Living in the Ottoman Realm
279 pages

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Living in the Ottoman Realm

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus
279 pages

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus


Living in the Ottoman Realm brings the Ottoman Empire to life in all of its ethnic, religious, linguistic, and geographic diversity. The contributors explore the development and transformation of identity over the long span of the empire's existence. They offer engaging accounts of individuals, groups, and communities by drawing on a rich array of primary sources, some available in English translation for the first time. These materials are examined with new methodological approaches to gain a deeper understanding of what it meant to be Ottoman. Designed for use as a course text, each chapter includes study questions and suggestions for further reading.

Introduction: Dealing with Identity in the Ottoman Empire / Christine Isom-Verhaaren and Kent F. Schull

Part I. 13th-15th Centuries. Emergence and Expansion: From Frontier Beylik to Cosmopolitan Empire
1. The Giving Divide: Food Gifts and Social Identity in Late Medieval Anatolia /Nicolas Trépanier
2. Changing Perceptions along the Frontiers: The Moving Frontier with Rum in the Late Medieval Anatolian Frontier Narratives / Zeynep Aydoğan
3. The Genoese of Pera in the Fifteenth Century: The Case of the Draperio and Spinola Families / F. Ozden Mercan
4. From Byzantine Aristocracy to Ottoman Ruling Elite: Mahmud Pasha Angelović and his Christian Circle, 1458-1474 / Theoharis Stavrides
5. Neşri's Cihannüma, an Early Ottoman History Book and the Politics of Ottoman Identity / Murat Cem Mengüç
6. A Shaykh, a Prince and a Sack of Corn: An Anatolian Sufi Becomes Ottoman / Hasan Karatas

Part II. 15-17th Centuries. Expansion and Cultural Splendor: The Creation of a Sunni Islamic Empire
7. Ibn-i Kemal's Confessionalism and the Construction of an "Ottoman" Islam / Nabil al-Tikriti
8. Becoming Ottoman in Sixteenth-century Aintab / Leslie Peirce
9. Making Jerusalem Ottoman / Amy Singer
10. Ibrahim b. Khidr al-Qaramani: A Merchant and Urban Notable of Early Ottoman Aleppo / Charles Wilkins
11. Mihrimah Sultan: A Princess Constructs Ottoman Dynastic Identity / Christine Isom-Verhaaren

Part III. 17th-18th Centuries. Upheaval and Transformation: From Conquest to Administrative State
12. The Sultan's Advisors and their Opinions on the Identity of the Real Ottoman Elite, 1580-1653 / Linda T. Darling
13. Fleeing "The Vomit of Infidelity": Borders, Conversion, and Muslim Women's Agency in the Early Modern Mediterranean / Eric Dursteller
14. Policing Morality: Crossing Gender Communal Boundaries in an Age of Political Crisis and Religious Controversy in Seventeenth-Century Istanbul / Fariba Zarinebaf
15. Leaving France, "Turning Turk," Becoming Ottoman: The Transformation of Comte Claude-Alexandre de Bonneval into Humbaraci Ahmed Pasha / Julia Landweber
16. Out of Africa, into the Palace: The Ottoman Chief Harem Eunuch / Jane Hathaway
17. The Province Goes to the Center: The Case of Hadjiyorgakis Kornesios, Dragoman
of Cyprus / Antonis Hadjikyriacou

Part IV. 19th-20th Centuries. Modernity, Mass Politics, and Nationalism: From Empire to Nation-state
18. Ruler Visibility, Modernity, and Ethno-nationalism in the Late Ottoman Empire / Darin Stephanov
19. Muslims' Contribution to Science and Ottoman Identity / M. Alper Yalçinkaya
20. Migrants, Revolutionaries, and Spies: Surveillance, Politics, and Ottoman Identity in the United States / David Gutman
21. Ottomanism among the Greek Orthodox at the End of Empire: The Multiple Loyalties of Pavlos Carolidis / Vangelis Kechriotis
22. Zionism in the Era of Ottoman Brotherhood / Michelle U. Campos

Connections and Questions to Consider



Publié par
Date de parution 11 avril 2016
Nombre de lectures 5
EAN13 9780253019486
Langue English
Poids de l'ouvrage 2 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0025€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.


8. Becoming Ottoman in Sixteenth-century Aintab / Leslie Peirce
9. Making Jerusalem Ottoman / Amy Singer
10. Ibrahim b. Khidr al-Qaramani: A Merchant and Urban Notable of Early Ottoman Aleppo / Charles Wilkins
11. Mihrimah Sultan: A Princess Constructs Ottoman Dynastic Identity / Christine Isom-Verhaaren

Part III. 17th-18th Centuries. Upheaval and Transformation: From Conquest to Administrative State
12. The Sultan's Advisors and their Opinions on the Identity of the Real Ottoman Elite, 1580-1653 / Linda T. Darling
13. Fleeing "The Vomit of Infidelity": Borders, Conversion, and Muslim Women's Agency in the Early Modern Mediterranean / Eric Dursteller
14. Policing Morality: Crossing Gender Communal Boundaries in an Age of Political Crisis and Religious Controversy in Seventeenth-Century Istanbul / Fariba Zarinebaf
15. Leaving France, "Turning Turk," Becoming Ottoman: The Transformation of Comte Claude-Alexandre de Bonneval into Humbaraci Ahmed Pasha / Julia Landweber
16. Out of Africa, into the Palace: The Ottoman Chief Harem Eunuch / Jane Hathaway
17. The Province Goes to the Center: The Case of Hadjiyorgakis Kornesios, Dragoman
of Cyprus / Antonis Hadjikyriacou

Part IV. 19th-20th Centuries. Modernity, Mass Politics, and Nationalism: From Empire to Nation-state
18. Ruler Visibility, Modernity, and Ethno-nationalism in the Late Ottoman Empire / Darin Stephanov
19. Muslims' Contribution to Science and Ottoman Identity / M. Alper Yalçinkaya
20. Migrants, Revolutionaries, and Spies: Surveillance, Politics, and Ottoman Identity in the United States / David Gutman
21. Ottomanism among the Greek Orthodox at the End of Empire: The Multiple Loyalties of Pavlos Carolidis / Vangelis Kechriotis
22. Zionism in the Era of Ottoman Brotherhood / Michelle U. Campos

