Showing posts with label Seyahatname. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Seyahatname. Show all posts

26 March 2013

Evliya's Mistra

Turkish Fountain, lower city.

Evliya Çelebi visited Mistra in September 1668. Here are parts of his description from Pierre MacKay's translation of the Morea portion of the Seyahatname. Evliya's numbers should not be taken for court evidence.  The section headings are Evliya's from his manuscript.  The text is taken from folios SN VIII.274a29 through SN VIII.275a31.
* * * * * * * * * *

[Coming from Longaniko.]
Passing through this town, I continued southeast along the foothills of the Falcon Mountain of Ma'ni, and came through frightful and dangerous places to the villages of Ag. Vasi'l, Koki'tsa, Ago'riani and Alevru'. These are all in the foothills of the mountains of Ma'ni, and together they comprise three or four hundred houses. They are Greek villages with gardens and orchards, and belong to the juridical district of Mistra' command. From there it was 4 hours to Mistra'. 
 
Conquests of the province of Mesokhori, which is the description of the castle of Mistra
Some write the name Misistra, but in the Imperial registers, they write "The Province of Mesokho'ri," and in official titulatures it is known as the Mezistra command. According to the statements of ancient Greek historians, it was built first by King Solomon, and the next builder was Rehoboam, son of the prophet Solomon. Then King Philip, having built the city of Athens, was so pleased with the air and water of this city of Mistra' that he edified it still further, and because the actual work on the building was done by his vizier, Meso Khor, the lower city is called Mesokho'ri in the Greek histories. In the Frankish tongue they call it . . . , and in the Latin tongue it is Mistir. This ancient city and mighty fortress was taken by the Conqueror Sultan Mehmed Khan in person, in the year. . . . 

It was formerly the capital city of the King of the Venetian Franks, and is now the capital city of the Bey of the Mistra' command. According to the cadastral register, the special reserve for the Pasha is 219000 aspers. There are 11 zeamet-class and l9 timar-class fiefs. There is a Levy Commander (Alay Beyi) and a Captain of Troops (Çeri başi), and according to the code the total levy of men-at-arms is a force of three thousand men. The Bey (Sancak Beyi) is assigned to naval duties under the Grand Admiral, who is Commander-in- chief for the Governorate, and he takes three galleys on campaign. He derives nine purses of revenue annually from the administration of justice in this command.

Religious law is the province of a sacred jurisdiction valued at three hundred aspers, and there are . . . district villages. The Judge's annual income from the administration of justice is eight purses. The Chief Mufti is the Excellent Hamdi Efendi, a creature perfect in knowledge, outstanding in temperament, rich in elevated nobility and majestic in scholarship. There is a Marshal of the descendants of the Prophet and a Judge-substitute for the lower city. There is a Local Commander of Troops (Sipa^h Ka^hya Yeri), a Captain of Janissaries and many magnates and notables. There is a Castle Commandant and twenty-four garrison personnel. There is an Inspector of Commerce with the rank of Ag"a, a Commissioner of Customs Duties, a Commissioner of Tribute Taxes, a Collector of Transit Dues, a Chief Architect with the rank of Ag"a, a City Intendant and a . . .. There is a Proto'geros for the Greek infidels, a Chief of the Congregation for the Jews and Consuls for the Franks, because this is a well-ordered city.

A chapter on the entire appearance of the city of Mistra'
According to the personal observations of your poor and humble servant, this high castle is at the foot of the mountains of Ma'ni on a steep smooth white rock, attached to the Falcon Mountain. There is a strong fortress and a mighty rampart reaching to the very sky, an almond-shaped masonry citadel of archaic workmanship. Together with its lower circuit it forms three subdivisions, making up a stalwart and well-built defense. There are three gates. One opens to the east, and this is the gate to the inner keep, located in that line of defense. The gate of the middle castle opens to the southeast and the gate of the outer division opens west and is in a very dark and shady place. In front of this gate is the Station of the Conqueror Mehmed Khan. This is a smooth slab of hard stone where the Conqueror performed a prostration of heartfelt thanksgiving, just as the castle was taken. In the place where his forehead touched the stone during the prostration of worship, there is now a little polished depression, and when the blessed rain collects here, epileptics and people with fevers come here and drink the rainwater, in which, by the will of God, they find recovery.

In the central keep of this three-part citadel is the residence of the Castle Commandant, and there is also an armory, a provisions store and a water cistern, but nothing else. In this entire three-part citadel there is a total of eighty lofty tile-roofed houses with splendid views, and the mosque of Sultan Mehmed Khan is here in this citadel too, an old-fashioned place of worship with no minaret. The entire circumference of this citadel complex, measured around the battlements, is eight hundred paces. If a man looks down from this castle -- God's truth -- his gall-bladder will burst from terror, for it is such a lofty castle, reaching up to the very sky, that even to look up at it sets a man's mind to whirling as if he were staring into the center of a narcissus flower.

