DEATH AND LIFE IN THE OTTOMAN PALACE

 

 

 

 

Edinburgh Studies on the Ottoman Empire

Series Editor: Kent F. Schull

Published and forthcoming titles

Migrating Texts: Circulating Translations around the Ottoman Mediterranean

Edited by Marilyn Booth

Death and Life in the Ottoman Palace: Revelations of the Sultan Abdülhamid I Tomb

Douglas Scott Brookes

Ottoman Sunnism: New Perspectives

Edited by Vefa Erginbaş

Jews and Palestinians in the Late Ottoman Era, 1908–1914: Claiming the Homeland

Louis A. Fishman

Spiritual Vernacular of the Early Ottoman Frontier: The Yazıcıoğlu Family

Carlos Grenier

Armenians in the Late Ottoman Empire: Migration, Mobility Control and Sovereignty, 1885–1915

David Gutman

The Kizilbash-Alevis in Ottoman Anatolia: Sufism, Politics and Community

Ayfer Karakaya-Stump

Çemberlitaş Hamamı in Istanbul: The Biographical Memoir of a Turkish Bath

Nina Macaraig

The Kurdish Nobility in the Ottoman Empire: Loyalty, Autonomy and Privilege

Nilay Özok-Gündoğan

Nineteenth-Century Local Governance in Ottoman Bulgaria: Politics in Provincial Councils

Safa Saraçoğlu

Prisons in the Late Ottoman Empire: Microcosms of Modernity

Kent F. Schull

Ruler Visibility and Popular Belonging in the Ottoman Empire

Darin Stephanov

Children and Childhood in the Ottoman Empire: From the 15th to the 20th Century

Edited by Gülay Yılmaz and Fruma Zachs edinburghuniversitypress.com/series/esoe

 

 

 

DEATH AND LIFE IN THE OTTOMAN PALACE

REVELATIONS OF THE SULTAN ABDÜLHAMİD I TOMB

 

 

 

Douglas Scott Brookes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For Grace Martin Smith, PhD

Lecturer in Turkish (retired), University of California, Berkeley Who introduced a young undergraduate

To the world of the Ottomans

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Edinburgh University Press is one of the leading university presses in the UK.

We publish academic books and journals in our selected subject areas across the humanities and social sciences, combining cutting-edge scholarship with high editorial and production values to produce academic works of lasting importance. For more information visit our website: edinburghuniversitypress.com

© Douglas Scott Brookes, 2023

Cover image: Interior of the Hamidiye Tomb c. 2015. Courtesy of Ünver Rüstem Cover design: Stuart Dalziel

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The right of Douglas Scott Brookes to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 and the Copyright and Related Rights Regulations 2003 (SI No. 2498).

 

 

 

 

 

List of Figures                                                                                  vii

Acknowledgements                                                                            xi

Notes on Language and Transliteration                                               xii

Map 1. Istanbul around 1860                                                              xv

Map 2. The Hamidiye Tomb Complex                                               xvi

Map 3. Burial Plots in the Mausoleum                                              xvii

Map 4. Burial Plots in the Side Graveyard                                       xviii

Map 5. Burial Plots in the Forecourt Graveyard                                  xix

Introduction: Mansion of the Heavens                                                  1

1.    The Makings of a Royal Graveyard: Abdülhamid I and the Iconography of Sultanic Tombs    5

2.    A Tomb in Town: The Design and Operation of a Royal

Mausoleum                                                                                  49

3.    Presenting the Imperial Family: The Birth, Death, and Survival

of Royal Children                                                                         88

4.    The Men and Boys in the Garden: Courtiers, Eunuchs, and the

Palace Milieu                                                                             159

5.    The Women in the Garden: The Female World of the Imperial

Harem                                                                                        217

Conclusion: Benevolence in Stone                                                   270

Appendix A: Burials in the Mausoleum                                            278

Appendix B: Burials of Men and Boys in the Garden

Graveyard                                                                                279

Appendix C: Burials of Women in the Garden Graveyard                  282

Appendix D: The Epitaphs in the Garden Graveyard                          284

Glossary                                                                                         302

Bibliography                                                                                   306

Index                                                                                              310

 

 

 

 

 

In the illustration captions, ‘AZ’ denotes photographs by Ali Ziyrek, ‘ÜR’ denotes photographs by Ünver Rüstem.

Garlands and Roses for Eunuch İbrahim İbiş Ağa, 1825                       xx

I.1           The Hamidiye Tomb exterior, c. 2010                                         4

1.1          The Hamidiye Library, 1780s                                                     8

1.2          The water kiosk and the tomb, c. 1880                                        9

1.3          Marble forest of beneficence                                                    12

1.4          Rococo exuberance on the mausoleum’s exterior fountains

at the street                                                                              13

1.5          The Hamidiye water kiosk at its post-1911 location, by the Princess Zeyneb Mosque        15

1.6          The calligrapher’s date on his work: 29 Z. 1194                         16

1.7          Quran reciters in the tomb of Mustafa III, 1780s                        20

1.8          The oil-lamp chandelier (now with electric bulbs) at Mother Princess Nakşıdil Tomb        21

1.9          The standard Kâtibî turban of Mehmed Ağa, father of the

Senior Keeper of the Robes, 1813                                             25

1.10      The Eyebrow Kâtibî of palace chamberlain Karakulakzade

Ali Bey                                                                                   25

1.11      Mehmed Ağa’s Kâtibî turban of 1825 versus Mehmed Emin Efendi’s Mahmudiye fez of 1830      26

1.12      The star and crescent adorning Mehmed Emin’s richly ‘embroidered’ Mahmudiye fez       27

1.13      Invocation on the stone of Ali Ağa the Algerian: ‘He is the

Eternal Creator’                                                                       30

1.14      The year 1228 on the stone of Karakulakzade Ali Bey                32

 

1.15	Palace official Osman Ağa’s death date of 15
	Cemaziyülâhir 1241	32
1.16	Evoking Paradise: fruit and gardens	34
1.17	The poet Safvet tries to fashion a chronogram	38
1.18	Bowl of grapes for İbrahim İbiş Ağa	46
2.1	Ottoman variant on ionic columns	51
2.2	Mehmed Emin Efendi’s calligraphy panel over the
	ablaq of the entry portal	51
2.3	Baroque curves where the portico meets the mausoleum	53
2.4	The trompe l’oeil décor added in the nineteenth century	55
2.5–2.7	Pilaster treatments: acanthus leaves and subtle pendant	56
2.8	The portico entry into the mausoleum	59
2.9	Colour, beauty, and light: the mausoleum interior	62
2.10	The embroidered epitaph on Princess Mevhibe’s
	cenotaph	65
2.11	Mehmed Emin’s magnificent swirl	70
2.12	The tell-tale clue for where the frieze begins and ends	71
2.13	The subtlest of mihrabs	72
2.14	The supplication encircling the dome	74
2.15	The drumless dome, with pie-shaped wedge of
	nineteenth-century décor and eight medallions	75
2.16	The Baroque niche fashioned to house the Sacred
	Footprint	78
2.17	The tuğra drawn by Mehmed Raşid	79
2.18	Calligraphy by tomb sexton Vâsıf, on the gravestone of
	İbrahim İbiş Ağa	83
2.19, 2.20	The Hamidiye Tomb c. 2015 versus June 1990	85
3.1	Presenting a royal newborn to the harem ladies	93
3.2	The title line of Sürûrî’s double chronogram	96
3.3	Abdülhamid I in an engraving by Lemaitre	97
3.4	Abdülhamid in the Audience Hall at Topkapı	98
3.5	Abdülhamid in procession, c. 1780s	101
3.6	The magnificent Marash work of Abdülhamid’s epitaph	105
3.7	Abdülhamid receiving ministers at Topkapı	127
3.8	The toll of childhood mortality	140
3.9	From the verse around Mevhibe’s pall	150
3.10	Floral motifs adorning Mevhibe’s pall	152
4.1	Behind Abdülhamid in procession, c. 1780s	164
4.2	Silâhdar Ağa, 1780s	167
4.3	Typical palace courtier gravestone, for Karakulakzade
	Ali Bey	169

Figures

 

4.4	Vase motif on the gravestone of Janissary commander
	Mehmed Ağa.	172
4.5	The Kallâvi turban gracing Mehmed Pasha’s tombstone	174
4.6	The Grand Vizier dining with a European minister	174
4.7	Medallion of towering apricots on the sepulchre of
	Grand Vizier Silâhdar Mehmed Pasha	176
4.8	Reşid Ağa’s Zerrin turban, with dangling braids	178
4.9	A çantacı, ‘purse-bearer’, of the 1780s	179
4.10	Vase, garlands, and flowers for Major-domo Ömer Ağa	180
4.11	Sırrı Efendi’s ‘latticed’ turban	184
4.12	Climbing roses adorn the footstone of Sword-bearer
	Yahya’s grave	188
4.13	The Chief Black Eunuch, 1780s	190
4.14	The gravestones of Ali Ağa and Hadice Hatun	194
4.15	Fruit bowls on the sepulchre of Hadice Hatun	197
4.16	Hadith-tuğra on the stone of harem eunuch Beşir Ağa	199
4.17	Harem eunuch Cafer Ağa’s towering gravestone	202
4.18	Eunuch headdress; Kâtibî turban; grand floral ‘crown’	204
4.19, 4.20	Eunuch headdress and grapevine stele at sepulchre
	of white eunuch İbrahim Ağa	206
4.21	Mahmudiye fez for the young Bahaeddin	212
4.22	Pears for the eunuch Cafer Ağa	214
5.1–5.3	Headstones of three women of the Imperial Harem	219
5.4	Pomegranates for Mutebere Kadın	225
5.5	The elaborate cage surrounding Nevres Kadın’s
	sepulchre	227
5.6	Grapevine on the footstone of Nevres Kadın’s grave	229
5.7	Date palm on the sepulchre of Dilpezir Kadın	231
5.8, 5.9	The different renditions of ve müminata on the
	headstones of Seyyare and Şevkinur	235
5.10	Harem ladies’ marble forest	238
5.11	Marble magnificence for Palace Superintendent
	Âtıf Usta	241
5.12	Wet-nurse Ayşe’s headstone	243
5.13	Superbly chiselled calligraphy for wet-nurse Ayşe	244
5.14	The hotoz hat for Fatma’s stone	248
5.15	Fikrî Visal Kalfa’s elegant and dynamic headstone	250
5.16	Pomegranates for Ruhusafa Kalfa	252
5.17	Florid elegance for Ruyiş Kadın, Mistress of
	Ceremonial of the Imperial Harem	257
5.18	Yarderun’s ‘hat’	260

 

5.19           Calligrapher’s flourish for Zeyneb’s stone, on the word

merhûm                                                                        265

C.1                          Flower vase for white eunuch İbrahim Ağa                     276

C.2                          The majestic doorway into the mausoleum                      277

* * *

 

Note: The artwork throughout this book derives from graves and architectural elements at the Hamidiye Tomb.

 

Title page: Mehmed Ağa, plot 8 Introduction: Wet-nurse Ayşe, plot 52

Chapter 1: Wall pendant, mausoleum entryway Chapter 2: Frieze segment, mausoleum interior

Chapter 3: Princess Mevhibe, plot 12 in the mausoleum Chapter 4: Cafer Ağa, plot 16

Chapter 5: Fikri Visal Kalfa, plot 29 Conclusion: Mehmed Emin Ağa, plot 10

 

 

 

 

Acknowledgements

 

 

 

 

Ünver Rüstem of Johns Hopkins University provided clarifications on architectural and decorative aspects of the Hamidiye Tomb too numerous to count, and graciously shared his photographs to help illustrate this text. I am profoundly grateful for his kindness and generosity.

Hakan Karateke of the University of Chicago and Jane Hathaway of Ohio State University provided an array of helpful insights and sugges- tions on the epitaphs and on eunuchs, respectively. I deeply appreciate their thoughtful and generous comments.

Ali Ziyrek, staff researcher with the Istanbul Directorate of Castle Museums, formerly with the Istanbul Directorate of Tombs, carried out research on numerous topics related to the book, answered innumerable questions, and created many of the photographs here, particularly of the tombstones. I am deeply thankful for his ever friendly and gracious manner when confronted with unceasing requests. This book could not have been written without his help.

Given the vast spectrum of topics raised by this graveyard, and the pitfalls that vastness conceals, the humble request of one Ottoman scholar as he sent his work into the world warrants invocation here:1

خطایانک ذوی العرفان طرفندن عفوی رجا اولنور

 

‘Forgiveness of errors is requested of those who possess knowledge.’

 

 

 

1. Elmalılı Hasanefendizade Ârif (1332 [1916]), Çocuklara Lûgat Kitabı,

Istanbul: Nefaset, 3.

 

 

 

 

Notes on Language and Transliteration

 

 

 

 

Sultan is the title of the Ottoman monarch of course, but court pro- tocol in the era of the Hamidiye Tomb also bestowed this title upon royal children of both sexes. As a result, confusingly enough at first, we see Sultan Ahmed, Sultan Murad, and so on, on these boys’ ceno- taphs within the tomb. The title was paired with şehzade, the Persian word meaning ‘son of the king’, to render a double title: Şehzade Sultan Bayezid, for example, ‘Prince Bayezid’. This venerable usage of titulature began to drop out of fashion for royal males around the mid-nineteenth century, leaving şehzade as the primary title for princes of the Imperial Family.

Given the multiple applications of the title sultan in the dynasty, once a prince ascended the throne Ottoman protocol appended the title han (from the Mongol khan) to his name to signify that he was now the ruling monarch and no longer simply a prince. In this way, Abdülhamid’s full title as sovereign was Sultan Abdülhamid Han.

For princesses, the title came after their names: Emine Sultan, Saliha Sultan, and so on. This usage persisted through the end of the monarchy in the 1920s and is still in use among the Imperial Family today.

Because of the grammatical structure of Turkish, tombstone epitaphs begin with the name of the grandfather or father or patron or husband of the deceased, not with the deceased. This might lure the casual visitor unfamiliar with the language into assuming that quite another person is interred in the grave, until one glances further down the stone. If, for example, we translate gravestone number 26 in the order that Turkish presents the words, it would read:

 

His Majesty Sultan Abdülhamid (Our Sovereign Lord)’s

Language and Transliteration

 

Esteemed daughter Her Highness the virtuous

Princess Esma

(Honour upon her)’s adopted servant Yarderun Hanım.

The Fatiha for her soul.

As to transliteration, Ottoman Turkish terms and phrases appear in Modern Turkish orthography as in the Redhouse Turkish/Ottoman–English Dictionary (Istanbul: SEV, 2013), modified to preserve Ottoman spelling of suffixes and final consonants. Turkish personal and place names are also in Modern Turkish spelling, except in quotations from foreign languages, which retain the spelling of the original quote.

Epitaphs and documents are sprinkled with words or phrases borrowed from Arabic, a common practice in Ottoman prose and poetry. Being well-known by the literate, these Arabic excerpts are rendered in Modern Turkish orthography because this is how most Ottomans would have pro- nounced them. The few that did not pass into common usage in Turkish are also in Modern Turkish orthography for consistency’s sake, but with the circumflex to indicate Arabic long vowels; thus el-muhtâce rather than al-muḥtāja.

Foreign words that recur frequently (as listed in the Glossary) are itali- cised on first occurrence only; foreign words that have been assimilated into English are not italicised.

Words appearing within brackets (as opposed to parentheses) within translated quotes are the translator’s additions, not appearing in the source text.

Within the translated epitaphs, quotation marks indicate chronograms, as in:

With sorrow, O Ziver, sketch out her date: ‘Princess Mevhibe rendered the Palace of Heaven her abode’.

Translations of Quranic verses are from A. J. Arberry, The Koran Interpreted (New York: Macmillan, 1974).

Pronunciation of Turkish letters is as in English, with the following exceptions:

 

c = j ç = ch

ğ = not pronounced, but extends the length of the preceding vowel sound ı (undotted i) = the ‘i’ in bit

i (including capital dotted i) = ‘ee’

Death and Life in the Ottoman Palace

 

ö = the ‘er’ in her; same as French eu or German ö

ş = sh

ü = ‘ee’ pronounced with rounded lips; same as French u or German ü

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Map 1 Istanbul around 1860.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Map 2 The Hamidiye Tomb complex.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Map 4 Burial plots in the side graveyard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Map 5 Burial plots in the forecourt graveyard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Garlands and roses for eunuch İbrahim İbiş Ağa, 1825. AZ.

 

 

Introduction: Mansion of the Heavens

 

 

 

 

One would hardly notice it today, when navigating the dense streets of Istanbul between Galata Bridge and Topkapı Palace, so unassuming it is, marooned at the end of a row of garish shops, and overshadowed by the magnificent Ottoman Revivalist office building across the street. Nothing about the architecture alerts the passer-by that this small, stone building with grilled windows is in fact a royal mausoleum, as well as an exquisite gem of the Ottoman Baroque, as well as repository of one of the holiest relics of Islam. We have come to the Sultan Abdülhamid I Tomb.

Abdülhamid built his final resting place long before he needed it for himself. Having come to the throne in 1774, by 1778 he had begun con- struction on his tomb, which reached completion in, almost certainly, 1780. Was his rush to build his final resting place because he had passed the age of fifty, when thoughts of mortality begin to linger not far from one’s mind? Possibly; and as further impetus, he would have known that his brother and predecessor, Mustafa III, had built his own tomb when he was about the same age. Yet for Abdülhamid surely the major impetus lay elsewhere. In line with court custom, he had officially begun fathering children only after he had become monarch. But his young offspring kept dying, one after another. He needed a place to bury his children. With that, the Sultan Abdülhamid I Tomb – or to use the more common Turkish term derived from his name, the Hamidiye Tomb – was born.

A ‘Mansion of the Heavens’ it is indeed, in the pleasing Ottoman phrase Kasr-ı Cinan that graces poetic inscriptions at mausolea and on headstones in graveyards, including the graveyard around this royal mausoleum, in double reference to both the tomb and to Paradise. In this graveyard we see it first in 1797, on the headstone of Abdülhamid’s consort Nevres: Eylesün Nevres Kadın Kasr-ı Cinanda cilvegâh, ‘May the lady Nevres fashion a chamber of splendour in the Mansion of the Heavens’. It appears again in

Death and Life in the Ottoman Palace

 

1812, on the pall over the cenotaph of the infant prince Bayezid: Ol gül-i nevresteye me’va ola Kasr-ı Cinan, ‘May the Mansion of the Heavens be home for that newly sprouted rose’.

As built, the Hamidiye Tomb formed but one component of the multi- faceted Hamidiye Charitable Complex. The tomb itself forms a mini- complex of two components: the mausoleum and the garden graveyard surrounding it. Turkish has a special word to denote an enclosed grave- yard in the grounds of a tomb or mosque: hazire, whose original Arabic meaning was, rather amusingly, ‘cattle pen’. In this book, ‘the Hamidiye Tomb’ refers to the mausoleum (türbe) and the garden graveyard (hazire) together.

 

‘Now, a man may learn a deal of the general from studying the specific, whereas it is impossible to know the specific by studying the general’, runs a 1942 version of the aphorism.1 Along these lines, cemeteries can serve as troves of information about a culture, and the goal in investigating the Hamidiye Tomb is to see what insights it reveals about Ottoman culture of the period during which this mausoleum and graveyard received burials: the 1780s to the 1860s, but most actively between 1800 and 1840. Given that almost everyone buried here, male and female, worked (and, for most of them, lived) at Topkapı Palace – males (including eunuchs) in the monarch’s Privy Household or the Imperial Harem, females in the Imperial Harem as managers, higher- ranking staff, or concubines – we look for what it will teach us of life at the Ottoman court of this era. The workings of the Ottoman palace in the last two centuries up to the end of the monarchy in 1924 have not been deeply studied and remain something of an enigma, so we are turning to this royal cemetery to help us better understand the Ottoman court during this period.

We will look for clues as to the place this tomb held in Ottoman society. Was it known among the elites of the empire as a prestigious site for burial? Or was it introspective: a final resting place for palace folk themselves, not for men of state, and not seeking to strike a certain public pose and make a statement on an empire-wide scale? The next imperial mausoleum constructed in Istanbul, the grand edifice built in 1840 to house Mahmud II’s remains, evolved (in the graveyard surrounding it) into a national pantheon; can the same moniker apply to the Hamidiye Tomb, for the preceding era?

Because the era of this tomb witnessed the most wrenching changes of modern Ottoman history until then – the reforms forcibly introduced by Abdülhamid’s son Mahmud II after 1826 – we shall also look for

 

2

Introduction

 

manifestations of these changes in this graveyard, if indeed Mahmud’s sweeping reforms filtered down as far as cemeteries.

Our exploration touches on an aspect of spatial history: the concept of representational space, meaning space that is experienced through the symbols that have been gathered together in it, or through symbolic asso- ciations that it makes. What was the impact this royal mausoleum sought to make on visitors, and even on passers-by? Did that impact tie into the iconographic programme of the Imperial House? Was the impact different on foreigners versus on Ottomans? On literate versus illiterate Ottomans? Responses to these questions might fill a book of their own, but here we shall consider them as we navigate this particular space.

As the above paragraphs imply, in terms of methodology this book approaches history by beginning with the physical evidence, the artefacts on hand, as the starting point for exploration, as one would in curating a museum exhibit or designing an educational tour. In this book the physi- cal evidence is, of course, the Hamidiye Tomb. The paths of exploration leading out from this starting point are many: architecture, art and design, calligraphy, dress, death and funeral customs, literature, calendars, time calculation, disease, hierarchy, gender roles, eunuchs, concubinage, harem structure, and language use, to name but the more prominent. The goal is to see whether we can identify, from this disparate evidence, what the reigning House sought to accomplish through this tomb, quite apart from the practical purpose of burying its dead.

 

Note

1. Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, Cross Creek (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1942), 359.

 

Figure I.1 The Hamidiye Tomb exterior, c. 2010. ÜR.

Chapter 1

The Makings of a Royal Graveyard: Abdülhamid I and the Iconography of Sultanic Tombs

 

 

I left the Mausoleum of Sultan Mourad more than ever convinced that no people on earth have succeeded better than the Turks in robbing death of all its terrors, and diffusing an atmosphere of cheerfulness and comfort about the last resting-places of the departed.

Miss Julia Pardoe, 18541

 

The Hamidiye Tomb is an outlier. Most tombs of the Ottoman Imperial Family lie along the ridge of the peninsula that forms the heart of Istanbul, clustering near the venerable mosque of Aya Sofya, adorning Divanyolu Boulevard as it wends its way westward toward the city walls, or perched atop hills highly visible from the sea. But the Hamidiye Tomb is down near the waters of the Golden Horn, and quite in the middle of a com- mercial neighbourhood, its only similar companion in this part of town being the nearby royal tombs at the New Mosque, by Galata Bridge. Out of the way it was and, unlike the royal tombs atop the ridge, not visited by new sultans during the procession after the sword-girding ceremony that marked the beginning of their reign. Instead, it languished in the metaphorical shadow of those more famous royal tombs on the ridge and, beginning in the twentieth century, found itself in the physical shadow of the commercial buildings that rose around it. In other words, this sepul- chre has been rather overlooked, as Istanbul royal tombs go. But let us buck the trend and see what treasures of culture and history it offers those who pause to consider it.

 

The Story of the Hamidiye Charitable Complex

After the conquest of Constantinople by Mehmed II in 1453, every Ottoman monarch until 1622 was buried in the grounds around the

imperial mosque he had built (or that his son built for him, in the case of Selim I), in a tomb erected for him by his son after the monarch’s death; if he had not built his own mosque, he was buried in a royal tomb he had constructed somewhere in Stamboul (as foreigners called the old walled city between the Golden Horn and the Sea of Marmara). The first of the latter – we might call them ‘free-standing’ royal tombs, since they were not part of a mosque complex – clustered near Aya Sofya. If circumstances conspired to see a sultan perish before he had built a mosque or tomb for himself (or, in Selim’s case, that his son built for him), as occurred for the first time in 1622, he was interred within another sultan’s mausoleum, usually his father’s, as a kind of permanent guest. Meanwhile, the last imperial-mosque-with-adjacent-tomb went up in the 1760s, commissioned by Mustafa III in the Lâleli district of the city.

Once he came to the throne in 1774, Abdülhamid I also wished to com- mission a grand mosque complex of his own. But the hard truth was that space had fairly run out within the old walled city for yet another large royal mosque complex, at least in the more desirable parts of town, relatively near Topkapı Palace. After all, these complexes typically came with not only mosque and tomb but also school, fountain to provide drinking water, soup kitchen for the poor, shops to generate income for the complex, and ideally a hospital and library. It’s why the Turkish term for such a complex is külliye, the Arabic word meaning ‘entirety, completeness’.

Thanks to the court chronicler Enverî in his record of events of 1775, we understand that what with the scarcity of available land for a new mosque complex within the walled city, Abdülhamid abandoned his plans for a mosque in Stamboul. Instead, he decided to embellish the New Mosque, along the Golden Horn, by erecting for it an imaret (soup kitchen, or, as nineteenth-century guidebooks called them, alms-kitchen) to distribute food to the poor.

The New Mosque held special meaning for Abdülhamid since both his father and mother lay at rest in its mausoleum, which is probably why he chose this mosque for the first Friday Mosque Procession of his reign.2 In addition, its strategic location near the transfer point between seaborne transit along the Bosphorus and Sea of Marmara on the one hand, and the roads leading into the interior of Stamboul on the other, rendered the New Mosque one of the most conspicuous and best-known mosques in the capital; by supporting it in this way, some of its renown might well enhance his prestige among his subjects. Unmentioned in the chronicles was the uncomfortable truth that, by tradition, only a gazi, a victor or hero in a war against non-Muslims, could erect a mosque in the imperial

capital, but given his recent defeat by the Russians, victory in warfare was one distinction Abdülhamid could not claim.3

To build the alms-kitchen for the New Mosque, land was acquired a short distance east of it, in the city district called Bahçekapısı (or Bahçekapı), ‘Garden Gate’, after the nearby gate in the Byzantine sea walls along the Golden Horn, still standing in Abdülhamid’s day. His choice of this busy commercial district allowed his alms-kitchen to benefit a large number of people, and at its completion in 1777, Abdülhamid himself attended the grand opening ceremony that included distribution of food to thousands of the poor of Istanbul.4

The year of its opening, 1191 in the Muslim calendar, appeared in the chronogram at the bottom of the brilliant verse commissioned, and exqui- sitely calligraphed, to adorn the walls of the new building. We shall investi- gate chronograms, including this one, later in this chapter, so for now let us confine ourselves to noting, as a point of additional interest, that this verse came from the pen of Fıtnat Hanım, the highly talented female poet of the era. In that same year of 1777, construction began on Abdülhamid’s own mosque at Beylerbeyi on the Asian shore of the Bosphorus – the land problem having forced him to build outside the walled city. In the midst of all this construction in his name, Abdülhamid decided to expand his alms- kitchen for the New Mosque into a multi-faceted complex to complement

and support his mosque at Beylerbeyi, then nearing completion.

Rather unusually, Abdülhamid’s new project straddled a public road. Not just any road, to be sure, but as befits a royal structure, the busy Veziryolu, ‘Route of the Ministers of State’, which ran from the Golden Horn to the Sublime Porte; nowadays the road is called Hamidiye Street, after the tomb.5 Along with the alms-kitchen, the portion north of the road contained a primary school, and a grand water kiosk (sebil) for dispensing free drinking water, while the portion south of the road boasted a medrese or college of higher education, a mescid or small mosque, shops to gener- ate revenue, and a library. The latter was the first sultanic library housed in its own building in town rather than as part of a mosque complex or within palace grounds, which made it easier of access and thus preferred by European researchers of its era, and probably by Ottoman researchers too.6 Most importantly for our purpose, the complex south of the road included a royal tomb to house the benefactor, making this the first Ottoman royal tomb built at a medrese rather than at a mosque.7 Clearly Abdülhamid did not care to rely on his heir to build a tomb for him after his death, perhaps because by this epoch, no longer was a sultan’s heir necessarily his son but rather the oldest male in the Imperial Family, in Abdülhamid’s case his cousin. A second reason was surely to provide for

 

Figure 1.1 The Hamidiye Library, 1780s. D’Ohsson, Tableau général de l’empire othoman, Library of Congress.

 

 

the burial of his children, who were now coming into the world and, as we shall see, dying at an alarming rate. A third reason to build the tomb may have been the absence of a grand mosque on site; the domed tomb in lieu of a domed mosque, especially a tomb in a highly visible location marking the eastern entry to the ensemble, provided a focal point, a centre of gravity, to the complex, which otherwise it lacked.8

Entirely traditional the complex was, in the services it offered the public, but with a twist: the Hamidiye Charitable Complex offered Istanbul one of its finest gems of Ottoman Baroque. The Baroque had become the preferred architectural style for state-sponsored buildings since the 1740s, most notably expressed in the Nuruosmaniye mosque, which had been completed twenty-five years before the Hamidiye Complex. To the Baroque design of the structure and interior décor of the tomb, Rococo flourishes add playful touches that soften the severity of the stone and the formal Baroque architecture, notably in the twin fountains that flank the corner window on the street façade, but also (although not part of the architect’s design) in the gravestones and sepulchres erected in the garden over the ensuing decades.

Curious it may seem that Abdülhamid built his Beylerbeyi mosque’s supportive structures back in Stamboul rather than near his mosque. But

 

Figure 1.2 The water kiosk (right) and the tomb (left), c. 1880. Abdullah Frères.

 

 

there is no particular reason that a mosque’s supporting entities must be near it, and precedent existed, in the Çemberlitaş bath-house having been constructed in Stamboul in the 1570s to support the Atik Valide mosque across the Bosphorus in Üsküdar.9 Since the Hamidiye complex was to include his tomb, Abdülhamid had no choice but to build his complex somewhere inside the Stamboul peninsula, to conform to Ottoman royal tradition that called for sultans to be buried within the old walled city.10 The Bahçekapısı site offered a special advantage: given the Muslim custom of burying bodies as soon as feasible after death (among other reasons, angels were coming to question the corpse once he or she was in the grave), funerals required only a short walk from Topkapı Palace.

Besides, Abdülhamid had another precedent to go on: by the 1770s, when he launched his construction projects, wealthy benefactors had been building charitable structures sans mosque – a library, say, or a medrese – around the city for a hundred years. It is just that Abdülhamid’s project was far grander in scope and design than any of theirs.11 Nor was his deci- sion to place his tomb in this crowded commercial district, rather than atop the hill where so many other Ottoman royal tombs lay, unheard of; since the mid-seventeenth century, several sultans had been buried at the New

Mosque, in the heart of the commercial district near the Galata Bridge.12 Abdülhamid could not have foreseen it, of course, but his decision to gift his charitable complex to this teeming commercial quarter would backfire some 130 years later, in 1911, when the portions of the complex north of the road fell to the wrecker’s ball in order to make way for a towering office block. There is something ironic about that, along the lines of the no-good-deed-must-go-unpunished maxim.

It may also seem odd, to visitors from other cultures, that Abdülhamid built his mausoleum right on the street, squarely in the commercial heart of the city, rather than, say, in a park-like suburban setting behind towering walls. This constitutes perhaps the most striking aspect of the Hamidiye Tomb, not found in any other royal Ottoman tomb: its bold location directly on the street in a busy part of town, not set back, not atop steps, not behind a wall or fence; and nor does it stand at just one street, but at the intersec- tion of two, giving the tomb double exposure to passers-by. Indeed, the entire Hamidiye Complex represented a break with tradition in its orienta- tion to the street, even straddling an important, ever-busy road running squarely through its midst. The arrangement differed dramatically from that of previous such complexes, with an openness that the public readily noticed, as in the popularity of the library for its ease of access. Nor was the choice of orientation an accident or fluke: it was to enhance the bond between the reigning House and the populace.

To explain this statement, let us consider how royal houses might strengthen the throne they occupy, which is to say, keep subjects loyal. This question has multiple answers that could fill pages, but for our purposes the most important, simply stated, is: by keeping in the public eye in a positive way, which is to say, in a manner that demonstrates that the ruling House provides the realm with capable leaders who merit their exalted role. In suc- cinct form, this boils down to doing good deeds that benefit the people, while making sure the beneficence and munificence of the ruling House remain visible. Especially desirable are good deeds that demonstrate the dynasty’s piety and its concern for encouraging religious devotion in its subjects.

The Hamidiye Tomb, along with the entire Hamidiye Charitable Complex as originally built, provided one major means for the Ottoman dynasty to accomplish this goal of presenting good deeds to its subjects. The Baroque mausoleum adorned the corner it occupied, enhancing the beauty of the neighbourhood, as did the bold calligraphed inscription over the entryway, and the elegant forest of carved marble gravestones visible through the garden walls. Behold, the complex proclaimed, our monarch the philanthropist, generous benefactor of not just charitable works but works of exquisite architecture, of sublime art, a generous

patron who upholds the superb and unique qualities of time-honoured Ottoman aesthetics.

More evidence proclaiming the benevolence of the ruling House, and its fitness to rule, awaited inside. With the entry gate open during the day, both tomb and garden graveyard provided visitors a quiet retreat for prayer and contemplation in the heart of the city. As visitors savoured the peace- ful retreat, the dramatic calligraphy along the walls aimed to strengthen their religious devotion by reminding them of the transitoriness of life. Even if illiterate visitors could not read the words, they would probably know, or presume, that these were Quranic verses. Or the tomb attendants might have read the calligraphy panels aloud to illiterate visitors; if the attendants were also illiterate, they may have memorised the verses in question and recited them to visitors.

The very presence of the thicket of marble gravestones in the garden attested to the beneficence of the ruling House, in arranging burial here for so many of its servants. Large grilled openings within the walls placed this act of royal beneficence on public view, but the windows in the walls did more than this, or than simply allowing passers-by to admire the peaceful garden in the middle of town, or than kindling the desire, or the vanity, to erect the most visible tombstones in the garden.13 The openings served a purpose: to afford visitors the opportunity to experience God’s grace, and to perform an act of religious merit, by reciting the Fatiha chapter of the Quran for the dead buried here. We will discuss the Fatiha when analysing the structure of tombstone epitaphs, thus for now we will add just that reciting the Fatiha (a short passage easily memorised) on behalf of the deceased constituted an act of grace that nearly all tombstones request. Even illiterate visitors, if they did not already know that gravesite visitors were expected to recite the Fatiha for the dead, could participate in this oral performance, prompted by a fellow literate visitor who read the grave- stone epitaphs aloud to them – a custom dating to the early centuries of Islam, when few could read.14 As with the calligraphy panels adorning the walls, possibly the tomb attendants read some of the gravestone inscrip- tions aloud to the more inquisitive illiterate visitors or, if themselves illiterate, recited for them epitaphs they had memorised.15

On the street façade of the mausoleum, flanking the tomb window at the street corner, small, twin wall-fountains offered drinking water to the public, in what amounts to a Rococo embodiment of the monarch’s goodwill toward his people, and subtly invites the water-drinker to offer a Fatiha prayer on his behalf. Inside the courtyard, another fountain sup- plied water for ablutions, making for three small-scale appendages to the magnificent water kiosk in the portion of the complex across the

 

Figure 1.3 Marble forest of beneficence. AZ.

 

road. Together, the Hamidiye’s four fountains contributed handsomely to the astounding proliferation of water fountains across Istanbul in the eighteenth century.16

It was surely no coincidence that the location chosen for Abdülhamid’s mausoleum lay directly across the road from the water kiosk, no doubt the most-used component of the entire site: partakers of the kiosk’s free drinking water were presented a direct view of the resting place (or, before 1789, the future resting place) of the benevolent monarch who had made them this gift. Conversely, visitors inside the mausoleum could view, through the windows, this physical testimony to the care and concern of Sultan Abdülhamid for his people’s well-being, embodied in the exquisite water kiosk across the road.

The juxtaposition of water kiosk and mausoleum constituted the most powerful component of the central image that the Hamidiye Complex was designed to project: that of the compassionate and philanthropic Sultan Abdülhamid caring for his people. Noteworthy too is that the exuberantly Rococo water kiosk was far more ostentatious than the subtly elegant

tomb. One might have thought Abdülhamid would have wanted his tomb to form the most ornate component of the complex, but no; in this pairing, straddling the road, of Life and Death, of life-giving fountain juxtaposed with burial chamber, Death is treated with courtly subtlety, Life with ostentation and exuberance. For the same reason, the twin fountains flank- ing the corner window of the tomb stand out in exuberant Rococo, appro- priate for this gift of life-giving water from the monarch to his people, and quite differentiated in design from the subtle lines of the rest of the tomb exterior.17

After all, funded, as they were, by pious endowments (evkaf), this and other sultanic mausolea were fully intended to serve as charitable structures to benefit the living, not as remote and unvisited edifices ‘as quiet as a tomb’. Establishing a charitable foundation had evolved into a widespread practice in Islam, encouraged by the state as a means for communities to flourish without the state having to pay for it. Beyond the practical aspect, funding a charitable endowment constituted a meritorious act beyond the alms obligatory in Islam, a point in the benefactor’s favour when it came to earning reward in Paradise. To add to the attraction, those who benefited from the endowment – in our case, patrons of the soup

Figure 1.4 Rococo exuberance on the mausoleum’s exterior fountains at the street. ÜR.

kitchen, water fountains, schools, and library of the Hamidiye Complex, as well as visitors to the tomb and graveyard, and relatives of those buried there – could, so one might hope, bless the benefactor and pray for his happiness on earth or reward in Heaven.18

Imperial tombs also served the religious needs of the populace in offer- ing a site for prayer at the graves of monarchs, whose intercession was held to be efficacious. Visitorship at tombs increased during Ramazan and on the holy nights throughout the year, when intercession by the deceased in the tombs was thought to be especially potent.19

Pious the charitable endowments might have been, with beneficent intent, but their administration left them vulnerable to exploitation by less higher-minded officials. The administration of their affairs lay scattered among diverse offices, leaving them ripe for flagrant skimming, usually in the form of excessive fees. The most notable skimmer would be the Chief Eunuch of the Imperial Harem, who administered what were by far the richest endowments in the empire, those of the Two Holy Cities of Mecca and Medina. Shortly after he came to the throne, Abdülhamid, perceiving the situation, created a special office to oversee at least his own endow- ments (including the Hamidiye Complex) and thus bearing his name: Hamidiye Vakıflar Nezareti, the Hamidiye Bureau of Endowments. The Sultan ordered a special building constructed for his new Bureau, located near the Hamidiye Complex, which formed almost certainly his largest endowment thanks to its revenues from the shops along the street, and the sizeable expenditures by the complex’s varied components for upkeep and salaries, to name but two outlays. Abdülhamid’s act did not resolve the management and corruption problem with charitable foundations, as the Chief Eunuch retained control over most other endowments, but his son Mahmud II would go much further. In 1826 Mahmud pulled the rug from under the Chief Eunuch by creating a new government ministry, Evkaf-ı Hümayun Nezareti, the Ministry of Imperial Endowments, henceforth to oversee all charitable foundations.20

To return for a moment to the water kiosk, its spatial configuration across from the mausoleum came to an end in 1911 with the demolition of the northern portion of the Hamidiye Complex, thereby shearing the mau- soleum of its water-dispensing complement across the road. Reflecting the ambivalent attitude of some later public figures toward Ottoman monuments, this desecration of the Hamidiye Complex took place at the order of architect Kemaleddin Bey, historic preservationist, famed pro- ponent of the First National style of Ottoman-revivalist architecture and, paradoxically enough, official in charge of repair and restoration for the Ministry of Imperial Endowments. Clearly Kemaleddin was not averse to

clearing away the old when certain circumstances prevailed: the towering Fourth Vakıf Han office building that replaced the demolished or removed Hamidiye Complex structures was his design.

Kemaleddin’s decision destroyed the spatial ordering and architectural unity of the complex, but at least he spared the magnificent water kiosk by dismantling it and re-erecting it near Topkapı Palace. Kemaleddin redeemed himself somewhat, in that the location he selected for rebuilding the kiosk kept it in the family, after a fashion: it stands now in the grounds of the mosque built by Abdülhamid’s full older sister, Princess Zeyneb. Pleasingly, that mosque is an earlier work of the architect who designed the kiosk, as well as the entire Hamidiye Complex, Tahir Ağa.

As fate and the limited availability of land in Stamboul would have it, the Hamidiye was the last imperial charitable complex constructed within the walled city. The first had been that of Sultan Mehmed the Conqueror in the 1460s.

We have seen that the alms-kitchen component of the Hamidiye Complex reached completion in 1777. Work continued on the remainder of the project across the road, including the tomb. No archival record has sur- faced to tell us definitively when the tomb was completed, but piecing

Figure 1.5 The Hamidiye water kiosk at its post-1911 location, by the Princess Zeyneb Mosque. SALT Research TASUH8650, Ali Saim Ülgen archive.

together the circumstantial evidence allows us to pinpoint the Hijri year 1194, or 1780 in the Gregorian calendar (happily, these two years overlap one another almost exactly).

The first such evidence is the beautifully calligraphed date ‘29 Zilhicce of the year 1194’ (26 December 1780) at the bottom of the dedicatory cartouche that flanks the left side of the entryway, just inside the tomb. This would be the date on which the calligrapher completed his work. The cartouche would have been installed and painted after this date, but we can take it as an indication of when the building was completed, more or less, since decorative elements such as calligraphy would have been among the last items installed before the building officially ‘opened for business’.

The second bit of evidence for 1194/1780 is the historian Cevdet Pasha, who tells us in his chronicle of the year 1195 that Sultan Abdülhamid’s young son Mehmed was ‘laid to rest in the new mausoleum that was brought to life the previous year in the neighbourhood of Bahçekapısı’. Rather clear, that.

These two bits of evidence for 1194/1780 dovetail with our knowledge that the medrese part of the complex was also completed that year: so the

 

Figure 1.6 The calligrapher’s date on his work: 29 Z. 1194, ١١٩٤ ذ ٢٩. AZ.

verse over the entryway into the medrese tells us. The perplexing part is that if we accept late 1194/1780 for when the tomb opened, how do we explain the fact that three of the children buried here died before then? Cevdet gives us a clue in his chronicle of the Muslim year 1192:

His Majesty Sultan Abdülhamid’s son by the name of Prince Ahmed passed away on the twenty-seventh day of Şevval [18 November 1778]. He was laid to rest on Osman Pasha’s plot of land located directly across from the imperial water kiosk, and which had been purchased some little time previously by His Majesty for the sum of 150 purses, for the purpose of erecting his mausoleum and medrese.21

In other words, whereas Abdülhamid’s other children who had died before this tomb was built were buried in the royal mausoleum at the New Mosque (probably because Abdülhamid’s parents were interred there, it still had space for burials and, being large, had been functioning as something of a dynastic mausoleum), this lad, Ahmed, was laid to rest in the grounds that his father had recently purchased as the site for this tomb. That land lay just across the road from the ‘imperial water kiosk’ (sebilhane-yi hümayun), as Cevdet calls it. Cevdet’s description jives with the way Enverî described things, namely that the complex’s structures on the north side of the road were begun sooner than the tomb and other structures on the south side of the road. It would seem that once Abdülhamid decided to expand his project, he had to purchase the land for the additional parts, which probably caused something of a further delay in beginning construction.