Connections and Questions to Consider

" />

Empire and Identity, 13th to 20th Centuries
Edited by Christine Isom-Verhaaren and Kent F. Schull
This book is a publication of
Indiana University Press
Office of Scholarly Publishing
Herman B Wells Library 350
1320 East 10th Street
Bloomington, Indiana 47405 USA
2016 by Indiana University Press
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The Association of American University Presses Resolution on Permissions constitutes the only exception to this prohibition.
The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences-Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1992.
Manufactured in the United States of America
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Isom-Verhaaren, Christine. | Schull, Kent F.
Title: Living in the Ottoman realm : empire and identity, 13th to 20th centuries / edited by Christine Isom-Verhaaren and Kent F. Schull.
Description: Bloomington : Indiana University Press, 2016. | Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016008081 (print) | LCCN 2016009336 (ebook) | ISBN 9780253019301 (cloth : alkaline paper) | ISBN 9780253019431 (paperback : alkaline paper) | ISBN 9780253019486 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Turkey-History-Ottoman Empire, 1288-1918. | Cultural pluralism-Turkey-History. | Imperialism-Social aspects-Turkey-History. | Identity (Psychology)-Turkey-History. | Group identity-Turkey-History. | Ethnicity-Turkey-History. | Community life-Turkey-History. | Social change-Turkey-History. | Turkey-Social conditions-1288-1918. | Turkey-Ethnic relations-History.
Classification: LCC DR486 .L58 2016 (print) | LCC DR486 (ebook) | DDC 956/.015-dc23
LC record available at
1 2 3 4 5 21 20 19 18 17 16
To the cherished memory of our dear friend, colleague, and contributor to this volume Vangelis Kechriotis
Note on Transliteration and Pronunciation
Introduction: Dealing with Identity in the Ottoman Empire Christine Isom-Verhaaren and Kent F. Schull
Part I. 13th through 15th Centuries | Emergence and Expansion: From Frontier Beylik to Cosmopolitan Empire
1 The Giving Divide: Food Gifts and Social Identity in Late Medieval Anatolia Nicolas Tr panier
2 Changing Perceptions along the Frontiers: The Moving Frontier with Rum in Late Medieval Anatolian Frontier Narratives Zeynep Aydo an
3 The Genoese of Pera in the Fifteenth Century: Draperio and Spinola Families F. zden Mercan
4 From Byzantine Aristocracy to Ottoman Ruling Elite: Mahmud Pasha Angelovi and His Christian Circle, 1458-1474 Theoharis Stavrides
5 Interpreting Ottoman Identity with the Historian Ne ri Murat Cem Meng
6 A Shaykh, a Prince, and a Sack of Corn: An Anatolian Sufi Becomes Ottoman Hasan Karata
Part II. 15th through 17th Centuries | Expansion and Cultural Splendor: The Creation of a Sunni Islamic Empire
7 Ibn-i Kemal s Confessionalism and the Construction of an Ottoman Islam Nabil Al-Tikriti
8 Becoming Ottoman in Sixteenth-Century Aintab Leslie Peirce
9 Making Jerusalem Ottoman Amy Singer
10 Ibrahim ibn Khidr al-Qaramani: A Merchant and Urban Notable of Early Ottoman Aleppo Charles Wilkins
11 Mihrimah Sultan: A Princess Constructs Ottoman Dynastic Identity Christine Isom-Verhaaren
Part III. 17th through 18th Centuries | Upheaval and Transformation: From Conquest to Administrative State
12 The Sultan s Advisors and Their Opinions on the Identity of the Ottoman Elite, 1580-1653 Linda T. Darling
13 Fleeing the Vomit of Infidelity : Borders, Conversion, and Muslim Women s Agency Eric Dursteler
14 Policing Morality: Crossing Gender and Communal Boundaries in an Age of Political Crisis and Religious Controversy Fariba Zarinebaf
15 Leaving France, Turning Turk, Becoming Ottoman: The Transformation of Comte Claude-Alexandre de Bonneval into Humbaraci Ahmed Pasha Julia Landweber
16 Out of Africa, into the Palace: The Ottoman Chief Harem Eunuch Jane Hathaway
17 The Province Goes to the Center: The Case of Hadjiyorgakis Kornesios, Dragoman of Cyprus Antonis Hadjikyriacou
Part IV. 19th through 20th Centuries | Modernity, Mass Politics, and Nationalism: From Empire to Nation-State
18 Ruler Visibility, Modernity, and Ethnonationalism in the Late Ottoman Empire Darin N. Stephanov
19 Muslims Contributions to Science and Ottoman Identity M. Alper Yal nkaya
20 Migrants, Revolutionaries, and Spies: Surveillance, Politics, and Ottoman Identity in the United States David Gutman
21 A Cappadocian in Athens, an Athenian in Smyrna, and a Parliamentarian in Istanbul: The Multiple Personae and Loyalties of Pavlos Carolidis Vangelis Kechriotis
22 Zionism in the Era of Ottoman Brotherhood Michelle U. Campos
Connections and Questions to Consider
T HIS VOLUME WAS conceptualized in 2007 at a Middle East Studies Association (MESA) book fair in Montreal. We had just met and introduced ourselves when we began discussing our mutual research interests in Ottoman identity. Since we are respectively an early modernist (Christine) and modernist (Kent) in our scholarly periods of study, we were intrigued by the idea of discussing this important issue across time and space in the Ottoman Empire. We both lamented how rarely Ottomanists who study different time periods actually engage each other s work to compare the continuities and changes from premodern to modern times. It was during this conversation that the germ of an idea arose that compelled us to expand the scope of our intellectual inquiry and engage Ottoman studies more broadly. We also lamented how few pedagogical resources existed for teaching about the empire, particularly primary sources in translation and accessible stories of individuals, groups, and everyday life.
We decided to keep in touch and organize a panel on Ottoman identity at the next MESA conference in 2008. This was a small four-person panel with one scholar representing each of the four generally accepted historical periods of the empire. It was a test, really, to see how the conversation and dialogue would go and to see if this project could grow wings. We were both very pleasantly surprised by the turnout, the presentations, and the audience participation. This experience impelled us to dream big and devise a more ambitious plan. In fact, we hatched the idea to bring even more scholars together to share their work and engage each other in a conference setting.
In December 2011 at the annual MESA conference in Washington, DC, we successfully pulled off something that to the best of our knowledge had never been tried before at this venue. We created our own workshop within a conference by organizing four panels on the theme of Ottoman identity, one panel for each period of the empire s history. This series of panels brought nearly thirty Ottomanists together to share their research and discuss the possibilities and intricacies of the creation, development, augmentation, transformation, and expansion of what it meant to be Ottoman from the dynasty s earliest beginnings as a pastoral-nomadic polity until its demise as an imperial nation-state. Each session was packed with participants, and the excitement, engagement, and support of the broader Ottoman scholarly community was astounding. We realized that we needed to produce a book to keep the conversation alive.
From that workshop within a conference we have pursued this edited volume, and though not all of the original participants ended up contributing to this work, we are very grateful that several others joined us. The twenty-two chapters in this volume represent a tremendous amount of research and insight into what it meant to be Ottoman over the long life of the empire. It brings together a rich mix of senior and junior scholars and represents the cutting edge in research and methodological approaches to Ottoman studies, but it is written in an approachable way to make it suitable for undergraduate course adoption. Each chapter includes substantive primary-source excerpts to allow students to engage directly with the voices of the past. It is our hope that this volume brings the empire to life for students in all of its ethnic, religious, linguistic, and topographical diversity and serves as a great teaching and learning companion for classes on the Ottoman Empire and Middle East from the thirteenth to the twentieth centuries.
T HE EDITORS THANK the many individuals who have worked so hard to see this project to its conclusion. It originated as an idea to enable Ottomanists across the field who study different time periods to engage each other on the concept of Ottoman identity and how it originated and transformed over the empire s existence. We hatched this idea and set up a workshop within a conference at the Middle East Studies Association s (MESA) 2011 annual conference held in Washington, DC. We express our gratitude to the MESA Organizing Committee for taking a chance on allowing this experimental four-panel session. It was a huge success in terms of the scholarship shared, audience participation, and attendance. This book has come directly from this workshop within a conference.
We also express our sincere thanks to all those who participated in the session, especially the discussants (Linda Darling, Heather Ferguson, Resat Kasaba, and Julia Clancy-Smith) and all the presenters. While the majority of the panelists ended up contributing to this edited volume, several were unable to do so for a variety of reasons. We acknowledge their participation, because they enriched the intellectual exchange and improved the finished work of all those involved. These individuals include Julia Phillips Cohen, Deniz Kilin o lu, Cihan Yuksel Muslu, Gabriel Piterberg, Ayfer Karakaya-Stump, and Sara Yildiz.
We are especially grateful to all those who contributed to this edited volume and for their patience concerning all the deadlines, pestering, and multiple revisions. We are so grateful to all the contributors for catching our vision of making a volume for classroom use that represents cutting-edge research and brings the Ottoman Empire alive for our students and the general public. It has been a wonderful experience working with every contributor. Many thanks also to those contributors who came to this project after the workshop within a conference had already been held. They each quickly caught the vision too and have added tremendously to this volume. Unfortunately, one of the contributors is no longer with us to see the completion of this book. On August 27, 2015, our dear friend and colleague Vangelis Kechriotis died from cancer. He is sorely missed, and we dedicate this volume to his memory. We are also very grateful to Antonis Hadjikyriacou for stepping in and helping with the final copyediting of Vangelis s chapter after his passing.
The staff at Indiana University Press deserve special thanks for their patience and diligence in seeing this project through to its completion. These individuals include Rebecca Tolen and Mollie Ables, as well as the copy editors and others involved in this book s production.
Most importantly, we extend special gratitude to four remarkable and accomplished scholars who sacrificed a great deal of their time to help shepherd this project to completion. We thank Virginia Aksan, Linda Darling, Leslie Peirce, and Amy Singer for kindly offering and generously giving us an enormous amount of their time and expertise. Their assistance and advice in guiding us through the various pitfalls and intricacies that an edited volume entails made a huge difference in conceptualizing, organizing, and seeing this project to completion.
Note on Transliteration and Pronunciation
W E HAVE USED a modified system of transliterating Ottoman Turkish and Arabic proper names and terms suggested by the International Journal of Middle East Studies . We have chosen not to use diacritical markings except for the occasional ayn and hamza. Most Ottoman Turkish proper names and places are spelled according to Modern Turkish conventions, except that we have maintained the final voiced consonant that corresponds to the Ottoman spelling-for example, Mehmed instead of Mehmet and zmid rather than zmit. Place names and words that are more familiar to English-language speakers, such as Istanbul, Beirut, and pasha, are spelled according to common English usage.
The following is a guide to pronouncing certain letters in Modern Turkish and transliterated Ottoman Turkish:
c = j , as in jet
= ch , as in church
= gh , as in though
= short i , as in it
= short e , as in often or i as in girl
j = zh , as in gendarme
= German oe , as in Goethe
= sh , as in short
= ew , as in ewe
Dealing with Identity in the Ottoman Empire
Christine Isom-Verhaaren and Kent F. Schull
T HE OTTOMANS established one of the longest lived, most powerful, and largest empires in history, lasting for over six centuries and ruled by one continuous dynasty from the end of the thirteenth century to the early twentieth. Their empire left its mark on the regions known today as southeastern Europe, the Middle East, and North Africa. It stretched from the eastern gates of Vienna to the borders of contemporary Iran in the east, Morocco in the west, north to the Black Sea, and south to the tip of Arabia.
The Ottomans exercised soft power through diplomacy, alliances, trade, patronage of the arts and sciences, and the movements of large numbers of people, extending their influence beyond the territory they controlled politically and militarily. Throughout its existence, the empire was the epitome of connectivity between East and West, a crossroads of Eurasia, Africa, and the Indian Ocean basin.
As a result of these exchanges and interactions, within the Ottoman territories existed an incredibly diverse population whose individuals, groups, and cities negotiated their identities. Over the past two decades, scholars and the broader world have rediscovered the importance of the Ottoman Empire to European, Middle Eastern, and world history, and a central focus of this interest has been the social and cultural diversity of the empire.
This volume traces the development, transformations, and expansion of Ottoman identity from the point of view of the center of imperial power and also of those outside the center but within the Ottoman sphere of influence to see how they adopted, adapted, rejected, and contested this identity.
The diversity of peoples, religions, and languages that made up the empire over the course of its long existence makes the issue of identity very complicated. This book provides an introduction to the social and cultural history of the empire from its beginnings as a pastoral-nomadic principality in Anatolia and Southeastern Europe to its emergence as a major world empire and then to its dismemberment as a result of European imperialism, internal strife, and World War I. We focus in particular on the development and transformation of identity. Determining what was Ottoman requires exploring a variety of individual experiences and places as well as understanding some key notions surrounding the central concept of identity.
Understanding Identity
Classification and categorization surround us, and the human tendency to classify is natural but has its pitfalls and problematic assumptions. Classification is not a neutral process of discovering what has existed but is an active process that simultaneously creates and destroys as it describes. In relation to the social and cultural identities of individuals and groups, classifying and categorizing may make one aspect of identity visible while hiding others-or we could say that one voice is amplified while others are silenced. People do not easily fit into categories, and that is as true of the past as it is of the present. Placing an individual in a given category is never a perfect fit, and no single classification is best for every individual. When examining the past we are attempting to recover many voices and not claiming that any one point of view has universal validity.
Accepting that to study the past we must classify, the question remains as to which are the best terms for classifying. Some historians believe that we should use classification systems with only the categories that people used in a given place and time, to escape the trap of anachronism. Other scholars believe that it is best to use classifications that we have developed because we may perceive categories that might not have been apparent to contemporaries. Both approaches have their dangers, and the best approach is to be aware of how we employ classification systems, recognizing their strengths and their limitations. We must not essentialize categories and see them as representing a more concrete reality than they actually do, and we must realize that any category and its descriptive terms are the result of a long process of negotiation. We must remember that the system of classification does not make reality but is a tool for us to perceive what that reality was. 1
The sociologist Rogers Brubaker and the historian Frederick Cooper cogently warn of the pitfalls and benefits of identity studies. They call for scholars to differentiate between categories of analysis and categories of practice. According to Brubaker and Cooper, categories of analysis are the classifications used by scholars to make sense of and interpret the past within the context of the present day. For example, our contemporary conceptualizations of sexuality are very different from those of the past. Identity constructions, such as heterosexual, homosexual, gay, lesbian, or transgender, are germane to our time and place and carry with them distinct meanings and agendas that did not necessarily exist in past societies. To uncritically impose these identities on past peoples and societies distorts how people identified their sexuality, if at all, at different historical moments.
These categories of analysis must be tempered by a thorough understanding of how research subjects understood, grouped, and identified themselves (i.e., categories of practice). In our example, when individuals engaged in same-gender sexual acts, how did the participants see themselves? To assume that engaging in a particular sexual act meant that an individual considered himself or herself homosexual is problematic, because it imposes our societal values, biases, and norms on the past. Scholars must be careful not to confuse the two and be keenly aware of their own biases and assumptions. The distinction between categories of analysis and categories of practice provides the tools both to understand the past on its own terms and then to enter into a dialogue with it through critical analysis and interpretation. In fact, Brubaker and Cooper go so far as to claim that the very term identity is problematic and must be discarded in favor of words that represent action, such as identifying or categorizing, to accentuate the convoluted and contested nature of identity. 2
States, groups, institutions, individuals, and so forth, play an enormous role in identity creation. In fact, they engage in what Ian Hacking calls nominalism, or making people up. 3 Nominalism can be highly contentious. Those who are identified in a particular way do not receive identities passively; they respond to and shape the identities attributed to them. Nominalism can often have unintended consequences, as demonstrated by the 1903 Macedonian population survey in which nationalists vied for adherents by attempting to have the populations classified according to specific Eastern Orthodox classifications that aligned with their own nationalist aspirations, such as Greek, Bulgarian, or Serbian. 4 Since identity is not static but is socially constructed, it must be determined historically on a case-by-case basis that takes into consideration social, political, and cultural contexts.
In using categories of analysis, scholars must be very aware of the dangers of reducing complex and heterogeneous identities into homogeneous groups in which all members are assumed to share key characteristics. For example, historians have sometimes identified all the Ottoman subjects who practiced or associated themselves with Judaism as Ottoman Jews, without taking into consideration the numerous differences among Jewish subjects of the Ottoman Empire. These differences included language, sect, socioeconomic status, place of origin, and ethnic identity. For example, Mizrahim, also known as Arab Jews, would have had very different cultural backgrounds, language, and religious practices from Sephardic Jews, who settled in the Ottoman Empire after being expelled from the Iberian Peninsula and spoke Ladino.
This type of reductionism also privileges confessionalism-the identification of individuals or groups based on their religious beliefs-over all other types of relationships and identities. But religious identity has not been equally salient everywhere and in every historical era, and a foregrounding of religious identity may reflect our current world situation more than it does the other periods we seek to understand. Identities are complex and ever changing, and they are not mutually exclusive. An individual living in Ottoman lands was not only a Jew but also a resident of a particular village and region and someone of a particular profession or trade, for example. There are many ways to identify oneself and be identified, and these include place of origin, current residence, heritage, ethnicity, occupation, race, religion, sexual preference, and gender, to name only a few. In other words, identity is inherently slippery and difficult to pin down. Scholars risk mistaking their categories of analysis for actual practice; therefore, identity studies must be carefully defined in relation to time and place and must be empirically substantiated with evidence of which identifications were most salient in any given case.
Individuals formulate their identities in response to the question Who are you? posed explicitly or implicitly by an outsider or someone from a different group. We historians studying the past are asking, Who were you? of the people we study. While analyzing the responses of living people to this question is difficult, when we turn to the past the challenges increase exponentially, because we are often attempting to answer this question indirectly through the analysis of documents that rarely address our questions directly. We might not even understand the answer once we have found it, because the terms that we are using have meanings that have evolved over the centuries. The response to Who were you? is thus contingent on who has asked the question, when and where the question was asked, and what the questioner was trying to ascertain. Consequently, we should not be surprised when attempting to define who a person was produces a variety of responses. A person may be defined by any number of attributes, and determining which was the most salient influence at a given time or in a given place is vital for understanding the answer.
Lorraine Daston, a historian of early modern science, provides a useful definition of salience: she states that salience might serve as shorthand for the multifarious ways in which previously unprepossessing phenomena come to rivet scientific attention-and are thereby transformed into scientific objects. 5 In other words, criteria of inclusion and exclusion that are essential for trying to determine categories of identity are not static or fixed over time and place. Specific cultural and political circumstances transform the criteria of inclusion and exclusion that are essential for understanding identity. A specific context brought these criteria to the attention of historians, and the process of analyzing them turned them into concrete objects of study. This is not to say that these categories did not exist in the first place but that the process of observation has transformed them into objects of study. Thus, categories and attributes that were not viewed as salient for Ottoman identity in 1350 might be so in 1650, and others that were salient in 1350 might be of little consequence for categorization in 1750.
Complexities of Identification in the Ottoman Context
One example that illustrates these issues is that of Hayreddin Pasha, the greatest Ottoman admiral of the sixteenth century. Hayreddin Pasha, known to Europeans as Barbarossa, achieved such renown during his lifetime that he was the subject of wild speculation by Europeans concerning his origins. 6 The family background and early years of Hayreddin are obscured by tales concerning him that originated in the sixteenth century and were sensationalized by Europeans in the seventeenth. Fortunately, more reliable information from Hayreddin and his early associates corrects these misrepresentations of his background. Hayreddin s father, Yakub (Jacob), the son of a sipahi (cavalryman) from the Balkans, participated in the conquest of Lesbos. Yakub remained on the island and married a local woman, the daughter of a Christian. Yakub and his wife had four sons, two of whom, Oru and H z r (Hayreddin), became famous seafarers. They engaged in privateering against Rhodes but then established a base near Tunis. Oru was killed in 1518, and thereafter H z r worked alone to establish himself at Algiers. In 1520 he began to be known by Western Christians as Barbarossa, and by that year he had adopted the honorific Hayreddin (Best of the Religion) as well.
Hayreddin s accomplishments were impressive, but what is relevant here are the accounts of his ethnic origins. Hayreddin was born an Ottoman subject, and he served the sultan faithfully, requesting Ottoman protection for Algiers and ruling it as an Ottoman governor. But according to European sources of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, Hayreddin and his father were originally Christian, and his family members originated from Spain or even France. 7
A source that reveals Hayreddin s self-identification is an inscription on the mosque he built in Algiers, which dates to April 1520. This states that he was al-sultan al-mudjahid mawlana Khayr al-Din ibn al-amir al-shahir al-mudjahid Abi Yusuf Ya kub al-Turki. 8 Thus, Hayreddin claimed that his father was Turkish ; whether this inscription reflected the conflict with the Hapsburgs in the western Mediterranean, where Turkish-speaking seamen had been raiding Christian shipping since the 1490s, or whether Hayreddin s father was descended from Turkish settlers in the Balkans is impossible to determine.
What this example reveals is a European obsession with the origins of individuals that focused on either religion or ethnicity, which were often conflated. An individual s origins were of much less interest to the Ottomans themselves, who rather were concerned with the political loyalty of those who entered their service. This loyalty Hayreddin displayed by submitting Algiers to Selim I and ruling it as his governor and later immediately answering S leyman s command to become admiral of the Ottoman fleet and sailing for Istanbul.
