
conclusions, but I certainly intend this contribution as a means to
draw attention to an interesting phenomenon that is well worth
studying.

Notes
The research for this paper and the participation in the fifteenth CIEPO
symposium was made possible through the grant from The Skilliter Centre for
Ottoman Studies, Newnham College, Cambridge. I would like to thank them for
their support.
1 Actes de Chilandar, prep. Petit et B. Korablev [Actes de l’Athos V] Vizantijskij
Vremennik XVII (1911) No. 166; St. M. Dimitrijević, ‘Dokumenti hilendarske
arhive do XVIII veka’, Spomenik LV (1922) 25-8; V. Mošin, ‘Akti iz svetogorskih
arhiva’, Spomenik XCI (1939) 191-2; V. Mošin in A. Sovre, Dodatki na grškim listinam
Hilandarja. Supplementa ad acta Graeca Chilandarii (Ljubljana, 1948), 44-9.
2 T. Nikčević and B. Pavićević, Cetinje (eds.), Crnogorske isprave XVI–XIX vijeka
(1964), 1-16.
3 Dimitrijević, 25-6. The surviving Ottoman documents include a tapunâme and a
hüccet (in an uncertified transcript of a later date) regarding a property exchange.
See Hilandar Monastery Archive, Turcica (further HMAT), 1/95, 12/37/28.
4 Dimitrijević, 27.
5 HMAT, 3/243.
6 HMAT, 2/120.
7 HMAT, 2/123.
8 Εµµ. Κριαράς, Λεξικό της µεσαιωνικής ελληνικής δηµώδους γραµµατείας (1100–1669),
τοµ. ΙΒ΄, Θεσσαλονίκη 1993, 311.
9 A. Cohen, Jewish Life under Islam. Jerusalem in the Sixteenth Century (Cambridge,
1984), 124.
10 HMAT, 1/37, 11/1, 11/2. An Ottoman document of 1572 from Kastamonitou,
probably forged, also makes mention of ‘vakfiyes in Greek script’. J. C. Alexander
(Alexandropoulos), ‘The Lord Giveth and the Lord Taketh Away: Athos and the
Confiscation Affair of 1568-1569’, Mount Athos in the 14th-sixteenth Centuries
(Athonika Symmeikta 4) (Athens, 1997), 171-2. The references to the vakfiyye/
vakıfnâme in the Greek, Serbian or other languages should by no means be
confused with the frequently mentioned and well-known general vakıfnâmes of the
Athonite monasteries written in Ottoman and issued at the time of the
confiscation and redemption of monastic estates in 1569. Alexander, 169-76; A.
Fotić, ‘Sveta Gora u doba Selima II’, Hilandarski zbornik 9 (1997) 153-5.
11 HMAT, 1/37.
12 HMAT, 11/1, 11/2. Published with a facsimile and a Serbian translation in V.
Boškov, ‘Mara Branković u turskim dokumentima iz Svete Gore’, Hilandarski
zbornik 5 (1983) 206-8.
13 For the confiscation and redemption of the Athonite monasteries’ estates, see
Fotić, ‘Sveta Gora u doba Selima II’; idem, Sveta Gora i Hilandar u Osmanskom
carstvu (XV–XVII vek) (Beograd, 2000), 49-52; Alexander (Alexandropoulos), ‘The
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 73

Lord Giveth’; E. Kermeli, ‘The Confiscation and Repossession of Monastic

Properties in Mount Athos and Patmos Monasteries, 1568-1570’, Bulgarian
Historical Review XXVIII, 3-4 (2000), 39-53 (the author does not mention previous
articles on confiscation affair in Mount Athos).
14 HMAT, 1/81.
15 HMAT, 12/37/51.
16 Η. Κολοβός, Χωρικοί και Μοναχοί στην Οθωµανική Χαλκιδική (15ος–16ος αι.) Όψεις της
οικονοµικής και κοινονικής Μωνίς στην ύπαιθρο και η Μοωή Ξηροπότάµου, Θεσσαλονίκη
2000, 170 [Ph.D. Diss. in manuscript].
17 Crnogorske isprave XVI–XIX vijeka, 8-10.
18 R. Brunschvig, ‘Bayyina’, EI2; J. Schacht, An Introduction to Islamic Law (Oxford,
1964), 82-3, 192-4; R. C. Jennings, ‘Limitations of the Judicial Powers of the Kadi
in 17th C. Ottoman Kayseri’, Studia Islamica 50 (1979), 173-4.
19 A. Fotić, ‘Dispute between Chilandar and Vatopedi over the Boundaries in
Komitissa (1500)’, The Monastery of Vatopedi. History and Art (Athonika Symmeikta 7),
(Athens, 1999), 97-101; idem, Sveta Gora i Hilandar u Osmanskom carstvu, 252-65,
275, 280, 283-5.
 Johannes Heyman (1667-1737) His Manuscript
Collection and the Dutch Community of Izmir
Jan Schmidt

Introduction: Manuscripts and the Rise of

Orientalism in the Netherlands

The history of Oriental studies in the Netherlands witnessed a

serious take-off in the late sixteenth century and flourished
significantly during the next, seventeenth, century. The times were
ripe for this. Economic and diplomatic contacts between the Dutch
Republic and, firstly, Morocco, and soon afterwards, the Ottoman
Empire, came in the wake of a marked increase of Dutch navigation
into the Mediterranean area during the last decade of the sixteenth
century. Another factor was the expansion of the Empire towards
the centre of Europe which threatened the Catholic world directly
but provided an unexpected political opportunity for the Protestant
nations. The Dutch Republic established regular diplomatic relations
with the Moroccan (Sa’did) sultans in 1610 and with the Porte in
1612. By then the study of Islamic languages, particularly of Arabic,
was no longer exclusively regarded as a suspicious activity in the
West but increasingly valued as useful by scholars, merchants and
politicians. A pivotal role in the scholarly exploration of the East was
played, as far as the Dutch Republic was concerned, by Leiden
University, founded in 1575. Key figures who taught there were the
internationally famous, all-round Renaissance scholar of French
Protestant background Joseph Justus Scaliger (1540-1609), appointed
in 1593, and Golius (Jacob Gool, 1596-1667), professor of Oriental
Languages and Mathematics from 1626 and 1629. The thirst for
Oriental knowledge expressed itself at first particularly in the
acquisition of documentation on the languages, religion, history,
culture and scholarship of the Middle East and beyond. This
documentation was primarily furnished by books, that is, hand-
written books. In the following, I will emphasise this codicological
aspect of the crossing of the linguistic and cultural West-East divide
by Dutch scholars. Golius, who travelled in Morocco and the Middle
East (1622-4 and 1625-9), and his student Levinus Warner (1619-65),
76 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
who resided in Istanbul from 1644, where he was appointed Dutch
envoy in 1654, brought together a substantial collection of Oriental,
mostly Arabic, manuscripts, about 1200 of which were acquired by
the Leiden University Library.
Although Golius—Scaliger had not been an orientalist in the
narrower sense of the word—diligently went to work compiling
dictionaries and producing text-editions and translations (into Latin)
of texts that particularly drew his attention, the mass of material
which came to rest on University Library shelves in the second half
of the seventeenth century remained, inevitably, largely unexplored.
After the death of Golius in 1667, there was a distinct lull in
orientalistic—as distinct from theological and Hebrew—activities.
The Dutch Golden Age had, perhaps not coincidentally, reached its
apex by then and a marked decline had set in on all ways of life,
including scholarship. Thus, the chair of Oriental Languages
remained unoccupied for 43 years. It was only occupied again by a
largely self-educated pastor, Johannes Heyman, to whom and to
whose orientalistic activities I would like to draw your attention in
the following.

Johannes Heyman: Career and Achievements

Heyman was appointed professor in Leiden in 1710. He was born in

Wesel (at present in Germany) in 1667. Not much seems to be
known about his background and early career.1 After a study of
theology in Franeker, he was Protestant minister in Urmond and
Grevenbicht near his birthplace. Later, in 1699, he was sent by the
board of Directors of the Levantine Trade (which supported and co-
ordinated mercantile activities of Dutchmen in the Mediterranean
area) to Izmir in order to administer pastoral care to the small local
Dutch community. He arrived in the Levantine port in June 1700.
He remained in function until September 1705 to the satisfaction, it
seems, of the local churchgoers. After short trips to nearby Ephesus
in 1701 and Istanbul in 1703, Heyman undertook a longer journey
during the final period of his pastorate to Egypt, Palestine and Syria,
in order to increase his knowledge of matters Oriental, the local
languages in particular. After he had been released from his job, he
remained in the Levant. From surviving letters it is clear that
Heyman aimed at eventually acquiring an academic position in
Holland, and on the instigation of a friend, the scholar and mayor of
Deventer, Gisbert Cuper, a correspondent in close touch with
learned Academies in Europe,2 he was asked by the curators of
Leiden University to come and ‘translate the hand-written books of
the Warner Legacy [as the Oriental collection was, and is, known]’.
This was in 1707. It was agreed that Heyman should first increase his
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 77
knowledge by further travel; for this he obtained a grant of 1000
guilders for two years. The journey seems to have led him to Chios,
Egypt, Palestine, Damascus and Aleppo. In 1708 he was in Safad in
Palestine, and during this time he probably (again) met the Dutch
merchant Paul Maashoek who lived, more or less integrated in the
local Arab society, in Acre.3 In 1709 he was back in Holland and was
appointed in Leiden for the next year. He remained in function until
his death in 1737. During the last years of his life, Heyman’s health
declined and Albert Schultens, already in charge of the manuscript
collection from 1729 onwards, was appointed as second professor of
Oriental Languages in 1732.
The task which Heyman had, on instigation of the Senate, obliged
himself to perform was ambitious, to say the least, and little came of
it. After nine years, in May 1719, the University curators enquired
about his progress with the translations, but this did not seem to
have inspired Heyman to show more diligence, although the next
year, perhaps stimulated by the alarming letter, he does seem to have
initiated a course on Islamic history, or rather on comparative
theology in defence of the true Christian faith, based on the text in
one of the treasures of the Oriental collection: a fifteen-volume
manuscript copy, at least partly an autograph, of the Nihāyat al-arab fī
funūn al-adab, an encyclopaedia by ‘Abd al-Wahhāb an-Nuwayrī (d.
732/1332).4 No edition or translation, however, was published,
although a partial transcription with Latin translation and notes, as
well as the (Latin) text of his academic lectures on the subject have
been preserved in Heyman’s handwriting in the University Library.5
What he did get through the press was his inaugural lecture.6 During
the years 1710 to 1716 he also worked on a catalogue of the Leiden
manuscripts, six volumes of which have been preserved in his
handwriting.7 But only an index to it was published.8 Later
cataloguers of the collection were rather critical of the work and
considered it useless.9
This was a meagre result for 27 years and Heyman’s scholarly
activities have, on the whole, been discarded as insignificant and of
little value in the few works in which he is referred to. C. Sepp, a
nineteenth-century historian of Dutch theological education,
characterised him as ‘little known among persons of little
significance’,10 and his judgement was repeated by later scholars.
Heyman did not publish much, as I will point out later, but—and
this is interesting—he seems to have been the first Dutch orientalist,
as far as I can see, who was primarily interested in the contemporary
Ottoman world, in the historical relations between the Dutch
Republic and the Ottoman Empire, in Ottoman Islam and Islamic
law, and less so in the more abstract fields of philology, philosophy
and literature. A negative judgement on Heyman’s achievements may
78 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
in part also have been inspired by slander: Carolus Schaaf, who had
been lecturer in Hebrew and Oriental Languages from 1680
onwards, had aspired to Heyman’s position, and after he had been
passed by in 1710, repeatedly wrote letters to the University Senate
casting doubt on Heyman’s capability and behaviour.11 Although
Heyman was clearly not as brilliant a scholar as Scaliger or Golius
before him, the overall negative judgment on his orientalistic
activities is exaggerated and needs some revision.
Although Heyman did not, or was unable to, publish much during
his lifetime, that is not to say that he was lazy or taught badly, or that
he was a bad orientalist. Perhaps, in view of the rather nepotistic way
in which he obtained his professorate—quite normal for the times in
which he lived—it might be thought he was not much interested in
academic work in the first place. This does not seem to have been
the case. Firstly, his activities were not restricted to the university: his
practical linguistic knowledge acquired in loco made him an excellent
translator and he earned a substantial income from acting as
interpreter, both oral and in writing, for the Directors of the
Levantine Trade and the States General.12 Secondly, codicological
evidence suggests that he was interested in contemporary Turkish
texts; he was a collector of manuscripts, like his predecessors. He
bought quite a number of them from a man or had some of them
perhaps even copied by him in Izmir. This copyist most probably
was a dragoman who worked for the Dutch consulate13 and wrote in
an idiosyncratic divanî script (see my inventory below, Nos. 4, 9, 12-
7, copied between 1690-1 and 1708-9). The plethora of glosses in
Heyman’s handwriting also shows that he thoroughly studied at least
part of these manuscripts. The lexical and colloquial texts clearly had
been used in acquiring/increasing his knowledge of Arabic, Persian,
and, particularly, Turkish during his sojourn in the Levant.

Heyman’s Manuscripts

Before going into further details, let us first look at the Heyman
collection as a whole. His library seems to have been dispersed after
his death, and probably was sold or given away some time after 1737,
either at an auction—although no auction catalogue seems to have
survived—or item by item. A number of these manuscripts found
their way to the Leiden University Library from, mostly, the estates
of Dutch orientalists of later generations. The exact extent of the
collection can only be traced from internal, codicological evidence
(in particular identification of his handwriting), and may have been
greater - he may not have added glosses to the texts in all his
manuscripts - than my inventory given below suggests. One
manuscript, at least, did not find its way to the Leiden library but
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 79
came into the possession of the British Iranist Nathaniel Bland
(1803-65) and afterwards, as I discovered during cataloguing work
there, into that of the John Rylands University Library in
Manchester.14 The Leiden collections comprise, apart from the
aforementioned ‘Nuwayriana’ and manuscript catalogue, the
following items. For practical reasons15 I restrict myself in the
following to items with, mostly, Turkish texts:

1. The Oriental collection (Legatum Warnerianum) of Leiden

University Library
(a) Acquired from the estate of the Dutch orientalist, Jan Jacob
Schultens (1716-78) in 1780:
(i) Or. 1228.16 A collection of letters and documents with
texts in, mostly, Arabic, Persian and Turkish, among them
private letters addressed to the Dutch orientalists Erpenius
and Golius, as well as business letters of the Dutch merchant
Paul Maashoek - these are accompanied by annotations in
Dutch and Italian in Heyman’s handwriting; it forms a twin
volume with the aforementioned Manchester MS Persian
913.
(ii) Or. 1276.17 A copy of a collection of fetvas by ‘Kör’ Pir
Mehmed Efendi of Üsküb (d. 1020/1611 or 1030/1620),
dated 1067/1656-7. The work is preceded by a two-page
index accompanied by transcriptions and notes in Dutch and
Latin in Heyman’s handwriting.
(iii) Or. 1288.18 A copy of the popular treatise on the
principles of Islam, Vasiyet-name, by Birgili Mehmed Efendi
(d. 981/1573), undated. The text is accompanied by
transcriptions and notes in Dutch and Latin in Heyman’s
handwriting.
(iv) Or. 1289.19 A copy of a collection of Aesop’s Fables in an
anonymous Turkish translation, completed in Izmir in
1114/1703. Folios with the Turkish text are alternated with
leaves containing a three-column glossary of words taken
from the adjacent text, with transcriptions and translations
into Dutch, Latin and Italian in Heyman’s handwriting.
(b) Acquired in the early nineteenth century, source unknown.
(v) Or. 1310. A Turkish-Latin glossary in double columns in
a neat draft made by Heyman, with additional notes in
French. Acquired before 1828.
(vi) Or. 1395. Three bundles with papers containing scholarly
annotations on the religion, history and geography of the
Near East by Heyman in Latin and Dutch with quotations in
Arabic, Greek and Hebrew. The third bundle contains a
Dutch translation by Heyman of the Treaty of the Pruth
80 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
(concluded in 1711) from a Turkish version sent to him in
Istanbul (and kept in the Manchester MS Persian 913, f. 18).
Acquired between 1831 and 1836.
(c) Acquired from the estate of the orientalist, Johannes Henricus
van der Palm (1763-1840), in 1841. The collection had earlier
belonged to another Leiden orientalist, Hendrik Albert
Schultens (1749-93).
(vii) Or. 1573. An undated copy of an anonymous treatise on
Islamic dogma, entitled Cevahir el-İslâm. The title, in Heyman’s
handwriting, is found on f. 1a. The text is accompanied by
transcriptions and notes in Latin in Heyman’s handwriting.
(viii) Or. 1575. A copy of a treatise (in Arabic) on forty
traditions by Kemâl Paşazade (d. 940/1534), completed in
1061/1650. The first flyleaves contain a Latin title and
annotations in Heyman’s handwriting. (The MS was
separated from the Royal Acadamy of Sciences MS Cod. 208,
which had belonged to the orientalist, Joannes Willmet
(1750-1835)).
(viiii) Or. 1591. A collection of [model] letters, some of them
dated 1113/1701, by the same copyist who made No. 4,
above. The text is also found in Cod. Or. 14.456, ff. 69b-
122a, cf. No. 13, below. Glosses in Turkish, Italian and
Dutch in Heyman’s handwriting have been added on
separate leaves. The MS was taken from another, larger one,
the text of which had originally preceded it; f. 1a contains
glosses by Heyman on this lost text.
(x) Or. 1598. An autograph collection of transcriptions (in
Arabic script) of letters in Arabic and Turkish with
occasional translations and Latin glosses by Heyman; he
obviously had received the originals from the States General
in The Hague for translation. (Some of the originals, at least,
are kept in the National Archives in The Hague.)
(d) Acquired from the Rijks Japansch Museum von Siebold in Leiden
in 1860.
(xi)11. Or. 1686. A Turkish-Italian glossary and phrasebook,
probably an autograph by Heyman, undated. (Before 1859,
the MS had belonged to the Royal Collection of Rarities in
The Hague.)
(e) Acquired from the Royal Library in The Hague in 1873.
(xii) Or. 2081. A copy of a versified Arabic-Turkish
vocabulary by Şemsî, copied in Izmir in 1120/1708-9 by the
same copyist who made No. 4. (The Royal Library had
bought the MS at a public auction in The Hague in 1816.)
(f) Acquired from E.J. Brill, publishers and booksellers, in Leiden
in 1978.
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 81
(xiii) Or. 14.456.20 The MS, copied in Izmir in 1114/1703 by the
same copyist who made No. 4, contains two works: a collection
of proverbs and a collection of letters and documents, some of
them written in Izmir in 1113/1701-2 (from f. 69b). A part of
the text is also found in Cod. Or. 1591, No. 9, above. The
folios of the original text are alternated by leaves with
transcriptions and translations in Italian and Dutch in
Heyman’s handwriting.
2. The collection of the Royal Academy of Arts and Sciences, on
permanent loan in the Leiden University Library (the collection
had formerly belonged to Joannes Willmet (1750-1835) and was
purchased at auction by King William I for the Academy in
1837).
(xiv) Acad. 76. A copy of an anonymous versified Arabic-
Turkish dictionary, entitled Müfīdü l-müstefidin and completed
in 1053/1663-4. The copy was completed in Izmir in
1104/1692 by the same copyist who made No. 4. The work
is preceded by a Latin title in Heyman’s handwriting. (The
MS had belonged to Jan Jacob Schultens before it was
purchased by Willmet.)
(xv) Acad. 80. A copy of an anonymous Turkish vocabulary
and phrase-book, accompanied by transcriptions and Italian
translations by Heyman, completed in Izmir in 1702 by the
same copyist who made No. 4. The work is preceded by
Latin and Italian titles in Heyman’s handwriting. (The MS
had belonged to Jan Jacob Schultens before it was purchased
by Willmet.)
(xvi) Acad. 87. Three collections of letters followed by an
anonymous Arabic-Persian-Turkish glossary of epistolary
terms, partly accompanied by transcriptions and glosses in
Dutch, probably not by Heyman, completed in Izmir in
1102/1690-1 by the same copyist who made No. 4. The
work is preceded by Latin and Italian titles in Heyman’s
handwriting. (The MS had belonged to Jan Jacob Schultens
before it was purchased by Willmet.)
(xvii) Acad. 96. Two copies of an anonymous collection of
dialogues, with transcriptions and Italian translations (pp. 2-
9), and completed in Izmir in 1702 by the same copyist who
made No. 4. The work is preceded by Latin and Italian titles
in Heyman’s handwriting. (The MS had belonged to Jan
Jacob Schultens before it was purchased by Willmet.)
The most outstanding items of the collection are, doubtless, the
collection of original Arabic and Turkish letters, found in No. 1, and
a collection of copies of fermans and accompanying correspondence
82 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
issued on behalf of the Dutch community of Izmir during the years
1684-90 found in No. 16 (Acad. 87(2), pp. 141-261). The former I
have described elsewhere in detail,21 so I will not discuss them here;
the latter item I will describe in the following.

A Collection of Fermans and Accompanying Correspondence

The fermans, 26 in number, found in MS Acad. 87, were all issued

on instigation of the Dutch envoy at the Porte, Jacob (‘Giacomo’)
Colyer (in office 1682-1725), to the Ottoman authorities, mostly the
local kadi—sometimes also to the kapudan/emin or customs
officers—in Izmir. There are also seven letters and a legal document
(hüccet), mostly on the same subjects; one undated business letter
stands apart in the series. Their contents provide a lively
documentation on the life of the small Dutch nation in the town just
prior to Heyman’s arrival in 1700.
Most fermans, fifteen in number, concern the unlawful
harassment of, and levying of duties from Dutch captains or
individuals, including consular personnel and protégés, belonging to
the Dutch community in Izmir; seven concern problems caused by
the earthquake of 1688; three treat the lack of safety and violence
caused by the presence of Algerian corsairs in Izmir and
surroundings; and two discuss the obstruction of Dutch trade.
Problems with Ottoman officials about duties and taxes as well as
conflicts related to shipping and trade were of all periods, but the
1688 earthquake and its consequences, and the problems with
Algerian corsairs were not. These in particular inspired a lively
exchange of letters between Dutch diplomats and the Ottoman
authorities, but also between the diplomats and the Dutch
authorities: the States General in The Hague and the Directors of the
Levantine Trade in Amsterdam (preserved in the National Archives
in The Hague). They merit some attention because they demonstrate
the precarious existence of Western expatriates in the Empire during
times of crises.

The Earthquake of 1688

The first detailed news of the earthquake was sent to Amsterdam by

the Dutch consul, Jacob van Dam (in function 1668-88—he had just
been succeeded by Daniël Jan de Hochepied), five days after the first
shock had been felt.22 Writing from the French ship Les Daufins
anchored in the bay of Izmir, he described how between eleven and
twelve o’clock in the morning of the 20th, during ‘uncommonly
beautiful and lovely weather’, the earth was shaken briefly but
vehemently, as a result of which nearly all houses and the Izmir
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 83
castle were destroyed. Immediately afterwards a fire broke out
which, fanned by a fierce wind, turned the remains of the buildings
to ashes; it was still smouldering as he wrote. Van Dam had escaped
a certain death because it had not yet been time for luncheon and he
had been in his garden at sixty to seventy paces from his house. It
seemed as if the Final Hour had struck or a great number of mines
had gone off, and soon day turned into night because of the dust of
collapsing houses and walls. The disaster had been made worse by
the appearance of people with axes and knives who had come to rob
and plunder, carrying off anything they could dig out or cut away. An
unbearable stench from the bodies of men and animals hung over
the ruins, which by night looked like the burning Sodom and
Gomorrah. Van Dam spent an anxious day and night in his garden,
without food or drink, watching the fire and the water of the blocked
river Meles closing in on him. In the end he had, with the help of
consular staff and two Janissaries, been able to escape—as he had in
April 1667 from the earthquake of Ragusa—together with the
Directorate’s coffers, to the aforementioned French ship. Of the
about twenty-five Dutch merchants residing in the city, miraculously
only one had been killed, and two or three wounded. The French
consul had perished and two German priests (Dutch protégés) had
been burned alive. About a thousand Turks had reportedly been
among the victims. The Dutch chancery, the Directorate’s seals, and
the consular papers had been lost. After-shocks were still being felt
fourteen or fifteen times each day, causing the collapse of remaining
walls and chimneystacks. The harbour had become useless. Van
Dam had lost all his earthly possessions.
His successor, De Hochepied, writing from the village of Hacılar
on 8 October, reported to the States General23 that workmen and
materials were arriving every day to rebuild the city, although the
men to be sent from Istanbul for rebuilding the local han had not yet
shown up; the foreign merchants had decided to look for temporary
lodging in the old town—the ‘Franks’ street’ (Christene Straat), where
the French, English and Dutch merchants had been living had been
reduced to rubble—before the winter would set in. Of the
merchants living in tents, four Englishmen had already died of
‘heavy illnesses’; some of the Dutchmen had also fallen ill.
Meanwhile, the Dutch envoy, Colyer, had complained to the Porte
on a number of issues related to the difficult situation of the
Dutchmen in the town, and fermans had been sent forbidding the
local authorities from obstructing the Dutch trying to recover
possessions from the debris of their houses and warehouses24; the
message was repeated a fortnight later, adding that the kadi should
bring to justice those guilty of robbing Dutchmen of retrieved
possessions.25 In the same week, the Porte urged the local naib to
84 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
forbid the levying of export duty for the second time on goods dug
out from the rubble and brought to safety on French and English
ships.26 Two months later, another ferman was issued to the kadi of
Izmir, ordering him to see to the well being of the Dutchmen,
forbidding their harassment: they should not be prevented from
finding lodgings or trade.27 A ferman issued a week earlier had
ordered the restitution of rent to Dutchmen paid in advance for
houses no longer extant.28 In the spring of the next year, 1689, a
ferman forbade the establishment of taverns (meyhane) by unsavoury
elements (‘bandits’) amidst the dwellings temporarily inhabited by
the Dutch consul and merchants after the earthquake; they had
already caused all sorts of mischief.29 The message was repeated
more than a year later.30

Terrorising Algerians

Anxious months were also spent by the Dutch during the years 1689
and 1690, when Izmir was visited by Algerian corsairs (levends).
During their presence one Dutch merchant was killed and two
servants of Dutch houses were kidnapped and only released after a
substantial ransom had been paid.
The merchant killed was Daniël Cosson, who was a business
partner of Willem Marcquis. De Hochepied sent a detailed report to
The Hague on 12 September 1689.31 During that year a small fleet—
De Hochepied mentions the number of fifteen—of Algerian,
Tunisian and Tripolitan ships manned by corsairs had come to
reinforce the Ottoman navy consisting of galleons under the
command of the kapudan pasha which was anchored off the island
of Chios. The navy lay ready for an attack against the Venetians who
had captured Navplio in the Morea peninsula (Peleponnese). The
enrolment of the corsairs had become feasible after a treaty had been
concluded between Algiers and France, formerly at war, during the
same year. On their way to the eastern Mediterranean, the corsairs
had already captured a French ship off Sardinia and some other
vessels, and had enslaved 140 Christians. Parts of the combined fleet
were anchored in the bay of Izmir and off Foça, also with the
intention to scrape the vessels clean. Members of the crew,
disconcertingly, were often seen in the streets of Izmir and the
surrounding villages where they behaved raucously and violently,
harassing ladies and cutting off noses and ears of Jews. Shops
remained closed on such days, and the inhabitants stayed at home.
On the evening of 3 August 1689, Cosson, who, in order to
escape contagion by plague, was staying with Dutch colleagues,
among them his business partner Marcquis, in a house in the village
of Hacılar, went out for a walk. While he was passing by the last
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 85
house of the village, Cosson observed three Algerians sitting there,
busy eating and drinking. As soon as they spotted him, he was
invited to join them, and forced, much against his will, to eat a boiled
egg. When it appeared that he was a Dutchmen, one of the Algerians
said: ‘Well, that means that you are our enemy’32—the Dutch
Republic as member of the League of Augsburg had been at war
with France since the previous year. A rope was put around his
body, he was tied up, and the Algerians proposed to drink his blood.
His heels were slashed to bloody pieces with their swords. When
rumour of the crime spread through the village, a searching party
reinforced with a number of armed English merchants went out to
hunt the culprits. Two Algerians were captured by local farmers, and
soon Cosson’s body was found, the back of his head crushed. The
kadi of Bornova was summoned, but only his deputy, naib, appeared
towards midnight. One of the captured Algerians was interrogated,
but he was too drunk to be able to respond coherently. Fearing
revenge, the Dutch and English merchants retreated to the house of
the English consul, William Raye, in Seydiköy near Izmir, barricading
the gate, and begging the kadi of Izmir by letter to have the sailors
removed from the town. A part of the merchants had remained on
the English ship that had evacuated them from Hacılar. Meanwhile,
the Algerians—one of their mates had been killed—continued to
harass English and Dutch merchants in the Izmir streets and had
demanded blood money from the same kadi to compensate for their
dead friend. More letters were sent by the Dutch and English
consuls to the kadi and the kapudan, demanding justice. The
kapudan, Mustafa Pasha, promised to withdraw his men to the ships,
and informed them that the perpetrator of the murder had been
punished with 500 strokes. On the 12th, the merchants returned to
the town, now considered safe against the plague, and a legal
document (hüccet) on the case was issued by the kadi of Bornova.
The kadi of Izmir had the inhabitants of Hacılar arrested, and a great
number of them were conducted in chains to Izmir on the 22nd,
accused of having allowed the Algerians to kill a European merchant
and neglected to warn his friends. In a joint meeting with members
of the foreign community, who were served coffee, sherbet and attar
of roses, the kadi proposed—the foreigners eventually agreed—that
the farmers of Hacılar (who declared that they had been intimidated
by the Algerians) be released after having received a beating on the
soles of their feet. Later in the year, a ferman was sent to the kadi on
the request of Colyer, mentioning the murder and instructing the
official to take care that the rights of the Dutchmen were
guaranteed.33
The Barbary corsairs, however, did not stay on board their ships
and, as De Hochepied reported in great detail to the Directors on
86 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
behalf of the Dutch merchants on 1 August 1690,34 kept harassing
the locals in the streets of Izmir. They not only intimidated the
Franks but also the local Turks and Greeks; on 4 June 1690 a Greek
lady had been assailed (gesolemniseert). This resulted in a riot during
which four to five Algerians were molested; one was killed—a
Frenchman was accused of this - and another wounded.
Another crisis arose after it appeared that a slave, originally from
the town of Lübeck—he pretended to be a Dutchman—and
purchased for 4,000 aspers, had escaped from the lodgings of his
master, the Algerian corsair Sağır (‘Deaf’) Ahmed. This was on 26
June. The next day, 27 June, the latter came in the company of some
cronies to the house of De Hochepied and demanded compensation.
Later in the afternoon, action was undertaken; the Algerians went to
the houses of the Dutch merchants Marcquis, Bourgois and Van
Wijck, found their doors unlocked and captured two Dutchmen who
had formerly been slaves of Barbary corsairs but subsequently
released. Thereupon the consuls of England, France and Holland
held a meeting and sent a delegation to the kadi. The latter refused to
appear, but after threats that the foreign merchants would retreat on
their ships in protest, he came forward but declared that he stood
powerless because of the absence of the Janissary garrison and their
commander (serdar), but he agreed to send a man, shaykh Mehmed
Ağa, to the han where the Algerians had lodgings. It soon appeared
that they were refusing to let the Dutchmen go unless a ransom was
paid. After much hesitation the kadi eventually agreed to write an
official document (ars informe) which would inform the Porte of the
case. The next day, 28 June, it became clear that the kidnapped
Dutchmen had been removed to the countryside, and another
meeting was held by the consul, the merchants, the kadi and other
local dignitaries. The kadi expressed his fear of the corsairs and
refused to publicly hand over the aforementioned document. (The
hüccet issued by the kadi, Ahmed Efendi, and addressing the Dutch
‘balyoz’ and merchants, which describes the events is found in MS
Acad. 87.35 The same manuscript also contains a copy of a complaint
from the kadi to the Porte about the behaviour of the corsairs,
relating the murder of one of them—three Muslims had brought the
corpse to the court-room and had demanded a hüccet—the flight of
one of their slaves, and the kidnapping of two müste’min by them.36)
After that, it was decided to send a delegation: the dragoman
accompanied by Janissaries, to the kapudan pasha at Foça. He was
politely received by the vice-admiral, Ömer Ağa, who declared
himself ready to see to it that the ars reached Istanbul. (This was
probably the petition, found in MS Acad. 87, in which the Dutch
balyoz requests the protection of the Dutch nation in the aftermath
of the murder of a ‘Maghribian’ and the raiding of the house of a
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 87
Dutchman by five levends in order to release a slave).37 This soon
resulted in the arrival on the 30th of the çavuş of the kaimmakam with
a ferman, issued on request of the French ambassador, Châteauneuf,
and addressing the kadi and the kapudan pasha, which ordered them
to restore the peace and recommended an amicable settlement of the
matter with the Algerians, who after all were, like the French, friends
of the sultan. Another ferman of about the same date was issued on
the instigation of Colyer, ordering the protection of the local
Dutchmen and the punishment of corsairs and brigands who were
harassing them.38 Ömer Ağa, during the ensuing meeting, urged the
French consul to pay compensation for the murdered Algerian, and
told De Hochepied to pay the requested ransom and save the
hostages. After some bargaining, the consul agreed to pay the
demanded 500 Lion’s Dollars. On 2 July, the Dutchmen were
released; the consul also received a legal document (hüccet) from
Sağır Ahmed in which the official release of his slave, the man from
Lübeck, was confirmed. At the end of the same month, a kapucıbaşı
of the grand vizier arrived in Izmir, bringing another ferman
addressing the kadi and the kapudan, ordering them to hold the
Barbary corsairs in check; offenders should be punished—it was
read out in the presence of the dragomans of the three consulates.
Two days later, on the 22nd, the English and Dutch consuls
approached the kapucıbaşı and asked him to co-operate in the
restitution of the ransom. He refused politely, but promised to show
the ferman to the captains of the corsair ships. For this he received a
golden watch and some money - which clearly disappointed him, but
he was reassured that these were only preliminary gifts.
Colyer, meanwhile, had approached the grand vizier on the
matter, a ferman had been issued, but it had no effect, as De
Hochepied reported to the Directors on 6 September. The Algerians
had even attacked a Turkish vessel near Izmir, thereby killing its
captain. The Dutch merchant Van Wijck had been chased through
the streets of Izmir and had barely escaped with his life inside his
house.

Epilogue

Although I do not know when the Ottoman fleet and their corsair
allies left the waters near Izmir, no more complaints about them
seem to have been heard from the Dutch nation. By the time
Heyman arrived in Izmir, peace had been restored in Europe (with
the Treaty of Rijswijk in 1697), the Ottoman Empire (with the treaty
of Karlowitz in 1699), and in Izmir, where the manuscript
documenting in ornate prose the rough times of a decade earlier
awaited him. Whether he read the letters and documents is not
88 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
certain, but if he did, they must have contributed to his
understanding of the local, Ottoman world and, eventually, to his
task as translator and orientalist.

Notes
1
For a brief biography, see Nieuw Nederlandsch Biografisch Woordenboek IX (Leiden,
1933), cols. 361-2, where other sources are mentioned; on his Levantine period,
see Jan Willem Samberg, De Hollandsche gereformeerde gemeente te Smirna. De geschienis
eener handelskerk (Leiden, 1928), 111-15.
2
Heyman and Cuper exchanged letters between 1699 and 1710, see A.H. Huussen
en C. Wes-Patoir, ‘Hoe een ambitieuze predikant te Smirna professor te Leiden
werd. Brieven van Ds. Johannes Heyman en Gisbert Cuper, 1699-1700’, in
Holland, historisch tijdschrift (31) 1999, 87-100. Heyman had promised to collect data
on classical coins and inscriptions in the Levant for his friend (letter of 6.11.1700)
and describe his travels in his letters. Nothing much came of this and Heyman
stopped writing to his patron after he had been appointed in Leiden.
3
See my ‘An Ostrich Egg for Golius. The Heyman Papers Preserved in the Leiden
and Manchester University Libraries and Early-Modern Contacts Between the
Netherlands and the Middle East’, in The Joys of Philology. Studies in Ottoman
Literature, History and Orientalism II (Analecta Isisiana LX, Istanbul, 2002), 9-74, esp.
59 ff. In a letter in Cod.Or. 1380 (first unnumbered document), dated 1117/1705,
Heyman informs an unknown agha that he had had problems with the governor
(müsellim) of Acre and had been forced to pay 12 kuruş to the French consul. Both
the Dutch consul in Izmir, Daniel de Hochepied, and Paul Maashoek are explicitly
mentioned in the letter.
4
Preserved as Cod.Or. 2a-o, cf. P. Voorhoeve, Handlist of Arabic Manuscripts in the
Library of the University of Leiden and Other Collections in the Netherlands, 2nd ed.
(Leiden, 1980), 252-3; for the author and the work, see Carl Brockelmann,
Geschichte der arabischen Literatur 2 Vols., 2nd ed. (Leiden, 1946-9) II, 140.
5
Preserved as Cod.Or. 1393-4 (cf. Voorhoeve, Handlist, 253). Purchased by the
library from the pastor Johannes Dresselhuis (1789-1861) between 1831 and 1836.
6
Oratio inauguralis de commendando studio Linguarum Orientalium (Leiden, 1710).
7
Preserved as Cod.Or. 1372. Acquired by the library from an unknown source
between 1831 and 1836.
8
As part of a more general catalogue: Catalogus librorum tam impressorum quam
manuscriptorum Bibliothecae Publicae Universitatis Lugduno-Batavae by Senguerdius and
Gronovius (Leiden, 1716).
9
Cf. H.E. Weijers, Orientalia I (Amsterdam, 1840), 301-3.
10
Quoted in Willem Otterspeer, Groepsportret met Dame II. De vesting van de macht. De
Leidse universiteit, 1673-1775 (Amsterdam 2002), 184.
11
Otterspeer, Groepsportret II, 185.
12
Cf. K. Heeringa, Bronnen tot de geschiedenis van den Levantschen handel II (The Hague
1917), 344-6, 350, 497-99, 531, 532, 546. Transcriptions of original letters in
Arabic and Turkish with annotations in Heyman’s handwriting are found in
Codices Or. 1395 and 1598 (see also below). A translation by Heyman is also
found in Cod.Or. 1380 (2).
13
His handwriting is also found in a letter in Turkish, referred to above, from
Heyman to an unknown agha, dated 1117/1705 (in Cod. Or. 1380, first
unnumbered document); it also appears in a letter from the Dutch consul in Izmir,
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 89

Daniel de Hochepied, to the Commander of the Ottoman Fleet, undated,

preserved in the Leiden Museum voor Volkenkunde (Ethnographic Museum), No. 36-
9550.
14
Preserved as MS Persian 913; see my An Ostrich Egg for Golius’.
15
That is: the insufficient cataloguing of the Arabic, Persian and other Leiden
collections.
16
Described in detail in my Catalogue of Turkish Manuscripts in the Library of Leiden
University and Other Collections of the Netherlands I (Leiden, 2000), 521-33.
17
See my Catalogue, 568-70.
18
See my Catalogue, 586-8.
19
See my Catalogue, 588-90.
20
The contents are analysed by Alexander H. de Groot, ‘An Eighteenth Century
Ottoman Turkish-Dutch Letterbook and Some of Its Implications’, in Hans Georg
Majer (ed.), Osmanische Studien zur Wirtschaft- und Sozialgeschichte, In Memoriam Vančo
Boškov (Wiesbaden 1986), 34-45.
21
See my ‘An Ostrich Egg for Golius’.
22
Letter of 25 July 1688, preserved in the National Archives, The Hague (hereafter
NA), Archive of the Directors of the Levantine Trade (LH), 125. See on Van
Dam: W.E. van Dam van Isselt, ‘Eenige lotgevallen van Jacob van Dam, consul te
Smirna van 1668-1688’, in Bijdragen voor vaderlandsche geschiedenis en oudheidkunde IV/6
(1907), 78-134.
23
Letter in NA, Liassen Constantinopel, Archive of the States General (SG) 6917.
24
Hükm-i hümayun, dated last days of Ramazan 1099 (20-29 July 1688), MS Acad.
87, 195-9.
25
Hükm-i şerif of the middle of Şevval 1099/8-17 August 1688, ibid. 199-203.
26
Hükm-i hümayun of the same date, ibid. 203-6.
27
Hükm-i şerif of the middle of Zilhicce 1099/6-15 October 1688, ibid. 158-63.
28
Hükm-i hümayun, dated the first days of Zilhicce 1099/27 September - 5 October
1680, ibid. 163-6.
29
Hükm-i şerif, dated the last days of Cemazilahir 1100 (11-20 April 1689), ibid.
206-9.
30
Hükm-i şerif of the early days of Zilkade 1101 (6-15 August 1690), ibid. 174-8.
31
Preserved in NA, SG 6917.
32
‘wel soo seijt ghij dan onsen vijant’
33
Hükm-i şerif, dated the middle of Zilhicce 1100/26 September - 4 October 1689,
in MS Acad. 87, 169-74.
34
Preserved in NA, LH 126.
35
Dated 21 Ramazan 1101/28 June 1690, in MS Acad. 87, 30-2.
36
ibid. 232-4.
37
ibid. 251-3.
38
Hükm-i şerif, dated the final days of Ramazan 1101/28 June - 7 July 1690, ibid.
224-30.
Calendars and Guidebooks in Greek Language as Sources
for Getting to Know an Ottoman City

Engin Berber

This study aims at introducing Greek calendars (imerologion) and

guidebooks (odigos), which had simultaneously been published with
the Ottoman yearbooks, to acknowledge their value in getting to
know an Ottoman city, in particular the city of Izmir. Sources in my
study are catalogues of auctions (a total of seventeen) named as
‘antique (or) rare books’ that were carried out by various institutions in
Athens. In addition to these, a thematic catalogue,1 which also
included sâlnâmes, prepared by Emmanuil Aleks Kepas for the
exhibition2 ‘Press in Asia Minor’, the information gathered from Izmir
bibliographies in Greek,3 and samples of yearbooks—most of which
are about Izmir— which we have gathered in our own private library
through photocopying them in various libraries in Athens or
purchasing from antique bookshops. According to these sources, I
classified the yearbooks into three groups: (i) yearbooks printed
within Greece, (ii) yearbooks printed outside the Ottoman Empire;
and (iii) yearbooks in Greek printed within the Ottoman Empire.
The books are listed in the tables according to these classifications,
with their Greek titles, the authors, the place and date of print, and
the year of new editions. Almost all of the yearbooks were published
by private institutions or people of no official status.4 Some of them
contain rich descriptions of contemporary history. Based on the list
of comprehensive catalogues and bibliographies of Greek yearbooks
and calendars, I give an overview of the collection and some
examples of the contents that give important historical information
about the Ottoman cities.5

Calendars and Yearbooks Published within

the Kingdom of Greece

The oldest yearbook that we came across in auction catalogues is

Yearbook of Athens by Irineos Asopiu, dated 1870.6 The early
examples include: Yearbook of All Years;7 National Yearbook by
92 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

İoannis Arseni and Konstantinos F. Skoku;8 Yearbook by

Konstantinos F. Skoku;9 Practical Yearbook;10 Yearbook of Great
Greece by G. Drosini;11 Yearbook of Izmir12 by Evang. D.
Pandelidu; Yearbook of Jerusalem by Dimıtriu Taku;13 Yearbook of
Asia Minor by Eleni Svoronu;14 Yearbook of Salonika by Meropis P.
Çiomu;15 Encyclopedic Yearbook by A. Vretu;16 Yearbook of
Piraeus;17 Yearbook of Siros;18 Yearbook of Macedonia;19 Guidebook
of Greece by Nikolaos G. Igglesi;20 Greek Guidebook by G. N.
Mihail;21 and The Asian Greece or The Greek Guidebook of Asia
Minor.22 The last of these was probably published in 1921. (See
Group I of the Table)
Even though we could/did not have the chance to see all of them,
the samples in our possession made it suffice to conceive the fact
that these yearbooks contain rich and original information about the
Ottoman Empire and Ottoman cities. Therefore we would like to
draw some conclusions based on these samples.
Guidebook of Greece by Nikolaos G. Igglesi,23 dated 1911,
devotes an important place to Cyprus and its cities, which, although
officially an Ottoman territory, was administered by Great Britain at
that time. The chapter titled ‘Guidebook of Cyprus Island’ (pp.194-201)
begins with the geographical location and a brief history of the island
followed by descriptions of issues such as governmental institutions
and administrators, laws in effect, religious posts and authorities,
agricultural products and harvest, language, local administration and
administrators, military and domestic security, taxes, trade,
population, education, forests, mines, ports, fishery, transportation
and communication. Consequently, it gives detailed information of
all the settlements on the island.
I would like to give a more detailed description of The Greek
Guidebook dated 1920,24 whose chapter on Izmir I recently
translated into Turkish in the previous years. G. N. Mihail, whose
identity is unknown, prepared the guidebook. It was printed in 1919
by the Geo Advertising Company, owned by Kirieris-Giannopulos
and their partners, the central office of which was in Constitution
Square in Athens. More than a hundred pages of this guidebook
were devoted to description of Izmir.25 This attitude should be
explained that since Izmir was occupied in the same year that this
guidebook was printed, the publishers already began to perceive the
city as a Greek city, or possibly as a wish to make propaganda prior
to the final decision of the West on the fate of the Ottoman Empire.
In the preface it states that: ‘the guidebook was based ‘… on rich
and abundant material from many sources compiled by both the
foreign and local specialists as a result of a long, systematic and
careful effort’ and starts with a brief history of Anatolia (pp. 1-4)’.
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 93
The history of Izmir is presented under titles ‘prehistoric’,
‘historical times’, ‘Lydian period’, ‘Persian conquest’, ‘the time of
Alexander the Great’, ‘Byzantine period’, ‘Turkish conquest’,
‘contemporary Izmir’, and ‘population’ (pp. 4-6). Another issue that
Zeki Arıkan pointed out is the fact that the guidebook mentions
Çaka Bey had established the first Turkish Beylik in Izmir and its
surroundings at the end of the eleventh century, which was unknown
to many Turkish historians at that time.26 Under the title ‘Izmir’s
Economy’ information on agriculture, trade, export products,
industrial and harbor activities are presented (pp. 6-12) with the
accompaniment of quantitative data, which we have not come across
in the sources (pp. 13-15). Following the section mentioning the
length of railroads extending from Izmir to Anatolia is the
alphabetical catalogue of the streets of Izmir (pp. 15-22), which is
another new and valuable contribution to our knowledge. It is not
possible to acquire such information in twenty five official sâlnâmes
of Aydın Province published between 1879/1296 and 1908/1326.27
The guidebook lays out a clear portrait of the departments and
officials of the municipality (pp. 23-6) thereby shedding light on the
administrative and military structure of the city during the Greek
occupation about which Turkish sources give little information if
any. Unique details, which could not be encountered in other sources
regarding members of the clergy and the buildings of various
religious communities, schools, associations, social clubs, charitable
foundations, historical sights, chambers of commerce, newspapers,
cinemas, theaters, hospitals and thermal springs, foreign agents and
chiefs of diplomatic mission, and prisons (pp. 23-46) are included as
well, which shed light on the socio-cultural life of Izmir’s non-
Muslim communities. Since the readers of our translation are already
familiar with the details, it is not the subject of this article to
enumerate them one by one. Last but not least, the alphabetical
catalogue (pp. 43-98) titled ‘the businessmen of Izmir’ is the most
important and voluminous section of the Greek Guide. While this
unique catalogue sheds lights on Izmir’s economic life and the actors
as a maritime trade center,28 it helps us to discover commercial
buildings and sites like bazaars and khans not mentioned in the
sâlnâmes of Aydın Province or in other Turkish sources.29

Calendars and Yearbooks Published Outside the Kingdom

of Greece Including the Ottoman Empire

The category of foreign editions include the Yearbook and Muslim

Calendar of 1896 and 1897, printed in Venice by Finiks (presumably
the publishing house); 30 the Calendar and Guidebook of Izmir With
94 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

Neighboring Islands Pertaining to 1890 printed in Alexandria,31 and

the Yearbook of Egypt of 1921, printed in Alexandria.32
The Calendar and Guidebook of Izmir With Neighboring Islands,
of which we possess an original copy, is the third yearbook of
Amalthia (1838-1922), a Greek newspaper published in Izmir. The
yearbook, printed at Omonia Printing Office in 1889, contained 373
pages. Fifty two of these have no page numbers and devoted to
advertisements (whole or half-page) some of which are illustrated.
The first advertisement belongs to Amalthia Printing Office, the
address of which is the Agiu Georgiu Street. The International
Marine Insurance Company, Musical Instruments Shop of Cerardo
Korletti, Tipos Printing Office and Lithography Workshop of Mih.
Nikolaidu, The Big Warehouse of H. Homsi and Partners, Hotel
Manoli, American Bazaar of Palamari Brothers, The Pastry Shop of
Evan. L. Zarboni and Partners, Stationery and Bookstore of D.
Vretopulu and an advertisement of Amalthia newspaper are some
examples that attract attention at first sight in the yearbook.
The yearbook consists of five chapters. The first chapter is mostly
dedicated to literature (pp. 1-128) containing the following articles:
‘Seven Islands, Historical Notes’ by G. D. Kanale; ‘Pages from the
History of Izmir’ by G. K. İperidu; ‘Jewish Literature’ by David
Korri; ‘The Natural Beauties of Aynaroz’ by Kim. Papamihailof;
‘Traditions in Asia Minor’ by M. Çakiroğlu; ‘Christmas Eve in
Venice’ by P. Athinogenus; ‘Earthquakes in the East’ by Sp. Foru;
‘Small Intestine Disease and Medicine’ by İ. Th. Paleologu;
‘Chemistry, Food and Beverage’ by H. Kutuzi; ‘Rose in Literature’ by
Em. Giannakopulu; ‘Giant Statue from Ephesus’ by G. Weber; ‘The
Ones Who Cut Our Grandmothers’ Hair’ by S. Solomonidu. The
poems of İp. G. Leon, M. Krendiropulu, G. Voncalidu, D. Stai, G.
Vogiaci and others are also included in this chapter.
Following the second chapter, where there is the information on
the calendar (pp. 129-37), is the third and lengthiest chapter (pp.
138-274) entitled ‘Guidebook of Izmir’. In our opinion it is more
striking to give the headings and sub-headings of this chapter rather
than writing on the importance of them:

1. Turkey: (i) area and population; (ii) administrative divisions.

2. Aydın province: (i) agriculture; (ii) income and expenditures; (iii)
industry; (iv) minerals and mines, forests; (v) marketplaces;
(vi)distances and roads.
3. Izmir city: (i) history of Izmir; (ii) population; (iii) administrative
assembly of the city; (iv) judicial courts; (v) prisons and prison
guards; (vi) chairmanship of the port; (vii) passport department,
(viii) quarantine; (viiii) municipalities, (x) consulate authorities;
(xi) religious personalities; (xii) customs; (xiii) Ottoman Public
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 95
Debt; (xiv) Tobacco Monopoly (Regie); (xv) Telegraph and
Post Offices; (xvi) Dock Company (Rıhtım Şirketi); (xvii) public
utility gas, electricity; (xviii) chamber of commerce; (xviiii)
maritime companies; (xx) railroads, trolleys; (xxi) fire and vessel
insurances; (xxii) religious buildings; (xxiii) charity foundations;
(xxiv) educational institutions; (xxv) museums and libraries;
(xxvi) inventory of archaeological remains; (xxvii) newspapers,
printing offices.
4. careers and employees
5. suburbs.