Coming back to the burial of Prince Ahmed here, the most likely sce- nario of events is that when the boy died in November 1778, his remains were interred in a spot determined to fall within the precinct of the planned royal mausoleum. Construction of the building then proceeded above and around the boy’s buried remains. By the time his infant sister Rabia died a year and a half later, in May 1780, the tomb was nearly complete and she was interred between Ahmed and the wall of the mausoleum. Probably the reason Ahmed does not lie adjacent to the wall, even though his is the earlier burial, is that his grave was intentionally placed somewhat away from where the wall would presumably rise, to allow builders room to manoeuvre, especially if construction plans changed. When the children’s infant sister Aynişah died that July, she in turn was buried on Ahmed’s other side even as work continued on finishing the building and decorating it. The final task to complete the burial of the three children would be to install a cenotaph over each grave, as part of the finishing touches in outfitting the tomb.

This supposition, that the children were buried here even while the tomb was being built (rather than, say, temporarily laid to rest elsewhere and then reburied here), conforms to Ottoman royal practice: when tombs of earlier sultans (before Abdülhamid’s reign) were built after their death, the late monarch would be buried at the site over which his tomb was to rise. Tents were raised to mark the monarch’s grave, with the building rising around the tent – for a while at least, since obviously at some point in the construction the tent had to come down. Whether this tent custom extended to royal children is not clear, but a reasonable supposition is that no, the tent, a traditional Ottoman symbol of the monarch, marked only his grave. If that supposition is correct (and no chronicle or document has yet surfaced to indicate otherwise), then the location of Prince Ahmed’s grave was probably marked during construction by some means not interfering unduly with the workers, but not by a tent.

The tradition of a tent marking a fresh sultanic grave appeared next at the Mahmud II Mausoleum, erected uphill from this tomb in 1839–40: immediately following his death, Mahmud’s remains were interred on the site chosen for his tomb, with a royal tent erected over his grave and the mausoleum rising over and around it during the next year.22

The above statement that calligraphy elements would have been among the last items installed before the building ‘opened for business’ needs to be revised: given the burial of these children here before/during its construction, the building had opened for business even before it was completed.

Considering the large number of children he began siring once he came to the throne, and the appallingly brief span in which their allotted time on this earth was running its course, one can readily understand why Abdülhamid felt the need for a new royal mausoleum. Of his twenty-two children, eighteen died as an infant or toddler. These figures, one should add, are as near as we can tell, there being disagreement on the number of Abdülhamid’s offspring, a familiar conundrum when researching the House of Osman of the nineteenth and earlier centuries.

In any event, using these figures, thirteen of those eighteen died after their father had purchased the property for this tomb around 1778, thus they are buried here (the exception being his baby Abdülaziz, stillborn in 1779 and, for whatever reason, buried at the New Mosque – had construction of the Hamidiye entered a stage rendering burial here highly impractical?). What with all but one of the children dying during Abdülhamid’s lifetime, they were interred so as to leave the prime spot in the centre, directly inside the doorway, for their father. The one who died after Abdülhamid,

his daughter Emine, two years after his death, became the last of his youthful children to be buried here.

But not the last child to be buried here. Abdülhamid’s baby grand- daughter, also named Emine, was laid to rest in the tomb in 1809, followed in 1812 by his toddler grandsons Murad and Bayezid. Taking up the last available space inside the mausoleum, his tiny great-grandson Mehmed Rüşdî became the final entrant into the tomb, in 1852. The mausoleum had received royal burials for seventy-four years.

One other adult had joined these infants: their twenty-nine-year-old brother or uncle Sultan Mustafa IV, who followed them in burial here when he was put to death in 1808.

As for the three children of Abdülhamid who survived into late adulthood – Sultan Mahmud II (d. 1839), Princess Heybetullah (d. 1841), and Princess Esma (d. 1848) – all were interred in Mahmud’s mausoleum. That show-stopping masterpiece in neoclassical Empire style, so different from any Ottoman royal tomb before or since, arose on the plot of land where Esma’s townhouse had stood, along the ridge between Topkapı Palace and the Grand Bazaar.23

 

Outfitting the Tomb

Typically, the royal builder of a tomb, or a wealthy person constructing his or her own mausoleum, would provide funds to support the tomb through a charitable foundation established for the purpose. We have the charter of the Hamidiye Tomb’s charitable foundation, which itemises the staff to be engaged for the site, along with their daily wages.24

Three tomb sextons were to be appointed from among ‘righteous men of the Faith who possess virtue and piety’. Funds were provided for incense and for someone to perfume the tomb with it; for sweeping the carpets; for keeping the tomb and forecourt clean; for keeping the drains flowing; for a gatekeeper at the entryway; for someone to light the oil lamps and wax candles; and for someone to clean the şadırvan, the ornate water basin along the back wall of the courtyard, fitted with a faucet for performing ablutions. The charter also provided a small wage for someone to keep tidy the turban over the cenotaph of Prince Ahmed, the only male interred in the tomb when it opened.

Memorisers of the Quran, and professional readers of it, seven in number, were to be engaged to slowly read or recite the Quran in their own homes on behalf of those interred at the tomb, beginning on Friday and completing the task the following Thursday. They were to gather at the tomb following the afternoon prayer and offer up prayers for ‘the

noble souls’ of those buried at the tomb as well as for preservation of the monarch’s life, victory by Ottoman troops, defeat of polytheist enemies of the Faith, and safety for those performing the hajj.

Given the lack of ‘business’ on most days at the tomb, the jobs outlined in the charter of the tomb’s pious foundation were somewhat in the nature of sinecures and, with two exceptions, this small army of sextons and workers probably showed up on an as-needed basis. One presumes that at least the gatekeeper turned up daily, in order to admit visitors wishing to see the tomb in return for a small fee, and to let in the Quran-reciters, assuming they did indeed gather at the tomb every afternoon as specified in the charter.

In addition to the seven reciters/readers of the Quran ‘on staff’, others (or perhaps these gentlemen) would have been engaged to read or recite poems in praise of the Prophet Muhammad on special occasions or at certain times. The traditional folding, wooden, x-shaped book-rests for the Quran would be placed here for these readers as well as for visitors.

European travellers unfamiliar with Muslim customs or the Quran might not appreciate the recitations going on as they stepped inside the

Figure 1.7 Quran reciters in the tomb of Mustafa III, 1780s. Artist Konstantin Kapıdağlı, in d’Ohsson, Tableau général de l’empire othoman, Library of Congress.

tomb. ‘A lad on his knees was whining through his nose a dismal canticle, analogous probably to the service in other countries for the repose of the dead’, carped one British visitor of around 1831, before complimenting an aspect of the tomb that we shall address shortly: ‘Unlike most monuments of royal vanity or ostentation, these mausolea are of some utility to the living, for to each of them is attached a public fountain for the benefit of the poor.’25 This fountain was placed on an exterior wall, at the street, to remain available even when the tomb was closed.

Until electric lamps and a chandelier replaced them in the twentieth century, oil lamps lit the tomb interior. One can still see such glass lamp- bowls (or, perhaps better said, ‘lamp-flutes’ as occasionally they resemble champagne flutes) in older tombs and mosques, the bowls fitting into the great wrought-iron hoops suspended from the domes to hold them. We have some idea of the original lamps here because several travellers described them, including the British aristocrat Grenville Temple who visited around 1830:

Our wish being to see the Hippodrome on our first visit, we embarked at Galata, and landed at Balik Iskeleh, or Fish-Stairs, passed by the Yeni Camaa (New Mosque), and then visited the tomb of Sultan Abd-ul-Hameed, the father of the present sovereign and of Sultan Mustafa. Other members of the family also repose here; the interior of this turbeh, or sepulchral chapel, is very handsomely ornamented, chiefly with richly carved and painted inscriptions from the Koran; the coffins, covered with rich cloths embroidered with inscriptions, are ranged in the centre parallel to each other – those of the males being distinguished by turbans. From the ceiling are suspended a great number of glass lamps of different colours.26

Figure 1.8 The oil-lamp chandelier (now with electric bulbs) at Mother Princess Nakşıdil Tomb, built in 1817. AZ.

The overhead oil lamps were always burning, says our observer of Ottoman customs of the 1780s, and we have at least one archival docu- ment documenting the olive oil and candles to be supplied to the Hamidiye Charitable Complex.27 But the towering wax candles flanking the ceno- taphs were lit only on holy nights, or when the officially engaged Quran reciters were carrying out their duties on special occasions.28

Unexpectedly, the British traveller William Hunter, in his visit to the tomb in 1792, claimed that candles (‘wax tapers’) burned non-stop:

Every sultan, when he dies, has a mausoleum erected to his memory. On our return home, we stopped to see that of the late emperor. His ashes are surrounded by those of his children, who were numerous, and each coffin is covered with embroidered cloth, and splendidly decorated. Lamps and wax tapers are kept constantly burning.29

Should we accept Mr Hunter’s claim? Given that he visited Turkey only three years after Abdülhamid’s death, his description bears some weight. But he was hardly adept at things Ottoman. And his missing the mark by claiming, quite incorrectly, that every sultan has his own mausoleum leads us to hesitate when evaluating his descriptions of everything else. If Mr Hunter refers to smaller, ‘every-day’ candles, then yes, quite possibly those burned every day, or nearly so; but the towering candles flanking the cenotaphs surely were lit only on special occasions.

Nor was the interior of the mausoleum the only place where other- worldly work was taking place. Faith-healers (‘hodjas’), religious men who, in the popular imagination, possessed spiritual power and methods to heal the sick and ward off the evil eye, could be found near this site that was, after all, so intimately connected to the mystery of the afterlife. According to the German travel writer whose guidebook, published in 1902, described the tomb for readers:

Outside the tomb there sits, not infrequently, a hodja who, by means of incan- tations and grazing with a knife, and the like, undertakes to effect cures of diseases.30

 

Headstones and Headgear and Cages

Visitors to the garden graveyard at the Hamidiye Tomb will notice that every grave is covered by stone in some form, many of the cost- liest type: four low marble walls, richly decorated, to form a rectan- gle, surmounted by a towering headstone at one end and, usually, a slightly shorter footstone at the other. This rectangular enclosure is usually filled with soil and planted, or was meant to be planted, with

flowering plants or bushes. On top of their beauty, the marble enclosures served the practical purpose of preventing anyone from stepping on the graves of the dead.31

The visitors will also notice that the headstones rather resemble one another. Nearly all are in the typical form for headstones of the Ottoman elite of this era: a tall, medium-thick slab of white marble (if money allowed, as it often did in the Hamidiye graveyard; otherwise of some lesser stone) anchored onto a marble base. It is in the details that the stones differ from one another. This was no accident, but rather the expression in stone of the Ottoman artistic tradition in all creative disciplines: to conform to traditional styles overall, while introducing distinct and crea- tive features in the details – rather like a theme and variations in music. On tombstones, that creativity might be expressed in the selection and placement of motifs that adorn the stone, in the treatment of the edges of the stone, in the style and placement of the calligraphy, and in the wording of the epitaph.

Then there is the gender divide, nearly always present in Ottoman culture. Sculpted in the stone at their top, gravestones of men feature the headgear the deceased wore in life: the turban of his position or, after Mahmud II forcibly required it for civil officials in 1829, the fez. Turbans varied according to the rank of the wearer, so with a bit of study one can tell the general station in life of the deceased from the style of turban that graces the top of his tombstone. Not so the fez, which did not vary accord- ing to rank within military or civil officialdom, or distinguish between one’s status as official or subject, or distinguish between religions. This was, after all, the reason Mahmud introduced the fez: to encourage a feeling of shared citizenship among all his male subjects, Muslim and non- Muslim, as well as to demonstrate his power and intention to thoroughly remodel Ottoman state and society.32

Accordingly, after 1829, Ottoman headstones for men took on some- thing of a more standard look. At least, one should add, tombstones of men who were not officially part of the Islamic religious establishment, as Mahmud’s edict allowed those gentlemen to keep their turbans.

Women did not wear the male turban or fez (a few women did take to wearing a small fez, but the fashion did not catch on; upper class women occasionally wore fez-shaped hats of various fabrics and colours, but not the standard fez), which means that females’ gravestones did not change with the 1829 headdress reform. Tombstones of women are easily identi- fied by the ornamental flourish at the top, often flowers, or a Rococo scroll sculpted in the stone. A bit startling, then, to discover, in the British mili- tary cemetery at Haydarpaşa on the Asian side of Istanbul, the Ottoman

female headstone pressed into service to mark the grave of Captain H. E. Smith, who died during the Crimean War. The cheerful floral motifs of his stone do, however, serve Captain Smith better than a fez, which, as a foreign military officer, he would not have worn.33

The turban and the fez look different from each other, of course, which is why Mahmud made the switch between them, but the two are actually closely related. The cylindrical fez, minus its tassel, had formed the sup- porting structure of a turban; by wrapping a length of cloth (shawl, scarf, or other fabric) around this cylinder, one has a turban.34 Men in the lower orders of society might cover their head with any sort of simple turban, but among the elite in state service one’s rank prescribed the form of the turban he must wear.

Far and away the most prevalent turban in this graveyard is the Kâtibî, ‘secretarial’, the flat-topped turban so named, most likely, because palace secretaries were the first to wear it after its introduction under Ahmed III in the early eighteenth century.35 This widely worn turban consisted of two parts. The inner core was a medium-high cylinder covered in parallel vertical ‘fingers’ of tightly wound muslin positioned next to one another around the cylinder, creating the impression of vertical stripes. The lower half of this core was then wrapped thickly in white cloth. One version of the Kâtibî twisted this white wrap slightly downward as it passed across the front of the turban, creating the look of a pair of eyebrows and lending this variant its nickname of Kaşî Kâtibî,36 ‘Eyebrow Kâtibî’. There are several examples of the ‘Eyebrow Kâtibî’ here.

Turning now to the relatively simple fez, we note that one of the traits of the Hamidiye garden graveyard is that it spans the transition from turban to fez. The transition occurred rather abruptly with Mahmud’s decree of 6 Şevval 1244/11 April 1829, requiring all civil officials to wear the fez of red felt with its tassel of blue or black thread, and which already formed part of the army’s new uniforms.

In the Hamidiye garden we can observe in stone the result of this impe- rial order by pinpointing the two burials that bracket this date. The last interment here before the decree was of Receb Efendi, Superintendent of the Palace Larder (Kilâr-ı Hassa Kethüdası), who died, so his tombstone tells us, 28 Receb 1244/3 February 1829. Receb Efendi’s headstone was probably calligraphed sometime in February or March 1829, immediately before the decree, and it sports a typical Kâtibî turban. Surely, then, his headstone represents one of the last official manifestations of the turban anywhere in the Ottoman Empire.

The next interment took place eleven months later. It was of Receb Efendi’s fellow high-ranking courtier at the palace, Kıbrısî Mehmed Emin

 

         

 

Figure 1.9 The standard Kâtibî turban of Mehmed Ağa, father of the Senior Keeper of the Robes, 1813 (left). AZ.

Figure 1.10 The Eyebrow Kâtibî of palace chamberlain Karakulakzade Ali Bey, 1824 (right). AZ.

 

Efendi, the Superintendent of the Imperial Treasury (Hazine-yi Hümayun Kethüdası) who died 21 Receb 1245/16 January 1830. As we would expect, Mehmed Emin Efendi’s headstone has at its top a fez – yes, the first fez in this graveyard, and surely among the earliest in any graveyard in the empire. It is a magnificent specimen, very much in the form of the first Ottoman fez, the Mahmudiye, named for Mahmud II, who favoured and wore this style: taller than later fezzes, and slightly wider at the top than at the bottom. What makes Mehmed Emin Efendi’s fez superb is the beautiful band of embroidery (sculpted in the stone, of course) that encircles it, containing floral designs setting off, within a diamond-shaped border, an early example of what Mahmud was promoting as the national symbol of the empire: the star-and-crescent motif. Here the star appears in its early incarnation with eight rays, since Mehmed Emin Efendi’s death took place well before the national star emblem took its final form of five rays later in the nineteenth century.

It is true that the fez did not display – quite intentionally, as we have noted – anything approaching the plethora of styles that made for the glory of the turban. But still, Ottoman fezzes evolved with subtle variations in design that tended to come about each time a new monarch ascended

 

Figure 1.11 Mehmed Ağa’s Kâtibî turban of 1825 (left) versus Mehmed Emin Efendi’s Mahmudiye fez of 1830 (right). AZ.

 

the throne. Accordingly, while we cannot guess the station in life of the deceased, as one can with turbans, generally speaking we can guess under whose reign he died, at least in the nineteenth century. At the Hamidiye graveyard, only six males were buried after the introduction of the fez in 1829; as we would expect, the three who died in Mahmud’s reign display the Mahmudiye style of fez, while the three who died under Sultan Abdülmecid exhibit the Mecidiye style that that monarch introduced: shorter than the Mahmudiye, and tapering inward, noticeably so, as it rose from bottom to top.

One might imagine that Mahmud’s forced imposition of this new red headgear for civil officials (which spread from them rather quickly to the general male populace) met with resistance by some, and indeed it did. The tendency of the dye in early fezzes to run, and of their tassels to get tangled, led to their nickname püsküllü belâ, ‘tasselled calamity’, which passed into the language as a synonym for a great nuisance.37 That the fez failed to protect the face and neck against the sun may also have contributed to its infamy, for some.

 

Figure 1.12 The star and crescent adorning Mehmed Emin’s richly ‘embroidered’ Mahmudiye fez. AZ.

 

Yet others welcomed the new symbol of modernity, including poets inspired to coin rhyming verses in its praise:

Crimson tones it lends to handsome faces, the fez Does not the rose bough resemble the blooming bud, the fez

It covers and compacts the locks so, the better to protect them Its purpose, the fez? To thwart the chance of glimpsing the enemy’s

countenance

And:

 

It drank of the hue of your cheek as though it were wine, the fez As it wanders the world wantonly for love of you, the fez

Think it not a dishevelled tassel; like hyacinth ringlets on the head From ardour for your forelocks it gave your reason to ruin, the fez38

Foreign visitors noticed the change from turban to fez, of course. One British guidebook advised readers against trying to ape the locals, on strictly practical grounds: ‘On coming here they should not adopt the Fez,

which exposes novices to a coup de soleil [sunburn]’.39 Other foreigners objected to both the design and the break with the past, including the young wife of a British diplomat, writing in 1856 to her mother in England:

Civilization seems to have begun the wrong way, and to have introduced its follies and vices before anything else . . . First of all, Sultan Mahmoud the Reformer waged war against the turban, which not only admirably suits the Turkish cast of countenance, but protects the head from the burning rays of the sun so much better than its substitute, the fez.

and going on to exult over

a gem of an old Turk, white beard, rich turban and all. How I wish that some great artist would come here, that the eyes of generations to come might be charmed with . . . the harmony and richness of colouring, and the dignity of bearing among a few of the people still remaining, which is rapidly disappear- ing before Western progress, and its hideous ‘civilized’ attire!40

Wrapping up the subject of turbans and fezzes, one presumes that stonemasons kept on hand stocks of blank tombstones, ending with a block at the top from which the mason could chisel the appropriate turban. Perhaps some of the blanks had the most prevalent turbans already sculpted at their tops; if this was indeed the case, stonemasons throughout the empire must have been perturbed to hear of the mandated transition from turban to fez, which rendered their on-hand stock obsolete. Surely, though, they quickly figured how to sculpt the stone blocks or turbans down into fezzes (the fez being smaller than the turban), thus allowing them to sell their stock of previously turbaned stones despite the change in official headgear.

At least one foreign visitor reported that the turbans and fezzes in the Istanbul graveyards he visited were painted: fezzes red, and turbans red with a white or a green band, the former for judges and the latter for those who had made the pilgrimage to Mecca.41 But he was writing of graveyards at non-royal tombs. We have no evidence that the custom was followed at the Hamidiye graveyard; but in the unlikely event that it was, the paint has long since flaked away without leaving a trace.

There are no tombstones inside the mausoleum, where Imperial Family members are interred. Instead, wooden cenotaphs covered in broadcloth mark the site of royal graves, as we shall see. In line with Ottoman burial custom, a cloth turban adorns the head of each cenotaph of a male member of the reigning House. Whatever turbans the cenotaphs originally sported have long since fallen to tatters, so the ones we see nowadays are new, meant to represent a turban such as a royal male might have worn. The

turbans at the cenotaphs of the two sultans are larger than those of the princes, just as the monarchs’ real-life turbans would have been.

Only one prince was buried within the mausoleum after the intro- duction of the fez: Sultan Abdülmecid’s infant son Mehmed Rüşdî, in 1852. Strictly speaking, this baby’s cenotaph should therefore have a fez nowadays too, but it sports a turban just like all his male relatives here, dating from around 2015, when the Istanbul Tombs Administration added new turbans (in an old style) to all the male graves inside the mausoleum. We can surmise that Mehmed Rüşdî’s cenotaph did have a fez in the nineteenth century, thanks to the French travel writer who noted that as of his visit to the tomb in the 1860s, five of the children’s cenotaphs (unable to read Ottoman, he could not tell us whose cenotaphs) sported a turban and three a fez, concluding correctly that the remaining graves must be of females.42 There should have been only one fez, on Mehmed Rüşdî’s cenotaph, but we will speculate that the other two were the two sons of the fez introducer, Mahmud II, even though these infants died long before the adoption of the fez.

In the garden outside the mausoleum, four tombs are surrounded by metal ‘cages’ to provide further distinction and a bit of protection to prevent visitors from coming close. The cages were probably stipulated in the deceased’s will, with money left to pay for them.

Who has cages here? The top-ranking burial in the garden (Grand Vizier Silâhdar Mehmed Pasha), two high-ranking female harem manag- ers (Ruyiş Kadın and Nevres Kadın) and a female harem manager of unknown rank (Gümüş Ayşe). In other words, placement of cages appears to have been random. Judging by their look, all four are replacements (perhaps in the early twentieth century) of the original metal ‘cages’.

 

Graveside Architecture and Art

By the era of the Hamidiye graveyard, Ottoman tombstone epitaphs almost always follow a certain pattern. Just as a turban, a fez, or floral motifs adorn the tops of tombstones, so too an invocation appears just below this heading, as the first line of the inscription on the stone. The invocation is in Arabic, as one would expect, given the venerated status of the language of the Quran as channel to the divine. It may be as simple as the word Hû, ‘He’, an allusion to God, but usually will include one of the Most Beautiful Names of God, as mentioned in the Quran, to make, for example, ‘He is the Eternal One’ or ‘He is the Eternal Creator’. Rarely, it might be a religious formula, notably ‘In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful’, or a short hadith.

 

Figure 1.13 Invocation on the stone of Ali Ağa the Algerian: ‘He is the Eternal Creator.’ AZ.

 

 

Below the invocation is the epitaph, several lines in Ottoman Turkish. Detailed biographical information is not forthcoming on Ottoman gravestones, including in this graveyard: pertinent facts are limited to the deceased’s name, post at court, and date of death. A few stones of highly placed women of eminent descent (so, not harem staff, who were slaves) record her father’s name, just as the stone of a young male records his father’s name; Muslim gravestones, if they provide any genealogy at all, typically record only patrilineal descent, an early custom adopted to distinguish Islam from the practice of Jews, Christians, and pre-Islamic Arabs.43

Convention also called for the double-barrelled standard phrase in Arabic that describes the deceased as ‘admitted to God’s mercy and divinely pardoned’ (merhûm ve mağfûrun-leh, to use the masculine- gendered version). Merhûm, the first part of the phrase, came to mean simply ‘the late’ and is translated as such here.

The first chapter of the Quran, the Fatiha (‘the Opening’, in Arabic), plays a central role in Muslim cemeteries, including this one. It is a

short prayer that summarises the Islamic creed, is easily memorised, and is recited on numerous occasions, including when honouring the dead. We have noted that nearly every Muslim tombstone epitaph ends with a request of the visitor to recite the Fatiha on behalf of the deceased. The exception is gravestones adorned with a chronogram at the end of a poem; even if there were room for it at the bottom of the stone, the standard request for the Fatiha, after the literary glitter of a poem and chronogram, apparently would have seemed de trop.44 Nor, chances are, would it have fit the meter and rhyme of the poem. In English the Fatiha reads:

In the Name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate Praise belongs to God, the Lord of all Being,

The All-merciful, the All-compassionate, The Master of the Day of Doom.

 

Thee only we serve; to Thee alone we pray for succour.

Guide us in the straight path, the path of those whom Thou hast blessed, Not of those against whom Thou art wrathful,

Nor of those who are astray.

At the very bottom of the stone, below the epitaph, and usually within a stylised cartouche, is the year of death. This took a certain form on Ottoman tombstones, consonant with Islamic practice: the four numerals of the year (in Arabic numerals, which Ottoman Turkish used) rest upon the word سنه, sene (‘year’), with سنه stretched out a bit in order to cradle the numerals.

If the stone includes the month and perhaps day of death, these appear below the year. The first word will usually be the Arabic fi, فی, ‘in’ or ‘on’, almost always in the lower right corner of the cartouche. The day, then the month (often abbreviated; see the next section), then sene, and finally the year, follow this fi, as one reads to the left and then upward:

فی ١٥ ج سنه ١٢٤١

Quite a few of the gravestones and the marble enclosures over the graves in the garden offer us the signature motifs of eighteenth-century Ottoman decorative art: still-life flowers in vases and fruit in bowls, including floral and fructiferous climbing vines that one would ordinarily think must be planted in earth but which, quirkily enough, emerge from vases or bowls.45 Their quite realistic rendering, accurate enough to ascer- tain which flower or fruit the artist has chosen, impressed contemporaries just as they do us today. In another manifestation of Baroque decorative imagery, festoons and swags of flowers, carved here along the sides of the

 

Figure 1.14 The year 1228, ١٢٢٨ سنه, on the stone of Karakulakzade Ali Bey. AZ.

Figure 1.15 Palace official Osman Ağa’s death date of 15 Cemaziyülâhir 1241, fi 15

C. sene 1241. AZ.

 

marble sepulchres in the garden and embroidered onto the palls inside the mausoleum, appeared in cemeteries as the eighteenth century progressed. Renderings of fruit and flowers served as appropriate decoration in a culture that did not favour depiction of the human form in public spaces (thus also ruling out angel statues or reliefs in graveyards). For this reason, we see fruit and flowers as decoration painted onto interior walls of palaces and pavilions and sculpted into stucco on public water fountains throughout the course of the eighteenth century. For those not familiar with Islamic culture, fruit bowls as sepulchre décor may seem rather odd

(flowers less so), but in the Ottoman decorative arts of this era, fruit and flowers brought to mind the gardens of Paradise as described in the Quran, which names, among other fruit in Heaven, pomegranates, dates, and grapes, all appearing here. Striking in their lifelikeness, the bowls of fruit and the vases of flowers and vines carved into the stone (not to mention the living rose bushes and other flowers planted in and around the sepulchres) serve not only as attractive decoration, but as reminders that the deceased buried here have journeyed to the heavenly gardens where these divine gifts abound. As such, the sculpted fruit and flowers perform a similar role to the angel artwork in Christian graveyards: as allusions to Paradise, where the deceased now reside.

Continuing the heavenly allusion, the flowers sculpted onto the sep- ulchres and gravestones of the graveyard never wither, the fruit never decays – the same as the flowers and fruit of Paradise. One might further interpret the never-fading stone flowers and fruit to symbolise the never- dimming memory, among their survivors, of the dead buried here (or so one might hope).

If the penchant for employing these motifs to adorn street fountains, on which they were particularly in vogue, had waned by the later eighteenth century, the Hamidiye graveyard attests to their continued use as sepul- chral art through the first third of the nineteenth century.46

 

Telling Time

All the stones in this mausoleum and graveyard state the date of death in the Hijri calendar – the Muslim calendar, which began with the hijra or ‘migra- tion’ of the Prophet Muhammad and his followers from Mecca in the year 622 ce. In European languages the Hijri date is designated by the initials ah, from the Latin anno Hegirae or ‘year of the Hijra’. The fact that the Gregorian calendar (the calendar in use fairly universally today) is solar but the Hijri calendar is lunar, which is to say, based on the phases of the moon rather than the sun, means that the Hijri year is shorter than the Gregorian, that Hijri months rotate throughout the seasons, and that the Gregorian year cannot be computed simply by adding 622 to the Hijri year.

The twelve Hijri months, in the Turkish spelling of their Arabic names, and their abbreviations, which is how they usually appear on tombstones, are:

 

Muharrem (M.) Safer (S.) Rebiülevvel (R.a.)

 

Figure 1.16 Evoking Paradise: fruit and gardens. Author’s photograph.

 

 

Rebiülâhir (R.) Cemaziyülevvel (C.a.) Cemaziyülâhir (C.) Receb (B.)

Şaban (Ş.) Ramazan (N.) Şevval (L.) Zilkade (Z.a.) Zilhicce (Z.)

Some of the documents quoted in this study mention a specific hour, so let us consider telling time in the Ottoman world. The new day began at sundown and consisted of two twelve-hour cycles that ended at the following sundown. Since the sun sets at a progressively earlier or later moment each day depending on the season, Ottoman clocks had to be reset by a minute or two every night, ideally, if they were to remain generally accurate.

Documents mentioning a time of day sometimes added ‘in the day’ or ‘at night’ after the hour in order to clarify in which twelve-hour period the

event occurred. But more often, no such clarifying phrase appears. This means that when we learn, as we do, that Prince Mehmed Nusret was born ‘at eleven and one-half hours’ on 12 Şevval 1196 (20 September 1782), all we can state with confidence is that, taking into account the hours of daylight in mid-September, this baby was born either approximately one- half hour before sunrise or one-half hour before sunset. Armed with the information that the Ottoman day began at sundown, despite all conver- sion tables telling us that 12 Şevval 1196 corresponds to 20 September 1782 we can state definitively that Prince Mehmed Nusret was born on 21 September 1782.

Hijri dates are to be taken with this grain of salt: conversion tables show the Gregorian date on which the Hijri day began, whereas just a few hours later the clock passed midnight in Gregorian timekeeping; consequently, the Gregorian date of the event may fall one day later than that given here. We cannot know for certain unless the text tells us not just the time an event occurred by the Turkish clock, but whether that time was in the day or the night. But for our purposes the potential discrepancy is not significant.

 

On Chronograms

One delightful outgrowth of the Hijri calendar was the mania that evolved among Ottoman poets (among Arab and Persian poets too, but the Ottomans excelled at it) for chronograms. A chronogram is a line of verse whose letters add up mathematically to a certain number the poet had in mind. This was possible because each letter in the Arabic alphabet, in which Ottoman Turkish was written until 1928, possessed its own numeri- cal value. In this way, for example, cim ج = 3, fe ف = 80, te ت = 400, and so on.

If one were to write out the letters of the Ottoman alphabet in their dictionary order, and then write the letters’ corresponding numerical value next to them, it would look as though the numerical values had been assigned randomly. That is because the numerical values corresponded to the ancient ordering of the Arabic alphabet, which was reordered into its current sequence long before the Ottomans adopted it. Per this ancient ordering, the first nine letters have values from 1 to 9, the second nine letters are multiples of 10, the third nine are multiples of 100, and the last letter is 1000. From its first four letters – a, b, c, d, with values of 1, 2, 3, and 4 respectively – we get the Turkish term for this numerical sequence of letter values, ebced ابجد. The Turkish for ‘deciphering a chronogram’, then, is ebced hesabı, ‘ABCD enumeration’.

The number that poets sought in their chronograms was almost always a date, whence the Ottoman term for chronogram, tarih, ‘date (of an event)’. For this reason, the Turkish expression for ‘to write a chronogram’ is tarih düşürmek or tarih demek/söylemek, ‘to drop a date’ or ‘to say/speak a date’. Chronograms might stand alone or, more ornately, form the last line of a poem; the Ottomans called these verses-with-chronogram tevârih-i manzûme, ‘dates in verse’. Cemeteries abound with dates-in-verse since the more affluent could commission a poet to compose one for their own gravestone (leaving money in their will) or for a loved one’s.

Chronograms could be composed for any significant occasion in a person’s life. Since the 1400s, poets had curried favour at court by submit- ting to the palace chronograms on any number of occasions, including the accession or death of a monarch, military victories, the births of royal children, or the construction of an important building.47 A small avalanche poured into the palace to commemorate the start of a new year, as in 1194/1780:

Abdülhamid Han’a sâl-i nev ola mes’ûd

‘May the new year be prosperous for Sultan Abdülhamid’

 

in which the celebrated poet-chronogramist Sürûrî sent his good wishes by ensuring the letters totalled 1,194 in a line that included the hon- ouree’s name, the goal of the more talented poets.48 Quite a few New Year’s chronograms formed the last line of relatively short odes, with those judged worthy submitted to the monarch in beautifully penned col- lections still in the Topkapı archives; that for New Year 1189/1775 alone amounted to forty poems-with-chronograms.49 Once printed media came into being in the nineteenth century, chronograms marking these sorts of events would be printed in newspapers.

One subcategory of Ottoman dates-in-verse remains visible around Istanbul today, without visiting a cemetery: those composed to commemo- rate new buildings, notably the grander government buildings as well as royal commissions such as mosques, public fountains, and tombs. Poets were invited to submit a date-in-verse to celebrate the new edifice and exalt the benefactor who commissioned it. The winning verse was elegantly calligraphed, sculpted, and painted onto a large panel in, typically, gold letters on a dark-green background, the panel then mounted usually over the entryway into the building or its courtyard. Adorning buildings with chronogram verses reached its peak in the eighteenth century, with the fashion continuing until the end of the monarchy, and we shall encounter several examples.50 To those tempted to lament, ‘Ah, but no one can read

them today!’ since Turkey switched from the Arabic alphabet to the Latin in 1928, one might point out that only some 5 per cent of the Ottoman population could read – perhaps about the same percentage of the modern- day Turkish population who can read Ottoman.

With the chronogram occupying the second half of the last line of the poem, the first half of that line (or on rarer occasion the line preceding it) played a role or two as lead-up to the chronogram. One such role was to offer a tip-off that a chronogram was about to appear: the poet’s mention of his own name, and/or writing ‘I spoke the date’ or words to that effect. The second role was to provide a clue to solve the chronogram if simple addition of the letters does not produce the desired sum. One of the more common clues in this line was to describe the chronogram as cevherîn, ‘bejewelled’, or words to that effect, which meant readers should add up only the letters that have dots. The words ‘with’ or ‘without’ meant (usually!) that one must add or subtract the value of the word connected to the ‘with’ or ‘without’. Mention of a number instructed the reader to add in the value of that number, while a verb meaning ‘adding in, bringing in, coming in’ was the clue to add in the numerical value of the word that was

added or brought or coming in.

To see an example, let us return to the chronogram mentioned earlier, the one composed by Fıtnat Hanım for her verse that adorned the Hamidiye alms-kitchen across the road from the tomb. It reads Zehi imaret-i vâlâ-yı padişah-ı zaman, ‘Excellent! The exalted alms-kitchen of the emperor of the age’.51 Since the chronogram totals 1,192, whereas the alms-kitchen opened in 1191, we look to the preceding line for a clue to resolve the mathematical discrepancy. That line reads Düşerse bir düşer elhak bu resme bir tarih, ‘If a date drops into this composition, truly one falls out’, and we find our clue in the words bir düşer, ‘one falls out’, prompting us to subtract 1, which happily brings us to the correct sum, 1,191.

At least one memento, a sheet of paper, survives of an unidentified Ottoman poet’s attempt to compose a chronogram. The occasion was the death of a poet named Safvet, but as we cannot identify this Safvet we do not know his year of death and thus the sum for which the chronogramist was aiming. The sheet of paper shows twenty-one attempts at a chrono- gram that would commemorate Safvet’s passing, with the sum of each attempt added up below it. The sums range from 1,115 to 1,519 with, once one checks them, several incorrect additions.52 We do not know whether the chronogram was to have stood alone or as part of a tombstone epitaph, but in any event, it seems logical that poets who had been commissioned for a date-in-verse launched the task by producing the chronogram first,

 

Figure 1.17 The poet Safvet tries to fashion a chronogram. Edhem Eldem Collection, Istanbul, in his Death in Istanbul: Death and its Rituals in Ottoman-Islamic Culture (Ottoman Bank, 2005).

then composing the remainder of the poem. This would certainly be far simpler than the reverse: producing a chronogram to match the meter and rhyme of the rest of a poem.

Chronograms are one of the delights of an Ottoman graveyard, with the array in the Hamidiye Tomb and garden including several by the most masterful and prolific Ottoman chronogramist: the brilliant Sürûrî Efendi (his nom de plume), who wielded his magical pen in the early decades of this tomb.

In sum, so to speak, we can but marvel at the skill required to compose the line of verse we call a chronogram: its letters must add up to a certain numerical total, or add up to that total thanks to the clue the poet provided; it must fit the meter of the poem of which it forms the last line; it must name the honouree of the chronogram; and it must rhyme with the remain- der of the verse. No small feat, that.

 

Of Mistakes and Mysteries

One might assume a royal tomb and graveyard to be free of mistakes in the epitaphs on the embroidered palls and the tombstones. If so, one would be mistaken. Given that the creators of the epitaphs were humans – from the poets penning the verses, to the embroiderers fashioning the palls, to the stonemasons carving the inscriptions – small errors turn up on rare occasion, and given the complexity of their tasks, we are inclined to readily forgive them. The vast majority of epitaphs are error-free.

We will consider discrepancies on the palls of the royal children within the tomb when discussing those burials, so suffice it for now to say that the few errors on them consist of unorthodox spelling and, unexpectedly, incorrect dates. The rare spelling error is to use the Ottoman letter nun ن instead of the standard kef ک to indicate the Turkish genitive case; the genitive is pronounced with an ‘n’ sound anyway, so the use of ‘n’- sounding nun ن is understandable, but nonetheless so contrary to stand- ard orthography that its use would have been considered an out-and-out mistake. Its appearance on these royal palls is surprising.

As for the garden gravestones, the few mistakes occur almost entirely in the standard Arabic phrase that appears so frequently in the epitaphs, for males el-muhtâc ilâ rahmeti Rabbihi’l-gafûr, and for females el-muhtâce ilâ rahmeti Rabbiha’l-gafûr. Rather amusing is the variety one encounters in this phrase, which translates for males as ‘in need of the mercy of his all-forgiving God’ and for females as ‘in need of the mercy of her all- forgiving God’. The ‘in need of’ part also shows gender in Arabic: ‘the (male) in need of’ and ‘the (female) in need of’.

But we have some women’s tombstones asking mercy from ‘his God’, or referring to the deceased lady as a man in need of that mercy. Or both errors. Or placing the feminine ending on el-gafûr, ‘the all-forgiving’, the adjective that refers to God and therefore, per the rules of Arabic grammar, should be masculine (stone #44). Two stones (#33 and #64, both for females) omit the word el-muhtâce, ‘in need of’, which leaves a strange, truncated phrase, to say the least.

What was probably tripping up Ottoman calligraphers and stone carvers was that whereas Turkish does not incorporate gender distinctions, Arabic does. Where Arabic has two versions of this phrase to reflect the his/her business, in Turkish one phrase would cover everyone. The need to vary the wording for females may not have occurred to the Turkish-speaking masons preparing the stones, as most were probably unfamiliar with Arabic, or at least with this nicety of Arabic grammar. But still they had no doubt carved this phrase onto stones dozens or even hundreds of times, so one wonders at the errors.

All of this is hardly crucial, since few Ottomans could read the tomb- stones at all, let alone knew enough Arabic to pick out the infractions. We shall trust in the mercy of the Pardoner for this little lapse too, in this small corner of Arabic grammar.

 

A Royal Funeral

As one might expect, royal funerals involved a long procession of marchers drawn from high dignitaries, chancery staff, and regiments of palace guards: state occasions, ‘highly stylized, choreographed and status-conscious affairs’ indeed.53 For the royalty interred at the Hamidiye Tomb, the cortège might be long due to the number of march- ers, but short in duration, consisting of only the short walk from Topkapı Palace.

Registers of protocol – handwritten manuscripts passed down through the centuries at the protocol office of the court – precisely recorded who was to take part in a royal funeral cortège depending on whether the deceased was a monarch, a prince, or a princess, and specified the loca- tion each attendee was to occupy in the procession. Relying on protocol precedents to organise funerals is expected at any royal court, to simplify courtiers’ tasks in staging the ceremony, but especially so at a Muslim court in which prompt burial of the deceased (within a day, if possible) is expected. Protocol registers to ensure Muslim tradition was honoured following a death in the palace necessarily evolved from centuries of oral tradition and practice, given that the Quran nowhere reveals proper

procedure involving dead bodies, from washing the corpse to organising the funeral to burying the remains.54

One might think that the court would not bother to organise a lengthy funeral cortège for infants and young children. But no; every member of the ruling House was to receive his or her due in death, regardless of age. Such is the purpose and power of royal ceremonial, after all: in the Ottoman context, to remind the population that the House of Osman is a splendid institution, well-organised, and whose members merit pomp, dignity, and respect regardless of age. Besides, a royal funeral cortège, winding its way through the streets of the city, provided the dynasty a means to interact at close range with the populace, to display itself to the people, to keep the bond between ruling House and subjects vibrant, even though, this being an Ottoman royal funeral, no members of the Imperial Family were actually present, except for the one inside the coffin. The opportunity to stage a public procession honouring the Imperial Family constituted another benefit of building royal mausolea around the city and not, say, on the grounds of Topkapı Palace, even if there had been room for, or desire for, tombs at Topkapı.

Thanks to one such protocol register in the archives, we know of the funeral arrangements for one young princess buried here, Abdülhamid’s three-year-old daughter Emine, who passed away two years after her father had died. Drawn entirely from precedent, the procession organised at Topkapı Palace for her burial at the Hamidiye Tomb reveals the effort required to stage a royal funeral, even that of a three-year-old. The ornate language of this protocol register clearly flowed from the pen of a court official (alas, anonymous) well versed in the elegant and intricate language expected of an imperial document:55

The Death of Princess Emine

Daughter of the previous monarch Sultan Abdülhamid

In the Imperial Privy Household on 4 Receb 1205 [9 March 1791] During the Tenure of the Deputy Grand Vizier

When on the night of the fourth of the month the doleful news reached His Excellency the Deputy Grand Vizier that the parakeet of the delicately beauti- ful soul of this princess had, due to the disease of smallpox, taken flight on this date to the highest paradise, word was sent to the Grand Vizier’s Secretary for Internal Affairs [Kethüda Bey], who then sent for the Master of Protocol and the Chief Secretary in their homes, and memoranda were dispatched that the persons named below were to present themselves at the Imperial Palace at early morn. Memoranda were also drawn up that, as customary at royal deaths of this nature, they should arrive with their wide-sleeved ceremonial cloak of sable fur, and their horses caparisoned with ornamental bridle.

When in early morn these invitees arrived at the Imperial Palace, the gentle- men of the Ulema proceeded directly to the Imperial Council chambers. His Excellency the Şeyhülislâm took a seat at the right-hand side of His Excellency the Deputy Grand Vizier Pasha, upon the prayer rug that had been spread out a small distance to the right of the Grand Vizier’s seat. Their Excellencies the two chief ministers took their seats in the Council chambers, with the Marshal of the Prophet’s Descendants [Nakibüleşraf], being Chief of the Ulema [reisül- ulema], at the upper end and the Chief Judge of Istanbul and the Director of Finance seated in their places, and the aghas of the Janissary regiments, the Head of the Chancery, and the Chief Sergeant-at-arms [çavuşbaşı ağa] present in their places.