The station of the Excellent Ak Sems u"d-Din
Outside the castle, on the rock where he worshipped, there are the holes worn away by his tears falling drop by drop, and traces of the place where his holy knees touched the hard rock. For this reason they say that the castle of Mistra' was taken by the tears of Ak S,ems u"d-Din. Down the hill from this holy place is the lower castle. Commendation of the construction of the mighty lower castle This is a huge fortress, surrounding the citadel on the east, north and west sides, while on the south side, as God is my refuge, the steep rock cliff, which is a hundred fathoms deep and precipitous as the pits of Hell, results in there being neither walls nor towers, for they are not needed.

The entire circumference of this five sided castle is nine thousand long paces all round. There is no moat on any side, for the castle is built on a hard, steep, solid rock. There are eight gates altogether. One is the little gate to the prayer ground, and this opens westward. Another is the market gate, which also opens west. Then there is the. . . gate which opens to the east, the gate of the Kurd Ag"a mosque, which opens north, and the lower market gate which opens south . In addition to these, there is a number of small arched posterns in the city, whereas the ones mentioned above are the big gates on the main thoroughfares. Inside the city there are altogether one thousand one hundred inhabited and prosperous masonry houses built by the infidels, storey upon storey, one up against the other, with no yards but with a fine view. Only this year, however, a raging fire burned down six hundred of them and many of the houses are still undergoing repairs or rebuilding. The houses are built one above another, and are lofty dwellings with a view out to the east and north, over the plain of St. Nikon.

A count of the mosques in this castle
There are seven places of worship. First the Fethiye mosque, which is a mosque of Sultan Mehmed Khan, then the market mosque and the Zal mosque. The rest are neighborhood mosques for the faithful. There is one college for burning scholars, two primary schools for 5 well-born and properly raised heart's darlings, one convent for elders in the way of asceticism, one bath to refresh and soothe, two hundred shops for artisans and craftsmen, one inn for merchants, one caravanserai for travelers, and seven churches and monasteries for the meaningless mumblings of infidels. Of these, the monastery of St. Nikon is the best built.

A noteworthy marvel
Inside this castle, in the Greek and Jewish quarters, and in other places too, there are twenty-nine places called "cool- rooms," great cellars and natural caves worked into a finished shape. Each of these will hold a thousand people, and in July, the whole city, from the best of Muslim society to the worst of dissolute drunkards make themselves comfortable in these cellars and carry on their enjoyments, pleasures and festivities there. Even during the dog-days a man cannot sit near the entrance of these cellars without wearing furs. The people of the city chill their water, their wine and their sweet fruit drinks here. These are remarkable cellars to visit, where one cannot endure the cold even in July. Outside the castle, the mosque of Kurd Çelebi has just been built, and it is a very fine mosque. Then you go two thousand paces down a steep slope to the suburb of Mesokho'ri.

Praise of the suburb of Mesokhori
There are five hundred spacious tile-roofed masonry houses with gardens and orchards on a level plain here. There are ten Muslim neighborhoods, five congregations of Jews, and eleven Greek neighborhoods. There are six Muslim places of worship and one is a very well-appointed mosque . . .. There are also four neighborhood mosques. There is one upper school for burning scholars, two primary schools for children's youthful ABCs, two dervish chapels, and two open prayer grounds. One of these is north of the castle and one south of it. There is one damp and rather dirty little bath, four inns for merchants, and one caravanserai for travellers which the judge of Mistra', {{Zekeriya}} Efendi, has just built. Among the great houses are the Palace of the Pasha, the palace of Ako Bey, the . . . Ag"a palace, the . . . palace and the law-court palace, which are all fine residences. There are eighty shops, of which the tanners' hall and the silk- workers' market are the richest.

You cross the river . . . that runs in front of this suburb by way of a single arched bridge. This river goes on to join the great Eurotas  river that flows through the plain of St. Nikon and then runs on close by the E'los plain and empties into the Mediterranean close to Bardhu'nia and Pa'ssava castles. Inside the city there are seventy water-mills. There are altogether three thousand gardens, orchards and flower-plots, and there are abundant lemons, oranges, figs and grapes. The vineyards are spread all over the hills west of the castle, and the plain is all set out in gardens irrigated with running water. Roses, hyacinths and herbs flourish in these gardens as in the gardens of Paradise. In the month of July, however, the air is heavy and thick, although it is very pleasant in winter. The water is very tasty and pleasant, and there are thousands of springs flowing abundantly, so that in every trellised melon patch there is a spring of sweet digestive water. The lovely boys and girls are famous, and both boys and girls are doe-eyed, or gazelle-eyed, sweet-voiced, radiant-faced fairy creatures, fit for a king to gaze on.