In the fourth chapter (pp. 274-85) titled ‘Statistical Notes’, records

of birth, marriage, death, and health status of Greek-Orthodox
community pertaining to 1888 and 1889, the number of passengers
and amount of cargo transported by Aydın Railroad Company are
presented in addition to the quantitative data of fires occurring in
1889.
The final chapter of the yearbook is titled ‘A Guide to the
Environs’ (pp. 286-373). Following the descriptions of capital
districts of Aydın Province, Province of the Islands of the Aegean
Archipelago (Cos, Lesbos, Rhodes, Samos, Chios and others), a list
of the members of the community is given acknowledging their
efforts in gathering and dispatching the necessary information.
Almost all of the yearbooks published within the Ottoman
Empire focus on Izmir, Istanbul and their environs. The Yearbook
of Pontus and Guidebook of Trabzon with Its Environs prepared by
İ. Yoannidu in 1904;33 Yearbook of Asia Minor pertaining to 1907,
prepared by Eleni S. Svoronu and printed in Samos;34 the illustrated
Pan-Hellenic Yearbook prepared by Ang. Simiriotu-Perikl. Angelidu
in 1909;35 and the Yearbook of the Brotherhood of Mersin
Orthodoxy in 1909.36
The earliest Greek yearbook printed in Izmir that we were able to
recognize is Yearbook and Muslim Calendar of 1838.37 The Calendar
of 1855;38 Annual Calendar of 1857;39 Guidebook of Syria;40 Eastern
Yearbook Pertaining to the Leap year of 1868 and Essential
Yearbook;41 Eternal Yearbook printed in 1869;42 Amalthia’s
Yearbook Pertaining to 1893 printed in 1892; Amalthia’s Yearbook
Pertaining to 1894, printed in 1893; Guidebook of World Trade
pertaining to 1908;43 Greek Guidebook of Commerce in Turkey
pertaining to 1909-10; Yearbook of ‘New Life’44 and Eastern
Yearbook 191345 are other yearbooks that were obviously printed in
Izmir. Although these yearbooks give considerable weight to Izmir
and Istanbul, original and detailed information is also provided about
the Ottoman Empire and other Ottoman cities.
96 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

On the cover of Amalthia newspaper’s fourth yearbook named:

Yearbook of Amalthia Newspaper Pertaining to 1893, it states that
‘printed with order 818 of the Imperial Ministry of Education’. The
first 16 pages of this 258-page yearbook contain human portraits,
and eighteen large size advertisements at the end. There are two
chapters in the yearbook the first of which consists of the calendar
(pp. 1-16). The second chapter (pp. 17-254) is dedicated to art and
history with articles such as, Sokratis Solomonidi’s: ‘The First Greek
Newspapers of Izmir; G. K. İperidu’s: ‘Plague in Izmir’; Sp. Foru’s:
‘Commerce in Izmir from 1600 to 1820s’; Mih. Çakiroğlu’s: ‘Grand
Viziers’; G. Weber’s: ‘Bridge of Caravans.’ Poems and short stories
of F. G. Delaggrammatika, Efr. Sekiari, Arist. Kalliga, G. Voncalidu
ve Mih. Argiropulu, S. Kessisoğlu, A. Kurniakti, Arm. Hamudopulu,
K. Papadimitriu, S. Pittaki various works of art were also included in
the yearbook.46
Almost whole of Amalthia newspaper’s fifth yearbook (291 pages)
of 1894, which carried the same title as the fourth one, is dedicated
to art and history (chapter one, pp. 1-275). G. Weber’s: ‘Castle of
Saint Peter in Izmir’; Mih. Çakiroğlu’s: ‘Cholera Epidemic of 1893 in
Izmir’; K. Papamihailof’s: ‘A Sketch of Bornova’ and Mitropolit
Vasiliu’s: ‘Catalogue of Izmir’s Famous Bishops from Jesus Christ till
Today’, are notable articles of the yearbook.47
The Guidebook of World Trade was printed in Amalthia Printing
Office and prepared by Mihail I. Mihailidu, about whose identity is
unknown. The guidebook is 556 pages long and published in both
Greek and French.48 On the cover of the guidebook it says, in Greek:
‘Printed with the license granted by the Imperial Ministry of
Education no: 310/2131, of 22 August 1906 (16 Şaban 1324).’ In the
foreword (p. 4) Mihailidis says that these annual guidebooks of trade
attracted great interest in the civilized world, and underlines the role
of advertising played by guidebooks with a view to the promotion
and consumption of products. He goes on to say that the motivation
behind publishing such a guidebook was the needs of his fellow
countrymen, and expresses his gratitude for the contributions of
Greeks from all over the world in preparation of the guidebook.
Following the foreword, the guidebook quotes news and articles
about this particular guidebook from Izmir, Istanbul, and Salonica
and Athens newspapers. Patris Newspaper (Athens), stating that the
guidebook gave information on 211 cities of the Ottoman Empire
points out the importance of the guidebook by claiming: ‘It covers
all merchants, industrialists, brokers and producers of Europe,
Greece and the East’. The guidebook gives alphabetical index (pp. 7-
8) titled, ‘A Geographical Panel of the Prominent Cities of the
Ottoman Empire and Other Countries’. The guidebook analyzes the
cities after giving information about the area, population, capital city,
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 97
dynasty, and members of the cabinet (pp. 9 and others) of the
Ottoman Empire. What the guidebook says about Izmir, which we
are about to mention, will set an example for the other cities
included in it.
After a two-page introduction (pp. 271-2) to the brief history, the
administrative state, agricultural and commercial situation, railroads,
suburbs, chiefs of diplomatic missions of the city; and schools,
churches, hospitals, associations and social clubs of the Greek-
Orthodox community in Izmir, the Rum49 merchants, industrialists,
brokers and the producers are enumerated by profession.
Advertisements presented in this 27-page catalogue (pp. 272-98)
provide useful information that enables the readers to perceive the
social and economic dimensions of the city with ease.
On the cover of Nikolas Vamvakidu’s Greek Guidebook of
Commerce in Turkey, an original copy of which could be found in
the library of Asia Minor Research Center (Athens), it says: ‘Printed
with the license granted by the Ministry of Education no: 341, of 25
October 1324’ and ‘first issue’. The guidebook could be purchased
from N. Vamvakidis50 at Avrupa Road, Sponti Arcade (pasaj) (Izmir),
for one Mecidiye (p. 2). The price of the guidebook was five francs
in foreign countries. (p. 2). The last thirty-eight pages and the back
cover of this 154-page guidebook are devoted to advertisements
where there is a lithograph and a colored illustration. As a Greek
colleague states all of this guidebook was dedicated to the
‘commercial life of Izmir’.51
The yearbooks that were printed in Istanbul are as follows:
Yearbook, Almanac of the Leap Year52 1864 with the financial
support of Simeon Andreadu;53 Yearbook, pertaining to 1866,
prepared by G. Vafiadu;54 Yearbook of the East, pertaining to years
1883, 1884, 1885, prepared by Ath. Paleologu;55 Yearbook, Almanac
of the Leap Year 1884, prepared by K. Lazaridu;56 Eastern Yearbook,
pertaining to 1896, prepared by Konstantinu Vakalopulu;57 an
encyclopedic yearbook: Lantern of the East, pertaining to 1901
prepared byI. G. Sakellariu and his partners;58 Yearbook, pertaining
to 1904 prepared by I. Sioti, Leondos Kazanova and Stef. Narli;59
The Yearbook of 1905;60 The Yearbooks of the National Charity
Foundations in Istanbul61 Pertaining to 1905, 1906 and 1907;62
Yearbook of Satan, pertaining to 1910 and 1911 prepared by
Mavridis-Papadimitriu;63 An illustrated yearbook pertaining to 1911:
National Eros, prepared by Fot. G. Tapinu and Georg. D. Baygini;64
The yearbook prepared by the students of 1911 of the School of
National Languages and Trade: Expectations;65 Yearbook
Expectation-191266 prepared by the students of Zografion;67
Calendar of 1913 prepared by Gerasimu Aleksandratu;68 Trik-Trak, a
humorous yearbook pertaining to 1914, prepared by Georgio
98 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

Lambridu;69 Star, which is a Yearbook of Asia Minor, pertaining to

191470 and Easter Saloon, pertaining to 1915, prepared by Sofokli
Andoniu and Mihail Kunelaki.71
As far as we know, the first Greek yearbook printed in Izmir and
carrying the title ‘Izmir’ is Yearbook of Izmir, pertaining to 1873,
which was printed at Proodos Printing Office in 1872. Following this
guidebook decorated with colored illustrations72 is the Calendar and
Guidebook of the Leap Year 1876, which was printed at Izmir
Printing Office in November 1875.73 After that came six yearbooks
printed at the printing office of Izmir’s most long-lived Greek
newspaper Amalthia,74 which Slomonidis describes as the ‘cultural
light of East’.75
The first of the Amalthia publication was Izmir’s Calendar and
Guidebook of 1888 printed in December 1887. The first chapter
(pp. 1-99) is dedicated to literature; the second (pp. 99-131)
information on the calendar; and the third (pp. 131-237) to the
description of Izmir and the neighboring cities and islands. Nine
pages of advertisements and a panoramic view of Izmir are also
added at the end of this 240-page yearbook. The yearbook also
mentions fourteen newspapers that were being published in that
period (p. 209 and others). From the ‘table of contents’ page we see
that the following articles were written: G. K. İperidi’s: ‘Knights of
Rhodes and Timurlenk in Izmir’; G. Latri’s: ‘Healing Waters of
Aydın Province’; Sokrati Solomonidi’s: ‘Izmir in the Past Two
Centuries’; Mihail Çakiroğlu’s: ‘On Ethnologic Character of Turks’;
Ad. Effremidi’s: ‘The Language and Traditions of People of
Trabzon.’ The same page also acknowledges the contributions of İ.
İ. Skilissi, N. Nikolaidi, G. Voncalidi and E. Sekiari. Mih. Nikolaidi,
an artist from Izmir painted most of the pictures in the yearbook.
Hacidimos says that the yearbook is: ‘a valuable source in which all
kinds of information can be found about Izmir.’76 The yearbook was
still on sale in 1890 and the price of the standard edition was a half
Mecidiye, whereas the lacquered edition was sold for one Mecidiye.77
The Calendar and Guidebook of Izmir With Its Neighboring
Cities and Islands Pertaining to 1889, is the second yearbook printed
at Amalthia’s Printing Office in December 1888. The first chapter
(pp. 1-172) is devoted to art and literature; the second (pp. 173-94)
to the calendar, the third (pp. 194-323) to the description of Izmir,
and the fourth (pp. 326-81) to the environs of the city. There are
eight illustrations in the yearbook and thirty-six pages of this 387-
page yearbook are devoted only to advertisements. Compared to the
first one, this yearbook has richer contents and it is more
voluminous. We learn from a book written by Sokrati Solomonidi
that he wrote and article titled ‘What Did Our Grandmothers Used to
Wear?’ for this yearbook.78 The fourth chapter of the yearbook, of
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 99
which we have a photocopy, is an explanatory alphabetical guide of
Ottoman cities of Western Anatolia. In this chapter, which starts
with Edremit (Adramittion), the sub-titles of Aydın (Aidinion)
Province, for instance, is described under titles such as:
‘Administration’, ‘Administrative Assembly’, ‘Judicial Courts’,
‘Municipality’, ‘Post Office’, ‘Gendarmerie’, ‘Religious Posts’,
‘Representatives of Consulates’, ‘Greek Schools’, ‘The Imperial
Ottoman Bank’, ‘Regie Office’ Associations-Clubs.’ Together with
the introduction part, which gives a brief history of the city,
administrative units, production range and harvest, and a catalogue
(pp. 326-9) where the prominent businessmen of various professions
are listed, this chapter reveals a lively portrait of the provinces of the
empire. The demand for the yearbook was so high that it was out of
print the next year.79
In the previous pages we have already mentioned Amalthia’s third
yearbook (printed in Alexandria) pertaining to 1890 carrying the
same title with the former, and the fourth and fifth yearbooks
carrying titles ‘Yearbook of Amalthia Newspaper Pertaining to …’
belonging to 1893 and 1894.80
The Commercial Guidebook of Izmir and Its Environs, dated
1901,81 which appears to be the sixth yearbook of Amalthia
newspaper uses ‘Izmir’ in its title again, like the first and the second
ones, after thirteen years. On the cover of the guidebook, which was
printed in Amalthia Printing Office, it says ‘second issue’, which
brings in mind that it could be perceived as the successor of the
guidebook of 1889 printed in Izmir, describing the city and its
environs. This 168-page guidebook, the last 30 pages of which were
devoted to advertisements, was prepared by Panayiotu Farduli and
his partners and published with the ‘permission of the Imperial
Ministry of Education no: 264 of July 3rd.’82
The Calendar and Guidebook of the Leap Year 1876,83 which we
have a photocopy of, 84 was prepared by Th. K. and S. K. Although
we do not have clear information of these initials, it appears that the
former belongs to Themistoklis Ktena;85 manager and editor of a
Greek newspaper Ameroliptos (Izmir), which began publishing in
1909. We also come across some articles written by him in Amalthia
newspaper.86 The latter initials probably belong to his brother. On
the cover of this 83-page yearbook it denotes that it is the ‘first
issue.’ The first chapter (pp. 5- 24) is devoted to calendar; the second
(p. 27-72) to a description of Izmir, and a concise explanation in p.
25 outlines a frame for the description of the city:
The Guidebook consists of, Assemblies in Izmir (province,
municipality) together with the officials, judicial courts and
official departments, sanctuaries (of various religious
100 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

communities), graveyards and religious personalities, consulates

(together with their employees), official and private schools
(belonging to foreigners and various religious communities),
libraries and museums, associations, clubs and charity
organizations, newspapers and magazines (in all languages),
printing offices, bookstores, stationeries, bookbinders’ shops
(with the names of its owners), lawyers, doctors, medical
employees, dentists, pharmacists, artists, bankers and exchange
offices, merchants, commissioners and vessel brokers, post
offices, agencies (of maritime transportation), insurance
companies, hotels, tobacco workshop, pastry shops, industrial
companies, departure and arrival hours, and price lists of ships
(belonging to various companies), price list of telegraph and the
new regulations regarding wakf properties.

The last ten pages (pp. 73-83) are devoted to advertisements the
first of which is, ‘Calendar and Guidebook of Izmir’ (p. 73) shedding
light on the general principles and advertising prices of the yearbook.
Accordingly, information regarding professions and directorates,
associations, charity organizations and educational institutions were
registered in the yearbook free of charge. The advertisements were
to take place at the end of the yearbook. The price was 100 kuruş for
a half-page and 150 for a whole-page advertisement. Five copies of
the yearbook were to be given as a gift in return for the
advertisements. A perfect yearbook named Guidebook of Izmir and
Its Environs with enriched contents and updated information was to
be completed soon. For this purpose, necessary information was
being dispatched to the publisher or to the bookstore of Athanasiu
Zahariu at Evangeliki Sholi Street.

Conclusion

It is not an unknown state of affairs that sources written in a variety

of languages should be used for acquiring knowledge about the
Ottoman Empire and its cities. For instance there are quite a number
of studies about Izmir that made use of German, English, Italian,
Greek and French sources. The use of Greek yearbooks in particular,
in which all kinds of information from history to geography,
literature to archeology, demography to folklore and natural disasters
can be found would make an enormous contribution in
understanding the Ottoman universe. It would make us very happy
to encounter examples in that direction.
Translated by Elif Yeneroğlu Kutbay
Table 1. Yearbooks Printed within the Kingdom of Greece

Name Name in Greek Prepared by City Date of Following Editions Explanations

Print
Yearbook of Smirnaikon Imerologion Evang. D. Pandelidu Athens Published in memory
İzmir of Yoannu Pesmazoğlu
from İzmir.
The Asian Asiatiki Ellas i Ellinikos Athens
Greece or The Odigos Mikra Asia
Greek Guide-
book of Asia
Minor
Yearbook of Attikon İmerologion İrineos Asopiu Athens 1870 1871,1875,1878,
Athens 1879,1880,1888
Yearbook of All ton Eton Panton Athens 1880
Years İmerologion
Yearbook Imerologion Konstantinos F. Skoku Athens 1888 1890, 1891, 1904,
1906, 1907,1908,
1909, 1910, 1912,
1913
National Ethnikon Imerologion İoannis Arseni/ Athens 1891 1900,1902,1905, The 1891 issue was
Yearbook Konstantinos F. Skoku 1906,1912,1916, prepared by Arseni, the
1917,1918 following issues were
prepared by Skoku.
Table 1 cont.
Practical Praktikon Imerologion Athens 1894
Yearbook
Yearbook of Makedonikon Imerologion 1897
Macedonia
Yearbook of Piraykon Imerologion Athens 1898
Piraeus
Yearbook of Imerologion ton Dimitriu Taku Athens 1899
Jerusalem Ierosolimon
Yearbook of Siros Imerologion tis Siru Siros 1902 First edition.

Encyclopedic Imerologion İ. A. Vretu Athens 1909 1914, 1916, 1917 The one published in
Yearbook Egkiklopedikon 1914 and prepared by
Yoannis D. Kollaros is
the 14th edition.
Yearbook of Asia Mikrasiatikon Imerologion Eleni Svoronu Samos 1913
Minor
Guidebook of Odigos tis Ellados Nikolaos G. İgglesi Athens 1915 The one dated 1915 is the
Greece 4th edition, the one dated
1911 is prepared by
Aspiotis Brothers and
printed in Kerkira is the
3rd issue.
Greek Guidebook Ellinikos Odigos G. N. Mihail Athens 1919
Yearbook of Imerologion Thessalonikis Meropis P. Çiomu Salonika 1920
Salonika
Yearbook of Imerologion tis Megalis G. Drosini Athens 1922
Great Greece Ellados
Table 2. Yearbooks Printed outside the Ottoman Empire

Name Name in Greek Prepared by City Date of Following Explanations

Print Editions
Yearbook and Muslim Calendar İmerologion ke Finiks (presumably Venice 1896 1897
Selinodromion the name of the
printing house)

Calendar and Guidebook of İmerologion ke Odigos Newspaper Alexandria 1889 Omonia The third yearbook
İzmir With Neighboring Islands tis Smirnis ke ton Periks Printing of Amalthia
Pertaining to 1890 Poleon ke Nision tu House newspaper, 373
Etus 1890 pages.
Yearbook of Egypt Egiptiakon İmerologion Alexandria Pertaining to 1921.
Table 3. Yearbooks in Greek Printed within the Ottoman Empire

Date Name of Following

Name Name in Greek Prepared by City of Explanations
Printing House Editions
Print
Guidebook of Pagkosmios Mihail İl. Mihailidu İzmir Amalthia In Greek and
World Trade Emborikos Odigos Printing House French. 556 pages
Yearbook of İmerologion tis İzmir
‘New Life’ “Neas Zois”
Yearbook and İmerologion ke İzmir American Presumably the first
Muslim Calendar Selinodromion tu Printing House Greek yearbook
of 1838 Etus 1838 administered by printed in İzmir. 48
Father Daniil pages
Templu
Calendar of 1855 Kazamias tu 1855 İzmir 1854 P. Markopulu’s
Printing House
Annual Calendar İmerologion İzmir 1856 A. Damianu’s Illustrated calendar
of 1857 Kazamias tu 1857 Printing House
Guidebook of Odigos tis Sirias D.Hristoyannopulo İzmir 1856
Syria
Yearbook, O Hronos, İstanbul 1863 1884 Financed by Simeon
Almanac of the İmerologion tu Andreadu. The one
Leap Year 1864 Visektu Etus 1864 belonged to 1884
(printing date: 1883)
was prepared by K.
Lazaridu
Yearbook Hronos G. Vafiadu İstanbul A. Koromila Pertains to 1866
Printing House
Table 3 cont.
Eastern Yearbook Anatolikon İzmir 1867 Daveroni and Pertains to 1868
İmerologion Sudzoli
Printing House
Essential Sinoptikon İzmir 1867 Daveroni and 1872 Pertains to 1868 The
Yearbook İmerologion Sudzoli (Pertains second yearbook was
Printing House to 1873) also published at the
same printing house
Eternal Yearbook Kalendarion İzmir 1869 P. Markopulu’s
Eonion Printing House
Yearbook of İzmir Smirnaikon İzmir 1872 Proodos Pertains to 1873
İmerologion Printing House Presumably the first
yearbook bearing the
title “İzmir.”
Calendar and İmerologion ke Th.K./S.K. İzmir November İzmir Printing
Guidebook of the Odigos Smirnis tu 1875 House
Leap Year 1876 Visektu Etus 1876
Yearbook of the İmerologion tis Ath. Paleologu İstanbul 1882 Trakya Printing 1884,1885 The last two were
East Anatolis House published at İ. Palamari’s
Printing House
İzmir’s Calendar İmerologion ke İzmir December Amalthia Amalthia Newspaper’s
and Guidebook of Odigos tis Smirnis 1887 Printing House first yearbook. 240 pages
1888 tu Etus 1888
Calendar and İmerologion ke İzmir December Amalthia Amalthia Newspaper’s
Guidebook of Odigos tis Smirnis 1888 Printing House second yearbook. 387
İzmir With Its ke ton Periks pages
Neighboring Cities Poleon ke Nision tu
and Islands Etus 1889
ertaining to 1889
Table 3 cont.
Amalthia’s İmerologoin tis İzmir 1892 Amalthia Fourth yearbook of
Yearbook Efimeridas Printing House Amalthia. 258 pages
Pertaining to 1893 Amalthias tu Etus
1893
Amalthia’s İmerologoin tis İzmir 1893 Amalthia Fifth yearbook of
Yearbook Efimeridas Printing House Amalthia. 291 pages
Pertaining to 1894 Amalthias tu Etus
1894
Eastern Yearbook Anatolikon Konstantinu Vakalopulu İstanbul 1895 Printed by F. Pertains to 1896
İmerologion Cumeka and E.
Suma
Commercial Emborikos Odigos Panayiotu Farduli and İzmir Amalthia Presumably Amalthia’s
Guidebook of tis Smirnis ke ton Partners. Printing House sixth yearbook Pertains
İzmir and Its Perihoron to 1901, 168 pages
Environs,
Lantern of the East O Faros tis Anatolis İ. G. Sakellariu and İstanbul Gerardos It is an encyclopedic
Partners Brothers’ yearbook belonging to
Printing House 1901

Yearbook İmerologion İ. Sioti/Leondos İstanbul Pertains to 1904

Kazanova/Stef Narli
Yearbook of 1905 İmerologion tu Etus İstanbul 1904
1905
Yearbook of İmerologion tu İ. Yoannidu Trabzon 1904 D. H. Serasi’s Pertaining to 1905
Pontus and Pontu ke Odigos tis lithography
Guidebook of Trapezuntos ke ton workshop
Trabzon with Its Perihoron
Environs
Table 3 Cont.
The Yearbooks of İmerologion tu İstanbul 1904 1906, 1907 The last two were
the National Etus 1905, 1906 printed in 1905 and
Charity and 1907 ton 1906
Foundations in Ethnikon
İstanbul Filanthropikon
Katastimaton en
Konstantinupoli
Yearbook of Asia Mikrasiatikon Eleni S. Svoronu Samos Pertaining to 1907
Minor İmerologion
Pan-Hellenic Panellinion Ang. Simiriotu/Perikl. N. G. Pertaining to 1909
Yearbook İmerologion Angelidu Kefalidu’s
Printing House
Yearbook of the İmerologion Vas. Kandis/ Pavlos İstanbul Pertains to 1909. 264
Brotherhood of Adelfotitos Karolidis/ D. pages
Mersin Orthodoksias Kaklamanos/ Arist.
Orthodoxy Mersinis Kurtidis/ Sp. Lambros
Greek Guidebook Ellinikis Nikolaos Vamvakidu İzmir Pertains to 1909-1910.
of Commerce in Emborikos Odigos 154 pages
Turkey tis Turkias
National Eros Ethnikos Eros Fot. G. Tapinu/Georg. İstanbul A. Koromila’s Pertains to 1911
D. Baygini Printing House
Yearbook of İmerologion Satan Mavridis/Papadimitriu İstanbul 1911 The second yearbook
Satan, pertaining was prepared by
to 1910 Konstantinos Makridu
and printed at the
Eastern Printing House.
Table 3 cont.
Expectations Elpides İstanbul Yearbook of the students
of School of National
Languages and Trade in
İstanbul (1911)
Yearbook İmerologion Elpis- The students of İstanbul
Expectation-1912 1912 Zografion (boys school)
Eastern Yearbook Anatolikon Thras. M. Mali İzmir
1913 İmerologion 1913
Calendar of 1913 Kazamias tu Etus Gerasimu Aleksandratu İstanbul
1913
Trik-Trak Trik-Trak Georgio Lambridu İstanbul 1913 Printing House A humorous yearbook
of P. Angelidu for the year 1914
and his Partners
Star Astir İstanbul It is a yearbook of Asia
Minor for the year 1914
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 109

Notes
1
Emmanuil Aleks Kepas, Ekthesi Mikrasiatiku Tipu 1984, Katalogos Ekthematon,
Efimerideseriodika ke İmerologia, Athens.
2
This exhibition was opened in 1984, at Cultural Center of Athens Municipality.
3
The main ones are: 1. Hacidimos D. Ath., ‘Smirnaiki Vivliografia (1764-1836)’,
Mikrasiatika Hronika, 4, (1948), 340-4 and 371-410; (1856-76), 5, 1952, 295-354
and (1877-94), 6, (1955), 381-437. 2. Falbos K. Filippos, ‘Simvoli sti Smirnaiki
Vivliografia’, Mikrasiatika Hronika, 13, (1967), 401-34; ‘Nea Simvoli sti Smirnaiki
Vivliografia’, 15, (1972), 406-22. 3. Kavvadas D. Stefanos, ‘Ekdosis tis Smirnis en
ti Vivliothiki ‘O Korais’ tis Hiu’, Mikrasiatika Hronika, 7, (1957), 449-76. 4.
Giannokopulos A. Giorgos, ‘Ellinika Vivlia Tipomena sti Smirni’, Deltio Kentro
Mikrasiatikon Spudon, 7, (1988-9), 247-94.
4
Although some of them are published under the title ‘kalendarion’ and ‘kazamias’
they are very few in number.
5
A study aimed at making a comprehensive catalogue and bibliography of Greek
yearbooks and calendars has not been conducted yet. A study regarding this
subject would be a valuable guide to those who study bilateral relations of Greece
and the Ottoman Empire. A recent catalogue comprising the Greek and other
foreign newspapers and journals present in the Library of the Greek National
Assembly is a distinguished example: Hristopulosanagiotis F., Efimerides Apokimenes
sti Vivliothiki tis Vulis (1789-1970) (Athens, 1994), this study has replaced another
valuable publication, Sta’, S. E., Katalogos Vivliothikis Vulis (Athens, 1900).
6
Vivliofilika Nea, 14-15 May, 1992, 38. We understand that the same yearbook was
also published in: 1871, 1875, 1878, 1879, 1880, 1888 from, Vivliofilika Nea, (14-15
October, 1993), 63, 14-15 May 1992, 32 and 3-4 March 1992, 41.
7
Vivliofilika Nea, 14-15 October 1993, 63, dated 1880.
8
From, Vivliofilia, 3-4 October 1991, 30; 63, January-February-March 1994, 60 and
59, January-February-March 1993, 56, Vivliofilika Nea, 14-15 May 1992, 38; 3-4
March 1992, 41 and 3-4 December 1991, 24: we found out that they were
published in 1891(prepared by Yo. Arseni), 1900, 1902, 1905, 1906, 1912, 1916,
1917 and 1918 (all prepared by Konstantinos F. Skoku).
9
From, Vivliofilia, 59, January-February-March 1993, 56; 58, October-November-
December 1992, 50 and 60, April-May-June 1993, 63: we found out that they were
published in 1888, 1890, 1891, 1904, 1906, 1907, 1908, 1909, 1910, 1912, 1913.
10
From, Vivliofilia, 60, April-May-June 1993, 63, dated 1894.
11
From, Vivliofilia, 64, April-May-June 1994, 19, dated 1922.
12
In Kepas, 10rinted in Athens. In Falbos, 13, 433, it says that the yearbook
consists of articles written by Greek intellectuals and poets of Izmir. Falbos also
states, in page 3, that the yearbook was published in memory of Yoannu
Pesmazoğlu from Izmir, and that Pandelidis was the publisher of the journal
Kosmos (1908-12).
13
Dimoprasia Palion Vivlion, 8-9 October 1991, 44, dated 1899 and printed in
Athens.
14
Vivliofilia, 58, October-November-December 1992, 50, dated 1913 and printed
in Samos.
15
Vivliofilia, 58, October-November-December 1992, 50, dated 1920 and printed
in Salonika.
16
Vivliofilia, 60 April-May-June 1993, 63, dated 1909, 1916 and 1917. We have a
photocopy of this yearbook in our own private library, dated 1914 and printed in
110 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

Athens by the publisher Yoannis D. Kollaros. The cover of the yearbook states
that it is the fourteenth issue.
17
Dimoprasia Palion Vivlion, 8-9 October 1991, 44, dated 1898.
18
Dimoprasia Palion Vivlion, 8-9 October 1991, 44, dated, 1902, first issue and
printed in Siros (one of the Cyclad islands).
19
Vivliofilika Nea, 30-1 March 1995, 22, dated 1897.
20
From Vivliofilika Nea, 14-15 May 1992, 41, we learn that it is the fourth issue and
dated 1915. We have the photocopy of the third issue of this yearbook in our own
private library dated 1911. We understand that it was prepared by Aspiotis
Brothers and printed in the island of Kerkira (Corfu).
21
G. N. Mihail, Ellinikos Odigos 1920, Athens, 1919.
22
Falbos, 15, 421 (no: 179). The yearbook is 116 pages and printed in Athens.
23
Odigos tis Ellados, Samu* Kritis* Kipru ke Apasis tis Makedonias, 3rd issue, Corfu,
1911. (Cited in footnote 42).
24
The guidebook cited in footnote 43: Berber, Engin, Izmir 1920, Yunanistan
Rehberinden İşgal Altındaki Bir Kentin Öyküsü, Akademi Kitabevi, Izmir, 1998, 104.
25
‘Pontiki’, a weekly humor magazine in Athens printed the Izmir section of the
guidebook under the heading: Izmir Before the Catastrophe (İ Smirni prin apo tin
Katastrofi), for the 70th anniversary (1992) of Asia Minor Catastrophe which means
‘the breaking off of the roots Hellenism beyond the Aegean’ in Greece. In Turkey, the same
year was celebrated as the 70th anniversary of liberation from Greek invasion. See,
BerberI-V for a comprehensive catalogue of symposiums, conferences, etc, and
publications in both countries with regards to this anniversary.
26
Zeki Arıkan, ‘Türkiye Cumhuriyeti Tarihi Anabilim Dalı Jürileri’, Cumhuriyet Bilim
Teknik, 624, 6 Mart 1999, 16.
27
During this period Izmir was the capital sanjak (subdivision of a province) and
the administrative capital of Aydın Province, one of the twenty-two provinces of
the Asian territories of the Ottoman Empire. The other sanjaks of the Province
were: Aydın, Manisa and Denizli.
28
In accordance with the specific purpose of the guidebook, it is clear that it
underestimated the place of Turks in Izmir’s economy. Although there is an
independent study prepared by Turks five years (1915/1330 A.H.) before the
publication of the Greek Guidebook named Izmir Tüccarân ve Esnafân-ı İslâmiyesine
Mahsus Rehber (A Guidebook of the Muslim Merchants and Artisans of Izmir), it is
extremely poor compared to the Greek one because it does not cover the non-
Muslim communities of the city.
29
For further detail on these commercial buildings and sites, see, Berber, VI,
footnote 30.
30
Dimoprasia Palion Vivlion, 8-9 October 1991, 44.
31
İmerologion ke Odigos tis Smirnis ke ton Periks Poleon ke Nision tu Etus 1890, 3rd issue,
Alexandria, 1889.
32
Vivliofilika Nea, 3-4 December 1991, 24.
33
In, Kepas, 10, it states that it was printed in 1904 at D. H. Serasi’s lithography
workshop in Trabzon.
34
Kepas, 10. See footnote 36, for a yearbook prepared by Eleni Svoronu under the
same title when Samos was ceded to the Kingdom of Greece.
35
In, Kepas, 10, it states that the yearbook was printed at N. G. Kefalidu’s printing
office.
36
Kepas, 10. In, Falbos, 13, 431, it is stated that this 264 page yearbook prepared
by Vas. Kandisavlos Karolidis, D. Kaklamanos, Arist. Kurtidis ve SLambros was
decorated by statistical tables regarding products and was presumably printed in
Istanbul.
 Ottoman Manuscripts in Europe 111

37
In, Hacidimos, 4, 382 (no: 77), it states that this forty-eight-page yearbook was
printed in American Printing Office, the director of which was Father Daniil
(Daniel) Templu.
38
In, Hacidimos, 4, 407 (no: 281). Printed in 1854 at Markopulu’s Printing Office.
39
In, Hacidimos, 4, 410 (no: 298). Illustrated calendarrinted in 1856 at A.
Damianu’s Printing Office.
40
In, Hacidimos, 4, 410 (no: 303). Prepared by D. Hristoyannopulo and printed in
1856.
41
In, Hacidimos, 5, 325 (no: 467) and p.326 (no: 474). Both yearbooks were
printed in 1867 at Daveroni and Sudzoli Printing Office. At 340 (no: 553),
Essential Yearbook pertaining to 1873, was also printed in 1872 at the same
printing office.
42
In, Hacidimos, 5, 330 (no: 490)rinted at Markopulu’s Printing Office.
43
Mihailidu, İ. Mihailagkosmios Emborikos Odigos tu Etus 1908, Izmir. This yearbook
could not be determined by the bibliographic studies cited in footnote 27.
44
Falbos, 15, 421 (no: 180).
45
In, Kepas, 10, it states that the yearbook was prepared by Thras. M. Mali.
46
Hacidimos, 6432-433 (no: 904), Solomonidi, 91.
47
Hacidimos, 6, 436 (no: 936), Solomonidi, 91.
48
The guidebook, of which we gave a full bibliographic reference in footnote 66,
was re-numerated until page 184 after page 372.
49
The word ‘Rum’ is what the Ottoman sources of that period refer as ‘the Greek
subjects of the Ottoman Empire.’
50
In, Solomonidi, Hristu, Sokr., İ Dimosiografia sti Smirni (1821-1922) (Athens,
1959), 205, it states that in 1909 Vamvakidis published a short-lived monthly
newspaper, in both French and Greek, named ‘Reklam’, the contents of which
covered commercial and economic matters. He also states that the issues of this
guidebook dated 26.5.1909 and 18.6.1909 are at Korais Library in Chios, registered
under number 17.
51
Giannokopulos, 274.
52
The years which February has 29 day instead of 28 days. The Greeks usually
avoid getting married in the leap years because of the belief that it may bring bad
luck.
53
Vivliofilika Nea, 9-10 December 1993, 60resumably dated 1863.
54
From, Kepas, 9, we understand that it was printed at A Koromila Printing
Office.
55
In, Kepas, 10, it states the first (dated 1882) of these yearbooks was printed at
Trakya Printing Office, and the others (dated 1883 and 1884) were printed at İ.
Palamari’s Printing Office.
56
In, Vivliofilia, 68, April-May-June 1995, 19, dated 1883.
57
In, Kepas, 10, it states that it is dated 1895 and printed by F. Cumeka ile E.
Suma.
58
In, Kepas, 10, it states that it was printed at the Printing Office of Gerardos
Brothers.
59
Kepas, 10.
60
Vivliofilika Nea, 30-31 March 1995, 22, dated 1904.
61
In, Alexis Alexandris, The Greek Minority of İstanbul and Greek-Turkish Relations
1918-1974, Athens, 1983, 48, The rich Rums of Istanbul did not only help the
building of a large network of education in the capital of the Ottoman Empire, but
they also supported, with their donations, the establishment and survival of many
churches and charity organization in the city. The author states that the most
important of these charity organizations was Balıklı Hospital in Yedikule, which was
112 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

the most sophisticated hospital of the Balkans until 1910. This hospital is still on
duty today.
62
From, Alexandris, 48, first one is dated 1904, from, Dimoprasia Palion Vivlio, 8-9
October 1991, 44; the second dated 1905, from Kepas, 10, and the third dated
1906.
63
From, Vivliofilika Nea, 30-1 March 1995, 9, we understand that of the two
humorous yearbooks the one pertaining to 1910, which is the first issue, was
decorated with Karolidi’s colored caricatures, from Kepas, 10, the one pertaining
to 1911 was prepared by Konstantinos Makridu and printed at Doğu Printing
Office.
64
In, Kepas, 10, it states that it was printed at Koromila Printing Office.
65
Kepas, 10.
66
Kepas, 10.
67
Alexandris, 47 states that, ‘Zografion was a high school for boys in Beyoğlu built in 1890
by the donations of banker Christaki Zographos.’
68
Kepas, 10.
69
In, Kepas, 10, it was printed at the Printing Office of Angelidu and Partners.
70
Kepas, 10.
71
In, Kepas, 10, it was printed at the Printing Office of A. Hristidu.
72
Hacidimos, 5, 340 (no: 552).
73
Th. K. and S. K., İmerologio ke Odigos Smirnis tu Visektu Etus 1876, Izmir, 1875.
Hacidimos, 5, 347 (no: 608).
74
In, Hacidimos, 4, 359, it states that Konstantinos Rodes printed the first issue of
Amalthia newspaper in July 1838 at Antoniu Patrikiu’s Printing Office, and in 1839
he acquired his own printing office: ‘Amalthia’s Ionia Printing Office’ and that until
1922 it was the biggest and most popular printing office in Izmir.
75
Solomonidi, 26.
76
Hacidimos, 6, 426 (no: 862), Solomonidi, 90-1.
77
İmerologion ke Odigos tis Smirnis ke ton Periks Poleon ke Nision tu Etus 1890,
Alexandria, from an advertisement in 1889.
78
Hacidimos, 6, 427 (no: 868), Solomonidi 91.
79
From the same advertisement cited in footnote 100.
80
See, above for the yearbooks of 1890 and 1893/1894.
81
Hacidimos could not determine the sixth one. He says, ‘There are five yearbooks of
Amalthia which we know of’ in, Hacidimos 6, 427.
82
Giannokopulos, 267-8 (no: 48).
83
Denoted in Hacidimos, 5, 347, no: 608.
84
The original copy is at the Library of Enosi Smirneon (Athens).
85
Solomonidi, 205. In 1909 the printers of the Greek newspapers went on strike
demanding a raise in their salaries. The newspaper owners in turn decided to
publish a monthly newspaper every copy of which would bear the name of one of
the four biggest morning newspapers, that is, ‘Amalthia’, ‘Armonia’, ‘Nea Smirni’ and
‘İmerisia’ in order to break the strike. The strike committee, in return, decided to
publish Ameroliptos to serve as a financial support for the strike. Th. Ktena was
both the director and editor in chief of this newspaper. The newspaper suspended
the publication when the strike ended.
86
Solomonidi, 93, the title of one of the articles was: ‘Göztepe and the Great Martyr’.
 3
___________________________________