The inscription on the mosque, in which Hayreddin proclaimed to the inhabitants of Algiers that he was a ruler, a fighter for Islam, and that his father was a Turk, demonstrates the importance of time and place. Hayreddin used this term in the context of naval operations in the western Mediterranean, where Turkish speakers were a novelty and Turkish-speaking seafarers were leading resistance to Hapsburg expansion into North Africa. At this time, in the early to mid-sixteenth century, Europeans, such as the French scholar and traveler Guillaume Postel, used Turk to mean Muslim. Consequently, the answer to the question Who was Hayreddin? is a complicated one, needing great precision about what was or is meant by words that have very different meanings for us today.
Overview of the Book
Ottoman history often focuses on the state and its institutions, but that is only part of the history of the Ottoman dynasty and the empire created by its members. Their realm expanded greatly in the fourteenth through sixteenth centuries, stabilized in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and then lost territories until its final dissolution after World War I, all while undergoing an enormous administrative and demographic transformation. The empire and its territories were characterized by fluctuation, and viewing it as static distorts it and its history. This book explores the question of what it meant to be Ottoman over the long course of the empire s existence from inception to dissolution, recognizing the dynamic nature of human identity. Another aim of this book is to present the lives of a variety of persons, peoples, groups, and places to provide a glimpse into the daily realities of living in the Ottoman realm. We hope to bring the empire to life for readers who are interested in the peoples and groups that lived under Ottoman rule. Given such a vast period and space, it is not possible to represent all peoples; nevertheless, we offer many examples that show how individuals interacted with the concept of belonging in the Ottoman polity. Taken together, the chapters provide a picture of everyday life for those who lived in the lands ruled by the Ottoman dynasty.
A final chapter, Connections and Questions to Consider, connects the contents, themes, and subjects of chapters across the volume, even though the people, places, or events discussed may be several hundred years apart. Several chapters share issues of identity that include gender, imperial politics and patronage, urban centers, and religion. By pointing out the connections among the actors, it is our hope that readers see the continuities, changes, development, and dynamics of Ottoman identity over the course of the empire s existence.
Part I. 13th through 15th Centuries: Emergence and Expansion: From Frontier Beylik to Cosmopolitan Empire
Part I traces the emergence and transformation of the Ottoman realm out of the pastoral-nomadic principalities of thirteenth-century Beylik Anatolia (Asia Minor) to a burgeoning empire during the fifteenth century. These chapters creatively use the existing limited sources to present the complex development of Ottoman identity as it competed with powerful rivals in diverse areas. Some groups and institutions were prominent during this period, such as Sufis and their orders.
In chapter 1 Nicolas Tr panier proposes an alternative method for breaking down the social hierarchy as it was perceived and internalized by post-Byzantine Anatolians. He uses scenes in narrative sources of the time that depict individuals or groups offering and receiving food as charity. Craftsmen, for example, banded together to offer charity, and the circumstances of gratuitous food exchange dispel the notion that a coherent class of religious professionals existed. This investigation ultimately offers insight into a layer of identity that was at once deeply internalized and largely removed from any reference to the state, ethnicity, or religion. Chronologically, this chapter presents the earliest material on the region as it was being incorporated into the Ottoman beylik. Many of the sources discuss Sufis or Islamic mystics who were prominent during this period.
In chapter 2 Zeynep Aydo an also explores the earliest period of Ottoman history by looking at different cultural and geographical definitions of the land of Rum in three warrior epics, the Battalname , the Dani mendname , and the Saltukname . The chapter describes the moving frontier with Rum-the Byzantine Empire-as this frontier changed in one epic to another and examines the concepts of Rum and Rumi (a person from the land of Rum), showing how these concepts that once belonged to a rival religion and culture gradually came to be adopted and appropriated by the Ottomans as an essential component of their identity. The oral version of the earliest epic, the Battalname , dates to the late eleventh century, and the written version of the third epic, the Saltukname , dates to about 1480.
In chapter 3 F. zden Mercan explores the surrender of Pera to the Ottomans in 1453 and the accommodation by the Genoese colony in Pera of Ottoman rule after the conquest of Constantinople. The Genoese presence in Pera had a long history, because the Byzantine emperor Michael VIII (Palaiologos) gave Pera to the Genoese, who established a semiautonomous rule there. Although the conquest of Constantinople changed the status of the Genoese community, most of the Genoese families remained in Pera. The Genoese had created connections with both Byzantines and Ottomans before 1453 and were successful in renewing privileges with the Ottomans that allowed them to continue their prosperous commercial activities without much disruption. Their flexibility and adaptability to new rulers ensured their survival as a community under Ottoman rule. This is not a story of clash or conflict but one of accommodation and reconciliation during a transition period, full of changes as well as continuities, and the leading actors were the Genoese families who kept their commercial interests and maintained order in the vibrant and cosmopolitan setting of Ottoman Galata.
In chapter 4 Theoharis Stavrides traces the Christian connections of the fifteenth-century grand vizier Mahmud Pasha Angelovi , who was a convert to Islam and a descendant of Byzantine aristocratic families. It examines how these connections were exploited by Sultan Mehmed II while representing a potential threat for the Ottoman dynasty. Mahmud Pasha became a Muslim, but he retained his connections to his Orthodox Christian relations, who helped facilitate Ottoman consolidation of their conquests in the Balkans.
In chapter 5 Murat Cem Meng contextualizes a specific excerpt from an early sixteenth-century Ottoman history book to explain how the identity terms T rk, T rkmen, and Ottoman operated after the Ottoman conquest of Constantinople (1453). Ottomans explained their legitimacy among Turkish-speaking Muslims from a new imperial status, according to Turkic origins, to gain the support of Turkic rulers of Anatolia. To silence the previously autonomous T rkmen, whose lands were being rapidly confiscated by the Ottomans, they argued that the Ottomans were the legitimate Turkic leaders of Islamic imperialism at the Christian frontier.
In chapter 6 Hasan Karatas reveals that the Ottoman incorporation of Anatolia in the fifteenth century was a process full of tensions and negotiations. The chapter tells the story of a Sufi shaykh in north-central Anatolia whose quest for acceptance in Ottoman circles reveals the construction of Ottoman identity in the Anatolian provinces while also showing how family and property relations and larger political developments intersect at the formation of a Sufi order. Habib-i Karamani (d. 1496) was one of the earliest propagators of the Halveti order. He was born and educated in the Karaman region in central Anatolia before it was incorporated by the Ottomans as a result of a series of military conflicts in the fifteenth century. Habib-i Karamani struggled for years to enter Ottoman networks but never became accepted in Istanbul, because he backed the wrong prince in the succession dispute between Bayezid and Cem at the death of Mehmed II.
Part II. 15th through 17th Centuries: Expansion and Cultural Splendor: The Creation of a Sunni Islamic Empire
Part II traces the transformation of Ottoman identity as a result of rapid expansion into eastern Anatolia and the Arab lands that resulted from the campaigns of Selim I (r. 1512-1520) and S leyman (r. 1520-1566). The expansion brought new opportunities and challenges to the empire, because it incorporated lands previously ruled by other Islamic dynasties into the Ottoman realm. The empire also faced the challenge of the rise of the Shi i Safavid dynasty in Iran at the beginning of the sixteenth century.
In chapter 7 Nabil Al-Tikriti traces developments within Ottoman Islamic thought during the early sixteenth century that reveal a society affected by the age of confessionalization. Ibn-i Kemal (d. 1534) helped bring Ottoman clerics into an integrative relationship with the state and became one of the most influential religious officials of his generation when the divide between Ottoman Sunnism and Safavid Shi ism was widening. His writings helped shape a distinctive Ottoman religious identity that still heavily influences religiopolitical discourse in the region today.
In chapter 8 Leslie Peirce asks how a province learned to think of itself as Ottoman. Peirce focuses on the city of Aintab, located north of Aleppo, which surrendered to Ottoman forces in 1516 and entered the empire as the capital of a midsized, rather ordinary, province. It explores how Aintab was integrated into the new regime s systems of military, legal, and fiscal control and goes further to learn what the province thought about its new position within the empire. The chapter s basic argument is that the sense of being Ottoman depended on the degree to which Aintabans could exploit the new regime. Profitable collaboration with the sultanate was possible, because even though the empire s integrative networks and processes were conceived in Istanbul, it was local actors who made them locally effective. Examples of Aintabans who could see themselves as new men and new women in a new regime included tribal chieftains given positions in the Ottoman army, wealthy women investing in the revived commerce stimulated by Ottoman rule, and entrepreneurs bidding for tax farms made lucrative by rising prosperity. However, not everyone found a prosperous niche within the new regime, and tax farmers now had Ottoman law behind them as they pressured the poor. Additionally, the imposition of religious conformity by S leyman the Magnificent defined some Aintabans as heretics.
In chapter 9 Amy Singer analyzes the Ottomanizing of Jerusalem through construction, endowment, and administrative change by exploring how the Ottomans invested in reshaping the places and peoples they conquered. Standard accounts of the Ottoman conquest of Jerusalem in 1516 have little to say about the event itself, largely because it occurred with little conflict or upheaval. Yet a closer examination of the first half century of Ottoman rule reveals that the Ottomans invested enormous sums and energy in the conquest of Jerusalem, even in the absence of overt military opposition. These expenditures reflect the status of the city, which was disproportionate to the importance of its location, economy, and population. As a holy city for Muslims, it drew Ottoman attention, yet its position as a sacred site and spiritual center for Christians was no less crucial in determining its strategic importance. Ottoman investments in Jerusalem emphasized its new Ottoman affiliation and aimed to create a deeper identification of Jerusalem with the Ottomans in the eyes of local residents (urban and rural) and foreigners. Physical changes to urban spaces are more obvious, perhaps, than those that occur in the minds and hearts of the people who inhabit them. Yet environmental changes are a compelling factor in reconfiguring individual identity and the identification of an individual with a larger entity. The Ottoman projects in Jerusalem were only one example of the transformations to individuals and places that resulted from the fact of becoming territorially Ottoman.
In chapter 10 Charles Wilkins continues exploring the experiences of subjects who inhabited former Mamluk lands. The Ottoman conquest of the Mamluk Sultanate in 1516-1517 constituted the single largest addition of territory to Ottoman domains in the empire s history. Because they ruled Egypt, Syria, and Western Arabia (the Hijaz), the Mamluk sultans had protected major routes of communication between Europe, Asia, and Africa and claimed legitimacy as upholders of Islamic law and tradition in the heartland of Muslim civilization. The joining of Mamluk and Ottoman lands under a single, powerful ruler after 1517 created a vast, secure, and relatively integrated zone of trade that expanded commercial opportunity. This chapter explores what it meant to be an Ottoman merchant at this time through analyzing the career of Ibrahim ibn Khidr al-Qaramani (d. 1557), an Anatolian Muslim trader resident in Aleppo, formerly ruled by the Mamluks. Though native of a Turkish-speaking Anatolian town, al-Qaramani must have developed a hybrid cultural identity, because he lived much of his life in a predominantly Arabic-speaking city and married into at least one local family.
In chapter 11 Christine Isom-Verhaaren returns to the center of Ottoman power in the sixteenth century, Istanbul, where the Ottoman princess Mihrimah Sultan, daughter of S leyman, wife to a grand vizier, and leader of a powerful faction, lived her entire life. During her lifetime, few individuals beyond her immediate family glimpsed the princess; however, from the sixteenth century until the present, millions have gazed on the mosques that she created through her patronage of the renowned architect Sinan. These have become enduring memorials to her name and to the glory of the house of Osman, and they helped visually transform Istanbul into an Ottoman imperial capital ruled by a Muslim dynasty.
Part III. 17th through 18th Centuries: Upheaval and Transformation: From Conquest to Administrative State
Part III investigates the transformation of being Ottoman during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, when the Ottoman Empire shifted from being a conquest state to an administrative state. These chapters demonstrate the contested and expanding notions of Ottoman identity both within and outside the empire. Some Ottoman subjects fled the empire to improve their situations, and others wanted to strengthen their ties to the imperial center. Still others complained about the passing of better days and their loss of influence and stature.
In chapter 12 Linda T. Darling analyzes advice literature from sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Ottoman bureaucrats and historians. These writers, such as Mustafa Ali and Katip elebi, all complained about who received official positions and on what basis they were promoted. During the period 1580-1653, however, their complaints altered, revealing ongoing changes in the concept of who was qualified to be an Ottoman official. Ottoman institutions were having to adapt to drastic technological and economic changes in the world at large; the old practice of cavalrymen holding timar s (military fiefs) was replaced at the center of the Ottoman army by that of gun-bearing infantry paid in cash, the sons of cavalrymen were replaced as recruits by forces from the provinces, the state s taxation and procurement systems were being revised to reflect changing locations of wealth, and households other than the sultan s gained importance in Ottoman administration. Darling argues that the advice literature reveals important insights into the characteristics of an ideal Ottoman bureaucrat from the perspective of these disgruntled elites-characteristics that reflect the upheavals of their times, the changing nature of the Ottoman state, and official elite identity.
In chapter 13 Eric Dursteler investigates the issues of conversion, agency, gender, marriage, and Ottoman subjecthood from a Venetian and an Ottoman perspective during the seventeenth century through the story of an Ottoman Christian widow and her three Muslim daughters. These four women sought asylum in the Venetian stronghold of Corfu in the eastern Mediterranean and renounced their Ottoman identities. The daughters converted to Christianity so the eldest daughter could escape her unhappy marriage to a local Ottoman Muslim official on the Aegean island of Milos. Not surprisingly, a major political confrontation ensued between the Venetian and Ottoman states over the scandal of the women s flight and conversion and the dishonor that their conversion brought to the eldest daughter s husband. This story provides a unique window into the experience of Ottoman women on the periphery of the empire and into the common situation of mixed marriages. It also provides insights into the nature of Ottoman women s religious identity and into their motivations and experiences in converting from their birth faith to another. Finally, the case also suggests ways women were able to use religious and political boundaries to exert agency over their lives in quite unexpected ways.
In chapter 14 Fariba Zarinebaf investigates the issue of gender and Ottoman identity, particularly within the Ottoman dynasty. The chapter insightfully links the murders of two very different women, a valide sultan and a poor Muslim woman, that happened thirty years apart. These murders resulted from attempts by societal and political forces to impose a specific type of social and political order on Ottoman society as a reaction to several major political events and popular movements that include Janissary revolts, the Islamic puritanical movement, the Kadizadelis, and the Jewish messianic movement of Sabbatai Zevi. These events reflected and caused great social and political upheaval in the empire and resulted in attempts to control sexuality and political power within the harem and along religious communal lines.
In chapter 15 Julia Landweber focuses on the story of Bonneval, a French nobleman. In the eighteenth century, Bonneval immigrated to the Ottoman Empire and turned Turk, in the European parlance of the time, by converting to Islam, assuming an important military advisory role to the sultan, and becoming an infamous Ottoman celebrity in French intellectual circles. While his outside appearance and public actions projected the assumption and adoption of an elite Ottoman identity, his private life and writings reveal that he remained culturally French. This chapter teases out this story of the construction of these coinciding conflicting identities in the eighteenth-century Mediterranean world.
In chapter 16 Jane Hathaway investigates the forced assimilation of African outsiders into Ottoman elite circles. The chapter deals with the inception, ascendancy, and transformation of the office of the chief black eunuch in the Ottoman Empire (sixteenth to eighteenth centuries) and how these individuals were both Ottoman insiders and outsiders. The chief harem eunuch s ascendancy coincided with the era of crisis and change in the Ottoman Empire, during which crown princes no longer learned statecraft by governing provinces, and the practice had been abandoned whereby a new sultan sought to prevent rebellion by executing his brothers. In these changed circumstances, future sultans were raised within the harem, where the major influences on their formation were their mothers and the chief harem eunuch, who wielded great influence over these future sultans. Thus, the chief eunuch was a court insider with an enormous stake in the continuation of the Ottoman palace system. At the same time, however, most harem eunuchs came to the palace from East Africa and were enslaved, converted to Islam, and castrated. Their African origins and their emasculation combined to render them the other, even within a court populated with slaves and servants of a wide array of ethnolinguistic and geographical origins. This chapter explores how a chief harem eunuch s Africanness, in conjunction with his unparalleled intimacy with the imperial family, shaped his identity.
In chapter 17 Antonis Hadjikyriacou examines the construction and projection of non-Muslim institutional identity in Ottoman Cyprus during the eighteenth century by investigating the rise and fall of Dragoman Hadjiyorgakis. The different projections of institutional identity by Dragoman Hadjiyorgakis illustrate that there was nothing predetermined about the leadership of the community, that religion was not the sole marker of political identity, and that the path to the formation of communal institutions was not a straight one; it was one full of twists and turns, with no consistent and uniform evolutionary character of its own.
Part IV. 19th through 20th Centuries: Modernity, Mass Politics, and Nationalism: From Empire to Nation-State
Part IV focuses on how identity transformed within the empire through the onset of modernity, particularly as influenced by nationalism, modern science, mass politics, modern state practices, nationalist secessionist movements, and European imperialism. As Ottoman identity expanded to include all the empire s subjects and shifted from dynastic to state loyalty, many Ottoman subjects attempted to negotiate new identities within the era of nationalism and national self-determination. These negotiations had both a centripetal and a centrifugal effect on identity within the empire.
In chapter 18 Darin Stephanov sketches the stages of formation of modern public space and group consciousness in the late Ottoman Empire through the changes in ruler visibility and ruler-ruled ceremonial engagement. These new public ceremonies and celebrations were meant to transform the sultanate into a national monarchy and inculcate loyalty between the Ottoman sultan and his subjects, particularly non-Muslims. Over time, their articulation, under the guise of ruler commemoration, led to group demarcation and gradual mobilization. Therefore, in the long run, the escalating sultanic celebrations contributed directly to the creation of new, horizontal ties of attachment and ethnonational belonging, precipitating national movements and, after the empire s demise, successor-state national monarchies.
In chapter 19 M. Alper Yal nkaya investigates the impact that engagement with European sciences had on Ottoman elite conceptualizations of identity during the nineteenth century. This impact came from Ottoman encounters with European science being simultaneously an encounter with a Eurocentric historiographical narrative of the history of science. These works exhibited the influence of orientalism and acknowledged the contributions of Muslim scholars to science during Islam s golden era. Because this narrative emphasized that these contributions linked antiquity and the Renaissance and, hence, could be interpreted as evidence that Islam did not impede progress, it appealed to many Ottoman intellectuals throughout the nineteenth century. There was, however, an observable unease in the writings of Ottoman Turkish litterateurs, as the Eurocentric narrative not only had no room for the Ottomans but commonly referred to Muslim scientists as Arabs. After the 1850s, it became common to assert that Muslims contributions constituted the common legacy for all Ottoman Muslims. Furthermore, even authors who espoused the Muslims contribution discourse felt the need to note that not all Muslim scientists were Arabs. Hence, the effort to find room in the Eurocentric historiography of science led to a deliberation on the legacy that Muslim Ottomans could claim as their own and, consequently, on Ottoman identity itself.
In chapter 20 David Gutman investigates attempts by the Ottoman ambassador to the United States, Alexandros Mavroyeni, a scion of a prominent Greek Orthodox family who was deeply loyal to the Ottoman state, to spy on and monitor the political activities of Ottoman Armenians residing in the United States. Mavroyeni sought to recruit some of these Armenian migrants to spy on their own countrymen in an attempt to thwart Armenian revolutionaries who were leading uprisings in the empire s eastern provinces. From the perspective of the Ottoman state, migration to North America and revolutionary politics went hand in hand. In addition, he contracted with the infamous Pinkerton Detective Agency, renowned for its role in infiltrating and disrupting labor and other radical organizations in the United States, to monitor the activities of Armenian migrant communities. As an Ottoman Christian, Mavroyeni s actions complicate our understanding of the relationship between the Islamic Ottoman state and its Christian populations in the age of nationalism. This story also sheds light on the Ottoman state s efforts to demonstrate its power and monitor its population in an era of mass politics and global mobility.
In chapter 21 Vangelis Kechriotis examines the life and seemingly conflicting loyalties of a famous and infamous Ottoman Greek Orthodox man to investigate the contested character of Ottomanist ideology and identity, particularly during the Second Constitutional Period (1908-1918). Born near Kayseri in 1849, Pavlos Carolidis later studied in Izmir, Athens, and Germany. In 1886 he was appointed professor of history at the University of Athens. In 1908 after the Young Turk Constitutional Revolution he was nominated and elected to the Ottoman Parliament. By endorsing the ideology of Ottomanism he rejected the directives of the Hellenic government in Greece and pro-Hellenic circles in Istanbul and Izmir. He was even elected on the Committee of Union and Progress (CUP) ticket in 1912, which cost him his position at the University of Athens. His political choices eventually made it impossible for him to settle securely in any of the cities that marked his life: Izmir, Athens, or Istanbul. This chapter addresses the political and ideological trajectory of one of the most controversial figures of his time.
In chapter 22 Michelle U. Campos investigates the lives and work of two prominent Ottoman Jewish brothers (Shlomo and David Yellin) during the final years of the empire and its subsequent dissolution. Both attempted to develop and negotiate identities and loyalties that straddled a conceptualization of Ottoman civic nationalism, their own Jewishness, and the solidification of Zionism in Ottoman Palestine, particularly in the aftermath of the 1908 Young Turk Constitutional Revolution. Both brothers were undoubtedly committed to Ottomanism, but this commitment was somewhat compromised by their support for Zionism. In the end only David lived to see the demise of the Ottoman Empire and the subsequent rise of the Arab-Zionist conflict. He was exiled to Alexandria during World War I along with other Zionist leaders, and in the wake of the Balfour Declaration and the establishment of a Zionist-friendly and British-controlled Palestine Mandate, he proposed the establishment of separate municipalities in Jerusalem drawn along sectarian lines. Not only had the Ottoman Empire died but so too had the dream of Palestine as a state for all its citizens.