When it was nearly time for the coffin of the deceased to be brought out through the harem doorway that is near the chambers of the Halberdiers with Tresses [zülüflüler ocağı kurbünde], with Their Excellencies the Şeyhülislâm and the Deputy Grand Vizier, along with the others, keeping watch over it as it lay upon a long wooden board near said doorway, His Majesty’s Halberdiers [teberdârân-ı hâssa] lifted it, and as His Excellency the Chief Harem Eunuch [dârüssaâde ağası, alternatively ‘Chief Black Eunuch’] took up his place in the lead, Their Excellencies the Şeyhülislâm and the Deputy Grand Vizier and the others left their posts to take up their positions. With all of them preceding it, it was brought to the funeral prayer bench, in the vicinity of the Gate of Felicity. His Majesty’s Senior Imam led the ritual prayers, after which the Stewards to the Princes and Princesses [selâtîn kethüdaları] took up their positions, censers in hand, at the head of the assembly, whereupon the participants emerged from the palace through the Middle Gate and, with all participants mounted on horseback in the order enumerated below, made their way in procession.

When the cortège reached the noble tomb of her father, all the men of state received the coffin outside the entryway of the tomb, and although it is not the formal custom, Their Excellencies the Şeyhülislâm and the Deputy Grand Vizier lifted the coffin and carried it the three or four paces to the doorway of the tomb.

As the coffin was brought inside the noble tomb and lowered into the noble grave that had been dug for it, the Imams and Hafizes to the Princes and Princesses chanted the noble Ya-Sin, and once they had completed the prayers, the Sheikhs of the Imperial Mosques, by order of rank, offered up prayers. At the head of the noble remains, His Majesty’s Muezzins, who offered up invocations and salutations, pronounced ‘Amen’, and in conclusion all present recited the Fatiha.

Once this was completed, His Excellency the Şeyhülislâm took a seat on one of the benches outside the inner doorway of the tomb, with the Chief Harem Eunuch also taking a seat to his right in the corner of the bench, and the Deputy Grand Vizier to his left. With Their Excellencies the gentlemen of the Ulema also seated upon that bench, and the other gentlemen of state seated on the

bench across the way, all were served sweets and coffee and fruit drinks by the Chief Harem Eunuch.

When this had concluded, the Chief of the Imperial Chancery opened and displayed to the Deputy Grand Vizier, just as in the Council of State, the memorandum expressing condolences that was to be presented to His Majesty, after which he returned it to its envelope and handed it to the Deputy Grand Vizier, who in turn presented it to the Chief Harem Eunuch, who then took his departure. After this the Şeyhülislâm and gentlemen of the Ulema made their departures, followed by the Deputy Grand Vizier and the other gentlemen of state.

Ya-Sin is chapter 36 of the Quran, appropriate indeed for recitation at a funeral due to its affirmation of resurrection and of the rejoicing of the inhabitants of Paradise.

The protocol register goes on to list the dignitaries to be invited to the princess’s funeral, specifying which palace official was to issue the invitation to each dignitary. Invitees included all the grandees mentioned above plus the Admiral of the Fleet, the Keeper of the Imperial Standard, the sheikhs and major-domos attached to the households of princes and princesses, and the chiefs of the Armorer Corps, Artillery Corps, and Cannon Carrier Corps.

Two important tasks remained:

A memorandum has been dispatched to the Chief Judge of Istanbul that the call to the funeral service is to be issued from the noble mosques of Aya Sofya, Sultan Ahmed, Sultan Mehmed, and Süleymaniye; the memorandum shall be forwarded to the Chiefs of the Muezzins or else communicated verbally to them.

The Prefect of the City and the Chief Architect have been charged with preparing the grave.

That left only the need to clarify everyone’s place in the cortège from Topkapı Palace to the Hamidiye Tomb. The order of the procession was not left to the whim of the moment; instead, the protocol staff would follow the established examples of previous royal funerals for princesses. Twenty-four contingents took part in Princess Emine’s funeral. Some consisted of just one or two individuals, others included the gentlemen’s suites. The herald took his customary place at the head of the cortège, followed by the sergeants-at-arms of the palace, who numbered in the hundreds (although we do not know how many of them attended this funeral) and served as ceremonial escorts on state occasions. Next came the deputies and guards of the dignitaries participating in the funeral (all mentioned in the paragraphs above), followed by the dignitaries

themselves, who figured in the more prestigious later sections of the cortège. The last five contingents featured, in increasing order of prec- edence culminating in the late princess herself, the star participants of the funeral procession:

His Excellency the Admiral of the Fleet

Their Excellencies the Şeyhülislâm and the Deputy Grand Vizier

The Arz Ağaları [higher-ranking white eunuchs] and the Agha of the Gate of Felicity [the Chief White Eunuch]

His Excellency the Agha of the Noble Abode of Felicity [the Chief Black Eunuch]

The coffin marked with God’s forgiveness

Bringing up the rear behind the coffin, so the register tells us, ‘the Treasury Steward and the Treasury Agent [hazine kethüdası ağa and hazine vekili ağa], scattering coins to right and left’, in a clear demonstration of impe- rial munificence. The first gentleman would be the second-ranking black eunuch, also known as hazinedar-ı şehriyarî, while the second figured as the third-ranking black eunuch in the harem hierarchy.

In placing the coffin at the end of the cortège (apart from the coin- tossers), the court conformed to the longstanding Sunni tradition by which mourners preceded the coffin. The tradition also called for mourners to walk in the procession, where possible, rather than ride on horseback, but as walking was not mandatory, we see the invitees (at least, the grandees) on horseback. Presumably the mourners in the cortège, none of whom had actually known the child, did not mind their task because participating in a funeral procession to the place of burial constituted a meritorious act in the religion, one that benefited their souls in the hereafter, while here on earth raising their moral standing in the community.56

In all its details, beginning with the specific places that officials were to take in the Deputy Grand Vizier’s presence once they arrived at the palace, continuing through the order of the funeral prayers while still at the palace, certainly in the order of participants in the funeral cortège, and down to the order of events at the tomb, including the serving of drinks at the tomb following interment, Princess Emine’s funeral followed the custom and order mandated for Ottoman royal obsequies. Per custom, no Imperial Family members participated in this public dimension of a royal burial, not even in the funeral of a sultan; instead, high dignitaries of state performed this duty. We see also that, per custom, women, including the child’s mother, did not participate in escorting the remains to the place of burial. Custom since the early years of Islam had excluded women from funeral processions, perhaps because male pietists objected to the wailing

that some women indulged in at pre-Islamic funerals, or perhaps in order to differentiate the then-new faith from Judaism and Christianity.57 The only female present at this funeral was the one inside the coffin.

For his part, the Deputy Grand Vizier carried out his duty of express- ing condolences to the Imperial Family by sending the traditional gift of fruit and flowers. One might expect the gifts to go to the deceased child’s mother, a widow since Abdülhamid was dead, but no; protocol called for the gifts to be presented to the reigning sultan and his mother, one hundred baskets of fruit and thirty-two trays of flowers each.58 One hopes they sent some of the gift on to the grieving mother.

In line with Islamic custom calling for burial to occur as soon as pos- sible after death, all these events took place within twenty-four hours. One can see how quickly the Ottoman court had to work once news arrived of a royal death, and how much the court would have relied on the dictates of long-established protocol registers in order to stage a royal funeral on stunningly short notice.

A handful of unexpected events followed in the wake of Princess Emine’s funeral. The şeyhülislâm who presided over it, Hamîdîzade Mustafa Efendi, quite probably performed his last official act on this occasion because Sultan Selim III dismissed him from office only four days later, on 13 March 1791. Appointed on that day to replace him as şeyhülislâm was another attendee at the royal child’s obsequies, Tevfik Efendi, the Marshal of the Prophet’s Descendants. Bizarrely, the brand- new şeyhülislâm Tevfik Efendi died a mere two weeks later, so that only eighteen days after attending Princess Emine’s funeral, he too lay in a coffin. Apart from its extraordinary timing, his demise cannot have been utterly shocking because, as the funeral protocol register tells us, he simul- taneously ranked as Chief of the Ulema, doyen of the religious-judicial confraternity in terms of seniority in service, thereby being advanced in age (seventy-five, to be precise).

A talented poet, Tevfik Efendi had composed the verse that adorns the entryway into the still-standing medrese, just up the street from this tomb, and which Abdülhamid had built as part of his charitable complex. The verse’s chronogram celebrates the benefactor: Ehl-i ilme medrese yaptırdı Şeh Abdülhamid, ‘The shah Abdülhamid built a medrese for the men of letters’, the chronogram totalling 1,194, the year the school reached completion.

Despite his association with this complex, Tevfik Efendi was not buried at the Hamidiye Tomb, possibly because he had been an appointee of Selim III and not of Abdülhamid, but more likely because it had not been the custom to bury a şeyhülislâm in this graveyard.

 

Figure 1.18 Bowl of grapes for İbrahim İbiş Ağa, Chief Detective of the Imperial Guard, 1825. AZ.

 

Notes

1.   Julia Pardoe (1854), The City of the Sultan, London: Routledge, 200. The ‘Sultan Mourad’ in question is Murad II (d. 1451), whose tomb is in Bursa as the Ottomans had not yet conquered Constantinople.

2.   Rüstem 2019, 222.

3.   Rüstem 2019, 222, 223.

4.   Rüstem 2019, 225; Sarıcaoğlu 2001, 27.

5.   Isambert 1873, 552.

6.   Joseph von Hammer (1822), Constantinopolis und der Bosporos, Pesth: Hartleben, 522.

7.   Vatin and Yerasimos 2001, 67–8.

8.   My thanks to Ünver Rüstem for this insight.

9.   Gülru Necipoğlu (2005), The Age of Sinan: Architectural Culture in the Ottoman Empire,1539–1588, London: Reaktion, 285; Macaraig 2021, 52–5.

10.   Hathaway 2018, 269.

11.   Rüstem 2019, 224–5.

12.   Cerasi 2004, 51.

13.   Eldem 2005, 24.

14.   Halevi 2007, 27.

15.   Macaraig 2021, 88.

16.    Hamadeh 2008, 76.

17.    My thanks to Ünver Rüstem for this insight.

18.    Macaraig 2021, 55.

19.    Mouradgea d’Ohsson 1788–1824, 2:515–17.

20.    Barnes  1987,  68–75;  https://islamansiklopedisi.org.tr/evkaf-i-humayun-

nezareti (accessed 18 October 2021).

21.    Cevdet 1874, 174. The sum of 150 purses equals 75,000 kuruş (or ‘piasters’ as this coin was generally known among Westerners), since one ‘purse’ (kese) totalled 500 kuruş.

22.    Brookes and Ziyrek 2016, 7.

23.    Brookes and Ziyrek 2016, 7–11.

24.    Haskan 2018, 73.

25.    De Kay 1833, 219–220.

26.    Temple 1836, 42.

27.    BOA EV.d, 12129, dated H-29-12-1266.

28.    Anonymous 1828, 3:169–170.

29.    William Hunter (1803), Travels through France, Turkey, and Hungary, London, 297.

30.    (1902), Meyers Reisebücher: Türkei, Rumänien, Serbien, Bulgarien, Leipzig and Vienna, 204.

31.    Mouradgea d’Ohsson 1788–1824, 2:339.

32.    Quataert 1997, 403.

33.    Laqueur 1993, tafel 3.

34.    Braun-Wiesbaden 1876, 2:54.

35.    https://topkapisarayi.gov.tr/en/content/sultan-caftans-fabrics-carpets-and-

sacred-coverings (accessed 23 November 2019).

36.    Gökler and Köşklü 2019, 463; https://dergipark.org.tr/en/pub/ataunitaed/

issue/49095/624662 (accessed 23 November 2019).

37.    Mehmet Ö. Alkan, Fes İnkılâbından Şapka Devrimine Fes-Kalpak-Kabalak. See https://www.academia.edu/36647583/Fes_%C4%B0nk%C4%B1lab%C 4%B1ndan_%C5%9Eapka_Devrimine_Fes_Kalpak_Kabalak (accessed 30

November 2019).

38.    Pakalın 1946–56, 1:611.

39.    John Murray (publishers) (1854), A Handbook for Travellers in Turkey, London: John Murray, 33.

40.    Mrs Edmund Hornby (1858), In and Around Stamboul, Philadelphia: Challen, 181, 462.

41.    Braun-Wiesbaden 1876, 2:56.

42.    Isambert 1873, 1:553.

43.    Halevi 2007, 17.

44.    Eldem 2005, 136.

45.    Hamadeh 2008, 86–7.

46.    Hamadeh 2002, 131–3.

47.    Hamadeh 2008, 171.

48.   Aslan 2018, 180.

49.   BOA TS.MA.e 453 1, dated H-29-12-1202.

50.   Hamadeh 2008, 174.

51.   The chronogram is in Ayvansarâyî 1985, 92, and Haskan 2018, 28–9.

52.   Eldem 2005, 136–7.

53.   Charlotte Backerra and Peter Edwards, ‘Introduction: Rank and Ritual in the Early Modern Court’, The Court Historian 26:1 (April 2021), 7.

54.   Halevi 2007, 206.

55.   Karateke 2007, 106–8. The protocol register is BEO 350, in the Sublime Porte Archives series of the Prime Ministry Ottoman State Archives.

56.   Halevi 2007, 144, 152.

57.   Halevi 2007, 144, 235.

58.   Karateke 2007, 108.

Chapter 2

A Tomb in Town:

The Design and Operation of a Royal Mausoleum

 

 

 

In point of originality it is rather in his tombs and fountains, than in his grander mosques, that the Turk has displayed his invention.

Anna Bowman Dodd, 19031

 

Strolling perceptively through the Hamidiye Tomb and courtyard allows one to discover the physical components that came together to create this site, and leads one to ponder the impact this site was designed to create. In particular, two questions arise: why is this royal tomb and garden grave- yard located in the heart of town; how was the average visitor expected to interact with this burial site?

 

The View from Outside

What the unheeding passer-by along the street outside the Hamidiye Tomb can easily miss are the subtle signals designed to announce the purpose for which this edifice was built, and that it was built for royalty.

Thanks to the cleaning undertaken around 2008, we can see that the exterior walls of the tomb are not some indeterminate black stone, as they appeared before then, but clad entirely, up to the cornice, in creamy white marble panels splendidly highlighted by overtones of grey. To clad the tomb’s façade entirely in marble was a rare luxury indeed, most unusual in Ottoman architecture, made possible by the relative smallness of the building, which brought the cost of all this marble within reasonable bounds. Almost certainly the marble was quarried at the island of Marmara (so-called from the Greek word for marble) in its namesake the Sea of Marmara, the famed source of this coveted stone since ancient times.

From the street we perceive two domes, the dome over the portico recreating, on a smaller scale, the larger dome over the mausoleum. Just

as the grey and cream colours of the marble complement one another, the domes tie the portico and mausoleum together by virtue of their similar shape and identical colour, both covered in grey panels of lead, the tra- ditional material used to cover domes. The shiny brass finials at their peaks further unite the two domes. These traditional elements of Ottoman architecture crown domes over buildings in which visitors would pray – mosques and tombs – and are oriented in the direction of Mecca, which lies perpendicular to the crescent at each finial’s top.

Already at the street we observe the first of several magnificent panels of calligraphy that adorn the site, all the work of master calligrapher Mehmed Emin Efendi, whom we shall meet presently. This panel is the dynamic inscription above the entry portal into the courtyard, and with it we catch our first glimpse of the close cooperation between architect and calligrapher in Ottoman imperial edifices. The panel is in Arabic letters painted in gold on black, captured within a rectangle and elegantly framed between grey marble pilasters bearing the incredibly subtle Ottoman variant on the classic ionic column. The inquisitive passer-by might reasonably speculate that the gorgeous panel extols the glory of the Ottoman dynasty. But no, it is Every soul shall taste of death; then unto Us you shall be returned, Quran 29:57, the stark declaration – most appropriate for a tomb – placed at the entry gate specifically to catch the eye of pedestrians even as it clearly proclaims the purpose of this build- ing, at least for viewers versed, then as now, in Arabic letters. For that purpose of catching the eye, the panel is composed in the calligraphic style Celi Sülüs, the monumental technique perfected by Ottoman callig- raphers over the eighteenth century, in which the letters are particularly large, rendering them ideally suited for public buildings. Hence the name of this style: the adjective celi, ‘open to view; public’, distinguishes this spectacular variant from regular sülüs.

With the controlled exuberance, in form and colour, of this panel emerg- ing as a focal point amid the soothing greyish marble of the street façade, we witness the central role that calligraphy played in the art of this culture. Pausing to ponder the location of this tomb and garden graveyard, we witness as well the Ottoman penchant for anchoring death firmly within the heart of life, here amid the bustle of a shopping street, not banished to an outlying necropolis beyond the city walls. Not only is this tomb and graveyard located in the heart of the city, but it is furnished with large, grilled openings in the walls around the garden and glass windows at the street level of the tomb, so that passers-by, readily engaging with death but a few steps from the busyness of the street, may notice the tombstones and graves and offer the Fatiha prayer on behalf of the dead.

 

Figure 2.1 Ottoman variant on ionic columns: the scroll so tiny, one has to search for it. ÜR.

Figure 2.2 Mehmed Emin Efendi’s calligraphy panel over the ablaq of the entry portal. ÜR.

 

It is also here at the entry into the courtyard that the two shades of the marble, cream and grey, play off one another in the voussoirs of alternating light and dark stones that form the rounded arch above the doorway. This colour alternation is the traditional Islamic (and before

that, Byzantine) architectural technique, ablaq. Here the ablaq, along with the rounded shape of the arch it inhabits, deftly highlight the entrance in concert with the calligraphic panel to draw the eye toward the entryway. It is a small, but sublime, gift from the architect to the public, and reflects his preference for subtle decoration. This is his only use of ablaq on the entire street façade, the remainder of the exterior relying largely on gentle colour variations within the marble to please the eye.

Along with colour, shape also attracts and pleases in its effort to engage the passer-by. The mausoleum is square overall but, in a Baroque touch, its four corners are rounded, and furthermore stand recessed from the flat façades, heightening visual interest. The result of the curving corners is to turn the otherwise square tomb into an octagon. That is no coincidence, as the octagon reigned as the traditional shape of most Ottoman tombs, as in tombs throughout the Muslim world, after the evolution of the domed octagon shape for elite tombs in mediaeval Islamic Central Asia. The architect’s pleasing variant here on the traditional octagon is that the Hamidiye Tomb’s eight sides are not equal: four are wide and flat, four are narrow and curving. Emphasising that this building is, in fact, eight-sided, is the octagonal parapet that supports the dome, the parapet’s angular corners contrasting with the tomb’s rounded corners to enhance visual interest. The architect has also included faux arches, in marble, above the windows on the exterior of the lower storey (echoes of the arch at the entry portal), and raised marble panels that trace rectangles around the windows on the upper storey. When viewed from the street, all these flourishes go a long way, subtly, to create visual attraction in this relatively small building. And then there are the windows in the mausoleum. Different shapes heighten visual interest yet more: rectangular windows on the lower storey, arched (almost pointed) on the upper. The windows contribute to this interest by their own pleasing variation: iron grillwork squares on the lower storey, circles on the upper storey in the iron rings that hold the glass; to judge from photographs, the ring treatment is a replacement, sometime in the early twentieth century, of the original square panes. Meanwhile, the twin rows of horizontal moulding between the two tiers of windows augment the impression of height, as do the two prominent cor- nices around the top of the tomb. The street façade of the portico contains raised marble panels suggesting windows; these panels relieve the flatness of the façade, and draw attention to all the rich marble, as though to ensure

the viewer realises that this entire wall is sheathed in it.2

Stepping back to consider the entire façade from the street, we see that the architect has fashioned it from four individual elements, arranged by increasing height from left to right. The elements begin with

 

Figure 2.3 Baroque curves where the portico meets the mausoleum. ÜR.

 

the stone-and-grillwork wall of the forecourt, step up from there to the entry gate, step up again to the solid marble façade of the portico, and culminate in the dome of the mausoleum. It is a pleasing arrangement, thoughtfully staged, that leads the eye toward the mausoleum as the stately heart of the necropolis.

Considering all the design elements together, then, what we have in the exterior presentation of the Hamidiye Tomb is an ensemble anchored firmly within the design tradition of Ottoman royal tombs, yet embellished with subtle and pleasing variations that make it something unique within that tradition. Accordingly, the designer attained the supreme goal of the artist in Ottoman culture that we noted earlier in the design of headstones: whether architect, painter, calligrapher, musician, poet, or cook, the lauded artist created not something wildly divergent or iconoclastic, but rather a charming variant within the traditions of the culture. That took talent; and for this conservative culture, creation of a charming variant within the cultural tradition created a new work of art to be admired.

The Hamidiye Tomb is a triumph of subtlety, of understated elegance. If we adopt the comment of one American observer about ‘the grave

dignity which the Turks contrive to put into everything they do’ (a slight overstatement, but one can make a case for it in Ottoman architecture), then the Hamidiye Tomb is the very manifestation in stone of ‘grave dignity’, metaphorically as well as literally.3

 

Creators of Grave Dignity

Three professionals, assisted by a host of unknown artisans, together fashioned the peaceful beauty of the Hamidiye Tomb: the architect, the building superintendent, and the calligrapher.

The architect, Mehmed Tahir Ağa, served four times as Senior Architect in service to the Ottoman court and government. It was during his fourth appointment (1777–84) that he designed this project, or perhaps better said, supervised the many architects and artisans who worked on it, since it is difficult to ascertain exactly what aspects of the project Tahir Ağa designed.

The prolific architect’s dates of birth and death are unknown, but we can estimate he was born around 1720 and died probably in the 1790s, by which reckoning he would have been approaching sixty when he designed the Hamidiye Tomb. As Imperial Chief Architect he executed commis- sions from the Imperial Family, including the Lâleli Mosque Complex (which included the tomb for Abdülhamid’s brother, Mustafa III), the Ayazma Mosque in Üsküdar for Mustafa’s mother, and in his later years the Beylerbeyi Mosque for Abdülhamid as well as this tomb. Perhaps his most famous work is the reconstruction of the grand, fifteenth-century mosque of Mehmed the Conqueror, which had collapsed in the earthquake of 1766 and thus was, for all practical purposes, built anew, under Tahir Ağa’s supervision.

As these structures reveal, Tahir Ağa was quite alert to the exuber- ant Baroque architecture and Rococo decoration emanating from Europe, incorporating them in his later structures while retaining traditional Ottoman tastes in architecture and interior design. This tomb is no excep- tion to Tahir Ağa’s eclecticism, both in the architecture and in the decora- tive programme, most notably in the trompe l’oeil work adorning the interior.

Inside the dome of the Hamidiye Tomb we have two versions of Ottoman trompe l’oeil: an early example of eighteenth-century work, covered over, at some point, in nineteenth-century taste. In the early 2000s most of the later paintwork scheme was sensitively removed in favour of the original, while preserving a wedge of the nineteenth century décor within the dome and in its supporting structure, allowing us to see both schemes. The

 

Figure 2.4 The trompe l’oeil décor added in the nineteenth century. AZ.

 

 

eighteenth-century work is relatively restrained, more two-dimensional, suggesting certain architectural elements, while the nineteenth-century repainting is bolder, aiming fully for a three-dimensional effect, as in the trompe l’oeil curtain valances with tassels between the arches supporting the dome.

Meanwhile, the columns flanking the doorway into the tomb present the Ottoman Baroque version, appearing after the 1740s, of European Corinthian column capitals: quite plain compared to their European pro- genitors, but with some sort of relatively simple scrolling element. Here the element that makes the scrolls slightly fancier is the double row of acanthus leaves.

Thanks to the famed eighteenth-century compendium of Muslim archi- tecture in Istanbul, Hadikatü’l-cevami, ‘The Garden of the Mosques’, we also know who the construction superintendent was on the Hamidiye Tomb: Mustafa bin Ahmed Çelebi, whom the work calls Hâfız, meaning he had memorised the Quran, and el-hâc, meaning he had performed the pilgrimage to Mecca.4 Mustafa Ağa had previously worked with the architect Tahir Ağa as construction superintendent on Abdülhamid’s Beylerbeyi Mosque in the late 1770s. Whether he saw the Hamidiye Tomb in its final glory is uncertain, because he died sometime in 1194/1780–1, the year the tomb reached completion.

The third of this trio, the artist Mehmed Emin Efendi, was in his mid- to-late thirties when he won the commission for the calligraphy to adorn

 

Figures 2.5 to 2.7 Pilaster treatments: acanthus leaves and subtle pendant. AZ.

this project, making him around the age to have been the architect’s son. Mehmed Emin served as a teacher (hoca) on staff in the Imperial Chancery, which we know because he tells us so in the cartouche that he signed on the inside wall of the entryway into the mausoleum. Born in Edirne in 1155/1742–3, he completed his calligraphy studies (which is to say, he received his diploma from the master calligrapher with whom he had been studying) by age thirteen, whereupon he made his way to Istanbul. Here, over the next fifteen years, his star began to rise, as he won commissions to design calligraphy panels for street fountains throughout the city. He con- tributed to the calligraphy programme at the Ayazma Mosque in Üsküdar, for which Tahir Ağa was architect, which means that the two had worked together before their commissions on the Hamidiye Complex.

The exceptionally talented Mehmed Emin passed away in 1198/ 1783–4, only four years after his work at the Hamidiye Tomb, and still young at around age forty. He was not buried here, appropriate as that would have been, but rather at the cemetery in the Edirnekapısı district of the city; this graveyard was reserved for palace staff, as we shall see, not for hired professionals.5

 

Gold on Grey

Stepping through the entry portal into the courtyard, and certainly once inside the mausoleum itself, one quickly realises that calligraphy domi- nates the tomb’s decorative programme. Assisting that domination by playing the background role, the restrained architecture, highlighted by subtle variations in colour and placement of the marble of the façade, impresses and calms the observor, while the Baroque design of the portico roofline pleases the eye.

With one’s eye immediately taken by the dramatic calligraphy panels, it is easy to miss that, in complement to the mausoleum, the predominant colour scheme of the portico marble, grey streaked with creamy white, is the reverse of the marble colours on the mausoleum. If we pause long enough to let it work its charms, this subtle colour alternation adds to the simultaneously enchanting and soothing effect of the portico.

In a gentle vestige of the venerable Ottoman tradition of the pointed arch, the portico’s arches are ever-so-slightly pointed, as are the second- storey windows on the street façade. Arches in the Ottoman Baroque, on quite the other hand, had been tending toward round in the 1770s, becoming largely so after around 1800, until the revival of the pointed arch in the late nineteenth century. Emblematic of this switch, we find both arches at the Hamidiye Tomb, as the true round arch appears in the

entryway from the street into the courtyard and in the doorway from the portico into the tomb. We also notice another firm marker of the Ottoman Baroque here, in the absence of muqarnas, the staple feature of traditional Islamic architecture: stalactite vaulting to negotiate the transition between different planes, for example, between a square base and a dome.6

But it is the intricate and dynamic design of the oversize calligraphed letters, and their gold colour, that lend dramatic effect and form a striking counterpoint to the grey and white marble of the courtyard. The panels at the Hamidiye Tomb fit squarely into the traditional role of Islamic calligraphy: to furnish a predominant element in a building’s decorative programme. As one would expect, all of the grandly calligraphed panels consist of Quranic verses or religious formulae, thus are in Arabic. The sole exemplar of Ottoman Turkish here is the poem in the far smaller plaque over the niche containing the footprint of the Prophet.

Embedded in the tall stone wall directly across the courtyard from the entryway, the marble portal (now sealed off) through the wall contains the first calligraphed panel to catch the visitor’s eye once inside the courtyard. It is Quran 35:28, ‘Even so only those of His servants fear God who have knowledge’, a reference to humankind’s fear of God as the first step in coming to understand the nature of the divine.

As the visitor turns right in order to step under the portico, above the entryway into the mausoleum appears Quran 89:27–9: ‘O soul at peace, return unto thy Lord, well-pleased, well-pleasing! Enter thou among My servants! Enter thou My Paradise!’ A most appropriate choice for the entryway into a tomb, not to mention for tombstones, on which one fre- quently finds a shortened excerpt of this famed verse, typically irciî ilâ rabbiki, ‘Return unto thy Lord!’ or even just irciî, ‘Return!’. We see it on three gravestones in this garden.

Below the calligraphed panel, in the arches framing both ends of the short passage into the mausoleum, we find two further representations of ablaq treatment. Affixed onto the voussoirs of the arch directly below the inscription, five lozenge-shaped elements, very Baroque in shape, offer an eye-catching variation on traditional ablaq that contrasts subtly with the arch at the interior end of the passageway, which repeats the classic ablaq we saw over the exterior gate into the courtyard.

When retracing steps to return to the street, one spies the last cal- ligraphed panel within the courtyard, on the interior façade of the entry portal. It is Quran 40:16, ‘Whose is the Kingdom today? God’s, the One, the Omnipotent’. The tomb is calling on visitors to remain mindful of the Almighty now that they are departing this sanctified retreat and returning to the workaday world of the city outside its walls.

 

Figure 2.8 The portico entry into the mausoleum. ÜR.

Stepping Inside the Mausoleum: Cenotaphs and Palls

As when entering a mosque, visitors to an imperial tomb would have observed one small custom before crossing the threshold, and one feels the need to nod to that custom as we step inside, if just through the printed page. As the 1893 French/English guidebook for travellers explained:

No one is allowed to enter a Mosque without taking off his shoes. For Europeans who do not wear over-shoes, this is very inconvenient; for this reason the imams (Mohamedan priests) place at the disposal of visitors large slippers which are put on over their boots or shoes.7

Once inside the mausoleum, what first strikes the visitor may well be the abundance of colour, along with the abundant decoration and plentiful sunlight through the two tiers of windows. Nothing doleful here; one might think we have entered a parlour, as indeed, Ottoman tombs of royalty were meant to be visited, not simply gloomy interiors for the sole purpose of housing the dead. Not many tombs in the rest of Europe are carpeted, with drapes at the windows.

But this ‘parlour’ has cenotaphs, the box-shaped structures over the graves inside the tomb. The English word ‘cenotaph’ denotes a monu- ment to someone buried elsewhere, so we are stretching the term a bit since this box is not really a cenotaph in the usual sense, and the person it commemorates is buried ‘elsewhere’ only by being below the box, not in it; the word works better, for our purposes, in its original Greek sense of ‘empty tomb’. We shall use it because English has no better word for these Ottoman devices.

Their shape gave them their Turkish name, sanduka, cousin of sandık, the Turkish word for ‘storage chest’ or ‘coffer’. If we look up sanduka in the 1890 Ottoman-English dictionary, we find a multi-word definition to explain these boxes to English speakers: ‘A coffer-shaped structure of planks . . . placed as a monument over a tomb’.8 They mark the burial place of the deceased below them because by Muslim custom a corpse is to be buried in the earth, having been washed in the prescribed manner and swathed in the shroud.

And so, the cenotaphs are empty, despite their coffin shape. Because Christianity, among other religions, does not employ such structures in tombs, many a foreign visitor has assumed otherwise on this point, for example the British gentleman who in 1862 described

the mausoleum of Sultan Hamid, who died in 1789, and whose covered bier can be seen through the windows of the ground floor opening upon the street. For

here, in the Turkish capital, it is not the custom to inter sovereigns, to ‘lower them into the vault’, but to keep their remains above ground.9

 

The visitor’s earnest observations notwithstanding, what the gentleman saw was an empty box; the royal remains lie interred within the earth.

Cenotaphs in Ottoman tombs descend from the stone structures that had been erected over outdoor graves of prominent persons since the early centuries of Islam; in Anatolia their use spread with the rise of Selçuk culture in the twelfth century. Their shape echoes the traditional ‘peaked roof’ of coffins in Islam, with the peak slightly higher over the deceased’s head. For males, a turban such as he might have worn in life adorns the ‘head’ of each cenotaph. To distinguish the sultans interred here, their two cenotaphs are larger than the others, and they are surrounded by exquisite railings worked with mother-of-pearl, another traditional Ottoman art.

The wooden structures are covered with a pall, in Turkish puşide, from the Persian word meaning ‘covered’. With the pall-covered cenotaphs, then, what we have is a permanent representation of how the deceased’s body would have been transported to the tomb: within a peaked coffin of this shape, covered by shawls or palls and, for males, with the turban of his rank mounted at the head of the peaked coffin.

The dark green broadcloth palls have been fitted tightly around each cenotaph, with the broadcloth exquisitely embroidered in silver thread with short religious formulae or brief passages from the Quran, as well as with decorative motifs. Raised needlework of silver or gold thread is another traditional Ottoman art, the raising of the letters off the cloth achieved by embroidering the metal thread over patterns cut from thin leather. In Turkey the art is known as ‘Marash work’, Maraş işi, from the city in south-eastern Anatolia where it developed into a special art form at least seven centuries ago, possibly earlier. If local lore is to be accepted, from there it spread to the Ottoman palace in the fifteenth century, when daughters of the regional princes married Ottoman sultans.10 Some of the finest examples of Marash work adorn royal tombs, this tomb being no exception, although time and sunlight have taken their toll on both the silver thread and the cloth onto which it is embroidered.

Royal palls would have been produced in the imperial silk-weaving workshops. The palls might have been fashioned to include remnants of the calligraphed silk covers that the sultan dispatched yearly to cover the tombs of the Prophet and his companions in Medina. When new cloths arrived in Medina as part of the following year’s gift, the previous year’s cloths were returned (or at least, some were returned) to the imperial palace. We know from archival documents that these cloths, formerly over

 

Figure 2.9 Colour, beauty, and light: the mausoleum interior. ÜR.

 

 

the Medina tombs, were then repurposed, as a mark of great honour, for use as tomb palls of royalty and high dignitaries, or presented as honoured relics to hospitals and to military commands, among other destinations. We cannot state for certain whether the palls of the children here include,

in part, cloths sent to Medina, but the palls of the two sultans here appear to have been entirely made ‘from scratch’ for these cenotaphs.

Traditionally, palls of royal cenotaphs would have been adorned with a costly shawl laid over them. None here has a shawl today, but the French travel writer who inspected the tomb in the 1860s tells us that ‘the coffin [sic; it was, of course, a cenotaph] of Abdülhamid is covered with seven large, magnificent shawls, while the little ones have but one’.11

Judging from their condition, the palls over the tombs of the two sultans here were replaced sometime toward, most likely, the end of the nineteenth century. The palls of the children appear to be the originals, judging from their poor condition, hardened and blackened, but that may be because they are exposed to more sunlight, as one document in the Topkapı Palace archives states that they were made or restored in 1852:

The expenses for weaving and assembling the palls whose deficiencies are being rectified, and which are needed over the cenotaphs of the august princes and princesses, and of other exalted personages, asleep in the grave suffused with God’s forgiveness [gunûde-yi lahd-ı gufrân] within the tomb adjacent to the noble mausoleum of the Mother Princess outside the noble New Mosque in Bahçekapısı, as well as within the noble Hamidiye Tomb and Mother Princess Nakşıdil Tomb, and also for the cenotaphs of Their Highnesses the princes and imperial consorts asleep in the dust suffused with God’s mercy [gunûde-yi türab-ı rahmet] inside the new tomb now under construction, will be paid by the treasury of the Imperial Charitable Endowments (Evkaf-ı Hümayun), while the cost of the gilt thread alone will be met by His Majesty’s Privy Purse (Hazine-yi Hassa-yı Şahane).12

The ‘new tomb under construction’ must refer to what is now called the Gülustu Hanım Tomb, constructed around this time in the grounds of the Nakşıdil mausoleum. As for why the expenses were split between the two treasuries mentioned, we can only speculate; did the Endowments’ charter exclude the price of gilt thread? One would not think so. Perhaps Sultan Abdülmecid wished to make a special gesture of his own, by paying for the thread personally. In any event, regardless of whether the palls are original or replacements, one can but pause in awe at the skill of the unknown artisans who designed the calligraphy, planned its layout on the cloth, and then added floral and other motifs to fill in the space around the words in a manner pleasing to the eye.

On the pall at the head end of each cenotaph one finds the equivalent of the deceased’s ‘tombstone’. For the children buried here this consists of an embroidered panel giving the child’s name and year of death in brief formulaic wording.

All eighteen of these ‘tombstones’ of children display the same Arabic formulaic inscription, differing only in the gender variations Arabic grammar requires, followed by the year of death. For boys, this inscription reads (in the example of Prince Mehmed):

Hüve’l-Hayyu’l-Baki Merhûm ve mağfûrun-leh Şehzade

Sultan Mehmed tabe serahü Sene 1199

He is the Eternal Living God The late and divinely pardoned

Prince Mehmed, may his grave be pleasant The year 1199

And for girls (in the example of Princess Aynişah):

Hüve’l-Hayyu’l-Baki Merhûme ve mağfûrun-leha Aynişah Sultan tabe seraha Sene 1194

He is the Eternal Living God The late and divinely pardoned

Princess Aynişah, may her grave be pleasant The year 1194

Here a slight mistake in the Arabic crops up, on the pall of some (but not all) of the princesses. The epitaph of Princess Mevhibe, for example, gives the standard religious formula tabe seraha ثراها طاب, (‘May her grave be pleasant’) as tabet seraha, using the feminine form of the verb, tabet طابت, presumably because it’s referring to ‘her grave’ and not ‘his grave’. But the verb needs to agree in gender with the noun ‘grave’ (sera, which is masculine), not with the ‘her’ attached to it. This means that the masculine verb form tabe would be correct here, not the feminine form tabet. A tiny point, to be sure, interesting only because it points up how Ottoman epitaph writers, even those producing epitaphs for the Imperial Family, could be, on occasion, not entirely up to speed on finer points of Arabic grammar.

All but one of the children’s palls also include a short, poignant verse embroidered in Marash work along the sides of the cenotaphs. The verse contains two rhyming couplets in honour of the deceased child, and men- tions his or her name. They vary according to who the children’s father was: the thirteen children of Sultan Abdülhamid have the same verse of

 

Figure 2.10 The embroidered epitaph on Princess Mevhibe’s cenotaph, 1257 ah. AZ.

 

 

four couplets; Mustafa IV’s daughter has a verse of two couplets; and of Mahmud II’s two sons, the first-born has a verse of four couplets and the second-born a verse of three.

On the other hand, the verses on the palls of Sultan Abdülmecid’s two children (the last two burials in the tomb) differ subtly from the others. Princess Mevhibe has a verse of three couplets, and the first line of the formulaic inscription at the head of her pall reads just ‘He is the Eternal One’, the only cenotaph to do so. Prince Rüşdî lacks a verse entirely, but the embroidered epitaph at the head of his pall offsets this lack by includ- ing a charming poetic expression to describe him and providing his precise date of death instead of only the year. In other words, as in any graveyard the ‘tombstones’ differ in wording, evolving as the years went by and fashion changed.

The verse for Abdülhamid’s thirteen children does not mention their father’s name, while the verses for his grandchildren and great- grandchildren do mention their respective fathers. Was this because in the period of the deaths of Abdülhamid’s children the tomb was used for just that monarch’s family – for whom, indeed, the tomb had been built – so it was abundantly clear who the children’s father was? Especially since they died during his lifetime? Surely yes. But once burials of succeed- ing generations began in the tomb, that simple clarity would not have

existed, and stating whose child this was would have seemed necessary and appropriate.

Turning now to the verse embroidered onto the sides of the palls of Abdülhamid’s children (we will consider the other children’s verses in the next chapter), we see that it varies only in the name of the deceased child, in line six. Here is the version for Princess Aynişah:

Hayf sana ey çarh-ı kecrev bir gülü Bitmeden açılmadan etdin hazan Âlemi görmek müyesser olmadı Gayb oldu kuş gibi uçdu heman

 

Ağlaşub bu cümle âlem dediler Gülmedi Aynişah Sultan figan Kabrini nur ruhunu şad eylesün Fahr-ı Âlem hürmetine Müstean

 

Shame on thee, O Fate gone awry,

You caused a rose to drop its leaves before it could sprout and open.

To see the world was granted not;

She vanished; like a bird, away she flew in an instant.

 

Weeping together, all this world said ‘Princess Aynişah smiled not, alas’.

In honour of the Pride of the World, may the Lord God Make her tomb bright, her soul content.

The ‘Pride of the World’ is the Prophet Muhammad.

Here is another enigmatic spelling snafu (admittedly mild). In the first line of this verse on all thirteen palls, the first letter of çarh, ‘fate’, appears here with one dot, جرخ, thus making carh, whereas, if one goes by standard orthog- raphy, it should have three dots, چرخ, to make çarh. This same dot mix-up occurs in reverse in the next word, kecrev, ‘awry’, which should be کجرو (kecrev) but is کچرو (keçrev). What we have here is the tendency of Ottoman scribes to exchange the consonants cim ج and çim چ (both quite close in pronunciation), a tendency so widespread that – purists aside – one cannot really consider it a mistake, but rather more in the nature of a variant by the individual scribe.

The fact that all thirteen palls sport this ‘variant’ leads to the tempting conclusion that the children’s palls are replacements, all made at once, and some time in the nineteenth century, to judge from their dilapidated condition today. Almost certainly these are the palls mentioned in the 1852 document cited above.

If we step back to ponder this room with its thicket of eighteen small cenotaphs and two large ones, we see further aspects of the role performed by this mausoleum, apart from simply burying the dead: to keep the reign- ing House in the public eye in a good way, that is to say, as a benevolent presence that cares for and provides for the people, and whose sovereignty over them is merited.

But in order for the people to perceive the ruling House as benevolent and meritorious, they must know who the ruling House is. Hence the cenotaphs. Whether viewed close-up or through the windows from the street, the Imperial Family is presenting its members, the monarchs and their children, to the populace. The dynasty is putting these deceased members to use, acquainting the populace with these individuals in par- ticular and the ruling family in general. Given the relative seclusion of the Imperial Family in this era, extremely few of the flood of humanity that passed the building every day had ever seen members of the dynasty at all, even from a distance, apart from perhaps catching a glimpse of Abdülhamid or Mustafa IV in procession to mosque on Fridays, or at the religious holidays, or on rare other public occasions. Most likely the vast majority of these passers-by knew nothing of their existence, apart from possibly knowing who the ruling monarch was. Now here these visitors and passers-by were, in the presence of named members of the ruling House, albeit buried ones.

In their accessible presence in the heart of town, the dead royalty served potentially to create a bond of sympathy between the ruling House and its subjects who visited them here, at least the more empathetic visitors, by the poignant sight of the many small cenotaphs of infants; quite prob- ably many, even most, visitors had also lost family members to the same diseases that ravaged the Imperial Family. The chamber stands in mute testimony that humans of all stations remain subject to God’s commands.

Ottoman culture did not take to statues in public places. If the purpose of statues is to commemorate a person’s memory (assuming the honouree is dead) in a pleasing, even eye-catching manner, then in these cenotaphs- with-embroidered-palls we have the Ottoman equivalent of statues. In the magnificent, exceptionally large cenotaphs of sultans, including the two here, we see the only ‘statue’ raised to an Ottoman monarch before or after his death. Inside a building these monuments are, but the build- ing is accessible to the public. To further mark the exalted status of the deceased beneath them, finely constructed railings of delicate woodwork and mother-of-pearl inlay surround the cenotaphs of the two sultans here. As befits a building that houses members of the reigning dynasty, the presentation of these monuments reflects sundry hallmarks of Ottoman

decorative art superbly: subtle magnificence, discretion (they are located indoors), and adornment with calligraphy, floral motifs, and geometric patterns, all enhanced by the Marash work at which Ottoman artisans excelled.

 

The Writing on the (Inside) Walls

If the grey marble walls of the courtyard form the splendid backdrop for the brilliant calligraphed panels there, inside the tomb the greyish white of the walls performs the same task for the interior calligraphy. Here too it is not just the letters’ gold colour that attracts the eye, it is also their dynamic arrangement – the goal, after all, of calligraphy being to attract the eye by inspired design.