OTTOMAN-EUROPEAN
CULTURAL EXCHANGE

East is East and West is West, and Sometimes the

Twain Did Meet Diplomatic Gift Exchange
in the Ottoman Empire

Hedda Reindl-Kiel

Salomon Schweigger, who accompanied the German embassy to the

Porte in 1578-81 as the official Protestant chaplain, writes in his
travelogue about the diplomatic gifts his embassy presented to the
Ottoman court, mainly gilded clocks, watches and silver vessels, that
‘all superbly exquisite work, which would have to be valued higher
than the metal, the gold or silver, is not appreciated by these people,
who are amazed by it but, I am told, have it melted down again and
made into coins and money. It has also been reported that the
beautiful clocks brought to the Sultan over many years are hoarded
by him in a big chamber where they are ruined by rust. Many have
been sold off, although he sometimes has them changed around,
with a different one being placed in his apartment…’1
This passage suggests a fundamental disagreement between East
and West concerning gifts, especially state gifts. We have to deal, it
seems, with two diverging traditions about the proper handling of a
gift. This is in a way connected, as we shall see, with the gift’s
function in society.
Since Mauss’ classical study2 the theoretical literature on gift
exchange has multiplied, yet most systems cover only one or maybe
several aspects of our problem. Of course, diplomatic gifts are by
their nature reciprocal in Mauss’ sense; but to regard the exchange of
goods between Ottomans and Germans or other Westerners as
interaction between two groups integrated in a system of total
performance, a ‘fait social total ’, as Mauss also suggests, seems, in this
114 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
context, not too plausible. As a whole, Mauss places more emphasis
on systems of exchange in an economic sense than on individual
gifts.
Some of Bourdieu’s ideas, though, are interesting for our purpose,
especially his concept of honour as symbolic capital.3 On the other
hand Bourdieu sees gifts as a possible method to dominate others,
since presents in whatever form create social asymmetries. The latter
notion, developed in the Kabylian setting of the sixties, might in a
sense even have a grain of truth for diplomatic gifts between two
highly developed pre-modern empires, as in our case.
For the Ottoman society with its intensely hierarchical character
honour was a key word. Very few formal divisions (as classes, for
example) existed, and even small groups and sub-groups had
hierarchical structures. The decisive factor for a person’s status was
the amount of honour, or ‘symbolic capital’, he or she had.
Accordingly, an elaborate etiquette was used to make all hierarchies
and sub-hierarchies evident. A special part of this etiquette was
covered, I think, by gift exchange, which precisely made the status of
the present’s receiver visible and tangible. Thus gifts established not
only real values but also what we might call symbolic capital in kind.
Contemporary Western societies, which also had hierarchical
structures, possessed a higher degree of formal division, while sub-
hierarchies in smaller groups might have been slightly less distinct.
This does not mean, of course, that questions of honour and
etiquette generally played a considerably smaller role in Western
societies. But status was, it seems, not demonstrated so much by
receiving gifts as in the Ottoman Empire. During the earlier Middle
Ages a somewhat similar attitude can be traced in the West as well.4
This might have changed, however, in the course of time. Natalie
Zemon Davis’ monograph on The Gift in Sixteenth-Century France 5
unfortunately does not deal with this question. Thus we might
conclude ex silencio that conspicuous gift receiving did not play a
crucial role in the West at that time.
In the Ottoman Empire, however, gifts were, as I said, a part of a
person’s honour and hence an essential element of etiquette. We
should probably see the frequent lamentations of Western diplomats
about the greediness of Ottoman dignitaries demanding more or
better gifts in this context. In Ottoman eyes, Western Barbarians
lacking the appropriate knowledge about suitable behaviour
obviously had to be educated, while visitors from the East usually
played their role with grace and grandezza. Of course, affronts were
no privilege of the West. Sometimes Muslim fellow believers could
be pretty good at it.
When in 1481 an embassy delegation from the Indian Bahmanî
ruler Shams al-Dîn Muhammad Shâh was arrested in Jeddah by the
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 115
local governor, who also confiscated the gifts (among them a
diamond-studded dagger) for the Ottoman ruler, the Ottoman side
was scandalised. Contemporary Ottoman chronicles accordingly
attribute the outbreak of the Ottoman-Mamluk war of 1485-91 to
this incident.6 It does not matter here whether this was really a
reason for the conflict. The point is that it indicates the significance
of diplomatic gifts to sultans and Ottoman society.
A clear pointer to the importance of state gifts is to be found in
the ceremony of the Ottoman court. Bertrandon de la Broquière
reports in 1432 that the gifts were brought behind the envoy when
he entered the court for audience. The officials carrying the gifts
lifted them regularly so that the ruler and all spectators could see
them.7 Apparently in the seventeenth century8 a change in the
custom took place: the presents were sent to the palace the day
before the audience and were put on display on benches along the
left portico in the second court.9 This practice demonstrates clearly
that the Ottomans understood this kind of gift exchange as a special
form of conspicuous consumption.
Schweigger’s observation, which I quoted at the beginning,
suggests that in the West the attitude towards personal offerings as
symbolic substitutes for the giver’s affection or admiration had
already started to develop, while in the Ottoman world a gift largely
lost its symbolic worth after it was received. It turned into real value,
when it was put into the treasury, hazine, which was a part of almost
every well-to-do household. Unlike in the West, presents received
by an individual were not necessarily put on show, although this
could happen with especially prestigious objects.
When in 1628 the Kaiser’s ambassador Hans Ludwig von
Kuefstein arrived in Edirne, he was received by an imposing
contingent of people along with two elephants. Both animals were
displayed again the next day, during the ambassador’s meal.10 We
can be rather sure that they were a gift either from the Safavid or the
Mughal court. In Şevvâl 1150/February 1738 ‘Abd al-Kerîm Beğ,
ambassador of Nâdir Shâh, presented, for example, next to precious
brocades and silks an elephant to the Sultan, mükemmel takımı ile zincir
(a complete set with chain), as the register reports.11 According to
Rüstem Pasha’s chronicle in 1515, an elephant sent by the Mamluk
Sultan Qânsûh al-Ghawrî arrived at the Ottoman court. This animal
had been part of a gift package of four elephants from ‘the King of
India’, as an Arabic source12 puts it. Only two of the four giants,
however, had survived the journey to Cairo.13
Not to put items like European silver vessels etc. on show was on
one hand certainly linked with a kind of Ottoman superiority
complex towards the West. On the other hand, it had without doubt
to do with the Ottoman (and generally Islamic) housing and
116 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
furnishing styles, which obviously shaped the aesthetic tastes of the
day.
Until well into the nineteenth century the interiors of all Turkish
houses were largely designed as an unbroken space with grandly wide
and flat surfaces. The conventional level of indoor activity (eating,
reading, writing etc.) was perhaps about one foot (or approximately
30 cm) above the floor, which was covered by carpets or flat-weaves.
This meant that the windows providing light were set considerably
deeper than in the West. Interior decorations sought to maintain and
deepen the sense of space formed by the architecture. Thus, three-
dimensional decoration had to be generally avoided. The preference
for two-dimensional decoration seems to have influenced Ottoman
aesthetics to such an extent that perspective views were—although
known—not valued in miniatures and, to conclude from existing
paintings, were not wanted at all before the eighteenth century. Aside
from this fondness for two-dimensional decorative elements,
monochrome items or objects with empty surfaces were, for the
most part, held in less esteem than ornamented ones. In this context,
textiles and embroideries had an importance hardly to be
underestimated. Yet, even metal objects were largely adorned in a
textile-like manner,14 either by means of engraving or by
incrustations, which could result in a sort of relief. But even reliefed
surfaces, such as in some Safavid metalwork, were less ‘three-
dimensional’ than those of the West. Moreover, the Ottoman elite
was Persophile enough to accept and admire artefacts of this kind, as
long as they were of Persian origin. However, Western Baroque-
style metal work reliefs, giving an illusion of perspective view,
definitely did not belong to the repertoire of classical Ottoman
aesthetics.
In the classical period Ottoman chambers could have tiny niches,
which usually did not disturb the two-dimensional face of the wall;
this was achieved by a curtain wall in front of such niches, with
openings a bit smaller than the recesses themselves.15 Although these
were places to put lamps, and in rare cases also vases or other
utensils, they were not primarily meant for putting precious items on
show to demonstrate one’s social status. That was accomplished by
wearing valuable material (including furs), by furnishing a room with
costly textile coverings, by using delicate objects in daily life and by
wearing jewellery or, occasionally, expensively adorned weapons.
As indicated above, gifts in the Ottoman world confirmed status
at the moment of being handed over to the receiver, who then added
them to his treasury. After that, the same present could be re-used as
a gift to somebody else. While lying in the treasury the item was
deprived of its emotional and symbolic value. However, this quality
could return to the object when it was bestowed to another person.
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 117
This was quite common in Ottoman society, and the court was in
this respect no exception, as indicated by a dispatch of presents to
the Mughal court in 1744 which included entire sets of Western
clocks.16
In accordance with tradition, the Prophet himself received from
the Byzantine governor of Egypt, al-Muqawqis, four slave girls, one
eunuch (who then died in Medina), a mule, a donkey, a horse, gold,
textiles, honey and other Egyptian specialities. The mule (the famous
Duldul) and the donkey became his favourite animals for riding,
three of the slave girls he married off, and the gold pieces he gave as
alms.17 Thus, he must have considered gifts in a similar way to the
Ottomans in later times, regarding them as the transfer of moveable
property.
For an Ottoman, a fine gift was a perfect item to emphasise the
honour of another individual, since its symbolic worth turned into a
real material value at the moment it was received and put into the
treasury. As I said, impressive gifts were evidently conceived as a
part of a secondary currency in kind.
Another source of misunderstandings must have been the
different codes developed by East and West for official gifts. In both
cases these codes promoted a general impression of the person’s
status. However, this tendency seems to have been rather more
strongly emphasised in the Ottoman Empire. In the Islamic world a
whole package of possible gifts suitable for other rulers had been
developed long before the Ottomans stepped onto the stage of
history. The range of gifts the caliph Hârûn al-Rashîd sent in 807 to
Charlemagne in Aix-la-Chapelle is already a legendary case in point.
‘Abdallâh, the envoy from Baghdad, brought in addition to costly
silks two huge chandeliers, a big intricate water-clock, scents and
balsam, an elephant (who died on the way in Cologne) and an
enormous tent.18 Thus, the set of gold, incense and myrrh, said to
have been presented to the Infant Jesus by the Three Wise Men
from the East,19 seems to have gained an ‘Islamic’ component by the
addition of a tent.
Other favoured items for a state gift were jewelled weapons and
jewellery in general, horses and horse equipment. Exotic animals,
falcons and slaves completed the collection. In later times another
type of item became fashionable, of course only for inner-Islamic
diplomatic contacts: religious books, especially Koran copies. By
bestowing a religious book, the giving side demonstrated its own
religiousness and alluded at the same time to the ideal of the pious
and just Islamic ruler. The gift-receiving party could understand this
as acknowledgement of his perfect exercise of Islamic rule.
Diplomatic gift exchange with Safavid Iran contained also non-
religious books, especially miniature manuscripts.20 An example for
118 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
such a gift, which is mentioned in Ottoman historiography, was
Koran and a complete edition of al-Bukhârî’s (810-70) al-jâmi‘ al-
sahîh, sent in 1489 (?) by Sultan ‘Uthmân of Tunis to Sultan Bâyezîd
II.21 Later Ottoman archival sources contain quite a lot of material
about received or bestowed Koran-copies as diplomatic gifts.
Although these standardised offerings were diplomatically very
correct, they seem to have not always aroused enthusiasm on the
part of the beneficiary. In the diplomatic intercourse with the West,
members of the ruling family sometimes took matters in their own
hands and bluntly informed Western heads of state as to their wishes
and supplied detailed descriptions. In this manner Mehmed III could
add to his state galley (baştarda-i hümâyûn) three splendidly glittering
ship’s lanterns from Venice, as Hans Theunissen pointed out a few
years ago in a fascinating paper.22 In another case, the vâlide sultân, the
sultan’s mother, let Elizabeth I know she would prefer ‘distilled
waters ... for the face’, ‘odoriferous oils for the hands’ and ‘cloths of
silk or wool’ from England to jewellery.23
Textiles were in general favourite gifts of the pre-modern
Ottoman Empire, and Michael Rogers has rightly called them ‘the
currency of the Ottoman honours system’.24 They were not only easy
to transport but also the preferred way to display status.
Furthermore they were, compared with the income of the lower
strata of society, extremely expensive. Embroidered handkerchiefs,
napkins, towels, wrappers, barber’s aprons, but also underwear,
caftans and fabrics of all kinds and prices were considered to be
fashionable gifts in all circles of society.
The Ottoman court indulged, very similar to other pre-modern
Middle Eastern courts, in this ‘textilomania’ as well. The bulk of
textile presents were, though, robes of honour, hil‘at, a legacy of
earlier Islamic and pre-Islamic states.25 A hil‘at was an
institutionalised gift, which was not to be ritually exchanged, since, in
terms of the status hierarchy, it was always handed over in a
downward movement.26 Hence it is never to be found among the
tributary gifts (pîşkeş) sent by pashas to the Porte. Hil‘ats were given
out by the court, i.e. (at least in principle) by the sultan. In times of
war the commander in chief—acting as the ruler’s deputy—used to
have a sufficient amount of these attires at his disposal to reward
bravery on the battle field. Commanders or provincial governors of
lower rank would also receive certain amounts of hil‘ats to distribute
them among their subordinates as a reward.27 The same was true for
the ağa (general) of the janissaries.28
It is a common view that the hil‘at served as the equivalent of a
Western badge of honour, which is for the most part correct. But the
symbolism of a garment was, of course, entirely different from that
of a Western medal. Accordingly, the distribution of hil‘ats diverged
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 119
in many aspects from the Western approach to the handing out of
medals. Since it stood for protection by the sultan for the receiver,
which implied loyalty to the ruler by the bestowed, it symbolised a
kind of vassalage. This component made it a highly inappropriate gift
for another sovereign, and normally we find it only sent to
princelings like the voyvoda of Transylvania,29 who were indeed
Ottoman vassals.
To the ‘king of Austria’ (Nemce kıralına), however, the Ottoman
court dispatched in spring 1650 an almost classical set of diplomatic
gifts, 14 horses, all kinds of costly horse trappings, bridles, stirrups,
saddles, various horse blankets, embroideries, two small and four
large Persian carpets, a small silk carpet, 15 Uşak seccâdes, a ball (top)
of ambergris, a royal tent (otak) with equipment and awnings, 20
pieces of musk, a jewelled (curved) horn, 10 pieces of bezoar-stone
(an antidote) and, a bit unusual, no less than 50 turbans destâr-i paşa,
one hundred other turbans of the best quality (mu‘allâ) and five robes
of honour made of serâser (hil‘at-ı serâser),30 probably the most costly
of all Ottoman silks, a cloth of gold and silver woven in a taqueté
structure.31 Turbans, carpets and hil‘ats cost the impressive sum of
three hundred nine thousand akçe.32
Except for the robes of honour and perhaps the turbans, all items
correspond to the image of a ruler spreading splendour and
constituted therefore an appropriate selection of diplomatic gifts. To
a Christian monarch the masses of turbans appeared somewhat odd,
though. Was this connected with the established sultanic custom of
providing converts to Islam at least with a turban? If so, it had to be
taken as a request to convert. Hence we might understand it as a
kind of ersatz for the Koran copies sent to Muslim rulers.
Even odder than the turbans were, however, the hil‘ats. It was
certainly possible to send garments to another monarch without
being diplomatically incorrect. But in such a case any allusion to
robes of honour had to be avoided. However, in the context of a
register of ceremonies (teşrîfât defteri), from which our entry comes,
the term hil‘at is certainly not chosen by accident. It clearly
emphasises a message of Ottoman superiority over the Austrians,
showing them their appropriate place in the political landscape.
There is little doubt, however, that the Ottomans just continued with
this gift a tradition already practised in the diplomatic intercourse
with the Kaiser, who, in their system of values, had been an
important enemy who simply refused to accept his inferior status as
a vassal of the Porte.
By now the Austrian envoy Schmid von Schwarzenhorn (the
former resident to Constantinople) had successfully renewed the
peace treaty of Zsitvatorok (1606). At the same time he succeeded in
reducing the amount of ‘presents’ to the Porte. In particular, Schmid
120 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
had the task of ensuring that the Austrian gifts would not be referred
to in the official document as ‘duty’ (Abgabe), thus trying to bring the
two empires diplomatically to a status of equal powers.33
The diplomatic gifts to the court of Vienna are an unmistakable
hint that the Porte was irritated by and disliked this settlement. If the
Austrians stopped to call their tributary gifts by their proper name,
the robes of honour would remind the Kaiser of his status as an
Ottoman vassal. This solution put, at least for the master of
ceremonies, the world in order again.
In Ottoman eyes, this settlement must have been a success,
because in 1665 the Ottoman envoy Kara Mehmed Pasha brought to
the court of Vienna not only a jewelled aigrette (sorguc) but also a
single-poled tent, ten prayer rugs (seccâde), five Persian carpets, one
okka (1.2828 kg)34 ambergris, two purebred Arab horses (küheylan)
preciously saddled up, eight spare horses and no less than a hundred
turbans (sarık) and forty robes of honour.35
The very nature of a hil‘at made it a perfect item for this purpose.
It is very likely that a robe of honour did not differ from a normal
courtly dress worn by certain ranks. Unfortunately there seem to
exist only very few depictions of hil‘ats and even less of a robing
ceremony.36 As far as conclusions on the basis of this limited account
are possible, it is evident that the bestowed attires corresponded to
current courtly fashions. This impression is strengthened by
Fındıklızâde, who mentions in his Nusretnâme a banquet given (28
Şa‘bân 1106 /13 April 1695) by the grand vizier for the Sultan
(Mustafâ II); at this occasion the sadrıa‘zam offered to his exalted
guest, among other gifts (a jewelled belt worth 1,000 pieces of gold,
four wrappers with dîbâ (brocaded satin)37, a fully-equipped mare and
another, level-headed gently moving horse, a samur erkân kürkü (sable
fur for the ‘pillars of state’),38 a garment normally assigned as a robe
of honour to the highest ranks of state.39 Even if we assume that a
garment designed as a hil‘at might have had somewhere a mark
highlighting it as special gift by the sultan,40 this must have been far
less visible than modern brand names of so-called designer clothes.
Hence, what made up a hil‘at, was mainly naming it as such.
In a sending of diplomatic gifts, robes of honour therefore could
be understood as innocent garments presented from an equal to an
equal, at least if not specified otherwise in the accompanying
documentation. We do not yet know the wording of this list of
presents for 1650, although it might well have survived in the Haus-
Hof- und Staatsarchiv in Vienna; in all probability it followed
verbatim the entry in our register. Of course, we cannot exclude the
possibility that a meek translation made the text agreeable for the
Kaiser’s ear, avoiding the harshness of the original. Since the neutral
term câme (‘garment’)41 is frequently used in the early sixteenth
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 121
century ‘registers of royal favours’ (in‘âmât defterleri) instead of hil‘at,
it is also possible that a diplomatically harmless diction was chosen.
Whether the implicit message was understood on the Austrian
side is not completely clear. If the term ‘robe of honour’ was
conveyed to the Kaiser, it is very likely that the court of Vienna
chose to ignore the affront and remain silent. In any case, the
Austrian resident in Constantinople, Schmid von Schwarzenhorn
must have been well-informed about the customs of the Ottoman
court. Faux pas like that of Richard Lionheart, who walked happily
around in Jerusalem wearing a robe of honour he had received from
Saladin,42 probably belonged to the past.
Nevertheless, we can be sure that despite all diplomatic
annoyances the Ottoman gifts were very much appreciated in Vienna
for their exotic quality. Although the great times of Turkomania had
not yet started, the turbans were very welcome items indeed, to be
used, I suppose, at courtly carnival parties.43 This, of course, had not
exactly been what the Ottomans intended.
Neither of the two sides, as we can see, could thus escape their
own cultural codes, and both remained captives of their respective
system. Hence, without entering the Orientalism debate, we may
conclude that even when East and West did meet, a third guest was
usually present: cultural misunderstanding.

Notes
1
Salomon Schweigger, Ein newe Reyßbeschreibung auß Teutschland Nach Constantinopel
und Jerusalem (11578-1581). Nürnberg 1608, reprint: Graz (Akademische Druck-
und Verlagsanstalt) 1964, 61.
2
Marcel Mauss, The Gift: the Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic Societies. (transl.
By W.D. Halls), New York (W.W. Norton) 1990.
3
Pierre Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice. Cambridge/UK (Cambridge
University Press) 142000, 171-83.
4
Cf. Jürgen Hannig, ‘Ars donandi. Zur Ökonomie des Schenkens im frühen
Mittelalter’, in: Geschichte in Wissenschaft und Unterricht 38 (1986), 150.
5
Madison, Wisconsin (The University of Wisconsin Press) 2000.
6
Cf. Brigitte Moser, Die Chronik des Ahmed Sinan Čelebi, genannt Bihišti: Eine Quelle
zur Geschichte des Osmanischen Reiches unter Sultan Bâyezid II. München (Trofenik)
1980, 104. For greater detail in this matter see Shai Har-El, Struggle for Domination
in the Middle East: The Ottoman-Mamluk War, 1885-1491. Leiden-New York-Köln
(Brill) 1995, p113-4. Among the gifts which finally reached the Ottoman court
were ‘several bales of fabric’ (Moser, ibidem).
7
Bertrandon de la Broquière, Le voyage d'outremer de Bertrandon de la Broquière (1432).
Ed. Ch. Schefer (= Recueil de voyages et documents pour servir à l'histoire de la
géographie, No. XII), Paris 1892, 190.
122 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

8
In 1608 the presents, which were brought to the seraglio the day before, were
shown to the spectators the day of the audience. Cf. Maximilian Brandstetter,
‘Itinerarium oder Raisbeschreibung’, in: Karl Nehring, Adam Freiherrn zu
Herbersteins Gesandtschaftsreise nach Konstantinopel. Ein Beitrag zum Frieden von Zsitvatorok
(1606). (= Südosteuropäische Arbeiten 78) München (Oldenbourg) 1983, 124-6. In
1628 the Kaiser’s envoy Hans Ludwig von Kuefstein reports also that the gifts
were lifted by the Sultan’s court officials when he went to the audience. Cf. Karl
Teply, Die kaiserliche Großbotschaft an Sultan Murad IV. 1628: Des Freiherrn Hans
Ludwig von Kuefsteins Fahrt zur Hohen Pforte. Wien (A. Schendl), s.a., 81.
9
Gülru Necipoğlu, Architecture, Ceremonial and Power: The Topkapı Palace in the
Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries. Cambridge, MA – London (The MIT Press) 1991,
66.
10
Karl Teply, Die kaiserliche Großbotschaft, 40 f. To watch elephants must have been
considered a noble way of passing the time, as Silahdâr found it important enough
to mention that Sultan Mustafa II ‘had the elephants brought and was watching
them for a while’, (Silâhdar Fındıklı Mehmed Ağa, Nusretname. I, ed. İsmet
Parmaksızoğlu. Istanbul 1962-4, 6).
11
Istanbul, Başbakanlık Osmanlı Arşivi (BOA) A.TŞF 348, fol. 3 b.
12
Ludwig Forrer, Die osmanische Chronik des Rüstem Pascha. (= Georg Jacob und
Rudolf Tschudi, ed., Türkische Bibliothek 21), Leipzig 1923, 43.
13
Celia J. Kerslake, ‘The Correspondence Between Selîm I and Kânsûh al-Gawrî’,
in: Prilozi za Orientalnu Filologiju 30 (1980), 227 (according to Ibn Iyâs the Indian
legation had arrived in Cairo 2 Ramadân 918/11 November 1512). Sometimes
elephants were taken on military expeditions as well, cf. Forrer, Chronik des Rüstem
Pascha, 59.
14
Cf. to this topic in general Lisa Golombek, ‘The Draped Universe of Islam ‘, in:
Priscilla P. Soucek (ed.), Content and Context of Visual Arts in the Islamic World. (=
Monographs on the fine arts 44), University Park, Pa-London (Pennsylvania State
University Press) 1988, 25-49.
15
In architectural decoration a pronounced sense of three-dimensionality became
evident at the beginning of the eithteenth century, cf. Shirine Hamadeh, ‘Splash
and Spectacle: The Obsession with Fountains in Eighteenth-Century Istanbul’, in:
Muqarnas 19 (2002), 126-8.
16
BOA, Mal. Müd. 9054, 599; D.BŞM 2779, 1-2. Cf. also Hedda Reindl-Kiel,
‘Pracht und Ehre. Zum Geschenkwesen im Osmanischen Reich’, in: Das
Osmanische Reich in seinen Archivalien und Chroniken. Nejat Göyünç zu Ehren..ed. Klaus
Kreiser u. Christoph K. Neumann, (= Beiruter Texte und Studien Bd. 65,
Türkische Welten Bd.1) Istanbul-Stuttgart (Franz Steiner)1997, 187.
17
Ghâda al-Hijjâwî al-Qaddûmî, Book of Gifts and Rarities (kitâb al-Hadâyâ wa al-
Tuhâf): Selections Compiled in the Fifteenth Century from an Eleventh-Century Manuscript on
Gifts and Treasures. Cambridge, MA (Havard University Press) 1996, 63-5.
18
S. Abel (fortgesetzt durch B. Simson), Jahrbücher des fränkischen Reiches unter Karl
dem Großen II (789-814), (= Jahrbücher der deutschen Geschichte, historische
Comission der königlichen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Bayern) Leipzig 1883,
365-8 (German translation and Latin original).
19
Matthew, 2:11.
20
Cf. Filiz Çağman and Zeren Tanındı, ‘Remarks on some manuscripts from the
Topkapı Palace treasury in the context of Ottoman-Safavid relations’, in: Muqarnas
13 (1996), 132-48.
21
Brigitte Moser, Die Chronik des Ahmed Sinan Čelebi, 132 f.
22
Hans Theunissen, ‘The Venetian Lanterns of Mehmed III’s State Galley’, paper
at the 11th International Congress of Turkish Art in Utrecht, August 1999.
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 123

23
Susan A. Skilliter, ‘Three Letters from the Ottoman ‘Sultana’ Sâfiye to Queen
Elizabeth I.’, in: S.M. Stern (ed.), Documents from Islamic Chanceries. First Series.
Oxford (Bruno Cassirer) 1965, 142.
24
Michael Rogers, ‘Ottoman Luxury Trades and their Regulation’, in: Hans Georg
Majer (ed.), Osmanistische Studien zur Wirtschafts- und Sozialgeschichte. In memoriam
Vančo Boškov. Wiesbaden (Otto Harrassowitz) 1986, 139.
25
Cf. N.A.Stillman, ‘Khil‘a’, in: The Encyclopaedia of Islam.2 Vol. V, Leiden 1986, 6-7.
M. Fuad Köprülü, ‘Hil‘at’, in: İslam Ansiklopedisi. Vol. V, İstanbul 1964, 483-6.
Mehmet Şeker, ‘Hil‘at’, in: Türkiye Diyanet Vakfı İslâm Ansiklopedisi. Vol. 18,
Istanbul 1998, 22-25. Filiz Karaca, ‘Osmanlılar'da Hil‘at’, in: Ibidem, 25-7. See
also Monika Springberg-Hinsen, Die Hil‘a: Studien zur Geschichte des geschenkten
Gewandes im islamischen Kulturkreis.(= Mitteilungen zur Sozial- und Kulturgeschichte
der islamischen Welt VII) Würzburg (Ergon) 2000. Steward Gordon (ed.), Robes
and Honor: The Medieval World of Investiture. New York (Palgrave) 2001. I am grateful
to Prof. Avinoam Shalem, Munich, who drew my attention to the latter books.
26
Cf. Springberg-Hinsen, Hil‘a, 22.
27
See, for example, BOA, Kepeci 667 mükerrer, 19, reporting an irsâliye (sending)
of robes of honour for this purpose to the beğlerbeği of Anatolia, in 1042/1632-3.
28
Kepeci 667 mükerrer, 62 (1042/1632-3).
29
BOA, Kepeci 669, 13 (5 Muharrem 1094/5 December 1682)
30
BOA, Kepeci 668, 22.
31
Julian Raby & Alison Effeny (eds), İpek: Imperial Ottoman Silks and Velvets.
Istanbul-London (TEB) 2001, 341. See also Hülya Tezcan, Atlaslar Atlası: Pamuklu,
Yün ve İpek Kumaş Koleksiyonu/Cotton, Woolen and Silk: Fabrics Collection. Istanbul
(Yapı ve Kredi Bankası) 1993, 34.
32
BOA Kepeci 668, 22.
33
In addition, the agreed treaty stipulated that the value of gifts on either side was
not to exceed 40,000 florins, cf. Johann Wilhelm Zinkeisen, Geschichte des
osmanischen Reiches in Europa. Vol. 4, Gotha 1856, 867-869. Joseph v. Hammer,
Geschichte des Osmanischen Reiches. Vol. 5, Pest 1829, 492.
34
1 okka (vukiyye) = 1.2828 kg, see Halil İnalcık, ‘Introduction to Ottoman
Metrology,’ in: Turcica XV (1983), 320.
35
Silahdâr Fındıklı Mehmed Ağa, Silahdâr Târîhi. I, Istanbul 1928, 377. In the list of
gifts for emperor Charles VI, in 1740, however, neither robes of honour nor
turbans are mentioned, BOA Mal. Müd. 9054, 387-388.
36
Three examples are given in Raby/Effeny (eds), İpek, 30-31, figs. 18, 19, 20.
37
Cf. Tezcan, Atlaslar Atlası, 30.
38
Silâhdar, Nusretname. I, 25.
39
For example, Silâhdar, Nusretname. I 20, 31, 97, 107, 132.
40
Stewart Gordon, ‘Robes, Kings, and Semiotic Ambiguity’, in: Idem (ed.), Robes
and Honor: The Medieval World of Investiture. New York (Palgrave) 2001, 282-3, writes,
unfortunately without giving any reference, ‘The exact monetary value was stitched
into robes bestowed in Ottoman Turkey’.
41
A good example is the İn‘âmât Defteri of 909/1503-4, Ömer Lütfü Barkan,
‘İstanbul Saraylarına ait Muhasebe Defterleri’, in: Belgeler IX/13 (1979), 296-380.
42
Cf. Francesco Gabrieli, Arab Historians of the Crusades: selected and translated from the
Arabic sources. London (Routledge& Paul) 1969, 242.
43
Best documented, it seems, are the disguising divertiments of the Saxonian court
in Dresden. Cf. Claudia Schnitzer, Höfische Maskeraden: Funktion und Ausstattung von
Verkleidungsdivertissements an deutschen Höfen der Frühen Neuzeit. Tübingen (Max
Niemeyer) 1999. There is no doubt, however, that masquerades were not much
less in favour at the court of Vienna.
Mapmaking in Ottoman Istanbul between 1650 and 1750:
A Domain of Painters, Calligraphers or Cartographers?

Sonja Brentjes

The question as to whether mapmaking in Ottoman Istanbul

between 1650 and 1750 was a domain of painters, calligraphers or
cartographers, cannot be answered fully and with certainty. Many
maps did not survive and many of those, which did are so fragile that
libraries denied me access to them. Thus, my study focuses on one
kind of map—maps found in manuscripts of the works of Hājjī
Khalīfa and Abū Bakr al- Dimashqī. These manuscripts contain two
kinds of works. The first type is constituted by translations of
Gerhard Mercator’s ‘Atlas minor’ and of Wilhelm Blaeu’s ‘Atlas maior’
made from Latin into Ottoman Turkish. The second type is formed
by Hājjī Khalīfa’s and Abū Bakr al-Dimashqī’s own texts using parts
of the earlier translations that are abbreviated and rearranged into
new works. I studied only manuscripts produced definitely or most
likely in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Although I tried—
with the help of colleagues in Istanbul—to find other material
essential for this study such as remnants of map-producing
workshops from early modern Istanbul, information about map-
makers aside from the brief statement in Evliya Çelebi’s travel
account or registers of salaries and gratuities paid to calligraphers,
painters and map-makers, nothing came out of this approach. The
only material my paper is based upon remained the maps found in
the manuscripts of the two authors in the two major libraries of
Istanbul, i.e. the Süleymaniye and the library of the Topkapı Palace.
The third major library, that of Istanbul University, remained
inaccessible during the two periods of research I spent in Istanbul.
My original interest in the manuscripts and maps of Hājjī Khalīfa
and Abū Bakr al-Dimashqī stems from my larger research project on
the exchange of geographical and astronomical knowledge across the
Mediterranean Sea during the early modern period. Within this
project and with respect to the maps found in the manuscripts of the
two Ottoman geographers, I explore primarily the following three
issues:
126 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

1. What kind of knowledge was necessary for translating the maps

of Gerhard Mercator’s ‘Atlas minor’ and Wilhelm Blaeu’s ‘Atlas
maior’ into Ottoman Turkish?
2. What kind of knowledge was involved in the process of
transmitting the maps?
3. What kind of changes happened in the confrontation between
the knowledge and views embodied in the Latin maps and the
knowledge and views present among Ottoman producers and
consumers of maps?
In this paper, however, I will turn to a fourth issue which came up
while I studied the extant manuscript-maps, including those of the
autographs of Hājjī Khalīfa (MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye
Nuruosmaniye 2998 ‘Levami’ al-nur’; Topkapı Sarayı R 1624 ‘Cihan-
nüma II’) and the fine copy of Abū Bakr al-Dimashqī’s work (Ms
Istanbul, Topkapı Sarayı B 325-32). This issue concerns the question
formulated in the title of my paper, namely, who was involved in
producing and copying maps—cartographers, painters or
calligraphers?
In order to find answers to this new question, I determined
features characterizing the maps in the two autographs ascribed to
Hājjī Khalīfa, one of ‘Levami’ al-nur’, i.e. the translation of Mercator’s
‘Atlas minor’, and the other of ‘Cihan-nüma II’, i.e. Hājjī Khalīfa’s own
geographical work. I did the same kind of analysis with Abū Bakr al-
Dimashqī’s fine copy of the translation of Blaeu’s ‘Atlas maior’, with
the various epitomes of this translation ascribed to Abū Bakr and
with Abū Bakr’s Arabic summary of geography. I included in this
analysis an inspection of the material properties of the maps, i.e. I
searched for traces of instruments, templates and other auxiliary
means for drawing a map. Finally, I compared the handwritings of
maps and texts within one manuscript as well as with other
manuscripts of the same text or style of drawing and colouring. My
paper presents the results gained from this analysis in four sections,
the two first being devoted to Hājjī Khalīfa’s autographs and Abū
Bakr’s fine copy and the two subsequent ones dealing with
workshops, painters and calligraphers.

Features of the Maps in Hājjī Khalīfa’s Autographs

Hājjī Khalīfa claimed that the French convert Mehmet Ikhlas who
cooperated with him in translating Mercator’s ‘Atlas minor’ had also
taught him how to draw maps. Most of the maps in Ms Istanbul,
Süleymaniye Nuruosmaniye 2998 are, however, free-hand drawings.
Even the few maps, which possess a projectional grid, that is the
hemispheres and the maps of Europe, Africa, Asia, the Americas and
the Northern and Southern poles, show no clear signs of having
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 127

been constructed with mathematical instruments. Despite the lack of

technical knowledge embodied in these maps, there are several
indications that a person of foreign and more specifically French
origin was involved in producing them. In the map of the Safavid
Empire, for instance, transliterations, not translations and culturally
incongruent, not culturally sustained interpretations dominate the
scenery.

Persicum Regnum, MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye Nuruosmaniye 2998

A culturally incongruent interpretation is for instance the explanation

in the map’s title that the ‘Persicum Regnum’ means ‘farsî saltanatî’. A
culturally sustained interpretation would have been either ‘mamlakat-e
îrân’ or ‘mamlakat-e ‘ajam’. Transliterated words are often spelled
wrongly. The cause of the misspelling is a letter-by-letter
transliteration of the written Latin forms, unfamiliarity with the local
names, the omission of endings and several misreading of Latin
names caused by the small size of the Latin map and the low quality
of the print. Corrupt Latin forms of Persian geographical names are
not corrected and occasionally take on an even worse form. Latin
fantasy names of regions and places are not removed. A legend and
128 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

some names have been omitted while others have been added.
Strikingly enough, in both maps Isfahan and Shiraz are missing. The
repeated transliteration of ‘ch’ by the letter ‘shin’, the omission of an
ending letter ‘e’, the use of the letter ‘jim’ for ‘j’ as well as ‘g’ (before
‘e’ and ‘i’) indicate a French pronunciation.
Since MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye Nuruosmaniye 2998 is considered
to be Hājjī Khalīfa’s autograph of the translation, the maps in it are
also taken to be made by him, an assumption supported by the
identity of the handwriting in text and maps. Gottfried Hagen who
worked extensively on Hājjī Khalīfa’s geographical oeuvre believes
that Mehmet Ikhlas read the names of the maps aloud and Hājjī
Khalīfa wrote them down according to what he understood. In my
view, however, the spelling errors favour the idea that the French
convert transferred the names in a new map, which the Ottoman
scholar then copied in his autograph. An adjunct scribe as an
intermediary between the two scholars also may have been involved.
While the repeated transformation of ‘m’ into ‘n’ or ‘s’ into ‘z’ point
to an oral element in the cooperation, the change of Dinch into l-r-nj
or the spelling of Cjarcjan as q-yârk-yân seem to favour a transfer
through writing. The differing representation of vowels and certain
consonants may point to the involvement of additional persons. In
general, there is no standard strategy recognizable, which the
collaborators may have discussed, agreed upon, and then applied to
the transformation of the maps from Latin into Ottoman Turkish.
Examples for the various renditions are shown in the following list.

Examples from the Map of Persia

Latin names transliterated from explanatory addition

or my comment
Persicum Regnum Parsiqûm raghnûm ya’nî farsî saltanatî
Cjarcjan q-yârk-yân in Central Asia
Zagataj zîghâtây Çaghatay
Lop jûb (sic)
Simman Sûmân
Buccara bûqârâ Bukhâra
Cusistan kûz-stân Khuzistân
Ormuz Ûrmûz Hormuz
Sablestã sâbl-st-h Zabulistân
Serva s-rvâ ya’nî shirvân
Dinch l-r-nj
Desertum bealbauct bâlbankt beriyeh-si
Bigul Desert Ûl beriyeh-si (sic)
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 129

Cont.
Jesset j-s-t (or: h-s-t) Yazd
Circan (region) shîrqân (region) Shîrkân (town)
Macran mâkrân Makrân
Casmin qâsmîn Qazvîn
Adilbegian (region) adîlb Adharbayjân
Bedane (region) b-dân
Diarbech diyârb-k Diyâr Bakr
Balsara bâlsarah Basra
Masul mâsûl Mausil
Guzarate kûzârât (?) Gujarat
Sind (town) suwît (sic) (town Sind (region)
Die Madresabam (?) yd-r-h sabâ
Babachi bûlbâsh (sic)
Machmuabat mâshmûyâbât Mahmûdâbâd
Tach castr tâsh q-l’-h-si Tâj castle
Varcand missing
Ieselbas (region) jezel (town) Iezilbash, name for
the Sunni Uzbeks
Cabul (region) missing
Frat flu. missing Euphrates
Lexd (sic, region) missing Yazd
Mesat (region) Mesât (region) ya’nî Mashhad
Mare Balsora (east of bâlsarâ denizi (close ya’nî Basrah
Hormuz) to Basra)

Other important features of the maps in Hājjī Khalīfa’s autograph

of the translation of Gerhard Mercator’s ‘Atlas minor’ are the
introduction of a small number of Turkish words, in particular for
seas and rivers, and the incompleteness of the technical aspects such
as scales and gradation. The maps in Hājjī Khalīfa’s autograph of his
work ‘Cihan-nüma II’ possess similar features. Their degree of
incompleteness surpasses that of the maps in MS Istanbul,
Süleymaniye Nuruosmaniye 2998. Major maps as those of the
hemispheres, Europe and Asia are unfinished.
They suggest that Hājjī Khalīfa did not start with constructing the
frame, gradation and grid when drawing the maps, but began with
outlining the boundaries of the terra firma and of islands. Such a
sequence of the singular steps in drawing a map can be found in
other copies of his text too. A new aspect of MS Istanbul, Topkapı
Sarayı R 1624 is the replacement of the maps of the Ottoman and
130 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

such maps remained fragmentary too, as for instance the maps of

Kermân, Hormuz, Lâr and of Khûzistân.

Safavid Empires by newly constructed regional maps. A number of

MS Istanbul, Topkapı Sarayı R 1624, Hemispheres

MS Istanbul, Topkapı Sarayı R 1624, Asia

 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 131

MS Istanbul, Topkapı Sarayı R 1624, Khûzistân

These findings demonstrate that in the stage of translation,

cartographic projections, geographical coordinates, measurements
and precise geometrical constructions were not guiding principles.
The mathematical and cartographic knowledge shared between
Mehmet Ikhlas and Hājjī Khalīfa remained private and unused. It did
not even enter into the earliest manuscripts, i.e. the autographs of
the translation and the new ‘Cihan-nüma’. Neither Hājjī Khalīfa nor
Mehmet Ikhlas considered Ottoman Turkish geographical
nomenclature an indispensable element of their work as translators.
Apparently, Hājjī Khalīfa regarded the ‘Levami’al-nur’ only as a
translation forhis own private use, i.e. as an intermediary stage in his
geographical enterprise. When Hājjī Khalīfa wrote his second
version of the ‘Cihan-nüma’, the situation was different. Concerned
now with producing a geographical work for an Ottoman audience,
he applied himself to transform the parts he borrowed from the
translated Latin atlas into locally identifiable items, i.e. he
132 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

‘ottomanized’ them. He replaced, for instance, the map of Iran by a

series of regional maps. In these newly invented mappings of regions
of the Muslim world, no remainder was left of the transliterated
vocabulary. The new maps spoke only in Persian and Ottoman
Turkish tongue. This shift of mapped space and mapping languages
brought with itself a change of geographical, historical and political
concepts. ‘Persia’ ceased to be portrayed as the territory ruled by the
Safavids. It was reduced to the province Fars, a concept taken from
Muslim geography and history. Most of the towns and villages
populating the transliterated map made place for Iranian localities
described and defined in Arabic, Persian and Ottoman Turkish
geographies and histories. In Hājjī Khalīfa’s cartography the Safavid
Empire did not possess territorial integrity and coherence. It was
identified as the sum of its provinces. These provinces did not
follow the contemporary administrative and political structure of
Safavid Iran, but were defined by Hājjī Khalīfa’s literary sources.

Features of the Maps in Abū Bakr al-Dimashqī’s Fine Copy of

Blaeu’s ‘Atlas major ’

When we turn to Abū Bakr al-Dimashqī’s ‘Nüsret al-islam’ and focus

on four of the maps contained in MS Istanbul, Topkapı Sarayı B
325 and B 330 (the map of the hemispheres, Europe, Africa, Asia),
we find some similarities between them and the maps in the
autographs of Hājjī Khalīfa. One of the four maps (Africa) does not
contain a projectional grid, scale and gradation. The maps of Europe
and Asia are also unfinished in their technical aspects. In the maps of
Europe and Africa, the auxiliary parallels introduced for making the
drawing of the contours easier were not erased. The map of the
hemispheres shows clearly that it was not constructed, but drawn by
other means. The irregular shapes of the curves and the random size
of the distances between them may have been generated either by
free-hand drawing, the use of templates or the use of other
mechanical means. The smoothness of the curvature, the
interruptions occurring in some of the curves and the instable
character of the irregularities make templates as well as free-hand
drawings unlikely. A non-rigid mechanical device as an auxiliary
means for drawing the grid may explain the various irregularities.
Errors such as the misplacement of the tropics of Capricorn in the
hemisphere of the New World, the omission of the Caspian Sea in
the hemisphere of the Old World or the misspelling of bahr-e tata for
bahr-e tatar point to a copyist and not a cartographer at work.
The difference in technical style is not the only deviation between
W. Blaeu’s ‘Atlas maior’ and Abū Bakr’s translation. The abundant
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 133

iconography of Blaeu’s work is completely missing in all versions of

Abū Bakr’s work. The parts describing Asia and Africa in Abū Bakr’s
translation are adorned with only one general map of each continent.
None of the African and Western Asian regional maps of countries,
provinces or territories from Blaeu’s atlas were incorporated in the
fine copy, while Europe and the New World were portrayed by
general as well as numerous regional maps. Abū Bakr may have

MS Istanbul, Topkapı Saray B325, Hemisphere of the Old World

134 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

thought that these two areas mattered most to his sovereign and
patron. Furthermore, the maps of MS Istanbul, Topkapı Sarayı B
325-32 contain a mixture of transliterations and Ottoman names for
seas, islands, cities, countries and regions. In the map of Europe, for
instance, we find side by side names such as ‘Muhît-e gharbî, bahr-e
duqaleduniya, Jazâ’îr-e khalîdât, Aq denizi, Hibernîya, Fransa, Flamank,
Nurvejîya, Leh, Sûs-e aqsâ, Jazâ’îr, Rashîd, Dimashq-e Shâm, Quds, Qara
denizi, bahr-e shirvân, Bûdûlîya and Musqû’. Abū Bakr obviously had a
different opinion than Hājjī Khalīfa about what translating a map
meant. Already in the process of translation, he determined which
Latin names had equivalents in Ottoman Turkish geographical
nomenclature. This different stance was probably caused by the
different purposes in translating the two atlases. Abū Bakr did not
engage in the project in order to produce a private translation for
him, but had been ordered by the Grand Vizier Ahmed Fazil
Köprülü-zade to render accessible to the Ottoman sultan and court a
political gift from the Dutch consul. For this audience, mere
transliterations and culturally incongruent explanations was
insufficient and hence meant that the work was not finished yet. The
amount of mathematical knowledge involved in the translation of

W. Janszoon Blaeu, Atlas maior, Amsterdam 1665, Asia (courtesy

Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Staatsbibliothek Berlin, map department)
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 135

Blaeu’s atlas cannot be judged since no indisputable trace of it can be

seen in the manuscripts of the translation or in those of the later
abbreviations. The lack of such signs implies that Abū Bakr was not
strongly interested in mathematical precision or in technical
elegance.If the extant manuscripts, i.e. Mss Istanbul Topkapı Sarayı
B 325 - B 332 , were indeed the fine copy of the translated ‘Atlas
maior’, then Abū Bakr obviously perceived the Ottoman sultan and
his court as willing to overlook the lack of finesse in the maps.

Who Produced the Maps in Later Copies of Hājjī Khalīfa’s

and Abū Bakr’s Works?

When we turn to the question whether the maps in later copies of

the ‘Levami’ al-nur’, the ‘Cihan-nüma II’, Abū Bakr’s various
abbreviations and his Arabic summary called ‘Geography’ have been
produced by cartographers, calligraphers or painters, the
characteristics of the extant maps point in a similar direction as that
discussed with regard to the autographs and the fine copy. For a few
spheres and maps, a compass and ruler was used as indicated by
material traces in the paper. Examples can be found in the
manuscripts Paris, BNF, Turc Supplement 215 (the sphere) and
Istanbul, Topkapı Sarayı R 1622 (the sphere).

MS Istanbul, Topkapı Sarayı R 1622, Sphere

136 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

Other manuscripts such as Istanbul, Süleymaniye Nuruosmaniye

2998 (hemispheres) and Topkapı Sarayı R 1629 (sphere) do not show
such material traces. The differences in size between the drawings in
the individual manuscripts and the irregularity of the distances
between the curves speak against the use of templates. The subtle
differences between the various copies of one and the same map
suggest that workshops provided extensive training in free-hand
drawing of curved and straight lines.

MS Istanbul, Topkapı Sarayı R 1629 and R 1634, Caspian Sea

(Superimposition)
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 137

The maps in four manuscripts of the ‘Cihan-nüma II’ and in one

manuscript of Abū Bakr’s abbreviations (MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye
Hamidiye 988, Nuruosmaniye 3275, Topkapı Sarayı R 1629, Paris,
BNF, Supplement Turc 215 and Topkapı Sarayı 1634) have been
undoubtedly produced in such a workshop. (See Appendix 1)
A sixth manuscript, MS Istanbul, Topkapı Sarayı R 1632 is related in
some of its maps to the style of this workshop as shown by the map
of the North Pole. Since most of its maps follow the drawing style of
sea charts, the manuscript may have been produced elsewhere and
taken its cartographic inspirations from different sources. (See
Appendix 2)
The maps of at least two, if not three manuscripts of Abū Bakr’s
abbreviations (MS Istanbul, Topkapı Sarayı R 1634, Süleymaniye
Nuruosmaniye 2996 and Süleymaniye Köprülü Kısım II, 173) come
from a different workshop sharing among themselves the same kind
of drawing style, sparse topographical design and preference for the
written word. The two manuscripts mentioned first are also very
close in the way how and which parts of the maps they coloured,
while the third deviates in this point more from these two
manuscripts than with respect to the other enumerated elements.
(See Appendix 3)
The two workshops followed different approaches to mapmaking.
The maps of ‘Cihan-nüma II’ in Mss Istanbul, Süleymaniye Hamidiye
988 and Paris, BNF, Supplement Turc 215 are all integrated into the
presentation of the text. Text and map appear as a unit in the same
manner as miniatures are often combined with the text they
illustrate. The light colours chosen for the maps in these manuscripts
increase the impression that the maps were seen to be similar to
miniatures. (See Map on next page)
Some maps in MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye Nuruosmaniye 3275
such as the one of the North Pole shown in the Appendix 2
continue to follow this concept, but most of its maps have lost their
immediate integration into the text and appear on separate sheets.
(See Appendix 4)
In the fourth manuscript of this group, MS Istanbul, Topkapı
Sarayı R 1629, there is no trace left of an immediate miniature-like
integration between maps and text. All maps appear now on separate
sheets (see the map of the North Pole in Appendix 2). MS Istanbul,
Topkapı Sarayı R 1634, the only manuscript of the Abū Bakr-group
which also contains several maps from the ‘Cihan-nüma II’, shows
that the workshop at some point abandoned completely its
identification of maps with text-bound miniatures and started to sell
the maps independently from the text (see the map of the North and
South Poles in Appendix 1). Consumers appear to have shared this
attitude of detaching maps and texts, since the maps from the ‘Cihan-
138 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

nüma II’ in MS Istanbul, Topkapı Sarayı R 1634 were attached to

textual passages to which they have no connection whatsoever.

MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye Hamidiye 988, Ptolemaic Universe

 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 139

The maps of the manuscripts of Abū Bakr’s abbreviations which

seem to have originated in one and the same workshop in Istanbul
share the same detached connection with the text. The maps were
added later to the text since they are glued on a strip of paper. In
some cases they are drawn on a different kind and format of paper
than the one used for the text. The separation of text and maps
indicates that the two have been produced in different steps. This
suggests that different people were responsible for the text and the
maps. Such a separation can be seen in other manuscripts of Abū
Bakr’s abbreviations too. In MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye
Nuruosmaniye 2995, for instance, the handwriting of the text and
the handwriting in the maps differ to some extent and some of the
maps appear in a textual environment unrelated to their contents.
The map of Asia, for instance, is included between the folios before
Benin.

MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye Nuruosmaniye 2995, Asia

In the case of the ‘Cihan-nüma II’ group, MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye

Hamidiye 988 does not show such a separation between the scribe of
140 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

the text and the painter of the map, while the handwriting in the text
of MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye Nuruosmaniye 3275 and in the maps
differs considerably (see the maps in Appendix 1). Thus, we can
conclude, that while calligraphers occasionally produced text and
maps, it was more common that there was a separation of labour
between calligraphers and map-painters. The extant material does
not allow, however, determining whether the roles were
interchangeable.
Cartographic Changes Introduced by Map-Painters,
Calligraphers or Workshops

Calligraphers and map-painters were, by no means, simple copyists.