Combined, the chapters reveal an immense amount about the convoluted, contested, exclusionary, and simultaneously inclusive nature of the development and evolution of what it meant to be Ottoman during the empire s long existence. They demonstrate that identity is not static but dynamic and that Ottoman identity transformed according to individual, regional, cultural, political, and imperial interests and exigencies.
1 . See Bowker and Star, Sorting Things Out , 1-50.
2 . Brubaker and Cooper, Beyond Identity.
3 . Hacking, Historical Ontology , 100.
4 . Yosmao lu, Counting Bodies, Shaping Souls.
5 . Daston, The Coming into Being of Scientific Objects, 6.
6 . Isom-Verhaaren, Shifting Identities ; Isom-Verhaaren, Allies , 72-74.
7 . Soucek, Rise of the Barbarossas, 246-248; Brant me, Oeuvres compl tes , 2:67-69, 5:398-405. Bennassar and Bennassar call the Barbarossa brothers Islamicized Greeks and consider Hayreddin to have been a Greek of Lesbos. Bennassar and Bennassar, Les Chr tiens d Allah , 232, 267, 366.
8 . Aldo Gallotta, Encyclopaedia of Islam , 2nd ed., s.v. Khayr al-din (Khidir) Pasha Barbarossa.
Emergence and Expansion: From Frontier Beylik to Cosmopolitan Empire
T HE O TTOMAN polity emerged in medieval Anatolia at the end of the thirteenth century. During the previous century, Anatolia and the Balkans had undergone enormous transformations as a result of the emigration of Turkish tribes from Central Asia at the end of the eleventh century and the establishment of Turkish dynasties as rulers in Anatolia. Among the most prominent dynasties were the Seljuks of Rum who ruled from Nicea (Iznik) and then Konya. This dynasty, however, disappeared by the late thirteenth century partly because of the expansion of the Mongols into Anatolia. Earlier, as a result of Turkish migration into Anatolia, the Byzantines had requested military aid from the pope to combat the Turkish forces, and crusaders from Western Europe had added to the mix of peoples in Anatolia and the Balkans after 1096, especially after the Fourth Crusade, when crusaders sacked Constantinople and then created a Latin Empire from 1204 to 1261.
Out of this chaos, many Turkish principalities, known as beyliks, emerged. Ultimately, the Ottomans proved to be the most successful of the rulers of these beyliks. Osman (r. 1299-1326) was the founder of a dynasty that bears his name. He was followed by his son, Orhan (r. 1326-1362), and together in later Ottoman historiography they were depicted as the leaders of gazi s, raiders who were also believed to be fighting in the name of Islam. They expanded from a tiny state in Bithynia, conquered the major Byzantine city of Bursa, and then began to expand into the Balkans. Under Orhan, Ottoman forces conquered Gallipoli and Adrianople (today s Edirne). The Ottoman capital shifted from Bursa to Edirne as this city became a staging ground for continuous raids into the Balkans. Murad I (r. 1362-1389) and his son Bayezid I (r. 1389-1402) created an empire composed of states united under their rule as vassals. By Bayezid s reign the Ottomans had begun a levy of boys from Christian peasants of the Balkans, a practice known as the dev irme . These boys became a source of manpower for the Janissary army and also for the administration. Bayezid I threatened Constantinople at the end of the fourteenth century, but Ottoman expansion was temporarily halted by the powerful conqueror Timur, also known as Tamerlane, in 1402 when he defeated Bayezid s army at the Battle of Ankara.
After an interregnum during which Ottoman princes fought against one another in an effort to reunite the empire under one member of the dynasty, Mehmed I (r. 1413-1421) eventually emerged as the victor and began to reestablish central control of former Ottoman territories. The Ottomans began to expand once again under Murad II (r. 1421-1444, 1446-1451). Fighting off crusaders and defeating various challengers in the Balkans and Anatolia, the Ottomans were poised to once again attempt to conquer Constantinople. They captured the city in 1453 under a young and ambitious sultan, Mehmed II (r. 1451-1481), known as the Conqueror. At this point the Ottoman polity truly could be considered an empire with a fitting imperial capital at Istanbul. The second half of the fifteenth century witnessed ongoing expansion in the Balkans and in Anatolia and the elimination of remaining rivals in Anatolia.
The Ottomans continued to experience conflicts among the sons of sultans for succeeding to the Ottoman throne. Unlike other Turkish dynasties, the Ottomans did not divide their lands upon succession and whoever defeated his brothers inherited the entire empire. Succession disputes were often bitter and sometimes unpredictable. At Mehmed II s death, his two remaining sons, Cem and Bayezid II, waged a civil war to determine who would succeed to the throne. Bayezid II with the support of the Janissaries defeated Cem, who fled to the Knights of Rhodes. Later the Knights sent Cem to France, and he eventually was imprisoned in Rome. Because of the threat that Cem might return at the head of a crusading army to attack Bayezid, the sultan pursued a cautious foreign policy until Cem died in 1495. Then he declared war on Venice and strengthened the Ottoman fleet, which now successfully challenged the Venetian fleet. Ottoman forces captured Modon and Coron in Greece. The Ottomans became increasingly involved with diplomacy in Italy and Western Europe during the reign of Bayezid II, partly as a result of Cem s captivity in France and Rome.
However, a new threat to Ottoman power appeared in eastern Anatolia with the rise of the militant, extremist Shi i dynasty of the Safavids of Iran. Turcoman nomadic populations favored the Safavids against the centralizing Ottomans. Safavid propaganda raised revolts in Anatolia, and Bayezid appeared too weak to counter the threat. His son Selim I (r. 1512-1520) seized power and deposed Bayezid, who died soon thereafter. Selim then eliminated his brothers and ruthlessly suppressed Safavid supporters. Selim was now poised to expand to the south and the east, fundamentally changing the composition of the Ottoman Empire.
The chapters in part I address identity during this period when the Ottomans transformed their state from a tiny beylik to a great empire. This complicated history includes many diverse peoples who inhabited Anatolia and the Balkans. The diversity of ethnicity and religion of these peoples contributes to the challenges of understanding identity in the region during this time. Chapter 1 explores how Sufis provided some stability in the chaotic world of medieval Anatolia. Chapter 2 traces depictions of the frontier between Christians and Muslims in epic literature. Chapter 3 explores the fortunes of the Genoese of Galata, who after the conquest of Constantinople became Ottoman subjects. Chapter 4 follows the career of Mahmud Pasha, one of the most powerful administrators during the reign of Mehmed II, who became grand vizier although he was born a Christian. Chapter 5 explores Ottoman historiography to highlight the emergence of a Turkish identity among the Ottoman elite. Chapter 6 analyzes the emergence of new Sufi orders and their involvement in the politics of succession struggles between the sons of Mehmed II. All the chapters in part I creatively use contemporary sources to explore groups and individuals views of their relationship to the expanding state that became the Ottoman Empire after eliminating regional rivals.
1 The Giving Divide
Food Gifts and Social Identity in Late Medieval Anatolia
Nicolas Tr panier
P EOPLE WHO LIVED in late medieval Anatolia did not write much about identity in the abstract sense; in fact, Muslim sources from that period do not use any word that could be translated as identity in its modern meaning. Yet it is clear that they identified some people as part of the same group because they shared an identity. This is most obvious in the ethnic labels that are the focus of most other contributions to this volume. In this chapter, I approach the question in a way that is less uniquely Ottoman, concentrating on the social hierarchy during the period when the Ottomans came to power, fourteenth-century Anatolia.
The challenge here is to pry out answers to questions that the sources themselves never ask and explore a realm of consideration that they never explicitly evoke. This requires an angle, a handle, which in this case will be food gifts. As a voluntary form of social interaction loaded with meaning, the act of giving food betrays quite a lot about the social identity of both the giver and the recipient. The historian who identifies the givers and recipients of food and observes the context and modalities of these food transfers can therefore offer insight into a layer of identity that was at once deeply internalized and largely removed from any reference to the state, ethnicity, or religion. Extrapolating from scenes that depict food gifts, in short, allows us to shed light on a period on which relatively little social and cultural history has been written.
Sources and Methodology
The observations presented in this chapter are derived from a broader research project in which I reconstructed the daily life of late medieval Anatolians. The sources I used include the bulk of existing original texts composed in or describing Anatolia from the late thirteenth to the early fifteenth centuries. Among those, the texts that yielded the richest material are hagiographical collections of anecdotes that depict the miracles and wisdom of Muslim saints. Other types of sources include vakfiye s, which are foundation contracts for pious endowments constituted according to Islamic law ( vak f s), whose format is standard enough to consider them the closest that fourteenth-century Anatolia has to offer to archival documents. In addition, I used a variety of other sources that include chronicles as well as the travelogue of Ibn Battutah, who left a rich but strongly opinionated description of the regions he visited in the fourteenth century, from Morocco and Anatolia to China and from Mali to the Swahili Coast to Indonesia.
To reconstruct the experience or texture of daily life in late medieval Anatolia, I scanned these sources for passages that depict the ways in which people interact with food, covering everything from the work of peasants in fields of barley to the fasting regimen of dervishes, to the symbolic association between rice and luxury. 1 In this chapter, I concentrate on the scenes that depict food giving because they offer insight into how late medieval Anatolians defined both their own social identity and the social identity of other people.
For other, better-studied time periods, an extensive scholarship exists on the social meaning and function of gifts, which is largely the work of anthropologists and the historians who have borrowed from their approach. 2 The core concern of this scholarship is reciprocation, or what the giving party expects back from the receiving party. The literature shows that, especially in premodern states, the most common expectation is for other gifts of the same nature. In other words, a gift is followed by a second round of gift giving in which the giver becomes the recipient, then a third in which the roles are inversed again, then a fourth, and so on. This ultimately creates giving circles, whose direct effect is to strengthen social relations.
An expectation of reciprocity is indeed apparent in most of the gift-giving scenes I survey here, but only a small proportion of these follow a one-to-one pattern of equals exchanging gifts back and forth. Most of the time, rather, the giver and the recipient carry very different social identities. Although the gifts I discuss here do have the effect of strengthening the social order, they do so by incarnating and reinforcing specific relations of social in equality. Rather than the act of giving itself, it is those relations of social inequality that constitute my central concern, because they allow us to circumscribe the identity of various groups in society. In exploring the subject, this chapter will concentrate first on the giving activities of rulers and urban folk and then turn its attention to the various identities that derived from religious professions.
Food Gifts among Rulers and City Dwellers
Some scenes of food giving will come as no surprise to those familiar with late medieval and early modern Middle Eastern history, as they present a handful of rulers and grandees who distribute meals in person. Witness, for example, the deeds of Ottoman sultan Murad II (r. 1421-1444, 1446-1451) after the construction of a bridge that revitalized a region in Thrace:
For the visitors coming and going, they made feasts, they cooked foods, and at the time when they established a soup kitchen, Sultan Murad himself brought religious scholars and fuqar 3 from Edirne and came to this soup kitchen and for a few days made feasts and distributed [coins]. On the first day they cooked food, he gave food to the fuqar with his own blessed hand. 4
If we approach such scenes from the angle of reciprocity, what these rulers seek in return for their food gifts is obviously not other food gifts but rather a recognition of their fitness to rule and of their legitimacy. The image of a ruler personally involved in distributing food is common as a literary motif (a short, standardized anecdote in which the conventions of storytelling supersede historical accuracy). Since literary motifs frequently appear in the sources I used, we need to keep in mind that scenes depicting food-giving rulers might not be historically accurate in the sense that this particular ruler distributed food in this particular way at this particular time and place. Still, their frequency and a number of stylistic hints strongly suggest that, at least at a metaphorical level, a good ruler s persona was widely assumed to entail the ability and, to some extent, the responsibility to distribute food. In that sense, the literary motif of the food-distributing ruler remains quite meaningful.
When we look at another segment of the population, the urban commoners, the most interesting observation derives from the collective character of their food giving. None of them appears as an individual benefactor, but a number of scenes depict them as groups offering food. These scenes depict various groups of craftsmen and city folk, including of course the followers of those that Ibn Battutah calls the Akh s:
The Akh among them is a man who assembles the people of his trade and others from among the unmarried and free youth. He is their leader. And this organization is [called] futuwwah as well. He builds a z wiyah [lodge] and puts in it the carpets and lamps and the necessary implements. His followers work in daytime to earn their wages, and they bring them to him after the afternoon prayer [to buy] what they need. With this, they buy fruits and foods and other things that are consumed in the z wiyah . If on that day a traveler arrives in the city, they host him among themselves and have a feast for him, and he remains among them until he departs. And if none arrives, they gather their food and eat and sing and dance. They go back to their work in the morning and return after the afternoon prayer to their leader with what they gathered. 5
That ordinary urban folk appear as givers, rather than recipients, suggests that they enjoyed a high enough level of material comfort to have the ability to give, or more accurately, that they were perceived so. On the other hand, since they needed to get together in order to give at a meaningful level, their ability to give appears to have been limited in the first place. Beyond a shared place in the social hierarchy, both the social organization that this giving requires and the very fact that the primary sources use collective nouns to refer to the crowd argue for the existence of social cohesion among craftsmen, whereas it is much harder to see such coordination of activity among, say, the urban poor. In fact, the only other group that appears to be similarly organized is that of the dervishes, the members of Sufi brotherhoods. That the latter carried a clear sense of collective identity is apparent throughout the hagiographies of their spiritual masters. And indeed, Ibn Battutah s mention (in the passage translated above) that single young craftsmen were also in the habit of sharing their living spaces does strengthen the possibility that this shared identity entailed a solidarity or sense of belonging going far beyond a mere public image.
Food Gifts and the Religious Folk
This comparison between craftsmen and Sufis brings up the core concern of this chapter, the religious professionals (an expression I discuss shortly), whether they be scholars or dervishes, and the way their social identity appears when we examine it through the divide that runs between food givers and food recipients.
Interestingly, the highest ranking among people whose professional identity stems from religious activities appear as recipients rather than providers of food gifts. The way these many cases combine a remarkable consistency in contents with a variety of contexts makes it unlikely that these are no more than literary motifs. Thus, there seems to have been a common practice, when visiting a religious master, to bring along some simple but tasty food items such as fruits or alw . These, incidentally, were snack foods (as opposed to the types of foods one would eat as part of a meal), but they needed to meet certain standards of refinement, as we can see from a mention that lentils were seen as too lowly a present for such an occasion. 6 In any case, these foods were meant for immediate consumption, and after the master tasted them, they could be distributed among the people in attendance:
One day, one of the beloved friends [dervish followers of Rumi] brought a fig to our master [Rumi] from the orchards of the brothers. [Rumi] picked up the fig and said: Indeed, this is a nice fig, but this fig has a pit, and he put it down. This dervish was surprised, for how could a fig have a pit? Modestly, he stood up, picked up those figs, and went away. After a while he came [back] and put another basket of those figs in front of Rumi. The latter ate one of them, declaring: This fig does not have a pit. The Shaykh Muhammad Kh dim ordered that they be distributed to those present. The disciples were amazed by this intricate [feat]. When that dervish got out and went away, they followed him and asked him about the figs. He said, By God, I had a gardener friend, and I could not find him in his orchard. Without his permission I gathered a basketful of figs and brought them to our master, intending to pay the gardener when I would see him. With the light of his sainthood, our master knew that, that was the pit of the fig. At that moment I went straight to the orchard of that friend and I bought those nice figs, gave him the price, and made them legal by him. In the end, [Rumi] of course accepted and ate them and bestowed his favor. 7
It is clear that, in such cases, the reciprocity implicit in the act of giving was to be found either in the shape of blessings received from the religious master or, for those who prefer a cynical interpretation, in the image of piety that would come with ostentatiously serving the spiritual leader. Either way, these examples make it clear that receiving food was not in itself the mark of an inferior social status. However, depictions of members of the elite receiving food were limited to the religious masters and did not extend to the political elite.
Looking at the lowest-ranking individuals in the religious hierarchy, often designated as fuqar , the modalities of gift giving shed further light on the social identity of religious professionals. Fuqar is a plural Arabic term literally meaning the poor, designating recipients of food in Arabic-, Persian-, and Turkish-language sources (both the Turkish and Persian languages, while grammatically very different from Arabic, borrowed a large proportion of their vocabulary from the latter). In some cases, the context leaves no doubt that the term fuqar actually means dervishes, the ascetic, monk-like followers of Sufism (Muslim mysticism). For example, in this passage from the hagiography titled Vil yetn me , a money changer gives a dervish a donation for the religious master Hac Betka Veli:
And he added a thousand more gold coins and said: Dervish, no matter how many religious masters you see, give this thousand gold coins to the fuqar who are in their service so that they can eat. 8
Another passage from the same source further points out that the religious fame of Hac Betka brought to him a community of people that it designates, in successive sentences, as fuqar and then dervishes and abdal s. 9 An even clearer example of such religious use of the term appears in a vakfiye , or endowment deed, that specifies that the revenues of the endowed property should be given to the