First to impress the visitor inside the mausoleum is the spectacular frieze of calligraphy that encircles the room between the two rows of windows. To the eye unfamiliar with Arabic, the seemingly random swirls and tilts of the letters may resemble a work of modern art, but a chef- d’oeuvre of eighteenth-century carved stonework it is. The frieze presents the entire chapter 67 of the Quran, ‘The Kingdom’, most appropriate for a mausoleum, given its powerful affirmation of faith and of the mercy of God. For this reason, we see ‘The Kingdom’ encircling the room in other grand tombs, including that of Abdülhamid’s son Mahmud II.

In designing the piece, Mehmed Emin’s task was to fit the letters within the finite dimensions of the curving octagonal band. Part of his strategy included placing the words not just horizontally but also stack- ing them above one another, as Arabic-alphabet calligraphers delight in doing, and to which the Arabic alphabet lends itself particularly. Not only does this technique create a more engaging design, but it gives the artist a measure of flexibility in managing the length of the piece. Lending a further measure of flexibility in calculating the layout of the work here is the addition of short religious formulae, approximately one metre’s worth, following the last word of the Quranic chapter.

Alongside the superb complexity of this piece, what strikes the visitor is the treatment of the frieze as it passes above the doorway. Here the band swoops upward, continues horizontally, and then downward on the other side of the entryway to continue its path around the room. An eye-catcher if ever there was one, and surely the most distinctively Baroque element of the entire tomb ensemble, adding unexpected flair, even pizazz, to this religious calligraphy. With these exuberant curves, did Mehmed Emin wish to add a dash of excitement to set off the doorway? Or did he need a bit more space to make the band fit within the room without reducing the

size of the letters? We can only speculate, but one wonders if his inspira- tion was both.

Earlier Ottoman royal tombs featured calligraphed bands of Quranic verse extending around the entire chamber, for example at the Hatice Turhan Valide Sultan tomb at the New Mosque, from the 1660s. But these friezes were made of tiles, which meant they lay flat against the wall. The frieze at the Hamidiye Tomb, on the other hand, builds on the tradition that began with the Nuruosmaniye Mosque (the first grand build- ing in Ottoman Baroque, completed in 1755), of encasing the calligraphy frieze within a clearly articulated frame, and executing the inscription in three-dimensional lettering carved into marble panels, with the lettering painted gold against a dark green or black background. This treatment of the frieze renders it more dynamic than its pre-Nuruosmaniye predeces- sors, an effect rendered even more striking at the Hamidiye Tomb by the Baroque sweep around the doorway.

Let us consider, in a bit more detail, how this frieze would have been made. The calligrapher would have first calligraphed the entire Quranic chapter in scaled proportion to the ultimate length of the frieze. He, perhaps with assistant calligraphers, would then have transferred the design onto a cartoon, a full-scale rendering on paper. Use of a cartoon would allow potential errors or problems in measurement to come to light on the paper, for adjustment at this stage. From the cartoon, the design would then have been transferred onto the smooth marble panels prepared for the frieze.

But then, was the carving carried out before mounting the marble panels up onto the walls, or after? Apparently, both, if we may judge from unfinished parts of the courtyard at the Nuruosmaniye Mosque. In other words, it appears that most of the carving was accomplished before the panels were raised onto the walls, but the edges between panels were carved after. Carving the panels on the wall would be more challeng- ing than on the workbench, perhaps, but this approach ensured perfectly aligned transitions between the panels, a point of paramount importance, of course, in an inscription.13

After admiring the intricate design, one might wonder where the verse begins (and ends!), since the starting/ending point is not immediately obvious. Mehmed Emin has included a subtle clue to tell us. Above the upper right corner of the marble frame that surrounds the doorway, a most slender column of blank green space in the frieze is our clue for where to begin, while a small floral composition to the right of the blank column highlights the end point of the verse.

All in all, the frieze constitutes a work of intricacy and beauty that leaves one in awe at the mastery of the artist who designed it and of the

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Figure 2.11 Mehmed Emin’s magnificent swirl. ÜR.

 

Figure 2.12 The tell-tale clue for where the frieze begins and ends. ÜR.

 

stone carver(s) and painters who executed it. Arguably, the frieze consti- tutes the most spectacular aspect of the entire Hamidiye Tomb ensemble. In stark contrast to the nearly overpowering glory of the frieze is the subtlety of the mihrab, the niche indicating the direction of Mecca. Since prayers are expected in a tomb, the mihrab is mandatory, but here it is so subtly fashioned, so well concealed along a column between two windows, as to be easily missed. The only feature to alert visitors of the mihrab’s presence is the motif atop it, outlined in gold: stacked arcs of varying radii, intersected by lines emanating from a round device, altogether suggesting sun rays streaming into billowing clouds. In its curving simplicity the

whole effect of the device is very Ottoman Baroque.

 

Turning to contemplate the interior wall treatment above the entryway swirl, one sees four more calligraphed compositions by Mehmed Emin. All are rectangular panels. Of the three stacked above the room-encircling frieze, the upper two comprise Quran 27:30, the second half of which con- stitutes one of the most repeated formulae in Islam: ‘It is from Solomon, and it reads “In the Name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate.”’ In

 

Figure 2.13 The subtlest of mihrabs. ÜR.

 

this passage the Queen of Sheba is telling her nobles of the letter she has received from Solomon, the Israelite king who in Islam numbers among the prophets, the letter beginning with Solomon invoking the one God to this pagan queen. The lowermost of these three panels bears the well- known testament to Islam’s monotheism and its prophet: ‘There is no god but the one God, and Muhammad is the messenger of God.’

Still above the entryway, but below the ‘The Kingdom’ band, the rec- tangular pediment over the arch of the doorway contains Quran 55:26–7: ‘All that dwells upon the earth is perishing, yet still abides the face of thy Lord, majestic, splendid.’ One can hardly imagine a more suitable verse to adorn a tomb. Flanking this panel, in two irregularly shaped cartouches within the triangles formed by the band as it curves up over the pediment, Mehmed Emin has signed his work. This ‘signature’ follows the customary form employed by Ottoman calligraphers when they signed their work (not all did): humble language, in Arabic (except for the ‘job title’, in Ottoman Turkish). Since Arabic reads from right to left, it begins in the cartouche on the right-hand side, directly below the spot where the

room-encircling band of calligraphy begins, appropriately enough, and reads ‘Calligraphed by the weakest of slaves, Mehmed Emin, teacher at the Imperial Council’. The left-side cartouche (see Figure 1.6)continues with ‘May God forgive him and his parents and whosoever looks upon it, Amen. 29 Z. of the year 1194’. We’ve established that Mehmed Emin was in his thirties when he received this commission; the cartouche implies his parents were still living. As mentioned in the Introduction, it is this date (equivalent to 26 December 1780) that allows us to establish when the tomb was completed, more or less.

Inside the dome, Mehmed Emin has bequeathed to us another work of calligraphic brilliance. This round design appears inspired by the spokes of a wheel, with its evocation of something with no beginning or end, and thus appropriate for this religious text that addresses God. It is the niyaz or supplication, thus in Arabic, Yâ âlimen bi-hâlî, aleyke ittikâlî, ‘O You Who know my lot, my trust is in You’. The ‘spokes’ are formed by the vertical elements of the letters elif, lam, and kef (ا ل ک) within this rhyming supplication.

Being rather brief, the phrase is repeated four times (almost as though it is addressing the four points of the compass) beautifully and cleverly, so that it fills the space allotted for it at the top of the dome. Well-known in Islam and a favoured source text for calligraphers, this supplication is no stranger to Ottoman architecture; among many other examples, it figures within the dome of the dervish meeting-house in Konya of Rumî, founder of the Mevlevî Sufis, the famed ‘Whirling Dervishes’.

While our eyes are raised to the ‘wheel-spoke’ calligraphy inside the dome, the vigilant observer will notice the distinctive feature of Ottoman architecture that immediately identifies a building as Ottoman: the dome rests directly on the arches supporting it, not on a drum that would raise it higher. What one sacrifices in grandeur, one gains in creating an inti- macy between the dome and the space beneath it, a sort of unified whole between the dome and the remainder of the building, as opposed to in, say, the great domed spaces in the Western tradition. The Aya Sofya (but no other Byzantine building, insofar as we know) also has a drumless dome, which is likely where Ottoman architects got the idea, although Ottoman architects were already building drumless domes before the conquest of Constantinople. But the Ottoman tradition is unique, among world archi- tectural traditions, in this treatment of domes. Tombs may sometimes form an exception, as in the tomb of Süleyman I at the Süleymaniye Mosque, but the Hamidiye Tomb dome falls squarely within this Ottoman tradition.14

It is probably only when one has pondered the interior as a whole, from the trompe l’oeil décor of the upper walls and ceiling, to the frieze and

 

Figure 2.14 The supplication encircling the dome. AZ.

 

other calligraphy, to the fine stonework of the entry portico and columns, that one realises, with a bit of a start, that this building completely lacks even a hint of the most celebrated Ottoman decorative art of all: Iznik tiles. Tahir Ağa and his artisans clearly aimed to create something ‘up to date’, something Baroque, in which traditional Ottoman tilework would have fit uneasily, if at all.

The remainder of Mehmed Emin’s artistic contribution to the tomb consists of the standard medallions that adorn mosques and tombs. There are eight of them here, one at each corner of the octagon. They begin in the place of honour – the left side of the entryway – with ‘Allah’, followed by ‘Muhammad’, then continue around the room with the names of the first four caliphs of Sunni Islam, followed by the names of the Prophet’s two grandsons.

In addition to the gems of artistry from the hand of Mehmed Emin, another artist (possibly two) contributed to the calligraphy programme along the walls inside the tomb. We turn now to the elegantly calligraphed verse that adorns the niche bearing the Sacred Footprint, and which is quite different in style from the bold strokes of Mehmed Emin’s Celi Sülüs letters.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Figure 2.15 The drumless dome, with pie-shaped wedge of nineteenth-century décor and eight medallions. ÜR.

The Sacred Footprint

The seat of the Sunni caliph for some three and a half centuries, Istanbul boasts nine examples of one of Islam’s sacred relics: footprints of the Prophet Muhammad in hardened clay or stone. Six are preserved within the Chamber of the Noble Relics at Topkapı Palace, one at the tomb of the Prophet’s companion Eyyub el-Ensari at Eyüp, one at the tomb of Mustafa III, and the last here. The presence of this holy relic lends the Hamidiye Tomb a special status, as it does the several other tombs and shrines throughout the Middle East and South Asia in which these relics are preserved.

The tradition of venerating footprints of the Prophet harkens back to older such traditions in the Middle East, and reflects belief in the miracle that wherever the Prophet trod upon stone, his feet left imprints in the rock. There is no official affirmation of this in the religion, but it remained a strong folk belief, hence rulers, including Abdülhamid, saw virtue in cultivating the popular beliefs of the people by preserving these relics. As to the history of the Hamidiye Tomb exemplar, what we can state with certainty (at least, all sources agree on these points) is that this footprint was discovered in the province of Damascus, and was brought to Istanbul in 1784.

Legends quickly emerged around the newly found footprint, including that it stemmed from Muhammad’s sojourns around Damascus when he was a merchant in the years before his divine mission from God, that it was well-known in Damascus province, that Abdülhamid ordered it brought to Istanbul for his tomb, and that the sheikh who transported it did so by carrying it atop his head as he walked the entire distance from Damascus to Istanbul.

Recent archival research has turned up a less colourful picture. An undated document informed Abdülhamid that the footprint had been found and presumably cut out of the sheet of local stone in which it had been discovered, then had been transported on a litter pulled by two mules to Damascus, where it was placed in a local villa-cum-museum. The unnamed official (the Grand Vizier?) writing to Abdülhamid suggested two options for the footprint: leave it in Damascus, with a structure built to house it inside the Umayyad Mosque, at the shrine where the head of John the Baptist is purportedly entombed; or bring it to Istanbul to the new tomb the sultan had recently built. In his own handwriting at the top of the document, Abdülhamid left the decision to the official, an indication that the location to exhibit the Sacred Footprint was not a point of critical concern to him. Clearly, the official selected the second option.15

Rather telling, when considering this document, is the sul- tan’s apparent indifference to the footprint, or more specifically, to whether it should be brought to Istanbul. One possible reason is that he entertained doubts as to the footprint’s authenticity. Or possibly his practice of the faith tended more toward the orthodox path rather than toward folk beliefs and what some might regard as popular supersti- tion. Nonetheless, insofar as the written record tells us, Abdülhamid allowed the relic to be brought to his capital and, indeed, installed in his mausoleum.

The elaborate marble niche we see today was fashioned in the west wall of the Hamidiye Tomb to house the Sacred Footprint. Topping the niche is the tuğra (imperial cypher) of Abdülhamid, honouring the sov- ereign in whose reign the relic was brought to Istanbul. The tuğra bears a signature of sorts immediately under it: Eser-i kilk-i Mehmed Raşid, ‘a work of the pen of Mehmed Raşid’. This would be the calligrapher of that name, of the illustrious Dürrizade family of scholars. We do not know a great deal about him, except that he died in 1206/1791–2, his grandfather had served as şeyhülislâm at the beginning of Abdülhamid’s reign, and his uncle Ataullah Efendi was serving as şeyhülislâm when the Sacred Footprint arrived in Istanbul.16 Did the fact that the sultan knew his family well account for Mehmed Raşid’s receiving the commission for the niche tuğra? Quite probably; still, the tuğra he designed is exquisitely done. In contrast, his signature under it is not calligraphed at all (unlike Mehmed Emin’s superb signature below the calligraphy band that encircles the room) but rather rendered in everyday handwriting, perhaps as a mark of humility in the presence of this holy relic. We have seen that calligraphers were to exhibit humility when signing their work, ideally; on the other hand, Mehmed Raşid’s placing his name in such a visible location is not exactly humble.

Did Mehmed Raşid also calligraph the rhyming poem of three couplets that figures below the tuğra and above the niche containing the footprint? We do not know for certain, but it seems likely, since he was known as a master of the gentle and graceful Persian Ta’lik style in which the poem is designed.17 What we also cannot say for certain is who composed the verse.

Oldu resm-i kadem-i Hazret-i Fahr-ı Âlem Tac-ı vahhac-ı ser-i cümle-yi ehl-i iman O kademdir ki edüb tayy-ı semavât-ı âlâ Menzil-i sidreye basdı Şeb-i İsrada iyân

Sür yüzün acz ü niyaz ile edüb istişfa Olayım dersen eğer mazhar-ı afv ü gufrân

 

Figure 2.16 The Baroque niche fashioned to house the Sacred Footprint. AZ.

 

Figure 2.17 The tuğra drawn by Mehmed Raşid. ÜR.

 

The footmark of His Excellency the Pride of the World

Has become the blazing crown atop the head of all people of faith.

It is the foot that in traversing the highest heavens

On the Night of the Journey trod clearly the station of the lotus tree. Render homage and seek intercession in weakness and supplication If you say, May I be granted pardon and forgiveness.

As related in the Quran, the Night of the Journey, Şeb-i İsra, is the night in which the Prophet Muhammad rode his winged mount Burak from Mecca to ‘the farthest mosque’, by tradition Temple Mount in Jerusalem. From there he ascended with the angel Gabriel to the holy lotus tree in the highest (seventh) heaven.

If we step back to consider it, in making this holy relic available to residents of and visitors to the imperial capital, the dynasty discharged two duties incumbent upon the ruling House: to exhibit piety, and to serve the religion by displaying charitable concern for the spiritual well-being of the Muslims in its care. Providing access, in the heart of the city, to this vener- ated artefact, and especially, placing it within a small niche that allowed visitors to approach it closely, would heighten, so surely the aspiration ran, visitors’ religious devotion and zeal. It should also bolster their allegiance to the dynasty that had performed this beneficent act on their behalf.

The presence of the sacred relic enhanced the prestige of the Hamidiye Tomb. Ironically, the artefact that elicited a kind of indifference on Abdülhamid’s part, when news of its discovery arrived, came to comprise, far and away, the preeminent feature of the entire Hamidiye Charitable Complex, and remains so today. After all, there are untold numbers of

royal tombs in Istanbul and across the Muslim world, but exceptionally few that boast a Sacred Footprint of the Prophet. It was a fitting addition to the capital city whose honorific names included Darülhilâfe, ‘Abode of the Caliphate’.

 

The Staff

A royal tomb would require sextons (türbedar) to supervise or carry out the tasks of opening the gates for visitors, locking up at night, keeping the premises clean, tidying the garden, ordering supplies and repairs as needed, and generally overseeing everything including burials in the tomb and garden. We have seen provisions for permanent and transient staff in the Hamidiye Tomb’s charter.

The historian Edwin Grosvenor, who taught at the American college in Istanbul (Robert College) for years in the late nineteenth century, did not think much of the sexton’s job; his description applies more to sextons at small tombs than at imperial mausolea such as the Hamidiye, but still all staff at tombs would have shared something of the same daily tedium:

Each turbeh [türbe, the Turkish word for ‘tomb’] is under the care of custodi- ans, whose entire earthly existence is passed within its walls. This guardianship is a lazy heritage, often continued through the same family for hundreds of years. No life can be more inane and profitless than that of these watchers in the tombs of the dead. Muttering eternally the same prayers, repeating eternally by rote passages from the Koran for thousands of times, dusting the graves, and sweeping the floor, make up its sum.18

Thanks to the remarkable register we have of staff at all the schools, mosques, and mausolea within the city of Istanbul as of January 1792, we know that as of this date so soon after it opened, the staff at the Hamidiye Tomb numbered five persons. In charge was the Chief Sexton, Hattat (‘the Calligrapher’) Mustafa Efendi; below him two other ‘managers’, Seyyid (meaning he claimed descent from the Prophet) İbrahim Efendi, and Ferdî Ömer Efendi. In their service were two other gentlemen, both addressed as Molla, a title of respect usually applied to a religious scholar or a teacher: Molla Mehmed Emin, who also claimed descent from the Prophet, and one Molla Abdullah.19

Five may seem excessive for the staff of such a small tomb and garden graveyard, but it points up how desirable such a relatively undemanding yet prestigious position was, in the pay of the charitable endowment set up to operate the tomb. Alongside the attractiveness of a steady salary, supplemented by tips from visitors, to serve the dead has ranked, since the

early years of Islam, as a meritorious act in the religion.20 Competition for these posts was high when they became vacant, and the Ottoman archives teem with applications for them and edicts concerning who was to be appointed and at what salary.

Let us consider the Chief Sexton, Mustafa Efendi. This was the cel- ebrated calligrapher Mustafa Vâsıf, who was born at an unknown date in Kastamonu Province and came to Istanbul as a youth. The Staff Register cited above may be correct in claiming that he was already Chief Sexton in 1792, but given that he died in 1852, he would have been improbably young to receive such a high post that early. Possibly another calligrapher named Mustafa was Chief Sexton in 1792, but if so, research has failed to turn up such a person. What is more, the tombstone here of Vâsıf’s son Şevket, who died in 1251/1835–6, refers to Mustafa Vâsıf as Sexton, not as Chief Sexton (türbedar, not baştürbedar), which one would expect if the latter were indeed his position (the stone of his second son buried here does not mention Vâsıf’s title). Although that can serve only as a hint, what seems most logical is that he joined the Hamidiye Tomb staff when quite young, after decades of service finally attaining the top position of Chief Sexton. Vâsıf performed the pilgrimage to Mecca in 1840, earning himself the sobriquet el-hâc, ‘the Pilgrim’, which appears before his name on the tombstone here of his son who died in 1844. While in Mecca he discovered, to his delight, the extra-hard reed pen used by pilgrims from Java, introducing it back in Istanbul, where it caught on with calligraphers for drawing especially thin letters, and eased the lot of scribes and others writing in rık’a, the cursive Arabic script devised by the Ottomans in order to write quickly.

If sexton at a mausoleum seems at first glance an unusual job for a calligrapher, at second glance it seems ideal: regular and decent pay (one assumes) along with those tips from generous visitors, especially visitors from the palace; a respectable position; not much to do (in fact you prob- ably went to work only when absolutely needed); and, when you were on site, a quiet space whose below-ground denizens made few demands upon one’s time, quite lending itself to, say, practicing calligraphy. In other words, the perfect sinecure for an artist.

On top of his pay at the tomb, Mustafa Vâsıf worked as a kind of deputy administrator of the charitable endowment that Sultan Abdülhamid set up to fund and operate the complex of which the tomb formed a part: yet another excellent, and not terribly demanding, source of income for an artist. Consequently, we are probably not far off the mark when hypoth- esising that the Hamidiye Tomb served as springboard for the career of one of the greatest Ottoman calligraphers. The advantages of the position

explain why more than one calligrapher turns up in the archival records as staff member at a charitable endowment or tomb. Word probably got around the calligraphy community that tomb sexton was the job to get, if one could; in addition to the salary, perhaps a calligrapher/sexton might win commissions for gravestones in his own cemetery, as well as in others. At least one tombstone in the Hamidiye garden is attributed to Vâsıf’s artistic skills: that of İbrahim İbiş Ağa, the Chief Detective of the Imperial Guard who died in 1825.

As noted above, during his decades as sexton Vâsıf buried two of his sons in the tomb garden, in 1836 and 1844. They lie next to one another, and we assume both died quite young, because their sepulchres and gravestones are small. The calligraphy on the two stones is unsigned, but both appear to have been drawn by the same calligrapher. One wonders whether the artist of the boys’ headstones was their father; if so, a painful task indeed for a parent, if perhaps somewhat cathartic.

Another son, Muhsin, trained under Mustafa Vâsıf and forged his own career as a calligrapher, rising to design the embroidered inscriptions on the cenotaph pall of Sultan Abdülaziz, grandson of the monarch whose tomb Vâsıf oversaw. But Vâsıf’s especial fame among cognoscenti is as teacher of Kazasker Mustafa İzzet Efendi (d. 1876) – one of the most luminous lights in Ottoman calligraphy, celebrated for his colossal and majestic circular panels installed in Aya Sofya Mosque during its restora- tion in the 1840s.21

As an apprentice in his youth, Mustafa Vâsıf earned the nickname Çömez, ‘one who follows his master without question’, while his grave- stone lauds him, in typical Ottoman magniloquence, as Serlevha-yı Hattatîn, ‘The Gilt Title Page of Calligraphers’, meaning he was the chief of his class. But that stone lies elsewhere, for despite his decades in service at this tomb, the presence of two of his sons in this graveyard, and the fact that there was still room for interments within the garden at his death in 1852, he was buried near the mosque at Eyüp Sultan. ‘Former deputy administrator of the noble charitable endowment of Sultan Abdülhamid’, the stone calls him, mentioning nothing of his long years as sexton here.22

 

In Foreigners’ Eyes

Is it any wonder that the few foreign travellers who bothered to write about the Hamidiye Tomb in their subsequently published travelogues found it somehow lacking? Only a handful of foreign travel writers mentioned it at all, forsaking the Hamidiye for the grander imperial tombs elsewhere in town. Surely many echoed best-selling Romanian/French author Princess

 

Figure 2.18 Calligraphy by tomb sexton Vâsıf, on the gravestone of İbrahim İbiş Ağa, 1825. AZ.

Marthe Bibesco, writing in 1905, taken aback at the Ottoman idea of a royal tomb right at the street:

A visit to the turbés.

You come across them practically everywhere in the upper town, in the street and in the courtyards of the mosques. Seeing from the outside these little temples pierced by latticed windows, one might almost imagine oneself in an orangery, or in some Turkish lecture-room in the style of the eighteenth century, or in some retreat arranged, Belvedere fashion, by the imams. The impression is found to be false when you enter. The staring light of day falls upon massive furniture in these circular drawing-rooms. For whom are destined these beds of state, covered with shawls and embroidered tapestry? Candles in silver flambeaux help the imagination to understand the function of these glazed kiosks bearing the names of sultans: the meeting-place of the cenotaphs.

Gilded chandeliers, lustres with branches of crystal, or a Sèvres vase, combine to give these poor little huts the look of old-world boudoirs, hastily turned into chapelles ardentes for a society all of whose members had been struck with sudden death.

It is quite impossible to imagine royal tombs surrounded by an atmosphere of less grandeur and mystery.

In the street of Bagtché Kapu, on the right-hand side of the way, a funeral kiosk juts about beyond the line of houses. Through the curtainless windows the bier of Abdul Hamid I lies in full view of the passers-by. Every dray that passes makes the windows rattle. The churlish noise of traffic, the cry of street- sellers and the tramp of the multitude ceasely break the silence of his house of the dead standing alone in the public street.

Little street boys blow on the window-panes and smear them with their dirty hands.

There in that carelessly guarded room lie two Commanders of the Faithful, two Padishahs, Abdul Hamid and his successor Mustapha IV, with their sul- tanas and fifteen grandchildren!

The friend who gave me a pass for this narrow resting place of an emperor said: ‘Their day is over and their tongue is mute. He that has seen their treasure and their throne must needs abandon his ambitious schemes. For no one’s power can be eternal, since theirs was not.’23

We may sum up Princess Bibesco’s disdainful account by noting that although her prose sounds like that of a sophisticated woman of the world of her day, she was but nineteen years of age at her visit, and like virtu- ally all travel writers who published on the Ottoman world, ignorant of Ottoman Turkish language and customs. How could she or any similar foreign visitors understand this building? She, and they, would have no means to comprehend the dead interred here, or interpret the location, the

 

Figures 2.19 and 2.20 The Hamidiye Tomb c. 2015 versus June 1990: light pole and neighbouring 1970s décor removed, windows repaired, façade cleaned. 2015: ÜR; 1990: author’s photograph.

architecture, the inscriptions, the messages conveyed by what to her is a ‘poor little hut’.

She also apparently missed the fact that her friend’s colourful comment at the end of this passage torpedoes her dismissal of the tomb’s location as unfit for royalty. It was precisely acknowledgement of the transitoriness of power and station, so the location of the tomb tells us, that brought these royal persons, in death, down into the midst of the city, where the mass of humanity flows by just outside the windows.

 

Notes

1.   Anna Bowman Dodd (1903), In the Palaces of the Sultan, New York: Dodd, Mead, 370.

2.   I am indebted to Ünver Rüstem for these insights.

3.   H. G. Dwight (1915), Constantinople Old and New, London: Longmans, Green, 139.

4.   Crane 1999, XVIII.

5.   Haskan 2018, 70.

6.   My gratitude to Ünver Rüstem for this insight.

7.   G. des Codin de Souhesmes (1893), Guide to Constantinople and its Environs, Constantinople: Zellich, 50.

8.   Sir James Redhouse (1890), A Turkish and English Lexicon, Constantinople: Boyajian, 1187.

9.   William Knight (1863), ‘Saunterings in Stamboul and its Suburbs’, Bentley’s Miscellany 53:410, 1 January.

10.   Osmanlı 2017, 2–4; https://www.kulturportali.gov.tr/turkiye/kahraman maras/kulturatlasi/maras-si-sim-sirma-slemeciligi (accessed 4 November 2020).

11.   Isambert 1873, 553.

12.   BOA TS.MA.e 1097 13, dated H-28-06-1269.

13.   In this chapter I am entirely indebted to Prof. Ünver Rüstem for his insights on the Ottoman Baroque tradition in general, and on the creation of the cal- ligraphy frieze in particular.

14.   My thanks to Ünver Rüstem for pointing out this tradition.

15.   Sinan Çuluk, ‘Birinci Abdülhamid Türbesi’ndeki Kadem-i Şerif’e Dair’, see http://sinanculuk.blogspot.com/2012/06/birinci-abdulhamid-turbesindeki- kadem-i_24.html (accessed 14 August 2020).

16.   Öztuna 1989, 630.

17.   İnal 1955, 592.

18.   Grosvenor 1895, 633.

19.   Galitekin 2003, 546 and 662.

20.   Halevi 2007, 207.

21.   Mert 2013, 234–6.

22.    https://www.ketebe.org/sanatkar/comez-mustafa-vasif-efendi-213 (accessed

21 December 2021).

23.    G. V. (Marthe) Bibesco (1923), The Eight Paradises: Travel Pictures in Persia, Asia Minor, and Constantinople, New York: Dutton, 239–41.

Chapter 3

Presenting the Imperial Family:

The Birth, Death, and Survival of Royal Children

 

 

 

Twenty members of the House of Osman lie buried within the mausoleum. Two were adults, both sultans; one of them died a natural death and one was executed. The other eighteen were infants or children, all of whom died of disease, mostly smallpox. In the garden outside the mausoleum, seven concubines lie at rest, each an Imperial Consort.

Before we consider them, let us examine the Ottoman dynasty’s system of concubinage, through which all the royal personages in the mausoleum came into the world.

 

Concubines and the House of Osman

Islam allows a man a maximum of four wives at any given time, if certain conditions are met. Accordingly, when he acceded to the throne each sultan appointed a maximum of four ladies of his choice as his consorts (kadın, ‘lady’). As we shall see, in almost all cases they never became his legally married wives.

Drawn usually from the serving women in his household as prince, like all female staff of the Imperial Harem the kadıns were slaves, having been sold to the palace or presented as a gift, usually when young, and then trained in the métier they were to carry out within the harem.

The four consorts were ranked by hierarchy: Senior Consort (Başkadın), Second, Third, and Fourth. Below them ranked the other concubines who had been selected to share the sultan’s bed and might bear his children. These ladies held the middle rank of concubines, ikbal (Arabic for ‘good fortune’), or the lowest rank, gözde (from the Persian guzīda, ‘chosen; select’). While unlimited in number theoretically, in fact practical consid- erations restricted their numbers, not least the necessity to provide each concubine with her own apartment and suite of servants. As a result, ikbals

numbered no more than four (also ranked as Senior, Second, Third, and Fourth), while few sultans appointed any gözdes at all.1

When a consort died or was divorced, the consort(s) below her in rank moved up one notch, and the sultan appointed another concubine to the post of Fourth Consort. In theory he could choose whomever he wished, but almost always he selected the Senior İkbal. An ikbal who had given birth would usually be promoted to consort eventually.2 Over the course of his reign, Abdülhamid seems to have appointed thirteen kadıns, not an unusual number for an Ottoman sultan.

The concubinage system distinguished the Ottoman royal house from the royal houses of Europe in several ways, but perhaps none more con- spicuously than in the status of a monarch’s ‘wife’. Because she was not of the blood royal, a concubine, even those who ranked as a consort, was not considered a member of the Imperial House, but rather, an adjunct of it (hanedana mensup); a privileged status to be sure, but not a royal rank. Her daughter or son, however, most certainly figured as a member of the Imperial House. This meant that a concubine’s child outranked her. It also meant that, due to the relatively lower status of concubines at court vis-à-vis royal children, in many cases we do not know who the mother of a prince or princess was.

Everything changed for a concubine with a son, if her son came to the throne during her lifetime. Reflecting the lofty position of mothers in Turkish culture, at a new monarch’s accession his mother rose to the position of supreme authority over the Imperial Harem, outranking even her son’s Senior Consort. Her title of Valide Sultan, ‘Mother Princess’, reflected her exalted status as the only concubine to rank as a full member of the Imperial House and, therefore, honoured with bearing the royal word sultan in her title. Abdülhamid’s mother had long been dead, thus no Mother Princess ruled over the harem in his reign (his Senior Consorts did), but two of his concubines eventually achieved the rank of Mother Princess once their sons came to the throne: Sineperver and Nakşıdil, mothers of Mustafa IV and Mahmud II, respectively.

Contracting formal marriages with women of other dynasties had ceased as a practice of the Ottoman dynasty under Mehmed the Conqueror in the fifteenth century, after which the sultans turned exclusively to slave concubinage – the traditional practice of Muslim dynasties for reproduc- ing themselves. Abandoning the practice of marriage with women of other dynasties precluded the House of Osman from ever claiming descent from the Prophet, but clearly that distinction paled when weighed against the distinct advantage of the concubine system: the elimination of potential threats to the Imperial House posed by foreign dynasties or prominent

Turkish families, related by blood, who might lay a claim to the throne. The devşirme system of forcibly ‘gathering’ non-Muslim boys to train for high posts in the state administration and the military served essentially the same purpose.

In any event, whom could an Ottoman prince have married? The vast Ottoman conquests across Anatolia and the Middle East had extinguished the other princely Muslim dynasties, and with them the field of Muslim princesses as prospective brides, while relations with Iran were frosty at best, even without broaching the thorny issue of Iran’s ruling House having adopted Shiism in the sixteenth century.

Per Islamic law, marriage was not required in order for the male owner of a female slave to engage in sexual relations with her. This was istifraş hakkı, ‘the right of concubinage’, which validated ‘family life’ between a slave owner and his concubine as husband and wife without a mar- riage contract, and without limit as to the number of such relations the slave owner might establish.3 Such were the relations between almost all Ottoman sultans and their concubines. For this reason, the English term ‘consort’ seems more accurate than ‘wife’ to describe the consorts, although consorts would have considered themselves in a husband-and- wife relationship, as indeed they were, after a fashion, per the concubinage system, just not a legally married husband and wife.

Islamic law contained certain protections for female slaves. If she bore the owner a child, she could not be sold or otherwise distanced from the household, and upon his death she became free. Her children were free and equal in status to freeborn children, if the father acknowledged them as his, including inheriting equally from their father as would freeborn children. The latter provision made the switch to slave concubinage in the House of Osman possible; there was no threat to the succession, because the son of a concubine was fully entitled to inherit the throne.

A few sultans appear to have undertaken some sort of engagement or ‘marriage contract’ ceremony (nikâh akdi), since Islam allows a free man to marry a slave if he has never married a free woman. We know of perhaps three such marriages by sultans over the 1500s and 1600s.4 There may well have been more. The most famed break with the dynasty’s complete reliance upon concubinage occurred in 1520 when Süleyman ‘the Magnificent’ wed his concubine Hürrem, a deed that met with some consternation because this marriage betrayed what was seen as tradition.5 After Süleyman, the very few marriages between a sultan and a concubine were performed quietly, unlike weddings of Ottoman princesses, whose unions to prominent men of state could be grand public affairs indeed, well publicised. Abdülhamid I himself appears to have undergone a

marriage contract ceremony with at least one of his concubines, Mutebere Kadın, who is buried here. It is possible that this ceremony, as well as at least some of the other marriages, took place because the sultan suspected or discovered that the concubine had been born Muslim, and thus, per Islamic law, should not have been enslaved.6

While the practice of concubinage persisted at the Ottoman court until the end of the monarchy in 1924, marriages between a sultan and his concubines, or at least some of his concubines, appears to have become more widespread in the late nineteenth century. But at the present state of our knowledge, we cannot state with certainty.7

 

Bearing Children

In, at the latest, the reign of Mehmed the Conqueror in the mid-1400s, the Ottoman dynasty adopted the custom whereby once a concubine bore a son, she was permitted no more children unless her son died, after which sexual relations with the sultan were again permissible and she might bear more children. The reason for this custom may have been that in those earlier centuries a prince was sent out to govern a province as part of his education, with his mother usually accompanying him as a crucial ally, and the mother’s important role would have been diluted, or rendered impossible, if she had had two or more sons.8 Whatever the motive behind the custom, it was certainly broken at least once, to our knowledge, and again by Süleyman, who fathered five sons (and one daughter) in the 1520s with his beloved Hürrem.

This breach notwithstanding, the one-living-son-per-mother custom remained intact, continuing even after the end of the princely governorates in 1595, probably to limit potential rivalry within the dynasty. A look into the siblings buried in the Hamidiye Mausoleum, though, tells us that Abdülhamid became the first monarch since Süleyman to ignore the custom (see the entries in this chapter for his children Murad Seyfullah, Âlemşah, and Saliha).

Beginning in the sixteenth century, an Ottoman prince was allowed to father children only after he had come to the throne, in order to limit the number of potential rival claimants to it. Until then, he was allotted female servants who were theoretically not of childbearing age, or who received ‘potions’ to avoid pregnancy; if pregnancy resulted nonetheless, the child was aborted.9 For the same reason, until the nineteenth century, sons born to married princesses were not permitted to survive, although sons born to princesses’ daughters were allowed to live.10 The latter’s claim to the throne must have been considered too remote to cause trouble.

What this means for the Hamidiye Tomb is that all the royal children buried here were born after their father had become the monarch.

 

Announcing Royal Births and Deaths

As we attempt to reconstruct the brief lives of these children, on occasion a conundrum turns up in establishing their dates of birth and death, as well as which concubine was their mother. The problem is that sources similar to those available for researching European royal families are lacking here; contemporaneous paper records of life events of Ottoman royalty are fragmentary at best.

That is not to say no such announcement of these events was made. In theory, making known the arrival to or departure from this world of members of the ruling House would be desirable for sustaining the renown of the dynasty among its subjects, and for eliciting prayers for their welfare or their souls. In the case of births, given that artillery was to be fired (seven cannon shots for a prince, three for a princess) and fes- tivities staged in celebrations lasting for days, it would have been bizarre not to let the populace know who was being celebrated. For this reason, the court engaged town-criers (dellâl) to announce the news through the streets of the city.11 From the Reverend Robert Walsh, chaplain at the British Embassy in Istanbul in the era of Mahmud II, we learn of a roving band of musicians to announce a royal birth in that sultan’s reign:

The commencement of the year 1834 was distinguished by the birth of a child to the sultan. We were one Sunday, just as I had begun my sermon, startled by an explosion of sound of a most discordant kind just within the chapel door. This we found proceeded from a band of Turkish musicians, who, with wind-instruments of most harsh and braying tones, had come from the sultan to announce to the English ambassador the birth of another child. From hence they went to the other mission; between every explosion of the musicians an orator made a speech, declaring the name and sex of the child, and congratulat- ing the ambassador on the event. This was accompanied by a discharge of artillery at daybreak, midday, and sunset, which shook the whole of Pera. By this announcement we learned that the sultan had two sons and five daughters living. He had four others who died young.12

As a natural consequence of the haze surrounding public knowledge of the Imperial Family, the Reverend’s tally of living princesses is too high and of dead siblings woefully low.

Let us consider for a moment whether deaths of princes and princesses who were but infants or toddlers, as here, were even announced to the public. Two reasons, apart from eliciting prayers for their souls, lead

Figure 3.1 Presenting a royal newborn to the harem ladies. As the mother watches in bed and the midwife sits on her haunches at the foot, the wet-nurse displays the infant. Princesses and consorts attend in the gallery while harem musicians perform. Painting by L-N. de l’Espinasse, 1780s, probably from descriptions by the Chief Black Eunuch. Republished with permission of Koninklijke Brill, from Enlightening Europe on Islam and the Ottomans, Carter Vaughn Findley, 2019; permission conveyed through Copyright Clearance Center, Inc.

us to surmise that they were. One, royal funerals took place through city streets, even for infants; would not some sort of official announce- ment have been desirable to clarify whose funeral it was? And two, these deaths occasionally turned up as news items in European newspapers, for whom ‘the Grand Signior’ (the common European appellation for the Ottoman monarch at the time) always formed a source of interest; from this we conclude that some sort of announcement had made the rounds. As one example, the death in November 1776 (before this tomb was built) of Abdülhamid’s eldest daughter, Hadice, shows up in London’s Daily Advertiser, with the reported dates of the infant’s birth and death quite accurate: ‘The Sultana Hadige, Daughter to the Grand Signior, who was born in January last, died about ten Days ago’.

But if not by printed means, how were royal deaths announced? As we will see below, by reciting the call to the funeral service from the minarets of certain imperial mosques and, we assume that what was done for births was done for deaths, by official delegations sent round to broadcast the news.

While on the topic of announcing deaths, let us clarify that while deaths of royal children may have been recorded publicly in some fashion, includ- ing sporadically in chronicles and newspapers as the nineteenth century progressed, this was not the case for their mothers. It is a result of the status of concubines as adjuncts of, not members of, the Imperial Family; consequently, their deaths were held to be a private matter of the Imperial Harem, not for public consumption. The exception was the reigning sul- tan’s mother, due to her status as a member of the Imperial House. For this reason, alone among palace concubines, her death might find mention in Ottoman printed sources once those came into being.

The problem for the era of the Hamidiye Tomb, then, is finding death announcements in print – if they were even made in print form. For various reasons, print culture spread only to a limited degree among Muslim components of the Ottoman world of this era, and the rate of literacy among them remained low, perhaps 5 per cent of the population, which help explain why the first newspaper in Ottoman Turkish appeared only in 1831. One might naturally expect that since it was the official govern- ment gazette, that newspaper (Takvim-i Vekayi, ‘The Calendar of Events’) would record births and deaths among the Imperial Family. But it did so only sporadically. Nor did it feature a regular Court Circular section, only occasional announcements concerning selected events at the palace. Nor do we have broadsheets printed and distributed in this era to announce royal births or deaths.

The upshot is that we are largely left to rely upon two sources for dates of birth and death of Ottoman royal children. The first is the handwritten

documents in the archives, which may mention a royal birth or death, but only occasionally. The second is the chronicles published by Ottoman historians in the nineteenth century, which draw upon earlier handwritten manuscripts and documents. Prominent among these is the voluminous chronicle Tarih-i Cevdet (‘Cevdet’s History’), by the noted Ottoman his- torian Ahmed Cevdet Pasha, whom we met earlier when deducing when the tomb was built.

Another biographical source for this era is the multi-volume Sicill-i Osmanî (‘The Ottoman Register’), the national biography compiled by Mehmed Süreyya and published in the 1890s. The entries are brief, the dates not 100 per cent reliable, and since Mehmed Süreyya compiled his information largely from gravestones, the Sicill does not help our purpose dramatically, since we have that information already – unless the stone has deteriorated to the point of illegibility today, in which case the Sicill serves as a record fortunately preserved. Occasionally the Sicill includes infor- mation from sources other than tombstones (published court chronicles, mostly), and thus proves useful.

 

The Father and Benefactor: Sultan Abdülhamid I, 1725–89. Plot 1

Only five years old when his father was deposed in 1730, the future Sultan Abdülhamid I spent the next four-plus decades sequestered in the kafes (‘cage’) at Topkapı, the apartments, adjacent to the harem, for princes of deceased sultans. He must have been astounded to receive the news, on 21 January 1774, that his half-brother Mustafa III had died and he was now in charge of everything and, by implication, free to roam where he pleased.

To mark the occasion, the poet Sürûrî managed a date-in-verse of nine rhyming couplets entitled ‘Date-in-verse on the Death of Sultan Mustafa and the Accession of Sultan Abdülhamid’ (Tarih-i vefat-ı Sultan Mustafa Han ve cülus-ı Sultan Abdülhamid Han). The dual elements in the title are his warning to us that two chronograms might be coming, as is the printer’s flanking the title of the poem with twin dates (1187, ١١٨٧), whereas poems in this work with one chronogram show only one date alongside the title.

Our anticipation is well rewarded: Sürûrî’s triumph is that rare bird, a double chronogram, which is to say, two separate chronograms, one in both lines of the last couplet, each totalling 1,187, the year in question. This double-chronogram couplet matches the rest of the poem in meter and rhyme, of course:

 

Figure 3.2 The title line of Sürûrî’s double chronogram in the 1839 edition of his collected verses.

 

Zabt u rabt etdim alettertib iki tarihte

Şah-ı merhûmun vefatıyla cülus-ı diğeri Azm edüb mülk-i saray-ı kurba Sultan Mustafa

Oldu şeh Abdülhamid ashab-ı dinin serveri

In two dates one after the other, I put to rights The late shah’s death and the next enthronement:

‘Sultan Mustafa having journeyed to the Realm of the Nearby Mansion’ ‘The shah Abdülhamid became chief of the people of the religion’.13

‘The Realm of the Nearby Mansion’ refers to Paradise. There is a play on words, in that the last word of the second chronogram, سرور, the Persian noun server, ‘chief’ (here sporting the Turkish possessive suffix –i), could equally be read as the Arabic noun sürur, ‘joy, gladness’, in which case the line would read ‘The shah Abdülhamid became the joy of the people of the religion’. Sürûrî has allowed his readers to savour the double- entendre, which, in the Arabic reading of the word, felicitously puns on his own pen name, making it, one supposes, a triple-entendre. Quite the accomplishment.