They replaced the topographical vocabulary translated and
commented upon in an earlier phase of work by local names. They
introduced the one or the other new regional map of the Ottoman
and the Safavid Empires, Northern Africa, Central Asia and South-
Eastern Europe. They also kept informed about new developments
and replaced outdated maps by new ones. The most important case
of this activity is the replacement of Hājjī Khalīfa’s map of the
Caspian Sea in MS Istanbul, Topkapı Sarayı R 1624 by variants of
the new map of the Caspian Sea in the four manuscripts of the
‘Cihan-nüma II’ and in the one manuscript of Abū Bakr’s
abbreviations discussed previously. (See Appendix 5)
The dating of MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye Hamidiye 988 as
1114/1701 poses a problem with regard to this new form of the
Caspian Sea since this form was developed only in the early 1720’s
by Russian and French cartographers. The dating of Ms Paris, BNF,
Supplement Turc 215 as 1142/1729 fits better into the known series
of events. Since both manuscripts have been written by the same
calligrapher Mahmûd b. al-Shaykh ‘Abdallâh b. al-Shaykh al-
Mustaqîm, the first date probably is erroneous. Furthermore, it is
unknown how and when maps of the new form of the Caspian Sea
arrived in Istanbul and who persuaded the map-painters to replace
Hājjī Khalīfa’s map by the new one. Another issue, which needs a
more thorough investigation, is the close relationship between the
four manuscripts of the ‘Cihan-nüma II’ produced in this workshop
and Ibrahim Müteferrika’s printed edition of the ‘Cihan-nüma’.
Surprisingly, Müteferrika did not include a map of the new form of
the Caspian Sea in his edition. Map-painters may have been more
actively involved in all these ventures than commonly credited. MS
Istanbul, Süleymaniye Nuruosmaniye 2996, Nuruosmaniye 3275 and
Paris, BNF, Supplement Turc 215, namely, show that the new form
of the Caspian Sea even migrated into a manuscript of Abū Bakr’s
epitome which does not contain any other map made in this
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 141

workshop as well as into the map of the hemispheres produced later

in this workshop.

Conclusion

The analysis of the maps contained in the manuscripts of Hājjī

Khalīfa’s and Abū Bakr al-Dimashqī’s translations of Gerhard
Mercator’s ‘Atlas minor’ and Wilhelm Blaeu’s ‘Atlas maior’ and in
those of Hājjī Khalīfa’s and Abū Bakr al-Dimashqī’s own
geographical works derived from these translations shows clearly
that mathematical constructions, geographical coordinates and scales
were only of minor importance for the translators, writers and
consumers. Lavish pictorial embellishment of the geographical
representation of lands and seas was equally of no importance. The
need for identifying Western European geographical terms with
those available in the various fields of Ottoman geography was seen
differently by the two Ottoman geographers. While Hājjī Khalīfa did
not enforce such a transformation within the process of translation,
Abū Bakr replaced as many foreign names as possible. This
difference in attitude was probably caused by the difference in
audience for whom the translations were made. When the two
scholars created their own works based on the translations, all
foreign names disappeared as far as maps of the Muslim world are
concerned. Hājjī Khalīfa did not stop there, but introduced new
maps of provinces and regions of Muslim India, Central Asia and
Iran, while ignoring the transliterated copy of Mercator’s map of
Iran. As a result, the Safavid Empire disappeared from the Muslim
world as portrayed in the ‘Cihan-nüma II’. Abū Bakr reintroduced
into his epitomes the regional maps of countries in Asia and Africa
left out in the fine copy of the translation. He did not follow Hājjī
Khalīfa’s approach, but reproduced the view of the Safavid and
Ottoman Empires delivered in Blaeu’s atlas. This meant that the
Ottoman Empire was split up into several regional maps often with
no indication that the mapped regions were part of the Empire,
while the Safavid Empire was portrayed as a single, coherent state.
Blaeu’s maps of parts of the Ottoman Empire often lacked explicit
verbal attachment to the Empire too, but used human figures and
occasionally instruments and emblems to let the observer know that
the ‘Turks’ ruled the mapped region. The omission of all pictorial
elements and the reduction of the text of the cartouches to its
simplest form, i.e. the name of the region, in Abū Bakr’s epitomes
meant that the information about the current state of political affairs
was lost too. Political geography as a means to represent statehood
was not a concept emphasized by Abū Bakr himself or the painters
who produced the maps in the later copies.
142 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

The extant manuscripts of Hājjī Khalīfa’s and Abū Bakr’s works

indicate that two different workshops emerged in Istanbul with
different attitudes towards the relationship between text and maps.
One workshop treated maps as if they were miniatures and
established an integrated relationship between text and maps. Such a
relationship did not exist in the texts from which they were derived,
i.e. in Mercator’s ‘Atlas minor’, Hājjī Khalīfa’s and Mehmet Ikhlas’
‘Levami’ al-nur’ and Hājjī Khalīfa’s ‘Cihan-nüma II’. Over time, this
integrated relationship dissolved. The workshop began producing its
miniature-like maps independent from the text of the ‘Cihan-nüma II’
and even sold them separately. The second workshop produced texts
and maps of Abū Bakr’s abbreviations of the translated ‘Atlas major’
in separate processes of labour giving the two types of work to
different workers, i.e. calligraphers and painters. Whether the two
types of labour were interchangeable remains an open issue. The
great amount of agreement in the drawing of the contours of lands
and seas in the maps produced within each of the two workshops
implies that the map-painters received a substantial training in free-
hand drawing of curves and other images. The material state of the
maps indicates that mathematical instruments such as rulers,
compasses and proportional compasses were used by some map-
painters while others were capable of producing smooth curves
without leaving any trace of the used instruments. Some painters
seem to have used non-rigid mechanical devices for producing
smooth curves, but could not handle them well enough and thus left
gaps and other inconsistencies. The subtle differences in size and
shape suggest that no templates were made for producing the maps.
The producers of the manuscripts also took an active role in
deciding whether new or modernized maps were to be included into
the texts to be copied. The most striking example for this attention
to new geographical developments is the replacement in the late
1720s of the original sketch of the Caspian Sea in Hājjī Khalīfa’s
‘Cihan-nüma II’ by the new form of the sea produced in the early
1720s by Russian and French explorers and geographers.

Acknowledgements: I thank Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi Kütüphanesi,

Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi, and the Bibliothèque Nationale de France
for permitting to publish maps from manuscripts in their collections.
I also thank my daughter Rana for her diligent and enthusiastic work
on the producing of fine copies of all the maps I had need of as well
as for her patience in discussing with me their features.
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 143

Appendix 1

MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye Hamidiye 988, Africa

144 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye Nuruosmaniye 3275, North Pole

 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 145

MS Istanbul, Topkapı Sarayı R 1629, North Pole

146 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

MS Paris, BNF, Supplement Turc 215, Hemispheres

MS Istanbul, Topkapı Sarayı R 1634, North and South Poles

 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 147

Appendix 2

MS Istanbul, Topkapı Sarayı R 1632, North Pole

MS Istanbul, Topkapı Sarayı R 1632, Asia

148 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

Appendix 3

MS Istanbul, Topkapı Sarayı R 1634, Europe

MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye Nuruosmaniye 2996, Africa

 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 149

MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye Köprülü Kısım II, 173, Asia

150 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

Appendix 4

MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye Nuruosmaniye 3275, Africa

MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye Nuruosmaniye 3275, Africa

 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 151

Appendix 5

MS Istanbul, Topkapı Sarayı R 1624, Caspian Sea

(the east is at the top)
152 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye Hamidiye 988, Caspian Sea

 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 153

MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye Nuruosmaniye 3275, Caspian Sea

154 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

MS Istanbul, Topkapı Sarayı R 1629, Caspian Sea

 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 155

MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye Nuruosmaniye 2996, Caspian Sea

156 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

MS Istanbul, Topkapı Sarayı R 1634, Capian Sea and Shirvān

MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye Nuruosmaniye 3275, Hemispheres

with New Caspian Sea
 Egyptian and Armanian Schools Where the Ottoman
Students Studied in Paris

Adnan Şişman

In the nineteenth century, new movements influenced by the west

were seen to continue in the education system of the Ottoman
Empire. In this context, sending students to Europe especially to
France is an important point. Ottoman students studied in French
schools in Paris and Mekteb-i Osmani (the School of Ottoman)1
established by the Ottoman Empire (Devlet-i Aliyye-yi Osmaniye). Also,
they studied in École Militarie Égyptienne (the Military School of Eygpt)
founded by Egyptians and Collège Arménien de Saint-Samuel Moorat
(College of Saint-Samuel Moorat Armenian or the other name
mentioned in the record as the Mouradian School of Armenians).
Bernard Lewis in his paper ‘Comment l’Islam regardait I’Occident’
expressed the opinion that Muslims did not want to learn non-
Muslim languages and when it was necessary to send representatives
to the western countries, they usually appointed Christians or Jewish
subjects of the empire. 2 After the Ottoman Empire established
permanent embassies in the western capitals,3 they tended to learn
western languages and began to send military officers in different
ranks and many students to the western countries. The same author
(Bernard Lewis) in another book, The Middle East and the West,
indicated that Mohammed Ali Pasha, the governor of Egypt, sent
students to Italy in 1809. Also, Lewis mentioned in his book that
there were twenty three Egyptian students in Europe in 1818 and
forty four Egyptian students in Paris in 1826.
In the beginning of the nineteenth century, it was known that
Mohammed Ali Pasha called some technicians and specialists from
Europe to meet the urgent needs of Egypt.4 According to records,
the first Ottoman student sent to Europe was Nicola Nassabiki
whose origin was Syrian and who was sent by Mohammed Ali Pasha
to Italy to study printing in 1815. Osman Nurettin was one of the
first students sent to France by Mohammed Ali Pasha in 1818. This
person studied French, English, and mathematics in Paris. After his
returning to Cairo in 1820 and took some positions, he was
158 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
promoted to the command of Navy in 1828. Also, he taught French
and was appointed as a director of Bulak School and its library.5
After Mohammed Ali Pasha had met French Navy Commander
Robillard visiting Alexandria and Pyramids before returning to
Toulon, with the influence of Robillard he sent forty four students,
as sixteen of whom were Turkish born in Istanbul and the others
who were Armenian and Circassian, to France in April 1826.6 All of
these students were born in Cairo and came mainly from aristocrat
and wealthy families. After thirty two days travelling by the sea route,
these students arrived at Marseilles, France on 15 May 1826 and they
were under control for eighteen days due to health quarantine or
cordon. The public paid them a lot of attention. Spending two
months in Marseilles, they went to Paris and moved into Clichy
Avenue number 33 on 5 August. They commenced to study French,
mathematics, and arts. The heavy defeat suffered by Egyptian Navy
at Navarin on 20 October 1827 made the Pasha take a decision in
August, 1828 to send six students to Toulon in order to study and
learn ship making. At the end of the same year, other students were
sent to Paris. Later on, new students were sent in 1829, 1830, and
1832, respectively. These students studied at École Égyptienne in 1826
and for them the school stayed open until 1835.7 The number of
students in the school was 115 in 1833.8 In the return, these students
took some active positions, such as Abdi the head of Supreme
Judiciary Board, Muhtar the Minister of Education, Artin and
Stephan the Minister of Foreign Relations respectively, Mazhar the
Minister of Infrastructure, the best students according to
Mohammed Ali Pasha, Hasan from Alexendiria the Minister of
Navy, and Mahmut Nami the Minister of Finance.9
Although four of the students sent to Paris by the Ottoman
government came to high level in science and military sciences, for
them there was no proper place found in the first hand to continue
their studies in 1847. There were some places found for them to
study but these schools did not have enough equipment to meet
their needs. Therefore, it was thought that they could go to École
Militaire Égyptienne 10 founded in 1844 by the governor of Egypt,
Mohammed Ali Pasha in Paris. The director of the École Militaire
Égyptienne, Stephan, acknowledged to the embassy that those
students mentioned above could pursue their education and studies
in the school.11 As a result, these four students entered to the
mentioned school above.12 The faculty and military officers of the
school were chosen from among the best at the time. The school,
founded in the second half of the nineteenth century, imitated École
Militaire de Saint-Cry and École Polytechnique (the Saint-Cry Military
School and Polytechnic School), and had two purposes. They were
to prepare students in very short time for the School of Military
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 159
Academy for high level officers and École d’Application et d’Artillerie et
de Génie. For this reason, the programs in the school were divided
into two main categories as mentioned below.13

1st category: (a) French; (b) Applied General Geography; (c)

General History and the History of Eastern Countries; (d)
Algebra;(e) Arithmetic; (f) General Geometry; (g) Trigonometry;
(h) Statistics (i) Basic Design Geometry; (j) Basic Physics and
Chemistry; and (k) Art (Drawing Landscapes). In this category,
there were some general courses found in the private and public
schools in French education system at that time.
2nd category: (a) Design Geometry; (b) Mechanics; (c) Topography;
(d) Fortification; (e) the Course of Artillery; (f) The Method of
Military Arrangement Rules and the Method of Military
Administration; (g) the Techniques and Methods of Making War;
(h) Instructions of Land Forces, as Person, Division, and
Battalion; (i)The Course of Architecture; and (j) Basic
Astronomical Concepts. In this category, special courses and
information not found in the other schools were given to teach
how to use some equipment.

Ahmet Muhtar, one of the four students who came to Paris in

September 1847 and graduated from the academy (school) of war,
entered to École Militaire Égyptienne. After this school, he studied
in École d’Application et d’Artillerie et de Génie and returned to Turkey.
He was appointed at the ministry of war as a captain. Mehmet Salim,
one of the other students who studied in École Égyptienne in Paris
graduated from the School of Polytechnic and returned to Turkey in
1853. Mehmet Tevfık, another student, who studied in École
Égyptienne, graduated from the École d’Application et d’Artillerie et
de Génie14 and returned to Turkey.15 He was appointed at the
Ministry of War as a captain in 185416. Mustafa, the last student who
went to the École Militaire Égyptienne, returned to Turkey and was
also appointed at the Ministry of War as a captain in 1854.17 In
August 1849, the École Égyptienne was closed by order of Abbas
Pasha and the students finishing their studies returned to Egypt with
their school director Stephan. For the students who remained in
Paris, the Accountant of the School, Lemercier was appointed as
their head.
Other than those students who received scholarships from the
Ottoman government there were also non-Muslim self-financed
students in Paris. These non-Muslim students mostly attended to the
Saint-Samuel Moorat College of Armenian (12, Rue de Monsieur).
According to a document found in the department of the
Ottoman Archives dated 26 March 1857 (Selh-i Receb 1273),
160 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
because of an increase in the number of students who study language
and science in Paris, Armenians demanded a new school to be
founded in Paris by the embassy of the Ottoman government. They
also demanded the school to be financed by the Ottoman
government. Another archival document dated 19 January 1857 (22
Cemaziyelâhir 1273) shows that the Ottoman government approved
this demand. However, there is an uncertainty about the date of
establishment of the school, the Saint-Samuel Moorat College of
Armenian. In a letter dated 11 February 1864 and written by the
administrator of the school, P. Auxence Kurken, to the Ottoman
ambassador Cemil Pasha in Paris, the foundation of the school was
mentioned as 1844.19 The letter also acknowledged the support and
help of the Ottoman government to the school. The administrator
stated that their students were looking forward to serving in the
Ottoman schools and they were paying special attention to Turkish
language course. Other courses in the school’s curriculum included
conduct, catechism, Armenian language and literature, rhetoric,
history and religion of foreign countries, chronology, physical and
political geography, French and French literature, Turkish, English,
algebra, arithmetic, geometry, mechanics, psychics, history of nature,
geology, philosophy, law, economics and politics, accounting,
commerce, calligraphy, painting, oil painting, vocal music,
instrumental music (piano), and gymnastics.20 The Ottoman
ambassador in Paris, Cemil Pasha, wrote on 15 March 1867 that
Foreign Minister Fuat Pasha requested Cemil Pasha to select thirty
students among from those who continued their education in Paris,
in order to be sent to École des Mines and École des Ponts et Chaussées.
Acting upon this request, Cemil Pasha wrote to the administrators of
the Collège Arménien de Saint-Samuel Moorat and the Ottoman
Student Association of Paris and demanded a list of students who
would succeed in the École des Mines and the École des Ponts et
Chaussées.21 In the following years, they made the list of Armenian
students graduated from the Collège Arménien de Saint-Samuel
Moorat and of Turkish students, both of whom were sponsored by
the Ottoman government.22 When Paris was surrounded by the
Prussian Army in 1870, thirty two students of the Collège Arménien
de Saint-Samuel Moorat were transferred to Istanbul. The Cemil
Pasha’s telegraph of 7 September 1870 sent to the Foreign Minister
Âli Pasha stated that according to Kurken, in order to transfer thirty
two students 11,000 francs was necessary and this was beyond the
capabilities of the school. Kurken requested the Ottoman
government to bear the expense of the students’ transfer to
Istanbul.23 An archival document dated 17 December 1870 (21
Receb 1287) shows that the Finance Ministry reimbursed the
expenditures of students’ tranfers.24 In the documents dated 13 June
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 161
186025 and 30 October 187326, names of P. Léon M. Alishan and de
Erémian were also mentioned as the administrators of the school.
The Ottoman government paid close attention to the Collège
Arménien de Saint-Samuel Moorat. Even a priest was sent for non-
Muslim students. Armenian Patriarch requested a Gregorian priest
from the Ottoman government to serve to the non-Muslim students
at the school and the Ottoman Student Association. In 1863, this
request was approved and the priest Ohanes Hünkarbeyendiyan was
sent to France with a salary of 400 francs. This person returned to
Istanbul in 1870 but re-appointed to Brussels one year later with the
same assignment.27 Hünkarbeyendiyan and his son who happened to
be a student in Paris28 were paid a 900 francs allowance (450 each)
for their return to Istanbul.29 Until 1867, Tahsin Efendi was
responsible for instruction of religion course.30 Together with Selim
Sabit Efendi, he was sent to Paris in 1857 to study natural sciences
and calculation and to teach Turkish to Christian students for them
to prepare for teaching positions at the Darülfünun.31 He attended
physics and chemistry courses at the college and at Collège de France,
and also taught Oriental languages and Armenian dialect at the
Mekteb-i Osmaniye.32 After his return to Istanbul, no one remained
to serve as the priest to the Muslim students in Paris. For example,
as a student called Ibrahim Hasan Hilmi was giving his last breath;
his friends were unable to find an Ottoman Muslim priest in Paris.
Since the Ottoman Student Association had a priest for the non-
Muslims but not for the Muslims, the association requested a priest
for Muslim students on 28 May 1875 from the Embassy33 but all
students sponsored by the Ottoman government were ordered to
return to home on 30 June 1875.34
The administrator of the Collège Arménien de Saint-Samuel
Moorat, M. I’Arman, accepted the invitation of the Ottoman
ambassador held to the home of the ambassador on 26 May 1866.
This also showed the government’s support for and interest in the
Collège Arménien de Saint-Samuel Moorat.35
The governor of Egypt, Mehmet Ali Pasha, sent the first group of
students to France for education. This first group was sent to the
École Égyptienne in 1826. The Ottoman government started to send
its own student to Paris in 1830. It stopped sending students to Paris
after 1840 for a short time. After the establishment of the École
Militaire Égyptienne in 1844, the government restarted sending
students in 1847, even some of these students attended the École
Militaire Égyptienne. The government opened the Mekteb-i Osmani
in 1857 in Paris after the École Militaire Égyptienne was closed in
1849. It appears that there is a relationship between the Ottoman
and Egyptian governments on their behaviour.
162 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
The non-discriminatory support of the Ottoman government to
the Collège Arménien de Saint-Samuel Moorat shows the impartiality
and equality of the government towards non-Muslim subjects.
Armenians retained their position as the Millet-i Sadıka (faithful
nation to the Empire) until the later part of the nineteenth century.

Notes
1
Adnan Şişman ‘Mekteb-i Osmânî’, Ottoman Studies V (Istanbul, 1986), 83-160.
2
Bernard Lewis, ‘Comment l’Islam regardait l’Occident’, L’histoire, No:6 (1983) 51.
3
Ercümend Kuran, Avrupa’da Osmanlı İkamet Elçiliklerinin Kuruluşu ve İlk Elçiliklerin
Siyasi Faaliyetleri, 1793-1821 (Ankara, 1968), 71.
4
Şinasi Altundağ, ‘Mehmet Ali Paşa, Kavalalı’ İA, VII, İstanbul 1979, 574-5;
J.H.Kramers, ‘Mısır’, Mehmed Ali Hanedanı Devri ve İstiklâl, İA, VIII, İstanbul
1979, 250-68; Anouar Louca, Voyageurs et Ecrivains Egyptiens en France au XIXe Siècle,
(Paris 1970), 33-4.
5
Anouar Louca, idem, 34-5.
6
AMAE, Paris ‘Correspondance Consulaire, le Caire’, Cilt: XXVI, s. 282, 4 Nisan
1826; Anouar Louca, idem, 3, 40.
7
Anouar Louca, idem, 3, 40. Anouar Louca, idem, 3, 40.
8
Anouar Louca, idem, 46. nouar Louca, idem, 46.
9
Anouar Louca, idem, 51; Adnan Şişman, ‘ XIX. Yüzyıl Başlarında Fransa’daki İlk
Osmanlı Öğrencileri’, Osmanlı 5, Yeni Türkiye Yayınları (Ankara, 1999), 246.
10
Anouar Louca, idem, 362.
11
Başbakanlık Osmanlı Arşivleri Dairesi (BOAD.) İrâde Hâriciye (İH.) 2161.
12
Paris Türk Büyükelçiliği Arşivi (PTBA.) 5/1; Archives Nationales, Paris (AN.)
F17 4147/1; BOAD. İH. 2380.
13
BOAD. İH. 2161.
14
PTBA. 5/1; BOAD . İD. 8147, 7702, 19892, İH. 2049.
15
Anouar Louca, Idem, 362 ; BOAD. İH.2161; PTBA. 5/1; AN F17 4147/1.
16
PTBA. 5/1; BOAD. İD. 8417, 7702, 19892, İH. 2049.
17
PTBA. 5/1; BOAD. İD. 8147, 7702, 19892; İH. 2049.
19
Hariciye Arşivi (HA) İdâre (İ) /147, 148.
20
Adnan Şişman, ‘Tanzimat Döneminde Fransa'ya Gönderilen Gayr-i Müslim
Osmanlı Öğrencileri’, 10. Turkish Historical Board Congress (Ankara, 1994), 2520-1.
21
HA. İ/148: Adnan Şişman, Tanzimat Döneminde Fransa'ya Gönderilen Gayr-i Müslim
Osmanlı Öğrencileri 1839-1876, (İstanbul University, Ph.D. Thesis, 1983).
22
PTBA 29/3, 34/1, 54/5; HA. İ/147, 148.
23
HA. İ/147; PTBA 67/Eylül 1870.
24
BOAD. İrade Dahiliye 43199; PTBA. 67/Eylül 1870.
25
HA.I/147.
26
PTBA.81/2.
27
HA.İ/148; PTBA. 39/3, 74/1, 62/1, 60/1.
28
PTBA. 34/1.
29
PTBA. 92/2.
30
Richard L. Chambers, ‘Notes on the Mekteb-i Osmanî in Paris, 1857-1874’, in
W.Polk and R. Chambers (eds.), Beginnings of Modernization in the Middle East
(London, 1968), 324.
31
BOAD. İH. 7197; Cengiz Orhonlu; ‘Edebiyat Fakültesi Kuruluşu Gelişmesi
(1901-1933) Hakkında Bazı Düşünceler’ Cumhuriyetin 50. Yılına Armağan (Istanbul,
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 163

1973), 57-8; Sadrettin Celâl Antel, ‘Tanzimat Maarifi’, Tanzimat I (Istanbul, 1940),
448.
32
AN. F17 4147/5; Şişman, ‘Mekteb-i Osmânî’, 96-7.
33
The Death of Ambassador of Paris, Arifi Paşazâde Ali Pasha between 1289-1292
A.H., Beyrut on 1 Receb 1306/3 March 1889. See Mehmet Süreyya, Sicill-i Osmani
III (Istanbul, 1311 A.H.), 580
34
PTBA. 94/2.
35
PTBA. 38/1.
 Arab Scholars from the Ottoman Empire
in Russian Universities in the Nineteenth
and Early Twentieth Centuries

Svetlana Kirillina

For centuries the Russian people were aware of the Arab world and
Arab-Muslim culture. Despite that, the first notable steps in studying
language, history and religion of the Arab East were made only at the
beginning of the eighteenth century. The autocratic reformer Peter
the Great imposed in Russia the New Order, which became the basic
framework for the country’s future drive for modernity. His
reformatory undertakings in diplomatic, cultural and educational
fields were complemented by an initiative to send several promising
young men to Iran to study Oriental languages, mainly Turkish,
Arabic and Persian.1
The new stage of exploration of the Middle East by Russian
Oriental scientists began in the nineteenth century that turned out to
be ‘the age of discovery of the Arab world by Europe’. Russia
actively participated in the development of the cross-cultural ‘East-
West’ dialogue, which was determined not only by internal yearnings
and external necessities, but also by growing and extensive needs of
the increasing academic milieu engaged in Oriental studies. One of
the founders of Russian Oriental studies, academician Vasili Bartold
emphasized the progress of Russia in this field. He stated: ‘In the
nineteenth century the study of the East in Russia presumably made
even more significant steps than in the Western Europe.’2 The
important role in the rise of scientific and cultural contacts between
Russia and the Middle East was played by Arab scholars who worked
in Russian universities and contributed to a considerable extent to
the field of education and science. Despite the fact that the number
of highly educated Arabs who settled in Russia was quite small, the
essence of the intellectual exchange is not represented only by
quantitative characteristics.
This paper seeks to examine the importance of the role of so-
called ‘Russian Arabs’ in the Russian academic circles and endeavors
to evaluate their attempts to bring the Orient much closer to Russia
than it was ever attempted before.
166 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
According to the first general Statute of Russian universities
issued in 1804 teaching of Turkish, Persian and Arabic was officially
incorporated into curriculums of universities in Moscow, Kharkov
and Kazan. St. Petersburg University was re-founded in 1819 on the
basis of the Central Pedagogical Institute and soon became the
acknowledged Russian center of Oriental studies. In the early period
of Arabic studies’ development, the teaching of Arabic language,
literature and history was carried out mostly by foreigners. As in
many other fields of Russian culture and science, Oriental studies
was widely opened to scholars from France, Germany, Holland,
Denmark, Italy, Poland, etc. In the mid-nineteenth century
academicians from the Middle East joined this group of intellectuals.
The original impulse to the establishment and further progress of
Arab-Russian ties in the academic and educational fields was given
by an outstanding Arab scholar and writer, contemporary of the
Egyptian ruler Muhammad Ali, shaykh Muhammad Ayyad al-
Tantawi (1810-61).3 In 1847 he was appointed as a professor of St.
Petersburg University. Among his predecessors at the Chair of
Arabic Language was a Frenchman Jean François Demange (1819-
22), who, according to his colleagues, ‘hated not only his job, but
also all sorts of academic activities in general’.4 After Demange ‘there
was not a trace that remained of him besides the falsely attributed
honour of having taught Persian to the famous Russian poet
Griboedov’.5 Following Demange, the post was occupied by a gifted
Polish scholar and talented writer Osip (Julian) Senkowski (literary
pseudonym ‘Baron Brambeus’) (1822-47).
Shaykh Tantawi arrived in Russia in 1840. A popular periodical of
that time St. Petersburg Gazette6 immediately depicted an exotic
looking foreigner walking down the Nevski prospect. ‘You could ask
me, – wrote a journalist, – who is that handsome man wearing an
Oriental dress and white turban with jet-black beard, lively eyes and
witty expression on his face? … It is shaykh Muhammad Ayyad al-
Tantawi who came here from banks of the Nile to occupy a vacant
post in the Chair of Arabic Language at the Institute of Oriental
Languages in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Now you have an
opportunity to learn Arabic intensively without leaving St.
Petersburg’.7
The idea of inviting Tantawi to St. Petersburg belonged to a
prominent Arabist, member of the Russian Academy of Sciences and
leader of the Russian Orientalists of the first half of nineteenth
century Christian Martin (Hristian Danilovitsh) Frähn (1782-1851).
He recommended the minister of Foreign Affaires count Karl
Nesselrode to issue an order according to which a new teacher of
Arabic should be found among ‘the educated Arabs’. Tantawi was
fully supported by Russian consul-general in Egypt A.I. Medem as an
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 167
appropriate candidate. However, the choice was not spontaneous at
all; Russians surely knew whom they were inviting. Tantawi was ‘an
exemplary intellectual product’ of Muhammad Ali’s époque. Despite
the fact that by that time Muhammad Ayyad al-Tantawi had not
reached the age of 30, he already gained wide popularity as a skilful
teacher of Arabic and literature not only among students and
scholars of al-Azhar, but also in the European community of Cairo.
Tantawi’s high scholarly reputation among foreigners could be
partially explained by the fact that he belonged to a handful of
Islamic intellectuals, who supported the Egyptian governor
Muhammad Ali in his revolutionary undertakings.
Among European apprentices and friends of Tantawi we should
mention the prominent German Arabist and acknowledged specialist
on the history of the Arab Caliphate Gustave Weil (1808-89) and the
French traveller and diplomat F. Fresnel (1795-1855), known by his
Letters on the Pre-Islamic History of Arabs.8 Before his appointment
as a consul to Jeddah, under the guidance of Tantawi Fresnel
significantly improved his knowledge of Arabic. Later Fresnel
characterised his mentor as ‘un des hommes les plus savants de
l’Égypte’ and portrayed him with a certain degree of exaggeration as
‘a sole representative of the Egyptian ulama who studied native
language and ancient Arabic literature with sincere love and
admiration’.
Tantawi’s deep knowledge of medieval Arabic literature was highly
appreciated by Edward William Lane whose influential work The
Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians was a virtual Bible
to travellers throughout the nineteenth century. Tantawi assisted
Lane in translation of the most difficult verses from The Thousand
and One Nights. In the introduction to this publication the British
scholar mentioned his colleague as ‘the first philologist of the first
Arab college of the present day’9 – al-Azhar.
This opinion was also shared by a number of Russian diplomats
who joined a circle of students and admirers of Tantawi. The shaykh
named two of them in his short autobiography: the first, N. Mukhin
who served as a dragoman in the Russian consulate in Cairo between
1835 and 1837 and the second, the successor of Mukhin in the post
of dragoman Rudolf Frähn, son of the mentioned above famous
Russian Arabist Christian Frähn. Both of them benefited
considerably from their lessons with Tantawi and did their best to
encourage him to move to Russia. As a final point of long-lasting
official correspondence regarding the invitation of shaykh Tantawi to
the Russian capital the vice-roi of Egypt gave a ceremonial reception.
Muhammad Ali agreed to send the shaykh to Russia and ordered
him to learn Russian thoroughly wishing that his knowledge would
be used by his homeland in future.
168 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
It is worth mentioning that at that time Russia played a significant
role in the international relations of the Middle and Near East.
Muhammad Ali’s first Syrian campaign had forced the Ottoman
Sultan to seek Russia’s assistance. Russian troops landed on the coast
of the Bosporus and in July 1833 Mahmud II was forced to sign the
Hunkar Iskelesi treaty, which included a stipulation that both sides
would consult before taking steps in foreign affaires. As a result of
this impressive diplomatic victory Russian international prestige and
influence grew considerably. Moreover, the British prime minister
lord Palmerston constantly received reports from Istanbul with
warnings of a possible alliance between Russia and Muhammad Ali.
In addition, Russia was actively involved in the adjustment of the
‘Egyptian question’ during the crucial years from 1839 to 1841, when
the most dramatic chapter in Muhammad Ali’s remarkable career
came to an end.
The shaykh began fulfilling the wishes of the Egyptian ruler on
board of the ship that left Istanbul in April 1840. He started learning
Russian under the guidance of his student N. Mukhin who by the
order of Russian ambassador accompanied Tantawi during his trip to
Russia. In a few months shaykh Tantawi was able to translate into
Arabic some verses of Russian poets and from then on he signed all
official papers in Russian. In summer 1840 Tantawi began his
pedagogical activities in St. Petersburg as a teacher of Arabic at the
Educational Department of Oriental Languages at the Asiatic
Division of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. That specialized
institution, which contemporaries occasionally called the Institute of
Oriental Languages, was founded in the first decades of the
nineteenth century in accordance with European standards using the
French École des langues orientales as a model. The main goal of the
institution was to train staff for Russian diplomatic missions in the
Middle East. During the seven years of teaching at the institution
shaykh Tantawi succeeded in proper organization of the educational
process and prepared the textbook for teaching of spoken Arabic
Traité de la langue arabe vulgaire, which was published in Leipzig in
1848 and was welcomed by the majority of his European colleagues.
Tantawi’s recognized merits, scholarly and teaching achievements
gave the Academic Council of St. Petersburg University an
opportunity to offer him professorship in the Chair of Arabic
Language and Literature in 1847. After that and almost until the end
of his life shaykh Tantawi’s career was linked with St. Petersburg
University. It is worth mentioning that it was the only case in the
nineteenth century history of all Russian Universities that a person of
Arabic origin became a professor and headed a University
department. Later Tantawi was also granted the rank of a civil
general (state adviser), decorated with Orders of St. Anna and St.
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 169
Stanislav and the tsar Nicholas I expressed to Tantawi his ‘highest
gratitude’ for ‘diligence in teaching students… at St. Petersburg
University’. In addition Tantawi received a ring with diamonds from
the throne-heir, later tsar Alexander II for ‘special efforts in
organization of a Turkish chamber in the Tsarskoye Selo palace,’
where some of Tantawi’s books and manuscripts were preserved.
Tantawi participated in the decoration of this chamber as a
calligrapher by making Arabic inscriptions on the chamber’s wall.
Tantawi’s autograph represented several odes on important
occasions of the life of the court.
Tantawi’s productive pedagogical activities at the University
included lessons of spoken Arabic and calligraphy for senior
students, as well as lectures on Arabic literature with his own
commentaries on medieval texts, such as the Makamat of al-Hariri
(1054-1122).10 Starting in1855 he delivered a course of lectures on
Arab history with a special stress on the history of the Caliphate
before the Mongolian invasion. This course was based on several
Arabic medieval chronicles and also on the superb works of Ibn
Khaldun and al-Suyuti.
The Oriental Faculty of the St. Petersburg University was
established in 1855. At the same time Tantawi fell seriously ill (he
was half-paralysed) and two years later his severe disease forced him
to stop teaching at the Educational Department of Oriental
Languages in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. However, he remained
a professor of the Chair of Arabic Language and Literature in the St.
Petersburg University until his retirement in 1861. A few months
later Tantawi died and was buried at Volkowskoye (Tartar) cemetery
in St. Petersburg. As a patriarch of Russian Arabists Ignati
Kratchkowski sadly stated, ‘for Russia Tantawi remained an exotic
flower, which faded fast because of painful illness’.11
The shaykh’s wife, who was an Egyptian, had passed away before
Tantawi. According to a romantic legend, in her young years she was
s slave. Before moving to Russia the shaykh bought his future wife,
organized her education in Paris and afterwards married her.
Tantawi’s only son Ahmad (1850-80s) preferred to settle in Russia
and became a subject of the Russian Empire. The shaykh’s
granddaughter Helena converted to Christianity and was registered in
the noble estate.
By the beginning of the 1920s Tantawi’s name was mostly
forgotten and just by chance his figure attracted the attention of a
distinguished Russian Arabist Ignati Kratchkowski (1883-1951).
According to the recently published correspondence between
Kratchkowski and another renowned Russian expert on Oriental
cultures Agafangel Krimski (1871-1942), an idea to write a
biographical sketch on Tantawi came to Kratchkowski when he read
170 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
the publication on Arabic manuscripts of Istanbul libraries with a
reference to Tantawi’s manuscript under the title Tuhfat al-athkia bi
akhbar bilad Rusia (A Gift to the Clever with the Report on
Russia).12 Soon after arrival in St. Petersburg Tantawi began
collecting and summarizing his reminiscences about the trip and
finished the final version of the book around 1850. The manuscript
was dedicated to the Ottoman sovereign Abdulmejid (1839-61)
whose reign was marked by a series of military and administrative
reforms aimed to modernize Ottoman society. The manuscript,
discovered in one of Istanbul’s mosques, was the original presented
to the sultan. Kratchkowski succeeded in getting its copy in 1927 and
soon published two short articles on Tantawi’s Description of Russia
(in 1927 and 1928). Later, in 1930 he published a more detailed
description of shaykh Tantawi’s life and pedagogical activities at St.
Petersburg University.13 In 1928 another copy of The Description of
Russia was discovered in one of the rare books’ shops in St.
Petersburg. This time it was a draft of the manuscript with numerous
corrections and notes of the author.
According to an eminent Russian Arabist Agafangel Krimski the
treatise of Tantawi, if published, could exercise the same
considerable influence on the literature and cultural life of the Arab
East as the famous Description of Paris (Tahlis al-ibriz fi talhis Baris)
by Rifa‛a Rafi‛i al-Tahtawi.14
Tantawi’s travelogue is divided into three parts. The first one, a
competent account of his journey from Cairo to St. Petersburg, is
the most attractive from the literary and historical point of view.
There Tantawi expressed his straightforward perception of the
Russian reality, which was marked by sometimes naïve but often
deep understanding of the events he had witnessed. In the
meantime, two other parts, the second one on the history of Russia
and the final one on the manners and customs of Russians, could be
appealing for his Arab contemporaries mainly due to the Tantawi’s
vivid depiction of Peter the Great’s reforms, especially those in
cultural field.
In historical part of Tantawi’s Description of Russia we came
across an important note about the shaykh’s translation into Arabic
of a short essay on Russian history written by St. Petersburg
historian N. Ustryalov (1805-70). This script didn’t survive and we
cannot say anything about the quality of this translation. Moreover,
we don’t know the exact source of this translation (Ustryalov
produced two short publications on this subject). Nonetheless this
fact proves Tantawi’s intention to introduce to Arab readers the
history of his second homeland.
Tantawi also wrote an accurate and informative description of
popular Egyptian festivals (Hal al-a‛yad wa-l-mawasim fi Misr),
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 171
which could be used as a valuable supplement to particular parts of
Lane’s Manners and Customs. It was translated into Russian by the
Soviet researcher D.V. Semenov, however, to our regret, it has not
yet been published.
The scholarly and literary heritage of the Egyptian shaykh
embraced not less than 30 manuscripts, half of then written during
the Russian period of his life, which were complemented by several
printed works composed mainly in French.
As a scholar Tantawi was a devoted follower of the scholastic
tradition of his alma mater the college-mosque al-Azhar, which
possessed the highest reputation as ‘the bearer of Islamic values and
knowledge’ and ‘the stronghold of Sunni Islam’. Tantawi’s ‘al-Azhar
roots’ predetermined his life-lasting ‘obsession’ with manuscripts and
the strictly classical style of his creative works. Still it is unreasonable
to consider Tantawi a pure representative of the traditional Islamic
school. He came in touch with European Orientalists when he was
relatively young and he was deeply impressed by Western methods
of scientific critique and research. Tantawi’s scholarly attitude and
sincere devotion to his native language and literature was very
significant. His first European student–a French diplomat and
scholar Fresnel made an important remark about his mentor in this
respect: ‘It seems that he, Tantawi, was the only one in the East who
dedicated himself to the restoration to life of ancient monuments of
the Arabic literature’.15 Due to his fruitful contacts with European
scholars the shaykh gradually mastered methods of European
philology and demonstrated a rare capacity for critical analysis of
literary Arabic language and Egyptian dialect unusual for an Arab
scholar of his time. Moreover, as a Muslim, shaykh Tantawi was
devoid of religious fanaticism and professed an idea of religious
tolerance. One of his St. Petersburg pupils, the scholar and traveller
from Finland George August Wallin described his murshid as ‘a man
who overcame his Muhammedan intolerance, didn’t try to hide his
talents and answered all questions including those which could be
considered delicate and even ticklish by a rigorous Muslim’.16
It is interesting to note that Tantawi was also a prolific writer of
panegyrics and epitaph odes on happy and sad occasions of the
Russian royal family life. His Traité de la langue arabe vulgaire opens
by a glorifying ode addressed to the family of the future emperor
Alexander II on occasion of the birth of his son ‘al-amir al-kabir
shah-zade Hikula Alexandrowitch’ (1843). Often Tantawi was
accepted at the court where he recited his emotional verses,
composed in traditional Arabic classical poetry style.
During his life Tantawi amassed a large collection of Arabic
manuscripts and books, which was presented to the St. Petersburg
University library in 1871, ten years after the Arab scholar’s death.
172 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
The study of more than 300 manuscripts from Tantawi’s collection,
preserved in the Oriental section of this library, is still in progress.
This extraordinary collection shows a wide range of Tantawi’s
scholarly, literary and pedagogical interests. It includes hand written
copies of different textbooks, treatises on Arabic grammar and
metrics, Tantawi’s personal works and his profound commentaries
on works of other authors. The collection contains a number of
rarities, such as ‘unicum of universal value’–Glossary of the Egyptian
Dialect of Yusuf al-Maghribi (beginning of the seventeenth century).
Tantawi gradually and methodically gathered Sufi treatises. The real
gems of that part of his collection are works of eminent al-Shaykh al-
Akbar Ibn Arabi, the prominent Egyptian mystic of the sixteenth
century Abd al-Wahhab al-Sha‛rani and a devoted follower of Islamic
mystical tradition Badr al-Din al-Shurunbabili (first half of the
eighteenth century), whose intellectual heritage is mostly unknown to
Orientalists.17
The successful career of shaykh Tantawi opened the way to
Russian Universities for other Arabs, who came mostly from Syria
and Lebanon. A member of the famous Arab-Christian family from
Tripoli, the Syrian Arab Salim (Irinei) Noufal (1828-1902) filled
Tantawi’s post after his retirement at the Educational Department of
the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. He taught Arabic language and
Islamic law. According to Kratchkowski, Noufal ‘was an aggressive
opponent of Islam and his nasty remarks on Muhammad and Islam
that he often included in his publications led to protests by the
Turkish ambassador and demands for the confiscation of these
booklets’.18 Nonetheless, Salim Noufal made a successful career in
the Ministry of Foreign Affaires and became so ‘russified’ that his
children never visited the Arab East and forgot Arabic completely.
At the St. Petersburg University Tantawi was succeeded by other
teachers of Arab origin, who were invited there for improvement of
students’ knowledge of colloquial Arabic. The former teacher of
Arabic in Kazan Ahmad ibn Husayn al-Makki from Arabia taught
language in the Oriental Faculty for a short period of time (1856-57).
A teaching career of his colleague Abdallah (Feodor) Kelzi (1819-
1912), an Arab from Aleppo and Armenian Catholic by religion,
lasted a quarter century. The successor of Kelzi was Fadlallah Sarruf
(1826-1903), a Christian Arab from Damascus. From 1848 he served
in the first Russian ecclesiastical mission in Palestine under the
guidance of one of Russia’s foremost nineteenth century religious
scholars archimandrite Porfiri Uspenski. In 1857 Fadlallah Sarruf
settled in St. Petersburg, accepted Russian citizenship and in 1882
began teaching Arabic at the University. After his death the position
was given to another Syrian Arab from Tripoli–Antun Hashab
(Hashshab) (b. in 1874) who graduated from the Oriental Faculty of
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 173
St. Petersburg University. He was the last lector of Arabic origin at
the University untill 1919. His main contribution to the teaching
process was literary Arabic grammar and a collection of widely used
Arabic documentation and correspondence samples.
As mentioned above, Greater Syria was the main ‘Arab source’ of
the human resources for Russian educational centres. The majority
of immigrants from Syria and Palestine were Christians and the
Eastern Christian community had traditional close links with the
Russian Orthodox Church.
In the second half of the nineteenth century a recognized and
influential leader guided the ‘Arab Orthodox lobby’ in Russia. It was
an acknowledged religious authority and well-known ingenious
scholar Georgi (Juri) Murkos (1846-1911). He was born in 1846 in
Damascus and his father Avraam, a close confident and adviser of
the patriarch of Antioch, was considered to be one of the key figures
in the Christian Orthodox community of the city. Murkos the Junior
got his secondary education in Turkey in Greek seminary and after
that he moved to Russia and graduated from the St. Petersburg
Ecclesiastic Seminary and the Faculty of Oriental Languages of St.
Petersburg University. In 1872 he became the second (after Tantawi)
professor of Arabic origin in Russia and the head of the Chair of
Arabic Philology in the first Oriental educational institution in
Moscow – Lazarev Institute of Oriental Languages.19 His knowledge
of Russian was extraordinary. University professor Mikhail Navrotski
once told his talented student: ‘You are from Damascus and your
Russian is as fluent as Russian of an Egyptian–shaykh Tantawi; yet
the shaykh had a peculiar ascent and your pronunciation is
excellent’.20
Among his scholarly publications we should point out the superb
short research on modern Arabic literature,21 which Russian
specialists still quote quite often. The significant part of Murkos’s
academic production was devoted to translations from Arabic. He
published a commentated translation of famous muallaqa of Imr al-
Qais (Moscow, 1882; St. Petersburg, 1885) and Fragments from
Kuran and other Authoritative Islamic Books about Attitudes
towards Adherents of Different Faith (Moscow, 1877). Deeply
interested in the history of his fellow believers Murkos translated and
published twice The History of Patriarchs of Antioch,22 one of the
most valuable sources on the history of Christian Arabs of the
thirteenth to seventeenth centuries.
The lifetime work of Murkos was a translation and commentaries
on travel account of an outstanding value–the journey (1652-59) of
patriarch of Antioch Makarius to Moscovy during the reign of the
Russian tsar Aleksei Mikhailowitsh.23 Murkos devoted thirty years to
this five volumes, one thousand pages’ opus magnum. He began
174 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
working on the translation in 1871 and published it part by part from
1896 to 1900. Even today this work of Murkos remains the most
considerable and complete translation of this unique source, which
covers the history of the Ottoman Empire, Danube principalities,
Ukraine and Russia in the mid-seventeenth century. Academician
Kratchkowski emphasized that publication of this traveler literature
masterpiece ‘would keep the name of Murkos in the annals of the
Russian Arabic studies and in history of the Russian culture in
general’.24
It is worth outlining that Murkos represented the majority of the
Arab Christian community in Russia. He was an uncompromising
opponent of Greek hegemony in the administration of the Eastern
Orthodox Churches. Murkos was also known as an ideologist of the
national movement among Christian Arabs against the Greek clerical
hierarchy, which emerged in Syria and Palestine in the second half of
the nineteenth century.25 He published numerous articles on this
issue in Russian periodicals of that time,26 describing the Greek
clergy as ‘greedy, treacherous and rigid xenocrats’ who treated
deprived Arab Christians without any compassion or indulgence.
Murkos tried to convince the public that Russia should support
Arabs with direct and immediate actions.
The Arab-Greek conflict on its own, together with the apparent
position of Murkos on the subject provoked contradictory reactions
in Russian society–from enthusiasm to suspicion and indignation.
Murkos became a target of intense criticism in the Russian pro-
Greek circles and in the pages of the book New Advocates of
Orthodox Christianity, which was printed in Moscow in 1892.
Although Murkos was indeed deeply and truly concerned with the
needs and sorrows of Eastern Christians, his best intentions and
frank intellect were bounded and coloured by various prejudices. His
anti-Islamic attitudes and beliefs were quite obvious. In one of his
articles he made a remarkable comment: ‘A Christian, guided by his
sacred faith, is able to stand passionately an oppression of the
Muslim conqueror and the life of Muslims might be happy and
peaceful under the Christian dominance, however, neither Christian
nor Muslim could be equal subjects of one and the same state’.27
According to Krimski, Murkos was planning to translate a
scandalous treatise of Rizqallah Hassun Lifting the Veil from Islam
(Hasr al-litham ‛an al-Islam) into Russian (1859).28 Written copies of
this pamphlet were secretly spread among Christian Arabs after its
author was condemned to death by the Ottoman authorities and
finally immigrated to Russia. Unfortunately Murkos had to abandon
the idea of its translation because of his work on Journey of
Makarius.
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 175
In addition, Murkos was widely known as a patron and generous
sponsor of Christian Arabs who came to continue their education in
Russia. Among his protégés we can name Alexander, the
metropolitan of Tripoli, and Rafail,29 the prior of the mission of the
Patriarchy of Antioch in Moscow and later the head of the first
eparchy of the Greek Orthodox Church in the United Stated of
America – the bishop of Brooklyn.
In 1906 Murkos returned to his homeland, where he died in 1911
in the monastery of Saydanayya near Damascus. According to the
Murkos’s will and testament, one-third of his enormous possessions,
namely eighty thousand roubles, were left to the Arab charity
organizations and Russian academic institutions. Of course, his
professor’s salary was not the main source of his sizable income.
Murkos fortunately and at the right time invested in a profitable
business enterprise, which exported lemons and oranges from Syria
to Russia, and that gave him a chance to amass a fabulous fortune.
The assistant and successor of Murkos, an Arab from Damascus
Mikhail Attaya (1852-1924) kept close links with the Moscow
Lazarev Institute for more than 50 years. In 1920 he was elected the
director of the Institute of Living Oriental Languages and later
taught at the Moscow Institute of Oriental Studies and other
educational institutions. He produced several textbooks, among
them A Textbook for Learning a Spoken Arabic (Syrian Dialect),
which was published several times (Kazan, 1884; Moscow, 1900,
1910), Arabic-Russian Dictionary (1913) and A Handbook of Arabic
Colloquial Language (1923). Attaya was highly respected by
numerous students as a competent teacher of Arabic, Muslim law
and history of Arabic literature and became a popular figure in
Moscow academic milieu. In the Soviet period he participated in the
translation of the first Russian Soviet Federate Socialist Republic
Constitution and explanatory political dictionary into Arabic.
The main centre of the so-called ‘missionary school’ of Oriental
studies in Russia during the described period was the Ecclesiastic
Academy of Kazan and its Chair of Arabic30 Language and
‘Denunciation of the Muhammedan Religion.’ One of its graduates, a
Palestinian from Jerusalem Panteleymon K. Jooze (Bendeli al-Jawzi)
(1870-1942) was another notable ‘Russian Arab’ who spent his entire
adult life in Russia. His dissertation on doctrinal foundations of
Mutazilites, which appeared in 1899, was highly esteemed by Russian
academics. Jooze started his teaching career at the Kazan Ecclesiastic
Academy and in 1916 he moved to the Kazan University where he
taught basically Islamic law. Jooze became an author of the manual
of Russian language for Arabs (1898-9)–the first textbook of this
kind in the history of Russian teaching literature and he also
compiled a big Russian-Arabic dictionary, which was published in
176 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
Kazan in 1903. Jooze considerably contributed to the improvement
of the Oriental studies in Kazan, as well as in Baku, where he
became the professor of the local university after the October
revolution of 1917 and produced a number of valuable publications
about Arabic sources on the history of the Caucasus.
We know that the majority of ‘Russian Arabs’ maintained constant
contacts with their homeland, often visited the native places and
wrote for the Arab press. The vivid example is a Palestinian Arab
Taufiq Kezma (1882-1958), who lived in Kiev, where he graduated
from the Ecclesiastic Seminary and Academy. From 1918 he taught
in different educational institutions of Kiev and was a staff member
of the Arabic and Iranian Philology Cabinet in the Ukrainian
Academy of Sciences. Along with his teaching activities Taufiq
Kezma willingly informed Arab readers of his Russian colleagues-
Arabists’ academic achievements and even published their portraits
in Arab scientific and popular periodicals. Professor of the Kazan
Ecclesiastic Seminary Panteleymon Jooze translated into Arabic and
published in the Arab press several important scholarly works on the
pre-Islamic and early Islamic history including a study by the
European scholar and corresponding member of the Russian
Academy of Science F. Wilken (1777-1832) on the matriarchate
among Arabs during Jahiliyya period and essay on the false prophet
Mysaylima by the world-wide known Russian academician Vasili
Bartold (1869-1930).
In our attempt to understand the development of Russian
Oriental studies we should keep in mind a strong impact, which was
made on it by the representatives of the ‘Arab intellectual
establishment’. ‘Russian Arabs’ had different mentality, different
research techniques and even different schools of creative thought.
Their academic and literary interests were remarkably diverse and
they were truly dedicated to their craft, deeply convinced of its
importance. These scholars effectively contributed to the teaching
process in major Russian educational institutions, enlarged Russian
collections of Arabic manuscripts and rare books and created
cultural inheritance of substantial value for modern Oriental studies.
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 177