Mawlaw [followers of Rumi] fuqar who are engaged in the z wiyah that follows the master Jal l al-Musallah wa al-D n, the Rumi by burial and the Balkh by origin, being located in [the city of] Qara i r al-Dawl h itself. 10
In other cases, the term is more ambiguous. In the three or four dozen vakfiye s that remain from that period, the word most often (though not always) appears as part of the set expression fuqar wa mas k n (the poor and destitute), and on most occasions, the expression refers to recipients of the charity provided by the endowments in passages that may or may not refer to dervishes. 11 The word mas k n (or its singular form, miskin ) does not seem to appear by itself in the sources discussed here, 12 but in a handful of cases the formulation specifically points out that the recipients of charity should be Muslim fuqar . Dervishes, of course, could only be Muslim, and the specification that these fuqar must be Muslim makes much more sense if we assume that, at least in these cases, the word fuqar strictly refers to the economic poor. 13
The sample of sources is too small to try and establish the extent to which the term fuqar meant the same thing for everyone. But this (at least partial) semantic overlap between dervishes and the economic poor seems to be more than a coincidence, as it is clear that the two categories overlapped in the eyes of the population as well. This is best exemplified in this anecdote related to Shams Tabr z , the spiritual advisor of famous Sufi poet Rumi:
It is reported that, once, [Shams] lived in Damascus for a few years. More or less once a week, he would get out of his retreat and go to the shop of a sheep-head seller. Having given two copper coins, he would buy some head juice without fat and consume it. He would content himself with it for a week. He did this for a year. When the cook saw him acting this way for a while, he knew that [Shams] was among the people of piety and that he had taken up this burden by choice. The next time [Shams] came, [the cook] filled a bowl full of thar d [a meat stew with crumbled bread] and its fat and presented him with two loaves of quality bread. [Shams] realized that the cook had become aware of his [spiritual] works. He immediately put down the bowl and, claiming, I need to wash my hands, he went out and immediately left the city. 14
The best sources for the period being hagiographies, their religious perspective creates some obstacles in our understanding of the facts on the ground. For example, the authors of the hagiographies most likely ignore the material concerns of individuals who chose to become dervishes out of a lack of economic opportunity, if such people existed. After all, they would not have wanted to trivialize the lifestyle of the dervishes by suggesting that some of them were mere unemployed bums. Yet the overlap in vocabulary can hardly be dismissed offhand and does raise the possibility that, as forms of identity, dervishes and the secular destitute indeed shared some degree of conceptual kinship in popular imagination.
These observations make it difficult to believe that the religious professionals formed a single, coherent unit of social identity in the first place. It is indeed significant that the sources do not use any word that could at once refer to legal scholars at the imperial court and to the disciples of saintly figures such as Rumi or Hac Betka . From the tone of the sources, it rather seems that a high-ranking religious master would have identified himself and been identified by others as socially closer to the (secular) palace crowd than to mendicant dervishes, as would have been the case if religious professional was an important form of social identity. 15
Within the historiography of Anatolia from the end of Byzantine rule in 1071 to the rise of the Ottomans as an empire in the early fifteenth century, research on social history is still in its infancy. For many decades, scholars have simply filed the topic away in a box marked Not Enough Sources. But much more than new sources, what the period needs are fresh sets of eyes and brand-new questions. And indeed, the issues I discuss in this chapter do leave us with the strong impression that traces of this past are plentiful enough for us to go down to the street level and ask those who were about to become Ottomans how they understood the interactions between the identities that crisscrossed the society in which they lived.
Suggestions for Further Reading
Kafadar, Cemal. Between Two Worlds: The Construction of the Ottoman State . Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995. This book is a thorough survey and reinterpretation of debates among historians on the rise of the Ottoman state.
Karamustafa, Ahmet T. God s Unruly Friends: Dervish Groups in the Islamic Later Middle Period, 1200-1550 . Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1994. This book discusses the little-known Qalandar dervishes, whose religious outlook made them seek rejection by the societies in which they lived.
Lindner, Rudi Paul. Explorations in Ottoman Prehistory . Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2007.
---. Nomads and Ottomans in Medieval Anatolia . Bloomington: Research Institute for Inner Asian Studies, Indiana University, 1983. Both of Lindner s books show a creative use of anthropology to study the early Ottoman population.
Vryonis, Speros. The Decline of Medieval Hellenism in Asia Minor and the Process of Islamization from the Eleventh through the Fifteenth Century . Berkeley: University of California Press, 1971. By far the most extensive study of late medieval Anatolian society, this study, based on sources in a variety of languages, is marred by the author s anti-Turkish sentiments.
Zachariadou, Elizabeth, ed. The Ottoman Emirate (1300-1389) . Rethymnon, Greece: Crete University Press, 1993. This collected volume covers many aspects of the early Ottoman experience.
1 . The outcome of this research appears in Tr panier, Foodways and Daily Life in Medieval Anatolia .
2 . The great classic on the topic is Marcel Mauss s The Gift: The Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic Societies . Natalie Zemon Davis, in the introduction to her The Gift in Sixteenth-Century France , provides a useful survey of the more recent anthropological scholarship and its use for historiographical work in a variety of contexts. As for the Muslim world in particular (especially the central Islamic lands), see Singer, Charity in Islamic Societies .
3 . This term, which could mean either the poor or dervishes, is examined in further detail later in this chapter.
4 . kpa az de, Die Altosmanische Chronik Des ikpa az de , 104. See also Afl k , Man qib al- rif n , sec. 3, par. 85. All translations in this chapter are my own.
5 . Ibn Battutah, Voyages d Ibn Batt ta , 261. The classic English-language translation, based on a nineteenth-century edition by Defr mery and Sanguinetti, is by H. A. R. Gibb: The Travels of Ibn Batt ta, A.D. 1325-1354 . Ibn Battutah also mentions similar groups on a number of other occasions. For examples of food gifts by urban folk that do not include direct reference to the Akh s, see Afl k , Man qib , sec. 8, par. 23, and Ibn Battutah, Voyages , 276.
6 . Afl k , Man qib , sec. 3, par. 219.
7 . Afl k , Man qib , sec. 3, par. 457. See also sec. 3, par. 172; sec. 3, par. 219; and sec. 8, par. 50, as well as Vil yetn me, a manuscript facsimile published in an appendix to the popular edition by Abdulb k G lp narl , Manak b- Hac Bekt - Vel : Vil yetn me (see pp. 43b-44a and 111b).
8 . G lp narl , Vil yetn me , 78b.
9 . Abdal is another term for a saintly individual. G lp narl , Vil yetn me , 100b.
10 . Vakfiye , 595:103, ser. 96, Vak flar Genel M d rl [General Directorate of Endowments], Ankara, Turkey. Another vakfiye (589:256, ser. 423, Vak flar Genel M d rl ) lists the fuqar among other categories of people professionally dealing with religion ( pious people, people of taqw , fuqar , students, etc. ).
11 . Vakfiye s, 591:12, ser. 16; 582(1):271, ser. 183; 608(2):63, ser. 52; 581(2):298, ser. 300; 608(2):296, ser. 240; 593:255, ser. 201; 582(1):20, ser. 11; 611:93, ser. 89; 582(1):286, ser. 195; 579:362, ser. 158; 601:175, ser. 230; 608(1):123, ser. 123, Vak flar Genel M d rl . The expression is also used in Afl k , Man qib (sec. 8, par. 22) and in Ibn Battutah, Voyages (276). Ibn Battutah, however, as an outsider, had much less insight into Anatolian society.
12 . However, in other contexts it does carry a slightly different connotation from faqir / fuqar . A faqir is absolutely destitute and dependent on charity for survival, whereas a miskin is part of what we would call the working poor. For more on this topic, see Singer, Charity in Islamic Societies , 157-159.
13 . Vakfiye s, 596:151, ser. 134; 593:255, ser. 201; 611:93, ser. 79; 582(2):328, ser. 236 (which uses the phrase the fuqar among the Muslims and the fuqar among the monotheists ); 589:256, ser. 423, Vak flar Genel M d rl . Another vakfiye (632:415, ser. 88, Vak flar Genel M d rl ) uses the phrase among the aghn [rich] and among the fuqar , which also clearly refers to economic status rather than spiritual activity.
14 . Sipahs l r, Ris lah-i Far d n ibn Ahmad Sipahs l r dar Ahv l-i Mavl n Jal l al-D n Mavlav , 123. This text, commonly known as Ris lah-i Sipahs l r , is the second-best source for the life of Rumi, but it has yet to be translated into English.
15 . Afl k , in Man qib al- rif n , suggests on numerous occasions the existence of conflict that surrounded the early decades of the Mavl v order, which might have something to do with the latter s fasting habits. On this subject, see Tr panier, Starting without Food, esp. 14-15.
2 Changing Perceptions along the Frontiers
The Moving Frontier with Rum in Late Medieval Anatolian Frontier Narratives
Zeynep Aydo an
When Humayun [H mayun ah of India, d. 1556] asked him [Seydi Ali Reis] a tricky question as to which country was bigger, the country of Rum ( vilayet-i Rum ) or Hindustan, he had boldly answered: If, by Rum, one means Rum, strictly speaking, that is, the province of Sivas (called Rum in Ottoman administrative division), then Hindustan is bigger. But if one means the lands under the rule of the Padishah- Rum, Hind does not amount to one-tenth of it. 1
In the early Islamic sources, Bilad al-Rum (countries of Rum) meant Byzantine territory, and Muslim scholars such as Bukhari, Tabari, and Masudi referred to these lands as Rum. 2 The natural frontier of Bilad al-Rum was defined by the Taurus Mountains and the Euphrates. 3 The term began to be applied to the Seljuks in Anatolia, who were called Sel ukiyan- Rum , setting them apart from the Seljuks in Baghdad. For the Ottomans, the term was used to refer to, among other meanings, the country that they inhabited, Memleket-i Rum (the country of Rum). 4
Nizameddin ami (fl. 1392), who accompanied Timur in his military campaigns, referred to the Ottomans as Rumiyan , the heirs of the Romans, and to the Ottoman ruler as the Sultan- Rum. 5 Indeed, as the conquerors of Roman territory in the Balkans and in Asia Minor, the Ottomans relied on the Byzantine legacy as much as they did on Islamic and Turkic nomadic traditions.
Like other principalities that came into existence after the disintegration of the Seljuks of Rum, the Ottomans appeared on the scene as a small frontier polity driven by a desire for conquest. The political setting in Anatolia was still dominated by struggles among various competing powers and did not become stable until the Ottomans gained supremacy and established their unitary rule at the end of the fifteenth century. The political disarray that prevailed in Anatolia generated various political and military compositions that were not necessarily organized along religious or ethnic lines. Alliances were also established across religious, ethnic, and tribal lines. Likewise, the frontier areas did not constitute a barrier between Muslim and Christian societies, but despite the permanent state of war, they might have functioned as an area of contact and cohabitation where cultural and religious practices diffused and commercial ties intensified.
The dynamic conquest policy, to which the frontier society owed its very existence, created a high degree of physical mobility, with a moving frontier that set people in motion and displaced and resettled them at an astonishing pace. Accordingly, the way the people of the frontiers envisioned their political and cultural environment kept changing, requiring new terms of defining self and others. Against the background of fluidity of frontiers and of identities, I look at the concept of Rum, an essential component of Ottoman identity, in three warrior epics, the Battalname, Dani mendname , and Saltukname . After giving a brief introduction to Ottoman frontiers and sources, I draw the moving frontier with Rum. I then examine more closely the concepts of Rum and Rumi (a person from the land of Rum) and show how these concepts that had once belonged to the rival religion and culture gradually came to be adopted and used by the Muslims of that geography.
Although frontiers have long received considerable attention by geographers and political scientists, until relatively recently historians have avoided conceptual discussions of them, because each frontier area was unique and hence had to be studied as an isolated phenomenon without any attempt at generalization. Geographers and political scientists consider frontiers and boundaries as belonging to distinct categories: frontiers are zones evolving organically between states or societies; boundaries, on the other hand, are state-defined artificial lines of separation. 6 Although this definition of frontier is of considerable importance for modern conceptualizations, it cannot be easily applied to premodern frontiers. Recently, historians have begun to respond to the need for further conceptualizations and have adjusted these terms to apply to their specific areas of study.
Colin Heywood defines the Ottoman frontier as a region of colonization and settlement involving both military action and proselytization, and thus both a zone of passage and interaction and a political barrier. 7 Heywood further characterizes the Ottoman state as a frontier polity which, from 1300 to 1700, possessed an active expansion frontier, which came to an end in 1699, when the Ottoman state for the first time accepted a European-style demarcated frontier with the Treaty of Karlowitz. The Ottoman terminology for frontier distinguished between frontier as a line , a demarcated boundary- hudud or s n r -and frontier as a zone or marchland. The Ottoman term for marchland was uc (pl. ucat ), which can be translated as farthest point, extremity. 8
From a broader perspective, the frontier zones discussed here are a moving zone between the Turco-Muslim polities of late medieval Anatolia and the Byzantine Empire. In his pioneering work on the role of the frontier in the construction of the Ottoman state, Paul Wittek analyzes the Anatolian frontier regions in relation to the Arabic thughur , the area separating the dar al-Islam (the abode of Islam) and the dar al-harb (the abode of war, the territories of the infidels ). Wittek traces the establishment of the Anatolian thughur stretching from the Taurus to the upper Euphrates back to as early as the seventh century, after the first wave of Arab conquests. These areas, like the Turco-Byzantine frontiers, were different in character from the lands beyond them and soon became peripheralized, creating a unique frontier subculture that had more in common with Christian neighbors than with the settled hinterland and urbanized centers. 9
The Turkish Warrior Epics of Late Medieval Anatolia
The Turkish warrior epics that originated in the frontier areas of late medieval Anatolia were based on earlier layers of frontier traditions, both Arab and Byzantine. As newcomers in the area, the Muslim Turks translated the existing frontier lore and incorporated it into their orally transmitted traditions. Incorporating this lore into writing after centuries of oral recitation added yet another layer to these narratives. As a result, the warrior epics in their written form provide us with invaluable information about the worldviews and ideals of the frontier society, and as authored or heavily edited texts, they also reflect the ideologies of certain segments of the central government that patronized their compilation. 10
In terms of content, narrative style, and structure, the Battalname, Dani mendname , and Saltukname constitute different cycles of what came to be called the warrior epic genre in medieval Anatolia, whose central theme was gaza s 11 against the Byzantine infidels. 12 The Battalname , or the Book of Seyyid Battal, concerns a legendary Arab warrior from the late Umayyad period whose cult was primarily associated with Malatya (Byzantine Melitene). Although the oral roots of the Battalname can be traced back to the arrival of the Dani mendid Turks in Malatya in the late eleventh century, the text was first patronized by the Seljukid ruler Alaeddin Keykubad (r. 1220-1237), and the earliest surviving manuscript is dated 1436-1437. 13
Even though they were newcomers, the Dani mendid Turks did not hesitate to connect their activities to a prestigious past and appropriate the heroic figures of the golden era of Malatya by claiming lineage to Seyyid Battal through his sister in the Dani mendname , the heroic epic devoted to their founder, Melik Dani mend. The manuscript that survives today is a copy of another version by Arif Ali, the governor of Tokat. According to his own account, in 1360-1361 Arif Ali discovered the earlier composition (now lost) by Mevlana Ibn Ala for the Seljukid sultan Izzeddin (Keykavus II, d. 1279), and adorned it with verses. 14
The third of the warrior epics, the Saltukname , the account of the life and deeds of the thirteenth-century dervish-warrior Sar Saltuk, is a collection of legends that had circulated among the gazi s (frontier warriors) of Rumelia since at least the late thirteenth century. While guarding the Balkan frontiers in Edirne, Prince Cem became interested in the well-known stories about Sar Saltuk in the area and asked Ebu l-Hayr-i Rumi, a member of his court, to compile them into a book. Ebu l-Hayr-i Rumi traveled the Balkans for seven years to collect the stories from oral tradition and completed the text circa 1480. 15
Like Melik Dani mend, Sar Saltuk, originally named erif, was a descendant of Seyyid Battal, and both descendants modeled their ancestor. All three had perfect knowledge about the rival language and religion. Disguised as Christians, they easily deceived the enemy and broke into enemy castles and monasteries. The opening story is an account of the earlier achievements of the most prominent gazi s of the Muslim world and is followed by a laudatory description of the country of Rum-the Byzantine Empire-its conquest being the ultimate goal.
Most important, the scene of action changes as the frontiers kept moving through conquests, bringing new geographical definitions to the frontier environment in which these sources are set. Whereas most of the incidents in the Battalname occur around Malatya in southeastern Anatolia, the center of action moves to the northwest with the Dani mendname and even farther west into the Balkans with the Saltukname . As a result, although the shared subject is gaza s against the infidels in Rum, Rum refers to a different geographical area in each narrative. See figure 2.1 .
The Changing Frontiers of Rum
To understand the legacy of the frontier lore adopted and appropriated by the Turkish newcomers and Malatya s role as a military base on the Arabo-Byzantine frontier, a general introduction to the establishment and operation of the thughur is necessary.
During the early Islamic conquests, the Muslims took possession of many cities in northern Syria as early as the mid-seventh century. When the Muslim-Arab armies advanced, the Byzantine emperor Heraclius evacuated the frontier defenses, which came to be known as thughur , frontier, an arc running from Tarsus along the line of the Taurus Mountains to Mara (Germaniceia) and then to Malatya. This frontier zone, a kind of no-man s-land, was open to attacks from both sides and constituted the forward strongholds from which raids to Byzantine territories were undertaken. In the rear area behind the thughur lay a line of fortresses, the awasim , or protecting [strongholds]. These strongholds did not have an offensive role but were organized to defend the whole frontier region from Byzantine attacks, especially during expeditions when Muslims left the thughur unguarded. In such cases, the awasim functioned as a second zone of defense. During almost five centuries of Arabo-Byzantine confrontation, the fortresses of the thughur changed hands continually. Concentration points such as Malatya and Tarsus were abandoned and left desolate by one side and then rebuilt and repopulated by the other side. 16