In its issue of 22 March that year, The London Gazette, Britain’s official journal of record, reported Abdülhamid’s first days of freedom (from sequestration, at least) accurately, given what we know of Ottoman court protocol:

Immediately on the death of the late Grand Signior [Mustafa III] on the 21st past, the Great Officers were called into the Seraglio; upon their Arrival the present Grand Signior [Abdülhamid] was conducted out of his apartments, in which he has been confined forty-four Years, into the Apartments of his deceased Brother, and after viewing the Corpse, he retired to a Throne erected for him . . . On Thursday the 27th, the Day appointed for what is called here the Coronation, the Procession by land was numerous and magnificent to the Mosque of Ejup, where the Sword was girt on the Grand Signior.14

The new sultan’s sequestration hardly prepared him to rule when he came to the throne and had to face the dénouement of the calamitous war then raging with Russia. The painful consequences and hard lessons of that defeat would preoccupy Abdülhamid for the remainder of his reign.

 

Figure 3.3 Abdülhamid I in an engraving by Lemaitre. J. M. Jouannin, Turquie

(Paris, 1840).

 

To judge by his posthumous reputation in Ottoman chronicles, in his personal life Abdülhamid appears to have been kind and helpful. When fire engulfed the city in 1782, for example, he spent long hours outside the palace, lending encouragement to those fighting the flames, although in so doing he was also following court tradition, which held that the monarch should exhibit his presence at great fires (Istanbul burned frequently) in order to comfort his people.15 He had a passionate side, as attested by his love letters, still extant in the archives, to his Senior Consort, Hadice Ruhşah. He is remembered as pious, a quality not uncommonly attributed to a monarch, though difficult to gauge. He conscientiously sought to strengthen the state whose throne he had inherited, introducing reforms in the governmental bureaucracy and in the army, opening a naval engineer- ing school, and enhancing the authority of the Ottoman government over powerful strongmen in the Arab provinces. During his reign the printing of books in the Ottoman language resumed, after a thirty-year pause. None of his reforms were major in the way that those of his successor, Selim III, would be, probably because this modest approach suited his nature, and the catastrophic defeats at the hands of Russia had not yet made the

case for dramatic change abundantly apparent. By and large his choices for Grand Vizier were wise ones, and he supported these men in their task. Having spent decades in enforced seclusion, once on the throne Abdülhamid accepted invitations to dine in the homes of his Grand Vizier and his Şeyhülislâm, and explored the various districts of his capital, often in disguise as a simple compatriot, upon his return to the palace submitting reports to his ministers on what needed remedying. Could one concrete result of his peregrinations have been the charitable works he commissioned around the city? We cannot know for certain, but the number of Abdülhamid’s philanthropic commissions is admirable indeed for a fifteen-year reign. In addition to our Hamidiye Charitable Complex, the list includes, most notably: the mosque, public baths, and school he built in Beylerbeyi in memory of his long-dead mother; the mosque, baths, and supporting shops he built in Emirgân in memory of his son Mehmed;

several public water fountains; and a medrese in the city of Medina.

 

Figure 3.4 Abdülhamid in the Audience Hall at Topkapı; to the right, three white eunuchs. D’Ohsson, Tableau général de l’empire othoman, Library of Congress.

We have at least one eyewitness description of Abdülhamid, penned by Rev. Thomas Watkins, the eighteenth-century Welshman who pub- lished his letters home recounting his travels through Europe. In Istanbul in autumn 1788, Watkins observed the sultan during two imperial proces- sions. What leads one to invest more credence in Watkins’s account than in others is his statement concerning the Imperial Harem, the one locale off-limits, insofar as we know, to European travellers. Other writers’ detailed descriptions of the harem torpedo the reader’s faith in the veracity of the travelogue, because whatever those authors wrote about the harem could only be, perforce, hearsay or second-hand stories. But Watkins simply writes, ‘It is impossible to give any certain account of its female inhabitants; many books indeed pretend to it, but believe me their contents are mere romance.’ Here is Watkins’s Abdülhamid, then nearing the end of his life:

 

Abdul Hamid is in his 64th year. His countenance is long and solemn, his eyes large, full, and dark, but without expression: his other features regular, tho’ far from pleasing: his beard is dyed black, and rather long: his dress is similar to his principal officers, except in the folds of the turban, and the ermine of the black fox; which none are permitted to wear, it being like the Imperial purple of the Romans, the distinctive badge of royalty. An attendant walked on one side of him with his hand upon the pummel of his saddle, and after him rode his two sons, both children [the future Mustafa IV and Mahmud II].16

 

Given the Ottoman penchant for intense privacy that shielded personal lives – including royal ones – from public view, not only can we not say definitively how many concubines Abdülhamid took, but quite often we are left in the dark as to which lady was the mother of which royal offspring.

What with custom in the House of Osman allowing him to sire children only after he came to the throne, the first of Abdülhamid’s twenty-five children came into this world in January 1776, when he was fifty. He selected his children’s names with some thought, as he tells us in his letters in the archives, favouring names of the Prophet and the Prophet’s family members (Ahmed, Mehmed, Ayşe, Hadice, Emine, and so on) in reflection of his piety.17 Several of these names had long figured among the Imperial Family, so his bestowing them also reflects adherence to dynastic tradition as well as honouring his ancestors and siblings who bore these names.

Another dynastic tradition he honoured lay in giving the name of a deceased child to the next child to be born of the same sex – which has

caused, and still causes, great confusion when describing or trying to understand the House of Osman family tree.18

Abdülhamid was the first sultan to adopt the trend in Ottoman culture, over the eighteenth century, of giving sons two names. The first of the dual names was almost always ‘Mehmed’ (the Turkish version of the Prophet’s name, Muhammed). Given the widespread prevalence of that name, the boy was known informally by his second name. Sons named in the Abd- format (Abdülhamid, Abdülmecid, and so on), itself a compound name, constituted the exception to this trend; apparently these names seemed long enough without giving the boy another name alongside it. Abdülhamid’s father, Ahmed III, had introduced into the dynasty the custom of naming sons with these Arabic names beginning with Abd- (the word means ‘servant/slave of’ and is followed by one of the ninety- nine Most Beautiful Names of God), where previously only the variant Abdullah had been given to Ottoman princes, and we see the practice very much favoured by subsequent sultans.19 For his daughters, Abdülhamid continued the dynasty’s custom of giving princesses female names that are Arabic in origin; these names were all widespread in Ottoman culture.

All but six of Abdülhamid’s twenty-five children perished as infants or youngsters. We can but guess at his emotions as he endured the deaths of so many of his children; perhaps his faith helped reconcile him to what he presumably would have seen as God’s will. Abdülhamid seems to have been interested in family life and fond of his children (not all royal fathers were), as attested by his spending summers in shoreside palaces together with his children, by the touching language of the memoranda he wrote to the Grand Vizier during his children’s illnesses, and not least by the mosque he commissioned in memory of his son Mehmed, who is buried here.20 In another testament of concern for his family, Abdülhamid commissioned the new addition to the Imperial Harem known as İkballer Dairesi, the ‘İkbal Apartments’ that provided his concubines more sun- light and more expansive views of the city than had the old sections of Topkapı’s harem wing.21

After fifteen years on the throne, and two years into yet another war against expansionist Russia, Abdülhamid passed away in April 1789, apparently suddenly, at the age of sixty-four. Ottoman chroniclers, with their penchant for omens and premonitions, followed one another in reporting that in the days before his sudden death from what appears to have been a stroke, the sultan seemed especially anxious to finish projects as soon as possible, and also particularly attentive to religious matters. On 2 April he visited the religiously charged district of Eyüp, dispensing alms to the poor, that night attending a recitation of the Quran in the Chamber of

Figure 3.5 Abdülhamid in procession, c. 1780s, escorted by imperial guards distinguished by their headdress: solaks (extravagant arc of white feathers) and peyks (gilded bronze helmet with black feather). Painting A Sultan and His Entourage, French School, Eighteenth Century. © 2020 Christie’s Images Limited.

Sacred Relics at the palace. The chronicler İsmail bin Hüseyin, valet to his young son Mahmud, records the monarch’s fatigue and troubles mount- ing and dismounting his horse in these days, prompting Abdülhamid to order that the date of the departure of the annual gift caravan to Mecca – fixed by astrologers for the most propitious moment – be moved up a couple of days, to 6 April. Apparently heeding the omens, he then died on 7 April. Nor did his death avoid embellishment by the chroniclers, who claimed that he was fatally seized in the brain while reading the report just come from the Grand Vizier of the fall of an Ottoman fortress in the war with Russia.22 Preparation of Abdülhamid’s body for burial took place at Topkapı Palace even as, in another part of the palace, the new monarch, Selim III, received the homage of the highest officials, in the ceremony that began his reign.

We have details of Abdülhamid’s funeral thanks to the protocol registers of the court chancery. Some four decades after Abdülhamid’s death, Esad Efendi, official chronicler to Abdülhamid’s son Mahmud II, compiled his treatise Teşrifat-i Kadime (‘The Protocol of Yore’) by consulting the protocol registers to which he had access thanks to his position at court. As with all funerals of Ottoman sultans, once the monarch’s corpse was prepared for burial it was transferred from Topkapı Palace to whichever tomb the new monarch designated to receive it:

Now, the tasks of washing and enshrouding the late monarch’s remains were entrusted to the Superintendent of the City and the Head Architect. Since the burial location was to be determined by imperial edict, the Superintendent and the Head Architect made their way to the Privy Household at Topkapı Palace, and when the imperial order was issued that the deceased was to be interred in his mausoleum, these two gentlemen set about putting that tomb in order.

At this point, before His Late Majesty was to be brought out through the harem portal that is near the Gate of Halberdiers with Tresses, and before the Senior Scribe might proceed with washing the corpse under the baldachin that had been set up beneath the marble columns, the ceremony of paying respects by officials of the state and the ceremony of taking their leave were to be held, with the high dignitaries of state observing His Late Majesty’s remains. For this an imperial command was required, and thus the Treasurer of the Protocol Office (kisedar-ı teşrifat) informed the Chief Eunuch, who obtained the per- mission of His Majesty [Selim III] that ‘whatever the demands of protocol may be, let them be carried out’.

Once that permission was communicated, examination of His Late Majesty, in the garments in which he had died, was carried out under the baldachin by the Şeyhülislâm, the District Governor, the Admiral of the Fleet, the Chief Justices, the Director of Finance, the Head of the Chancery, and the Janissary officers. Following their departure after prayers, the washing of the corpse was

carried out, under the supervision of the Chief Harem Eunuch, by the Imperial Sheikhs, the Imam of the Imperial Council, and His Majesty’s Imam.

When this had been completed, the Şeyhülislâm, the District Governor, the Admiral of the Fleet, the religious-judicial dignitaries, and the Janissary officers and their men gathered where the washing had taken place. After a prayer they lifted up the coffin, and while the Imperial Muezzins recited the affirmation Allahu Ekber [God is Most Great] and the profession lâ ilaha illallah [There is no god but the One God], they carried it to before the Gate of Felicity, where the setting for the funeral service had been prepared. Here the attendees lined up in ranks, and the Senior Imam to His Majesty led the service, with the permission of the Şeyhülislâm, while His Majesty performed the funeral prayers in front of the Audience Hall. All the state dignitaries then lifted up the coffin and carried it to the Middle Gate, from which point onward the Corps of Ancient Halberdiers carried it.

 

This business of dignitaries of the state observing the deceased monarch’s corpse clearly evolved in order to ensure these men could attest that he was indeed dead. Where earlier in the eighteenth century top-ranking Janissary officers carried out the duty, we see that by 1789 the duty had fallen instead upon the highest ministers and officers of the state.23

Since this was a treatise on protocol, Esad Efendi lists the marchers who participated in the sultan’s funeral cortège. With a historian’s eye to ensuring that his treatise documented the event correctly, and to confirming that the procession followed tradition for sultans’ funerals, he includes the precise order in which these gentlemen escorted the coffin the relatively short distance from Topkapı to the Hamidiye Tomb: palace officials and staff led the assembly, followed first by ranks of soldiers and then by the highest dignitaries of the state, so that the latter formed the place of honour among marchers in the cortège.

Given the supreme importance and symbolism of clothing at state cer- emonies, Esad Efendi describes the style of turban and robe each dignitary wore as custom demanded in the procession to the tomb:

the Şeyhülislâm in the grand Örfî turban of the highest officials, and white robe; the Deputy Grand Vizier and Admiral of the Fleet in the conical Kallâvi turban and pelisse; the judges and the religious scholars in Örfî turban and pelisses; and the others in their daily turbans and pelisses. It is true that old custom called for all those participating in this day’s funeral cortège to wear courtly attire, but when the great judges appeared in other than everyday turbans with pelisses and the Şeyhülislâm found this acceptable, the assembly proceeded to the deceased’s tomb in the order related above. Religious-judicial dignitaries [ulema] up to the rank of Judge of Istanbul participated, but other scholars and professors did not.

The Örfî turban was round, generously wide, and somewhat tall, while the vertical Kallâvi was even taller, with undulating sides that tapered toward the top (see the entry for Grand Vizier Mehmed Pasha, whose tombstone sports one); both were worn by high officials of the state.24

Last of all came the ‘noble remains’, as Esad Efendi termed the royal corpse within the coffin. Once at the tomb,

a harem eunuch scattered coins about. By means of the Chief Eunuch, His Excellency the District Governor submitted to the Imperial Presence his memo- randum of the condolences and prayers offered up at the noble tomb after the burial.25

We have seen that court custom called for erecting a tent over the fresh grave of a sultan, if he were buried pending erection of his mausoleum. Since Abdülhamid was buried in his already-standing tomb, there was no need for the tent; the tent custom was, however, followed when his son Mahmud II died in 1839, since Mahmud was buried in the ground over which his mausoleum was to rise. Tempting though it is to see a vestige of the tent custom when Abdülhamid’s body was brought out from the harem and set down under a baldachin in the courtyard, that canopy was solely to shield the place of washing and enshrouding the corpse, not to mark the burial site, and thus of no relation to the ancient gravesite tent custom.26

As befits a ruling monarch, the pall woven for Abdülhamid’s cenotaph contains far more statistics and honorifics than do the palls of his young children:

Hüvelbaki Cennetmekân firdevsaşiyan

Es-Sultan el-Gazi Abdülhamid Han

Bin es-Sultan el-Gazi Ahmed Han es-Salis ale rûhihimâ et-takdîsât Mâ tutlî es-seb’ el-masânî hazretlerinin

Tarih-i velâdetleri fi 5 B. sene 1137 Salı Cülus-ı hümayunları 8 fi Z.a. sene 1187 Cuma Müddet-i saltanatları 15 sene 8 mah 5 yevm İrtihalleri 13 fi B. sene 1203 Salı

He is the Eternal One

His Majesty the Gazi Sultan Abdülhamid, whose abode is Heaven, who dwells in Paradise

Son of the Gazi Sultan Ahmed the Third

Upon their souls the sanctifications that follow from the seven oft-repeated Date of birth, 5 B. 1137, Tuesday [20 March 1725]

Imperial Accession, 8 Z.a. 1187, Friday [21 January 1774]

Length of Reign, 15 years, 8 months, 5 days [in Hijri calendar] Decease, 13 B. 1203, Tuesday [9 April 1789]

The Arabic phrase containing ‘the seven oft-repeated’ is based upon Quran 15:87: ‘We have given thee seven of the oft-repeated, and the mighty Quran.’ The verse has formed the subject of considerable debate down the centuries, but the main traditional interpretation is that it refers to the opening chapter of the Quran, the Fatiha, which contains seven verses and is certainly oft-repeated.

One slight problem with this beautiful pall is that it contains a rather perplexing error: the date of death is incorrect. The pall tells us Abdülhamid died on 13 Receb 1203 (9 April 1789), but it should be 11 Receb (7 April). We have a document in the Ottoman archives from later that month (29 Receb 1203) stating clearly that Abdülhamid died on 11 Receb, most (not all) chroniclers have said 11, foreign newspapers reported 7 April as the sovereign’s death date, as we will see below, and there is no contro- versy whatsoever that Selim III began his reign on 11 Receb.27 Did the discrepancy creep in when the pall was, as we have conjectured, restored or reworked or replaced in perhaps the late nineteenth century? Probably

 

Figure 3.6 The magnificent Marash work of Abdülhamid’s epitaph. AZ.

earlier than then, as this wrong date of 13 Receb already appears in the official almanacs of the Ottoman Empire when these began to be issued in the mid-nineteenth century – assuming the error stemmed from this pall.28 The death of the ‘Grand Signior’ made the newspapers in Europe, of course. One cannot entirely rely on these accounts whose source, like as not, had been the report of a diplomat (or some lesser courier) who did not possess the most accurate information. And so we see the fabricated account of a London newspaper in 1786 that in Constantinople on 3 November of that year the palace cannon ‘were fired, to announce the melancholy news of the death of the beloved Sultan and Sovereign Abdul Hamid; sincerely regretted by the whole empire’.29 Or the false alarm in Dublin, in 1788: ‘A foreign consul, residing in this city, has received advice from his Court, that Abdoul Hamel [sic], the Grand Signior, died of an apoplexy, at one of his country palaces near Constantinople, on the 31st of August, but that the event was kept so secret, that the common people

knew nothing of it.’30

But with the passage of time, one day the reports in Europe’s news- papers of Abdülhamid’s demise would prove correct. The version in The London Gazette may need a grain of salt, but if nothing else, it got Selim III’s year of birth right:

Constantinople, April 7. Yesterday Evening, between Nine and Ten o’Clock, the Grand Signior was taken ill with a fainting Fit, which proved to be a Stroke of Apoplexy, and baffled all the Efforts of the Physicians; the Sultan expired at Half an Hour after Six this Morning. Information of this Event having been transmitted to the Porte, the Mufty, the Captain Pashaw and the other Grandees assembled in the Seraglio about Eight o’Clock, and paid Homage to the now Reigning Sultan, Selim the Third, (born in 1761) whose Accession to the Ottoman Throne, attended with the usual Ceremonies, was announced by the Cannon of the Seraglio. The Remains of the deceased Sultan were deposited, at Twelve o’Clock, in the magnificent Tomb prepared by his Order several Years since, for himself and his Children.31

Not surprisingly, given human nature, groundless hearsay passing for news in the European press hounded Abdülhamid even years after his death:

The Sultan Abdul Hamid, lately deceased, was the only Person in his Council who wished for Peace; it was with Reluctance that he engaged in the War [with Russia] . . . He is supposed to have been poisoned by the Party in Favour of the War with Russia.32

The Turkish monarch Abdul Hamid . . . died very suddenly on the 7th of April, 1789, in the 64th year of his age, after taking a cup of indigestible coffee.33

The late Sultan Mahmoud was the son of a French slave, Mademoiselle de Lepinay, an energetic and high-minded woman, who exercised great influence over the Sultan Abdul Hamid.34

But among the posthumous gossip-mongering, European news stories did confirm the consensus in Ottoman historical writing that Abdülhamid was fond of and gracious toward the younger generation of his family, in this case his nephew and successor, Selim:

But though it is generally understood that this shocking step [of poisoning Abdülhamid] was taken in order to make way for the advancement of Sultan Selim to the Throne, . . . not the most distant suspicion has been entertained that this young Prince had the smallest share in his murder. He was treated by his late uncle with the tenderness of a parent, and experienced at his hands indulgencies and privileges never before enjoyed by a nephew or brother of an Emperor of the Turks. Prince Selim made such a return to his uncle as the most indulgent father could expect from the most grateful and affectionate son.35

With Abdülhamid now ‘in the perfumed earth in the middle of his blessed tomb’, as one nineteenth-century Ottoman account described it, poets turned to fashioning chronograms to mark the royal death.36 Master versifier Sürûrî honoured his old sovereign in death as in life, while welcoming the new sovereign in the same poem, ‘Date-in-verse for the Death of Sultan Abdülhamid and the Accession of Sultan Selim the Third’. To mark the momentous occasion, and to impress the new monarch, Sürûrî once again set himself the high task of composing a double chronogram, as he had done at Abdülhamid’s accession fifteen years earlier, fitting both dates-in-verse into the last couplet. Both total 1,203, the year in question, and merge seamlessly into the meter and complicated rhyme pattern of the verse:37

Ey Sürûrî iki tarih etdim inşa kim ol şah Amı oldukda şeh-i mülk-i Naim etdi cülus

Adn ola mülk-i Cinanda ca-yı Han Abdülhamid Hak muvaffık eyledi Sultan Selim etdi cülus

O Sürûrî, I composed two dates when that shah,

His uncle, ascended the throne to become king of the realm of Naim: ‘May Eden be the place of Khan Abdülhamid in Heaven’s realm; ‘God guided him to success, Sultan Selim ascended the throne’.

 

Abdülhamid I’s Children and their Mothers

We will consider the others in the mausoleum – Abdülhamid’s children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren – by arranging them under their

father’s name and then presenting them under the name of their mother, where known. After all, the royal children lived within the daire or ‘circle’ of their mother, the rooms allotted a mother and her servants within the Imperial Harem, so grouping the siblings under their mother’s name repli- cates the environment in which they grew up in the harem. In addition, so little is known of these concubines that foregrounding them here, even in this modest way, seems the right thing to do.

That said, given the discretion surrounding concubines in the Imperial Harem when these children came into this world, including no announce- ment of which mother gave birth to whom, the shifting identification of which lady occupied which rank in the harem at any given time, and the practice of placing a royal child of a deceased mother into the protection of another concubine who was thereafter called the child’s mother, clarifica- tion of the maternal line of the House of Osman becomes decidedly like the proverbial herding of cats. The following assignment of children to certain mothers is to the best of our current knowledge. The mothers, and under them their offspring, are listed alphabetically.

 

hümaşah, Senior conSort to abdülhamİd

Hümaşah received appointment as Second Consort to Abdülhamid when he came to the throne in 1774. At the death of his Senior Consort Ayşe the next year, Hümaşah rose to that illustrious position. During her tenure she commissioned a fountain, near the Dolmabahçe landing-stage, in honour of her young and then-thriving son, Mehmed.

Hümaşah held her exalted post as Senior Consort only three years, as she died in Şaban 1192/August 1778, leaving behind her toddler son and with the fountain yet to be finished. Perhaps because the Hamidiye Tomb was entering construction when she died, rendering the future garden graveyard around it inaccessible, Hümaşah was buried at the royal mauso- leum at the New Mosque.

 

Prince Mehmed, 1776–81. Plot 7

Mehmed was the third child born to Abdülhamid but the first to survive infancy. His birth was especially anticipated because when he was born, he was only the third living male in the Imperial House, the other two being his father and his teenage cousin, the future Selim III.

So as not to frighten the expectant mother Hümaşah in anticipation of this important birth, an imperial decree ordered that cannon were not to be fired either in Istanbul and environs or aboard ships arriving in the Bosphorus.38 Once this first living son of the reigning monarch arrived on

6 Receb 1190 (21 August 1776), though, to celebrate his birth ‘the people busied themselves with organizing decorations of the city for as much as five days’, so the chronicler Cevdet tell us, ‘during which time three performances of cannon salutes took place, and on the sixth day a city celebration was organised, commencing with illuminations on land and at sea and continuing for seven days and seven nights’.39

In honour of the royal baby’s birth, the poet Vasfî displayed his bril- liance by composing a verse of seven couplets in which the last couplet boasts the rare feat that we admired at Abdülhamid’s accession and death: a double chronogram, or two separate chronograms, each totalling 1,190, the year of the infant’s birth:

Kudumu nevbenev âfaka ola mecd ü müstes’ad Mehmed nam bir şehzade ihsan eyledi Rezzak

‘May his arrival bring, ever anew, splendour and auspiciousness to the horizons’;

‘A prince, Mehmed by name, God the Provider has granted us’.40

 

About this boy’s life we know next to nothing, except for the death of his mother when he was two. A bit over two years later Mehmed’s father was terribly distressed, so Cevdet tells us, when the boy himself succumbed at the age of four, on 20 February 1781: ‘His Highness Prince Mehmed concluded his lessons of life on the evening of the twenty-fifth of Safer [1195], due to the illness of smallpox’, going on to record that ‘as the padishah’s grief multiplied . . . the prince’s funeral services were overseen and he was laid to rest in the new mausoleum that was brought to life the previous year in the neighbourhood of Bahçekapısı’. He adds that Grand Vizier Silâhdar Mehmed Pasha passed away on the same night as the royal child and was buried in the precincts of the tomb – so that, most unusually, in February 1781 two burials took place almost simultaneously here, one inside the brand-new tomb and the other in the grounds surrounding it.41

When Mehmed died, the death of the heir to the Ottoman throne made the European newspapers. The given cause of death differs from the Ottoman account and may or may not be accurate: ‘Constantinople, March 1. Sultan Mehemet, eldest son of the Grand Signior, died of the Measles on the 18th ult. to the great Grief of all the Court; he was born in 1776.’42

That same year, Abdülhamid commissioned, in memory of his son and the boy’s mother, the royal mosque still standing in Emirgân along the upper Bosphorus. The mosque complex arose from the father’s grief, of

course, with his generous gift to the city constituting yet another demon- stration of the piety and philanthropy of the monarch, traits of a worthy Islamic ruler. Abdülhamid commissioned the poet Tevfik to compose a verse commemorating the mosque’s construction and the honourees in whose memory it was built, the verse to be calligraphed, painted, and posi- tioned over the entrance doors into the building. Two of the ten rhyming couplets honour the deceased mother and son:

The lady Hümaşah was mother to Prince Mehmed; As each of them took the path to Paradise

He [Abdülhamid] presented them this new mosque, as a pious act, Gladdening both their souls, which brim with divine gifts.

Outside the mosque, its beautiful octagonal marble fountain in tra- ditional Ottoman style also commemorates this son and his deceased mother, as we learn from the touching inscription that adorns the fountain in rhyming couplets:43

The choice source of the brook of munificence, the chief fountain of kind- heartedness,

The cloud of benevolence, the deep shadow of the ever-giving Creator, The king of kings of the world, the just Sultan Abdülhamid,

At the mention of whose good qualities the eloquent tongue stammers, Built this beautiful light-giving vale of springs,

Made clear water flow to collect in a cistern, When at God’s command his royal son Mehmed

And Hümaşah the lady mother made Paradise their abode. He gifted them the recompense of this mosque-like fountain; May their souls be glad and Paradise their burial nook.

May God preserve the padishah from grief always, with peace of heart; May the royal sons and daughters prosper.

When each drop of water from this beautiful fountain is counted,

May God the Creator grant laudable recompense on the Day of Retribution.

Tevfik, the tongue of the spout speaks its date to the thirsty:

‘Water for the sake of Muhammad; drink from this new limpid spring’. 1197.

In the last stanza we learn the poet’s pen name and the year in which the fountain was completed, because the last line is a chronogram totalling 1,197, the Hijri year that began on 7 December 1782. We also have a visual play on words in the chronogram, because in Ottoman ‘Muhammad’ and ‘Mehmed’ are written the same, so the line could also appear to read ‘Water for the sake of Mehmed’ in honour of the dead prince, although in that case the poem would not scan correctly.

 

mutebere, FiFth conSort to abdülhamİd

With their customary discretion concerning imperial concubines, the archi- val records tell us only that the mother of Abdülhamid’s son Süleyman was the Fifth Consort. Since Mutebere’s gravestone in the garden gives her title as Beşinci Mutebere Kadın, ‘The Fifth Consort Mutebere’, we are presuming her to have been Süleyman’s mother.

For the trifling additional details we can add on Mutebere’s life, see her entry in Chapter 5.

 

Prince Süleyman, 1779–86. Plot 16

Süleyman was a highly important baby: at his birth he was only the second son of Abdülhamid to be alive, alongside his older half-brother Mehmed. If Mehmed were to die, Süleyman would become heir to the throne – a turn of events that transpired when Süleyman was nearing his second birthday.

Our chronicler Cevdet Pasha waxed unusually prolix when recount- ing Süleyman’s birth, recounting the grand celebrations commemorating this birth that was surely much-anticipated in the palace. Perhaps also Cevdet’s motivation lay in his knowledge that the boy lived to be nearly seven, far longer than all the other children of Abdülhamid who died young.

His account includes the ‘fellowships’ that the elated father arranged for university students, to celebrate the happy event of this birth:

On the night of Thursday, the twenty-eighth of Safer the Good [of 1193, so 17 March 1779], toward three o’clock [three hours after sunset, per Ottoman reckoning] a prince came into this world from the pure imperial loins, and was given the name Prince Süleyman. And as a result, so that indigent and other subjects of the state should not be afflicted and suffering, and so that all persons should not be unduly burdened but rather offer prayers for the continuation of the Exalted Sultanate, a decree was issued to announce the good tidings of the birth. And so that students at the mosque colleges may be made glad, permission was granted for apprentices to be enrolled, forty each by the Grand Vizier and the Şeyhülislâm, four each by the Kazasker [Chief Military Judge] of Rumelia, the Kazasker of Anatolia, and the Nakib Efendi [Marshal of descendants of the Prophet], and one each by the Chief Judge of Istanbul, His Majesty’s Senior Imam, the Chief Court Astrologer, and the Chief Oculist.44

Fıtnat Hanım, the celebrated female poet whose verse adorned the alms- kitchen of the Hamidiye Complex, concocted a chronogram to celebrate the royal boy’s birth: Şerefle mecd ile Sultan Süleyman geldi dünyaya,

‘With honour, with glory, Prince Süleyman came into the world’, its letters indeed totalling 1,193. An unidentified poet contributed to the celebration with the hopeful chronogram İlâhâ saltanat ruy ola Sultan Süleyman’a, ‘O God, may sovereignty turn to face Prince Süleyman’.45

Since Süleyman was only six months older than his half-brother Mustafa (the later Mustafa IV), the two boys shared events and ceremonies as they grew up. As one example, the archives tell us of the arrival in February 1782 of gifts for both princes from a gentleman in Syria named Mürsel; we do not know what the gifts were but an imperial thank-you note was duly dispatched to the Governor of Damascus to convey to the donor.46 A boathouse was constructed for rowboats for the boys, including two larger boats with three banks of oars each.47 We learn from Cevdet, in his chronicling of winter events of 1198 ah, that ‘on the fifth of Rebiülevvel the ceremony for Prince Süleyman’s and Prince Mustafa’s Bed-i Besmele [the first reading lessons given to a prince] was organised and carried out’.48 The date conforms to 28 January 1784, so Süleyman would have been almost five and Mustafa four and a half when their formal schooling began.

What with so many of his siblings having died as infants, hopes must have soared that this growing boy would survive into adulthood, as Mustafa showed every sign of doing. But alas, when he was six the lad came down with smallpox in the epidemic that swept through the royal children in autumn 1785. Most likely it was during this epidemic that his father informed the Grand Vizier by means of a brief note that we have still in the archives: ‘As of today my son Prince Süleyman’s illness has lasted for eleven days’.49

Süleyman’s half-sister Fatma succumbed in this epidemic, with Cevdet thankful that at least the boys recovered. But Cevdet’s optimism was misplaced: Süleyman died two months after Fatma, on 18 Rebiülevvel 1200, 19 January 1786. He was laid to rest next to her along the rear wall of the mausoleum.

The news travelled as far as The London Gazette, given that the boy’s death altered the succession to the Ottoman throne:

Sultan Suleiman, the Grand Signior’s eldest Son, died of the Small Pox on the 19th Instant. His Funeral was performed the same Evening with the usual solemnity, attended by all the Ottoman Ministers, and the Chiefs of the Naval and Military Establishments.50

Süleyman’s mother lived for another fifty-one years. Surely the reason Mutebere was buried here when she died, in 1837, was to place her near her son and her husband.

 

nakşidİl, Seventh conSort to abdülhamİd

Nakşıdil figures as the best known of Abdülhamid’s consorts for four reasons: her son Mahmud survived to come to the throne in 1808, elevat- ing her to Mother Princess and thus bringing her to the public’s attention; Mahmud ranks among the most remarkable and consequential of all Ottoman sultans, which makes his mother of note; the myth that she was a captured Frenchwoman catapulted her to some fame in Europe in her own day; and the opulent tomb she built constitutes one of the Baroque gems of Istanbul. As usual, nothing is known with certainty of Nakşıdil’s origins, but the Ottoman sources abound with speculation that she was not Circassian but rather Georgian. Nakşıdil’s star began to rise when Abdülhamid selected her as one of his ikbals, probably around 1782. That her first baby was born in 1783 indicates almost certainly, as does her title as Seventh Consort,

that she was a newer addition to the ranks of his concubines.

 

Prince Murad Seyfullah, 1783–4(?). Plot 13

Nakşıdil’s first baby was important in that although he was Abdülhamid’s seventeenth child, at his birth in autumn 1783 the House of Osman counted only three other living princes. Following the custom first applied to his older half-brother Mehmed Nusret, he received dual names, which Cevdet ignored when he recorded the boy’s birth tersely in his chronicle of the year 1197: ‘On the night of the twenty-fifth of Zilkade and eleventh of September Prince Murad came into the world.’

Cevdet’s date corresponds to 22 October 1783 in the Gregorian calen- dar, or at least 25 Zilkade 1197 does, Cevdet having erred in his reckoning of the Ottoman solar calendar equivalent (he should have written ‘eleventh of October’). The archives hold a document dated the very day of his birth, dispatched to ‘Anatolia, Rumelia, the Hijaz, Egypt, and Algiers’ with the ‘Noble Orders’ to celebrate the good news that a prince had been born to the reigning House.51

The birth of this royal baby once again inspired poets to try their hand at chronograms, in this case totalling 1,197. Several (including the first two listed below) pun on the prince’s name Murad, which means ‘wish’ or ‘desire’:52

Şükran li-kad manaha el-Muizz murâdanâ, ‘Thanks be to God the Exalter for hav- ing granted our wish/our Murad’. Composed in Arabic by Âdem Efendi of Aleppo.

Gülzar-ı saltanatda açıldı gül-i Murad, ‘The rose of Murad/the wished-for rose bloomed in the garden of the sultanate’. Composed by Professor Mustafa Salim Efendi.

Kâmrân ola kemâl-i ömür ile Sultan Murad, ‘Blessed be Prince Murad with long life’. Composed by the chronicler Vâsıf Efendi.

Devlet ü yümn ile geldi âleme Sultan Murad, ‘With high state and good fortune came Prince Murad into the world’. Composed by the sublime chronogramist Sürûrî who, as we have seen, was to compose a chronogram upon the death of Murad’s father.

Hayru’l-kurun, ‘The beneficence of the ages’. Delightfully adept composition (two-word chronograms being quite the feat) by an unidentified poet.53

Auspicious chronograms notwithstanding, the child died quite young, of smallpox. There is confusion about which year he died: the pall shows ‘1199’ and Cevdet gives the same year, but other histories and records give 10 Rebiülahir 1198.54

If we accept the pall’s and Cevdet’s year of 1199, and the month and day of 10 Rebiülahir, then baby Murad Seyfullah died 20 February 1785. The dilemma with accepting this as the date of the baby’s death, though, is that Nakşıdil’s next baby, the future Mahmud II, was born 20 July 1785, meaning Mahmud had been conceived around October 1784, while Murad Seyfullah was still alive. This would violate the custom in the reigning House that a concubine who had a living son was not allowed more children. Nevertheless, quite probably this is exactly what happened, since we know with certainty that Abdülhamid and Nakşıdil went on to produce another baby (Saliha) even though their Mahmud was very much alive. Abdülhamid, that quiet innovator and bender of tradition, figures as the first sultan to break not only the rule against princes fathering a child who survived, but also the rule preventing a concubine from having another child if she had a living son.55 If, on the other hand, we accept 1198, and 10 Rebiülahir as the day and month, then young Murad died 3 March 1784 – before Mahmud’s conception, thus honouring the dynastic custom limiting concubines to one son.

With the present state of our knowledge, there is no way to resolve this quandary concerning the year of baby Murad’s death. What we can state with some confidence is that Murad Seyfullah died before his half-brother Mehmed Nusret’s death on 22 October 1785, because Murad’s cenotaph is the first in the row of five tiny cenotaphs that line the back wall of the tomb; since cenotaphs #2 (Mehmed Nusret) through #5 in this row are in chronological order according to date of death, one assumes that #1 (Murad Seyfullah) is too.

Princess Saliha, 1786–7. Plot 19

Nakşıdil’s third and last baby, Saliha came into this world on 27 November 1786 as the twentieth of Abdülhamid’s twenty-two children. At her birth,

her older brother Mahmud was a healthy two-year-old, which confirms that Abdülhamid was prepared to ignore the old custom of forbidding concubines to bear further children if they had a living son. Nakşıdil’s succession of three babies rather quickly one after another also indicates the affection in which Abdülhamid must have held her.

Since the toddler Mahmud was flourishing, there was some chance that this baby would too. But given that the two children’s full older brother Murad Seyfullah had succumbed to smallpox, worry could not have been far hidden in their mother’s heart.

The newborn’s father immediately informed his Grand Vizier of the good news of Saliha’s birth:

This, my imperial decree, is dispatched so that you may be informed that, with praise from the realm of mankind to the Grantor of Gifts, at a quarter past twelve o’clock this night a daughter of mine came into the world and was given the name Princess Saliha. May Almighty God make hers a long life filled with pious deeds.56

Reflecting the father’s delight, there is a play on her name in the last line: since saliha means ‘pious’, the line could also read ‘a long life filled with works by Saliha’.

The poet Sürûrî rose to the occasion with a fitting chronogram on the princess’s birth, the letters totalling 1,201: Saliha Sultan içündür mehd-i dehrin cünbüşü, ‘The merry-making of the cradle of the age is for Princess Saliha’.57

And yet, another poignantly terse sentence sums up another brief life in the palace, this time from Cevdet’s chronicle of 1201: ‘Princess Saliha, who had been born on the fifth day of Safer of the year 1201, died after having survived for six months.’58 Six months after Safer brings us to the month of Şaban, and indeed other sources record her date of death as 18 Şaban 1201, corresponding to 5 June 1787.59

With that, the second of Nakşıdil’s three children came to eternal rest in this tomb, followed by her husband in 1789, and then the quiet passage, for her, of nearly two decades until, quite suddenly, Nakşıdil’s life took a dramatic turn for the better.

An afterword on the lady Nakşıdil

Little may be known of Nakşıdil’s life, but what we may certainly dismiss is the eternal rumour, originating in Europe in the time of Napoleon, that she was the Frenchwoman Aimée du Buc de Rivéry, had been captured by pirates and sold into slavery, and was, moreover, a cousin of Napoleon’s empress Josephine. The rumour inspired Emperor Napoleon III to tell the

press, when Nakşıdil’s grandson Sultan Abdülaziz visited Paris in 1867, that they were related through their grandmothers. Abdülaziz had been born after his grandmother’s death and thus never knew her, but he too was interested in the story of his possible French heritage, if for none other than political reasons. Since then, documents have checkmated the story by establishing that the real Aimée was in France well after the year of Mahmud’s birth, but the unstoppable rumour lives on, having inspired novels throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. More will surely follow.60

Fantasy aside, we can state that Nakşıdil proved herself a generous benefactor of, in particular, public water fountains in the imperial capital, beginning with the fountain she commissioned in the Piyalepaşa district in 1200/1785–6. This fountain was Nakşıdil’s act of charity to thank the Almighty for the birth of her great hope, her baby Mahmud, as we know from the rhyming verse that adorns the fountain and describes her as ‘Mother of the exalted prince who is the envy of the virtuous’. The verse calls her Nakşı Kadın, ‘the lady Nakşı’, the shortened form of her name, by which she must have been known informally at court.

Nakşıdil became Valide Sultan, Mother Princess, when her Mahmud ascended the throne in 1808. In line with court protocol, on 1 August of that year, four days after her son’s accession, she proceeded by carriage in great state to Topkapı from the Old Palace, the concubines’ ‘retire- ment home’ where she had lived for the nineteen years since her hus- band’s death. For her this must have been a grand and joyous day indeed. Nakşıdil’s state procession from the Old Palace to Topkapı was to prove the last enactment of this ceremony in Ottoman history.

After nine and a half years as Mother Princess, in late 1817 Nakşıdil died at her shoreside palace in Beşiktaş, almost certainly of tuberculosis. She was laid to rest in the exuberantly Baroque tomb she commissioned for herself in the grounds of the mosque of Mehmed the Conqueror. It was not quite complete when she died, but nearly so, and Mahmud ensured it reached completion the year after his mother’s death.

We have not any description of Nakşıdil during her lifetime, but we do have the eyewitness description of her funeral by a Frenchwoman, the Countess de la Ferté-Meun, who was present in Istanbul at the time and four years later published a compilation of her letters home:

 

The Valide Sultana is dead. I saw her being transported to her turbeh, which is to say her tomb, which she commissioned two years ago, and which the Grand- Seigneur [the sultan] is going to complete. I saw the coffin as it left the palace. Two pages transported it in one of the covered caiques of the sultan. They passed down the Bosphorus . . . Quite a few great personages were awaiting

her on the opposite shore to take charge of the coffin, as per custom . . . All in all, the tombs of sultans and princesses are edifices in which the living would feel quite comfortably at home. It is His Highness who will send the shawls that will cover her sarcophagus.61

 

Not surprisingly, the countess then goes on to relate the beguiling and undying tale about the dead Turkish princess having been born a Frenchwoman.

 

şebİSeFa, Sixth conSort to abdülhamİd

The lady Fatma Şebisefa has earned the melancholy distinction as the concubine with the largest number of children buried here. We assume that she paid many visits to this tomb that housed four of her children.

At the death of her son Mehmed Nusret in 1785, to honour his memory she commissioned the little baroque mosque, with a single minaret, adjoin- ing school, and fountain, that still stands in the Zeyrek district of the city, downhill from the mosque of Mehmed the Conqueror. In providing not only a place of worship and a school, but also free drinking water, the mosque served as another manifestation by the Imperial House, for the subjects in its charge, of piety and benevolence. At her own death in 1805, Şebisefa was buried in the courtyard around the mosque, which bears her name, Şebisefa Hatun Camii.

 

Princess Âlemşah, 1784–6. Plot 17

At Âlemşah’s birth, Şebisefa had already lost her daughter Rabia (2) to this tomb, but her son Mehmed Nusret was two years old when this new sister came into the world. Şebisefa’s pregnancy after Mehmed Nusret is further evidence that Abdülhamid was no longer honouring the one- living-son-per-mother custom of the House of Osman.

As felicitations on Âlemşah’s birth, Şebisefa received, among other presents, newly made clothing, as we know from the financial records recording the expenses associated with the gift.62 Meanwhile, the poet Sadrî managed an elegant poem of fifteen couplets, pleasingly cal- ligraphed, topped by a spray of floral motifs that encircles the title of the piece, a line with internal rhyme, Tarih-i velâdet-i Âlemşah Sultan aleyhi’ş-şân, ‘Date of the birth of Princess Âlemşah, honour upon her’. The poet should have written the Arabic phrase aleyhi’ş-şân, commonly tacked onto names of princesses, as aleyhâ’ş-şân, to make ‘honour upon her’ rather than ‘honour upon him’, given that the subject was female; but in Ottoman usage, with its roots in non-gendered Turkish, this

nicety of Arabic grammar was almost always overlooked in this stock phrase.