Notes
1
V.V. Bartold. ‘Obzor dejatelnosti faculteta vostochnih jazikov (Review of the
Activities of the Faculty of Oriental Languages),’ V.V. Bartold. Collected Works, vol.
9, Moscow, 1977, 29.
2
V.V. Bartold. Istoria izutschenia Vostoka v Evrope i v Rossii (The History of Study of
the East in Europe and Russia). V.V. Bartold. Collected Works, vol. 9, Moscow,
1977, 418.
3
Muhammad ibn Sa‛d ibn Sulayman ‛Ayyad al-Marhumi al-Tantawi al-Shafi‛i.
4
N.I. Veselovski. Svedenia ob ofitsialnom prepodavanii vostochnih jazikov v Rossii
(Information about the Official Education of Oriental Languages in Russia). St.
Petersburg, 1879, 131.
5
I.U. Kratchkowski. ‘Otcherki po istorii russkoy arabistiki (Sketches of the
History of Russian Arabic Studies),’ I.U. Kratchkowski. Selected Works, vol. 4.
Moscow; Leningrad, 1957, 175.
6
St.-Peterburgskie vedomosti.
7
I.U. Kratchkowski. ‘Nad arabskimi rukopisami (Working on Arabic
Manuscripts),’ I.U. Kratchkowski. Selected Works, vol. 1. Moscow; Leningrad, 1955.
8
Letters sur l’histoire des Arabes avant l’islamisme. 1836.
9
E.W. Lane. The Thousand and One Nights. A new translation from the Arabic by
E.W. Lane. 3 vols. London, 1839-41. Vol.1, XVI.
10
The complete translation of the Makamat into Russian has been recently done by
Russian Arabists. See: Abu Muhammad al-Hariri. Makamat. Arabskiye srednevekoviye
plutovskiye novelli. Translation from Arabic by V.M. Borisova, A.A. Dolinina, V.N.
Kirpichenko. Moscow, 1987.
11
I.U. Kratchkowski. ‘Otcherki po istorii russkoy arabistiki (Sketches of the
History of Russian Arabic Studies).’ P. 82.
12
‘Perepiska akademikov A.E. Krimskogo i I.U. Kratchkowskogo 1920-1930-h
godov (Correspondence of Academicians A.E. Krimski and I.U. Kratchkowski in
1920s-1930s),’ Neizvistnie stranizi otechestvennogo vostokovedenia (Unknown Pages of the
Russian Oriental Science). Moscow, 1997, 195.
13
Kratchkowski dedicated to the shaykh Tantawi several special research papers:
I.U. Kratchkowski. ‘Sheykh Tantawi, professor S.-Peterburgskogo universiteta
(1810–1861) (Shaykh Tantawi, Professor of St. Petersburg University),’ I.U.
Kratchkowski. Selected Works. Vol. 5. Moscow; Leningrad, 1958, 229-299;
‘Neizvestnoe sochineniye sheykha at-Tantawi (An Unknown Treatise of Shaykh al-
Tantawi),’ Selected Works. Vol. 1. P.165-170; ‘Novaya rukopis opisaniya Rossii
sheykha at-Tantawi (A New Manuscript of the Description of Russia by Shaykh al-
Tantawi),’ Selected Works. Vol. 1, 171-174.
14
A.E. Krimski. Istoriya novoy arabskoy literaturi (XIX – nachalo XX veka) (The
History of the Modern Arabic Literature [the Nineteenth – Beginning of the
Twentieth Cent.]). Moscow, 1971, 176.
15
I.U. Kratchkowski. ‘Sheykh Tantawi, professor S.-Peterburgskogo Universiteta
(1810-61) (Shaykh Tantawi, Professor of St. Petersburg University)’, 262, 280.
16
Ibid, 271.
17
Arabskie rukopisi vostochnogo otdela nauchnoy biblioteki Sankt-Peterburgskogo
Gosudarsvennogo universiteta (Arabic Manuscripts of Oriental Section of St.
Petersburg University Scientific Library). A Brief Catalogue. Compiled by O.B.
Frolova and T.P. Deryagina, (St. Petersburg, 1996).
18
I.U. Kratchkowski, ‘Nad arabskimi rukopisami (Working on Arabic
Manuscripts)’, 118.
19
Lazarev Institute was founded in 1815. It was named after a rich Armenian, state
official Lazarev who made a substantial donation (200,000 roubles) to this
178 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

institution. From 1848 Armenian, Georgian, Turkish, Tatar, Persian and Arabic
languages started to be taught at this Institute.
20
A.E. Krimski, Istoriya novoy arabskoy literaturi (The History of the Modern Arabic
Literature), 177.
21
G.A. Murkos, ‘Noveishaya literatura arabov (Modern Literature of the Arabs)’,
in V.F. Korsh and A. Kirpitchnikov (ed.), Vseobshaya istoria literaturi (The General
History of Literature) 2 vols. (St. Petersburg, 1885), ii. 374-80.
22
‘Peretchen Antiohiyskih patriarhov (The List of Patriarchs of Antioch),’
Soobshenia Imperatorskogo Palestinskogo Pravoslavnogo obshestva, 1896; supplement to vol.
v. Puteshestvie Antiohiyskogo patriarha Makaria v Rossiy v polovine XVII veka, opisannoe
ego sinom arhidiakonom Pavlom Aleppskim (Journey of Patriarch of Antioch Makarius
to Russia in the Mid-Seventeenth Century, described by his Son, Archdeacon Pavel
of Aleppo) (Moscow, 1900).
23
Puteshestvie Antiohiyskogo patriarha Makaria v Rossiy v polovine XVII veka, opisannoe ego
sinom arhidiakonom Pavlom Aleppskim (Journey of Patriarch of Antioch Makarius to
Russia in the Mid-Seventeenth Century, described by his Son, Archdeacon Pavel
of Aleppo), 5 vols. (Moscow, 1896-1900).
24
I.U. Kratchkowski. ‘Otcherki po istorii russkoy arabistiki (Sketches of the
History of Russian Arabic Studies)’, 114-5.
25
Encyclopeditcheski slovar, izdateli F.A. Brokgaus i I.A. Efron (The Encyclopedia,
published by F.A. Brokgaus and I.A. Efron) (St. Petersburg, 1897), vol. 39.
26
See: G.A. Murkos. Interesi Rossii v Palestine (Interests of Russia in Palestine),
(Moscow, 1882).
27
G.A. Murkos. ‘Mnenie pravoslavnih arabov o greko-bolgarskoy raspri (The
Arab-Christians’ Opinion about the Greek-Bulgarian Conflict),’ Pravoslavnoe
obozrenie, vol. iii, 1880, 165.
28
A.E. Krimski. Istoriya novoy arabskoy literaturi (The History of the Modern Arabic
Literature), 227.
29
About archimandrite Rafail see: R.M. Valeev. Kazanskoe vostokovedenie: istoki i
razvitie (XIX v. – 20 gg. XX v.) (Oriental Studies in Kazan: Roots and Development
[the Nineteenth Century – 1920s]) (Kazan, 1998), 224.
 Wakfs in Ottoman Cyprus

Netice Yıldız

This paper deals with the wakf monuments and artefacts, nowadays
administered by Cyprus Turkish Wakf Administration (Fig. 1), which
gives the Ottoman identity of the past for the island mainly from an
art historical point of view as well as brief information about their
formation and problems arising from the loss of much of its
incomes and property in the twentieth century. The study mainly
focuses on wakfs established in the early period of the Ottoman
regime. Among the earliest wakfs to be concerned in my study are
Aya Sofya Wakf—the first wakf in Cyprus established over most of
the estates formerly belonged to the Latin Rulers and citizens,1 the
wakfs of Lala Mustafa Pasha, Arab Ahmed Pasha, Cafer Pasha, Okcı
Zade Mehmed Pasha, Sefer Pasha, Frenk Cafer Pasha2 and Sinan
Pasha.3 All the important religious monuments in Cyprus were also
financially supported by the income of properties assigned to the
wakfs. Among these, which need to be surveyed, are Büyük Hamam,
Büyük Han (Fig. 5), Bedesten near Aya Sofya Cami’i, Cafer Pasha
Hamamı in Famagusta, Hamam-ı Cedid in Paphos, the rent of
several shops and houses and the produce of large estates called
çiftlik. The first important Ottoman monuments built on the island
were baths, aqueducts, inns, mills and schools, which were set up as
wakfs.4 Having a religious connotation, the water systems, with the
maintaining of the existing systems as well as construction of new
aqueducts and conduits in Turkish style were given particular
attention in the Ottoman wakfs.5 These monuments have partly
survived which comprised a significant part of the island’s cultural
heritage besides in some cases showing examples of the cultural
amalgamation. This study is based on a research from several
documents dating back from the last quarter of the sixteenth century
until the end of the nineteenth century such as Mühimme Defterleri,
Vakıf Defterleri, published articles and books based on the
information given in the Şeriye Sicilleri, as well as personal
observations of the existing monuments and artefacts, which are
included as illustrations in Figures 1-8.
180 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
The First Wakf in Cyprus: Selim II or Aya Sofya Wakf

Aya Sofya cathedral of the capital city in Nicosia originally built

under the Lusignan Kingdom was converted into a mosque,6 as it
was the tradition in every conquered land to symbolise the political
power of the Ottoman Empire. Lala Mustafa Pasha with other
commanders and religious authorities held the first Friday prayers
there, blessing the conquest on 15 September 1570. He then
established the first and greatest pious foundation in Cyprus in the
name of the sultan during the first Friday prayer.7
Aya Sofya (Selimiye) Cami’i is a gothic monument, (Fig. 3) which
is a long rectangular building with a central nave, two aisles at the
sides and four additional chapels on its southern and northern sides.
The building is oriented on the east west axis. Therefore the altar
was demolished and an Islamic altar was built on the southern wall.
The southern portal was removed to the eastern part and an
inscription tablet was attached on the tympanum of the door. The
interior of the building was completely organized in the Islamic
character by removing the altar, all the stain glasses, icons, sculptures
and wall paintings and providing it with mihrap, minber and kürsü
(desk) as described by Ottoman chronicles.8 However, little is known
about how far they have gone in the conversion of the cathedral into
mosque during these first days after the conquest.
The earliest minarets were added in 1572, two minarets for the
mosque in Nicosia, one to the mosque in Famagusta as indicated in a
contemporary document. This was the sultan’s order issued on 17
Zilhicce 979/1 May 1572 addressing to the beylerbeyi and defterdar
(treasurer) of Cyprus upon their petition to the sultan seeking his
opinion about the number of minarets to be constructed for the
mosques in Nicosia and Famagusta, which were lacking until then.9
The minarets on the western part of the building were constructed
on the remains of the towers. Both minarets are decorated with
muqarnas carvings and they are the highest minarets of Ottoman
Cyprus with their towers each having 170 steps.10 These minarets
were renewed several times since they could not survive during
earthquakes.
Three mihraps were built in the mosque, the right one being the
oldest. The ayet above this is dated as 1004/1595 and bears the
signature of the calligrapher Mahmud. The main mihrap of the
mosque was constructed in the form of a curtain screen in front of
the wall to gain the necessary orientation towards Mecca without
giving harm to the original wall of the building. This is also made in
harmony with the size of the building. It is the largest mihrap in all
of the mosques in Cyprus. The niche of the altar has a muqarnas
decoration, the stalactites of which are brightly painted with red,
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 181
black, cream and gold colours. A gilded ball hangs over in the middle
of this muqarnas decoration. The brushwork ornamentation in
baroque style may be assumed to be of a later date, presumably early
nineteenth century. There is İmran Sureh, in a fine calligraphic
workmanship on the mihrap. There is no date of this inscription.
The repertoire of decoration in the niche, the bands outlining the
mihrap and the crown show different characters, some parts being in
rather classical Rumi style while others have Rococo style decoration,
which recalls different stages. The marble kürsü (desk) ornamented
in classical style with pierced latticed work and brushwork paintings
suggests an earlier stage. The minber is made up of marble, and the
kiosk and its cupola is of wood, decorated with detailed brushwork.
Also the imam mahfili (dikka) of the mosque is ornamented with star
motifs in brushwork. This existing furniture most probably dates to
later times.
During the first Friday prayers Lala Mustafa Pasha also donated a
sword and a Koran as symbolic wakfs to bless the conquest forever.
This manuscript is assumed to be the one in the collection of the
Turkish Ethnographic Museum in Mevlevi Tekke with the inventory
number 135 (Fig. 2). The deed of foundation of the Koran is full of
praise-full words about the bravery of Lala Mustafa Pasha as well as
blessing the conquest forever by dedicating the holy book as a wakf
in the name sultan Selim II. The inscription of the manuscript
mentioned about this wakf that has been transcribed by the late
Orhan Şaik Gökyay contains rather praising words as follows:

Thanks to the God who is unique and great and to the Prophet that
will be the last one

Lala Mustafa Pasha, the lion of war, brave man who destroyed
the castles of the infidels. May the God give him power to
perform his wishes and desires. He devoted this Holy Book by
asking the permission of the generous, Great God to this
noble and honourable mosque, which is within the walls of the
castle of Lefkoşa, on the condition that it will always remain
within this holy shrine and cannot be transferred to another
place. Thus, the members of the committee gathered to
confirm the conditions of this deed of trust of the pious
foundation is correct and it is in accordance with the laws of
Islamic religion. Therefore, it cannot be sold, purchased,
transferred, inherited, mortgaged, lent or donated. It is solely
the property of the most generous, noble, eternal and Great
God.
182 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
On the top of this inscription is the stamp of a kadı, the top
religious authority, who determined and confirmed the conditions of
the pious foundation. Presumably, this is the stamp of the first kadı
Ekmel Efendi. There is also another inscription on the last page of
the Koran giving the following meaning:

This beautiful Koran, the holy book was donated to the Great
Mosque on the island of Cyprus which is protected by the God,
by the generous will of Lala Mustafa Pasha, the conqueror of
the island.

The word ‘Wakf’ which is inscribed on every single page also

stamped its being a pious foundation. But in spite of all this
information, the location of the foundation is not defined clearly.
This holy Koran is a rather delicately illuminated manuscript, which
needs special care for its art value as well as its historical value. But
unfortunately, it is in a rather ruined condition and is in need of a
special restoration by experts. The manuscript which is registered
with the inventory number 135 in the Cyprus Turkish Ethnographic
Museum comprises of 320 folios with the dimensions 24.5x17.5 cm.
The folios of the manuscript are not numbered. The manuscript has
a brown leather binding, stamped and tooled with a lobed central
medallion and pendants filled with the saz style leaves, hatayis and
floral scroll ornamentation. These are so much worn that they are
hardly visible in some parts. The flap is simple with no stamp. The
doublure of the binding is covered with crimson coloured leather,
which recalls a previous restoration.
The most important illuminated part of the manuscript is the
serlevha of the Koran, where the surehs of Fatiha and Bakara are
situated. This is illuminated in the classical Ottoman style and
painted with dark blue, gold, red, black, crimson red and pink
colours. Dark blue and gold are dominant colours in the
illumination. Unfortunately the dark blue painting at some parts have
been faded and fallen down. The edges of the folios are also worn
out. The Koran ends with the ‘Nas Sureh’. Below the last words, an
inscription indicates that it was donated as a pious foundation to a
mosque and also there is a stamp that could not be deciphered t the
present moment but presumably it bears the name of the kadı Ekmel
Efendi. The manuscript is not dated. The illumination of the
serlevha of the Koran recalls the illumination style of the early
sixteenth century manuscripts. In view of the wakfiye inscription of
the deed of trust expressing the owner’s wish of donating it as a
pious foundation, it could be said that this manuscript was prepared
before 1570. The illumination of the serlevha of this Koran shows
similarities with the serlevha of a valuable manuscript preserved at
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 183
the Topkapı Palace Library (Inv. No. E.H. 227)11 The Topkapı
Koran was inscribed in the thirteenth century by the Persian
calligrapher Yakut el-Mustasimi and illuminated in Istanbul by an
Ottoman artist in the sixteenth century. The composition of the
serlevhas of both manuscripts shows similarities with the pattern
used in the illumination but lacking the side projections. The most
important similarity in both Korans is in the selection of colour and
the thin border decorations both of which are on black ground. The
characteristic of having such a black ground with floral scrolls came
to Ottoman art from the Safavids.12 The manuscript does not bear
any date or colophon indicating the details about the calligrapher,
illumination or its provenance. But the inscription added to folio 1a
and the last folio gives some approximate information about its date.
These inscriptions also contributed to the historical facts about this
manuscript which enhances in spiritual rather than its material value.
The other symbolic foundation according to legend is the steel
sword, which was used every Friday and at bayram praying in the
preaching of the hutbe. The preacher used to climb up the stairs of
the minber by touching each step with this sword and then did his
preaching by leaning on this sword. It is a known fact that in the
conquered lands it was customary to convert the largest church into
a mosque as the symbol of the power of the Ottoman Empire. Aya
Sofya in Istanbul is known to have practiced the same tradition until
lately13 and the preacher of the mosque used to deliver his speech on
political and social matters by leaning on the sword or a sceptre.14
Unfortunately this sword was stolen in 1987.

Enlarging of Aya Sofya Wakf and Creation of New Ones

Sultan Selim II sent imperial orders for the recording of all the
properties gained through the conquest immediately just after the
foundation of the Aya Sofya Wakf. According to one of these orders
written to Lala Mustafa Pasha on 31 October 1570, it was requested
that he should take actions to include the ones that are of value and
would be profitable for the maintenance of Aya Sofya foundation. It
is also required that Bali Efendi, the treasurer must sell the rest of
the property for the benefit of the treasury at the best price and
record each group of items into separate books for the inspection of
the sultan.15 One document dated Rebi’ülahır 978/November 1570
mentioned about Ekmel Efendi, the müderris appointing Abdülgaffar
as the chair of the board of trustees with a salary of 40 akçe for the
inspection of the mosque, shops and other property and income of
the wakf.16
All properties found of value for the wakf as well as those that
had already been included in the Aya Sofya Foundation must be
184 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
retained while the rest of the properties connected to the churches
would be sold away. In fact it may be gathered from the information
given by Nicholas Coureas that the amount of the properties of Aya
Sofya Cathedral in Nicosia (Fig. 3) and Aya Nicholas Cathedral in
Famagusta (Fig. 4) began during the Lusignan period were too high
since the archbishopric had usually acquired land through donations
as cash money or land and property donated by the kings, the earliest
known to be in 1195. There were different cases, which increased the
wealth of the Latin Church on the island by donations such as the
incomes of salt-pans at Salines from Larnaca,17 or donation in the
form of granting milling rights at the royal flour-mills in Kytherea as
it was done by Queen Alice or contributions with cash money. With
this income, the church even purchased whole villages with its land
and serfs.18 During the Venetian occupation the Latin Church
continued to retain its property, which was overtaken by Ottoman
rule after the conquest. It was the same for Aya Nicholas Cathedral
in Famagusta (Fig. 4) that was converted into the mosque in the
name of the sultan with the preaching of a hutbe.19 This imposing
Gothic cathedral is still the main mosque in Famagusta although it
retains many Christian medieval decorative elements on its western
façade. This mosque called Aya Nikola20 was then mainly referred to
as Aya Sofya in Famagusta or merely as Small Aya Sofya while it was
very rarely mentioned as Selimiye Cami’i.21 An imperial order
instructed the governor to retain the necessary part of its foundation
and to sell the rest of the property connected to the church.22
Moreover, the Ottoman army was able to capture huge foundations
belonging to thirty one churches in Famagusta. It was then ordered
that the so-called Aya Yorgi (St. George)23 including its foundations
must be given to the local people while the rest of thirty churches
with their foundations must be sold away for the benefit of the
treasury after getting the necessary amount for the wakf of the Aya
Sofya Mosque in Famagusta.24
The wakf of Selim, usually referred to as the Aya Sofya Wakf was
organized so as to support the expenses and salaries of the mosque
complex, which also included the medrese with the income of the
shops, water distribution, mills, fields and farm units. This wakf
included mainly the Bedesten (Suk-i Sultaniye),25 Great Inn (Büyük
Han), New Great Inn (Yeni Büyük Han), çiftliks (farms) and mills in
Kythrea (Değirmenlik), Machara and Yırnalı.26 The sultan’s
foundation then continued to enlarge with new additions by the
governors sometimes even without asking his permission as we
could see from one of the documents dated 17 Shevval 984/9
January 1577.27 Accordingly, the sultan was informed that the
Governor had pulled down the shops that were the wakfs of the
mosque and replaced them with a caravansary. Upon this, it is
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 185
requested to enquire about the income of this new foundation and in
case this is unsatisfactory, then the building would be converted into
shops as it was before. The beylerbeyi Okçızade Mehmed Pasha
made a wakf of at least one shop and others had donated a butcher
shop, other shops and large estates (çiftlik) for Aya Sofya in
1002/1593-4.
An important contribution was the wakf of Cafer Pasha set up in
addition to the previously established wakfs to maintain Aya Sofya in
Famagusta from the revenues of his estate that had 280 trees, nine
carob trees along with houses at a village in Tuzla district and five
two-storied and single-storied houses, fruit trees, gardens with
irrigation channels, eight shops in various places, a coffee house, two
grist (tahuni) mills, a well and more were set aside.28 Several people
also established Wakfs for Aya Sofya for payment to Koran readers
or for other expenses such as candle wax for the mosque. Among
the donors there was also a Jewish person.29
In view of this document and some others, Büyük Han (Fig. 5) is
another noteworthy monuments inherited from the enormous wakf
of Sultan Selim. Büyük Han is the largest Ottoman complex ever
built on the island, which was established mainly to support the
mosque. It is quite interesting with its small mescid in the middle of
the courtyard, which is raised on a circular arcaded colonnade with
double staircase arranged in baroque style, leading into the shrine.
The space below is reserved for the fountain and the circular water
tank. The whole complex can be considered as a small model of
Koza Han in Bursa. The capitals of the columns as well as the altar
of the mescid are of local sandstone cut into crude muqarnas
decoration. The rooms of Büyük Han are arranged around the
courtyard, which is entered through an iwan. The whole complex
consists of 68 rooms and 10 shops. The rooms on the ground floor
were supposed to have been rented as storerooms to the merchants,
while the first level was rented for accommodation. The rooms are
all covered with a vaulted roof and each one is equipped with a
fireplace. The chimneypieces on the roof of the building bring a
dynamic appearance to the building.30 A few documents give some
ideas about the rent and usage of Büyük Han in earlier days. It
appears that 28,200 akçe/year was gained from the rent of 12 rooms
and 8 shoe-stores, coffee-shop and pie oven in Zilkade 1002/July
1594.31 It is rather surprising not to find any information about the
Büyük Han or any of the other Turkish hans in the travel books of
the Europeans of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The
restoration of Büyük Han started in the 1960s is now nearly
complete and all rooms rented as shops for souvenir sellers or to the
local artists. Nowadays with a new function as a culture and tourist
centre, it is one of the most attractive places in Nicosia.
186 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
Coffee-shops, as the popular social gathering places for the male
folk since 1550 in the Ottoman Empire were also established in
Cyprus often in the possession of the wakfs.32 They were also one of
the most important income sources of the Selim wakf. Aya Sofya
Wakf also included several medreses, the earliest reference in
documents studied is referred to as Dar-ül Hidaya33 built before 1578
by Sultan Selim.
Unfortunately the whole property under the wakf of Selim II is
not exactly known today. A printed document entitled ‘Evkaf
Mazbouta’34 prepared by the British Evkaf Delegate and sent to the
Turkish Embassy in London about the income and expenses of the
sultan’s wakfs for the year 1898 both amounting to 4,558 pounds, 15
shillings and 8 pence is far from reflecting the real property. The list
which recorded merely a short account of the yearly income and
expenditure of the sultan’s wakfs included çiftliks (farmhouses) like
Goloş (Kolossi) and Çite (Chiti or Kiti) farms, property of land in
Nicosia, Famagusta, Limassol (Leymosun), Larnaca (Tuzla) and mills
and water as well as a share of the income from carob and grape
harvests. The short length of the list reflects the loss of a great
majority of the estates of the Imperial Wakf by the end of nineteenth
century. Among the farm complexes in the Wakf of Sultan Selim II,
Golos (Kolossi) is renowned for its richest agricultural produce for
many centuries since the Lusignan period. Kolossi, now known with
its historical castle was in fact a rich fief with its worldwide famous
Commandaria wine and cane sugar production. It was well equipped
with the aqueduct system to irrigate the cane plantations and to drive
the waterwheels as well as an imposing castle rebuilt in fifteenth
century and it continued its sugar production in the Ottoman period.
The sugar factory was reconstructed under Murad Pasha in 1591,
which he has seen recorded on the gable of the building.35

Other Wakfs

New wakfs were established as soon as the Ottoman administrative

units were put into practice in mid-September 1570. It is naturally
expected that wakfs are usually established by devout Muslims proud
of their cities, who wanted to beautify them as well as wishing to
serve God or to be generous with their fellow Muslims. According
to Ronald Jennings, of 32 foundations mentioned in the judicial
registers until 1611, at least 16 had military origins. Of the remainder,
three were imperial foundations (Sultan Selim Han, Haremeyn-i
Şerif, and Medine-i Münevvere), one attached to a village, another
two to churches, and the Valide Sultan wakf was added to these in
1633. Only two (Mevlana Muslihiddin Efendi and Müftü Sa’deddin
Efendi bn Muharrem) were identified as deriving from the religious
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 187
class (ulema). Of the military founders, two bore the title bey, two
çavuş, and three ağa, while six had been high-salaried imperial
provincial governors (mir miran or beylerbeyi) of Cyprus (Lala
Mustafa Pasha, Sefer Pasha, and Frenk Cafer Pasha). In all likelihood
they had acquired that property while in office and their mütevellis
(administrators) were also usually from the same class.36 They also
managed to purchase estates with their own means at lower prices
from the sales by the Ottoman government. New buildings followed
these in the forthcoming years. But these were slow and fewer as
compared with the wakfs established in Anatolia except the water
systems.
As it is expected, the wakf established in the name of Lala Mustafa
Pasha was the second largest one after Selim II Wakf. The
foundation of Lala Mustafa Pasha included thousands of dönüm of
land with its water sources in all parts of Cyprus mainly in
Lakatamia, Morphou, Yalya, Balikitre, Kyrenia (Girne) and in Tuzla,
and çiftliks such as Lapsiniye, Lorü, Demboi and Kaşala. The largest
of these were in Lakatamia consisting of 14, 492 dönüm of land with
over 9,000 olive trees, 35 houses, several other trees and the
enormous land in Kyrenia stretching from the coast to the
mountains. There were several mills and wells in all these lands.37 He
contributed to these lands by constructing the earliest Turkish
monuments, all for the needs of the local people. Büyük Hamam,
Ömeriye Cami’i and Hamam were important contributions, while
Ömeriye Garden, buildings in Nicosia, warehouses and a han in
Famagusta were also important parts of his wakfs. Among his wakfs
in Nicosia, the Garden of Orta Odası (The chamber of the
Yeniçeris) was an important property.38 Presently Pheneromeni
Church, the largest Greek Orthodox Church is on its location.
According to the wakf conditions, expenses for the maintenance of
the mosque, repairing and sanitation of the water channels to
maintain regular water supply to the mosque as well as other
expenses such as olive oil, oil burners and wax supplies, preparing
and distributing helva to fukaras, salaries of the staff working in the
mosque doing either religious or service works derived from the
income of the wakf.39
The income of the two baths, Hamam-ı Kebir (Büyük Hamam)
and Hamam-ı Cedid (Ömeriye Hamam) in Nicosia), were allocated
to the expenses of Ömeriye Cami’i. It is interesting to see that
despite the large amount of property to be registered as wakf in the
name of Lala Mustafa Pasha, he had to get permission for every
detail from the sultan. According to a record quoted from the şeriye
sicilli by Jennings, he made a petition to the sultan for permission to
build a mosque, which was dedicated to Hazret-i Ömer, as a spiritual
patron, on the spot where he had his first prayer. Upon his petition
188 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
for permission to build a hamam for imam, hatib and other
functionaries, the sultan expressed his idea that a hamam was
unnecessary and useless as it would not bring any profit to the wakf
and made recommendations to let someone else to build the
hamam.40
Although some of these wakfs merely remained a family property,
there were some important wakfs that were wholly dedicated to
some religious establishments on the island while some were
contributing to Haremeyn-i Şerifeyn or Celaliye Wakf. Several
documents give proof of this fact. The records of the first four şeriye
sicills studied by Jennings reveal the fact that the wakfs of Aya Sofya,
Mevlevi Tekke, Ömeriye Cami’i, Haremeyn-i Şerifeyn and Medine-i
Münevvere were the most extensive ones, which were almost
supported by each wakf established by the commanders of the
conquest and by other people including the non-Muslims
continuously.41
Forty thousand akçes per year were donated wakf for the evkaf of
Medine-i Münevvere by Cafer Pasha ibn Abdul-Mennan.42 According
to one of these, a certain amount of the income gained through the
tax collected from the trade of silk and cotton textiles locally
produced such as kutni, keremsud, silk cloth, peşkir, yasdık, harir şal,
kuşak, dimi şal and penbe (cotton) was allocated to Mevlevihane in
Lefkoşa in 1138/1725-6.43 Another document dated 12 Muharrem
1262/11 January 1846 gives information about the sum of 4,999
kuruş from the income of the textiles such as silk and cotton goods
that was allocated to the Haremeyn-i Şerifeyn Wakf in the name of
Mehmet II, the conqueror.44 In another register book bearing the
tuğra of Murat III and prepared by an inspector Mehmed upon the
order of Mehmet Ağa, the Ağa of Darüssade and the director of
Haremeyn Wakf in Cyprus is also included among other provinces as
contributor to the Haremeyn Wakf. In view of these documents
Haremeyn Wakfs presumably started as early as the conquest,
particularly with the establishment of Aya Sofya and Lala Mustafa
Pasha Wakfs.45
The number of the contributors to the Haremeyn Wakf increased
during the later years. The Umurga (Aphendrika) Çiftlik is registered
to be the property of Ayşe Sultan and İbrahim Pasha under Wakf of
Haremeyn according to a document dated 1182/1768-946 while
another document from the British period classified it as a wakf of
Hala Sultan Tekke.47 Ruznamçe-i Evvel Süleyman Efendi is one case
of an individual whose entire estate in the form of buildings and land
was donated as wakf to the Haremeyn in 1198/1783-4.48 Another
case is related to the property of Haydar Paşazade Mehmed Bey
which was also dedicated to the Haremeyn Wakf.49
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 189
The government in Istanbul usually inspected the income or
administration of these wakfs whether they were utilized properly.
The treasurer was responsible to collect the income of these wakf
estates and sent it to its destination. There was one severe case
against the ex-treasurer Bali Efendi who spent the money obtained
for the fukara of Medine on textiles for the navy which was not in
fact requested. So he was ordered to sell the textile immediately and
send the income to Medine as usual.50
Sometimes it is rather difficult to determine the real founder of
the wakfs since most of these passed through inheritance to the
daughters or sons although the conditions of wakfs to contribute to
certain foundations were respected. According to a document dated
1912 although Çite Farm is classified as the estate of the Haremeyn
treasury, Lala Mustafa Pasha is recorded as its founder. This is not
surprising when one would notice the lack of information about the
wakf of Selim II as compared to the long list of the wakfs of Lala
Mustafa Pasha or Çinili Valide Sultan upon a glance at the lists given
in a recent publication concerning the Turkish property as well as the
wakf foundations. 51
Another reason for this kind of neglect is the complications
arising as the result of the change of the administration system of the
wakfs, which was automatically transferred to the British Crown who
possessed little information about the operation of the complicated
system. During the British period the newly established Delegate of
Evkaf Office took care of the wakfs and this included the mazbuta
wakfs founded for the Haremeyn Wakf, which is explained to have
been the wakfs established by the Turkish conquerors and dedicated
for the provision of the Holy cities of Mecca and Medina. The
money derived from such wakfs were paid into the General Funds of
the Evkaf Ministry of Turkey while then during the British
occupation of Cyprus, this money was collected by the Delegates of
Evkaf and formed the basis of Mazbuta Wakfs on behalf of the
Crown. So according to this file, Sultan Selim II, Lala Mustafa Pasha,
Çorlulu Ali Pasha,52 Mazhar Efendi, Abdül Mennan Zade Mehmed
Efendi, Haydar Pasha Zade Mehmed Bey, Çinili Valide Sultan53 and
Ağa Cafer Pasha (partly attached) were treated under this category.
Accordingly all these wakfs except the wakf of Çinili Valide Sultan,
which was then still administered by mütevellis, were directly
administered by the Ministry of Evkaf at Istanbul (Constantinople)
under the Turkish regime while after the British occupation this
practice had been abandoned and all money were kept in Cyprus for
the upkeep and maintenance of the various religious
establishments.54 The third reason is the insufficiency of the studies
on the wakfiyes that are distributed in the libraries of the whole
world although a great amount of these are in the archive of the
190 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
Wakf Administration in Ankara and partly in the Cyprus Wakf
Administration (Fig. 1) and National Archive in North Cyprus.
One could see that most of the Cypriot wakfs are considered as
sultanic property under the Aya Sofya Wakfs as they used to be in
the Latin period. A glance at the history of the pre-Ottoman
monuments and estates clearly shows their origin as part of the
foundation of Aya Sofya from the earliest times. In the case of Çite
or Kiti farm, it was first mentioned as Le Quit in the cartulary of St.
Sophia. This was an important fief during the Lusignan period
belonging to the Archbishopric of Cyprus. Egyptians burned it down
on their landing at Limassol in 1426. Then it was confiscated by
James the Bastard from his uncle who was the grandfather of Father
Stephen Lusignan, by force while it was purchased from the
Venetian Republic by Hercules Podocatoro at the end of the
fifteenth century or in the beginning of the sixteenth century as a
fief.55
The wakfiye of Cafer Pasha, the beylerbeyi of the island at the end
of seventeenth century is one of the rare ones to survive, which gives
much information about the property all laid as wakfs and citing item
by item for the amount to be paid for the services from the income
of his estate.56 Besides his wakfs to Haremeyn, the Tomb of
Muhammed and the Konya Mevlevihane, his water wakfs in
Famagusta is rather important.57 Much is known about the wakfs of
Mehmet Bey ibn Ebubekir mainly in Paphos district, which includes
an aqueduct, mosque, bath, coffee shop, olive-oil mills.58 These
wakfs were recorded in the şeriye sicilleri with the names of the
mütevellis personally appointed to supervise them. Although the
freed slaves of the owners were appointed for this mission in the
case of the wakfs of Lala Mustafa Pasha and Cafer Pasha, it was the
son or grandson for the wakf of large farm estates established by
Yusuf Aga ibn Perviz beg, the Janissary Ağa in Cyprus. According to
his deed, if these would perish, then the supervision would pass to
the derviş lodge (zaviye).59 This lasted until the foundation of the
Evkaf-ı Hümayun Nezareti in 1826 and El-Hac Yusuf Efendi was
appointed as the director in Cyprus then.60
Today, the wakf lands and monuments that were lost because of
ill administration of the wakfs during the British Period and also the
land now on the southern part of the island after the division of the
island into two is one of the important part of the peace
negotiations. The Wakf Administration is taking great care of the old
monuments found in the northern part of the island with the income
they are gaining through tourism complexes, rents from business
centres and other buildings, banking, and farms. Contrary to the past
experience giving its income to the Haremeyn Wakf or other
Institutions in Anatolia, today the Wakf Administration of Turkey is
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 191
greatly contributing to and supporting all the maintenance of the
buildings in North Cyprus, which have historical religious character.
Recently completed restoration projects include particularly the
Büyük Han (Fig. 5), the Arab Ahmet Cami’i and almost all of the
mosques in North Cyprus as well as new mosques constructed in
many parts of the island.61 The Mederese building in Famagusta (Fig.
6) with its front walls in Latin style and dome in Turkish style is the
symbol of the cultural amalgamation while the library of Sultan
Mahmud II (Fig. 7) is one of the best examples to identify the
Turkish culture. During 300 years of the Ottoman Rule on the
island, the number of Turkish wakfs increased, while the ill
administration of the wakfs during the British Rule as well as the
enthusiasm and excitement for the adoption of new concepts and
ideas based on western culture and the great attempt to form a
secular society by following the revolutionary cultural movements
started by Mustafa Kemal Atatürk in Turkey, caused to the neglect
and lost of some of the Turkish wakf monuments. Saray Önü
Mosque (Fig. 8) is rather interesting as a wakf monument in
Orientalist style to show this fact. I conclude with hope that this
study will contribute to express my forthcoming studies on the
subject.62
192 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
Illustrations

Wakfs in Ottoman Cyprus

Figure1: Wakf Administration Building, Figure 2: Lala Mustafa Pasha Koran,

Nicosia. Late 19th century. Turkish Ethnography Museum Envt.
No: 135.

Figure 3: Aya Sofya (Selimiye) Cami’i, Figure 4: Aya Nikola (Lala Mustafa
Nicosia. Illustrated London News, Pasha) Cami’i, Famagusta. Illustrated
1878. London News, 1878.
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 193

Wakfs cont.

Figure 5: Büyük Han, Nicosia. 16th

century. Figure 6: Medrese Building, Famagusta.
C. 18th century.

Figure 7: Sultan Mahmud Library, Figure 8: Sarayönü Mosque, Nicosia,

Nicosia. Early 19th century. 1904.
194 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

Notes
1
There were 800 or 900 villages on the island during the Venetian Rule. According
to Father Lusignan, there were 30 to 33 Maronite villages, three Armenian villages
and one Gypsy village near Nicosia. Benjamin Arbel (1984/2000). ‘Cypriot
Population Under Venetian Rule (1473-1571): A Demographic Study’, in the Franks
and Venice 13th-16th Centuries (Aldershot, 1984/2000), 203.
2
Ronald C. Jennings, Christians and Muslims in Ottoman Cyprus and the Mediterranean
World, 1570-1640 (New York, 1993), 41.
3
Pir Ali Dede Cami’i in Limassol and shops in Famagusta are cited as the wakfs of
Sinan Pasha. Bş. Bk. O. Ar. (Başbakanlık Arşivleri, Osmanlı Arşivi/Prime Ministry
Archives, Ottoman Archive, Istanbul) Bab-ı ali Evrak Odası Mümtaz Kalemi, Kıbrıs,
Kıbrıs ve Bosna Kataloğu, MTZ. KB. 1338-3-15 file no: 1-A/1-5, lef: 15.
4
See Netice Yıldız (1995). ‘Osmanlı Dönemi Kıbrıs Türk Mimari ve Sanatı’, 9th
International Congress of Turkish Arts, Contributions, 23-27 September, 1991, İstanbu, Vol.
III, (Ankara, 1995), 521-32; Netice Yıldız, ‘Aqueducts in Cyprus’, Journal for Cypriot
Studies, 2/2, (1996), 89-111; Netice Yıldız, ‘Kıbrıs`ta Osmanlı Kültür Mirasına
Genel Bir Bakış’, in H. C. Güzel, K. Çiçek, S. Koca (eds.), Türkler , Vol. 19 (2002),
966-93; Oktay Aslanpa, Kıbrıs’ta Türk Eserleri (Istanbul, 1975). Fikret Çuhadıroğlu
& Filiz Oğuz (1975). ‘Kıbrıs’ta Türk Eserleri/Turkish Historical Monuments in
Cyprus’, Vakıflar, Rölöve ve Restorasyon Dergisi, No: 2, (1975), 1-76.
5
Halil İnalcık (1994). ‘The Ottoman State: Economy and Society, 1300-1600’, in
An Economic and Social History of the Ottoman Empire 1300-1914, Halil İnalcık with
Donald Quataert (ed.) (Cambridge, 1994), 81.
6 Şerafettin Turan, 1958
( ). ‘Lala Mustafa Pasha Hakkında Notlar’, Belleten, XXll
/88, 517.
7
Anonym. Feth-i Cezire-i Kıbrıs, Topkapı Palace Library MS. Revan 1294. fol. 85.
8
Arif Dede, Kıbrıs Tarihçesi, Topkapı Palace Library MS., YY. 319 13, 36.
9 H. Sahillioğlu Osmanlı İdaresinde Kıbrıs'ın İlk Yılı Bütçesi , Belgeler, lV 7-8,
,‘ ’ /
(1969), 18; Bş. Bk. O. Ar., Mühimme 12, No: 1211.
10
Recently it has become customary to add two minarets to the newly built
mosques by the Wakf Administration.
11
For the picture of this see J. M. Rogers & R. W. Ward, Süleyman the Magnificent,
(London, 1988), 72-3; Esin Atıl, The Age of Süleyman the Magnificent (New York,
1987), 54.
12
Rogers & Ward , 73.
13
Gülru Necipoğlu, ‘The Life of An Imperial Monument: Hagia Sophia After
Byzantium’, in Robert Mark & Ahmet Ş. Çakmak (eds.), Hagia Sophia From the Age
of Justinian to the Present (Cambridge, 1992), 204.
14
See A. J. Wensinck, ‘Hutbe’, in İslam Ansiklopedisi, Vol. 5 (Istanbul, 1997), 617-
20.
15
Bş. Bk. O. Ar. Mühimme 14, No: 727.
16
Bş. Bk. O. Ar. Divan-ı Hümayun Ruus Kalemi, Defter No: 221 özel sayı: 14 A, No:
76.
17
Nicholas Coureas, The Latin Church in Cyprus 1195-1312, (Suffolk, 1997), 54-5.
18
Ibid 47-58.
19
Hammer, VI, 263; Şerafettin Turan, (1958), 577.
20
See Bş. Bk. O. Ar. Mühimme 16, No: 304.
21
The contemporary names Selimiye Cami’i and Lala Mustafa Pasha Cami’i were
officially given in 1954 with the suggestion of Müftü M. Dana Efendi. Halkın Sesi,
13 August 1954. Yıldız, 67.
22
Bş. Bk. O. Ar. Mühimme, 14 s. no: 727) 18 Zilhicce 979/3 Mayıs 1572.
 Ottoman-European Cultural Exchange 195

23
This is presumably St. George, the Greek Church. Although it is not exactly
recorded about its being demolished by earthquake, it is said that the Greek rite
was reported as being celebrated in a church dedicated to St. George after 1571.
Camille Enlart (1987). Gothic Art and the Renaissance in Cyprus, tr. by David Hunt,
London: Trigraph, p. 254; Pococke, visited Cyprus in 1738 refers to this
monument to have been thrown into ruins during an earthquake that happened
three years ago. E. D. Cobham (ed.), Excerpta Cypria (Cambridge, 1908; repr. New
York, 1986), 255.
24
Bş. Bk. O. Ar. Mühimme, 16, No: 304.
25
Jennings, 314.
26
Cyprus Turkish Vakıf Administration Files, No: 67/94.
27
Bş. Bk. O. Ar. Muhimme 29, no: 135.
28
Jennings, 60.
29
Ibid. 54.
30 Gönül Öney Lefkoşe’d Büyük Han ve Kumarcılar Hanı Milletleraras Birinci
,‘ e ’, ı
Kıbrıs Tetkikleri Kongresi (14-19 Nisan 1969) Türk Heyeti Tebliğleri (1971), 271-97,
Pl.I, II; Oktay Aslanapa (1975), 15-16.
31
Jennings, 332.
32
Ibid. 331.
33
Bş. B. O. Ar. Mühimme, No: 34, no: 422.
34
London Turkish Embassy, Ottoman Archive, File No: LBA K.342.5.
35
Enlart, 494-5.
36
Jennings, 41-4.
37
Yusuf Sarınay (ed.), Osmanlı İdaresinde Kıbrıs (Ankara, 2000), 330-41.
38
A document for the extension of the rent of this garden exists in the Cyprus
Turkish Wakf Administration Files, No: 424/98. Dated 1898.
39
Bş. Bk. O. Ar. Divan-ı Hümayun Muhasebesi, No: 21386.
40
Jennings, 55.
41
Ibid. 53-60.
42
Ibid. 56.
43
Bş. Bk. O. Ar. Maliyeden Müdevver Defterler, No: 10168, Gurre: 1138/1725-6. Also
see Bş. Bk. O. Ar. Cevdet – Evkaf, No: 24, 316 Dated 15 R. 1162/1749.
44
Bş. Bk. O. Ar. Divan-ı Hümayun Muhasebe Defterleri (D.H.M) No: 21939. Also
D.H.M No. 21479 and 21550, 21588.
45
Maliyeden Müdevver Defterler, Defter No: 684 dated Guree-i B. 997 /1589-
Gaye-i Ca 998 /1590.
46
Bş. Bk. O. Ar. Cevdet - Evkaf, No: 12689.
47
Mustafa Haşim Altan (1986). Belgelerle Kıbrıs Türk Vakıflar Tarihi (Lefkoşa, 1986),
1014.
48
Topkapı Palace Archive, Documents, E. No: 3803.
49
Topkapı Palaca Archive, Tahriratlar, Ar. No: 2281.
50
Topkapı Palace Archive, Documents, E. No: 3125. The document is not dated.
51
See Sarınay, 207-211, 330–41.
52
This Vakıf included Sultan or Poli Çiftlik in the village called Poli covering a land
752 dönüm, and the çiftlik complex, another land 1000 dönüms and 120 olive and
15 fig trees in the Hrisofi area. Sarınay, 213.
53
She is Mahpeyker Sultan. In her Wakfs in Cyprus were the Koklia Çiftlik with its
1339 dönüm land, 22 rooms in the complex, Mamonya Çiftlik with its 232 dönüm
land, 3 water- mills, a mulberry garden, Aşelya Çiftlik with its 4217 dönüm land, 27
rooms, one mill, a garden on a land of 15 dönüm with 500 mulberry trees. Sarınay,
209-10.
54
Cyprus Turkish Wakf Administration. Wakf Files No: 48.1927. (1-3). Dated 9-10
March 1927.
196 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

55
Enlart, 483-4.
56
Altan, 16-20, 471.
57
Jennings, 19, 60.
58
Sarınay, 203-4; Altan, 505-12.
59
Jennings, 49.
60
Rauf Ünsal, ‘Kıbrıs Vakıflarının Kuruluşundan Bu Yana Gelişimi’, VII. Vakıf
Haftası Vakıf Mevzuatının Aksayan Yönleri, Kıbrıs Vakıf İdaresi Çalışmaları ve Türk
Vakıf Medeniyetinde Vakıf Eski Eserlerinin Restorasyonu Seminerleri, Ankara, 5-7 Aralık
1989, (1989), 195
61
Ayer Barış, ‘Kıbrıs Vakıflarının Bugünkü Durumu ve Vakıflar İdaresinin
Fonksiyonları’, VII. Vakıf Haftası Vakıf Mevzuatının Aksayan Yönleri, Kıbrıs Vakıf
İdaresi Çalışmaları ve Türk Vakıf Medeniyetinde Vakıf Eski Eserlerinin Restorasyonu
Seminerleri, Ankara, 5-7 Aralık 1989 (1989), 201-7
62
The author would like to dedicate this paper to the memory of Prof. Dr. Nurhan
Atasoy, Prof. Dr. Halil Sahillioğlu and Retired Col. Hayri Mutluçağ.
 4
___________________________________

CHRISTIAN INFLUENCE AND THE

ADVENT OF THE EUROPEANS

Negotiating for State Protection: Çiftlik-Holding by the

Athonite Monasteries (Xeropotamou Monastery,
Fifteenth-Sixteenth C.)