Figure 2.1 The changing frontiers of Rum.
In the Battalname , Seyyid Battal s first military campaign is against Ma muriyye-or Byzantine Amorium in Phrygia-to avenge his father s murder by the infidel ruler Mihriyayil. 17 Whereas Ma muriyye is described as being in Rum, the frontier with Rum is much farther to the east and is defined more specifically as Cu-y Karak b . 18 Karak b most certainly refers to the Kubakib river, the name medieval Arab geographers gave to a tributary of the Euphrates that rises far to the west of Malatya (the Byzantine Melas and modern-day Tohma Suyu). 19 As described in the Battalname , this area must be the farthest point in the thughur in the direction of Rum, because when the gazi s built a fortress there the lands beyond were described as Rum, whereas Malatya, in the other direction, was not part of Rum but on the frontier with Syria ( am haddi ). 20
Syria, or am (specifically Damascus), occupied a central place in the narrative next to Malatya, the home of gazi s, and Baghdad, the throne of the caliph. Whenever there was news of successful gaza s, it was first reported to the caliph, who immediately sent a message to the province of Syria ( am Vilayeti ). This emphasis on Syria can be attributed to the administrative organization of the thughur , because the fortresses of the thughur were directly under the command of the province of Syria and benefited from a massive budget funded by tax revenue from the Syrian and Jaziran frontiers. 21
In the Battalname , Malatya was the center of action from where Seyyid Battal and his comrades attacked the infidels of Rum, and it remained their military base throughout the story. After every attack, whether successful or not, the gazi s returned to Malatya, whereas in both the Dani mendname and the Saltukname the protagonist moved his military base several times to a newly conquered territory.
The opening story of the Dani mendname starts in Malatya with the death of Battal Gazi and a list of his descendants down to Melik Dani mend. According to the story, and agreeing with other contemporary sources, Melik Dani mend s first conquest was Sivas, in the territory of Malatya. Melik Dani mend rebuilt the city, which was in ruins, and made it his military base, pushing the frontier zone westward. After he conquered Tokat, to the northwest, that became his base. After he conquered Turhal and Har ana 22 (or Hara na , also referred to as Amasiyye in the text), moving each time slightly northwest toward the Black Sea, Har ana became his final military base for his conquests in the region of Canik, 23 including Yankoniya ( orum) and lastly Niksar (also referred to as Harsanosiyye in the text). Meanwhile, the warlords under his command attacked farther to the west around the region of Kastamonu (Byzantine Castamon), conquering Mankuriya (Byzantine Gangra, modern-day ank r ), or Ma muriyye, which refers not to Byzantine Amorium, as in the Battalname , but to Ankara, identified by the compiler Arif Ali as Eng riya.
The conquests in Rum in the Dani mendname came along with another process-the adaptation of certain place names into Turkish. Some names of historical figures and places were distorted by phonetic adaptation and during transcription of the epics after centuries of oral transmission. Some place names, especially those of places conquered by the Muslim Turks, were repeatedly-and probably consciously-recorded side by side with the new Turkified names. A typical example would be as follows:
Therefrom Melik Dani mend said: Let us reach those provinces and keep walking towards D kiyye (Dokia) that is Tokat and Sisiyye (Komana) that is G menek and Harsanosiyye (Neocaesareia) that is Niksar, and in the direction of Canik, Har ana that is Amasiyye (Amasya) and Samiyye (Amisus) that is Samsun and Sinobiyye that is S nab (Sinop), and Karkariyye (Zela, modern-day Zile). And let me walk in the direction of Ka an also known as Turhal. With the will of God Almighty I shall conquer them all. 24
Most of the conquests of Melik Dani mend as recorded in the Dani mendname can be verified by other sources of the era. However, certain events in the story were transported to a different geographical location than where they actually occurred, which Ir ne M likoff attributes to interventions by the second compiler-scribe, Arif Ali of Tokat, who relocated some events to areas more familiar to him. For example, shortly after his conquest of Tokat, Melik Dani mend gained possession of two monasteries on the hills facing Tokat: Deryanos (Church of Saint John the Baptist) and Ha (Armenian Ha itun, meaning Home of the Holy Cross ). However, these two great symbols of the Armenian Church were not in Tokat but near Sivas. 25 Arif Ali retained the memory of the famous victories of the Arabo-Byzantine confrontation but moved them to a more familiar setting.
Melik Dani mend s last campaign was the siege of the fortress of Hark mbed , which according to the Dani mendname was near Niksar in the direction of Canik. 26 A coalition of Armenian, Georgian, and Byzantine forces organized by the ruler of Tarabuzan (Byzantine Trebizond, modern-day Trabzon), Gavras (identified as Theodore Gabras, the military commander and duke of Trebizond 27 ), confronted Melik Dani mend, who decided to go back to Niksar. But because he had been wounded seventeen times, he bled to death before he arrived. 28
The Saltukname continues the story almost from where the Dani mendname leaves off. Sar Saltuk started his gaza career in Sinop, which neighbored Canik in the west. From Sinop he attacked the infidels in the Black Sea region. Just like Seyyid Battal s first campaign, Sar Saltuk set out to wage gaza against the ruler of Harcenevan (Hara na in the Dani mendname ; the area around Amasya), 29 who had poisoned his father. The initial frontier with Rum in the Saltukname was marked by Harcenevan, because its ruler T rbanos stated that he held the gate to Rum ( Rumun kapusu bended r ). 30 The eastern frontier of Rum ( Rum haddi ) was the Euphrates, because the Pope ( Pap ) had pointed to the area beyond the Euphrates when he asked the Muslims to leave the territory of Rum. 31
According to the Saltukname , there were seven rulers associated with seven mountains in Rum. These were Eflak (Wallachia, in today s southern Romania), ng r s (Hungary), Alaman, 32 As (Alans), Leh (Poles), eh (Czech country), Rus (parts of today s Belarus and northern Ukraine), 33 and esar (emperor? Maybe referring to the Holy Roman emperor). 34 Later in the text, although Alaman, ng r s, and As are again mentioned as being in Rum and next to Abadanl k (Albania), they are farther in the direction of Ayurusapur (Avrupa? That is, Europe), and Alaman is also called Frenk. 35
After several victories against the allied infidel armies of Rum (including now the Balkans and stretching as far as Central Europe), Sar Saltuk crossed the Black Sea and made Kefe (today s Feodosia, in Russia) on the southeastern coast of Crimea his military base. His gaza s around the Crimea were of particular importance because Sar Saltuk did not engage much in gaza on his own but devoted himself to praying, assisted by hundreds of abdal s, wandering dervishes, while other gazi s fought against the infidel Rus. 36
The last parts of the Saltukname concentrate on the emergence of the Turkish emirates in medieval Anatolia on the eve of the disintegration of the Seljuks of Rum. The emphasis was put on two emirates: those of Osman and Ayd n, both emerging from Yunan 37 and predetermined by Sar Saltuk to conquer all the lands of Rum. In these parts, Sar Saltuk was less a warlord and more a dervish figure building his zaviye (convent) in Baba-Babadag in northern Dobru (today s Dobruja) in southern Romania-giving other gazi s his blessing and sanctioning their gaza activities in the Balkans and also paying visits to Rum in times of crisis to give guidance to Osman and Umur Beys. 38 Sar Saltuk prophesied in the Saltukname ,
Gazi s! From the province of Yunan emerge two gazi s who will become the future sultans. They will cross over the territory of Rum and conquer it entirely. This territory will become the abode of Islam. One of the rulers will pass by. The other s descendants will rule over the country generating many magnificent sultans. 39
The Ottomans not only will become the undisputed leaders of the Muslim world, according to Sar Saltuk s prophesy, but are also designated as the heirs of the Seljuks of Rum in another passage, in which the Seljukid sultan shortly before he dies summons the beys under his command:
After me, stay quiet, live in harmony with one another, keep engaging in gaza warfare with the infidels. I do not have a son to appoint as your ruler. Find such a person to whom we grant the territory of Harcenevan so that he confronts the infidels and wages war against them. Whatever he conquers shall become his property. The beys unanimously mentioned Ertu rul and the gaza s of his warrior son Osman, [Sar Saltuk s] guidance for him and his adoption of Osman as his son, even making him his heir. They are the descendants of Ays , the son of Prophet shak, and Korkut Ata is his son. They are from the O uz tribe and practice salb , 40 they are loyal Turks. 41
Soon after, Sar Saltuk told Osman the good news:
My son Osman! The Sultan requested you, go and see him. I received a letter from him asking me to send you to his presence. He is probably giving you Amasiyye also called Harcenevan , which is the gate of Rum. Hurry and go to see him, luck has turned on your side and your descent [descendants]. 42
As in the Dani mendname , the conquest of Harcenevan is the starting point for the conquest of Rum, and whoever owns it will dominate Rum. It is no coincidence that the Saltukname takes this statement from the Dani mendname , in which Har ana is Melik Dani mend s final military base, and locates Osman s first conquests around Harcenevan by affiliating early Ottoman history with the achievements of the earlier gazi s as recounted in the Battalname and the Dani mendname . From the conquest of Harcenevan will start the conquest of Rum as well as the history of the Ottomans themselves.
The Term Rumi in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries
The geographical identification of Rum with the former Byzantine territory and the association of its people (with a certain degree of confusion) with the ancient Greeks, the Byzantines, and some other Christian Melkites-Byzantine rite churches and their members in the Middle East-can be found in Arabo-Persian texts and in Turkish warrior epics. However, in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries new meanings were attached to the word Rumi (a person from the land of Rum) and it came to be adopted by, or used with respect to, some of the Muslims of that geography, perhaps at first by outsiders but eventually also by insiders. 43 The new meaning of Rumi created a certain degree of confusion, since in some Ottoman texts it was juxtaposed with the old one:
There was a period of transition, and perhaps confusion, when some sources written by Anatolian Muslims continued to use Rumi to refer to Byzantine or ex-Byzantine Christians. In the Dani mendname , written in the first half of the fifteenth century but likely based on an original composition of the midthirteenth, Rumis regularly appear as the Christian enemies of Muslims. 44
The absorption of the Ottomans rival in Rum was sealed by the conquest of Constantinople in 1453. Therefore, it was no surprise that Mehmed II, in addition to his titles Sultan l-Berreyn and Hakan l-Bahreyn (the ruler of two continents and two seas, respectively), also took the title Kayser-i Rum, a symbolic declaration of his takeover of the Roman legacy, while setting his imperial project in motion. 45
Likewise, the Saltukname , compiled in the fifteenth century, tried to evoke this legacy by recounting Sar Saltuk s victorious gaza s over the infidel Rum (stretched to cover countries as far as Central Europe), which gradually transformed into a Muslim territory and of which Sar Saltuk was proudly declared to be a part. He presented himself as Sar Saltuk-i Rumi, as he traveled toward the Arab lands, Africa, and India. 46 It was also a way of describing where he was coming from. However, the borrowing of the term also had political implications. It cannot be merely coincidental that the appropriation of the term Rumi by the Turco-Muslims came with the subsequent adjustment of the lands of Rum into the Muslim world, a process that had already started with the earlier gaza s of Seyyid Battal, Melik Dani mend, and Sar Saltuk and was to be completed under the Ottomans.