As one would expect, the last couplet of Sadrî’s poem contains a chronogram:

Sadrîâ bir müjderes geldi dedi tarihini Dehre Âlemşah Sultan yümnle basdı kadem

O Sadrî, a bringer of good news arrived and spoke her date: ‘Into the world stepped Princess Âlemşah, felicitously’63

The chronogram totals 1,197, whereas we are hoping for 1,198. Looking to the first line of the couplet for a clue, we find it in bir müjderes geldi, ‘a bringer of good news arrived’. Since only one messenger arrived, not two or three or four, we deduce to add 1 to the total and arrive felicitously at 1,198.

We know that Âlemşah contracted smallpox, because the palace issued an announcement to that effect, along with hopes for her recovery.64 Alas, it was not to be, and we find Cevdet Pasha summing up the life of this child in one paragraph, and rather tersely:

On Thursday, the twenty-sixth of Zilkade [of 1198, so 11 October 1784], at eight o’clock [around 3 a.m. in Western time reckoning], an excellent daughter of the pure imperial loins came into the world and was given the name Princess Âlemşah. Per custom, joyous celebrations were carried out by means of cannon salutes for three days. After surviving for seventeen months, she died.

Seventeen months after her birth would place Âlemşah’s death in Rebiülâhir or Cemaziyülevvel 1200, and indeed we find records of her death as 28 Rebiülahir 1200 (28 February 1786).65

She succumbed four months after her brother Mehmed Nusret died of the same disease, surely leaving their mother, Şebisefa, distraught. During those four months two other children of the Imperial Family also succumbed (Fatma and Süleyman), which is why these four children lie next to one another here, in the chronological line along the back wall that begins with their half-brother Murad Seyfullah (who died in, probably, February 1785) and ends with Âlemşah. The deaths of five children within twelve months would have rendered this an exceptionally heart-breaking time at the Ottoman court, with four grieving mothers and one grieving father.

Ten weeks after Âlemşah’s death, the palace financial office recorded the termination of the grants of income that had been bestowed upon the infant at her birth, the process of reassigning them to the dead child’s siblings continuing for several months thereafter.66

Princess Emine (1), 1788–91. Plot 20

The next-to-last child born to Abdülhamid, Emine came into this world on 26 Rebiülevvel 1202 (5 January 1788). When she was born, her mother’s three older children already lay in this tomb. She is not to be confused with the other Princess Emine here, her niece, buried almost two decades later.

The noted poet Müftizade Burhan managed a pleasant chronogram cel- ebrating her birth: Hemişe ziver-i gün ola mihr-i Emine Sultan, ‘May the sun/love (both meanings being possible) of Princess Emine ever embellish the day’, in which the letters total 1,202.67

The newborn’s sixty-two-year-old father died the year after her birth, and Emine was not long in following him to the grave. As Cevdet put it, ‘she was alive at the time of her father’s death but died on 4 Receb 1205 [9 March 1791] and was laid to rest in the tomb of her father, the late sovereign’. That would put her at just over three years old when she joined her father and her siblings in this tomb.68

In Chapter 1 we read of the elaborate funeral ceremonial staged that day and the grandees who, as protocol demanded, numbered among Emine’s funeral cortège, accompanying on horseback the little girl’s coffin from Topkapı Palace to the Hamidiye Tomb. We have one trifling detail to add to this picture of Princess Emine’s funeral, thanks to the thorough Esad Efendi, Court Chronicler to Mahmud II, who took pains to note it in the treatise on court protocol he penned decades later:

When Princess Emine passed away on 4 Receb 1205, the padishah [Selim III] decreed that the Chief Justice of Istanbul should lead the funeral cortège. But because this gentleman was at the same time the administrator of the tomb’s charitable endowment, he was already at the tomb when the procession arrived.69

If nothing else, Esad Efendi’s inclusion of this point illustrates the depths of detail to which a conscientious court chronicler might descend.

Emine was the twenty-first child born to Abdülhamid and the eight- eenth, and last, of his children to die young, which made this little girl also the last of Abdülhamid’s infants or young children to be buried here. The tomb then ‘went quiet’ for seventeen years, until her half-brother Sultan Mustafa IV was laid to rest here following his execution in 1808.

 

Prince Mehmed Nusret, 1782–5. Plot 14

Born a year and a half after Abdülhamid’s first son named Mehmed had died, in line with custom in the reigning House this baby received the dead boy’s name as he was the first male child to be born to the monarch

after Mehmed’s death. There was a twist, though, as this baby ‘Mehmed Nusret’ became the first of the sultan’s sons to reflect the emerging trend of giving boys two names.

Mehmed Nusret came into the world at a precisely recorded moment, as Cevdet tells us while chronicling the year 1196 and neglecting to include the second of his double names: ‘On the twelfth of Şevval, a Friday, at eleven and one-half hours a prince was born, and given the name Prince Mehmed.’ Cevdet’s date confirms the baby was born 21 September 1782.

When he was three years old, Mehmed Nusret fell ill during the small- pox epidemic that swept through the palace in autumn 1785, prompting his father to send an official memorandum to inform the Grand Vizier of his son’s condition:

My dear son Prince Muhammed [as the name is vocalized in this document] Nusret, the light of my eyes, may God prolong his life, has been ailing for four days up through this day, and today the response of the attending physicians is, ‘some marks of the smallpox have appeared’. Prayers at his bedside, with the Court Chief Physician and the distinguished Muslim and Christian and Jewish physicians gathered together, are my desire, and the prayers of honoured saintly personages are my refuge. May Almighty God grant at once that he be restored to health, in consideration of his time for the throne. Amen.70

To one of these messages concerning Mehmed Nusret’s illness the Grand Vizier replied to reassure the anxious father, ‘It is absolutely nothing to cause alarm. He is a little child. Either he ate a piece of fruit that did not agree with him or else he caught a bit of a cold.’71

One hopes that the Grand Vizier’s diplomatic skills surpassed his medical diagnoses, for as Cevdet tells us, Mehmed Nusret left this world on 19 Zilhicce 1199 (23 October 1785), adding that ‘he was laid to rest in the new mausoleum at Bahçekapısı’.72 We have seen that Şebisefa, in memory of her three-year-old son, commissioned the small but elegant mosque that bears her name in the Zeyrek district of the city. As the unrelenting flood of traffic along Atatürk Boulevard roars directly in front of this mosque nowadays, one wonders how many passers-by know it honours this little boy who died in 1785.

Princess Rabia (2), 1781–2. Plot 9

Until the research for this book, the identity of this child’s mother had remained unknown in the secondary literature, but a laborious search through a sixty-page financial register in the Topkapı archives partially solved the mystery, in the list of gifts to be presented at a royal birth in

the year 1195. It is a simple record of accounts, in poor penmanship, but retains the expected honorific titles due an Ottoman princess and her mother: İsmetlû Rabia Sultan hazretlerinin velâdetlerinde valide- yi muhteremeleri saadetlû Altıncı Kadın hazretleri için, ‘at the birth of Her Highness the virtuous Princess Rabia, for her esteemed mother, Her Excellency the well-favoured Sixth Consort’.73 Almost certainly, Şebisefa was the Sixth Consort in 1781.

In another demonstration of Sultan Abdülhamid’s devotion to his long- dead mother, the lady Rabia, he gave this name to his baby daughter who came into the world on 19 Şaban 1195 (10 August 1781). We have seen that his first daughter with this name was laid to rest here some fifteen months before this Rabia’s birth.

As usual, we have precious few details of this child’s life. Palace financial records tell of a small quantity of kitchenware obtained for her in Şevval 1195/September–October 1781.74 Far grander was the gift pre- sented in that same month by Janissary commanders (kethüda bendeleri) for ‘the blessed and well-favoured imperial presence on horseback’, on the occasion of ‘the imperial birth, suffused with joy, of Her Highness the virtuous Princess Rabia, honour upon her’: a set of ‘horse tack, two- layered, completely worked in silver gilt, with a fillet’, as well as ‘two riding crops of pure silver’ (silver handles, one presumes), all placed in the depot-treasury of the Imperial Stables.75

In his chronicle of the year 1196, Cevdet Pasha summed up this Rabia’s life in one sentence: ‘At her death on the twenty-fifth of the above-named month [Şevval, so 3 October 1782], Princess Rabia, who had come into this world in Şaban of 1195, was interred beside her other sisters in the new mausoleum.’76 She was just over one year old when she died.

An afterword on the lady Şebisefa

When her baby Emine was about six months old, and still doing well, in June 1788 Şebisefa became pregnant with her fifth child. As the baby’s birth approached in early 1789, Abdülhamid once again issued the order, as he had done at the impending birth of his son Mehmed in 1781 (and probably at the impending birth of all his children, but we only have documentary evidence of it for these two pregnancies), that ‘vessels in the harbour are not permitted to fire a musket, nor to strike the bell, nor even to give the word of command in a loud voice’, if we accept the claim of the British army officer in Istanbul at the time.77 In that final daughter, Heybetullah (also spelled Hibetullah in Modern Turkish), born only three weeks before Abdülhamid’s death, Şebisefa finally had a child who would survive into adulthood. As recipient of Abdülhamid’s largesse

(she had, after all, borne him five children) Şebisefa controlled extensive land-holdings, whose revenues no doubt allowed her to build the mosque in memory of her Mehmed Nusret, and when she died in 1805, sixteen- year-old Heybetullah inherited her vast properties.

At her own death in 1841, Princess Heybetullah was not buried beside her sisters and brother here, but rather in the brand-new tomb of her half-brother Mahmud II, atop the hill and near the Grand Bazaar. She was only the second person interred in that tomb, after Mahmud himself.78 The choice of the new mausoleum for her burial would have stemmed from the fact that the Hamidiye Tomb now lacked room for an adult, but the gesture also served as a mark of esteem for this sister of the recently deceased monarch (and after his death, she was one of only two sisters of Mahmud II still alive) and aunt of the reigning sultan, Abdülmecid. Heybetullah may not lie here in her father’s tomb, but a memento of her exists in the garden, in the epitaph on the beautiful headstone – which possibly Heybetullah herself commissioned – of her childhood nanny, Şaheste Dadı Usta.

 

Sİneperver, Second conSort to abdülhamİd, Future mother princeSS

Ayşe Sineperver, to use her full court name, figured as Abdülhamid’s Fourth Consort, but within four years had risen to Second Consort.79 She became Mother Princess when her son Mustafa (IV) acceded to the throne. During her widowhood, which lasted nearly forty years, Sineperver donated funds for charitable works around Istanbul, including several fountains and one school.80

Of her four children, three predeceased her and are buried here, but her second child, Princess Esma, lived to the age of seventy. Her only (insofar as we can be certain) grandchild, the infant daughter of her son Mustafa IV, is in this mausoleum as well.

Despite the presence here of her husband, three children, and her grand- daughter, at her death in 1828 Sineperver was laid to rest in the graveyard at the Eyüp Sultan Mosque. Her burial in that graveyard contravenes the custom whereby Mother Princesses were to be buried inside a royal tomb, but since her husband and her dethroned son were both interred in the Hamidiye Tomb (her Mustafa having not reigned long enough to build his own tomb, in which she too might have been interred), which left no room, at her death, to bury an adult here, some other arrangement had to be made. It is quite possible that Sineperver chose the Eyüp burial site herself, knowing the Hamidiye would not be an option, or that her daughter Esma

chose it for her posthumously. Given its association with the Prophet’s Standard-bearer, for whom it is named, Eyüp constitutes a highly desirable place for burial. Had she lived another twelve years, most probably she would have been interred in the Mahmud II Mausoleum, erected in 1840, where her Esma was laid to rest in 1848.

 

Prince Ahmed, 1776–8. Plot 4

To celebrate the birth of Sultan Abdülhamid’s fourth child on 25 Şevval 1190 (7 December 1776), the poet Seyyid Yahya Tevfik coined a chrono- gram: Bihamdillâhi tevellüd kıldı Sultan Ahmed-i rabi, ‘Through God’s help the fourth prince, Ahmed, was born’, the numerical value of the Ottoman letters indeed totalling 1,190.81

Ahmed succumbed to illness just three days past his second birthday in the Hijri calendar, 28 Şevval 1192 (19 November 1778); the cause of death recorded merely as ‘fever’. We have noted that his was the first burial on this plot of land, not long after his father had purchased the grounds as site for a new imperial tomb. At Ahmed’s death the tomb was shortly to rise here, or possibly was already rising.

Rather surprisingly, since as a younger son he was not the direct heir to the throne, the toddler’s death made the British newspapers. Never mind that the story got his name wrong (Mehmed is pardonably close to Ahmed, in foreigners’ ears; ‘Mehmed’ having been his older half-brother’s name perhaps caused the confusion), that he was not buried where it said he was, and that the date is off by two days (not an egregious error, given the pitfalls in converting Hijri to Gregorian dates). The item con- formed to eighteenth-century Ottoman use of the title sultan for a prince: ‘Constantinople, Dec. 3. On the 17th of last month the Sultan Mehmet, second Son of the Grand Signior, died, and was buried with great Pomp in the Mosque of the Sultan Mehmet.’82

Shortly after his death, Ahmed’s grieving mother commissioned three street fountains in his memory. And so, the young child’s tragic death led to charitable works to benefit the people of the city. His mother’s intention was to honour her child and create a lasting monument to his memory, of course, but her acts did dovetail with the efforts of the dynasty to express an image of compassion and concern, as befit a worthy ruling House.

We will consider just the wall fountain Sineperver built in Üsküdar, on the Asian side of the Bosphorus. It is a marble half-hexagon, in classic Ottoman style, graced with Abdülhamid’s tuğra and three poignant panels, in rhyming verse, that try to make the best of the sorrowful situation. Few of those who drew water from this fountain would have been literate

enough to read its inscription, but at least the name by which the fountain was known, Sineperver Valide Sultan Çeşmesi, ‘Fountain of the Mother Princess Sineperver’, would have alerted users that a lady of the Imperial House had donated it:

King of kings in whom the world takes refuge, Sultan Hamid, seeker of justice –

A prince of his has departed this world, ah!

May God make the grave of that most glorious son, that Paradise-dwelling royal child,

Prince Ahmed, like the gardens of Heaven.

For his soul his mother, Her Highness the Second Consort, Filled with compassion, built three peerless fountains; behold her zeal.

The fountainhead of the radiant sun could equal none of them;

Never has the eye of the imagination seen a heart-pleasing garden such as this.

May God put in perfect health Sineperver Kadın, Her shah whose mark is honour, and her son and prince.

May the Shah of the Realm of the Religion, firm on his throne, And his prince too, find protection in the ever-living, eternal God.

You gave the thirsty to drink your complete date, Sabih: ‘Pure water from the new fountain of the late Prince Ahmed’.

1194 [1780]

In calling his chronogram a ‘complete date’ (tarih-i itmam), the poet, Sabih, tell us that the letters add up to the intended year of 1194 without the need to add or subtract anything; so they do.

 

Princess Fatma, 1782–5. Plot 15

Abdülhamid’s sixteenth child and Sineperver’s fourth (insofar as we know), Fatma arrived in the world on 6 Muharrem 1197 (12 December 1782). Both of her older full siblings, Mustafa and Esma, were flourishing when Fatma came into the world.

In line with court custom, the Şeyhülislâm submitted his elegantly phrased and penned prayer and congratulations in honour of ‘the fortunate and auspicious Princess Fatma’, while her mother received monetary gifts in honour of the successful delivery, with two shoreside villas deeded to the new princess for her eventual use.83

In chronicling events of the year 1200, however, under the entry enti- tled ‘Princess Fatma and the Princes Come Down with Smallpox’, Cevdet begins to break the bad news that overtook this young girl around her third birthday:

Princess Fatma, who had been born in Muharrem 1197, and some of the princes came down with the smallpox at this time. On the tenth of Muharrem [of 1200;

13 November 1785] Princess Fatma succumbed to this illness, but the princes, by the grace of God (may His name be exalted), recovered their health, for which the Court Chief Physician Hayrullah Efendi was granted the rank of İstanbul payesi [the second-highest rank among the corps of Islamic legal councillors].84

Grief aside, routine financial matters after a death required attention, per the order dated the month after Fatma’s death:

The monetary allowances having not yet been terminated for Prince Mehmed and Princess Fatma, who prior to this date journeyed to the rose gardens of Paradise, the order has been issued that we discontinue them.85

The ‘Prince Mehmed’ is clearly Fatma’s half-brother Mehmed Nusret, who had died three weeks before her.

A second financial document, enumerating income from tax farms assigned her, demonstrates that even in death, on workaday documents not destined for public consumption, an Ottoman princess, though but three years old at her passing, received the titulature that was her due. She is cennetmekân firdevsasiyan merhûme Fatma Sultan aleyhi’ş-şân hazretleri, ‘Her Highness the late Princess Fatma, whose abode is Heaven, who dwells in Paradise, honour upon her’.86

In later decades, Fatma’s older full sister Esma, the only one of Abdülhamid and Sineperver’s four children to survive into old age, would arrange for three household servants to be buried in the garden outside the tomb. Given that Esma was seven years old when Fatma died at age three, surely Esma remembered this long-dead sister until the end of her own life six decades later, in 1848.

Sultan Mustafa IV, 1779–1808. Plot 2

Nothing ill-omened crept into Cevdet’s report on the birth of Abdülhamid’s tenth child, the future monarch whose career ended in overthrow and execution:

On the twenty-sixth of Şaban the Noble [of 1193, 8 September 1779] a prince came into this world from the pure imperial loins, and was given the name Prince Mustafa. The order was issued for cannon salutes to take place for three days.87

Despite Sineperver’s loss of her firstborn (Ahmed), the robust health of her daughter Esma would have lent hope that this son, Mustafa, would survive too. To celebrate the boy’s birth, an unknown poet managed the pleasing chronogram:

Gidüb şeşhane-yi devre beşaret geldi bu tarih Kudumuyla sefalar buldu Sultan Mustafa’nın nas

As rejoicing went to the six-chambered house of the age, this date came: ‘The people took pleasure in Prince Mustafa’s arrival’.

in which the rather puzzling term ‘six-chambered house’ may refer to Topkapı Palace or the Imperial Harem with their many chambers, or to the stringed instrument by this name (was the poet listening to it when the chronogram came to him?), or to the six words of the chronogram itself.88 In any event, the chronogram totals 1,199, whereas the year in question is 1193, and here the reason why the poet chose the enigmatic term involving six chambers becomes clear. Looking to the preceding line for our clue, we find it in gidüb şeşhane, literally ‘six houses went’, the poet’s way of telling us to subtract six in order to arrive at the desired total.

Mustafa apparently contracted smallpox in his childhood, as had so many of his siblings. During the boy’s illness his father dispatched a note to the Grand Vizier: ‘Mustafa is ailing, I believe it must be the smallpox. I am wracked with worry. Do not forget me in your prayers.’89 Perhaps Abdülhamid believed his prayers had been answered, because Mustafa recovered.

Following his father’s death, Mustafa ranked as heir to the throne during the reign of his childless cousin, Selim III. We may readily dismiss the colourful hearsay circulating in Europe during these years that Mustafa’s mother had attempted to poison Selim before he came to the throne so that her Mustafa would become sultan when Abdülhamid died, and that her poisoning antics left Selim impotent, thus accounting for why he produced no children once he became monarch.90

The general impression historians have recorded of the adult Mustafa is that he was not particularly bright, lacked empathy, and coveted the throne. What we do know is that he threw in his lot with those opposed to Selim’s reforms, in particular to Selim’s New Army, which presented such a challenge to the recalcitrant Janissary Corps. Fomenting a palace coup in May 1807, the rebels deposed Selim, who then came personally to Mustafa in the palace to offer him congratulations on ascending the throne. This gesture threw Mustafa into panic for his life, but the childless Selim had shown concern to preserve the lives of Mustafa and the latter’s younger half-brother, Mahmud, the only living Ottoman princes; finding words to console Mustafa, the now ex-monarch Selim retired to the harem. As the telling first acts of Mustafa’s reign, several of Selim’s men were executed and the new army abolished.

Figure 3.7 Abdülhamid receiving ministers at Topkapı; to his right, his sons Mustafa (centre) and Mahmud (right). D’Ohsson, Tableau général de l’empire othoman, Library of Congress.

In the somewhat happier times (for Mustafa at least) before the blood- shed that blotted Mustafa’s reign, the master poet Sürûrî triumphed in the chronogram he produced to commemorate the new monarch’s accession in the Hijri year 1222: Murabba vefk-i kişver Mustafa Han’dır mekârimle (درمکارمله خان مصطفی کشور وفق مربع), ‘The fourfold talisman of the country is the khan Mustafa, with noble beneficence’. Here Sürûrî managed the highly rare genre of chronogram called Mu’cem ü Mühmel, ‘Dotted and Undotted’, in which the dotted letters add up to 1,222 and so do the undotted letters.91 In further testament to Sürûrî’s genius, his felicitous incorporation of the word murabba, ‘fourfold’, invoked the new sultan’s regnal title, Mustafa the Fourth.

When he came to the throne, Mustafa’s act of mercy, if that is what it was, in sparing his predecessor’s life did not receive the recognition Mustafa might have expected in London, where The Times not only reported incorrectly that Selim was dead, but could not resist a dollop of British condescension in the process (validated, however, the following year):

The death of the late Sultan of Turkey is mentioned; a circumstance we are not surprised at; it is but a short step with a deposed Sovereign, in such a Government, from the Throne to the grave.92

Predictably, the 1807 coup triggered a countercoup by Selim’s support- ers in what had been his New Army, who marched on Istanbul to reinstate Selim. When these forces arrived in the capital in summer 1808, Mustafa ordered the executions of both Selim and Mahmud so as to leave himself the sole surviving Ottoman prince and thus immune to punishment. In a series of fast-paced events at Topkapı, Selim was indeed murdered but Mahmud, thanks to his household servitor Cevri Kalfa hiding him, escaped his would-be killers. The countercoup forces overcame Mustafa’s men and deposed him, proclaiming his brother as the new monarch, Mahmud II.

In the opening months of Mahmud’s reign, the deposed Mustafa languished in his apartments at Topkapı, but when Janissaries rebelled that autumn in order to restore Mustafa to the throne, Mahmud ordered not only the revolt to be put down but the problematic Mustafa to be put to death, on Thursday, 28 Ramazan 1223 (17 November 1808). The nineteenth-century chronicler Câbî tells us that residents in the neighbour- hood outside the palace could hear the wails of Sineperver and the female servants in his household as he met his end.93

No such hysterics for our unemotional historian Cevdet Pasha, who in his chronicle of the Hijri year 1223 recorded laconically the final episode in this tumultuous chain of events, ‘After the Friday prayers, the late Sultan Mustafa’s remains were interred in the tomb of his father, the late

Sultan Abdülhamid.’94 The historian Ali Sati, writing in the 1830s, also related Mustafa’s interment with no rancour at all: ‘His Majesty, the lord of the imperial throne Mustafa Khan the Fourth, was buried in the pure earth at the side of his illustrious father.’95

The British traveller J. C. Hobhouse visited Istanbul in 1810, only two years after the bloody events of November 1808, and bequeathed to us the titbit that he was able to glean concerning the late ex-monarch’s path to this tomb. Mustafa had erred in his ways, clearly, but as a prince of the House of Osman he remained entitled to the funeral cortège dictated by court protocol:

On the 19th, Mahmoud having issued a proclamation exhorting his sub- jects to keep in peace the Bairam, which commenced on that day, they attended tranquilly and in good order the funeral of Mustapha, who was con- veyed with much pomp from the Seraglio to the tomb of the Sultan Abdulhamid, his father. The same day the streets were cleansed and cleared of the dead . . .96

Meanwhile, as per custom, the pall over Mustafa’s cenotaph simply records the basic facts among a few honorifics:

Hüve’l-Hayyu’l-Baki Cennetmekân firdevsaşiyan

es-Sultan Mustafa Han er-Rabi bin es-Sultan

es-Sultan el-Gazi Abdülhamid Han revvaha Allahu rûhahumâ fi gurefi’l-Cinan hazretlerinin

Tarih-i velâdetleri fi Ş. sene 1193 Cülus-ı hümayunları fi 19 R.a. sene 1222

Müddet-i saltanatları 1 sene 2 mah

İrtihalleri fi 28 N. sene 1223

He is the Ever-living God

His Majesty Sultan Mustafa the Fourth, whose abode is Heaven, who dwells in Paradise

Son of the Gazi Sultan Abdülhamid

May God repose both their souls in the halls of Paradise Date of birth, Ş. 1193 [14 August–11 September 1779]

Imperial Accession, 19 R.a. 1222 [27 May 1807] Length of reign, 1 year, 2 months

Decease, 28 N. 1223 [17 November 1808]

Mustafa’s dastardly deeds (as his opponents would have thought them) soiled his reputation at home and abroad, with the French travel writer who visited the tomb in the 1860s describing him bluntly, if accurately, as ‘Mustafa IV, murderer of Selim III’.97 But he was not forgotten by those to whom he had been close – certainly not by his mother. Some seventeen

years after Mustafa’s death, Sineperver commissioned the still-extant marble street fountain in the Fatih district of the city, near the mosque of Mehmed the Conqueror. For it she engaged the calligrapher Sukutî to design a panel that boldly recalled her son’s name to passers-by while putting a positive spin to his reputation:

This is the charitable donation of

The virtuous Mother Princess Sineperver, honour upon her, Mother to the wielder of charity and good deeds,

The late and divinely pardoned Sultan Mustafa.

1241 [1825–26]; calligraphed by Sukutî.

 

three concubineS oF abdülhamİd

Unless hitherto undiscovered documents come to light, we shall never know who the mothers of these three baby girls were. Given that they were born within ten months of one another, the most we can state with (near) certainty is that they were born to different mothers.

The mothers’ anonymity reflects the seclusion of the Imperial Harem, of course, in which the identity of concubines was considered a private matter involving the sultan’s family. The sure exception to this arose when concubines gifted charitable works to the public, as noted; their name was indeed publicly associated with the gift because it honoured and rewarded the benefactor, while dovetailing with the strategy of the dynasty to make its acts of beneficence known to the public.

 

Princess Aynişah, b. & d. 1780. Plot 3

This baby daughter of Abdülhamid I, his twelfth child, arrived on 7 Receb 1194 (9 July 1780) and died not quite three weeks later, 26 Receb 1194 (28 July 1780). As we have noted, this infant figured among the three children buried in this tomb during its construction.

Most impressively, an unknown poet was able to fashion a chronogram within the baby’s three-week lifespan, the letters totalling 1,194:

Dedi Baba-yı âlem mevlidi tarihini müjde Gözüm nuru cihana geldi elhak Aynişah Sultan

The Father of the World [Adam] spoke her date of birth; good news: ‘The light of my eyes has come indeed into the world; Princess Aynişah’.98

The chronogram even manages a word play, juxtaposing gözüm nuru (‘the light of my eyes’) with the baby’s name Aynişah, literally ‘essence of the shah’ but alternatively ‘eye of the shah’.

Working equally quickly, the poet Sürûrî produced a verse of ten rhyming couplets celebrating her birth, with a pleasing wordplay in the chronogram, between the princess’s name and ayan, ‘visible’, from the same Arabic root:

Ey Sürûrî söyledi tarih-i milâdın beşir Müjde evc-i şanda oldu Aynişah Sultan ayan

O Sürûrî, the bearer of good tidings spoke the date of her birth: ‘Good news, at the summit of honour Princess Aynişah became visible’.99

In his chronicle of events of that year, Cevdet sums up the lifespan of this infant in one poignant sentence: ‘On the night of the seventh of Receb, Princess Aynişah was born, but after surviving for only as long as twenty days, she died.’ She was the second baby princess in the House of Osman to be born and to die that year, after her half-sister, Şebisefa’s daughter Rabia.

 

Princess Melekşah, 1781–2. Plot 8

‘On the second night of Safer [of 1195; 28 January 1781] a daughter of auspicious mark was born from the pure imperial loins and named Princess Melekşah’, Cevdet tells us in his typical fashion, adding that her four-year- old half-brother Mehmed died twenty-three days after Melekşah’s birth.100 What have the palace archives to tell us of this child during her short life?

Only indirect titbits: financial details concerning the tax farms assigned her for income;101 the costs for sewing blouses, slippers, boots, shirts, dresses, trousers, shalwars, pillows, fur pillowcases, cushions, and diverse styles of robes, for her as well as for several of her siblings and their father;102 and the gifts presented at her birth to her mother. What none of these records tells us is her mother’s name, instead describing this lady, in true palace fashion that would foreground the princess over the concubine who was her mother, as İsmetlû Melekşah Sultan hazretlerinin saadetlû valide- yi muhteremeleri kadın hazretleri, ‘Her Excellency the esteemed Lady Mother of Her Highness the virtuous Princess Melekşah’.103

While it does not name Melekşah’s mother, this latter titulature may give us a clue to her identity. It describes her mother as a kadın, the title usually employed only for one of the Imperial Consorts, whereas an ikbal or gözde would typically be styled hanım. More specifically, the woman in question would have been the Second, Third, or Fourth Consort, as the Senior Consort would have been styled, typically, Başkadın. But this one document is not enough to claim this unequivocally; perhaps the secretary who wrote it (and the handwriting is sloppy, not indicative of a polished document) simply made a slight faux pas. Or, equally likely, perhaps by the late eighteenth

century the word kadın was beginning to be applied to all concubines, as it would be to the topmost harem managers in the nineteenth century.

The infant’s time on this earth came to an end shortly before her first birthday, as Cevdet informs us in his chronicle of the year 1196:

Princess Melekşah, who came into this world last year, passed away on the eighth evening of Muharrem [24 December 1781], a Monday, and was interred in the new mausoleum located in the vicinity of Bahçekapısı.104

‘Date-in-verse on the Birth of Princess Melekşah’ is how the poet Sürûrî entitled his rhyming poem dedicated to her, but when reading it one realises he addresses both the beginning and the end of this child’s short life.105 The chronogram in the last line totals 1,195, her year of birth, as promised in the poem’s title, so one wonders whether Sürûrî had concocted the chronogram when she was born but, given her short life, had not managed the remaining couplets until she was already dead:

Asman-ı kevkebe-yi Sultan Hamid-i alşimi Mevlid-i duhter-i sad ahteri etdi şadan Gurre-yi mah-ı Safer’de kılub âfâka tulû Dehre manende-yi beder oldu vücudu taban Hayıra çeşm etdi meğer nur cemali ki olur Âftab-ı ebr-i zemistan ile gözden pinhan Eyledi şenlik olub toplar atıldıkça karar Bişezar-ı adem-i âba’da ve hoş ahzan Söyledi sur-ı velâdetle Sürûrî tarih

Mülk şenlendi sebeb oldu Melekşah Sultan

Sultan Hamid’s starry heavens of alchemy

The birth of a daughter, favoured by a lucky star, gladdened. Rising at the horizons on the first of the month of Safer,

Her existence shone upon the age as radiantly as the full moon. She cast an eye to good fortune but while the light’s beauty shone, She disappeared from view as the sun by a cloud of winter.

As merriment reigned and cannons thundered, she settled In the woods of death of forefathers and of sweet sorrows.

Upon the feast of her birth, Sürûrî spoke a date: ‘The realm rejoiced; Princess Melekşah the reason’.

 

Princess Rabia (1), b. & d. 1780. Plot 5

The first of two young girls here named ‘Rabia’, this baby’s birth on 20 March 1780 (14 Rebiülevvel 1194) was perhaps met with hope that, with luck, she might survive, since her half-brothers Mehmed, Süleyman, and Mustafa were doing well.

Once again, the brilliant poet Sürûrî rose to the occasion with the sparkling verse of seven rhyming lines that he submitted to the palace celebrating the new princess’s birth. The last line reads, Sürûrî zeyn eder nazmın yazıp milâdına tarih / Kudum-ı Rabia Sultan güne zib ü fer verdi, ‘Writing a date for her birth, Sürûrî embellishes his verse / The arrival of Princess Rabia gave the day beauty and lustre’, in which the chronogram in the second hemistich indeed totals 1,194, despite the collection of Sürûrî’s oeuvre in which it was printed claiming it totals 1,199.106

Since Abdülhamid’s own mother, who had died of smallpox when the future monarch was seven years old, bore the name Rabia Şermî, one might assume that the sultan named this baby after his long-dead mother. He was, after all, devoted to her memory, dedicating in her name the mosque he had commissioned at Beylerbeyi in 1778. Cevdet confirms this supposition in his chronicle of the Hijri year 1194:

On the fourteenth of Rebiülevvel an excellent daughter of the pure impe- rial loins became the cradle adornment of the living and was called Princess Rabia, as His Majesty the Padishah of the Human Race ordered the name of his esteemed late mother to be revived. And by means of cannon salutes for three days, public celebrations were carried out. However, the princess did not thrive, and sixty-nine days later she passed away.107

The sixty-ninth day after her birth fell on 24 Cemaziyülevvel 1194, or 28 May 1780. She would be followed in birth and death that summer by her half-sister Aynişah. Since we are identifying 1780 as the year in which the tomb was finished, we assume the building was complete, or nearly so, when these infants were interred here.

Perhaps the most poignant summary of the brief life of this tiny girl is the archival document dated 26 December 1780 and recording, in one short sentence, ‘gifts distributed upon the birth of Princess Rabia, and expenses for washing the corpse of the same princess and swathing her in the shroud’.108

 

Mustafa IV’s Daughter

At the time of the deposed Mustafa IV’s execution in November 1808, one of his four consorts was expecting a baby. We do not know which consort this was, but she gave birth to a daughter, Emine, in, probably, the following March (there is some confusion; see below). We can eliminate Peykidil, as that lady had been put to death in July 1808, which leaves Mustafa’s other three consorts as possible mothers: Şevkinur, his Senior Consort; Dilpezir; or Seyyare. Şevkinur lived until 1812, Seyyare until 1817/18, but Dilpezir died in September/October 1809 (Şaban 1224),

which is also (most likely) the month in which tiny Emine died, making for a double tragedy if Dilpezir was indeed the baby’s mother.

Whichever consort brought this baby into the world, it is worth acknowledging the unusual situation, to say the least, in which this lady found herself, being several months pregnant when her disgraced husband was put to death. One hopes that the baby’s grandmother, Sineperver, would have looked after the expectant mother, given that most likely both of them were residing, after Mustafa’s deposition, in the Old Palace.

It is possible that none of these ladies was the baby’s mother, if we accept the historical source that tells us that at the time of his deposal, Mustafa IV’s Third Consort and an ikbal were both expecting; perhaps Emine was the ikbal’s baby.109 But it seems probable that the mother would have been buried here, since both the baby and the father are interred in this tomb, but no ikbal of Mustafa IV lies in these grounds.

In line with court custom, Princess Emine was laid to rest inside the tomb, while her mother, being non-royal, would have been buried in the garden outside it, as indeed all three of these ladies are. They are near their late husband, and one of them is near her daughter.

 

princeSS emİne (2), b. and d. 1809. plot 18

The interment of this infant marked not only the first burial to take place inside the mausoleum after a quiet interlude of eighteen years, but also a new generation of the House of Osman to be laid to rest in this tomb: the grandchildren of Abdülhamid I. She is not to be confused with her aunt, Abdülhamid’s daughter Emine, who had died in 1791.

This daughter of Mustafa IV, his only child (or at least the only child we know of definitively, some sources positing a posthumous son who did not survive) was also the only grandchild of Abdülhamid’s consort Sineperver, whom we met earlier, since Sineperver’s only surviving child, Princess Esma, had no children. Indeed this ‘Aunt Esma’, if we may, had already been a young widow for five years when Emine was born.

Discrepant dates abound as to Emine’s date of birth, so that all we can state with certainty is that she was born posthumously. If we accept March 1809, as seems likely, then she would have been conceived in June 1808 (unless she was premature), at the tail end of her father’s reign.110 We cannot know why no children were born to Mustafa before this (assuming none were), since his brief reign was still long enough to have begun pro- ducing children nine months after his accession, as his brother Mahmud II would do.

Her father had been overthrown and executed, but still this baby was a princess entitled to her due as a member of the reigning House, conse- quently the archives tell us that royal properties were duly granted her for income.111

But this fatherless infant lived only a few months. Discrepancies also abound as to the month and day of her death, although all written sources agree she died in 1224/1809–10. In his chronicle, Câbî Ömer tells us that ‘Princess Emine, whom the former sovereign Sultan Mustafa, son of Sultan Abdülhamid, brought into the world, passed away and her remains were buried with the customary ceremonial, on 16 Şaban of the year 1224 [26 September 1809].’112

Contributing to the discrepancies, the fact that two years of death are embroidered onto her pall – 1224 in the poem along the side, 1225 in the epitaph at the head – is beyond baffling and, quite apart from the heartbreak surrounding the infant’s death, a little humorous. Would not the designer of the pall have noticed the discrepancy? If so, there may have been reluctance to bring the error to a superior’s attention. Or perhaps the designer erred by thinking, in the case of the epitaph at the head, of the year in which the pall was being created rather than the year of the infant’s death. Does the fact that this child’s father was dead and discredited account for the puzzling work on this pall? One would not think so. One is reluctant to blame the embroiderers; most likely they embroidered the design they were given, without questioning.

Adding to the puzzlement is the last hemistich of the verse on the side of the pall. It appears to be a chronogram: it has the sound of one, and ‘1224’ appears immediately below it, a usually reliable indication that a chrono- gram is in play. Yet the letters do not add up to 1,224 (they total 1,281), even when searching the preceding line for a clue to arrive at the correct date. Nor does a poet’s name appear in the preceding line, another typical, although by no means mandatory, affectation of a chronogram. We are left to conclude either that this was not intended as a chronogram, appearances to the contrary, or more likely, that the poet erred in calculation, which would place baby Emine’s pall among the known instances of chrono- gram miscalculation errors appearing on tombstones.113

Date discrepancies notwithstanding, the verse embroidered around the pall is exquisitely calligraphed.

 

Şah-ı sabık Hazret-i Han Mustafa-yı Rabî’in Rihletinden sonra kalmışdı sabi bir duhteri Etmeyüb ömrü vefa göçdü be-ferman-ı Hüda Oldu ma’sume Emine Sultan’ın cennet yeri 1224

At the decease of the previous sovereign, His Majesty the khan Mustafa the Fourth, A daughter of youth remained.

Her life proving inconstant, she departed at God’s command; Paradise became the place of the little one, Princess Emine. 1224 [February

1809–January 1810]

 

Mahmud II’s First Two Sons

With infantile death continuing to stalk the palace in Mahmud’s reign as in his father’s, twenty-eight of Mahmud’s thirty-three children died in childhood, including his first and second sons, both buried here. We can identify the mother of but one of them, and that only generally.

 

mahmud ii’S FiFth conSort

The archives tell us that this son of Mahmud II was born to the sultan’s Fifth Consort, but we cannot be certain which lady this was.114

 

Prince Murad, 1811–12. Plot 11

As Mahmud II’s first son, Murad had been an incredibly important baby – the first boy born into the Imperial Family in over twenty-six years, since his father’s birth. Given that the sovereign was at the time the only living male in the House of Osman, baby Murad’s birth addressed the worrisome situation of no heir to the throne. With no royal uncles or male cousins whatsoever, Murad was certain to become sultan one day – if he could survive into adulthood.

While chronicling events of the year 1226, Cevdet tells of his birth:

On the night of Monday, the ninth of Zilhicce [25 December 1811] . . . at 1 o’clock after sundown [so, in early evening], a cradle-adorning prince came into existence and was given the name Prince Murad. The joyful and happy announcement was made throughout one week of public celebrations by the discharge of artillery.115

Celebrating the birth of this heir to the throne, the poet Kalâyî composed a pleasing chronogram totalling 1,226: Kondu mehd-i kevne taban meh gibi Sultan Murad, ‘He was placed like a shining moon into the cradle of the world, Prince Murad’.116 The poet’s deft achievement especially delights because it plays on words (juxtaposing mehd and meh, ‘cradle’ and ‘moon’) and weaves a double meaning into the two last words, which could also read as ‘the wished-for prince’.

Unhappily, the poetical moon eclipsed, for baby Murad died on 4 Receb (14 July 1812), at the age of six months, not quite three weeks after the death of his younger half-brother Bayezid, behind whom he is interred here. In his account of the grief in the palace at the death of both babies, the nineteenth-century historian Şanizade waxed eloquent, with exuberantly florid phrases in the Persian style typical of ornate Ottoman writing of the era:

And on the fourth day of the month of Receb, a Friday, the prince Murad of kingly lineage took wing to the Realm of Resurrection by means of the same above-mentioned affliction, convulsions, following which this our doubled sorrow cried in lament and rendered the Servants of God desolate and ruined and laden with grief upon grief, and robbed all people of the wish they had desired.117

in which the last line entertains readers with the same play on the dual meaning of murad as did the above chronogram.

The chronicler Câbî Ömer, who was alive in 1812 when the event occurred and probably witnessed it, tells us of the seaborne funeral pro- cession to bring the baby’s coffin down the Bosphorus to Topkapı, in a repetition of the same spectacle organised not three weeks earlier for the coffin of Prince Bayezid. Alas, his chronicle gave rise to confusion as to where the baby Murad was buried:

With the departure of His Highness Prince Murad for the Realm of the Paradises, and the hearts of the people darkened by mortification and gloom, he was placed in a harem skiff at the chancery pier of the Beşiktaş Palace, and with His Excellency the Chief Harem Eunuch aboard, he was brought to the new palace, Topkapı, and in a cortège comprising as per custom the Deputy Grand Vizier and the Şeyhülislâm and superior officials and the Imperial Imam and the Sheikh of Aya Sofya and others, and the dignitaries of the Two Holy Cities and dignitaries of state, he was buried in the mausoleum at Nuruosmaniye; so was it heard and written, on 8 C.a. of the year 1227 [20 May 1812; clearly an error in the month, since Murad died in July].118

So, was Murad buried at Nuruosmaniye Mosque, or here? Some pages later in his chronicle, Câbî Ömer explains what happened:

When Prince Murad departed for the Realms of the Paradises, thus leaving only one prince alive, given Prince Bayezid’s death before this, both the Chief Harem Eunuch and the Silâhdar Agha were quite apprehensive about having to inform His Majesty. Only one place for burial remained, however, in the Sultan Abdülhamid Mausoleum, and fearing the wrath of both the Mother Princess and the padishah if he were buried there, he was interred, in the presence of all the men of rank and the officials of the Two Holy Cities and the Şeyhülislâm

and the dignitaries, at the Pier Mother Mosque [İskele Validesi Cami’i, the New Mosque at Galata Bridge], in the environs of the grave of Sultan Mehmed [IV], the grandfather of his grandfather, Sultan Abdülhamid. Once they’d returned, after the evening prayer the padishah asked them, disconsolately, ‘Where was Prince Murad buried?’ They replied, ‘He was interred near the grave of His Majesty Sultan Mehmed in Bahçekapısı. There is only one more burial space in the vicinity of your father, and conjecturing that Your Majesty would be angered, we left that space as it is.’ To this the imperial pronouncement and wish were extended: ‘Have him exhumed immediately from where he is and bury him in the vicinity of my father’, whereupon the Sublime Porte was informed and with ceremonial the prince was exhumed from that place at night, by torchlight, accompanied by the Imperial Imam and the Şeyhülislâm and dignitaries and others, whose presence was required, and with ceremony he was laid to rest in the vicinity of the late Sultan Hamid. So was it written, 8 B. of the year 1227 [18 July 1812].119

 

From this rather bizarre passage we must conclude that Câbî Ömer erred when he wrote earlier that Prince Murad was buried in the royal tomb at Nuruosmaniye Mosque, since here he gives detailed information that the baby was buried in the royal tomb at the New Mosque, which is near the Hamidiye Tomb. Or perhaps the archival document from May 1812 that Câbî Ömer quotes made the error. In either event, the error is understand- able to a degree, since Mahmud’s two eldest children (daughters who died before Murad was born) had been buried at Nuruosmaniye.