Elias Kolovos

The Orthodox Christian monasteries of Mount Athos were social

and cultural institutions in the Byzantine and later in the Ottoman
Empire. In both empires, they had established and preserved roots
in the rural economy, from which they drew their sustenance. The
present paper deals with the rural estates of the Athonite
monasteries, held as çiftliks under the Ottoman administration of
fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, through successful negotiations for
their protection. I shall examine, as a case study, the evidence on two
estates of the Monastery of Xeropotamou, in the countryside
between Thessalonica (Selânik), Sidirokafsia (Sidrekapsı) and Mount
Athos (Ayanoros, Aynoroz), which had been established under
Byzantine administration and continued to exist as çiftliks during the
Ottoman centuries.

The Athonite Monasteries and Their Rural Estates under the

Ottomans: Negotiating for State Protection

Already from the period of Ottoman expansion, the Orthodox

Christian monasteries had offered their allegiance to the sultans,
negotiating with the Ottoman state for protection. Providing such
protection for the monasteries constituted a strong legitimating
policy for the sultans, vis-à-vis the Orthodox Christian population. It
was under Ottoman state protection that the monasteries managed
to maintain their position in the social and cultural hierarchy of the
198 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
Christian zimmîs. Thus, it can be argued that mutual interests had
established a certain political alliance of mutual legitimacy between
monasteries and the Ottoman state.1
The monasteries negotiated with the Ottoman state, especially for
the protection of their rural estates, under different circumstances in
the course of time. Recent Ottomanist historiography has studied the
mechanisms of such political negotiations, mainly through the
petitioning process, on the part of the re‘âyâ who had a certain degree
of economic, social, and cultural power.2 Political activity of this
kind, however unrecognised on the level of Ottoman political
ideology, is a proof of a vivid interaction between society and state in
the Ottoman Empire. In this paper, the stress is on the zimmîs’
participation in this interaction, through important institutions such
as the monasteries, already from the early years of Ottoman history.
This active participation in Ottoman society discredits the
conventional Balkan historiography, which has produced, in the case
of the non-Muslims, a contradictory image of ‘oppressed slaves’
under ‘Muslim rule’, with however separate ‘national’ political
institutions, especially the Church, conserving their identity under
the ‘Turkish yoke’ (thus ascribing the political activity of the zimmîs
to their ‘national’ identity - which was invented later).3
It has been suggested that the monasteries of Mount Athos,
repeatedly suffering from Muslim raids, had already negotiated for
Ottoman protection in the reign of Orhan, through the mediation of
his father-in-law, John Kantakouzinos.4 In any event, it is certain that
the Athonite monasteries had survived at no cost the first Ottoman
conquest of the surroundings of Thessalonica (1384). Moreover,
they had managed to preserve their rural estates as well, most
probably as full properties and endowments (mülks, vakfs), and even
to expand them during this period.5 On the basis of Greek
documents issued after the restoration of Byzantine rule around
Thessalonica (1403), it is known that the Athonite monasteries in the
previous years had been collecting tax revenues from their
dependent peasants according to Ottoman fiscal practice.6 It appears
that the monasteries were collecting a tax called harâç from the
peasants, rendering one-third of it to the Ottoman state. This third
of the haraç could be identified with the poll-tax (cizye), which non-
Muslims had to pay to the Ottoman state (however, there is no
reference to the monks themselves). The two-thirds of the harâç was
probably equivalent to the resm-i çift, which the peasants had to pay to
their landlords, in this case the monasteries. According to the same
documents, the monasteries were also collecting the tithe
(dekaton/‘öşür) from their peasants, and a tax called kephalatikion
(salariye?), the former paid again to the Ottoman state. After the
battle of Ankara (1402), the restored Byzantine administration in the
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 199
area of Thessalonica kept up the Ottoman taxation and continued to
collect from the Athonite monasteries its share of the peasant taxes.
During this transitional period of establishment of Ottoman rule, it
seems that the Athonite monasteries fully exploited in their
negotiations with the Ottoman state the sultans’ need for legitimacy
vis-à-vis the Orthodox Christian population.
In 1423/24, when the Ottoman troops appeared again in the area
of Thessalonica, and Venice took control of the city, the Athonite
monks, with the accord of the despot Andronikos Palaiologos, went
to Adrianople/Edirne and submitted to Murad II.7 When Murad
finally conquered Thessalonica, the Athonite monks presented
themselves again before him and asked for a confirmation of the
documents issued by the previous sultans (Beyazid I and Mehmed I)
concerning their status. The confirmation order of Murad II in 1430
describes in detail the status, and especially the tax exemptions,
which the Athonite monasteries had obtained from the Ottoman
sultans, already in the previous century. Nobody was to enter Mount
Athos or its rural estates without permission from the sultan or from
the monks (benüm destûrümsüz ve bunlarun destûrünsüz kımesne girmiye).
Their rural estates had the status of vakfs and mülks and were
exempt from taxation (mu‘âf ve müsellem). Kâdıs and subaşıs had no
right to collect taxes from them and the collectors of the harâç had
no power on their estates. The monks were also exempt from extra-
ordinary taxation (avârız-ı divâniyyeden emîn olalar). Finally, they could
freely transport by ship the produce of their estates to Mount Athos.
This document, however, does not mention the obligation of the
Athonite monasteries to pay one-third of their dependent peasants’
harâç to the Ottoman state, which is discussed above.8
Two or three years after the capture of Thessalonica, however,
during the census (tahrîr) ordered by Murad, both Mount Athos and
its rural estates had lost, at least in part, their previous status.9 The
full imposition of the Ottoman tîmâr system (distribution of this
area’s tax revenues as hâses, ze‘âmets, and tîmârs) in the area of
Thessalonica after 1430, part of a general policy of centralisation
pursued by Murad II, had abolished the tax exemption of Mount
Athos. The tax revenues of the Mount Athos peninsula were
reserved for the sultan’s privy estates (havâss-ı hümâyûn). However, it
appears that the monks had bargained to pay both their poll tax
(cizye), as well as the ‘tithe on grain, orchards, and gardens’ of the
peninsula, in the form of a lump sum (maktû‘, or kesim), unified for
all the monasteries there. This special status was confirmed by berâts
of successive sultans, until Selim II. Moreover, according to the same
berâts, the Athonite monks retained an exemption from extra-
ordinary taxes.10
200 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
The Athonite monasteries had also to start paying taxes for their
rural estates in the area of Thessalonica, which they continued to
possess as çiftliks according to the registers (defters). Their tax
revenues, as well as these of their former dependent peasants, were
allotted to various revenue-holders established there after 1430.11
However, it appears that in many cases the monasteries had
bargained with the Ottoman central, or local, administration to pay a
lump sum instead of the tithe of their çiftliks, just like the taxation of
the Athos peninsula itself.12
Even though they had lost their full tax-exempt status, as well as
the tax revenues from their dependent peasants, the Athonite
monasteries continued during this period to enjoy state protection
for their rural estates. According to a berât of Beyazid II, dated 1485,
which renewed previous diplomas of Mehmed II and Murad II, the
monks of Aynoroz could legitimately possess (tasarruf ) their churches,
houses, mills, and fields in the districts of Serres and Thessalonica,
insofar as they did not abandon them, regularly registered them in
the defters, and did not alter their architectural form and established
functioning. Nobody had the right to deprive them of their
possessions. State officials were ordered to protect the monk’s legal
rights in every case. They, also, should not oppress them (zulm ve
ta‘addî), in contradiction of legislation of the sultan (kânûn) and
customary practice (‘âdet).13
After the conquest of Thessalonica in 1430, the Ottoman policy
of state building through centralisation had abolished the Athonite
monasteries’ special tax revenue status in this area. It seems though
that the monks negotiated with the state, probably asserting their
previous loyalty, and their right, as documented in the sultanic
decrees, to possess their rural estates under state protection, and, in a
lot of cases, under a favourable tax status as well.
In the context of the 1568-9 crisis, however, when the Ottoman
state decided to confiscate all the ecclesiastical and monastic lands, in
accordance with the general legal definition by the şeyhülislâm
Ebûssu‘ûd of all agricultural and animal husbandry land as ‘state
land’ (arz-i memleket)14, the Athonite monks were forced to
renegotiate the status of their lands. Ebûssu‘ûd’s argument was that
monasteries and churches were not paying title-deed imposts (tapu)
for their lands, considering them as vakfs. In order to continue
possessing their lands, the monks had to start paying the tapu, just
like the other tax-paying population (re‘âyâ). This principle put in
question the whole status of the ecclesiastical and monastic lands all
over the empire, which, for the most part, as already noted, had been
established before the Ottoman conquest and were controlled
institutionally by the bishoprics or the monasteries, not personally by
the monks as in the case of common re‘âyâ. In parallel with that, all
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 201
lump sum tax payments (maktû‘) were revoked, in favour of the tithe
and the other taxes.
The Athonite monks actually paid 14,000 gold pieces in order to
redeem their lands in the districts of Thessalonica and Serres.
However, they refused to come under tapu status. In the
negotiations, held in Istanbul, they used as a bargaining counter the
threat of flight and subsequent fiscal loss of their taxation. Selim II
in fact accepted the exemption of their lands from tapu status and a
special regulation was recorded in the tahrîr registers.15 Moreover,
with the concurring legal opinion of Ebûssu‘ûd, the monasteries
proceeded to the official establishment of monastic vakfs, which
included the buildings of their çiftliks. Foundation documents
(vakfiyes or vakfnâmes) were drawn up for every monastery, between
February and March 1569 at Istanbul, by the kâdî of the capital and
Ebûssu‘ûd himself.16 Thus, the Athonite monks had again
successfully obtained state protection of their vital interests.
Through successive political bargaining with the Ottoman state,
the Athonite monks had secured at least the possession of rural
estates, established either during the middle or late Byzantine
centuries, or under Ottoman administration. Thus, they had the
capability of supporting adequately the monastic population on
Mount Athos. However, since in the fifteenth and sixteenth
centuries their rural resources became dependent on the Ottoman
tîmâr system of tax revenue distribution, the monks now had to
negotiate their share from them with the tax revenue holders.

A Case Study on Two Athonite Çiftliks: Negotiating

a Share from Rural Production

In the paragraphs which follow, I shall examine two çiftliks17 of the

Xeropotamou Monastery in the countryside of Thessalonica, during
the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, through their registration in the
surviving tahrîr defters and the relevant Ottoman documents from
the archive of the monastery.18 I shall focus on the taxation process,
since it constituted, as shown in the documentation, the nexus of the
monastic çiftliks’ relations with the Ottoman administration.
The estate of the Xeropotamou Monastery in the plain of Ormylia
was established in the second half of the thirteenth century, when a
local landowner, who had become a monk, bequeathed his movable
and immovable property, including a church, to the monastery.19 His
estate became a dependency (metochion) of the Xeropotamou
Monastery.20 The monks had a tower built there and succeeded in
extending its arable lands, on different occasions during the
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.21 From 1407 on, after the first
Ottoman conquest, the arable lands of the metochion covered an
202 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
area of 2,200 modioi (3 km2; 1 modioi = 1,279.78 m2), to the west of
the river of Ormylia.22
In the list of the Athonite properties included in the defter of
1568/69, the Xeropotamou çiftlik in Ormylia was registered as a
church, a tower, houses and vineyards, as well as a watermill in the
nearby village of Kalyvia.23 According to the Xeropotamou
Monastery’s vakfnâme (1569), the çiftlik’s buildings were registered
as consisting of a veranda (çardak), a room (oda), a barn and two
fountains. Its boundaries were the villages of Vatopet (Vatopedi),
Kalyvia, Ayo Dimitri (Hagios Demetrios) and the sea.24 This can lead
to the assumption that in the sixteenth century the Xeropotamou
çiftlik still controlled the same 2,200 modioi of arable land as at the
beginning of the fifteenth century.
Ιn a document of 1565, there is a mention of a wageworker (ücretle
ırgat) of the çiftlik.25 The employment of such workers for the
cultivation of the çiftlik’s arable lands was probably the rule,
considering its size. There is more documentation on this issue for
the later centuries. The evidence concerning the taxation of the
çiftlik consists of several documents. From a document of 1465,
issued by Hasan Ağa, we are informed that the sancakbeği of
Thessalonica, Şihâbeddîn Pasha26, had earlier issued an order,
establishing a lump sum of 400 akçes per year, which the
Xeropotamou monks had to pay instead of the tithe (‘öşür) and due
(resim) for their çifts, vineyards, mills, and buffaloes in Ormylia. The
order of Şihâbeddîn Pasha was later confirmed by the governor Hızır
Ağa as well. Hasan Ağa, governor of Thessalonica also himself,
confirmed the earlier arrangement and ordered that either his people
in Ormylia, or whoever acted as tax collector, should collect no more
that 400 akçes from the Xeropotamou monks and stay away from
their holdings.27
Compared to tithe assessment, the maktû‘ system of taxation clearly
protected the monastery’s share of the rural production. The
Xeropotamou çiftlik in Ormylia was registered as paying the same
due (resm-i çiftlik) of 400 akçes per year in the tahrîr defter of 1478
as well. The plain of Ormylia then belonged to the privy revenues of
the sultan (havâss-ı hümâyûn).28
According to the documents from the archive of the
Xeropotamou Monastery, dated after 1478, the plain of Ormylia was
until 1545 a part of the mukâta‘a of the Avrethisarı hâsları of the
Sultan. The tax revenues of Ormylia, including the lump sum
(maktû‘) of the Xeropotamou çiftlik there, were in most cases
farmed out, on a three-year basis, from the superintendent (emîn) of
the hasses to Muslim, Christian, or Jewish tax collectors (‘âmils).
According to the documents dated between the years 1566 and 1580,
Ormylia had been included in the havâss of Ahmed Pasha; its tax
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 203
revenues were then collected by his voyvodas.29 Later on, Ormylia
passed to the havass of Nişancı Mehmed Pasha (before 1583-before
1593); again, tax collection was carried out by his voyvodas.
In Table 1, I have put together all the available information on the
tax payments of the Xeropotamou çiftlik in Ormylia, compared to
the sums fixed in the tahrîr registers.
Table 1. Taxation on the Xeropotamou Monastery’s Çiftlik
at the Plain of Ormylia

Sums Fixed in the Tax payments

Tahrîr Registers
year tax year tax
1478 400 (resm-i çiftlik)
1510-11 600 (resm-i çiftlik, maktû‘)
according to the register
1513 600 (resm-i çiftlik)
1512-14 400 (maktû‘) according to the
old custom
1519 444 1516-19 600 (bedel-i ‘öşür, maktû‘)
1518-20 581.33 (1,744/3) (rüsûm,
maktû‘)
1521-23 673 (maktû‘)
1524-26 444 (maktû‘)
according to the register
1527 800 (maktû‘)
1528 444 (maktû‘)
1533 550 (bedel-i ‘öşür, maktû‘)
1534 500 (maktû‘)
500 (bedel-i ‘öşür, maktû‘)
1535 550 (maktû‘) according to an
imperial order
1537 550 (bedel-i ‘öşür kesim)
1539-40 500 (maktû‘)
1542-45 800 (maktû‘, or kesim)
according to the register
Before 1,000 (bedel-i ‘öşür,
1566 maktû‘)
1568 2,000 (‘öşür)
1593 8,000 (mahsûl)

Table 1 shows that real tax payments, as recorded in the

documents of the archives of the monastery, do not follow in all
cases the sums fixed in the tahrîr registers. The real payments
describe a more complicated situation, the result of a continuous
bargaining process between monks, tax farmers and the Ottoman
administration for a share from rural production.30 It seems that the
monks took great pains to keep maktû‘ taxation at a low level, in
order to protect their share. Sometimes, as in the case of the
204 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
payments between 1512-14, it seems that they had succeeded in a
recalculation of the increased maktû‘ according to the old custom. In
the case of the payments between 1533-40, it was perhaps through
an imperial order, as indicated in the document of 1535, that the
monks succeeded in obtaining another recalculation of the maktû‘,
despite the register of 1527.
The last mention of a maktû‘ type payment of the Xeropotamou
çiftlik in Ormylia is recorded in a document of 1570. The sum of the
maktû‘, however, is not mentioned. From a document of 1593 we
can conclude that the taxation on the Xeropotamou çiftlik had
increased enormously, following, however, the sharp devaluation of
the akçe 31.
Another çiftlik of the Xeropotamou Monastery was located in the
isthmus of Hierissos (Provlakas). It had been established in the tenth
century, when, following an imperial order, 950 modioi of arable
land were most probably sold to the monastery.32 According to a
document of the eleventh century, the monastery had also a church
in the same area, to the west of the village.33 In 1315/20 the
Xeropotamou metochion in the isthmus of Hierissos controlled 2,251
modioi of arable land (ca. 3 km2) around a church and a tower.34
In 1569, according to the Xeropotamou Monastery’s vakıfname, its
çiftlik’s buildings in Provlika consisted of a tower (burgaz), an oda, a
house, a stable, a barn and two fountains. Its boundaries were the
tower of the Lavra Monastery (Lavra burgazι), the village of Ereso
(Hierissos), the village of Gomat (Gomatou) and the sea.35 As in the
case of Ormylia, the Hierissos çiftlik in the sixteenth century most
probably still controlled the same arable land as in the Byzantine
period.
In the sixteenth century, the Hierissos area was a mukâta‘a of the
sultan’s revenues from the Sidirokafsia mines (ma‘den-i Sidrekapsı).
Tax collection was farmed out, on a three-year basis, by the
superintendent (emîn) of the mines to Muslim or Christian tax
farmers (‘âmils).
At the beginning of the sixteenth century, the Xeropotamou
monks paid for their çiftlik in Hierissos a lump sum (maktû‘), as in
Ormylia. However, the maktû‘ taxation in Hierissos had already been
suppressed in the 1540s. Perhaps this was related to an investigation
on the back taxes of Sidirokafsia by a special agent of the Sultan,
silahdâr Mehmed Bey, in 1540-1.36
Table 2 shows below clearly that after the abolition of the maktû‘,
the taxes paid by the Xeropotamou çiftlik increased, in any event,
following the sharp devaluation of the akçe. Since there is no
evidence on the productivity of either çiftlik at this period, we can
not estimate the relation between production and taxation.
Consequently, it is not possible to estimate the real share of the
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 205
Xeropotamou monks from the çiftliks’ yield. In any case, it should
be stressed that the monks used every opportunity of asking the
Ottoman administration to protect such a share against the tax
farmers.
Table 2. Taxation on the Xeropotamou Çiftlik
at the Isthmus of Hierissos

Sums Fixed in the Tax payments

Tahrir Registers
year tax year tax
1519 1,136
1527 800 (bedel-i ‘öşür, 1525-27 700 (maktû‘) according to the
maktû‘) register
1528-29 800 (maktû‘)
1531-33 850 (bedel-i ‘öşür, maktû‘)
1535 800 (bedel-i ‘öşür, maktû‘)
1568 500 (bedel-i öşür)
1569 5,853 ( ‘aşâr ve rüsûm)
1570-72 3,068 (for half year’s mahsûl)
1584 7,000 (for half year’s mahsûlâtı
maktû‘u)

The written receipts for tax payments were kept very carefully by
the monks and were used against possible demands of the tax
farmers. In 1524, for example, the ‘âmil Mustafa bin Bayramlu
prosecuted the Xeropotamou monk Christophoros in the kâdî court
of Sidrekapsı, accusing him of not having delivered the lump sum of
600 akçes for the monastery’s arable field (mezra‘a) in Ormylia. The
monk defended himself by presenting an earlier hüccet of the kâdî,
proving that he had made the payment. The charges were dropped.37
The monks protested to the kâdî’s court when the tax farmers tried
to overtax their çiftliks. In 1551, the monks of Xeropotamou sued
the mültezims Durak bin Ali and Mustafa bin ‘Abdulhayr at the court
of Sidrekapsı. According to the monks, the tax farmers did not
appear to collect the tithe of their fields in Hierissos at the proper
time, according to the law of the sultan (kânûn), that is, when the
grain was moved to the threshing-floor. They forced them instead to
pay in cash, overestimating the yield of their fields. The kâdî warned
the two tax farmers to collect the tithe on the prescribed days and
not to ask for cash, without the consent of the monks (rızâları
olmadan). A similar document from the Monastery of Aghiou Pavlou,
which also had a çiftlik near Hierissos, leads us to the possible
conclusion that the Athonite monks in the area had co-ordinated
their protests.38
206 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
The monks supported their protests against the tax farmers by
asking for fetvâs as well. In two such documents, referring to the
Xeropotamou çiftliks of Ormylia and Hierissos respectively, the müfti
Ahmed was asked whether an ‘âmil had the right, according to
Islamic law, to collect excessive taxation from a monastery’s vakf yeri
and a mill which had already paid its harâç (poll-tax) and kesim
instead of the tithe (established according to a sultanic order, hükm-i
şâhî). The answer of the müfti was clearly negative. The same müfti
Ahmed issued another fetvâ in the case of a non-Muslim (zimmî),
most probably a tax farmer, who had put the monks in chains and
had taken from them 700 akçes and a horse. The müfti’s statement
was that, according to Islamic law, the monks should be given back
their money and the horse.39
The monks also appealed directly to the central administration,
asking for protection of their çiftliks against excess taxation. In
1566, the monks of Xeropotamou delivered a petition to the court of
the Sultan (Bâb-ι Sa‘âdet), complaining that the revenue holder (sâhib-i
arz) of Ormylia (Ahmed Pasha himself, although his name was not
recorded in the petition) was violating the tahrîr register. The monks,
together with their petition, also submitted a copy of the register.40
Whereas, according the register, they had to pay a lump sum of 1,000
akçes for their land in Ormylia, the sâhib-i arz was extracting from
them 1,500 or 2,000 akçes. A fermân was issued on this case, ordering
the kâdî of Sidrekapsı to enforce the regulation of the register.41
However, we do not know the result of this case. Had the voyvodas
of Ahmed Pasha really contented themselves with the tax fixed in
the register?

Conclusion

The Athonite monasteries under Ottoman administration in the

fifteenth and sixteenth centuries controlled important land resources
(çiftliks), which, however, were subject to taxation. The Athonite
monasteries, as zimmî institutions with a certain influence, exploited
all the legitimate possibilities to secure their landed assets and their
share in their production, negotiating for protection with the
Ottoman administration. Thus, they were integrated to Ottoman
society as active subjects, bargaining for better survival.
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 207

Notes
1
J. C. Alexander (Alexandropoulos), ‘The Social and Economic Role of the
Orthodox Christian Monasteries in the Ottoman Empire’, paper presented at the
7th Congress of Social and Economic History of Turkey, Heidelberg, 25-29 July,
1995; idem, ‘The Lord Giveth and the Lord Taketh Away: Athos and the
Confiscation Affair of 1568-1569’ in Mount Athos in the 14th-16th Centuries, (Athens,
1997), 149-51.
2
S. Faroqhi, ‘Political Initiatives ‘from the Bottom up’ in the Sixteenth and
Seventeenth-Century Ottoman Empire: Some Evidence for their Existence’ in: H.
G. Majer (ed.), Osmanische Studien zur Wirtschafts- und Sozialgeschichte in
Memoriam Vanco Boskov, Wiesbaden, 1986, 24-33; eadem, ‘Political Activity
among Ottoman Taxpayers and the Problem of Sultanic Legitimation (1570-
1650)’, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, 34 (1992), 1-39;
Linda T. Darling, Revenue-Raising and Legitimacy, Tax Collection and Finance
Administration in the Ottoman Empire, 1560-1660, (Leiden, New York, Köln,
1996), 246-304.
3
For the conventional Greek historiography of the ‘Turkish yoke’ see K.
Paparrigipoulos, Istoria tou Ellinikou Ethnous, vol. 5, part II, Athens, 61932; A. E.
Vakalopoulos, Istoria tou Neou Ellinismou, vol. 2, Tourkokratia, 1453-1669,
Thessalonica, 21976.
4
E. A. Zachariadou, ‘Some Remarks about Dedications to Monasteries in the late
14th century’ in: Mount Athos in the 14th-16th centuries, Athens, 1997, 27-28;
eadem, ‘A Safe and Holy Mountain’: Early Ottoman Athos’, in: A. Bryer and M.
Cunningham (eds), Mount Athos and Byzantine Monasticism (Aldershot, 1996), 127-32.
5
N. Oikonomides, ‘Monastères et moines lors de la conquête ottomane,’ Südost-
Forschungen 36 (1976), 1-10.
6
N. Oikonomides, ‘Le haradj dans l’empire byzantin du XVe siècle’ in: Actes du
Premier Congres International d’ Etudes Balkaniques et Sud Est Européennes,
Sofia, 1969, vol. III, 681-88; idem, ‘Ottoman Influence on Late Byzantine Fiscal
Practice’ in: H. W. Lowry and R. S. Hattox (eds), Third Congress on the Social and
Economic History of Turkey, Proceedings, Istanbul, Washington, Paris, 1990, 237-
59.
7
P. Schreiner, Die Byzantinischen Kleinchroniken, Vol. 1 (Wien, 1975), 473.
8
V. Demetriades, ‘Athonite Documents and the Ottoman Occupation’ in Mount
Athos, 47, 56.
9
E. A. Zachariadou, ‘Ottoman Documents from the Archives of Dionysiou
(Mount Athos) 1495-1520,’ Südost-Forschungen, 30 (1971), 23-7, commenting on
Ioannes Anagnostes’s account.
10
Başbakanlık Osmanlı Arşivi (hereafter: BOA), ΤΤ 70 (1519), p. 9; ΤΤ 403
(1527), p. 1043; ΤΤ 723 (copy of a register of 1568/69), p. 181; cf. H. W. Lowry,
‘A Note on the Population and Status of the Athonite Monasteries under Ottoman
Rule (ca. 1520),’ Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes, 73 (1981),
114-35. See also an order issued by Bayezid II in 1499, concerning the bargaining
with the Ottoman state on the amount of Mount Athos’ lump sum (maktû‘)
taxation (called harâç in this document); the document is published by G.
Salakides, Sultansurkunden des Athos-klosters Vatopedi aus der Zeit Bayezid II.
und Selim I, Thessalonica, 1995, 69-70. For the maktû‘ see: H. İnalcık, ‘Military
and Fiscal Transformation in the Ottoman Empire, 1600-1700’, Archivum
Ottomanicum, 6 (1980), 333-4; Linda T. Darling, op. cit., 103-5.
11
I have prepared a full list of the Athonite properties and their taxation in the
area between Thessalonica and Mount Athos, based on information mainly from
208 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

BOA, TT 7 (1478), TT 70 (1519), TT 403 (1527), and TT 723 (copy of a register

of 1568/69), in my Ph. D. Dissertation: E. Kolovos, Horikoi kai monahoi stin
Othomaniki Halkidiki (15os-16os aiones); Opseis tis koinonikis kai oikonomikis
zois kai i moni Xiropotamou, University of Thessalonica, 2000.
12
E. A. Zachariadou, ‘Ottoman Documents from the Archives of Dionysiou
(Mount Athos) 1495-1520,’ op. cit., 7-10, 12-13, 27-32 (on Dionysiou); V.
Demetriades, ‘Athonite Documents and the Ottoman Occupation’, op. cit., 49-50,
61, 64-6 (on Vatopedi and Lavra); also see below, for Xeropotamou.
13
V. Demetriades, ‘Athonite Documents and the Ottoman Occupation’, op. cit.,
50, 67. A tecdîd berâtı of Selim I (1512) has been published by G. Salakides, op.
cit., 74-7. I have also located two undated copies of a tecdîd berâtı of Selim II in
the Xeropotamou Monastery.
14
For the ‘confiscation crisis’ see P. Lemerle and P. Wittek, ‘Recherches sur
l’histoire et le statut des monastères athonites sous la domination turque’, Archives
d’histoire du droit oriental 3 (1947/48) 411-72; A. Fotić, ‘The Official Explanations
for the Confiscation and Sale of Monasteries (Churches) and their Estates at the
Time of Selim II,’ Turcica 26 (1994) 33-54; J. C. Alexander, ‘The Lord Giveth and
the Lord Taketh Away...’, op. cit.; E. Kermeli, ‘The Confiscation and Repossession
of Monastic Properties in Mount Athos and Patmos Monasteries, 1568-1570,’
Bulgarian Historical Review, 28/3-4 (2000), 39-53.
15
J. C. Alexander, ‘The Lord Giveth and the Lord Taketh Away...’, op. cit., 162-69,
185-200 (fermân of 1569); see also the list of the monastic properties in TT 723,
1048-59 (Emlâk-i kenâis-i Ayanoroz ve gayrihu), passim: ‘Manastır-ı mezbûrde
sâkin olan ruhbânlar zira‘ât etdikleri tarlaları ve çayırları ve kışlak ve yaylakları mürd
olduklarında yine yerinde kalanlar tasarruf edüp ‘öşür ve salâriyelerin
verdiklerinden sonra tarlalarına ve gayrına kimesne dahl etmeye ve tapu taleb
etmeye’.
16
J. C. Alexander, ‘The Lord Giveth and the Lord Taketh Away...’, op. cit., 169-73.
Being a Muslim was not required for the establishment of a vakf. See The
Encyclopaedia of Islam (new edition), art. ‘Wakf’, I (R. Peters), and IV (R.
Deguilhem).
17
Çiftlik: A derivative of çift (the fiscal unit of plough-team arable land
equivalency assigned to an individual or a household) meaning the total agricultural
holding, not necessary equivalent to a yoke-land unit. See J. C. Alexander, Toward
a History of Post-Byzantine Greece: The Ottoman Kanunnames for the Greek
Lands, circa 1500-circa 1600, Athens, 1985, 392. G. Veinstein, ‘On the Çiftlik
Debate’ in: Ç. Keyder and F. Tabak (eds.), Landholding and Commercial Agriculture in
the Middle East (New York, 1991), 35-53. It criticizes the older theories on the
çiftliks in the light of recent research.
18
I have prepared a detailed catalogue of the Ottoman documents from the
archive of Xeropotamou in my Ph. D. Diss., see above, fn. 11.
19
J. Bompaire (ed.), Actes de Xéropotamou, Archives de l’Athos III (Paris, 1964), doc. 9
(c. 1270-4).
20
Actes de Xéropotamou, doc. 11 (c. 1289-93).
21
Actes de Xéropotamou, docs. 18D (ca. 1315/20) I, ll. 22-25, and 26 (1349). For
the tower see N. Oikonomidès, Actes de Docheiariou, Archives de l’Athos XIII,
Paris, 1984, doc. 54 (1414), l. 3-4.
22
Actes de Xéropotamou, doc. 29 (1407).
23
TT 723, 1054.
24
Xeropotamou monastery (hereafter X. M. ), vakfnâme, evâhir-i Ramazan 976 (9-
18 March 1569).
25
X. M., Hüccet, 28 Zilkade 972 (27 June 1565).
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 209

26
On Şihabeddîn Pasha, the vezîr of Murad II and Mehmed II, see H. İnalcık,
Fatih devri üzerinde tetkikler ve vesikalar, I, (Istanbul, 1954), 84-7; E. A. Zachariadou,
‘The Worrisome Wealth of the Čelnik Radić’ in: C. Heywood and C. Imber (eds.),
Studies in Ottoman History in Honour of Professor V. L. Ménage, (Istanbul, 1994), 383-
97; idem., ‘Another Document of Shehab al-Din Pasha Concerning Mount Athos
(1455)’ in B. Kellner-Heinkele and P. Zeime (eds.), Studia Ottomanica, Festgabe für
György Hazai zum 65 (Geburtstag, Wiebaden, 1997), 217-22. Şihabeddîn Pasha was
holding the sancak of Thessalonica in the 1450s. Thessalonica in the fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries was given as a pension (ber vech-i tekaüd) to important
Ottoman officials. M. T. Gökbilgin, ‘Kanunî Sultan Süleyman Devri Başlarında
Rumeli Eyaleti, Livaları, Şehir ve Kasabaları’, Belleten, 20/78 (1956), 253.
27
X. M., Order of Hasan Ağa, evâil-i Şevvâl 869 (27 May - 5 June 1465).
28
TT 7, p. 585.
29
I identify Ahmed Pasha with Semüz Ahmed Pasha, beğlerbeği of Anadolu
(1563-64), then of Rumili, and later vezîr and sadr‘âzam (1579-80). Mehmed
Süreyya, Sicill-i ‘Osmânî, İstanbul 1308-1315 (1890-97), I, 202.
30
Cf. A. Singer, Palestinian Peasants and Ottoman Officials; Rural Administration Around
Sixteenth-Century Jerusalem (Cambridge, 1994), 64-88.
31
See Ş. Pamuk, A Monetary History of the Ottoman Empire (Cambridge, 2000),
636 and Tables 4.1, and 4.2.
32
Actes de Xéropotamou, doc. 1 (956).
33
Actes de Xéropotamou, doc. 5 (1032).
34
Actes de Xéropotamou, doc. 18D (c. 1315/20) I, ll. 6-13.
35
X. M., vakfnâme, evâhir-i Ramazan 976 (9-18 March 1569).
36
X. M., hüccet, evâsıd-ı Şevval 946 (19-28 February 1540). Cf. D. S. Goffman,
‘The Maktu‘ System and the Jewish Community of Sixteenth-Century Safed: A
Study of Two Documents from the Ottoman Archives’, Osmanlı Araştırmaları, 3
(1982), 81-90.
37
X. M., hüccet, evâsıd-ı Safer 931 (8-17 December 1524).
38
X. M., hüccet, 22 Şevvâl 958 (23 October 1551). For the Aghiou Pavlou
Monastery’s complaints see P. Kotzageorgis, I Athoniki moni Agiou Pavlou kata
tin othomaniki periodo, Thessalonica, 2002, 146.
39
X. M., fetvâs signed by Ahmed.
40
X. M., sûret-i defter-i hakânî, evâil-i Şabân 973 (21 February - 2 March 1566).
41
X. M., fermân of Süleymân, evâsıd-ı Şabân 973 (3-12 March 1566).
 Construction of Churches in Ottoman Provinces

Muammer Demirel

In this study, we evaluate the construction of non-Muslim churches

in the Ottoman lands and general improvements during Mahmud
II’s reign and the Tanzimat period. Because of broadness of the
subject, in this paper we will mainly focus on the construction of
Armenian churches up to about 1860.
When Turks came to Anatolia, political, economical, cultural and
spiritual life had collapsed. The communities or followers of the
churches and monasteries decreased, so that their income was also
less and, for this reason some bishopric and metropolitan centres
were closed while they survived through the charity of other
districts.1 Internal positions of the Christians were also the same
during the Ottoman reign. The policy of the Ottoman administrators
in any case was not to oppose their community regulations, but allow
them to regulate their own affairs in both religious and worldly
matters. In fact, the Ottoman administrators were tolerant towards
the Catholic missionaries who were sent to the eastern Christians
from the sixteenth century onwards.2 The Ottoman state was ruled
according to Islamic codes and behaved just as the Prophet
Muhammed and the four caliphs had behaved towards non-Muslims
as regards their worship, temple and appointment of religious leaders
or clergy. Those new measures which the Ottoman government
implemented were generally in favour of the non-Muslims.3
Within the boundaries of the Ottoman Empire, freedom of
movement and dwelling for non-Muslims were nearly same as for
Muslim population. The Muslim holy places especially the towns of
Mecca and Medina, mosques and holy tombs were restricted for
non-Muslims. This rule came from Islamic code, and was precisely
applied by Ottomans. On the other hand, non-Muslims’ holy places
like churches, monasteries and especially holy places in Jerusalem
were also restricted for Muslims. As could be noticed, practices of
the Ottoman state with regards to both communities, Muslim and
non-Muslim were based on the principle of reciprocity. In fact, there
is no pronouncement or prohibition in the Islamic law (shariah) for
212 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
the Muslims to enter non-Muslim holy places. The possible
explanation for this application could be that the Ottoman state was
respectful of the faith of its non-Muslim subjects. Not only were
Muslim people prohibited to enter to the temples of non-Muslims
but also Ottoman officials were prohibited to enter such places. The
reason for the prohibition was to prevent disruption of non-Muslims
during prayer. In general, officials, like the mir-i miran, mirliva, subaşı, iş
erleri, were unequivocally forbidden from going into the non-Muslim
holy places by Yavuz Sultan Selim with a firman dated 9 November
1517. Kanuni Sultan Süleyman, (the Magnificent) also approved this
prohibition with a firman on 27 February 1521.4
Non-Muslim citizens had full rights of worship in their churches
and synagogues in the Ottoman territories with one exception, the
ringing of the bell. Additionally, every security measure was taken by
the authorities to let them worship and undertake religious
ceremonies freely. The state had given full authority to their religious
leaders to perform all religious ceremonies freely which amounted to
a kind of religious autonomy in the state.5
Nevertheless generally speaking the construction of new temples
by the non-Muslim subjects was not been allowed in the Ottoman
state, as was the tradition of former Islamic states. This custom was
due to the opinion of Islamic jurists that forbade building new
churches and synagogues. According to the Islamic jurists new
churches and synagogues could not be built on Islamic soil, but old
churches and synagogues could be renovated. In this subject, there
are four entries in the first Ankara şer’iye sicilli which concern the
repair of Surp Nişan Armenian Church in the Mihriyar quarter of the
city.6
This viewpoint of the Islamic jurists was not based on any of the
principal sources of Islamic law which are the Koran, Hadis, Icma and
Kiyas. In the Koran, the relevant verses about mosques ordered
protection places of worship. For example, verses 114 and 115 of the
chapter Bakara in the Koran states that:

114. And who is more unjust than he who forbids that in places
for the worship of Allah, His name should be celebrated?-
whose zeal is (in fact) to ruin them? It was not fitting that
such should themselves enter them except in fear. For
them there is nothing but disgrace in this world, and in the
world to come, and exceeding torment.
115. To Allah belong the East and the West: whithersoever ye
turn, there is Allah’s face. For Allah is All-Embracing, All-
Knowing.7
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 213
According to the opinion of most commentators of the Koran,
the reason for these verses was related to the destruction of Masjid-i
Aqsa which had been demolished by Greeks and Christians.8
In the 40th verse of the chapter Haj, concerning temples the
Koran states that:

(They are) those who have been expelled from their homes in
defiance of right, (for no cause) except that they say, ‘Our Lord
is Allah’. Did not Allah check one set of people by means of
another, there would surely have been pulled down
monasteries, churches, synagogues, and mosques, in which the
name of Allah is commemorated in abundant measure. Allah
will certainly aid those who aid his (cause); for verily Allah is
full of Strength, Exalted in Might, (able to enforce His Will).9

In this verse, the names of non-Muslim temples were clearly

stated and, their protection was recommended. While building of
new non-Moslem temple has not been mentioned, there is no
restriction for that either.
Besides, there were some special exceptions. The Ottoman
government allowed non-Muslims to build churches and synagogues
despite the general prohibition.10 That is, permission for the
construction of those buildings was given according to the needs of
non-Muslims. For instance, the Jews from Spain and Portugal
coming to settle permanently in Salonica had different religious
beliefs or sects. According to writings of Tahrir Defteri of Salonica
Livasi dated 1022 A.H. (1613 A.D.), twenty seven Jewish sects were
recorded as Cemaat-i Arogan, Cemaat-i Ispanya, Cemaat-i Kastilya, and
Cemaat-i Katalan, etc. Every community built its own synagogue.
When Salonica was conquered, there were only a few synagogues,
but by the beginning of the seventeenth century, the number of
synagogues had increased to about thirty. Another example was
Safed in Palestine. Although there were only three synagogues in the
city, at the time of the Ottoman conquest their number had
increased to thirty two by the seventeenth century.11
Certainly, similar conditions applied for the Christians, too. After
the conquest of Istanbul, the Surp Kevork Church (Sulu Monastery)
in Samatya, the Surp Asdvadzadzin Church in Kumkapi, and the
Surp Hresdaga Church in Balat which belonged to the Greeks had
been given to the Armenians that were brought and settled in
Istanbul, and then the Surp Kevork Church has been appropriated as
the Armenian Patriarchate. In 1461, Sultan Mehmed II brought
Bishop Ovakim from Bursa and declared him as the first Armenian
Patriarch in that church. Afterwards this church had been repaired
and expanded twice. The first repair was made by Sultan Bayezid II
214 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
with a firman dated 1485, and the second was made by Ahmed III
with a firman decreed in 1722.12 Then the Armenian Patriarchate was
transferred to the Surp Asdvadzadzin Church in Kumkapi in 1641.
After that this church was destroyed by fire or earthquake and was
rebuilt in different times with different plans. In the early nineteenth
century, according to Cevdet Pasha, the church was described as a
huge building. The Kumkapi Armenian Patriarchate was burnt in the
famous Istanbul fire that took place on 2 September 1818 (11 Şevval
1235),13 and the church was renovated in 1820.14
Mahmud II made the first attempt to introduce an equal status in
social life between the non-Muslim and Muslim communities. For
example, Mahmud II gave an indication of his views on the equality
of Muslim and non-Muslims and an end to the millet-i hakime
(dominant nation) status in the following statement attributed to
him:

Henceforth, I will recognize to Moslems in mosque, to

Christians in church and to Jewish in synagogue. I wish every
person to benefit from the same political rights and my
protection (himaye-i pederanem) out side their temples.