Among the celebrated products are silk cloth and thread, crimson (pirnokok) vegetable dye, tart black mulberries and black figs. All the people are Greekish, and since they mingle continually with the Greek infidels in their buyings and sellings, they are Muslims who speak the purest form of the Greek tongue.

14 June 2011

Evliya's Manuscript

25 March 2011, Google birthday homage to Evliya Çelebi

Pierre MacKay had the pleasure and privilege to be the scholar who identified Evliya Çelebi's own manuscript.  I have asked him to recount that remarkable experience.
* * * * * *

One painless way to acquire a smidgeon of academic notoriety is to attach oneself to someone whose 400th birthday is worth remembering. I had the good fortune of doing so in 1964, even before I knew who Evliya was, and he has been my companion ever since.

I was in Princeton that summer, and able to use the open stacks of the Princeton University library where, in a search for a different and at that time better known author, Katib Çelebi, I ran into a fragmentary English translation of two volumes of Evliya's great ten-volume Travel Journal (Seyahatname). I had little time to find out much about Evliya, because I was preparing for a year in Egypt then, but I was intrigued and, in August, at the 4th International Congress of Classical Studies held in Philadelphia, I found myself talking to Alexander McDonald of Clare College, Cambridge, (a Livy scholar) who knew quite a bit about Turkey, and was also intrigued. He suggested to me that if I found an opportunity to look at manuscripts there, I should not go through the official bureaucracy, but approach the doorman of the library I was interested in, and get help from him. 
 
Pierre MacKay in the 60s. 
In February, 1966, I was granted freedom to  study the manuscripts of the Seyahatname in a way that has possibly never been equaled for any scholar before or since. It was not that I was specially prepared to do this workin most senses I was not prepared at all. All I had was the command of some rather halting spoken Turkish—it is still not goodand the experience of some important manuscript work in Classical Arabic the year before. I taught myself Ottoman by reading the introduction to an edition of the 7th volume of the Seyahatname on cold winter days at the library of the Turkish Historical Society in Ankara. (Seyahatname 7 and 8 were almost the last books permitted to be printed in Arabic script at the time of the Ataturk language reform of 192728.) There was a providence working here.


1965–66 was an unusually cold winter in Ankara, and it was a great relief to head west to Istanbul in early February to stay in the charming and utterly impractical Köprülü summer house (the American Research Institute in Turkey. The high fenced grounds of this place were attached to one of the damp towers of the Byzantine sea wall at the southeast corner of the city, which was, disastrously, taken over for a library, and the fence protected an open area where my wife, Theodora, and I could chase our beautiful Egyptian dog around for hours in the evening.)

 Ayyusha, by Theodora MacKay

I had three major libraries to search, the Sultan Ahmet III library in Top Kapi, the great Süleymaniye manuscript library, and the decaying University library, which had a expanding crack in the masonry running all the way down through the grand central stairway so that all the books had been piled near the center to keep it from splitting apart. I had three weeks for what I needed to do.

At the Sultan Ahmet library, almost unvisited by tourists, I got into conversation with the doorman, and within the hour I was in the office of the Museum director. An arrangement was made that I would pay for tourist entry to the grounds and then go immediately to the library where I was given a long table all to myself. I was asked which manuscript of the many available I wanted, and had to say that I really did not know.  "Then," the Director responded, "you should have them all," and the library staff brought out every single one.


"All" was two full sets of ten volumes and several partial sets, including the one that turned out to be Evliya's own manuscript. There was no way I could do any meaningful collation and that too turned out to be good fortune. I concentrated on physical inspection: bindings, sequence of gatherings, watemarks, notes of ownership and bequest, usage of red and black ink, and almost anything but the text. I was able to take the manuscripts closer to the somewhat opaque windows and look through pages for watermarks, which gave me the opportunity to record the unique Venetian heraldic watermark on the paper used by Evliya. 

 

When not at Top Kapı, I was at the Süleymaniye, or the University library, where the sweet, utterly gracious librarian Makbule Hanım took me in charge and found for me the outstandingly fine copy of volume 10, for which Evliya's own original is lost. At the end of three weeks I had enough raw material for twenty lifetimes of work, and the germ of a belief that I might be able to single out one archetypal manuscript and avoid the drudgery of endless hours of collation.