Nonetheless this claim that the baby was exhumed and re-buried here may or may not be accurate. No subsequent chronicler repeated the story, which does not mean that it did not happen; further proof would be desir- able, but none has surfaced to date. Nor, we must add, was the claim that no more burial space remained at the Hamidiye Tomb accurate, as we shall see.

With the death of the two boys, summer 1812 was clearly a season of grief in the Imperial Harem. To add urgency to the pain, once again there was no heir to the throne, which perhaps spurred (if he needed spurring) Sultan Mahmud to resume his duty to ensure the dynasty’s future. Some nine months later a son was again born to the reigning House.

The infant Murad was not only the second but also the last of Mahmud II’s children to be buried here; the large number of Mahmud’s brothers and sisters who had died young meant that accommodating all of his own deceased children in this small tomb would surely prove an unlikely prop- osition indeed. Of necessity, after this baby’s death Mahmud chose a new burial site for his growing family: the royal mausoleum at Nuruosmaniye Mosque, which had only one ‘resident’ (Osman III’s mother, who had

died in 1756) and thus offered plenty of space. A wise decision, as it turned out, since all eleven of his children to be born over the next eleven years died young.

Befitting a baby who had been heir to the throne, a rhyming verse com- posed especially by the noted poet Enderunî Vâsıf to mark the prince’s passing, and embroidered in gilt thread, distinguishes Murad’s pall. Enderunî Vâsıf was well placed to pen this elegy for an Ottoman prince: trained in the famed academy at Topkapı (Enderun Mektebi, ‘Inner Service School’, whence his pen name), followed by decades of court service, all the while submitting his verses and chronograms to the padishah of the day, he would have been well known to the baby’s father.

Two couplets adorn the right side of the pall, two the left. We know on which side to begin reading the verse because there is a date embroidered in the last line on one side, alerting us that this line is a chronogram, which always form the last line of a verse-with-chronogram.

Hazret-i Sultan Mahmud Han-ı âlî himmetin Âleme evvel gelen şehzadesi Sultan Murad Emr-i Hakla azm-ı Ukba eyledi ma’sum iken Soldu gülberk cemali olmadan dahi küşad Vâlidi Şah-ı Cihana tûl-i ömür ihsan edüb Hüznünü şadiye tebdil eyleye Rabbü’l-ibad Vâsıfâ hayır dua ile dedim tarihini

Kıla cay-ı bâlâ ü mesken cenneti Sultan Murad 1227

The first son of Sultan Mahmud of Lofty Endeavour To come into this world, Prince Murad

At God’s command, still a child, journeyed to the world to come; The beauty of his rose petal withered before it could open.

May the Lord of All Servants grant his father, the Shah of the World Long life and convert his sadness to joy.

O Vâsıf, I have spoken his date with a blessing:

‘May Prince Murad make Heaven his lofty place and dwelling’. 1227

The embroidered epigram contains a mistake in the last line: the first letter of the word kıla has one dot (which renders it ف, the letter ‘f’) but should have two dots to make ق, the letter ‘k’. Reading the word as kıla, as one must to make sense of it, the last line forms a chronogram that indeed totals 1,227, the year Murad died.

 

a concubine oF mahmud ii

We are left uncertain as to which of Mahmud’s concubines brought this baby into the world.

 

Figure 3.8 The toll of childhood mortality. AZ.

Prince Bayezid, b. & d. 1812. Plot 10

The arrival of Mahmud II’s second son called for special honours, and the poet Enderunî Vâsıf who, as we have just seen, would, in four months’ time, compose an elegy for Bayezid’s brother Murad, rose to the occasion with a chronogram totalling 1,227: Dehre geldi şevk ile Şehzade Sultan Bayezid, ‘With ardour came Prince Bayezid into the world’.120

Years later, the historian Şanizade, in his chronicle of events of 1227, embellished the otherwise perhaps banal topic of a royal birth with the florid ornamentation he fancied, in order to entertain his readers and impress them with his writing skills, while lauding the reigning House:

On the tenth night of the month of Rebiülevvel [24 March 1812], a Tuesday, at nine o’clock [around 2:00 in the morning Western time], Prince Bayezid, the fruit of the unique progeny of the justice-augmenting sovereign, honoured the hospitable hall of the world with his arrival. Conforming to the ancient custom of monarchs, the order was given for one week of cannon-fire in celebration, and the enemy-pounding cannon barrels made the adversaries of the House of Osman a manifestation of the confirmation of Yacalûn asâbihüm fi azân.121

That last phrase, Arabic for ‘They put their fingers in ears’, provided the author the felicitous opportunity of ornamenting his already flowery paragraph with a delightful image to amuse his readers, while flattering them by assuming, as a fine chronicler would, that certainly they had Arabic at their disposal and so he need not bother translating his quotation into Turkish.

Alas, although the royal baby indeed honoured the hospitable hall of the world with his arrival, he also left the hall quickly. As Cevdet tells us in his own chronicle of the year 1227, succinctly combining the deaths of Mahmud’s two infant sons into one sentence:

On Thursday, the fourteenth of Cemaziyülevvel, Prince Bayezid, whose life had just reached ninety-one days, died and departed, as did Prince Murad on the fourth of Receb, leaving their father, Sultan Mahmud the Just, wounded at heart.122

And so Bayezid died 25 June 1812. With the three adult children of Abdülhamid very much alive and thus not in need of a burial plot (which by 1812 would have been a tight squeeze for an adult here anyway), the decision to bury him at the Hamidiye Tomb resumed the interment here of Abdülhamid’s grandchildren, which had begun three years earlier upon the death of this infant’s young cousin, Emine, and continued not quite three weeks later with the burial of his half-brother Murad just behind him.

Murad and Bayezid had been born at Topkapı Palace, where Mahmud’s court was in residence during winter, but both died at the shoreside summer villa at Beşiktaş along the Bosphorus. Selim III had adopted, probably in the 1790s, the custom of summering with his court at an imperial resi- dence along the Bosphorus, summers in an airy shoreside villa being far more pleasant in sultry weather than the confined quarters of Topkapı.123 Mahmud II continued the custom, summering with members of his harem and court either at Beşiktaş or at Çırağan, the wooden shoreside villa he built slightly north of Beşiktaş. His son Abdülmecid continued the custom of moving his household to the seaside in summers until 1856, when the court moved permanently into new Dolmabahçe Palace on the Bosphorus, for which the Beşiktaş villa had been razed. Nor is the Çırağan shoreside villa still standing, it having given way to the magnificent Çırağan Palace in the following decade.

With Bayezid the first prince to die at a shoreside villa since the summer moves to the Bosphorus began (neither Selim III nor Mustafa IV having produced children during their reigns), court protocol had to be amended for a royal funeral that did not begin at Topkapı. In his chronicle, Câbî Ömer described how the baby’s remains were conveyed from Beşiktaş to the Hamidiye Tomb:

On Thursday at nine o’clock, Prince Bayezid having departed for the Realm of the Paradises, and the call to funeral services having been ordered and carried out at the imperial mosques, His Majesty’s oarsmen boarded the caique of the Mother Princess and came alongside the pier before the chancery at the Beşiktaş Palace. Taking on board Prince Bayezid’s remains, with the Chief Harem Eunuch of the Imperial Palace in a caique of seven banks of oars, and a harem caique, and with the remains of the prince in the fore, the procession arrived at the Shoreside Pavilion of Topkapı Palace. Forthwith the prayer for the dead was intoned in the presence of the eunuchs and the Chief Accountant and the Tax Farmer of the Two Holy Cities, the Scribe of the Halberdiers, the Deputy to the Grand Vizier, the Şeyhülislâm, the Chief Justices of Rumelia and Anatolia, and the other required superior officials and religious-judicial dignitaries, whereupon he was laid to rest in the tomb of his grandfather, Sultan Abdülhamid.124

Câbî Ömer went on to add a bit of gossip:

As for the deaths of Prince Bayezid and Prince Murad, there being nothing for their illness as it was infantile convulsions, the Üsküdar Arab sheikh es- seyyid İbrahim Efendi, one of the khojas esteemed by His Majesty, dissolved a measure of almond oil and rue herb together, and chanting over it he had them drink it. When they died it was heard and recorded from one of the court physicians, impugning the gentleman’s honour, that ‘this business of being a

physician is not the same thing as being a khoja’, which may be an expression of either malevolence or the truth.125

For his own recounting of the infants’ deaths, Şanizade put things once again decidedly more eloquently, as was his fashion – in ornate prose and poetry interspersed with Arabic and Persian verse and invocations:

On the fourteenth day of the month of Cemaziyülâhir, a Wednesday [Thursday, actually], after the passage of but ninety-one days since the infant prince Bayezid arrived in the marketplace of childish amusements of the age, that nightingale of the verdant meadows of Paradise took flight to the Nest of Resurrection by means of the disease of infantile convulsions, at which the people became prisoners in the cage of grief, and by the mute language of looks and circumstances expressed the meaning of the verse:

Is there any wound I have not presented to the beloved? Oh! Is there a remedy yet untried for the pain in my heart?

The nightingale, how startling, has fled its homeland, I know not What is left, verdant meadow? Or stony field, yet again?

The first line of the verse, Arz etmediğim yâra meğer yara mı kaldı, contains a clever play on yâra and yara (both are spelled the same in Ottoman, یاره), in the first instance meaning ‘to the beloved’ and in the second, ‘wound’. The wound/beloved imagery is a poetic device wherein the lover must win the beloved (here, most likely God) by displaying the wounds of love. Şanizade now adds another plaintive verse, this time a short epigram in Persian:

Where is the gain of our coming and going?

Where is the weft in the warp of our life’s existence?

In the hoop of the wheel of the soul, garrisons Catch fire and turn to dust; where is the smoke?126

Yet more rhyming poetry adorns the embroidered pall over the ceno- taph of this infant who had been second in line to the throne:

Sülb-i Han Mahmud’dan gelmişdi sahn-ı âleme Bayezid isminde bir şehzade-yi iffet-şan Etmeyüb ömrü vefa göçdü saray-ı cennete

Ol gül-i nevresteye me’va ola Kasr-ı Cinan Vâlid-i zişanına sabr-ı cemil ihsan edüb

Tûl-i ömrüyle muammer kıla Hayy-ı Müstean

From the lineage of Sultan Mahmud came to the stage of the world A prince of honourable innocence, Bayezid of name.

His life proved inconstant, to the palace of Paradise he journeyed; May the Mansion of the Heavens be home for that newly sprouted rose.

May the Ever-living God grant his honourable father praiseworthy forbearance

And bless him with long life for all his days.

For no clear reason whatsoever, the designer (or embroiderer?) has added three dots below the word Müstean. Ordinarily this would indi- cate the presence of a letter that requires three dots, or two letters that together require three dots; but no such letter or letters appear in this line. And so, one assumes that the embroiderer simply wished to fill in blank space.

We have as close an eyewitness account of the death of the two infant brothers, Murad and Bayezid, as we are likely to find in Hızır İlyas Ağa, who began his twenty-year service at the court of Mahmud II in 1812, the year the princes died. In his memoir of court life that he pub- lished decades later, İlyas Ağa mentions, in the lavishly intricate style of Ottoman chronicles of the day, both babies as well as the grief of their father, even if he fumbles the order of, and the interval between, the boys’ deaths:

The Departure of the Princes for Paradise

From the pure shining lineage, the previous year Their Highnesses Prince Murad and Prince Bayezid arrived onto the field of existence and were raised for seven or eight months in the embrace of their milk nurses, but found no nourishment in the Garden of Life under the clouds of spring and April as had the Tûba sapling [the abundantly fruit-laden tree in Paradise], but rather their lives and health were smitten as a leafless tree, so that in accordance with the decree of Providence, on the sixteenth day of the month of Receb the desired gate [or, in a play on words, the gate of Murad] swung shut, and three days later hope for the health of Bayezid came to naught, whereupon the people of the world donned the garment of mourning.

The Condolence Audience at the Shoreside Villa of Çırağan

At this point in time, by the command of Almighty God, the two excellent princes became quite rapidly, within three days, unable to carry on their exist- ence. His Majesty our compassionate sovereign being quite affected, on the twentieth day of this Receb the Wondrous [1227; 30 July 1812] the Grand Vizier along with the Şeyhülislâm were summoned to court at the seaside villa of Çırağan. Together they hastened to the moonglow-lustrous Imperial Presence, and were honoured with kissing the royal pair imbued with superior auspiciousness in both, after which they commenced offering remarks of con- solation appropriate to the time and place, and found plentiful words to remove the vexed disquietude, which lifted the spirits of the padishah who is ever kindly to his servants.127

Abdülmecid’s First-born and Twenty-eighth-born

Upon the death of his father, Mahmud II, in 1839, Abdülmecid came to the throne at the age of sixteen. A polite young gentleman and conscientious monarch, he continued his father’s reforms to modernise the Ottoman state and extend rights to its non-Muslim minorities. He was also a talented calligrapher, pianist, composer of Western-style music, and cabinetmaker, and the first Ottoman sultan, as far as we can tell, to know a bit of French. Reflecting the nature of his reign, or at least his aspirations for it, it is sig- nificant that one of the works of calligraphy that Abdülmecid bequeathed to the ages was the saying by the Prophet Muhammad, Seyyidü’l-kavmî hâdimühüm, ‘The master of a people is he who is their servant’.128

Through his ample ranks of concubines, in the twenty-two years of his reign Abdülmecid fathered forty-three children. Twenty-seven died young; most were buried in the royal mausolea at the New Mosque, but two of Abdülmecid’s children lie here.

 

Ceylânyâr, FiFth İkbal oF abdülmeCİd

Almost certainly Ceylânyâr was appointed a concubine to Abdülmecid several years into his reign, given that her only child was born when Abdülmecid had already been sultan for thirteen years, and that at her baby’s birth her rank was Fifth İkbal, a bit down the ladder. We know this because the brief archival document recording the date of her baby’s birth also helpfully identifies her by both rank and name, Beşinci İkbal Ceylân Hanım, ‘the Fifth İkbal, the lady Ceylân’, using the shortened version of her palace name.129

At the time of Ceylânyâr’s pregnancy, late 1851 and into early 1852, two other concubines of Abdülmecid were also expecting. As one finan- cial document detailing a special acquisition in March 1852 tells us, the palace was preparing for the triple events:

Three wooden cradles, of excellent quality, gilded and carved, purchased for the expected deliveries by Their Ladyships the honourable Ceylânyâr, the honourable Serfiraz, and the honourable Senior İkbal Mâhtâb, and placed in reserve in the Imperial Treasury; [price] 1,675 each, total 5,025, five thousand and twenty-five kuruş exactly.130

For comparison, the average yearly income of a skilled construction worker in Istanbul in the 1850s was around 4,860 kuruş, if he worked every day of the year.131 What the document does not tell us is why new cradles were purchased, given that by the time of these pregnancies,

twenty-seven babies had been born in the palace over the preceding twelve years. One would have thought there would be cradles in storage; but given that many of those babies had died, perhaps their cradles had been thought inauspicious.

Ceylânyâr subsequently rose to Second İkbal, but she died young, of tuberculosis, only three and a half years after her son’s death. There has long been confusion in the secondary literature concerning her date of death, but a document from 1871 in the Topkapı Palace archives recording deaths of concubines and high-ranking Imperial Harem female managers states, ‘date of decease of the Second İkbal Ceylânyâr Hanım, lawful concubine (halile-yi mahreme) of His Majesty Sultan Abdülmecid the Gazi, whose abode is Paradise: 17 R. of the year [1]272’.132 The diary of Ferid Pasha, major-domo (kethüda) to Mother Princess Pertevniyal, concurs, adding that Ceylânyâr, having been ill for some time, died at the Fer’iye Palace (near Beşiktaş along the Bosphorus), where she had gone to live.133 The date corresponds to 27 December 1855, fitting perfectly with the document dated 16 C.a. 1272/24 January 1856 in the Topkapı archives listing the goods of ‘the late Second İkbal Ceylânyâr’ that were to be sold.134 Several subsequent documents tell us her effects, including her jewels, were to be auctioned in order to pay her debts.135 Auctions of the worldly goods of deceased palace folk, male or female, formed standard practice at the Ottoman court; tradition held that since court residents were considered slaves of the sultan, at their death their wealth and property, after payment of debts, reverted to their master, whence these material things had come. The auctions took place in the treasury at Topkapı.136

The 1871 document goes on to add, ‘She was laid to rest in the grounds outside the tomb of Sultan Mahmud’s Mother Princess’ (Nakşıdil). The vague phrase ‘outside the tomb’ (türbesi haricinde) could imply that Ceylânyâr was buried initially in the graveyard surrounding Nakşıdil’s tomb, but Ferid Pasha’s diary confirms she was interred directly in what was known then as simply the New Tomb (Yeni Türbe) but is now the Gülustu Hanım Tomb, where she rests today. This is the cylindrical mau- soleum that Abdülmecid erected around 1852 outside the tomb of his grandmother Nakşıdil, in order to house his several daughters and con- cubines who died around that time, a death toll that included Ceylânyâr.

Prince Mehmed Rüşdî, 1851–2. Plot 6

Abdülmecid’s twenty-eighth child, Rüşdî’s double names reflect the fashion, over the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, to occasionally give sons two names, the first such name almost always being ‘Mehmed’. We have seen the custom before, in Abdülhamid’s son Mehmed Nusret,

but Rüşdî’s father, Abdülmecid, followed it especially assiduously with his own sons.

Mehmed Rüşdî was the first and last prince in the House of Osman to bear this slightly uncommon name. As a youth, Abdülmecid had trained in calligraphy under the renowned Mehmed Rüşdî Efendi – we still have the beautiful diploma in the art of calligraphy, awarded to Abdülmecid by this master – and one wonders whether he named his newborn son after this old teacher of his.137

The above-mentioned archival document that records his mother’s name and rank tells us precisely of the baby’s delivery: ‘at twenty minutes past twelve o’clock in the evening of 8 C. of the year 1268’. The date of 8 Cemaziyülâhir 1268 began at sundown on 30 March 1852, but given that the birth occurred twelve hours later, the baby was born on 31 March 1852 in the Gregorian calendar. Like his half-sister Mevhibe twelve years earlier, Mehmed Rüşdî came into this world at an imperial villa along the Bosphorus, only in his case it was the Çırağan shoreside villa, torn down and replaced in the 1860s by today’s Çırağan Palace.

Unlike his half-sister Seniha, who had been born only three months before him and lived to be the oldest member of the reigning House when the Imperial Family was sent into exile in 1924, Rüşdî’s stay on this earth lasted only six months. On 7 June 1852 he became the eighteenth of Abdülmecid’s children to die young. As brother to the last four Ottoman sultans, three of whom were older than he and one younger, had Mehmed Rüşdî survived into late adulthood he would have become sultan in 1918 in place of Prince Vahdeddin.

If the infant’s namesake was indeed the talented calligrapher, as seems likely, then this tomb is most appropriate for the baby’s burial due to a chain of teacher/student relationships down the decades. The infant’s father, Abdülmecid, had also studied calligraphy with Kazasker Mustafa İzzet Efendi, the famed artist who had, in turn, trained under Mustafa Vâsıf Efendi – the long-serving Chief Sexton of the Hamidiye Tomb. Mustafa Vâsıf, then in the last year of his long tenure at the tomb (and his life), would have known the baby’s namesake well. Perhaps this explains why Abdülmecid buried this son here.

At the time of Rüşdî’s death, no one had been buried in this tomb for twelve years, since his half-sister, Mevhibe, in 1840. That is not because no royal infants had died; quite the contrary, fourteen of Abdülmecid’s children had succumbed in those years but, as mentioned above, they were buried at other royal tombs in the city. Somehow, though, someone (surely the sexton, Mustafa Vâsıf) in 1852 realised that one more burial could be squeezed in here, and so it was done. With that, the Hamidiye Tomb

was truly full, unless one were to begin cramming in burials as in a cem- etery. But that would have been unseemly for a royal mausoleum.

Mürg-i lâne-yi Cinan merhûm Şehzade Sultan Mehmed Rüşdî bin es-Sultan Abdülmecid Han Hazretleri

Fi 18 Ş. sene 1268

A bird of the nest of the heavens, the late Prince Mehmed Rüşdî, Son of His Majesty Sultan Abdülmecid

18 Ş. 1268 [7 June 1852]

The baby Rüşdî became the last person to be buried inside this building, although interments continued in the garden graveyard around it for a bit longer.

 

hoşyâr, third conSort to abdülmecİd

Appointed, as she was, by Abdülmecid as one of his four Imperial Consorts when he came to the throne, quite likely Hoşyâr was already in his service when he was a prince. She had but one baby, Mevhibe. With no other children, and her own death at an early age (most likely in 1849, as near as we can tell), precious little is known with certainty about Hoşyâr. Websites maintain she was Georgian, and she may well have been, but at the state of our present knowledge the archives are silent as to her origin.

She may have been named, when she came into palace service, after the lady Hoşyâr (died 1859) who had been Second Consort to Mahmud II, and of whom Abdülmecid was fond, to judge from the correspondence between them in the archives. In any event, the presence of two palace ladies of the same name, one the consort of the late father and the other of his son, has stoked confusion among historians ever since.

Princess Mevhibe, b. & d. 1840. Plot 12

Hoşyâr’s baby, Mevhibe, inaugurated a new generation of the Imperial Family to be buried in the Hamidiye Tomb: Abdülhamid’s great-grand- children. What with the custom of not allowing princes of the reign- ing House to father children, once he came to the throne Abdülmecid wasted no time in discharging his duty to propagate the dynasty through his newly appointed concubines. This duty loomed rather urgently over Abdülmecid given that at his accession, infant mortality of the era had left the Imperial House with only one male besides himself: his younger brother, Abdülaziz. Once again, the dynasty seemed to totter uncomfort- ably close to extinction.

No doubt joy reigned at court on 29 Rebiülevvel 1256/31 May 1840 when this baby, Abdülmecid’s first, came into the world. The Sultan’s rescript announcing her birth reflects this light-heartedness in the florid prose of the era: ‘A daughter of mine, from among the rose garden of my imperial progeny, having advanced a step into the material world, has been given the name of Princess Mevhibe’, and the usual orders went out for the provincial governors around the empire to announce her birth and organise appropriate celebrations.138 Among the royal children interred here, she was the first to be born not at Topkapı but at the seaside villa of Çırağan along the Bosphorus, to which, as noted, the court repaired during the warm months.139

The birth of a female may have occasioned slight disappointment for her father, given his presumed desire for an heir. But three other concu- bines were also pregnant at the time of her birth, and indeed her half- brother Murad, the future Murad V, was born when Mevhibe was three months old.

Alas, this first baby of the new generation also led the cavalcade of deaths among Abdülmecid’s children, when she passed away, of unknown cause, on 17 Ramazan of – but here confusion reigns as to the year of her death, which appears variously in published works as 1256 or 1257. Her pall claims 1257, embroidered on the epitaph at the head of the cenotaph (see Figure 2.10) as well as just below the chronogram in the last verse of the poem that runs along the sides of the pall:

Mevhibe Sultan yatdıkça ilâhî haşre dek Şah-ı devranın ola efzun ömr ü şevketi Münhasif kıldı diriğa puşiş-i ebr-i ecel Çend meh olmuşdu ol mehd-i kevnin ziyneti Matemiyle Ziverâ tesvid kıl tarihini

Kıldı mesken Mevhibe Sultan saray-ı cenneti 1257

For as long as Princess Mevhibe lies at rest, O Lord, until Judgment Day, May the years and majesty of the Shah of the Age increase.

The blanket of the cloud of the Appointed Hour of Death has, alas, cast its shade;

That adornment of the cradle of the world lasted but few months.

With sorrow, O Ziver, sketch out her date:

‘Princess Mevhibe rendered the Palace of Heaven her abode’. 1257

Quite notwithstanding the ‘1257’ embroidered below it, and contributing rather humorously to the date confusion, the chronogram adds up to 1,256, with no clue in the preceding line to indicate that this sum needs adjust- ment. And an archival document dated 29 Zilhicce 1256 states clearly that

 

Figure 3.9 From the verse around Mevhibe’s pall: Münhasif kıldı diriğa puşiş-i ebr-i ecel, ‘The blanket of the cloud of the Appointed Hour of Death has, alas, cast its shade’. AZ.

 

Princess Mevhibe died 17 Ramazan 1256 (12 November 1840).140 What clinches 1256 is the article in the 21 Ramazan 1256 issue of the newspaper Ceride-yi Havadis:

Princess Mevhibe, who last Rebiülahir came into this world from the imperial loins of Our Lord the Padishah, passed away on Thursday, the seventeenth day of this month of Ramazan the Noble. She was interred in the gracious tomb of her exalted ancestor, Sultan Abdülhamid. For as long as she lies at rest, may Almighty God grant Our Sovereign Lord life and permanency and health and contentment. Amen.

The newspaper erred on her month of birth; it was Rebiülevvel, not Rebiülahir, but we shall overlook that discrepancy since the similarity in these months’ names not infrequently caused this sort of mix-up.

Let us consider the chronogram. As the penultimate line tells us, its composer was the renowned poet Ziver Pasha, in effect the Ottoman poet laureate of the day, whose verses adorn numerous imperial structures around the capital. These include the gates into the mausoleum complex of Abdülmecid’s father, Mahmud II. That building was completed in October 1840, which means that the government commissioned Ziver to compose the short verse and the chronogram for this baby’s cenotaph right on the tails of his work on her grandfather’s mausoleum.

How are we to account for the incorrect date embroidered (twice) onto the pall? The master Ziver was not the sort to make a mistake in composing

his chronograms, nor did he, as the newspaper evidence attests. Here, one must conclude, is another example of an error on a royal pall.141 Perhaps the most likely scenario is that the maker of the pall, working in 1257 not long after the infant’s death in the ninth month of 1256, erred by embroi- dering onto it the year in which he was working instead of the year of the baby’s death. Since the decorative work of the pall and its condition both point to around 1840, subsequent restorers cannot be blamed. One can only shrug one’s shoulders and remain appalled. We are left to suppose the designer or embroiderer did not solve the chronogram before beginning work.

We conclude, then, that Mevhibe died 17 Ramazan 1256/12 November 1840, having lived a bit over five months. Date confusion aside, hers was the first burial in this tomb after it had ‘lain quiet’ for nearly thirty years. But then her burial raises another question: why did Abdülmecid bury his infant daughter here, when the large and splendid tomb he had commissioned for his father had just opened? Did he not wish to take up space inside that new tomb for a baby, even though she was his firstborn? Did it seem more efficient to use the small space still available here at the Hamidiye Tomb – enough space for two infants, but not an adult? Was he conforming to the Ottoman royal practice of parcelling out, as it were, deceased members of the Imperial Family among the various royal tombs across the city? Did interring his baby here simply seem appropriate, given the large number of royal infants already buried here? Perhaps all these reasons factored in. He never did bury any of his children in the Mahmud II Tomb.

The only detail (and it is a small one) left to note about this baby’s cenotaph is one that will probably only interest language fans. The word kıldı, ‘made’, appears twice in the verse on the pall and is spelled in two different ways: kıldı قیلدی and kldı قلدی. The latter version appears in the chronogram, where it had to be spelled this way in order to make the chronogram add up correctly. Both variants were permissible in Ottoman.

 

The Smallpox Scourge

Smallpox proved itself a nasty disease. Extremely contagious through breathed air, the variola virus inflicted the misery of intense headache, severe back pain, fever, painful sores and blisters, and nausea, accompa- nied by the tell-tale red rash spreading across the body. It was the pustules that gave the disease its Turkish name (presumably from the Chinese use of the same name), çiçek hastalığı, ‘flower disease’. Even if its victim recovered, smallpox could leave disfiguring scars.

 

Figure 3.10 Floral motifs adorning Mevhibe’s pall. AZ.

 

With its forest of small cenotaphs, this mausoleum is poignant testi- mony to the grief wrought by smallpox. We have seen the emotional toll the disease took, in the notes Abdülhamid penned to the Grand Vizier during his children’s illnesses. To these we can add the additional alms and acts of charity that he ordered during their illnesses, seeking divine intervention to end the scourge decimating his family. In particular, during the smallpox epidemic that claimed the lives of five of his children in autumn 1785, Abdülhamid paid the debts of selected persons in debtors’ prisons and ordered the release of other prisoners whose crimes had been minor. As the epidemic continued unabated, he extended an amnesty to certain persons who had received prison sentences, including prisoners condemned to exile or to man the oars of galleys.142 Perhaps he regarded his efforts to have succeeded to a degree, when some of his children who fell ill in that epidemic recovered.

The sad truth is that these children died as the end of the smallpox scourge lay just over the horizon. The practice of variolation to combat this disease had been known in Ottoman lands since the 1600s, but it was the English physician Edward Jenner’s publication, in 1801, of his small- pox vaccination research that began to turn the tide against this calamity.

In the Ottoman Empire as elsewhere, turning the tide involved fighting the usual battles against fear and ignorance. In the words of the British Embassy chaplain during the reign of Mahmud II:

The Turks were decidedly hostile to vaccination, on the principle that it was impious to take any precaution against whatever disorder it pleased Allah to send, and among the number of Greeks I never could persuade a Turk to submit his child to the operation. But in April, 1825, Abdul Hamed, the eldest son of the Sultan, died of the small-pox. The Janissaries had an intention to depose his father and set him on the throne at a competent age, and when their object was disappointed by his premature death, they spread a report that he was poisoned by his own father to anticipate their intentions. The anxious parent, however, immediately sent for a Frank [European] physician and had the remainder of his children vaccinated by him, and so by his example introduced it among the people.143

 

The deaths of his own siblings and children from smallpox, along with his own interests in adopting scientific advances in the Ottoman state, surely inspired Mahmud II to play a central role in overcoming this disease through vaccination. This role he furthered most fundamentally when he founded the Imperial School of Medicine in 1827, two years after the death of his son Abdülhamid. The school turned its attention increasingly to smallpox, leading Mahmud’s son and successor Sultan Abdülmecid to decree in 1840 that the government would offer free vac- cination throughout the empire, supported by the Şeyhülislâm’s ruling in 1845 that Islam endorsed the practice of vaccination. Thereafter, the School of Medicine and the central government cooperated to overcome fear and resistance, lack of personnel trained in administering the vaccine, and logistical obstacles, each of these challenges large enough to ensure that periodic smallpox outbreaks recurred into the early twentieth century. But the tide had been turned, beginning with Mahmud II.144

The presence here of the twelve small cenotaphs of Abdülhamid’s young children is a mournful sight indeed. It can also be seen as testament to a father’s affection for these infants and youngsters, and compassion for their grieving mothers. He did not need to build this tomb to bury these children; he could have parcelled them out among existing royal tombs around town, as other sultans had done and as his son and grandson would do for their own deceased children. But something impelled him to bury his young sons and daughters here, in the building where he too would lie one day, and around which his consorts and ikbals, at least some of them, including perhaps mothers of these children, would lie one day (as events

transpired, none of his concubines died during his reign after the building of this tomb, and only Mutebere, mother of his son Süleyman, would be buried here). Gauging the emotions of historical figures is risky business, but to hazard an informed suggestion in Abdülhamid’s case, the impetus seems to have been his capacity for love, the love of an ageing man whose mother had died when he was seven and his father when he was nine, who had passed his adult life in enforced solitude, until at age forty-eight he became free to found a family circle of his own. To interpret the presence of the Hamidiye tomb’s poignant forest of small cenotaphs in this way fits with Abdülhamid’s reputation, reflected in Ottoman chronicles and archi- val records, as a compassionate man devoted to his sons and daughters. It also allows us to find a kind of silver lining to soften, if only somewhat, the sad image here of so much childhood death.

Lest later generations assume that earlier generations, in the face of pervasive infant mortality, grew indifferent to heartbreak, let us consider the following verse by Princess Âdile. The nineteenth-century poetess of the House of Osman, Abdülhamid I’s granddaughter and niece to the infants buried here, was writing of her brother’s family, but the sentiment surely applied to her grandfather’s family as well:

 

Amongst the pure lineage of Sultan Abdülmecid God made him father to five esteemed princesses, Fatma and Refia, Münire and Naile,

And Behice, each a stealer of hearts.

In the flower garden of the world they bloomed, roses, But in the autumn of death they turned to dust, effaced.

With the scent of milk yet on their mouths, like suckling lambs, The shadow of fate wrenched them from their mothers’ embrace.

My intent is to remember their souls with a Fatiha;

Âdile, may gentle forbearance be the worthy lot of those left behind.145

 

Notes

1.    Akgündüz n.d., 34.

2.    Akgündüz n.d., 40.

3.    Şen 2017, 50.

4.    Şen 2017, 49; Alderson 1956, 96 n. 2.

5.    Peirce 1993, 30–42.

6.    Findley 2019, 283.

7.    Princess Ayşe, daughter of Abdülhamid II, claimed in her memoirs that her father married her mother, and that her grandfather Sultan Abdülmecid married at least one concubine. Brookes 2008, 132, 146.

8.    Peirce 1993, 42–4.

9.    Akgündüz n.d., 36; Findley 2019, 287; Uluçay 2001, 32.

10.    Findley 2019, 286.

11.    Akgündüz n.d., 37.

12.    Walsh 1838, 239.

13.    Sürûrî 1839, 3.

14.    The London Gazette, 22 March 1774, p. 1

15.    The London Gazette, 24 August 1782, p. 1; Rüstem 2019, 232–3.

16.    The Edinburgh Magazine, April 1794, 274.

17.    Sarıcaoğlu 2001, 22.

18.    Alderson 1956, 121.

19.    Sarıcaoğlu 2001, 22; Alderson 1956, 121.

20.    Sakaoğlu 1993, 35.

21.    Sakaoğlu 2008, 353–4.

22.    Sarıcaoğlu 2001, 34.

23.    Sarıcaoğlu 2001, 37 n. 193.

24.    Karateke 2007, 177–8.

25.    Esad 1899, 112ff.

26.    Yazar 2014, 111, 112.

27.    BOA C..SM.. 167 8396, dated H-29-07-1203; Sarıcaoğlu, 2001, 37 n. 194.

28.    For example, in the list of Ottoman monarchs on page 27 of the almanac of 1287/1870, see https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=mdp.3901505115534 2&view=1up&seq=33.

29.    Morning Herald (London, England), 16 December 1786, 2.

30.    Public Advertiser (London, England), 24 October 1788.

31.    The London Gazette, 19 May 1789, 387.

32.    Northampton Mercury, 23 May 1789, 2.

33.    The Annual Register, or a View of the History, Politics, and Literature, for the Year 1807 (London, 1809), 920.

34.    ‘Plunderings by the Way’, The Corsair 1:35 (August 31, 1839), 395.

35.    Hereford Journal (England), 27 May 1789, 1.

36.    Crane 1999, 484.

37.    Sürûrî 1839, 13.

38.    Sarıcaoğlu 2001, 20.

39.    Cevdet 1270–1301, 1:134.

40.    Ayvansarâyî 1985, 85.

41.    Cevdet 1270–1301, 1:276.

42.    St. James’s Chronicle (London, England), 7 April 1781.

43.    http://www.ottomaninscriptions.com/verse.aspx?ref=list&bid=431&hid=

431 (accessed 29 March 2019).

44.    Cevdet 1270–1301, 1:187.

45.    Ayvansarâyî 1985, 326, 329.

46.    BOA C..SM.. 14 704, dated H-10-03-1196.

47.    BOA C..SM.. 148 7443, dated H-25-05-1196.

48.    Cevdet 1270–1301, 2:168.

49.    Sarıcaoğlu 2001, 22 n. 108.

50.    The London Gazette, 28 February 1786, 90.

51.    BOA HAT 1451 31, dated H-25-11-1197.

52.    Cevdet 1270–1301, 2:63; Yakıt 1992, 81.

53.    Ayvansarâyî 1985, 329.

54.    Sarıcaoğlu 2001, 17.

55.    Akgündüz n.d., 36.

56.    Refik 1988, 4:1.

57.    Yakıt 1992, 83.

58.    Cevdet 1270–1301, 3:416; Uluçay 2001, 69, gives 7 Safer 1201.

59.    Cevdet 1270–1301, 4:217; Sarıcaoğlu 2001, 18.

60.    Christine Isom-Verhaaren (2006), ‘Royal French Women in the Ottoman Sultans’ Harem’, Journal of World History 17:2 (June), 159–6.

61.    Comtesse de La Ferté-Meun (1821), Lettres sur le Bosphore, Paris, 329–30.

62.    BOA TS.MA.d 104, dated H-29-09-98 (although the date 1198–9 appears on the document folder itself).

63.    BOA TS.MA.e 453 1, dated H-29-12-1202, 38.

64.    BOA AE.SABH.I.. 17, 1530, dated H-10-7-1203.

65.    Or 27 or 29 Rebiülahir; Sarıcaoğlu 2001, 17 n. 40.

66.    BOA C..SM.. 63 3188, dated H-5-7-1200.

67.    BOA TS.MA.e 453 1, dated H-29-12-1202, 43.

68.    Cevdet 1270–1301, 4:217.

69.    Esad 1979, 115.

70.    Sarıcaoğlu 2001, 297; reading gayri Müslim as in error for Müslim.

71.    Sarıcaoğlu 2001, 23 n. 112.

72.    Cevdet 1270–1301, 2:271.

73.    BOA TS.MA.d 109, dated H-4-2-1195, 38.

74.    BOA TS.MA.e 917 76, dated H-19-10-1195 (document itself dated L. 1195), 9.

75.    BOA C..SM.. 75 3768, dated H-21-10-1195.

76.    Cevdet 1270–1301, 1:305; Sarıcaoğlu 2001, 17, gives 2 Şevval 1196 as her date of death.

77.    D. G. Sutherland (1790), A Tour up the Straits, from Gibraltar to Constantinople, London, 358.

78.    Brookes and Ziyrek 2016, 87–8.

79.    Sarıcaoğlu 2001, 17–18.

80.    BOA EV.HMH.d 8909, dated H-6-9-1244.

81.    Ayvansarâyî 1985, 86.

82.    St. James’s Chronicle (London, England), 18 January 1779.

83.    BOA TS.MA.e 898 4, dated H-29-12-1197; BOA TS.MA.d 2428, dated H-29-12-1197; BOA C..SM.. 121 657, dated H-29-12-1197.

84.    Cevdet 1270–1301, 2:277.

85.    BOA C..SM.. 125 6298, dated H-29-02-1200; document itself dated 9 S.

1200 (12 December 1785).

86.    BOA D..BŞM.d . . . 4993, dated H-29-12-1200, 3; document itself dated 29 Ca. 1198 (20 April 1784).

87.    Cevdet 1270–1301, 1:250.

88.    Ayvansarâyî 1985, 327.

89.    Sarıcaoğlu 2001, 22 n. 108.

90.    As repeated in, for example, (1809), The Annual Register, or a View of the History, Politics, and Literature, for the Year 1807, London, 190.

91.    Yakıt 1992, 334.

92.    The Times (London), 13 July 1807, 2.

93.    Câbî 2003, 304, and Baysun 1960, 710–13.

94.    Cevdet 1270–1301, 9:49.

95.    Crane 1999, 484.

96.    J. C. Hobhouse (1817), A Journey through Albania, and Other Provinces of Turkey in Europe and Asia, to Constantinople, Philadelphia, 406.

97.    Isambert 1873, 553.

98.    Ayvansarâyî 1985, 88.

99.    Sürûrî 1839, 7.

100.    Cevdet 1270–1301, 1:276.

101.    BOA TS.MA.d 7147, dated H-27-11-1195.

102.    BOA TS.MA.e 287 2, dated H-1-11-1195, and TS.MA.d 2427, undated but

must be 1195.

103.    BOA TS.MA.d 109, dated H-4-2-1195, 17.

104.    Cevdet 1270–1301, 1:292.

105.    Sürûrî 1839, 7.

106.    Sürûrî 1839, 6.

107.    Cevdet 1270–1301, 1:263.

108.    BOA TS.MA.d 2425, dated H-29-12-1194.

109.    Câbî 2003, 186.

110.    Uluçay 1992, 119.

111.    Câbî 2003, 438.

112.    Câbî 2003, 545.

113.    Eldem 2005, 136.

114.    Câbî 2003, 815.

115.    Cevdet 1270–1301, 9:293.

116.    Yakıt 1992, 82.

117.    Şanizade 1867, 2:138–9.

118.    Câbî 2003, 863.

119.    Câbî 2003, 868.

120.    Yakıt 1992, 82.

121.    Şanizade 1867, 2:105; reading lûle-yi tûb as lûle-yi top.

122.    Cevdet 1270–1301, 10:94.

123.    https://islamansiklopedisi.org.tr/sahilsaray (accessed 4 September 2021).

124.    Câbî 2003, 852.

125.    Câbî 2003, 809.

126.    Şanizade 1867, 2:138–9.

127.    Hızır İlyas 1859, 11.

128.    Derman 2014, 363.

129.    Uluçay 1992, 147 n. 3.

130.    BOA TS.MA.e 537 6, dated H-22-05-1268.

131.    http://pierre-marteau.com/wiki/index.php?title=Prices_and_Wages_in_

the_Ottoman_Empire%2C_1469–1914 (accessed 27 December 2021). Hereafter we will refer frequently to this source for comparison of money values. The figures quoted represent the real daily wages of a skilled con- struction worker in Istanbul (‘obtained by deflating the nominal daily wage series by the consumer price index for the city of Istanbul’) multiplied by 365 to produce a figure earned in one year if he had worked every single day. The figures vary considerably from decade to decade due to inflation.

132.    BOA TS.MA.e 854 81, dated H-12-11-1287.

133.    Uzunçarşılı 1963, 262.

134.    BOA TS.MA.d 426 5, dated H-16-05-1272.

135.    BOA MB.İ 14 26, dated H-13-05-1272.

136.    Findley 2019, 288.

137.    Derman 2014, 356–7.

138.    BOA HAT 1633 – 15, 9, dated H-23-12-1256.

139.    BOA TS.MA.d 5442, dated H-29-12-1256. Also quoted in Uluçay 1992, 151 n. 2.

140.    BOA TS.MA.d 5442, dated H-29-12-1256. Uluçay 1992, 151 n. 2, quotes a document in the Topkapı archives that also lists 1256 as her year of death.

141.    For another example, see the pall of Prince Yusuf İzzeddin (d. 1916) in the Mahmud II Tomb, in Brookes and Ziyrek 2016.

142.    Sarıcaoğlu 2001, 23–4.

143.    Walsh 1838, 301–2.

144.    Emine Ö. Evered and Kyle T. Evered (2020), ‘Mandating Immunity in the Ottoman Empire: A History of Public Health Education and Compulsory Vaccination’, Heliyon 6:11 (November), https://www.sciencedirect.com/ science/ article/pii/S2405844020323318 (accessed 31 January 2021).