Apart from worship and temples, Mahmud II allowed the non-

Muslim to wear the same clothes as Muslim’s and non-Muslim
women to wear the same clogs as Muslim women in the baths, and
he started to change discriminations against non-Muslims in the
Ottoman state.15
Before the Tanzimat, Mahmud II had established the idea of
Osmanlılık (Ottoman unity) to make strong friendship between
Muslim and non-Muslim communities, and he made considerable
progress in changing the comprehension of religion in the Ottoman
state. With this application, Mahmud II had been aiming to prevent
the rapid disintegration and to end the opposition among the
Ottoman minority communities as well as to reinstate close
friendship between all levels of society. A writer explained this
situation after touring European Turkey in the time of Mahmud II:

I had witnessed putting on kavuk (Ottoman cap) on Greek’s

head when I was travelling to European Turkey. This may
perhaps appear meaningless, but it is not. The distinctive
difference between Turkish and Christian is in dress, name and
manner of greeting. The dress is important mostly. In this time
(1832) unless there is law to dress, it is certain that this
differences will be over. I am sure that two nations will join
with each other in this position if this joining together is not
effect by a foreign force. Some persons that I talked with them
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 215
had been telling this joining together. I have remembered to
saying of a Christian monastic that if this Sadrazam (Prime
Minister) continues ten years more, you are sure that Turkish
will make the feast with us and we also will make the bayram
(Islamic holy day).
In the same period I had been meeting to senior persons had
had the firmans (imperial edict) of permission of construction
of the church. As known the cause of developing a grudge of
Greek against Turkish is the forbidding of construction of the
church of Turkish. As for in these days not only it has been
tolerated the prohibitions, Sadrazam but also in personally has
been helping by giving of aiding of 80,000 kuruş (Turkish
pound)…
A church was finished in 1831 that was built very pretty style.
In this time, Turkish had been saying to the Christians citizens
as following: “you built the church, if only you would have
added four minares…16

As seen, Mahmud II was the first padişah who brought into

novelty on construction of church and gave even monetary aid for
the building of new churches in Ottoman history.
Mahmud II had recognized the Catholic Armenian church as a
different religious community on 6 January 1830, and let them set up
their Armenian Catholic Patriarchate. During this time, the Catholic
Armenians had taken permission to build new churches in some part
of Istanbul and the constructions were completed. One of these
churches was Galata Catholic Armenian Church that obtained
permission in 1830 for construction and was completed in 1834.17
After that, the construction of four different churches were also
completed in various locations of Istanbul like in Ortaköy,
Büyükdere, Taksim and Beyoğlu (Sakız Ağacı) in 1839, 1847, 1860
and 1866 respectively.18

Table 1. Churches Newly Constructed and Repaired (in Istanbul)

Church Place Year

Kumkapi Armenian Patriarchate Istanbul 1820
Galata Catholic Armenian Church ” 1834
Ortaköy Church ” 1839
Büyükdere Church ” 1847
Bulgarian Priest House ” 1849
Beyoğlu Anglican Church ” 1858
Taksim Church ” 1860
Beyoğlu (Sakız Ağacı) Church ” 1866
216 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
After starting the new church construction during Mahmud II’s
reign, it continued during the period of the Tanzimat, too. For
example, the permission for building a new Protestant church for
English and German subjects living in Jerusalem had been taken by
the attempts of Lord Stratford de Redcliffe (Canning), the British
ambassador in Istanbul.19
In 1843, the construction of a new Armenian church was
completed in Erzurum. Then the third Armenian church was added
to the two Armenian churches that had already been in use in the
city. This church was bigger and prettier than that of the previous
churches. Its bell tower was even made from carved stone.20
The Bulgarians also wanted to benefit from the empire-wide
tolerance for the construction of new churches with the intention of
reducing the influence of the Fener Greek Patriarchate. As the first
step to establish the Bulgarian National Church, the Bulgarian Priest
House was built in Fener by the permission of the Bâbıâli (Sublime
Porte) in 1849.21
The concept of solidarity and unity for the collective motherland
idea had been started by Mahmud II and continued with intensified
emphasis by the Tanzimat authorities. In this period, the number of
churches was increased, and so many permissions for orphanages
and schools were given to the non-Muslim subjects.22 In this period,
the equality reforms had been progressed further by the Islahat
Ferman (reform firman). The construction of non-Muslim temples
which was provided for by special firmans partially affected the
solidarity in the periods of Mahmud II and the Tanzimat. The Islahat
Ferman had increased general freedom in the state. But the
expectations for unity were not fully achieved. Unfortunately, as
Urquhart related, foreign interference had always become effective
on the non-Muslim subjects of the Ottomans. Meanwhile, the effect
of national movements in the nineteenth century must not be
forgotten.
In the Islahat Ferman, repairing of temples, hospitals, schools and
cemeteries of non-Muslim had been allowed while new construction
of these things was possible by the permission of the sultan.23 In the
firman, in spite of the general freedom for the renovation of
churches, schools and so on, according to the Ottoman archival
documents, all repair activities were made by the permission of the
government.24
The non-Muslim subjects were encouraged by the rights provided
in the firman and started rapidly to construct new churches. After
the declaration of the Islahat Ferman, as the Ottoman archive
documents indicated the non-Muslim subjects started to campaign to
take advantage of the situation and sought permission for the
construction of new churches and renovation of old churches. The
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 217
ruined churches were rebuilt, and in some places where there had
not been any church formerly or not enough, new churches were
built. As made clear in the firman, the application of permission for
churches, with some exceptions, had been made by the Patriarchate.
About the constructions, the Ottoman government had applied the
same procedure both for the repair and new construction of
churches. The only consideration to gain permission for temples was
its necessity for the community.

Table 2. Churches Newly Constructed after 1858 (in the Region)

Length Width Height Square

Church Place Year (m) (m) (m) (m2)
Armenian Church Erzurum 1843
Latin Church Erzurum 1856
Satariye Church
Trabzon 1857 38 22 16 836
(Akçaabat)
Arğaliye Church
Trabzon 1857 34 19 15 646
(Akçaabat)
Kirobi Church
Trabzon 1857 34 19 19 646
(Vakfisağır)
Anifa Church
Trabzon 1857 38 22 19 836
(Vakfisağır)
Arfan Church Erzincan 1858 24 13 14 312
Yenice Church Harput 1858 15 14 9 210
(Elazığ)
Şepeşpik Church Harput
1858 15 11 10 165
(Çarşancak) (Elazığ)
Çukurdere Church Malatya 1858 30 19 13 570
Çömlekçi Church Çorum 1858 19 11 9 209
Adapazarı Church Adapazarı 1858 49 19 9 931
Timurtaş Church Edirne 1858 22 11 10 242
Samarokos Church
Trabzon 1858 22 15 11 330
(Vakfısağır)
Kumyalı Church Giresun 1858 22 12 9 264
Protestant Church Maraş 1858 22 26 11 572
Akşehir Church Konya 1859 28 22 15 616
Tifanc Church Erzurum 1859 19 11 9 209
Zitahuh Church Erzurum 1859 30 19 11 570
Devrek Church Bolu 1859
Antep Church Antep 1860
Kilis Church Kilis 1860
Sovuhçermik Church Erzurum 1860 19 13 9 247
218 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
Table 3. Churches Repaired after 1856

Churce Place Year

Zimar Church Divriği, Sivas 1858
Pazarpon Church Çemişgezek, Harput 1858
Hazarı Church Çemişgezek, Harput 1858
Sakaret Church Palu, Harput 1858
Hekimhan Church Harput 1858
Zan Church Erzincan 1858
Various Churches Trabzon 1858
Pazarköy Church İzmit 1858
Various Churches Halep 1858
Meryemana (Virgin Mary) Church Mancusun, Kayseri 1860

In 1857, permissions for the construction of Armenian churches

were given for four different places in Trabzon province by the same
irâde (imperial edict). The written permission for the construction of
four churches was sealed by the stamp of Armenian Patriarchate
which read Millet-i Meclis-i Ermeniyan and in another stamp the phrase
‘Haza Bende Agob Bokos Patrik-i Ermeniyan Istanbul ve Tavabiha’ was
inscribed. 25
One of the permissions was for a church in the Koz quarter of
Satari26 village of Akchaabat kaza of Trabzon province. Because
there was no church in Koz quarter for the Armenian people to
worship. The permission was given to build a new church.
In Trabzon province, a second church was built in Kirobi village
of Vakfısağir kaza where the church had been ruined. The third
church was in Arğaliye village of Akchaabat kaza where the existing
church was ruined. A fourth was built in Anifa27 village of Vakfısağir.
There was no church in Anifa at that time, and this church was built
in the Armenian graveyard.28
In Harput and Erzincan, the construction of two churches had
been authorized by an irâde issued on 28 March 1858.29 In Yenice
village in the vicinity of Harput permission was given to build a
church for the Armenians who did not have a church. For Yenice
church, two times permission had been asked, and the permission
was granted by two different irâdes, on 24 December 185730, and on
28 March 1858.
On 28 July 1858, a lot of permissions were given by an irâde for
the new construction or restoration of old churches and building of
schools in various provinces of the empire such as Sivas, Harput,
Erzurum, Halep, Trabzon, Ankara, Adapazarı and Edirne.
Permission for repair a number of ruined churches was also granted
in various locations of empire like in Zimar village of Divriği kaza in
Sivas province, in Pazarpon and Hazarı villages of Chemishgezek
kaza, in Sakaret village of Palu kaza and in Hekimhan kaza in Harput
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 219
province, in Zan village of Erzincan in Erzurum province, in
Gürlezemi village of Pazarköy of Izmit, in Halep province and in
various parts of Trabzon province.31 In spite of the Islahat Ferman
which given general authorisation for the repair of churches,
permissions were still granted with a written document by the
government.
With this irâde the building of new churches were also permitted
in various provinces of empire. For example, there was no church
for Armenians in the locations like Shepeshpik village in Malatya,
Harput, Amasya, Timurtash in Edirne, Samarokos village of
Vakfısağir in Trabzon province. The building of an Armenian school
was also permitted by the same irâde in Ichme village of Harput
province.32
The building of new churches had been permitted in various
places, some of which had no church and some of which had been
ruined. One of these was Shepeshpik village of Charshancak kaza in
Harput where there was no church to worship for Armenian
subjects. There was no church for the Armenian people in the
Chukurdere quarter of Malatya of Harput province, and permission
was given for the building of a new church. There was no church for
the Armenian people in the Chömlekchi quarter of Chorum kaza of
Amasya sancak and the permission was given for the building of a
new church. In Adapazarı kaza of Kocaeli sancak, the Armenians
had a church, and it was not enough for the community so
construction of new church was permitted. In Timurtash village of
Edirne province building a new church was permitted for Armenian
people who did not have a church. In Saraylar quarter of Samarokos
village of Vakfısağır kaza of Trabzon province, permission for
building of a new church was given in the Armenian cemetery for
Armenian people that did not have a church.
The number of permissions given by this irâde were nineteen,
some of them were for the restoration of churches and some were
for new church buildings while one of them was for the building of
an Armenian school.
In Giresun city, building of a new church has been permitted by
an irâde dated 10 March 1858 to the Armenian people who did not
have a church in which to worship. At first, the Armenian people
wanted to worship inside the Armenian school and a permission was
given to worship inside a room of the Armenian school. But later
this room became insufficient for their ceremony. Therefore the
Armenian community wanted to build a new church on a vacant
space near to the Armenian school in Giresun. Then the Armenian
community got a license from the Ottoman government to build a
new church.33
220 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
The Armenian people did not have a church for worship in
Akshehir kaza of Konya province. On 19 April 1859, the permission
for the construction of a new church was granted by an irâde of the
sultan, and the church was built in Seydi quarter of Akshehir.34 In
Tifanc35 and Zitahuh36 villages of Erzurum the Armenian people had
churches but they were ruined. Restoration of these churches had
been permitted on 8 September 1859.37
On 27 February 1860, the construction of two new churches had
been permitted by an irâde of the sultan for the Armenians in
Sovuhchermik38 village in Erzurum and in Mancusu39 village in
Kayseri.40 In Sovuhchermik village, there was no church for
Armenians to worship so the permission was given to build a new
church. In Mancusu village, the Meryemana (the Virgin Mary)
church had been ruined, and the permission for building of a new
church instead of restoration was asked by Armenian Patriarch. But,
only the repair license for the Meryemana church was issued by the
government.
The construction of new church in place of the previously ruined
church was permitted by the government in 1859 for Armenians in
Devrek village of Bolu. Before starting the construction which was in
preparation stage, some Muslims applied to Müfti for cancellation of
the permission, and also some Muslims raided the church and the
Armenian school, and they blocked the construction. Armenians
applied to the local government to have security, and the
construction continued. For this matter, a direction had been sent to
Bolu Mutasarrıflığı (sub-governorship) by the Sublime Porte on 24
August 1859.41
With the declaration of Islahat Ferman the construction of
churches had been promoted, nevertheless the differences between
the big and small sects (madhab) of the Christians were causing some
problems among the Christian community itself, and the sectarian
problems had also been resolved. For example, the small Christian
sects had not been paid much attention by the Ottoman
government, and it became a big controversy among themselves.
Henceforth, every Christian sect was taken into account and treated
equally by the Ottoman state.42 This status had a great service to the
Protestant sects that had been protected by British government.
By this section of Islahat Ferman the equality of among the
Christian sects had been guaranteed, the conversion rights between
the sects for Christians had been also allowed, and forcing converted
Christians to return to their previous sects was forbidden. This
section was one of the successes of the British government which
had facilitated the business of British missionaries who had been
working to spread their belief throughout the Ottoman territories. So
the Protestants who had been expelled from their church and had a
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 221
difficulty to conduct their religious ceremony got permission to build
their own churches freely.
After that, the foundations of an Anglican church was laid on the
land given by the sultan to the memory of soldiers who died in the
Crimean War by the attempts of Lord Stratford de Redcliffe on 19
October 1858.43 The British government sent an appreciation letter
to the sultan for allocating the land for the church on 26 June 1858.44
In Marash, the Armenians who changed their sect to Protestant
had been given permission to build the their own church by the irâde
of sultan on 22 November 1858.45 The number of Armenian who
had changed their own sect to Protestant was increasing day by day.
According to their own declaration, at that time the number of
Protestant Armenians in Marash had reached 300-500 people. The
measurements of this church were 22 meters in length, 26 meters in
width and 11 meters in height. Approximately, the size of this
church was 572 square meters. 46
In this region, other than Marash, three more churches had been
built without any obstruction or opposition in Antep, Kesab and
Kilis. On 4 August 1860, Skene the British consul in Aleppo
reported that the Christians of this region were not permitted by the
Muslims who reacted verbally to the construction of these churches
and to the religious ceremonies of the Christians.47
Not only did the Christian subjects of the Ottoman state construct
their own churches, but the Christian missionaries who were loyal to
France and Great Britain also constructed some churches in the
Ottoman Empire with the supports or aid of these states. The target
people for these missionaries were the Armenian community in
Anatolia. As mentioned above, the Protestant church of Marash had
been constructed by the patronage of the British while the Latin
church was constructed by the protection of France on the other
side of the country, at Erzurum.
The construction of a new church under the control of Latin
priests had been permitted in Erzurum by the irâde of sultan dated
12 December 1856.48 Later on, a priest cabin and a classroom for the
education of pupils had been added to this church again by the
permission of irâde of sultan on 7 July 1857.49
Despite the religious freedoms in the Ottoman state, there were
some prohibitions on the religious ceremonies. The most important
of these restrictions was the prohibition of ringing the bell.
Additionally, praying outside of church or synagogue was also
prohibited.50
In the Islahat Ferman, however some progress was also made on
this subject. If the other non-Muslim communities did not object,
they could also have the right to worship publicly sing their hymns
loudly.51 The ringing of wooden bells had also been permitted in the
222 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
churches.52 However, ringing the bell had been protested by the
Muslim communities in some localities.53

Conclusions

In the classical age, in general, the Ottoman state had forbidden

construction of new churches in line with the application of former
Islamic states. However, the Ottoman state had not maintained this
prohibition strictly and gave some permissions for the construction
of non-Muslim temples. The Jewish synagogues in Salonica were the
temples founded in the classical age of the Ottoman Empire. In
practice, the general prohibition had been loosened to some extent
by Mahmud II. As mentioned in the Koran all temples are Allah’s
house, and they are thus all protected. As could be understood from
this verse, there is no explicit prohibition in the Islamic fundamental
law on this subject. Mahmud II benefited from the position of
ambiguous prohibitions in Islamic law and tolerated the construction
of non-Muslim temples. With the announcing of the Tanzimat
firman, the liberties had been broadened but on this issue, the main
progress was made by Islahat Ferman. After the Islahat Ferman,
Armenians, Greeks, Protestants, Catholics and other non-Muslims
communities had started to construct temples at a rapid pace due to
the needs that had accumulated over years. Countless permissions
for the construction of churches had been granted and the churches
were completed. The completion of these churches could be verified
by the reports of the British consulates, various memoirs and the
ruins of these churches in Anatolia. For example, in Erzurum
district, these churches and their ruins are being seen even now. The
destruction activities on these churches have also been verified by
the people who lived in those districts. Every matter for the
churches had been registered to the church notebooks since 1869,
and the number of these notebooks totals ten.54

Notes
1
Yavuz Ercan, Osmanlı Yönetiminde Gayrimüslimler: Kuruluştan Tanzimat’a
Kadar Sosyal, Ekonomik ve Hukuki Durumları (Ankara, 2001), 131.
2
J.H.Kramers, ‘Nasara’, Milli Eğitim Bakanlığı İslâm Ansiklopedisi (İ.A.), Vol. 9,
82.
3
Ercan, Osmanlı Yönetiminde, 229.
4
Yavuz Ercan, Kudüs Ermeni Patrikhanesi (Ankara, 1988), 15; Osmanlı Yönetiminde,
173-4.
5
Ercan, Osmanlı Yönetiminde, 239-241.
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 223

6
Yavuz Ercan, ‘Türkiye’de XV. ve XVI. yüzyıllarda Gayrimüslimlerin Hukuki,
İçtimai ve İktisadi Durumu’, Belleten, XLVII, 188, (Ekim 1983), 1123.
7
Elmalılı M.Hamdi Yazır, Hak Dini Kur’an Dili, Vol. I (Istanbul, 1992), 390.
8
Ibid. 391.
9
Ibid. 491.
10
Osman Nuri (Ergin), Mecelle-i Umur-ı Belediye, Vol. I (Istanbul, 1922), 217.
11
Ahmet Hikmet Eroğlu, Osmanlı Devletinde Yahudiler (XIX. Yüzyılın Sonuna Kadar)
(Ankara, 2000), 20.
12
Y.G.Çark, Türk Devleti Hizmetinde Ermeniler (1453-1953) (Istanbul, 1953), 8-9.
13
Ahmed Cevdet Paşa, Tarih-i Cevdet, Vol. XI, Dersaadet, 1301, 50.
14
Cevdet Paşa, Tarih-i Cevdet, Vol. XI, 79.
15
Ziyaeddin Fahri Fındıkoğlu, ‘Tanzımatta İctimaî Hayat’, Tanzimat-ı (Ankara,
1940), Milli Eğitim Bakanlığı Yayınları, 629-30.
16
David Urquhart, Turkey and its resources (London, 1833), 34.
17
Ahmed Lütfi Efendi, Vak’anüvis Ahmed Lütfi Efendi Tarihi, Vol. 2-3 (Istanbul,
1999), 456; Çark, Türk devleti, 87.
18
Çark, Türk devleti, 87.
19
Stanley Lane Poole, Lord Stratford Canning’in Türkiye Anıları, Trans. by Can Yücel,
(Ankara, 1988), 88.
20
Robert Curzon, Armenia: A Year at Erzeroum on the Frontiers of Russia, Turkey and
Persia (London, 1853), 40.
21
Mahir Aydın, Şarkî Rumeli Vilâyeti (Ankara, 1992), 5.
22
İlber Ortaylı, “Tanzimat Döneminde Tanassur ve Din Değiştirme Olayları”,
Tanzimat’ın 150. Yıldönümü Uluslararası Sempozyumu (Ankara 31 Ekim-3 Kasım 1989),
(Ankara 1994), 481.
23
“Islâhât Fermân-i Âlisi”, Dustûr, Cild-i Evvel (Matbaa-i Âmire, 1289), 7-14; Enver
Ziya Karal, Osmanlı Tarihi, Vol. V (Ankara, 1983), 260.
24
There are numbers of documents concerning this subject, e.g: BOA, İrâde
Hariciye, No.7964, 21 Aralık 1857 (3 Cemâziyelevvel 1274); BOA, İrâde Hariciye,
No.8137, 27 Mart 1858 (11 Şaban 1274); BOA, İrâde Hariciye, No.8244, 25 Mayıs
1858 (12 Şevval 1274).
25
BOA, İrâde Hariciye, No.7950, 26 Rebiyülâhir 1274 (14 December 1857).
26
The name of Satariye is now Kaleönü village.
27
The present name of Anifa is Akoluk in Çağlayan. Bilge Umar, Türkiye’deki
Tahrihsel Adlar (İstanbul, 1993), 73.
28
BOA,İrâde Hariciye, No.7950
29
BOA, İrâde Hariciye, No.8137, 28 March 1858 (12 Şaban 1274).
30
BOA, İrâde Hariciye, No.8076.
31
BOA, İrâde Hariciye, No.8373, 28 July 1858 (16 Zilhicce 1274).
32
BOA, İrâde Hariciye, No.8373.
33
BOA, İrâde Hariciye, No.7881, 10 March 1858 (24 Receb 1274).
34
BOA, İrâde Hariciye, No.8935, 19 April 1859 (16 Ramazan 1275).
35
Called Tufanç by people, new name of this village is Güzelova.
36
Called Sitahuh by people, new name of this village is Yolgeçti.
37
BOA, İrâde Hariciye, No.9232, 8 September 1859 (10 Safer 1276).
38
Called Soğuk-çermik by people, new name of this village is Soğucak.
39
New name of this village is Güneşli (Suny).
40
BOA, İrâde Hariciye, No.9513, 27 February 1860 (5 Şaban 1276).
41
Osmanlı Belgelerinde Ermeniler, Vol. I (1691-1870), (İstanbul, 1987), No.146, 312-
14.
42
Dustur, Birinci Tertib, Vol. I, 10.
43
Poole, Lord Stratford Canning’in, 172.
44
BOA, İrâde Hariciye, No.8332, 9 July 1858 (27 Zilkade 1274).
224 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

45
BOA, İrâde Hariciye, No.8662, 22 November 1858 (15 Rebiülevvel 1275).
46
BOA, İrâde Hariciye, No.8662.
47
Bilal Şimşir, British Documents on Ottoman Armenians, V.I, (Ankara, 1989), 27.
48
BOA, İrâde Hariciye, No.7175.
49
BOA, İrâde Hariciye, No7600.
50
Ercan, 241.
51
Dustûr, Vol. I, 7-14.
52
BOA,AMD, No.78/35.
53
BOA,MKT.MVL, No.113/42.
54
BOA, Kilise Defterleri, No.1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 and the numbers 8,9 and 10 of these
notebooks were registered in the name of Kamame.
 Accidents, Sabotage, and Terrorism:
Work Hazards on Ottoman Railways

Peter Mentzel

The steam railways of the nineteenth and early twentieth century

were inherently dangerous places to work. Work around heavy
pieces of iron and steel machinery which were frequently in motion
led to numerous accidents, injuries, and even fatalities among railway
workers. On the other hand, important safety devices such as the
famous Westinghouse air brake, were only introduced gradually
during the last quarter of the nineteenth century. While encouraging
their employees to be careful, and enjoining on them various safety
related practices (such as sobriety), railway companies during the
nineteenth century were generally slow in implementing devices or
policies that would contribute to a safer working environment.
Workers on Ottoman railways during the late nineteenth and early
twentieth centuries laboured under similar circumstances. But in
addition to the normal dangers associated with the operation of
steam railways, Ottoman workers had to contend with threats, such
as sabotage and acts of terrorism, seldom encountered by workers
on other European railway systems. Based on reports in railway
company and government archives, as well as in the Ottoman press,
it seems that attacks on the railways were at least as great a problem
as accidents and mechanical failures.
As was the case on other European and North American railways,
both workers and management were clearly interested in running
safe railroads but each side had differing ideas as to how that goal
was best reached. Similarly, when accidents or attacks did occur, the
reactions of the Ottoman railway companies were mixed. While the
companies had medical insurance accounts for their salaried workers,
they were apparently sometimes willing to provide additional support
for injured workers or their families. On the other hand, they seemed
extremely reluctant to offer similar sorts of support in the event that
the workers were injured in an attack on a train or as a result of
deliberate sabotage. To put it another way, while the railway
companies actually had in place fairly sophisticated systems of
compensation for workers injured in the course of their jobs, they
226 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
seem to have considered injuries resulting from terrorism or
sabotage as different from other sorts of hazards.
A by-product of the dangers of railway work was a strong sense of
solidarity among railway workers that seems to have transcended
national or ethnic divisions. Railway workers of different
backgrounds were generally able to cooperate in efforts to force the
railway companies to adopt policies that would make railway work
more secure.

Ottoman Railways: An Overview

While this is not the place to present a detailed history of railways in

the Ottoman Empire, a few observations may be worthwhile.
Perhaps of greatest importance to this present study is the fact that
almost all of the railways in the Empire were built and operated as
foreign enterprises with the active support of the Imperial Ottoman
Government. That is, the railways were not simply expressions of
European (or North American) imperial policy introduced in the
teeth of local opposition, as was the case with many railway projects
in Asia, Africa, and South America. While the railways frequently did
act as tools in European imperial strategies for the Ottoman Empire
in particular, or the Near East in general, the Ottoman state, and
indeed Ottoman society in general, were supporters of the railways
and fostered their construction.
By 1914 there were (depending on how one counts) eight railroad
companies operating 8,334 km of track on Ottoman soil.1 All but
one of these (the Hijaz Railroad) were European enterprises. That is,
they were financed overwhelmingly by European capital. This is not
to say that they did not include Ottoman shareholders, but only that
most of the biggest shareholders and principal administrators were
subjects of European countries. The railroad companies tended to be
associated with the national interests of a particular European state,
but they were all international in the sense that their shareholders
were citizens of a wide variety of European and non-European
states. Thus, while the Ottoman Anatolian Railway (generally known
by the initials of its French name; CFOA) was famously controlled
by German financial interests, non-Germans had some important
roles in the upper echelons of the company’s administration.2
By 1914, the railroad companies collectively employed 10,000 to
15,000 workers, both Ottoman subjects and foreigners.3 In all of the
companies, the Ottoman workers outnumbered the foreigners by
wide margins. One scholar asserted that 90 percent of the workers
on the CFOA were Ottomans.4 A CFOA roster of the 670 full time,
salaried employees (i.e. not the entire workforce) listed 68 percent of
the workers as Ottoman.5 Within the workforce itself many have
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 227
remarked upon the existence of an ‘ethnic division of labour’.
According to this hypothesis, the upper levels of the companies were
dominated by foreigners, the middle echelons by Ottoman
Christians, and the lowest rungs of the ladder by Ottoman Muslims.6
While this seems to have been broadly the case, the data suggest that
below the highest levels of railroad administration (which were
indeed dominated by foreigners) there was a remarkably rich mixture
of foreigners with Ottoman Christians, Jews, and Muslims.
This paper will concentrate on two important railroad companies
in the Ottoman Empire, the Oriental Railway Company and the
Ottoman Anatolian Railway. The former, (officially, the
Betriebsgesellschaft der Orientalischen Eisenbahnen) grew out of the
pioneering efforts of Baron Moritz von Hirsch who, in 1870, gained
a broad (and eventually very profitable) concession from the
Ottoman government for the construction of an elaborate railroad
network in the Ottoman Balkans and the linkage of this network to
the rest of Europe.7 Over the next ten years, Hirsch seems to have
used his railroad construction company as a great cash cow and
became fabulously wealthy by issuing and manipulating various stock
and company bond offerings. In 1890 he decided to sell the
company to a consortium of banks dominated by the Wiener
Bankverein and the Deutsche Bank. This consortium in turn
established the Bank for Oriental Railroads, based in Zurich, that
had the controlling interest in the Oriental Railway Company.8
Besides making Hirsch and some of the stockholders very rich,
the company even managed to construct some railroad, although far
less than originally planned. The company operated lines between
Salonica and the towns of Mitrovice (in Kosovo) and Monastir
(Bitlola, Bitolj). Another line linked Istanbul to the port of Dedeağaç
(Alexandropolis), via Edirne. Probably the most important line,
however, was that which connected Istanbul to Belgrade and, thus,
to the general European rail network. Completed in 1888 it made
possible, in that same year, the maiden voyage of the famous Orient
Express.
Another important development in the Ottoman European
railroad network was the construction, between 1892 and 1896, of a
railroad linking Salonica to the rail terminus at Dedeağaç. This
railroad, called the Salonica-Constantinople Junction Railway, thus
made possible direct rail transit not only between the important cities
of Salonica, Edirne, and Istanbul, but also linked Istanbul to the
Macedonian hinterland (via Salonica).9
The other important railroad that this paper will investigate
originated in 1888. In that year, the Ottoman government arranged
with a German group dominated by the Deutsche Bank to form a
company for the construction of railroads in Anatolia. The resulting
228 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
Ottoman Anatolian Railway (Chemin de Fer Ottoman d’Anatolie,
CFOA) completed the line from Istanbul to Ankara, via Eskişehir in
1893 and also built extensions to Konya. In 1903 the same financial
interests formed the Baghdad Railway Company with the purpose of
extending the track from Konya to Basra. By 1914 the Anatolian
Railway totaled 1,032 km and the Baghdad Railway 531.10

Accidents

As mentioned in the introduction, railway work was by its very

nature extremely hazardous. On most railways in the world, the most
dangerous work involved the actual running of the trains and
operation of the locomotives. According to data from North
American and European railways, train crews suffered a
disproportionate share of injuries and fatalities.11 For Ottoman
railways, hard statistics showing the number and kind of accidents
per train/mile covered were, unfortunately, either not kept or have
been lost. As a result I have been forced to use mainly anecdotal
material drawn from railroad company and government archives as
well as newspapers. The overwhelming number of injuries
mentioned in these sources involve members of train crews. Many of
these accidents occurred when workers fell out of moving trains and
were subsequently injured or killed. In one report dated 1 December
1907, for example, the conductor of a train on the Salonica-Monastir
line, a Belgian named in the report as ‘Mösyö Kozoka’, fell out of a
moving train and lost his left arm.12 On the same line in August
1909, a fireman named Ürgüplü Ramazan likewise was injured when
he fell from a train.13 Personnel who were not members of train
crews were also at risk of injury or death. In August 1904, for
example, a watchman was crushed by the Vienna bound train near
Edirne.14
There were also frequent accidents involving mechanical failure or
derailments. On what must have been a particularly bad day (16
August 1903), trains on both the Salonica-Monastir and Salonica-
Mitrovice lines derailed.15 In another incident, in October 1907, on
the Salonica-Monastir line, the Monastir-bound post train broke a
wheel while passing the village of Golişan.16 In yet another accident
on the same line, in March 1908, a locomotive exploded while
passing Banice station.17 Some accidents seem to have been freakish
or connected somehow with the transport of hazardous material.
One such, in March 1904, involved the explosion of a car loaded
with nitric acid at the Üsküb (Skopje) station. Despite the dramatic
and destructive nature of the incident, foul play was not suspected.18
Other sorts of accidents involved pedestrians or workers not
directly connected to the railway or the train crew. In one case in
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 229
May 1903, a worker named Atnos Mosto who worked at the Izvor
mines tried to jump out of the way of an accelerating car. He
apparently slipped on some stones and was crushed.19 Most of the
accidents involving trains and non-railway personnel, however, seem
to have been cases of tragic inattention by pedestrians or train crews
or both. A woman named Saliha bint Abdullah, for example, was
crushed by a Salonica bound train near the village of Pileste in June
1909.20 A similar accident in March 1907 is reported on the Hijaz
Railway near Amman.21 Nearer to Istanbul, a victim described in the
account only as ‘a peasant’ was killed near Çukurhisar station (just
west of Eskişehir) on the CFOA while crossing the track with his
horse.22 Sometimes strange events occurred in or near the trains that
had happier endings. A report from Izmir noted that a woman
successfully delivered a pair of healthy twins in a railway carriage as
the train approached Develi station.23

Attacks and Sabotage

These accidents, however gruesome, were part of the work

experience of railway men and unfortunate civilians in the Ottoman
Empire and elsewhere in the world at this time. Yet, there is a
related body of data that gives an idea of the perils posed to
Ottoman railway workers by politically motivated terrorism. While
banditry (and in the case of North American railways, attacks by
Indians) were occasional nuisances to railwaymen in western Europe
and North America, acts of political terrorism and sabotage were
relatively rare. In Ottoman railway company and state archives and
in newspapers, on the other hand, these sorts of incidents were at
least as common and destructive to Ottoman railways and their
personnel as were mechanical accidents.
The most common sort of terrorist action against Ottoman
railways were bomb or dynamite attacks against bridges or sections
of track. These incidents occurred overwhelmingly in Ottoman
Macedonia and Thrace and were especially prevalent between 1903
and 1911. Occasionally, the acts involved loosening spikes or bolts
from the sleepers (ties) or otherwise compromising the structural
integrity of the track. One such incident occurred in June 1910
between Lüleburgaz and Babaeski, a very high traffic area. Sections
of the track on the bridge spanning the Ergene river had been
unbolted causing the locomotive, tender, the baggage and postal
wagons and the sleeping car to crash into the river. Members of the
train crew and nine of the passengers were injured, three of them
seriously, but remarkably no one seems to have been killed. The
accident was blamed on Bulgarian terrorists (komitacis) who allegedly
attacked the train in the (apparently mistaken) belief that General
230 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
Mahmut Şevket Pasha was on board.24 A similar incident occurred
near Lyubimets in Bulgaria just over the Ottoman frontier.
‘Unknown individuals’ loosened the rails from the railway bridge
near the town. Apparently the vandalism was discovered in time
because no accidents resulted.25
While acts of sabotage against track or rolling stock were reported,
the most common sort of terrorist action against Ottoman railways
were bomb or dynamite attacks. Government documents, railway
company reports and newspapers are full of reports of such attacks.
Beginning in 1903, the attacks seem to have been initially directed
against the track, tunnels, and bridges and only gradually targeted the
trains themselves. For example, on the night of 30 March 1903, a
bridge near the Ottoman-Bulgarian frontier town of Mustafa Pasha
was blown up.26 A few days later, a similar case occurred near Inceste
station on the Salonica-Monastir line when individuals destroyed a
bridge and tunnel.27
Sometimes such sabotage was foiled. A British diplomatic report
from 1903 noted that a band attempting to blow up a bridge on the
line between Velles and Gradsko was surprised by a battalion of
Ottoman soldiers. After a ten hour gun battle they nevertheless
managed to escape.28 In another dramatic episode in July 1904,
individuals fired upon the Üsküb train near the Ahmatova station.
They then fled, however, pursued by one of the train watchmen who
discovered four bombs under a nearby bridge.29
Occasionally, the vigilance of police or railway personnel failed to
prevent such attacks, which evidently intensified in 1910 and 1911.
On the evening of 13 October 1910, for example, a bomb exploded
on the tracks near the Macedonian town of Kumanovo just as a
southbound freight train was passing. The explosion derailed the
train, completely destroying three of the cars and badly damaging
four others. More seriously, the brakeman was badly wounded.30
Just several days later, on 27 October, another bombing occurred
on the track near Kumanovo. On that occasion, the driver of the
freight train was able to stop in time to avoid a disaster. Although
the locomotive was badly damaged, there were no injuries.31 The
summer and fall of 1911 witnessed a particularly large number of
attacks on trains in Ottoman Macedonia. On 14 July 1911 the night
train from Zibefçe to Salonica was derailed by a bomb explosion
near Gradsko station. Although no one was seriously hurt, the train
was delayed for three and one half hours.32 Several months later, on
20 August, another bomb intended for the same train was detonated
accidentally by five maintenance workers when their hand-car passed
over the targeted track. One of the workers was killed and three
badly injured.33 On 3 December 1911 there were three serious
attacks on trains. Two occurred near Köprülü (Veleze) station. One
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 231
destroyed a baggage shed at the station and the second derailed a
freight train, damaging the locomotive and some cars. The third of
the attacks, on the Salonica-Constantinople Junction Railway
between the stations of Doyran and Akincilar, was much more
serious. A bomb exploded in the baggage car, destroying it and
derailing the train. The chief conductor, named Israel Revah, and
another conductor named Riza were both killed and a third worker
was seriously injured.34
The fear produced by these attacks is demonstrated by one
incident on the Salonica-Constantinople Junction Railway between
Okçılar and Yeniköy (Amphipolis) on 4 May 1911. In the early
morning, a sentry, thinking that he saw someone moving near the
mouth of a tunnel, fired in that direction. The sound of his weapon
brought out his comrades who all began to fire in the same direction.
The rugged landscape amplified the echoes of the rifle reports and
soon other guard posts began to fire as well. The din soon convinced
everyone that a full fledged fire-fight was in progress between the
guards and terrorists. The gun fire brought down a stretch of
telegraph wire, isolating the station and furthering the sense of panic.
The train from Istanbul was held up for eight hours at Okçılar
station as the firing died down. It was soon established that the
entire incident had been the result of the frightened imagination of
that first guard.35 If this incident is in anyway indicative of the general
situation, then the activities of the terrorists had indeed succeeded in
disrupting the normal functioning of the Ottoman Balkan railway
system by 1911.

Workers’ Response

The railway men were of course, very much aware of the hazardous
nature of their profession and had some clear ideas about the causes
of many accidents. The records of the Oriental Railway Company are
full of the negotiations and conversations that occurred between
September and December 1908 between representatives of the
workers and the company management. These negotiations occurred
in the aftermath of a short but very important strike of the workers
of the Oriental Railway Company in early September 1908.
A detailed discussion of the strike is beyond the scope of this
paper.36 For the purposes of this essay, it is sufficient to note that on
18 September 1908 more than 3,000 of the company’s workers went
on strike, largely over unsatisfied wage demands37. Freight and
passenger traffic, including the Orient Express, was halted. The
strike gave rise to a diplomatic crisis with Bulgaria and led to
increasing pressure on the Ottoman government by various
European embassies, especially that of Austria-Hungary, to end the
232 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
strike. Finally, on 21 September, the Ottoman government
announced that troops would begin to occupy the railroad unless the
strike ended. Unwilling to confront the possibility of armed conflict,
the strike committee abandoned its other demands and agreed to
resume work on the basis of a 40% wage increase alone.38
The provisional return to work in late September is not, however,
the end of the story. Between 17-18 October delegates from the
workers met with the General Director of the railroad, Dr. Ulrich
Gross, and the Director of Traffic, Jacques Müller, and produced six,
sometimes overlapping, lists of demands. These were eventually
further refined to 46 individual points. The Company and the
delegates continued to negotiate and finally reached a comprehensive
settlement in December 1908.
Besides the continuing and very detailed discussions over pay
raises, one is struck by the many demands made by the workers that
are directly or indirectly concerned with safety issues. Perhaps the
most prominent of such demands focused on a shortened work day
and periods of rest between train runs. For example, in the second
round of discussions in October 1908, points number 10, 14, 15 all
concerned the length of the work day and rest periods. The delegates
demanded that the work day be no longer than 12 hours and that
locomotive crews get a day off for every two consecutive days on
duty.39 As in the case of railways in other parts of the world, workers
recognized the close correlation between a tired train crew and
accidents. It is certainly worth noting that the workers asked for a 12
hour day. While we do not know how many hours workers generally
worked, they likely considered 12 to be an improvement.
Besides a shorter workday and longer rest periods, workers also
demanded the introduction of safety devices and changes in work
practices. For example, the workers’ delegates demanded that
necessary repairs to locomotives should be undertaken promptly.
Furthermore, when freight cars were in need of repair, the workers
wanted the older style brakemens’ huts replaced with the newer
models, which were safer and more comfortable.40 The company’s
negotiators accepted both points. Similarly, the workers’ 28th demand
was that trains operating on the company’s Salonica-Monastir line
should be outfitted with Hardy brakes, a kind of air brake. This
point, accepted by the company’s negotiators pending approval from
the Board in Vienna, can be interpreted in several different ways.
Was the Salonica-Monastir line particularly dangerous? Or had the
company’s trains on other lines already been equipped with Hardy
brakes and workers were seeking a standardization of equipment? In
either case, the introduction of the Hardy brake on the Company’s
trains would have made the operations of the trains much safer.
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 233
The multi-ethnic and international make-up of the railway
companies’ workforces plays an interesting, if understated role in this
narrative. The names of the workers’ representatives in discussions
between Oriental Railway Company personnel and management hint
at a very mixed group. Some of the most vocal and active
representatives had Germanic surnames, strongly suggesting that
they were not Ottoman subjects. On the other hand, many of the
representatives had names that hinted at Greek, Armenian, or
Muslim backgrounds. For example, the officers of the strike
committee that first met with the company officials in September
had the following surnames: Yaglitziyan, Aidonides, Rotnagel,
Melirytos, Lupovitz, and Diner. The other members of the
committee were named Gibbon, Hatzopoulos, Eliades, Yeser,
Goerke, Yovantsos, Paravantsos, Hussein, Romanos, and Blau.
During the subsequent meetings in October many of these names
reappear and several new ones make their appearance. Of the
original group of delegates, only Rotnagel (spelled Rothnagel in some
of the records) was present at all of the meetings. Indeed, some of
the meeting reports filed by the Company present him as a
spokesman for the delegates. Of the other officers, Aidonides,
Diner, Hussein, Lupovitz and Yaglitziyan (many alternate spellings)
attended at least one of the meetings. Besides these, many new
names make their appearance. Of these, the most common is Rump
who participated in all of the October meetings. The next most
common was Albrecht who attended four. Some of the other
delegates that appear at more than one of the meetings were
Goldstein, Cohen, Benado, Reffet, and Gatzoni.
Unfortunately, we do not know much about most of these people.
Based on the names that also turn up in company records, however,
many of them seem to have been salaried workers who had jobs as
trainmen, i.e. locomotive drivers, firemen, conductors, etc. Thus,
they would have been exposed to the most dangerous working
conditions. This situation probably fostered cooperation between the
diverse ethnic and national groups represented by the workers.

The Companies’ Reactions

The reaction by the railway companies to accidents, terrorist attacks,

and workers’ demands was very complex. That is, the companies
themselves were very concerned with safety and wanted to operate
with a minimum of accidents. Their general approach to this goal,
however, seems to have been largely limited to encouraging good
behaviour among their employees. The Oriental Railway Company’s
employee regulations, for example, promise severe punishments for
any employee acting in a way that will endanger the ‘life, health, or
234 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
security’ of railway personnel.41 The companies also seem generally
to have operated pension and sickness funds, at least for their
salaried employees. One gets the sense, however, that the medical
insurance funds sponsored by the companies were not necessarily to
be taken for granted in case of an accident on the job.
The Oriental Railway Company’s book of employee regulations
outlines in some detail the compensation process for injured or ill
workers. The company operated a sickness and accident insurance
fund in which all employees, even day labourers, were required to
participate. The operation of this fund, however, differed somewhat
depending upon the rank of the worker. If a salaried employee fell ill
or was injured, he had first to report to a company physician. The
physician had to determine if the worker was incapacitated due to an
accident or as a result of some personal failing. Even in the latter
case, that is, if the worker’s injury was his own fault, or his illness the
result of ‘intemperance or vice’, he could nevertheless get up to three
months paid leave, but his subsequent re-employment would be up
to the company. On the other hand, if the worker had been injured
or become ill through no fault of his own, he could draw his pay for
up to six months and get his job back upon his return to duty. The
workers were paid out of the medical insurance fund, which would
also be used to cover the costs of hospitalization, if necessary.42 In
case of death, a salaried employee’s family would receive two
month’s of the deceased worker’s salary.
Day labourers and other non-salaried or lower echelon employees
(such as apprentices) had a similar, but less generous, policy. If they
contracted an illness or sustained an injury that was in some way
determined to be their own fault or otherwise not connected to their
jobs, and if this illness or condition prevented their employment,
they had the right to their medical expenses for one month but
would not receive any part of their usual pay. On the other hand, if
they contracted some illness while at work or in the course of their
job, they received their medical expenses as well as half their usual
pay for 15 days. In case of a job-related accident that was not the
fault of the worker, he would receive his usual pay for the first
month he was off work, and half pay for the second. After the third
month he would receive nothing.43
Thus, it seems that the company tried to make provisions for ill or
injured workers. Further examination of the company records,
however, suggests that the situation did not satisfy all of the workers.
For one thing, most of the benefits of the company’s plan were
contingent upon the decision of the company physician. There is no
indication anywhere in the personnel rule book that the physician’s
medical assessment could be appealed or challenged by the worker
seeking sick leave or compensation. Also, it seems that the
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 235
company’s directors were not sure what to do about accidents or
deaths that resulted from attacks on the trains or acts of sabotage.
The picture that emerges is that the company seems to have been
reluctant to compensate workers (or their widows) in these cases.
The incomplete records of the company give us a tantalizing
glimpse of this situation. A short report from the railway’s
headquarters to its regional office in Istanbul mentions four cases
concerning the deaths or injuries of workers. The station waiter
(stationsdiener) Mehmed Danilowitsch [sic] apparently had a fatal
accident on 12 September 1908. The Direction’s memo of 8 May
1909 indicates that his survivors should get 690 francs. The other
case mentioned in the memo was of a watchman (bahnwachter)
Mustafa Ağa who met a similarly fatal but unrecorded accident on 15
November 1908. The Direction indicated that his next of kin should
get 760 francs.44
An equally tantalizing bit of information in the same memo
concerns a station porter (lasträger) Ali Tschaoush [sic] who had some
sort of non-fatal accident on 12 October 1908. The memo stipulated
that he should receive 560 francs but was also shut out from re-
employment with the company. Perhaps the company physician
decided that his accident had been his own fault.
If Ali Çavuş (or ‘Tschaoush’) was for some reason only given this
one time compensation, others in the company seem to have been
more fortunate, or perhaps more persistent. The memo mentions
that the widow of a fireman named Goerke (who had been
apparently killed in some accident) who had already received 10
Turkish lira (ltq) should be given an additional ‘Mercy gift’
(Gnadengeschenk) of ltq 15.45
The fact that these four cases had been the subject of discussion
at the company’s headquarters in Vienna is very interesting. First,
none of these employees, with the exception of the fireman Goerke,
were salaried employees. Thus, according to the information set out
in the company’s personnel policies, the widows would receive
nothing. Yet, the memo clearly stipulates that these workers’ next of
kin should receive some compensation. Unfortunately we do not
know why. While only a guess, it seems possible that these decisions
resulted from petitions or letters sent to the company’s directors or
management by the workers’ surviving family.
The case of Goerke’s widow is perhaps even more interesting. As
a fireman, Goerke was a salaried worker. As such, his widow would
have received automatically his salary for two months following his
death. The two payments referred to in this memo, therefore, must
represent additional compensation provided by the company. The
sums involved were considerable. Firemen on other Ottoman
railways made only about ltq 4 1/2 a month. The two payments to
236 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
Goerke’s widow, therefore, amounted to several months salary.
Again, we do not have enough information to ascertain the reason
for these payments. It is intriguing, however, that one of the
representatives of the striking workers in the September negotiations
was a fireman named ‘Goerke’. If this is indeed the same person,
perhaps the company decided that his widow was a person of some
standing among his fellow workers. Might these two payments to
her, therefore, have been an attempt by the company to demonstrate
its goodwill following the short but bitter strike? Unfortunately, the
available documents do not provide enough information to make
any definite determination.
These cases, for one reason or another, all ended in the company
providing some restitution to the bereaved families. A later company
memo, dated 12 November 1911, on the other hand, addresses a
somewhat different case. Apparently, a train had been attacked on 21
August 1911 and had resulted in the death of two of the crew. The
widows had petitioned the company for compensation. The local
company officials denied the request, but the petition somehow
found its way to the Direction of the company which seems to have
had mixed feelings. The letter in the company archives, addressed to
Gross, advises him to do nothing ‘for the time being’ (vorderhand)
until the company directors could reach some sort of conclusion.
Interestingly, this was the last mention of this case in the company’s
archives. It is thus quite likely that the matter ended then and there
and the widows did not receive any compensation.
Despite the patchy, incomplete nature of the archival material, a
very general picture emerges. The most striking aspect of these
company memos are their ad hoc feel. That is, one is left with the
impression that the pay-outs recorded in these correspondences are
somehow the result of individual petitions or requests, as in the case
of Goerke’s widow. The very fact that the company headquarters
took up these issues and made special note of them to their railway’s
local administration in the Ottoman Empire strongly suggests that
while the company had in place a standing policy regulating or
governing compensation to workers who were somehow injured or
killed while on the job, there was also the possibility that workers or
their families could receive extra compensation from the company in
the event of an injury or death.