Close to the last day in Istanbul, when I met the Museum director again, I was asked whether I would need microfilm, and which manuscripts I would prefer. Once again I could only answer that I had some good ideas, but no sure sense of which ones I needed. The response was astonishng. "In that case we had better arrange to film all of them." I made a hasty calculation of my resources of travelers checks, gulped, and accepted this extraordinary offer, and when I took up my position at the University of Washington that fall, the rolls of film, beautifully photographed, had arrived before me. I also got films of the manuscripts in the University Library, and from Süleymaniye a copy of the Haci Beşir Ağa manuscript (which was sadly out of focus, but it turned out that it didn't matter).

In 1967–68, the University of Washington gave me a generous research fund for technical assistance, and I was able to make large Xerox copies of all the manuscripts, which I carried with me in a trailer when I drove across country to take up a year's fellowship at the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton.


There was a "Eureka!" moment there—a day when everything fell into place, not slowly, but in a sort of cascade of discovery. There is no simple way of showing what led up to it, and readers in haste may want to skim quickly through what follows. I remained focused on the physical organization of the manuscript, in part because my knowledge of Ottoman Turkish was still not sufficient to read one of the richest and most variegated prose styles in the history of the language. Evliya, as Robert Dankoff, who knows him better than anyone else living today, points out, can be quite bewildering at first glance. 

A particular problem was disorder in in the text of book 4, which divided the surviving manuscripts into two distinct families. To get a clear view of the evidence, I hung a "do not disturb" sign on my office door and laid out on the floor a sequence of twenty or so pages from every copy of book 4 I had available. It was quite easy then to eliminate the later copies, and I was left with three sets of pages, one characterized by copious added notes written sideways in the wide margins and by other features that had led a few earlier scholars to suggest that the annotated copy might be the original.  

This manuscript which, for historical reasons I called S, had a fixed maximum of 34 lines per page, and included many, apparently random, areas on which nothing was written, an unusual waste of paper for the 17th or 18th centuries. The writing was consistent in size, and ran along even and regular baselines. These features were not consistent in the two manuscript facsimiles, both dated 1742, that lay on the floor beside them. The 1742 manuscripts (P and Q) usually had 34 lines per page, but sometimes crowded in more lines, which were often written in increasingly cramped and condensed letters. The notes from the margins of manuscript S could be found incorporated into the main text of P and Q and, even more significantly, when a page of S ended on a specific word, so did the corresponding page of both P and Q. The folio numbers for the three manuscripts are not a reliable guide, but the "catch-words" at the bottom of every second page (the b side of the folio) which is repeated at the top of the next page, are very consistent. (The terms for Latin and Greek manuscripts are recto and verso , but it makes no sense to call the first side of a folio of Arabic script a recto , since it is always on the left side when the book is opened.) They are an essential guide for keeping the pages in the right order before the gatherings are sewn together.


That was already enough evidence to identify S as the origin of all other manuscripts, but there was even more. The disorder in page sequence mentioned above was caused by the insertion of several folded sheets, not in the center of a gathering, but off to one side. That arrangement is reflected in copy Q, but not in P, because the added folios fell out and were mistakenly inserted into the center of the gathering, and the copyist of P simply copied them where he found them. At the top margin of the migratory folios of S, someone has written sequence numbers for that gathering only, in hopes of preventing the mistake from happening again.



When manuscript S was conclusively shown to be the origin of all other copies, it remained only to show that it was Evliya's own manuscript, and Richard Kreutel had two years earlier made a case for that by comparing the very personal style of handwriting on the manuscript with a number of dipinti on walls and columns left by the self-styled world-traveler on monuments he visited. In the part of book 4 discussed above there is a precious note from Evliya to himself. "I must find something to fill in all this blank space."
Beginning in the mid 1670s, Evliya went through his trunks full of loose notes, organized them, and passed them to a secretary who wrote out the fair copy. As soon as each volume was finished, he began emending the copy, adjusting diacriticals and vowel marks where needed, adding copious notes in the margin and sometimes even tracing over a letter when he was dissatisfied with its shape. This revision seems to have been about half completed when he died. The notes continue through volume 8, but are much sparser near the end.

Because I was able to get copies of all manuscripts, even one that was dismissed as a trivial collection of extracts, I also found the short history of how the Seyahatname was put into its present shape in one immense effort at the end of Evliya's life in Cairo, and brought to Istanbul 50 years later, when three out of the four surviving complete copies were made, all in the same year.  


All these discoveries are summed up in:
``The manuscripts of the Seyahatname of Evliya Çelebi. Part 1. The
Archetype.'' Der Islam 52 (1975): 278–298.