The Arabo-Byzantine frontiers stretching from the Taurus to the upper Euphrates were in operation for almost five centuries. This frontier zone with the Byzantine Empire started moving northward and westward with the Turcoman advance into Anatolia. The frontier region with Rum that was located around Malatya in the Battalname moved to northwest Anatolia with the Dani mendname and farther into the Balkans with the Saltukname . Although I have underlined the continuity with the earlier layers of the frontier traditions in these narratives, I have also tried to bring to the fore different definitions of key geographical terms in each of these narratives, because as with the frontiers were changing, the frontier culture-the way the frontiersmen perceived and defined it-was also changing.
The late medieval Anatolian Turkish warrior epics are products of a period of transition in which the setting for mobility and fluidity required new terms for defining identity. In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the search for a new identity, and therefore new terms to define it, was an ongoing process in which place names and terms belonging to the rival language and culture were adopted, distorted, and used by the Muslim newcomers. Such transition (or confusion) is well reflected in the different usages of Rumi. The word initially referred to the Byzantines in the Battalname and the Dani mendname but came to be adopted by the Muslims living there in the Saltukname .
Suggestions for Further Reading
Durak, Koray. Who Are the Romans? The Definition of Bil d al-R m (Land of the Romans) in Medieval Islamic Geographies. Journal of International Studies 31 (2010): 285-298. The article analyzes the term Rum in Arabic geographical works from the ninth to the eleventh centuries with an emphasis on the transition in its meaning.
Heywood, Colin. The Frontier in Ottoman History: Old Ideas and New Myths. In Frontiers in Question: Eurasian Borderlands, 700-1700 , edited by Daniel Power and Naomi Standen, 228-250. New York: St. Martin s Press, 1999. The chapter discusses the historiography of the Ottoman frontier focusing on the role of frontier ideology in shaping state policies and how this affected the terminology used by the Ottomans to define frontier.
Kafadar, Cemal. Between Two Worlds: The Construction of the Ottoman State. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995. This book studies the Ottoman frontier environment, offering an elaborate analysis of its cultural products and the methodologies to study them.
---. A Rome of One s Own: Reflections on Cultural Geography and Identity in the Lands of Rum. Muqarnas 24 (2007): 7-25. The article reformulates some questions related to identity, stressing different implications and the complexity of certain concepts such as Ottoman, Turk, and Rumi.
I thank my sister, Ay e Aydo an, for helping me produce the map of the frontiers of Rum for this chapter.
1. Kafadar, A Rome of One s Own, 17, quoting Seydi Ali Reis, Mir at l-mem lik , ed. Mehmet Kiremet (Ankara: Atat rk K lt r, Dil ve Tarih Y ksek Kurumu, 1999).
2. Nadia Maria El-Cheikh, Encyclopaedia of Islam , 2nd ed., s.v. Rum in Arabic Literature, 3:601-602. For an elaborate discussion on the more nuanced implications of the term, see Durak, Who Are the Romans?
3. Honigmann, Bizans devletinin do u s n r .
4. Whereas Mem lik-i slam was used in religious contexts and l-i Osman was used in dynastic ones, Memleket-i Rum was used especially when a regional (geographical) description was needed. Lewis, The Multiple Identities of the Middle East , p. II.
5. Nizameddin ami, Zafername , 294, cited in zbaran, Bir Osmanl Kimli i , 99.
6. Power, Frontiers: Terms, Concepts, and the Historians of Medieval and Early Modern Europe, 3.
7. Colin Heywood, The Frontier in Ottoman History, 231 (emphasis in original).
8. Ibid., 233.
9. Ibid., 234-236; Wittek, Deux chapitres de l histoire des Turcs de Roum, 285-319.
10. This view of the frontier narratives as composed of many layers and reflecting different historical and ideological positions is based on Cemal Kafadar s discussion of the sources in his Between Two Worlds , esp. chap. 2, 60-117.
11. I rely on Cemal Kafadar s definition of gaza , according to which the term implied irregular raiding activity whose ultimate goal was (or at least the warriors and their supporters could imagine that it was) the expansion of the power of Islam. Kafadar, Between Two Worlds , 80.
12. Tekin and Tekin, Battalname ; M likoff, La geste de Melik Dani mend: Etude critique du Dani mendname ; Demir, Dani mendname ; Ebu l-Hayr-i Rumi, Saltukname ; Ebu l-Hayr-i Rumi, Saltuk-name .
13. Dedes, Introduction, in Tekin and Tekin, Battalname , 1:1; Kafadar, Between Two Worlds , 66. Following the Battle of Manzikert in 1071, the house of Dani mend ruled until the Seljuks of Rum captured their administration center, Malatya, in 1177. Kafadar, Between Two Worlds , 3-4.
14. That there is no mention of the Ottomans leads us to assume that the text dates from before 1392 and the annexation of Tokat by the Ottomans. M likoff, La geste , 55, 59.
15. Ebu l-Hayr-i Rumi, Saltuk-name , 3:365-366. All translations in this chapter are mine.
16. Marius Canard, Encyclopaedia of Islam , online ed., s.v. al- Aw im ; C. E. Bosworth and J. D. Latham, Encyclopaedia of Islam , online ed., s.v. al-Thugh r.
17. Because of graphical confusion between the letters ayn ( ) and mim ( ), the Arabic rendition of Amorium, Amuriyya, is transformed in the story to Ma muriyye . Other such examples exist in the Dani mendname , in which anqiriyya (Byzantine Gangra, modern day ank r ) is transformed to Mankuriya because of the visual resemblance between the letters gayn ( ) and mim ( ). Tekin and Tekin, Battalname , 2:613; M likoff, La geste , 154.
18. Tekin and Tekin, Battalname , 2:367.
19. Le Strange, The Lands of the Eastern Caliphate , 120.
20. Tekin and Tekin, Battalname , 2:414.
21. Bosworth, The City of Tarsus and the Arab-Byzantine Frontiers in Early and Middle Abbasid Times, 270-271. For the preeminence of Syria in Islamic ideology, see also Sivan, Islam et la Croisade .
22. It is rendered as Har ana or Hara na in the Dani mendname ; Harcane in the Battal-name ; and Harcenevan, Harcene, or Bercan in the Saltukname . While Yorgos Dedes identifies Harcane in the Battalname as Charsianon, the Byzantine citadel and the capital of the theme of the same name west of the Pass of Melitene, north of Cappadocia, the Hara na of the Dani mendname is located much farther to the northwest and is identified as Amasya rather than the citadel of Charsianon. The capital of the Charsianon theme was actually Mu alim Kale, situated in a dominant position between two mountain ranges, Akda and Y ld z Da , southwest of Sivas on the military road between Sivas and Amasya. This famous site of Arabo-Byzantine confrontations in the Battalname seems to be transported farther northwest in the Dani mendname in accordance with the advance of the Muslim Turks in Anatolia. Tekin and Tekin, Battalname , 2:643; Ramsay, The Historical Geography of Asia Minor , 265; Honigmann, Bizans devletinin do u s n r , 46-47.
23. In the Dani mendname , Canik refers to the area around modern-day Samsun.
24. Demir, Dani mendname , 1:8 (italics added).
25. M likoff, La geste , 114-115; Demir, Dani mendname , 1:49-53.
26. Hark mbed , or Halk mbed , is identified as modern-day alca near Niksar. Demir, Dani mendname , 2:219.
27. M likoff, La geste , 110.
28. Demir, Dani mendname , 1:201-203.
29. Harcenevan is used interchangeably with Diyar- Harcana (Land of Harcana) and Amasya is described as being within its territory. The point of reference is again the Charsianon theme (see note 22), this time not limited to its capital but also covering the adjacent Armeniac theme.
30. Ebu l-Hayr-i Rumi, Saltuk-name , 1:11.
31. Ibid., 1:16.
32. Alaman probably refers to German-speaking people in general. Among the Germani, the Romans distinguished the Franks, who lived on the lower Rhine, and the Alamanni-from which the word Alaman might have derived-who lived on the upper Rhine. Such distinction was not linguistic but geographical. Geary, The Myth of Nations , 81.
33. The medieval meaning of Rus is related to the Kievan Rus, in today s Ukraine and Belarus. Franklin, The Invention of Rus(sia)(s), 184.
34. Ebu l-Hayr-i Rumi, Saltuk-name , 1:24. These, however, add up to eight.
35. Ibid., 1:178. Frengistan, the country of the Frenks (Frenk li) is adjacent to the domain of Rum ( Rum m lki ) and is governed by Filyon Frenk, or the Pope ( Pap ). Ibid., 1:88.
36. Ibid., 1:156-169.
37. According to the Saltukname , Anatolia is Yunan and the rule of Yunan is in Kayseriyye , Kayseri, referring to ancient Greek heritage in general. However, here western parts of Anatolia are also described as Yunan. Ibid., 1:12, 21.
38. Ibid., 2:58. The centrality of Dobruja in this part of the text probably points to the formation of the cult of Sar Saltuk in this area.
39. Ibid., 2:110 (italics added).
40. The Arabic term salb means crucifixion. While in Islamic practice it refers to a criminal punishment in which the body of the criminal, living or dead, is exposed for some time, in later Persian and Turkish usage it means hanging. Here, Turks are described as loyal and obedient because they fear salb . E. Vogel, Encyclopaedia of Islam , online ed., s.v. Salb.
41. Ebu l-Hayr-i Rumi, Saltuk-name , 3:238 (italics added). Like other Turkish dynasties such as the Karaman and the Akkoyunlu, the Ottomans also tried to invoke O uz genealogies for drawing support from the O uz Turcoman tribes in Anatolia, Iraq, Syria, and Iran. As early as 1077, Ka garl Mahmud argued that his sultans, referring to the Seljuks, also belonged to the O uz tribe of K n k. The Ottomans in return took on this legacy and claimed to be the successors of the Seljuks of Rum. The prophecies of the worthy ancestors of Korkut Ata and O uz became a way for the expanding Ottomans to assign justification to their struggle especially against other Muslims. Flemming, Political Genealogies in the Sixteenth Century, 123-137.
42. Ebu l-Hayr-i Rumi, Saltuk-name , 3:256 (italics added).
43. Kafadar, A Rome of One s Own, 10.
44. Ibid., 11.
45. zbaran, Bir Osmanl Kimli i , 17.
46. Ebu l-Hayr-i Rumi, Saltuk-name , 1:51-57, 226, 336.
3 The Genoese of Pera in the Fifteenth Century
Draperio and Spinola Families
F. zden Mercan
Genoese Policy during the Siege of Constantinople, 1453
Most honored brothers from Genoa, courageous and illustrious warriors! You are aware and know that this city was not only mine but yours for too many reasons. You have often assisted her willingly in hours of need and have delivered her from her enemies, the sons of Hagar. Once again it is time to demonstrate your love in Christ, your bravery and your excellence in her cause. 1
Byzantine emperor Constantine XI uttered these words to the Genoese of Pera in his public speech on the eve of the conquest of Constantinople. Soon after, the city was besieged and lost to the Ottomans. To what extent the Genoese brothers strove for the defense of the city remains a question. Contemporary sources make conflicting remarks about the position of the Genoese community during the conquest. According to Niccol Barbaro, a Venetian eyewitness, the Genoese betrayed their Christian faith and spied for the Ottomans to show themselves friendly to the Turkish sultan. 2 On the other hand, another contemporary witness, Michael Doukas, argues, The compelling thought that if the city fell, their fortress would become desolate had also occurred to them [the Genoese]. Consequently, they dispatched letters to Genoa pleading for assistance. 3 A ship with troops was sent from Genoa to help the Genoese in Pera. 4 Moreover, Giovanni Giustiniani-Longo, from a noble Genoese family, was appointed as the general commander of the Byzantine army and stood next to Emperor Constantine in the defense of the city.
But a month before the conquest, the Genoese of Pera had sent ambassadors to Sultan Mehmed II in Adrianople, declaring their genuine friendship with him and renewing past treaties. 5 While the sultan confirmed his friendship with the Genoese, he also warned them not to give support to the Byzantines in the defense of the city. The ambassadors made their promise; yet during the siege of the city, the Genoese of Pera apparently allied with both sides. Doukas in his chronicle gives a vivid account of this:
They [the Genoese] circulated fearlessly in the Turkish camp, providing the tyrant [Mehmed II] abundantly with whatever supplies he requested-oil for the cannon and whatever else the Turks wanted. Then they would return furtively to the Romans during the night and fight at their side all day long. The following night others would take their places in the City and they would spend time at their homes and in the camp in order to escape detection by the Turks. 6
This dual attitude during the conquest brought severe criticism to the Genoese community of Pera. However, since the establishment of the colony in the thirteenth century, the leading families of the community had collaborated with other powers to retain strategic trading posts and sources of revenue. Although they participated in leagues organized by Christian powers against the Ottomans, they also developed commercial and diplomatic relations with the Ottomans, sometimes even conflicting with the home administration in Genoa. 7 Thus, arguably the very presence and survival of the community was based on its connections and networking with different groups, which gave it a dynamic character and complex nature. This chapter analyzes this distinctive aspect of the Genoese of Pera in the context of two long-established families of the community, the Draperio and Spinola. Focusing on the position of these two families vis- -vis the Byzantines and the Ottomans in the fifteenth century, this study highlights the networks the members of these families established with different authorities and provides an insight into the continuities and changes they experienced just after the Ottoman conquest of Constantinople. Thereby, it explores the strategies these families followed to make their way in the new order.
Spinola and Draperio Families of Pera
Thanks to the rich collection of notarial documents recorded by Genoese notaries, we can trace the Spinola and Draperio families back to the thirteenth century. The Spinola family, along with the Doria, Grimaldi, and Lomellini families, was among the earliest noble families of medieval Genoa. Each of these noble families constituted an albergo , which was a single entity comprising members of branches of the same family, distant relatives, and people bearing the same surname who swore to act together. Thus, most of the noble families in the Genoese colony of Pera, such as the Spinola, were branches of noble families in Genoa. The Draperio family was an exception, as it was a colonial family that had raised its social status without having solid ties in Genoa or the larger region of Liguria. 8 The Draperios had come to Constantinople as merchants but soon became one of the leading families there. At the end of the fourteenth century eight men of the Draperio family lived in Pera, and the family gave its name to one of the contrades (streets) of the district. 9
Pera was a district on the northern shore of the Golden Horn, located opposite Constantinople. The Genoese presence in Pera started with the Byzantine reconquest of Constantinople in 1261. In return for Genoese support against the Venetians, Byzantine emperor Michael VIII made concessions to them with the Treaty of Nymphaeon and gave Pera to the Genoese community. In 1304, the Byzantine emperor allowed the Genoese to build walls around their district. Moreover, they were granted the right to have their own podest (governor) and a council ( magnifica comunit di Pera ), composed of twenty-four members, responsible for the order and organization of the colony. The statutes of Genoa, which included legal regulations concerning the civil, commercial, and administrative organization of the community, also began to be applied and observed. 10 In this way, from the fourteenth century onward, the Genoese community established a semiautonomous rule in Pera.
The Genoese of Pera received extensive trading privileges from later Palaiologan emperors as well and strengthened their economic position vis- -vis the local population during the late fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. This situation also allowed them to exert particular economic and political influence in the realm of Byzantine affairs in this period, which is best exemplified through the experiences of the Draperio and Spinola families. The members of these families were not only active traders and bankers but also significant actors in the administration of their colony and in relations with the Byzantine and Ottoman states.
The name of Luchino Draperio, the head of his family, first appears in one of the treaties signed with the Byzantines in November 1382. This treaty was the culmination of decades of struggle and civil war between Emperor John V and his son Andronikos IV, who allied with the Ottomans and the Genoese and attempted to depose his father. In retaliation John V disinherited Andronikos. Andronikos continued his struggle, and the Genoese of Pera, already offended by Emperor John V s cession of the island of Tenedos to the Venetians (significantly threatening Genoese trade interests), became strong supporters of Andronikos. After years of inconclusive struggle against Andronikos and his Genoese allies in Pera, Emperor John V finally recognized Andronikos s rights and those of his grandson John VII for succession to the throne. 11 The resulting treaty was negotiated and guaranteed by the Genoese. The Genoese podest and members of the council of Pera, including Luchino Draperio, were present in the convention and acted as mediators in the dynastic conflict within the Byzantine royal family. 12 Moreover, with this treaty, John V, Andronikos IV, and the Genoese of Pera agreed to support each other against all enemies except the Ottomans, which officially confirmed their subordinate position to the Ottoman sultan.
Luchino married Jhera Paleologina, daughter of Calojane Livadarios, head of a well-known aristocratic family of the Palaiologan period. Luchino was connected to the Byzantines through his Greek wife, who was rich and possibly from the imperial family. Besides a profitable dowry, this marriage also brought Luchino commercial enterprises and economic connections with the Byzantine emperor and aristocrats. 13 Thus, the first member of the Draperio family established himself as an influential figure in the economic and political life of the community through his personal connections and relationships.
Iane Draperio, Luchino s son, was also a merchant and businessman. He mainly dealt with the grain trade and, through concessions he received from the Byzantine emperor, exported wheat from Thrace to Italy. Iane was also actively engaged with the diplomatic affairs of the colony. On October 26, 1389, he was sent as an ambassador of the Genoese community to Sultan Bayezid I (r. 1389-1402) in order to reconfirm the treaties already signed during the reigns of Sultan Orhan (r. 1326-1362) and Sultan Murad I (r. 1362-1389). 14 Considering Ottoman expansion in the Balkans during this period, it is most likely that, through the renewal of treaties, Iane also wanted to secure his own trade interests in Thracian territories. In fact, he was not the only member of the family who participated in negotiations with the Ottomans. Giovanni Draperio, brother of Iane, was among the witnesses to the treaty of 1387, signed with Murad I, which gave tax concessions to Ottoman merchants in Pera. 15 Giovanni was later sent to Sultan Mehmed I (r. 1413-1421) as ambassador for negotiations. 16 It is clear that members of the Draperio family did not hesitate to form economic and diplomatic relations with different authorities for their own interests and for the benefit of their community.
Among the family, perhaps Francesco Draperio was the most famous in the fifteenth century. An influential merchant and banker, Draperio was frequently mentioned in the account book of Giacomo Badoer, a Venetian merchant who was in Constantinople between 1436 and 1440. These references indicate that he and Badoer were involved in various transactions. 17 Francesco Draperio was also a tax farmer of the alum mines in Phocaea. Early in 1444 he had been commissioned by the Genoese administration to carry out negotiations with Sultan Murad II (r. 1421-1444, 1446-1451), and together with Cyriac of Ancona, who was an Italian humanist and antiquarian, Francesco went to the court of Murad II in Adrianople. Like many other emissaries from Anatolia, Francesco presented expensive gifts to the sultan, such as purple garments worked with gold, his own rather costly material. 18 Their second visit to Sultan Murad II was in Manisa in 1446. In his letter to Andreolo Giustiniani, a Genoese humanist residing in Chios, Cyriac described in detail how the sultan received Francesco in his court. He expressed surprise at the sultan s friendly attitude toward Francesco:
The great ruler of Asia, opening the royal portals, did not betake himself to the open courtyard where he customarily receives foreign and domestic delegations but he also invited our Francesco to enter a separate, private, inner chamber, where no outsider may so much as step on the threshold. The great prince and his satraps also showed him many other signs of extraordinary good will. I was glad to see both for his sake and for yours because I felt that this was very profitable, not only for him personally, but for your republic as well. 19
As Cyriac presumed, the close contacts with the sultan soon proved profitable for Francesco. In 1449 he was among the merchants who controlled the production, transport, and commercialization of alum from Phocaea to Chios and from there to Flanders and England. Alum was indispensable during the Middle Ages in the textile industry of Europe, which used it for fixing the color of textiles, and in the glass industry. Therefore, it became an important source of wealth for the Genoese. Francesco, who had amiable relations with Murad II and a close friendship with Mehmed II, received the tax-farming rights for alum mines after the conquest of Constantinople as well.
The Draperio and Spinola families were connected to each other through the marriage of Francesco s daughter Elisabetta Maria to Tommaso Spinola. This marriage seems to have been supported by the Latins and also by the Ottoman sultan. According to Cyriac of Ancona, Not only noble and distinguished citizens but even greater princes and the most powerful ruler of Asia favored such a brilliant marriage. 20 Cyriac s remarks imply that the relations between the Draperios and the Ottoman sultans were characterized not purely by economic interests but also by a degree of intimacy and friendship.
Tommaso Spinola, like his father-in-law, was a banker. 21 Similar to the Draperio family, the Spinola family had active roles as merchants, financiers, and administrators in Pera. At the end of the fourteenth century, besides Pera, members of the family resided in the other two Genoese trading bases, Caffa (Kefe) on the Black Sea and Chios on the Aegean Sea. For instance, in 1386-1387 among seventeen men of the Spinola family in Caffa, one was a banker, another a shipowner, and four were soldiers recruited as mercenaries by the Commune of Caffa. 22
In the first half of the fifteenth century, we also see the name Spinola in Ottoman Bursa. According to the travel account of Bertrandon de la Broqui re, written in 1432, Genoese and Florentine merchants owned residences in Bursa. Broqui re relates that as soon as he arrived in the city, a representative of the Spinola Company received him. 23 Apparently, the Spinola family had strong commercial connections in Bursa, which suggests that they had good relations with the Ottoman administrators there. Bursa was one of the centers of international trade, where silk materials, precious stones, spices, and textiles were exchanged in the bazaars. The Spanish traveler Pero Tafur, visiting Bursa in 1437, five years after de la Broqui re, confirms that Genoese and Florentine families were settled in Bursa. During his visit, he stayed in the house of a Genoese merchant. 24 For the Spinolas, besides Caffa and Chios, Bursa was another trade base. Commodities such as Persian silk and other raw materials produced and woven in Bursa were taken to Pera and from there to Europe. Pera in turn was the Ottomans market for obtaining Western commodities, principally the fine woolens much in demand in the Levant. In all these commercial exchanges Genoese merchants, including members of the Spinola family, were in constant contact with the Ottoman merchants and administrators.
In the fifteenth century, Tommaso Spinola had a financially powerful position in Pera. Just before the conquest, while his father-in-law, Draperio, was befriending Sultan Mehmed II, Tommaso Spinola and a few other wealthy Genoese were providing financial support to the Byzantine emperor Constantine XI. A notarial document drawn up on August 7, 1453, soon after the conquest, was in fact a reconfirmation of the contract that had been made between these Genoese and the Byzantine emperor seven months before. 25 According to the contract, Tommaso Spinola, together with other Genoese-Antonio Garra and his brother Giovanni, Angelo Zaccaria, Bartolomeo Gentile, Babilano Pallavicino, 26 Battista Gattilusio, and Cassano Salvago-granted 9,000 perperi (a large, silver Byzantine coin), each contributing 1,125 perperi , to the emperor, and in return the emperor gave them a balascio (a precious piece of jewelry with rubies) as a guarantee. There was conflict among the Genoese lenders concerning the custody of the balascio , and finally they decided to give it to the Garra brothers to keep. After the conquest, Emperor Constantine died, and aware that they would not get the money, the Genoese wanted to guarantee that, despite the changing conditions, all eight lenders had a share of the balascio . Because of this concern, they formalized their claims in this document, which is also important in terms of indicating the financial power of the Genoese of Pera at that time and the support they provided for the Byzantine emperor against the Ottomans.
Ottoman Pera
With the conquest of Constantinople on May 29, 1453, Pera passed under Ottoman control. However, Pera did not suffer the same fate as Constantinople since Mehmed II did not besiege or conquer it; rather, the Genoese nobles surrendered it in return for certain privileges. According to Doukas, Zaganos Pasha, grand vizier of Mehmed II, assured the Genoese in Pera that they would receive better treaties than their former treaties with the Byzantine emperors and with the Ottoman sultans. Upon this assurance, those who remained in Pera, together with the podest , surrendered the keys of the city to the sultan. 27 On June 1, 1453, a few days after the city was taken, Ottoman sultan Mehmed II granted to the Genoese of Pera an ahidname (set of capitulations). Originally written in Greek and translated into Turkish and Italian, the ahidname guaranteed life and property as well as religious freedom and commercial privileges to the Genoese on the condition of their obedience and payment of a special tax called a harac :
At present the people of Galata and their noblemen, in order to show their friendship, have sent to my court their envoys Babilano Pallavicino and Marchio de Franko and the dragoman Nicolo Pagliuzzi with the keys of their fortress and submit to me as my subjects. In return I accept that they may fulfill their rituals and rules as were in effect before, and that I do not send my troops against them and demolish their fortress. I agree that their properties, livelihood, houses, storehouses, vineyards, mills, ships and boats and all goods and their wives, daughters, sons and slaves remain in their hands and I do not assault or disturb them. I agree that those who trade can do so in other parts of my dominions and they can travel by sea and by land, nobody hinders or disturbs them. I impose on them the Islamic poll tax [ harac ] which they pay each year as other non-Muslims do. I agree that I protect them as I do those in other parts of my dominions and they may keep their churches and perform their rituals as they wish except that they may not ring their church bells. And I will not turn their churches into mosques. But they should not build new churches. I agree that the Genoese merchants who come and go by land and sea should pay the customs dues as required in the law and nobody may attack them. I agree that their sons may not be taken as Janissaries and no infidel may be converted to Islam by force and they can choose anyone they want among themselves to look after their own affairs; that no falconer [ do anc ] or serf [ kul ], Sultan s men, will come to their home. The inhabitants of the fortress and the merchants will be free from forced labor. 28
This ahidname , renewed by Sultan Ahmed I in 1613 ( figure 3.1 ), was, in some respects, a confirmation of the privileges that the Genoese community had possessed during the Byzantine period. Through this agreement the Genoese were allowed to live under Ottoman rule with some security and according to their own laws and religious practices. It can even be said that it granted the Genoese community a right of autonomy with respect to their internal matters, even if it passed under the administration of a kadi (judge). In their internal affairs they could apply their own law, but in affairs with the Ottomans or other non- Muslims they were subject to Islamic law. The magnifica comunit di Pera continued to take care of the needs of the Genoese community, and the churches and religious organizations of Pera came under its control. However, the podest was now deprived of his title. Genoese merchants, who were citizens of Genoa and resided in the city on a temporary basis for trade purposes, had to pay only customs dues, and the sultan also promised to provide security for them.
Despite the ahidname , many Genoese, witnessing the conquest of Constantinople, fled Pera in fear and panic. However, after almost two centuries, for most of the Genoese, Pera was their birthplace and hometown. Moreover, during this time Genoa was full of internal quarrels, and returning to the patria , their homeland, did not present a better option for many. Therefore, some of those who had fled to Chios and other nearby places during the conquest returned to Pera when they heard that Mehmed II would restore their houses and properties. The economic power of the Genoese played an important role in their reception and perception by the Ottoman authorities just after the conquest. Those Genoese, who remained in Pera continued their activities and daily life without much disruption. 29 The notarial documents of Pera from 1453 to 1490 also give this impression, while showing traces of slight changes such as frequent acts of manumission of slaves just after the conquest. The Genoese community soon adapted itself to the changes and continued to play a part in the life of Pera, now Galata.