Conclusions

This brief investigation into work hazards on Ottoman railways

prompts a number of conclusions about the nature of railway work
and the relations between railway workers and railway company
management. The data, anecdotal though they undeniably are, paint
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 237
a picture of an extremely hazardous work environment on Ottoman
railways. Ottoman railwaymen faced injury or even death from a
number of mechanical failures, freak accidents, or personal error.
The long hours and, in some cases at least, dangerous equipment,
that surrounded the workers surely contributed to this unhealthy
environment. As this paper has demonstrated, though, railwaymen
faced additional dangers from terrorists and saboteurs. There are at
least as many reports in company and government archives that
mention such attacks as more mundane railway accidents.
These attacks themselves raise some interesting questions. First,
there is very little information in the reports as to the identity of the
culprits. They are usually referred to as ‘unknown individuals’ or as
bandits (eşkiya) or ‘trouble makers’ (fesatciler). I found no evidence,
however, that any of the attacks were accompanied by robberies.
Indeed, in most cases a train or track was simply damaged without
any sign of the perpetrators. This mode of operation strongly
suggests that the attackers in these incidents were politically
motivated terrorists. Significantly, the 5 November 1910 issue of the
Levant Herald quoted the Sofia, Bulgaria, correspondent for The Times
of London as saying that several recent railway bombings carried out
in Ottoman Macedonia were in fact the work of the IMRO (Internal
Macedonian Revolutionary Organization). Similarly, the British
minister in Sofia reported in April 1903 that his sources informed
him that the IMRO had ‘abandoned the policy of a general rising in
Macedonia and substituted for it that of destroying railroads and
telegraphs.’46
This scenario, if correct, begs the question of why the railways
were targets. Did the terrorists see them as symbols of European
imperialism, or of the Ottoman state, or both? Or, were they simply
convenient and visible targets, the destruction of which would help
create a generally unstable and chaotic environment? The data
presented in this paper do not provide enough information to
answer these questions.
Most of the workers on Ottoman railways responded to the
dangerous work environment with demands for safer working
conditions. For example, workers on the Oriental Railway Company
lines in Ottoman Macedonia demanded a shorter workday and
clearly defined rest periods, especially for train crews. They also
wanted to be sure the rolling stock was in good condition. In
particular, they demanded assurances that the repairs to locomotives
would be carried out swiftly. They also wanted the Company to
introduce up-to-date safety equipment like the Hardy Air Brake.
The attitudes of the railway companies to their workers’ concerns
and demands also come across as nuanced and complex. Rather than
simply dismiss out of hand the concerns of the railwaymen,
238 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
management seems to have tried to address these different
situations. For example, the Oriental Railway Company negotiators
accepted rather easily the calls for shorter working hours and
mechanical improvements to the rolling stock. Likewise, the
company made provisions for accident insurance and for time off
work, with pay, for both salaried employees and for non-salaried
workers and even day-labourers. On the other hand, one gets the
sense that in spite of the obvious attempt to regularize the entire
problem of accident compensation there remained many gaps in the
company’s program. In particular, at least some workers (or their
next-of-kin) felt that they were entitled to some sort of extra
compensation not officially offered by the company’s policies. The
company documents seem to demonstrate that, at least in some
cases, workers (or their families) were indeed able to make successful
requests for extra compensation for death or injury.
The other aspect of the story hinted at by some of the data
presented in this paper, is that the exceptionally hazardous nature of
railway work promoted a sense of solidarity among the multi-ethnic
and international workforce. In the sparse records remaining to us,
one finds workers with a wide variety of surnames (very likely
corresponding to different ethnic or national identities) cooperating
in their petitions to the Oriental Railway Company. This information
strongly suggests that Ottoman and foreign workers were able to put
aside whatever ethnic or national antagonisms or prejudices they
might have had in order to cooperate in their struggle for a safer
workplace.

Notes
1
The railroad companies operating on Ottoman territory in 1914 were the: Izmir -
Aydin, and Izmir-Kasaba Railways; Hijaz Railway; Ottoman Anatolian Railroad
(CFOA); Bagdad Railway; Oriental Railway; Damascus, Hama, and Extension
Railway (DHP), and the Jaffa-Jerusalem Railway. Vedat Eldem, Osmanlı
Imparatorluğu’nun Iktisadi Şartları Hakkında Bir Tetkik (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu
Basimevi, 1994), 102-5.
2
Of the 15 members of the CFOA’s administration council (Verwaltungsrat) five
were from Austria, France, or Switzerland. Archives of the Deutsche Bank
(hereafter ADB.), Auftrag 1348/96, Sig.8030. Anatolische Eisenbahn Geselschaft/Societe
du Chemin de Fer Ottoman d’Anatolie. Bericht des Verwaltungsrates uber die
Einundzwanziges Geschaftsjahr 1909, 5.
3
Halil Inalcik and Donald Quataert, eds., An Economic and Social History of the
Ottoman Empire, 1300-1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 810.
Yaqub N. Karkar, Railway Development in the Ottoman Empire, (New York: Vantage
Press, 1972), 75-6.
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 239

4
Donald Quataert, ‘A Provisional Report concerning the Impact of European
Capital on Ottoman Port and Railway workers, 1888-1909’, in Jean-Louis Bacque-
Grammont and Paul Dumont, eds. Economie et Sociétés dans l’Empire Ottoman (Paris:
Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1983), 467.
5
ADB, Auftrag 1348/96, Sig.8049, A Personnel Commissionne.
6
Inalcik and Quataert, 810-11. Basil C. Gounaris, Steam over Macedonia, 1870-1912
(Boulder: East European Monographs, 1993), 68. Donald Quataert, ‘Labour and
Working Class History during the Late Ottoman Period’, Turkish Studies Association
Bulletin, XV, 2, 1991, 370.
7
For a detailed account of this concession, including its text, see Vahedettin
Engin, Rumeli Demiryollari, (Istanbul: Eren Yayincilik, 1993), 51-6.
8
For details see Gounaris, 42-50.
9
Ibid. 55-8.
10
Karkar, 70. Charles Issawi, Economic History of the Middle East and North
Africa, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1982), 56-7.
11
Walter Licht, Working for the Railroad: The Organization of Work in the Nineteenth
Century (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983), 191
12
Başbakanlik Osmanli Arşivi (hereafter BOA) Rumeli Mufettişliği Selanik
(hereafter TFR-I-SL) 210/20949
13
BOA TFR-I-SL 215/21407
14
BOA Yildiz Mütenevvi Maruzat Evraki (hereafter Y.MTV) 2461/262/214/1322
15
BOA TFR-I-SL 16/1589, 16/1592
16
BOA TFR-I-SL 160/15984 1325.9.3
17
BOA TFR-I-SL 176/17582/1326.2.12
18
BOA TFR-I-SL 33/3290/1321.12.28
19
BOA TFR-I-SL 10/980/1321.2.15
20
BOA TFR-I-SL 210/20949
21
BOA Y-MTV 3034/296/73/1325
22
Levant Herald, XXVI, 30 (28 July 1906)
23
Ibid. XXVI, 29 (21 July 1906)
24
The members of the train crew who were injured were named as ‘huber’ the
locomotive driver, ‘Milo’ the conductor, and an unnamed ‘Greek employee’ who
was working in the mail car at the time of the accident. Levant Herald, XXX, 25, 18
June 1910
25
Ibid. XXX, 33, 13 August 1910
26
British Foreign Office Archives (hereafter FO) 78/5293/63
27
BOA TFR-I-SL 8/717/1321.1.10
28
FO 78/5293/91
29
BOA TFR-I-SL 45/4428/1322.4.27
30
Levant Herald, XXX, 42, 15 October 1910
31
Ibid. XXX, 44, 29 October 1910
32
FO 195/2382 fl.71
33
FO 195/2382 fl.212
34
FO 195/2382 fl.479
35
FO 195/2381 fl.419
36
For more information regarding the 1908 ‘Strike Wave’ in the Ottoman Empire
see, Yavuz Selim Karakışla, ‘The Great Strike Wave of 1908,’ Turkish Studies
Association Bulletin XVI, 2, 1992. See also, Hakki Onur, A1908 Işçi Hareketleri ve
Jön Türkler’, Yurt ve Dunya, Mart 1977), 277. For several different explanations of
the 1908 strike wave see Donald Quataert ‘The 1908 Young Turk Revolution: Old
and New Approaches’, Middle East Studies Association Bulletin, XIII, 1 (1979), 22-9.
37
Stefan Velikov, ‘Sur le mouvement ouvrier et socialiste en Turquie après la
revolution Jeune Turque de 1908’, Études Balkaniques, 1 (1964), 41. Sami Özkara,
240 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

Türkische Arbeiterbewegung 1908 im Osmanischen Reich im Spiegel des Botschaftsberichte, der

volkwirtschaftlichen und politischen Entwicklungen (Frankfurt am Main: Verlag Peter
Lang, 1985), 101-2. FO 371/552/35322. Haus, Hof, und Staats Archiv (hereafter
HHStA). Adm. Reg. F 31/8/7081.
38
Özkara, 104-5.
39
The Company’s administration accepted these demands. ADB, Auftrag
1348/96, Sig.8003
40
Ibid. Demands Number 20 and 21. The Company accepted both.
41
‘Reglement Concernant le Personnel’, ADB, Auftrag 1348/96, Sig. 8003, 138.
42
Ibid. 18-19.
43
Ibid. 36.
44
ADB. Auftrag 1348/96, Sig.8003. ASchreiben der Direktion vom 8. Mai 1909,
85-6.
45
Ibid.
46
Levant Herald, XXX, 50 (5 November 1910). FO 78/5293/71
 Being a Part of The Cinderella Service:
Consul Charles Blunt at Salonica in the 1840s

Bülent Özdemir

The British consular service was considered as ‘Cinderella Service’

referring to the well-known old folk tale by D. C. M. Platt who was
the pioneer of writing the history of British consular service.1 For the
nineteenth-century Ottoman history, the historical value and richness
of consular reports are impressive. It is possible to use them in terms
of how the foreign consulates in Ottoman cities functioned, because
one can encounter details of everyday life of an Ottoman city that
related not just to the diplomatic, bureaucratic and mercantile duties
of a consulate but also to the social, cultural and local aspects of
society.
This paper will mainly focus on one aspect of the nineteenth-
century history, the British consular service and the significance of
consular reports as a primary source in explaining the Ottoman
cities. The purpose of this study is to write an introductory paper of
collective biography of British consuls who served in the Ottoman
cities during the nineteenth century. Writing about a group of people
is not an easy task and mostly depends on the richness of the
materials. Since they clearly reflected almost all the characteristics of
a group and left huge volumes of rich materials, it will be possible to
write the collective biography of the British consuls served in the
Ottoman cities.
There is two other purposes as by-products of this project. First, it
gives a good credit to the consular reports as an important
contemporary source not only for diplomatic and political studies,
but also for social history. Consular reports have been widely used as
the historical sources mostly for diplomatic and political history.
However, my studies on these contemporary historical accounts
clearly show that the reports contain rich material for social
historiography, as well. Second, I would like to check the reliability
of these accounts against the other contemporary sources and to
show the possibilities for using the official correspondence of the
consul to study the social reality in the different settings.
242 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
Before the early nineteenth century, British trade and
representation in the dominions of the Ottoman Empire were
monopolized by the Levant Company. The consuls of Levant
Company had been in the region since the last part of the sixteenth
century. However, when Britain became a power in the region
especially after its ascendancy in the Mediterranean after the
Napoleonic and Revolutionary wars and its commercial interests
resulting from its industrial pre-eminence, the British parliament
decided to dissolve the Levant Company which was considered ill-
equipped to meet Britain’s new objectives and interests in the
region.2 Starting from the early nineteenth century onwards, Britain
concerned itself with this distinctive pluralistic empire expanding
from the Balkans in Europe to the region comprising the Eastern
Mediterranean parts of Asia and North Africa because of the
increasing number of British subjects who lived, traded and
exploited the advantages available to them.3 In the early nineteenth
century, the British political interests—when Russia became a real
source of anxiety—and commercial interests for the extension of
trade in the whole area demanded the extension of a consular service
to the Ottoman Empire.4 However, if we compare British exports to
USA, which were worth about £23 million and the amount of
consular salaries about £5000 with British exports to the Ottoman
Empire, which were about £2 million, and consular salaries
amounted to £21,150, we can conclude that the main reason behind
the establishment of many British consulates in the Ottoman
dominions was political.5 Consequently, British consuls officially
appointed to the Ottoman cities were faced with an important
dilemma. On the one hand, they were expected to serve the interests
of Britain and to maintain law and order among the native British
and their protected subjects, who were interspersed in a mosaic of
peoples of different religions, social conditions and ethnic origins.
On the other, they had to follow and accommodate the orders of
Foreign Office, often idiosyncratically, to the different socio-
economic and political conditions of the Ottoman Empire.6
According to Platt, generally, consuls serving at isolated posts
overseas had to take into account the local conditions of service and
the prejudices and traditions of their areas. Another point, which
Platt brings out, is the shaping of the British official outlook by the
restricted educational background of its consuls. Again, Platt
describes the nineteenth-century consuls as ‘lonely, fragmented,
distant and unable to communicate among themselves’.7 He stressed
that ‘to a diplomat the consular official was regarded as a maid of all
work’ and ‘British consuls were treated as a second-class citizens
within their own department’.8 However, I will try to show in this
paper that the real situation of the consuls and their roles as
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 243
influential factors in the Ottoman domains in the nineteenth century
have to be regarded seriously in terms both of Ottoman social
history and of British diplomatic history.
Since Charles Blunt was appointed to Salonica in 1835 as the first
officially recognised consul in the city and lived there until 1856, in
this paper, we try to analyse and understand the social position and
intimate life of Blunt in the city of Salonica in the period between
1830 and 1850, based on the information given in his both private
and official reports. Consequently, it is of some importance that the
character of Charles Blunt’s reporting be given consideration. The
consular reports, which have been consulted, were mainly the
correspondence of the consul Blunt with both the British Embassy
in Istanbul and the Foreign Office in London. We do not have much
information about him even in the basic biographical reference
books. However, one thing is clear: he was the very successful
British consul in the Ottoman Empire. The long period of service to
Great Britain, the very thorough knowledge of and integration in
Ottoman society, and the fact that his son, John E. Blunt, followed
his father’s footsteps as the successful British consul in the Ottoman
Empire, all lend considerable credibility to his account.
There is a clear need to talk firstly about consular reports as a
source for the history of Ottoman Empire in the early nineteenth
century as compared to the European travellers’ accounts. First of
all, consular reports were written by state officials who were
responsible to their superiors for providing accurate information.
Because they had official responsibilities in the cities, they were
better placed than travellers in gaining access to the required data for
their reports. Most of the time, there was mutual understanding and
common interest between local Ottoman government officials and
the foreign consuls. They were given certain rights and privileges and
these rights were protected by Ottoman laws. In addition to this,
they constituted a part of the higher echelon of the cities and were
usually in close contact with government officials. At the same time,
they also had other, more remote sources for their information. They
had informants in the countryside and in different towns in order to
learn about the state of affairs in the region. Secondly, their reports
were not written for the public and neither published nor publicized.
Therefore there was no need for falsified or arbitrary estimates and
criteria added for the purpose of attracting or convincing the general
reader. The case in the travellers’ accounts was precisely the
opposite. Third, consuls mostly sent their reports to two basic
centres; one was to Istanbul, where the ambassador lived, and
sometimes directly to the Foreign Office in London. The secrecy of
their reports as official papers also increased their accuracy. They
remained in the cities or regions for a long period of time
244 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
(sometimes 25-30 years as in the case of Consul Blunt in Salonica)
and they were familiar with all the special characteristics of the
society, region and city, making their situation for accounts reporting
far superior to that of travellers. They often learned the language and
were able to read the local press. They also compiled detailed tables
and statistics on trade and military matters. Consul Blunt’s opinion
of the way in which travellers obtained information in the Ottoman
Empire was as follows:

Strangers of any appearance of respectability when travelling in

the interior of the Ottoman Empire are generally, in
consequence of their travelling with ferman or buyruldu either
quartered upon the Christian Bishops, or at the houses of the
çorbacı or rich Christian reayas. If at the house of the latter, his
host in all probability a member of the community, will he give
the requisite information and compromise himself? If he
remains a day or two with the Bishop all the information he will
obtain will most certainly mislead him. A passage through
Turkey or a year or two in the country will not afford the
necessary opportunities for obtaining the requisite information.9

The Position of a Consulate at the Local Level

Needless to say, the power of the consulates in the interior increased

when they had begun to give protection to the Christian subjects of
the Ottoman Empire since the first capitulations. In the nineteenth
century these legal rights were fully exercised by the foreign consuls
in the interior in order to become a prestigious power point of their
areas. Most of them used this right not for the economic reasons
such as stimulating trade activities by giving certain privileges to the
merchants, but for the political and diplomatic objectives by which
they could put pressure upon the local authorities and to a certain
degree become independent and get whatever they wanted easily. It
is very interesting that most of the time the local authorities knew
that the consulates abused the protection right by granting
protection to so many and sometimes unqualified subjects of the
Ottoman Empire, but they could not do anything because of either
the complexity of the subject or to avoid causing complaints against
themselves through the ambassadors in Istanbul. For example, in
1840 Namık Pasha of Salonica wanted to check the exercise of
granting foreign protection to the reaya, because of the increasing
irregularities of the Greek consul in that place. In consequence, he
was fearful that he might give cause to the consuls to write against
him. Also he very justly observed that unless their ambassadors are
well understood upon the subject nothing would be done. Then
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 245
Namık Pasha applied to the Porte for a ferman (imperial order)
giving him efficient power to put a stop to these irregularities of the
consuls in Salonica. As we have seen particularly in the case of
Namık Pasha and also some other cases, the consulates in the
interior just like the embassies at the Porte, had already had enough
power to effect the decisions and the acts—respecting the internal
affairs—of the local authorities.10
For instance, we have seen in their reports that not only did they
have informants to get information regarding a newly appointed
pasha but also they had enough power to obtain detailed knowledge
about the income and wage of a pasha.11 They could find easy access
to Ottoman officials who had come to the region for inspection or
else and had conversations about the regional matters (social,
economic and political) and even presented their view of things as
suggestions or objections. After that, they forwarded all the
information to either London or Istanbul.12
The persons who provided information to the consuls at the local
level ranged from Ottoman high officials to ordinary servants.
However, most of the time the best informants were the Ottoman
pashas. For instance, the following case shows the intimate relations
Consul Blunt managed to establish with Ömer Pasha who was the
governor of Salonica in the 1840s: ‘When Ömer Pasha informed me
of these particulars, and made me acquainted with the contents of
the ilam, I strongly advised him to forward it to the Porte’.13
Consular reports contain useful inside information about both
contemporary international affairs such as Egyptian Question and
the new reform regulations of the Ottoman government such as the
Tanzimat. Particularly, the local people’s thoughts about certain
matters and their reactions and opinions were reported in detail.14 In
regarding this, not only did consuls stay in their residential city, they
also travelled around the region and visited even small villages to
obtain the required information for their reports.15
The power of consulates in the interior grew so significantly that
people of the region regardless of their religious and ethnic
differences began to apply to the consulates to present their cases in
order to find solutions. It can be seen in the reports that ordinary
people or even Muslim villagers were coming to the British consulate
with the hope of finding solutions to their problems.16 This can be
seen as the reflection of the position of Britain in international
politics as a world power at the local level and also provided
confidence and more power to the British consuls in local politics. I
should also stress here that the attitudes and position of British
consuls toward the representation of any problems, which the people
faced to the local authorities was almost the same. Regardless of
their religious differences, most of the time people received good
246 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
treatment and representation from the consul Blunt to their
complaints against the local authorities. When Blunt prepared
petitions for the complaints of the people, he most of the time
referred to a certain Ottoman regulation or law, which indicates his
knowledge of the Ottoman law and well-preparedness in local
politics.17 Although there is no clear evidence, I have the impression
that they were informed of almost every new government regulation.
For example, Consul Blunt says: ‘A ferman has been received
which ordains that the Mollahs and Kadıs can in no case demand
for dues more than one piastre...’18
The rivalry of the Great Powers can be seen between the
consulates in the interior as a microcosm. They always controlled
and checked each other’s activities especially in economic matters.
Their instructions both from the foreign offices and the embassies
were the major concern for them. Then they had to be aware of the
local administrative, mercantile, and social affairs of the place, in
order to make reports to their embassies. In some cases, either due
to their personal prejudices, preoccupations, or their educational
level, the consuls overreacted and exaggerated minor affairs as if they
were important ones. For instance, the following case is very
illustrative: ‘A young woman, a native of Damascus arrived at
Salonica with a Greek vessel. Two Turkish passengers reported to
the local authorities that there was a Muslim woman on board the
Greek vessel whom the captain had detained by force. When the
pasha heard of the affair, he proposed to question her respecting her
religion in an open assembly with the participation of all the consuls.
When the woman was questioned, she declared herself to be a
member of the Greek Church and was immediately given over to the
bishop. The French and Austrian Consuls had an idea that she was a
Catholic and since all classes of Christians in Syria were now under
French protection, the woman should have been given to him. Then,
the woman was questioned again and she declared herself a Christian
of the Greek Church’.19 On the other hand, it can be observable in
the Blunt’s reports that most of the time; foreign consuls exchanged
certain information easily among themselves. Particularly, if the issue
was related to conversion or apostasy, they paid special attention and
helped each other by exchanging all sorts of news and information.
The most important point in the writings of the consuls was their
attitudes to their superiors’ weaknesses on certain subjects. If they
were aware of their superiors’ special interest in certain issues, they
channelled all their efforts to report something on that issue in order
to show that they were acting justly. Securing their position in the
city and thinking of appointment to higher posts or offices must
have affected their discourse and choice of subjects to write about.
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 247
Consuls as Diplomats

In theory, consuls were supervised by the orders of the ambassador

at the capital city or those of minister. But in practice, the direct
personal contact with their superiors was the main problem in the
nineteenth century context because of the difficulties of transport
and communication. Being a foreign consul in an Ottoman port-city
in the nineteenth century was to some extent more advantageous
than being a consul in the small cities of the interior or of the remote
east. Particularly, in terms of the social activities, Salonica offered
many opportunities to the European families such as newspapers,
music, theatre and food.20 Most of the buildings of foreign
consulates were in the west part of the city known as the ‘Frank
quarter’, which provided cultural and social interactions between the
families of European consulates in Salonica. With the introduction
of regular steamship connections to Salonica after the 1840s, the
consular officers and their families could get easier access to news,
fashion, food etc. All these were real needs for consular officials
because they were almost permanently living there and as Richard
Burton said: ‘An English gentleman, in the nineteenth century, was
rarely prepared to adapt his customs and his standards to the local
way of life’.21
According to the reports, some other important functionaries in
the foreign consulates were the interpreters. Whenever an affair of a
trifling nature occurred in the city it was left entirely in the hands of
the interpreters, who were, according to Consul Blunt, ‘too well
known for their cupidity and impertinence’. The consuls saw it as
beneath their dignity ever to treat affairs personally with the local
Ottoman authorities.
Rivalries among the foreign consulates were not limited to
economic and commercial matters but also extended to religious
ones. The protection of different Christian sects created serious
disputes particularly in the cosmopolitan port-cities such as
Salonica.22 After the opening of Greek consulate in Salonica, we
observe in the Blunt’s reports that the activities of Greek consul
respecting the protection of Orthodox Ottoman subjects were
sufficient to irritate the authorities of any government. He criticized
the Greek Consul’s irresponsible, undiplomatic and also impertinent
acts and attitudes against Ottoman government officials. Indeed,
Consul Blunt complained against the Greek Consul several times in
his reports for maintaining close relations with the Russian Consul
and for not following up his advice but the advice of the Russian
Consul.23
In this sense, the attitudes of the Greek Consul in Salonica were
interesting and illustrative. In any event, relating to the Greeks, the
248 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
consul always refused to make contact with the local authorities in
person and just sent the vice-consul, who was the father in law of the
Russian Consul, in order to present the case. Even in simple affairs
the Greek Consul forced the matters to a degree of dispute, because
of the influence of the Russian Consul, Mr. Valliano. The Greek
Consul adopted a captious rather then a conciliatory spirit upon all
occasions, which was always badly received by the local authorities.
The Greek Consul of Salonica appeared to connive with the local
authorities who showed little disposition to bring the guilty to
punishment. Blunt says: ‘when a Greek commits a crime and is
captured by the local authorities, he is always given up to the Greek
Consul upon his promising that he is going to be punished, but it is
never done’.24 Indeed, we should not forget that an effective Foreign
Office strategy for the containment of Russia in that period
demanded constant information and for this they largely relied on
outlying consulates.

Reporting of Social Problems in the Interior

The consuls’ reporting of social problems in the interior was also

considered as one of their major duties. As a common practice, they
record their observations regarding certain cultural practices or local
customs, but exceptionally, they report extreme social problems as
the confidential reports to their superiors such as homosexuality,
abortion and drug use. What is interesting in these reports is their
having been written in such detail that even certain names and dates
were given. Undoubtedly, if the contents of the reports are true, their
value as a source which shed lights on the social conditions of
Ottoman society at the local level would be great. How we confirm
the contents of these reports as true or made up accounts is the duty
of historians. It will not be dealt with here. However, now I am
going to quote Consul Blunt in order to give you some ideas about
his style of reporting. Abortion was widely practiced in Salonica as a
means of birth control. According to the reports it was as common
in this city as in the rest of the Empire. Abortion was carried out in
the city with the assistance of Jewish midwives. Consul Blunt
reported the situation as follows:

Using drugs to cause abortion is too general in Salonica as well

as the other parts of Turkey in the early nineteenth century.
There are mostly Jewish women who are employed solely in the
commission of this crime. The way they are doing abortion is
either an operation is performed or the patient is taken five or
six successive days to the Turkish bath, where she is so reduced
by the continual heat, that abortion is easily produced. This
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 249
crime is committed not only in the harems of the beys but also
especially amongst the less wealthy classes of the Turkish and
Greek population. In the latter the economic reason seems
most likely to be the major factor of committing this crime. In
the year 1839, because of the generosity of these crimes
especially in the interior induced the Ottoman government to
publish a ferman in order to put an end to this commission.25

In another confidential report regarding homosexuality in Salonica

Consul Blunt says:

Increase of intoxication has I regret to say led to an alarming

increase of unnatural crime. When I say alarming I do not
attempt, from disgust, to exaggerate for I can assure your
Excellency that it has become so shameless that it is generally
spoken of. The Jewish community has turned its attention
particularly to it. Any children (of which there are hundreds
exposed to temptation by the poverty and depravity of their
parents) supposed to have in any way submitted to incitement
are severely punished by the Grand Rabbie. The Turkish baths
are full of children who act as tellacks or washers, hence it is that
these baths are the resort of all the most depraved and where
the crime is openly tolerated.26

At the end of the report Consul Blunt cited the names of the persons
who were addicted to this crime as Vasıf Pasha, the governor of
Salonica, the defterdar, Hasan Pasha, some of the Franks at Salonica
and a consul of one of the European states.

Did I not report to you Excellency, the horrible and alarming

increase of crime in this part of Turkey but in doing so, as I
shall have to name persons of all classes… I regret to say in
Salonica, especially amongst the higher class of the Turkish
population intoxication was so general. There were very few of
the better class of Turks, in this place, who are free from
imputation. Drinking alcohol had become more and more
widespread amongst the Turks even during the Ramazan, which
was not the case not many years since. Governor of Salonica
Vasıf Pasha and the Mollah had been repeatedly seen intoxicated
during the Ramazan in 1845.27

Reporting of Infrastructure and Statistics About a Place

Consuls at the local level produced so many useful statistical data for
their superiors. These accounts provided valuable inside information
250 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
about the local conditions of the Ottoman Empire. The most
common of all were the commercial returns required of consuls as a
matter of annual routine.28 They were expected to make an annual
return of all their receipts and disbursements for any purpose. In this
sense, Consul Blunt was an exceptional one. Though he was not
ordered or required to do so, he produced well-presented statistical
tables about Salonica and its features. Among the information
provided by consuls the quality and quantity of agricultural products
and their commercial value was particularly noted. Any mines or
minerals which might be of interest to Britain were reported,
sometimes with detailed financial worksheets with explanations
regarding how expensively or cheaply they might be obtained.29
Apart from commercial and agricultural reports, he also prepared
statistical tables about the fairs in the region, the population of
Salonica and its ethnic and religious differences. Consul Blunt also
provided some statistics about the infrastructure of Salonica such as
schools, churches, mosques, synagogues, post houses and horses,
castles and guns. For instance, according to Blunt, in Salonica, there
was a Post House with 100 horses. Also the Castle of Salonica
mounted in all 250 guns. The lower guns of the Castle, which
command the port, were in all 21 and each requiring a charge of 20.5
kg of powder. These guns were alleged to be Venetian.30
Surprisingly enough, Consuls collected serious biographical
accounts and information about the persons who were either
Ottoman government officials or local notables. These biographical
data included not only their well-being or wealth, but also their
mutual interests, interactions, relations and co-operation on any
particular event and explained the probable reasons behind their
activities.31 In some cases, Consul Blunt noted some biographical
stories going back to three or four hundred years about the certain
notables. For example he told us the story of Yusuf Bey, muhassıl of
Salonica in the 1841, who claimed to be a descendant of Evrenos
Bey, who had taken possession of the city of Salonica in 1430 in the
name of the sultan, in order to receive a part of the revenue of the
region as an historical grant which was only given to the descendants
of Evrenos Bey, though he was not entitled.32
As we understand from the reports, any particular missionary
group always made contact with the consulates first as soon as they
arrived at Salonica. This was logical because they knew that they
could only obtain proper and essential information they needed from
the consulates. It is interesting to note that the coming of
missionaries to Salonica was not perceived as a threat to the Muslim
community, but instead the Orthodox community and its religious
leaders were most of the time fearful about their activities in the city
because their main target group was the Orthodox community. For
 Christian Influence and the Advent of the Europeans 251
instance, the activities of Protestant missionaries concentrated on the
Orthodox community of Salonica in the 1840s. Most of the time
they were successful and effective by providing financial support and
better education opportunities to the needy Orthodox population.
However, this irritated the Orthodox religious leaders and the
Patriarchate proclaimed a new edict in 1838 in order to prohibit the
attendance of the children of Orthodox community to the Protestant
missionary schools.33

Conclusion

It should be kept in mind when using the consular reports that

consuls were not neutral foreign entities who evaluated everything
from their own perspectives and according to their own objectives.
Even the discourse that they used to define or understand any
cultural phenomena or any particular affair represented their own
socio-cultural background. For instance, Consul Blunt’s use of the
term ‘to turn Turk’ when he tried to explain the conversion issue and
his use of the term ‘ the sacred law of their prophet’ when he talked
about an Islamic law and also the term ‘the tomb of a saint’ when he
referred to the Gazi Evrenos Bey’s tomb clearly shows that he was
the typical product of Britain at a certain time.34
This ‘otherness’ always consciously or unconsciously directed
them to deal with the affairs or things which conveyed value as news
or strange or problematic. Whenever a consul would like to write
report about something favourable, he was easily labelled as ‘pro-
Turk’ in the literature as in the case of Charles Blunt.35 Therefore, as
is the case with the contents of the Ottoman court records, consular
reports also consisted of selected historical materials, which were
most of the time collected and reported according to the perception
of consuls.

Notes
1 D.C. M. Platt, The Cinderella Service: British Consuls since 1825 (Edinburgh:
Longman, 1971)
2 Alfred C. Wood, A History of the Levant Company (London, 1935), 113-4. Roger
Owen, The Middle East in the World Economy, 1800-1914 (London, 1981), 85.
3 ‘In 1826 the Levant establishment amounted to two consuls-general and eleven
consuls and vice-consuls, with salaries totalling £8,358. By 1855 it had risen to
three consuls-general and forty-one consuls and vise-consuls, at the cost, in
salaries, of £21,150’. See, D.C. M. Platt, The Cinderella Service, 127.
4 Maria Todorova, ‘The Establishment of British Consulates in the Bulgarian
Lands and British Commercial Interests,’ Etudes Balkaniques, v. 4, (1973), 80-8.
252 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies

5 D.C. M. Platt, The Cinderella Service, 126.

6 John P. Spagnolo, ‘Portents of Empire in Britain’s Ottoman Extraterritorial
Jurisdiction’, Middle Eastern Studies, v. 8, n.2, 256-81.
7 D.C. M. Platt, The Cinderella Service, 1.
8 Ibid. 2-3.
9 FO 195/176 Blunt to Ponsonby, January 1841.
10 FO 195/176 Blunt to Porsonby, 9 April 1840
11 FO 195/176 Blunt to Ponsonby, 30 January 1840
12 FO 195/240 Blunt to Canning, 27 June 1845
13 FO 195/176 Blunt to Ponsonby, 1841
14 FO 195/100 Blunt to Ponsonby, 30 January 1838
15 FO 195/100 Blunt to Ponsonby, 6 May 1838
16 FO 195/176 Blunt to Ponsonby, 1841
17 FO 195/100 Blunt to Ponsonby, 23 November 1838
18 FO 195/100 Blunt to Ponsonby, 31 August 1838
19 FO 195/240 Blunt to Canning,, 17 May 1844.
20 According to an Ottoman document, foreign consulates were allowed to
establish bakeries to produce French bread and peksimet for the needs of both
consulates and ship crews. See, Salonica Sicil, 235: 21, 55, 15 Muharrem 1254.
21 Quoted from Platt, Cinderella Service, 39.
22 FO 195/240 Blunt to Canning, 17 May 1844.
23 FO 195/100 Blunt to Ponsonby, 20 June 1839.
24 FO 195/100 Blunt to Porsonby, 20 June 1839.
25 FO 195/100 Blunt to Ponsonby, 9 January 1839.
26 FO 195/240 Blunt to Canning, 16 October 1845.
27 Ibid.
28 According to Platt, these reports were not regarded as important documents by
the Foreign Office and sent directly to the Board of Trade. See Platt, 56.
29 FO 195/100 Blunt to Ponsonby, 21 March 1839.
30 FO 195/100 Blunt to Ponsonby, 25 January 1839.
31 FO 195/100 Blunt to Ponsonby, 20 July 1837.
32 FO 195/176 Blunt to Ponsonby, 1841
33 FO 195/100 Blunt to Ponsonby, 10 March 1838.
34 FO 195/240 Blunt to Ponsonby, 1841
35 This can be clearly seen in the writings of some of the Greek historians who
used Consul Blunt’s reports.
 Contributors

Engin Berber: Department of International Relations, Ege University

Sonja Brentjes: Institute for the Study of Muslim Civilisation,

Aga Khan University

Muammer Demirel: Department of History, Atatürk University

Aleksandar Fotić: Department of History, Belgrade University

Colin Imber: Department of Middle Eastern Studies, University of

Manchester

Hedda Reindl-Kiel: Seminar for Oriental Language, University of

Bonn

Svetlana Kirillina: Department of the Middle and Near East History,

Moscow State University

Elias Kolovos: Programme of Turkish Studies, Institute for

Mediterranean Studies, Foundation of Research and Technology Hellas

Peter Mentzel: Department of History, Utah State University

Bülent Özdemir: Department of History, Balikesir University

Sándor Papp: Department of Early Modern History, Károli Gáspár

Protestant University

Maria Pia Pedani: Department of History of the Near East,

University ‘Ca Foscari’ of Venice

Jan Schmidt: Leiden University Library

Elżbieta Święcicka: Department of Asian and African Languages,

Uppsala University

Adnan Şişman: Department of Contemporary Ottoman History,

Afyon Kocatepe University

Netice Yıldız: Department of Art History, Eastern Mediterranean University

 Index

Abdallâh, envoy from Baghdad, 117 Bulgarian National Church, 215

Abdülmecid, 170 Byzantine, 197-9, 201, 204
ahdnâme, 37-42, 44-46
Ahmed III, 50 Cafer Pasha, Hadim, 11
Aleppo, 77, 164 Cafer Pasha, Hamamı, 179
Alexander II, 171 Cairo, 115, 122n
Ali Pasha, Mohammed, 157 calendar, 91, 93-100
Ankara, 212, 218, 228 calligraphers, 125-6, 128, 132-4, 180,
Armenians, 215 182-3
Catholic church, 215 Canning, Lord Stratford, 215, 220
Arabic-Turkish dictionary, 81-2 Carl XII, king, 42
Arnot, Albanian, 42 Carleson, Edvard, 55
Athens, 91-2, 96-7 cartographers, 125-8, 133
Athonite monasteries, 70, 73n, 197- Casimir, John, Polish King, 59
200, 206 von Celsing, Gustaf, 53, 55
Attaya, Mikhail, 167 Cemil Pasha, Ambassador in Paris,
Austria, 119 160-1
avârız-ı divâniyye, 199 census (tahrîr), 199
âyîn, 40, 119 ceremonies, see âyîn
see also teşrîfât defteri Charlemagne in Aix-la-Chapelle, 117
Aya Sofya, mosque, 179, 184 Charles XII, king, 53, 55, 58-9, 60n,
61n, 62n
Baghdad Railway Company, 228 see also Carl XII
bailo, Venetian, 23, 31 Chios, 76, 84
Balkans, 42, 68, 71, 198, 227, 242 churches, 180-5, 215-20
Ban of Croatia, 39 Aya Sofya Cathedral, 180, 183
Bartold, Vasili, 157, 168 Aya Nikola, 184,
Bertrandon de la Broquière, 115 Aya Yorgi (St. George), 184
Bethlen, Gábor, 39 çiftlik, 179, 184-8, 193n, 197, 200-6
Blunt, Charles, 242-51 cizye, 198-9
biography of, 241 Collège Arménian de Saint-Samuel
British consul, 244-6 Moorat, 157
battle of Ankara (1402), 199 Coureas, Nicholas, 183
Beyazid I, 199-200 Crimea, 49-55
Beyazid II, 23, 118, 200 Tatars in, 51
Bland, Nathaniel, 78 Khans of, 55
British Evkaf Delegate, 186 Croatia, 39-40, 47n
Bohemia and Poland (çeh ve leh), 11-2 Crusade of Nicopolis, 8
bôstâncı zâbıt, 64 Cyprus, 23-7, 179-82, 185-90
Bourdieu, 115 war of, 9, 23-7, 30-1
al-Bukhârî, 118; Cyrillic, 63-5, 70
and al-jâmi‘ al-sahîh, 118
Bulgarians, 42 Damascus, 77, 246
256 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
Dedeağaç (Alexandropolis), 227 Hicaz Railways, 226
Deutsche Bank, 227, 238n Hilandar Monastery, 64-5, 67-9, 72n
al-Dimashqī, Abū Bakr, 125-7, 132 hil‘at, 118
dīvānī style, 50 von Hirsch, Baron Moritz, 227
dragoman, 49, 53, 58-9 historiography, 198
Dutch merchant, 77, 79, 82-3, 85, 87 Holland, 76-7, 85, 87n
‘duty’ (Abgabe), 120 von Höpken, Karl Fredrik, 55
hudûdnâme, 69, 71
Ebüssu‘ûd Efendi, 24, 200-1 hüccet, 64-7, 69-72
Ecole Militarie Egyptienne, 157 Hungary, 37-43, 45-6
Edirne, 115, 199, 227-8 Hungarians, 37, 39
Egypt, 76, 117, 245
and governor, al-Muqawqis, 117 Ibn Arabi, al-Shaykh al-Akbar, 170
Ekmel Efendi, 182-3 Ibn Khaldun, 161
see also kadı Ibrahim Pasha, 53
Elizabeth I, 118 Ikhlas, Mehmet, 126, 127, 6, 14
Érsekújvár, 37 ilam, 245
Eskişehir, 228-9 Islam, 164, 166
Evliya Çelebi, 125 Islamic laws, 67, 71, 73n, 212, 221
Evrenos Bey, Gazi, 250-1 Islahat Ferman (reform firman), 216,
218, 220-2
Famagusta, 179-80, 183-7, 190 Istanbul, 227-9, 231, 235
Fazıl Ahmed Pasha, Köprülü, 37 Izmir, 76, 78-87, 88n, 91-112n
firman, 81, 83, 85-7, 212, 214, 216,
218, 220-2, 245-6, 249 Jeddah, 115
floral scroll ornamentation, 182-3 Jooze, K., (Bendeli al-Jawzi), 167-8
Frangepán, Ferenc, 38
Fredric I, king, 50 Kabylian, 115
kadı, 64-7, 70, 81, 83-6, 201, 205-6
Galata, 215 Kaiser, 115, 119-20, 121n
German embassy, 114 Kanizsa, 10
gift exchange, 113-15, 117 Kantakouzinos, John, 198
Golius (Jacob Gool), 75-6, 78-9 kapucıbaşı, 86-7
Greece, 91-3, 96 kapudan, 81, 84-6
Greeks, 42; 64, 91-100, 167, 216, Karlowitz, treaty of 1699, 42
245-8 Kazan Ecclesiastic Academy, 168
scripts, 64 Kazan University, 167
calendar, 91; Kelzi, Abdallah (Feodor), 172
guidebook, 91-3, 95-100; al-Kerîm Beğ, ‘Abd, 115
Orthodox Church, 167; Kezma, Taufiq, 168
Patriarchate, 215 Khalīfa, Hajjī, 125-7, 129-32, 140-2
consul in Salonica, 245, 247-8 Komitissa, 64, 69-71, 73n
Konya, 228
Habsburg Empire, 37 Koran, 181-3, 185
harâç, 198-9, 206 Kubad, çavuş , 31
Haremeyn wakf, 186, 188-90 von Kuefstein, Hans Ludwig,
see also vakıf ambassador, 115
Hârûn al-Rashîd, 117 Kuruc, 39, 42
Hasan Ağa, 202
Hasan Pasha, Tiryaki, 15 Leszczyński, Sanislo, Polish king, 43
Hashab (Hashshab), Antun, 164 Levant, 76, 78, 82, 87n
hatayis, 182 Levant Company, 242
hazine, 115 levend, 23, 28-31
Hazret-i Ömer, 187 library (libraries), 91, 95,97, 109n-
Heyman, Johannes, 76-81, 87 112n
 Index 257
Lipveli Ahmed, 43 Mustafa Ağa, Kozbekçi, 50, 53, 61n
Loredan, Pietro, the doge, 23 Mustafa Pasha, Lala, 31
Luis XIV, king, 41 el-Mustasimi, Yakut, 182
Lübeck, 85-6 see also calligraphers
Mutazilites, 167
Mahmud II, 211, 214-6, 221 mülk,198-9
al-Makki, Ahmad ibn Husayn, 172 mütevelli, 186, 189-90
Mamluk war of 1485-91, 115 mültezim, 205
mapmaking, 125, 137
Mauss, Protestant chaplain, 115 Nádasdy, Ferenc, 38
Mecca, 180, 189 Nâdir Shâh, 115
medrese, 184, 186 Namık Pasha, 244-5
Mezö-Keresztes, 20 Nemce kıralına, 119
battle of, 9,15 Netherlands, 75, 87, 88n
victory at, 13, 15 newspapers, 93-6, 98-100, 109n,
Mehmed I, 199-200 110n, 112n
Mehmed II, 23, 29, 200 Nicosia, 180, 182-3, 185-7
Mehmed III, 118 Nikola, İskerletzâde, 43
Mehmed IV, 37 Noufal, Salim (Irinei), 172
Mehmed Efendi, Said, 53, 55, 60n Nusretnâme, 120
Mehmed Pasha, Kara, 120
Mehmed Pasha, Lala, 9, 15-16, 18 Orhan, 198
Mehmed Pasha, Okçızade, 184 Oriental Languages, 75-7
Mehmed Pasha, Sokollu, 24-5, 27, Orthodox Christians, 42, 166, 197,
31, 32n 199
Mehmed Pasha, Yegen, 44 Ottoman Anatolian Railway
Mekteb-i Osmani, 157 (CFOA), 226-9
Mevlevi, 181, 188 Ottoman court, 113, 115, 118-20,
see also tekke 121n
military revolution, 7-9, 18, 20-1 ceremony of, 115
Ministry of Evkaf of Turkey, 189 Oriental Railroads, 227, 238n
Mitrovice (in Kosovo), 227 Oriental Railway Company, 227,
Moldavians, 42 231, 233-4, 237-8
môloviya, 64, 66 Oxenstierna, Erik, 60
Mount Athos, 197-9, 201 and governor, Mazovia, 60
monasteries, 63-70, 197-206 Ömer Pasha, 245
Cetinje (Montenegro), 64, 70
Xeropotamou, 197, 201-6 painters, 125-6, 132, 135-6, 140
Aynoroz, 200 Palaiologos, Andronikos, 199
Aghiou Pavlou, 206 Palestine, 76-7
Monastir (Bitlola, Bitolj), 227-8, 230, Palffy, 10-11, 13
232 Pápay, János, 42-3
Moscow Lazarev Institute, 165, 167 pápista, 40, 47n
Mughal court, 115, 117 Patriarchy of Antioch in Moscow,
Muhammad Shâh, Shams al-Dîn, 167
115 Peace of Vasvár, 41
muhassıl, 250 Peçevi, Ibrahim, 7-21;
muqarnas decoration, 181 chronicle of, 9
al-Muqawqis, 117 Peter the Great, 42-3
see also Egypt Pertev Pasha, 23
Murad II, 199-200 pîşkeş, 118
Murad III, 50 Piyale Pasha, 24, 31
Murad IV, 9 Poland, 51, 60
Murkos, Georgi (Juri), 165-7 poll-tax, see cizye
Mustafa II, 120 population, 197, 199, 200-1, 249-51
258 Frontiers of Ottoman Studies
Protestants, 75-6 Tanzimat, 211, 214-6, 221
Prut, 42 tapu, 200-1
tapunâme, 64, 69-71, 72n
Rákóczi II, Ferenc, 41-3, 41 Tatar Khanate, 49
Rákóczi, József, 44-5 tekke, 181, 188
Ráday, Pál, 42 teşrîfât defteri, 119
reaya, 198, 200, 244 Thessalonica (Selânik), 197-202
resm-i çift, 198, 202-3 Thököly, Imre, 39, 40, 46n, 47n
royal tent (otak), 119 tîmâr, 199, 201
Russia, 42-3, 242 tithe (dekaton/‘öşür), 198-202, 205-6
Russians, 42, 159-69, 247-8 Trabzon, 216-9
Cantemir, Dimitrie, 42 Transylvania, 40, 119
consul in Salonica, 247-8 tributary gifts, see pîşkeş
Orientalists, 166-8 treaty, 79, 87
Arabists 159, 161-2, 169 of Pruth in 1711, 79
Russian Arabs, 157, 167-8 of Karlowitz in 1699, 87
Russian-Arabic dictionary, 167 of Rijswijk in 1697, 87
Turkish Ethnographic Museum, 181
Safavids, 9, 115-17, 132, 136, 142-3
St. Petersburg University, 166 Ulrica Eleonora, queen, 50
and Institute of Oriental Uthmân of Tunis, 118
Languages, 166 Üsküb (Skopje), 228, 230
sâlnâme, 91, 93
Salonica, 227-33, 241, 243-51 vakıf, 198-202, 206
Monastir line, 228, 230, 232 see also wakf
Mitrovice lines, 228 Vasıf Pasha, 249-50
Sarruf, Fadlallah, 172 Venetians, 23-30, 118
saz style leave, 182 Vienna, 120-1
School of Ottoman in Paris, see vâlide sultân, 118
Mekteb-i Osmani
von Schwarzenhorn, Schmid, 119 wakf, 179-91
Schweigger, Salomon, 113-14 Ahmed Pasha, Arab, 179
Selim, Yavuz, 212 Aya Sofya, 179-80, 183-5, 188-9
Selim II, 23, 27, 29, 31, 34, 172, 183 Büyük Hamam, Büyük Han, 179
Selim III, 55 Cafer Pasha, Frenk, 179, 185
Serbs, 42 Mehmed Pasha, Okcı Zade, 179
şer’iye, 63-8, 187, 190, 212 Mustafa Pasha, Lala, 179-83, 186-
court, 63, 65-8 90
sicili, 187, 190, 212 Sefer Pasha, 179
şeyhülislâm, 200 Sinan Pasha, 179
Shah Abbas, 10 Valide Sultan, 186, 189
Sidirokafsia, 197, 204-5 Wallachia, 42-3
Silahdâr, chronicler, 38 War of Spanish Succession, 41
Sinan Pasha, Cigalazade, 4, 10, 12 Warner, Levinus, 75-6, 79
Stockholm, 49, 53, 55-6, 59, 60n, Warsaw, 55, 60
61n, 62n Wesselényi, Ferenc, 37
Sublime Porte, 39, 41, 43-5 Wiener Bankverein, 227
Süleyman, the Magnificent, 212
Sweden, 42, 49-51, 53, 55-6, 58-9 zimmî, 63, 67, 198, 206
Swedish National Archives, 49, 51, Zographou, 65, 69
53, 56-7, 60n, 61n Zrínyi, Péter, 39
Zurich, 227
tahrîr registers, 199, 201-4, 206
al-Tantawi, Muhammad Ayyad, 166-
73