Figure 3.1 Renewal of Sultan Mehmed II s 1453 ahidname by Sultan Ahmed I in 1613. The document displays the tu ra (signature) of Sultan Ahmed I. It starts with an invocation and states that the people of Galata sent him envoys to ask for renewal of the privileges given by Sultan Mehmed II. It is followed by the exact copy of Sultan Mehmed II s 1453 ahidname . (Archivio Segreto 2737 D, fol. 41. Courtesy of Archivio di Stato di Genova.)
This could also be seen in the notarial act of August 8, 1453, made in the house of Giovanni de Mari where the ex- podest Angelo Giovanni Lomellino was staying. 30 According to the ahidname , the office of podest was no longer recognized; thus, with this notarial act the leading members of the community, including Tommaso Spinola, appointed Bartolomeo Gentile and Cassano Salvago as the procurators of the community. Their duties were to regulate financial issues and protect the interests and rights of the Genoese of Pera. Moreover, Pietro di Gravaga was elected the new head of the community ( protogerus ) by the baili 31 of Pera, of which Tommaso Spinola was a member. These actions show that official ties with Genoa were almost cut off and the leading members of the community took control. In this adaptation process, Tommaso Spinola helped shape the future of the Genoese community under Ottoman rule.

  • Accueil Accueil
  • Univers Univers
  • Ebooks Ebooks
  • Livres audio Livres audio
  • Presse Presse
  • BD BD
  • Documents Documents