145.    Kolçak 2005, 130–1.

Chapter 4

The Men and Boys in the Garden:

Courtiers, Eunuchs, and the Palace Milieu

 

 

 

The small grounds around the Hamidiye Tomb, within the stone-and- grillwork walls that define their perimeter, were intended from the begin- ning to become a graveyard too. Such was Ottoman custom, to inter elite figures of state, or high-ranking members of the palace and the Imperial Harem, or their close relatives, in the gardens surrounding imperial tombs and mosques. Providing a burial ground for the men and women in their service constituted an act of benevolence on the part of Ottoman mon- archs, and symbolised the care exhibited by the reigning House for its subjects. This aspect of Ottoman court culture contrasts starkly with court practice among European dynasties, which never buried palace staff in the grounds around royal tombs or crypts.

But if burying courtiers in the garden around one’s tomb constituted an expected act of royal benevolence, Abdülhamid failed to measure up to it. During his reign only one person was buried in the garden around his tomb: his Grand Vizier, Silâhdar Mehmed Pasha, leaving us to conclude that Abdülhamid did not consider anyone else to warrant burial around his tomb, certainly none of his palace and harem staff. Those burials began only after his death, as his successor, Selim III, began to authorise burials here of high-ranking men and women from Abdülhamid’s court. Following Selim on the throne, Mustafa IV, certainly Mahmud II, and Abdülmecid, used the Hamidiye grounds to bury men and women of high rank at their own courts.

All of the ladies and gentlemen buried here had occupied senior posi- tions at Topkapı Palace, with the exception of the six males and three females buried here because they were close relatives of senior officials whom the palace wished to honour. Per Islamic custom, the graves (and the tombs inside the mausoleum) are aligned perpendicular to the qibla axis, so that the deceased, laid on his or her right side, faces toward Mecca.

Here is the Muslim principle of egalitarianism in death, as all graves in a Muslim cemetery line up with one another at least in orientation, if not in neat rows.1

Several of the men interred here, and one of the women (Şerife Ayşe Hanım), claimed descent from the Prophet Muhammad. We know this because their honorary title seyyid (es-seyyid, in its Arabic version), or şerife for Ayşe Hanım, indicates this status. Descendants of the Prophet occupied an honoured position in all Islamic societies: they were exempt from certain taxes, wore the colour green as a mark of their somewhat ele- vated status, and might be asked to impart their blessing. Better-educated or better-placed seyyids often found employment in the state bureaucracy and at the palace, as we see here.

The Ottoman state appointed a leader to head this distinguished group, the Nakibüleşraf or ‘Marshal of the Prophet’s Descendants’. This gen- tleman played a high role in state ceremonies, taking part in imperial investitures and processions, and he could resolve legal disputes involving seyyids without going to court. His duties included determining whose family trees allowed them to claim status as a descendant of the Prophet, in order to thwart false claimants from promoting themselves as members of this special group.

Sixty-six persons lie in the grounds of the tomb. We have seen that the first garden burial – of Abdülhamid’s Grand Vizier – took place in 1781, the year after the tomb opened, and on almost certainly the same day that the sultan’s young son Mehmed was interred inside the mausoleum. The last garden burial occurred in 1863, that of Fikrî Visal Kalfa, a female manager in the Imperial Harem. With her burial the garden was full.

We see a nearly even split along gender lines in the garden burials: thirty-four men and thirty-two women. This balance allows us to consider the garden burials separately by gender. There is no particular pattern of grave locations in the garden leading us to do so (men and women are quite intermixed here); it is simply that dividing the burials into two chapters in this way will, one hopes, help the reader visualise the various roles at court more easily.

We will begin with the men. Of them, eleven were eunuchs in palace service, with the first eunuch buried here in 1217/1803 and the last in 1242/1826–7. All the other men were officials at the palace, through to the burial of the Treasury official Kıbrısî Mehmed Emin Efendi in 1830. A shift then occurred: while interments of high-ranking women continued, the five males buried here after 1830 were not palace officials but young boys, to judge from the size of the graves. Given the present state of our knowledge, we can but speculate as to why the Hamidiye Tomb lost its

role as burial ground for men of the palace, but not for women, after Mahmud II launched his intensive reordering of the state. If the sultan’s reasons tied into the fact that he had buried no more of his children here after 1812, it is hard to understand how. Had the palace ladies pressed him to retain the space for their own burials? It does not seem likely. Was there no particular reason? Possibly.

In any event, over the ensuing decade, 1830 to 1840, top-ranking staff of the palace (and some harem managers too) were buried in graveyards around town. Completion of the Mahmud II Tomb in 1840 brought a grander and more visible site onto the stage as a place for elite burial of palace males, as we will explore in the section below contrasting the Hamidiye Tomb to that of Mahmud.

 

Working at Topkapı

From the palace’s beginnings in the fifteenth century up until 1830, male staff in service at Topkapı worked in one of three divisions: the Harem; the Birun or Outer Service; and the Enderun or Inner Service. All three divisions are represented in this graveyard.

The Harem Division oversaw management and daily operation of, as one might guess, the Imperial Harem. One helpful way to understand the harem is as the Royal Household, the quarters of the palace where the reigning sultan’s concubines, sons, and daughters (until they married) lived. This division included the powerful female supervisors of the harem, and the large number of lower-ranking female servants who lived and worked in the harem but were not concubines. The only male staff in the Harem Division were the black eunuchs, who guarded the harem and assisted in its daily operations. All black eunuchs at the Ottoman court worked only in the harem and never in the other two divisions.

The Outer Service comprised gentlemen who rendered professional services to the palace, including, among many others, the sultan’s imams, the Chief Physician, Court Astrologer, Court Taster, teachers, and secre- taries. Unlike occupants of the other two divisions, gentlemen of the Outer Service lived in their own homes in the city, coming to the palace just as work demanded. Symbolising their distinction, in contrast to other courti- ers these men were allowed to grow a beard.2

The Inner Service managed and staffed the Privy Household – the apartments of the palace where the sultan lived and worked. Their work focused inwardly, on daily operation of the palace, unlike the Outer Service, whose members interacted routinely with government officials and military officers. The Inner Service waited upon the sultan in both his

private and his official life, in the process functioning as a kind of training ground for future men of state. White eunuchs also saw service here.

 

Men of State, Court Officials, Military Officers

Most of the gentlemen buried here came up through the Inner Service. Eventually they received appointment to what figured as the Service’s two seniormost posts, despite the plebeian sound of their ancient titles: Silâhdar or ‘Sword-bearer’, and Çokadar (or Çuhadar), ‘Cloth-bearer’, the latter title perhaps translating more felicitously as ‘Keeper of the Robes’. The titles derived from the bailiwicks over which the gentlemen in these posts in olden days had held sway before wider tasks had been added to their purview, reflecting the typical pattern of patrimonial states of pre-modern days.3 By the era of the Hamidiye Tomb, typically incumbents remained in these high posts for two or three years only.

Holders of these top posts had probably passed through the third- ranked position, Rikâbdar or ‘Stirrup-holder’, who in olden days oversaw the monarch’s footwear but by the eighteenth century figured rather as an equerry at court. Reflecting the prestige of this graveyard in its early years, among the gentlemen of the Inner Service only holders of the top two titles, Silâhdar and Çokadar, are buried here.

The title of Silâhdar Ağası or Senior Sword-bearer derived from the incumbent’s original duties of maintaining the sultan’s weaponry and over- seeing palace security. Since the early eighteenth century, this gentleman figured as chief of all personnel in service in the Third Court at Topkapı Palace – the location of the sovereign’s Privy Household, although the monarch lived in the harem.4 In processions the Senior Sword-bearer rode on horseback to the sultan’s right or just behind him, carrying, over his right shoulder, the monarch’s sword, two symbolic reflections of his immense authority at court as right-hand man to the sultan in addition to rendering personal service upon him.

Ranking just below the Sword-bearer, the Çokadar Ağası or Senior Keeper of the Robes oversaw the monarch’s clothing originally, but his duties expanded to include organising ceremonies, and occasionally the Çokadar could serve as chief of the Privy Household.

Typical of royal courts in the pre-modern era, the duties of palace offi- cials depended a great deal on incumbents’ personal relationships with the monarch or the member of the dynasty in whose household they served. Roles were hardly clearly delineated and could expand or contract depend- ing on the nature of that personal relationship.5 Mahmud II’s reorganisa- tion of the Ottoman government and palace aimed to ‘modernise’ the

court by introducing clearly delimited tasks expected of an office holder, in order to regularise duties and render them less informally structured. As the new system seemed to call for new titles to symbolise the change, in 1831 Mahmud swept away these ancient titles and duties at the palace. This means that the gentlemen buried in the Hamidiye graveyard number among the last to have borne them.

From the tombstones we see that some courtiers were buried here even many years after the death of the monarch they had served. In other words, a high-ranking courtier did not have to die during the reign of his monarch in order to gain admittance here. As one example, the tombstone of Abdullah Ağa (#59) describes him as Silâhdar-ı Hazret-i Şehriyarî-yi esbak, ‘Sword- bearer to the former sovereign’; since he died in 1805, during the reign of Selim III, this would pinpoint him as the Abdullah Ağa who had served as Silâhdar over thirty years earlier, around 1772–4, at the end of the reign of Mustafa III and perhaps into the beginning of Abdülhamid I’s era.

 

National Pantheon?

We have seen that after the single burial of empire-wide prominence in the Hamidiye garden graveyard, that of Abdülhamid’s Grand Vizier, all other burials in the garden consisted entirely of palace staff or their relatives, and harem staff. To be sure, these were persons of importance at court (or their relatives), and whom the palace wished to honour in death, but not illustrious men in high posts of the state and military whose names might be known in governing circles across the empire. Throughout its exist- ence, the out-of-the-way Hamidiye royal tomb ranked out of the running when it came to the latter sorts of prestigious interments. As they had for centuries, burials of top-ranking dignitaries took place around the capital in the enclosed graveyards surrounding mosques, in private mausolea, or in the sprawling cemeteries outside the city walls.

The Hamidiye’s lack of grand prestige came into sharper focus after the construction of the Mahmud II Mausoleum in 1840. Starting as, tra- ditionally enough, burial site for high-ranking men and women of the palace, the garden around the Mahmudiye Tomb rather soon evolved into the paramount burial site for men of importance to the empire as a whole, remaining so until the end of the monarchy. Here at last was a royal graveyard – not the garden around an imperial mosque – given over to leading lights of not just the palace but, in far greater numbers, of the government, the military, and society. Given the gender divide of the era, this new role meant that only men were buried here, after the three harem superintendents interred at the Mahmudiye graveyard in its early years.

 

Figure 4.1 Behind Abdülhamid in procession, c. 1780s: (right to left) the Senior Sword-bearer with sword over his shoulder; the Senior Keeper of the Robes (both gentlemen sporting the woollen braids of their high rank); the Chief Harem Eunuch. Painting A Sultan and His Entourage, French School, Eighteenth Century. © 2020 Christie’s Images Limited.

Especially in the reign of Abdülhamid II, 1876–1909, long after the Hamidiye graveyard had filled, the court fully embraced interment of illustrious men at the Mahmudiye graveyard, ensuring that newspapers of the day (a publicity medium not available for almost all of the Hamidiye graveyard’s existence) ran stories on the funeral and recorded that the monarch had paid the deceased honouree’s funeral expenses. This newer graveyard served that monarch as part of his programme to encourage an empire-wide consciousness that glorified the Ottoman state, with the expected dividend of nurturing allegiance to the dynasty.

With this evolution, the Mahmudiye Tomb garden became a sort of national pantheon in service to the emerging Ottoman nationalism of the later nineteenth and early twentieth centuries: ‘the Ottoman Westminster Abbey’, as one English newspaper described it in 1883.6 This the Hamidiye graveyard could never have been, as it predated the idea of an Ottoman national pantheon altogether, not to mention predating the concept of nationalism in the Ottoman context. The complete lack of national symbols at the Hamidiye, with the exception of one star-and-crescent motif on one tombstone fez, reflects this.

Instead, the Hamidiye graveyard’s symbolism retained its traditional role as the physical expression of the benevolence of the Imperial House, which honoured its top-ranking loyal officials at the palace, male and female, by providing them burial here. In this way the graveyard contributed its share, along with the other wings of Abdülhamid’s bequest here (the soup kitchen, water kiosk, primary school and college, small mosque, and library), to expressing, through these good works of piety and benevolence, the concern of the Imperial House for the well-being of the populace. The dynasty has turned a gently smiling, caring, compassionate face to its people.

We shall not consider in detail all the men buried in the garden, but rather the ones who pique interest because an intriguing verse graces their tombstone, or whose job helps us understand life at the Ottoman court in this era. Following the deceased’s name and profession or calling is the number of the plot on the maps.

 

ahmed bey, torun. Sİlâhdar; previouSly rİkâbdar. plot 19

Turban: Kâtibî

Silâhdar Torun Ahmed Bey served, at one point in his palace career, as lâla or child’s governor, in the sense of the male equivalent of a govern- ess, the person charged with overseeing the education and upbringing of a youngster. His charge was Abdülhamid’s eldest son Mustafa, the future

Mustafa IV of unhappy memory. A second governor of Prince Mustafa’s is buried in this graveyard, Yunus Ağa, whom we will meet in the section discussing eunuchs, but there was quite a difference between the two: palace courtier Ahmed was temporarily assigned as governor to further Mustafa’s education, while the black eunuch Yunus, insofar as we can determine, spent most of his career as Mustafa’s governor. Whereas one of these gentlemen (Yunus) died before his former charge came to the throne, the other (Ahmed) weathered Mustafa’s turbulent reign from start to finish, and well into its aftermath.

We know a fair sight more about Ahmed (who is known also as Torun Ahmed Reşid Bey) than Yunus because he went on to high rank at the palace during Mustafa’s reign. Ahmed had seen training in the Inner Service at Topkapı Palace during the reign of Abdülhamid, earning the latter’s confidence enough to win appointment as governor to his son Mustafa. This may have occurred after Yunus Bey had left the post (given that Yunus died sixteen years before Ahmed). Or, possibly the two men served simultaneously as Mustafa’s governors before Ahmed received promotion to other palace posts of responsibility. In any event, while Yunus passed away without obtaining, if we may judge by his tombstone, any other post than governor, Ahmed progressed to new heights in court circles.

Ahmed fully experienced Mustafa’s ill-starred reign, receiving appoint- ment, when Mustafa came to the throne in May 1807, as the new sultan’s rikâbdar, ‘stirrup-holder’, the senior equerry who was also in charge of the monarch’s footwear.

The next month, Mustafa promoted him to the highest position in the Inner Service at the palace, Sword-bearer, in which post he remained through Mustafa’s deposition in July 1808. As such Ahmed witnessed all the tumultuous events of his patron’s era, and was only dismissed from his post shortly after Mahmud II took the throne.7 As Mustafa IV’s governor while a child, then as seniormost courtier during his reign, it is hard to imagine anyone apart from Mustafa’s mother who could have known and understood that controversial figure better than Torun Ahmed Bey. Alas, he never wrote his memories of Mustafa (the same lament can be made of Yunus) or of life in the palace in his day; memoir-writing did not come into vogue until far beyond his era. But then, perhaps his discretion is why he managed to survive so long in the hotbed of palace intrigue.

Ahmed outlived his royal patron by eleven years. The most engaging part of his tombstone is the quixotic verse that opens it:

 

My dwelling place is the mountain peak; no need for the desert.

My wounds all healed; no need for the wound-dresser.

 

Figure 4.2 Silâhdar Ağa, 1780s. D’Ohsson, Tableau général de l’empire othoman, Library of Congress.

 

I sipped the drink of the appointed hour of death; no need for Lokman.

The Fatiha for the soul of the late

And divinely pardoned commander, Torun Ahmed Bey Efendi, Silâhdar to His Majesty.

5 Z.a. 1234 [26 August 1819]

 

The legendary sage Lokman was considered the father of medicine.

The opening three lines number among the standard verses favoured for graveyard poetry. It appears in wildly differing versions, with the version on Ahmed’s stone displaying its own anomalies. Among them, one expects four lines to form a complete verse, but here we have three – a not uncommon recourse for a mason who had to constrict things to fit onto the stone, or if whoever commissioned the stone did not want to pay quite so much; thus on gravestones we see this verse in variants of two, three, or four lines. The fourth line – the one missing here – could vary from stone to stone as much as the other lines could; perhaps the most felicitous

version is Yapıldı cennet sarayım mimara gerek kalmadı, ‘My heavenly palace has been built; no need for an architect’.

The second anomaly on Ahmed’s stone is that the word onuldu, ‘healed’, in the second line has been misspelled, technically speaking, as اونلدی rather than اوکلدی. With this we skirt uncomfortably close to pedantry, so we shall let this slide as an acceptable orthography, if not a standard one. The truth is that the way it is spelled on the stone is closer to the way the word is pronounced than is the standard spelling.

May we posit that Ahmed’s tombstone does not mention his problem- atic patron, Mustafa IV, by name because of the troubles that sultan caused his successor, Mahmud II, the monarch on the throne at Ahmed’s death? Especially when we note that the stone of Yunus Ağa, who died before the troubles that Mustafa’s assumption of power unleashed, does mention Mustafa by name? This may be, but perhaps not, because Ottoman culture of this era, given as it was to discretion, frequently omitted mentioning the monarch’s name on tombstones, opting instead for his title only. Or perhaps it was a matter of limited space on the stone.

 

alİ bey, karakulakzade. chamberlain to Selİm iii or muStaFa iv. plot 27

Turban: Kâtibî

Ali Bey’s tombstone is nearly identical to that of Torun Ahmed Bey, whom we just met, and who died six years after Ali. We may describe it as the typical palace courtier stone: neither the tallest, nor most elegant, nor of the finest marble, somewhat narrow, capped, as one would expect in this era, by the Kâtibî turban, and with a nicely calligraphed epitaph spread over six to nine lines:

The late and divinely pardoned

(And in need of the mercy of his all-forgiving God) Karakulakzade Ali Bey Efendi.

Chamberlain to His Majesty the previous monarch.

A Fatiha, for the sake of God, for his soul.

1228 [4 January–23 December 1813]

At the time that Ali Bey was in palace service, his title of ‘chamberlain’ or mabeynci referred to his work in the mabeyin, the small group of rooms at Topkapı in which the monarch dined. The chamberlain’s duties included personal attendance upon the monarch, dressing him, trimming his beard, serving him coffee. Since his headstone tells us that when he died in 1813 Ali had been in service to ‘the previous monarch’, he served

either Mustafa IV during his short reign or the latter’s predecessor, Selim

III. Whichever sovereign he served, his job duties ensured he would have been intimately familiar with him, but he took with him to the grave his knowledge of the court and its monarch.

Ali Bey died of an unspecified contagious disease (smallpox?) that cut a swath through Topkapı’s Privy Household in 1813. The chronicler İlyas Ağa recorded Ali’s end in his usual florid style of elaborate internal rhyme, smiled upon by devotees of High Ottoman rhetoric. Writing in the 1830s, some twenty years after Ali’s death, İlyas Ağa calls him Ahmed rather than Ali, and errs by dating his death to 1227 instead of 1228, but we shall overlook these lapses since one doubts that there were two gentlemen with the unusual ‘family name’ of Karakulakzade who died in the Topkapı Palace Privy Household in those two years, and no ‘Karakulakzade Ahmed’ has turned up in the historical record. Entitling his account (in Persian, for added rhetorical flourish) ‘Deaths of Some Aghas of the Privy Household within a Period of a Few Days’, İlyas begins by relating the

Figure 4.3 Typical palace courtier gravestone, for Karakulakzade Ali Bey, chamberlain to the sultan. AZ.

illness of one of Ali’s colleagues. Given the bad news, his dubbing the year ‘auspicious’ (sene-yi mübareke) is not irony, only a standard phrase in Ottoman chronicles:

 

In this auspicious year the severity of a difficult and dangerous disease held the inhabitants of Istanbul in terror, but in regard to such things Abdullah Beyefendi, one of the pure-minded aghas of the Privy Household, placed his trust in destiny. On a day in which he stood duty in the Chamber of the Noble Mantle, he was sent to the Privy Household sick ward and in that place of passage he awaited expectantly the grace of Almighty God. Fully ten days he remained among the ill, subjected to the Ah’s and Oh’s of that corner of grief, so that in the end he expressed the meaning in the line, I am ill, O Appointed Hour of Death; wait for me, come this night, take my soul. The liver-burning news that his body of rare essence had set out for the Abode of Permanency filled his companions with the fire of affection. Subsequently the former sherbet-maker Karakulakzade Ahmed Ağa [sic] and Mehmed Ağa, the Georgian, both of them aghas of the Privy Household, found no escape from this cureless illness, as nothing else was proper for men of attention to prevent their abandoning the inconstant life of turmoil other than supplication and humbling oneself to the world of destitution and refutation. As for the Privy Household posts that they left vacant, the Privy Household assistants Kâni Bey, the chief turban-maker, and Head Guard Giridli [‘the Cretan’] İbrahim Ağa obtained the honour of these positions.8

 

 

mehmed ağa. Janissary Commander. Plot 8

Turban: Kâtibî

Mehmed Ağa’s title, Serbostaniyan – ‘Chief of the Gardeners’ – is decep- tive, for it conceals the fact that he was a soldier. The Gardeners consti- tuted one of the elite Janissary Corps (their humble name deriving from their work, in eras past, in the palace gardens), charged with guarding the palace and the sultan himself. As their commander, Mehmed Ağa figured among the most important personnel in service at Topkapı Palace, not only because the corps of guards and watchmen under his command was vast, but because he oversaw the questioning of officials accused of infractions, and oversaw executions. When the monarch sailed Istanbul’s waters by state barge, this commander of the Imperial Guard sat at the stern, control- ling the rudder, since a division of his guards formed the corps of royal oarsmen.

The two rhyming couplets that open Mehmed Ağa’s epitaph consti- tuted a ‘popular’ verse for Ottoman funerary monuments, appearing on six tombstones in this garden alone (including on the stones of Yahya

Efendi and İbrahim Ağa, below). Meanwhile, the horticultural references in the lower portion of Mehmed Ağa’s epitaph happily play on his job title, Chief of the Gardeners. His two honorific titles es-seyyid and el-hâc indicate that Mehmed Ağa claimed descent from the Prophet and had performed the pilgrimage to Mecca.

Grant me forgiveness, O Lord God

For the sake of the Most Exalted Throne, the Light of the Quran May friends who come to visit my grave

Offer a Fatiha for my soul.

Truly, while Chief of the Imperial Gardeners, The late seyyid and hajji Mehmed Ağa

Set out for the Garden of Paradise And attained the Grove of Mercy.

A Fatiha for his soul.

3 C. 1239 [4 February 1824]

 

The Most Exalted Throne, Arş-ı Âzam, is that of God, in the Ninth Heaven, the highest level of Paradise.

At Mehmed Ağa’s death the venerable post of Chief of the Gardeners had but a short span of time remaining to it, however, as Mahmud II abolished the post only two years later, when he annihilated the Janissary Corps and replaced it with the new army he had founded. One is left to wonder whether Mehmed Ağa, had he lived a bit longer, would have met his death in the bloody slaughter of thousands of Janissary officers carried out at Mahmud’s orders on 15 June 1826. If so, he certainly would not have been buried in these prestigious grounds.

 

mehmed paSha. Sİlâhdar and Grand vizier. plot 66

Turban: Kallâvi

The magnificent stone turban gracing this tombstone attests to the high rank of the gentleman buried beneath it, as only topmost ministers of state wore this grand style of headgear on ceremonial occasions. Square-based, pyramidal in shape, rather resembling a tent, the Kallâvi is distinguished by a low diagonal band of what would have been gold cloth. This is the only Kallâvi in the graveyard, what with Mehmed Pasha being the sole minister of state here.9

His dusky complexion earned Mehmed Pasha the nickname by which he is known in Ottoman history, Karavezir, ‘the Black Vizier’. Born in central Anatolia around 1735 (and years later, once he had made his fortune, endowing his modest hometown with a splendid mosque

 

Figure 4.4 Vase motif on the gravestone of Janissary commander Mehmed Ağa. AZ.

 

complex), as a lad the future statesman began service in Topkapı Palace thanks to an uncle’s connections; both he and two brothers entered service at court. Working his way up the ranks into the Palace Treasury, he came to know Prince Abdülhamid, and when the latter came to the throne in 1774 Mehmed’s star truly rose as he became in rather short order the new monarch’s Sword-bearer and then, in 1779, his Grand Vizier, with the rank of pasha.

To celebrate the Black Vizier’s appointment to the top of the civil hierarchy, the poet Sa’dî managed a clever chronogram, Geçüb sadra silâhdar-ı şeh-i âlem bekâm oldu, ‘When he acceded to the Grand Vizierate, the Sword-bearer of the Shah of the Age attained contentment’, the letters totalling 1,193, the Hijri year of the event.10 Meanwhile, in 1778 his older brother and fellow courtier Mustafa further enhanced the siblings’ eminence at court by marrying into the Imperial Family, his bride being Sultan Abdülhamid’s niece Princess Şah.

Mehmed Pasha’s premature death from tuberculosis eighteen months later cut short his tenure in the highest post of the government. We have seen that by coincidence he died the same day that Abdülhamid’s son Mehmed died, so the two – youngster prince and senior statesman who bore the same name – were buried virtually simultaneously here, the prince within the tomb and the statesman outside it. Writing prob- ably in the 1810s, the chronicler Zaimzade Mehmed Sadık tells us of the bizarre coincidence, which must have been an unsettling blow for Abdülhamid:

 

On the day when, at the foreordained hour of death, he [Mehmed Pasha] departed to the Abode of Permanency and was laid to rest outside the new tomb at Bahçekapısı, given that His Highness Mehmed, the fortunate prince of the sultanate, also set out for the Abode of Permanency on that day, their

burial services were carried out at the same time, which was cause for grief and sorrow for all.11

 

Surely Mehmed Pasha was buried here not simply because of his impor- tant post but because Abdülhamid had known him so long, perhaps twenty years, and liked him. His brother having married into the Imperial Family may have played a role too. One wonders whether Mehmed’s uncanny death at the same time as Abdülhamid’s Mehmed earned him the spot here; might the elder statesman return the honour by accompanying the four-year-old in Paradise?

Mehmed Pasha was the first person interred in this garden, just two months after completion of the Hamidiye Complex. His location in the garden is prestigious: immediately adjacent to the garden wall with its grilled openings, which placed it squarely within the sightlines of the public water kiosk across the road. Pointedly, Ayvansarayî, in his eighteenth- century compendium of Islamic monuments of Istanbul, says as much: ‘He was laid to rest across from the water kiosk outside the aforementioned tomb.’12 The gravestone received two epitaphs, carved in different styles and with slightly different wording, on the front and back sides of the stone. We see the reason for grilled openings in Ottoman graveyard walls at work here, as the epitaph on the front side faces the street, so that passers-by might notice the stone and offer a prayer on the pasha’s behalf; that on the back of the stone does the same for visitors in the cemetery. The location is a double mark of his monarch’s beneficence, in granting his esteemed minister burial not just here, but in clear view of the many passers-by attracted to the monarch’s fountain offering free water, thus increasing the number of prayers potentially offered for his soul. The back epitaph is briefer but does give the exact date of the Black Vizier’s death – 25 S. 1195, ‘a Monday’ (20 February 1781) – and calls him by his honorific title es-seyyid, as he claimed descent from the Prophet Muhammad.

The Ottoman Register of the later nineteenth century describes Mehmed Pasha with brutal frankness as ‘short, quite black, ugly of mien’, but redeems him by adding ‘he was quite pious, intelligent, quick to compre- hend, fond of jokes, knew Nasreddin Hoca anecdotes by heart [a reference to the humorous tales of this gentleman in folk literature], hard-working, influential’.13 His adult daughter Şerife Ayşe was laid to rest near him in this small side graveyard when she died in 1799, the only instance of a father and daughter both interred in this garden.

The pasha’s epitaph (the longer one, on the front side of the stone) opens with reference to his close connection to the monarch. No ‘canned’ poem here; the verse was composed specifically for his gravestone:

 

Figure 4.5 The Kallâvi turban gracing Mehmed Pasha’s tombstone. AZ.

Figure 4.6 A Grand Vizier, with Kallâvi turban, dining with a European minister, 1780s. D’Ohsson, Tableau général de l’empire othoman, Library of Congress.

 

His foot he withdrew from the support of the throne, The minister filled with generosity, Silâhdar Mehmed Pasha.

A faithful servant he was to the lion-like monarch; Mischance, alas, rent asunder the space of his life.

May the All-Compassionate, All-Forgiving One show him mercy and pardon As He settles his soul in the Garden of the Heavens.

See the mark of His truth upon the occasion of his passage: He settled him in the shadow of the Benefactor.

O come, visitor, read his date thus:

‘May Mehmed Pasha make the Garden of Eden his abode’.

1195 [1781]

The anonymous poet has worked into the chronogram in the last line another of the clever twists at which High Ottoman culture delighted. The chronogram totals 1,184, whereas the year of the pasha’s death is 1195; to resolve the discrepancy we must look to the preceding line, which begins Ey gelüb, ‘O come’, or literally ‘Ey comes’. The numerical value of the word Ey (ای) being 11, by having it ‘come into’ the equation we reach the desired sum of 1,195.

In Mehmed Pasha’s tombstone we have an example of the tendency, on stones with epitaphs that included a chronogram, to omit the standard request for the Fatiha prayer on the deceased’s behalf. An epitaph-with- chronogram being highly prized, it was thought right not to detract from it by including the Fatiha reference.14 There is some irony in having placed the pasha’s sepulchre so as to garner more Fatihas on his behalf, but then omitting the request that visitors or observers of the stone say the prayer. Probably the assumption, or the hope, was that those who read the stone would offer the Fatiha without prompting anyway, as would the vast numbers (95 per cent?) of passers-by who could not read the stone at all.

 

mehmed reşİd ağa. agha in the imPerial treasury, Purse-bearer to the Sultan. plot 56

Turban: Zerrin

The Imperial Treasury or Hazine-yi Hümayun at Topkapı, also known as the ‘Inner Treasury’ (Enderun Hazinesi), came under the sultan’s personal purview, as opposed to the ‘Outer Treasury’ (Birun Hazinesi), which oversaw government expenditures.15 It consisted of two parts: a stockpile of silver and gold coins available for palace expenses, for beneficent deeds, and for buildings and structures the monarch commissioned, such as the Hamidiye Charitable Complex; and a storeroom and exhibition chamber of spectacular artefacts acquired through war, gifts, and purchase.

The surprisingly touching verse that opens Reşid Ağa’s tombstone is not what one might expect for an official in the palace treasury; it would have come from the spectrum of standard gravestone epitaphs.

 

Figure 4.7 Medallion of towering apricots on the sepulchre of Grand Vizier Silâhdar Mehmed Pasha. AZ.

 

From this world he departed, the flower blossom of his parents;

A carpet of rosebuds was he, may he become a nightingale of Paradise.

May Almighty God in his mercy gladden his soul;

Longing for him, separation from him, set the heart of the soul aflame.

The Fatiha for the soul of

The late and divinely pardoned Mehmed Reşid Ağa, Agha in the Imperial Treasury.

17 N. 1227 [22 September 1812]

In telling us only that he was an agha in the Imperial Treasury, Reşid Ağa’s epitaph leaves later generations a bit in the dark in understanding what his job was, because at the time of his death in 1812 the title agha could designate anyone from court officials to Janissary commanders, eunuchs, or pages in the monarch’s private household.16 We must look elsewhere for help, namely the top of his gravestone.

There, the magnificent headdress, or turban – if we may call it a turban; it was not made as a turban typically would have been, with cloth wrapped around a core – entirely offsets the stone’s short stature and indifferent calligraphy. What makes this headgear glorious is not so much its shape, a simple cylinder quite easy to overlook from a distance, but rather the breath-taking, carved ‘embroidery’ that enhances it from top to bottom and that, despite the wear of two centuries of weather, becomes visible as one draws near. We can see that the embroidered motifs are – rather predictably in Ottoman art – stylised flowers, allowing us to witness in this headgear the manifestation in stone of two aspects of art at which the Ottomans excelled: depiction of flowers, and embroidery with gold or silver thread.

We have here the only example in this graveyard of the Zerrin cap, the name derived from the Persian word for ‘golden’, as the Zerrin’s embroidery

was of gold thread. It must have looked magnificent in procession on a sunny day. The Zerrin was the turban of staff in the Privy Household (Enderun) at Topkapı Palace, of servants and guards in the Privy Chamber (Has Oda), who waited upon the sultan’s person, and in particular of Halberdiers with Tresses (Zülüflü baltacılar), the guards in this inner sanctum of royal service, which included aghas in the Imperial Treasury.17

The cap of men in service in the Inner Household or Privy Chamber featured two tightly braided tresses, or braids (zülüfler), one on either side of the face, symbolising their special service in the royal apartments. These were not tresses of hair, but wound from wool, and on Reşid Ağa’s tombstone we can see the two thin braids descending from either side of the cap. But the cap on this gravestone bears no resemblance to the stand- ard cap of Halberdiers with Tresses, as depicted in Mouradgea d’Ohsson’s eminently reliable Tableau général de l’empire othoman of the 1780s. We must look farther into this magnificent source, and find it in the likeness of a Tchantadji, in Modern Turkish orthography çantacı, ‘purse-bearer’. Reşid Ağa was not simply one of the 120 rank-and-file guards-with-tresses in this era, he was the gentleman, in the Inner Treasury, whose title came, in Mouradgea d’Ohsson’s words, ‘from the sack, tchanta, of embroidered Moroccan leather, filled with silver and gold coins, which he carries when in procession with the sultan’.18 From this sack slung over his shoulder, Reşid Ağa would have tossed or distributed coins when in procession and, presumably, at other times as well.

If we may deduce from Mouradgea d’Ohsson’s having placed the illustration of the Tchantadji on the same sheet as those of the Silâhdar Ağa and Çokadar Ağa, the two highest positions in palace service, then apparently the purse-bearer ranked high enough to explain Reşid Ağa’s interment here. Otherwise, one bit of sheer speculation would be that Mahmud II knew Reşid Ağa and liked him, so approved his burial in this royal cemetery. He is the only agha-with-braids here.

Frankly, the Zerrin resembles nothing so much as the crown or head- dress of prelates in Eastern Orthodox Christianity. Could the Greek Orthodox religious crown have inspired the entirely secular Zerrin? The sources do not tell us.

 

Ömer ağa. maJor-domo to PrinCess esma. Plot 54

Turban:                              Kâtibî The future palace staff member Ömer Ağa began life in a poor family on the island of Crete, the family’s star beginning to rise when the commander of the Janissary garrison on the island took Ömer’s older brother Yusuf under

 

Figure 4.8 Reşid Ağa’s Zerrin turban, with dangling braids. AZ.

 

his protection. That patron sent Yusuf to Istanbul, where as a Janissary officer Yusuf served in a host of positions at court, most prominently in the high post of major-domo (kethüda) in the households of Imperial Family members, first to Abdülhamid’s daughter Princess Esma and then to Selim III’s mother, the Mother Princess Mihrişah.

Ömer eventually followed Yusuf to Istanbul, where the brothers’ sub- sequent careers reveal the beneficent role that family connections could play in courtiers’ lives. By 1205/1790–1 Ömer had stepped into the posi- tion his brother had relinquished only some five years previously, that of major-domo of Princess Esma’s household.19 Since his tombstone tells us he died in this post in 1808, we see that Ömer retained this position for some seventeen years. Brother Yusuf, on quite the other hand, fell victim to the executioner’s axe during the revolt against Selim III in 1807, dispatched by the rebels as one of Selim’s men; he had, after all, served as major-domo to Selim’s mother for nearly fifteen years – a position of great influence – and had supported Selim’s reform policies.20

Ömer’s tombstone has sustained what looks to be water damage, which has made it illegible in parts, but the story told by the legible portion gives

 

Figure 4.9 A çantacı, ‘purse-bearer’, of the 1780s. D’Ohsson, Tableau général de l’empire othoman, Library of Congress.

 

us insights into the turmoil of the years 1807 and 1808 during the short reign of Mustafa IV.

For the sake of God (may His name be exalted)

A Fatiha for the soul of

Ömer Ağa, whose abode is Heaven, whose residence is Paradise, Chief of Guards at the Imperial Court,

Who, in obedience to the command of the illustrious . . . ‘Return unto thy Lord’

Departed for the . . . eternal lofty station of the realm of honour While serving as Major-domo of august rank to

Her Highness the virtuous Princess Esma, glory upon her.

Zilkade 1222 [January 1808]

In the background of this straightforward tale of court service is Ömer’s high post in the entourage of Princess Esma. This high-spirited lady was full sister to Mustafa IV, and during the latter’s turbulent reign in 1807–8 she and their mother lent firm support to efforts to keep Mustafa on the throne. Inauspiciously for Esma, the efforts included Mustafa’s ordering

the murder of his half-brother Mahmud, as we have seen, although Mahmud managed to escape. As major-domo to the princess, Ömer would have witnessed many of the events of this period first-hand.

When Mahmud took the throne after Mustafa’s overthrow in July 1808, not surprisingly Esma found herself in disgrace. But by dying the preceding January, with Mustafa still the reigning sultan and Esma riding high, Ömer inadvertently secured for himself burial in this royal garden, despite his uneasy situation as major-domo to Mustafa’s sister and yet brother to an executed opponent of Mustafa. One may be fairly certain that had he died after July that year, with his patroness in disfavour, he would not be here today. Unless, that is, he would have survived the frosty interim between Esma and Mahmud, for after a time they reconciled, becoming even quite fond of one another for the remaining thirty years of Mahmud’s life.

In further testimony to Princess Esma’s concern for securing eminent burial places for those of her servants whom she held dear, years after Ömer’s death – and long after she had re-entered the good graces of her brother, Mahmud II – she also arranged for burial here of two female serv- ants, Yarderun Hanım in 1816 and Fatma Hanım in 1834.

 

Figure 4.10 Vase, garlands, and flowers for Major-domo Ömer Ağa. AZ.

Ömer’s wife, young children, executed brother, and numerous cousins are all buried in the family plot in the district of Topkapı, near the city’s western walls.21 In other words, Ömer did not have to be buried here; his family had its own plot elsewhere. In this we see the Hamidiye graveyard carrying out its predominant role as a means for the dynasty to honour its faithful servants in death. That Ömer was not buried beside his wife and children probably did not trouble his heirs and relatives unduly, since his burial here constituted a great mark of distinction and esteem from the reigning House.

Ömer’s distinguished son Tevfik Mehmed Bey embarked upon a law career, thanks to his uncle Yusuf’s connections, over decades finally reaching the topmost juridical position in the empire, Rumeli Kazaskeri (Chief Judge of the Ottoman European provinces) by the time of his death in 1857.22

 

Ömer ağa, seyyİd. senior keePer oF the robes. Plot 49

Turban: Kâtibî

As superintendent of the sultan’s garments, Ömer Ağa would have inter- acted with Mahmud II on a daily basis. His tombstone tells us he served in the position for ten years, having been promoted from the Privy Household at Topkapı to become Senior Keeper of the Robes (Başçokadar) once Mahmud II came to the throne. Consequently, Ömer replaced the dis- graced Abdülfettah Ağa, whose execution Mahmud had ordered for his prominent role in the murder of ex-sultan Selim III just before the coup that brought Mahmud to the throne in 1808.

Ömer’s burial here is evidence of the trust and affection that Mahmud held for him, quite in opposition to the treason, as Mahmud saw it, of Ömer’s predecessor as Senior Keeper of the Robes. The Ottoman Register confirms that, having come up through the Privy Household (so that Mahmud would have known him a very long time), he ‘served for years with His Majesty’s respect and esteem’, adding that ‘he died suddenly’, as we shall see below.23 One suspects that the sultan paid his funeral expenses, including commissioning the poet who penned his venerative epitaph.

Ömer claimed descent from the Prophet Muhammad, as we know from the style seyyid on his gravestone. Another claim to distinction is that Ömer Ağa is the only non-royal male whose wife is buried in this cem- etery too: Ayşe, who was interred near him, in plot 40, when she died four years after her husband.

His epitaph, as befits his high position in personal service to Mahmud II, comes from the pen of the noted poet Enderunî Vâsıf, whose work we

have seen on the pall of Mahmud’s baby Murad and in the chronogram marking the birth of Mahmud’s other son here, Bayezid. As his pen name implies, Enderunî Vâsıf (‘Vâsıf of the Privy Household’) served, over a thirty-year career that ended in 1819, in various capacities at Topkapı Palace in the personal service of Selim III, Mustafa IV, and Mahmud II, during which time his talents as a poet came to the fore, most memorably as a lyricist.24 As fellow servitor in the Privy Household at Topkapı, Vâsıf would have known Ömer well, and his fondness for his late colleague shines through the lengthy epitaph he fashioned for him:

Whilst acquiring enlightenment on his path, the seyyid Ömer Ağa Received God’s most glorious favours.

With his integrity, fidelity, righteousness on this earth,

A parable for the world he was, honourable inhabitant of it.

Comprehending his deep sincerity of heart, the Shah of the World Made him Senior Çokadar and companion at court.

Firm and steadfast in service, with assiduity ten years Ancient runner after ardour he was, at the Royal Stirrup.

Surrendering his soul at the divine command, For Paradise he yearned, dashing to the next world.

Through God’s pure benevolence presented with forgiveness, Through his ardour may the highest Paradise become his dwelling.

Vâsıf, read his date by the dotted letters, and pray, ‘May Seyyid Ömer Ağa make the court of Naim his place’.

The Fatiha for his soul – M. 1233 [11 November–10 December 1817]

 

Heeding Vâsıf’s instruction to count just the dotted letters in the chrono- gram, we indeed arrive at 1,233.

The poet’s use of tarik for ‘path’ in the epitaph’s first line implies that Ömer was a Sufi, as this is the typical word for a dervish ‘path’ in life. Naim is the fourth of the eight levels of Paradise in the Quran, and also means ‘God’s bounty’; both meanings fit here.

Particularly colourful are the poet’s couplets evoking, metaphorically, Ömer Ağa’s running after ardour at the Royal Stirrup, meaning during the sultan’s processions on horseback, and his dashing to the next world. The poet is alluding to the way he died, as recounted by the chronicler İlyas Ağa (himself a çokadar at the palace in Ömer’s day) when recording events in the Privy Household of the Hijri year 1233:

Death of Seyyid Ömer Ağa, Senior Çokadar at Court

Going about with the title of Senior Çokadar in the moonlight-lustrous Imperial Presence since His Majesty’s accession to the throne, the choice and

distinguished confidante at court Seyyid Ömer Ağa quite suddenly passed away, in the royal procession after the nightfall service of worship on the evening of the twenty-third of Safer the Auspicious. His Majesty had just mounted his horse and had proceeded but five or six paces. His death plunged those depend- ent upon him into grief, although to give up his soul in the presence of the Benefactor of the World was an honour to his relatives and posterity. The next day the funeral prayer service was held at Aya Sofya and he was brought to the tomb of His Majesty Sultan Hamid, thus confirming the meaning in:

Everything in the world is illusion or fantasy; Either reflections in the mirror or shadows.25

 

Sirri eFendİ. aCCountant/treasurer. Plot 47

Turban: Kafesî

Sırrı Ömer Efendi, to use his fuller name, rose through the ranks of govern- ment service as an accountant, earning his keep as a tax farmer (collector of revenues in a district, for which in turn he paid the government a fixed sum) before attaining his last post, kisedar, accountant in an important office. His epitaph allows us to conclude that this office was the Imperial Chancery, located at the Grand Vizier’s offices behind the Sublime Porte, just west of Topkapı. As such, Sırrı Efendi is the first and only official of the Imperial Chancery (as opposed to men and women engaged at Topkapı Palace proper) to be buried in this graveyard. In any event, Sırrı Efendi did not last long in his high-placed accountant’s role since he died the year after his appointment.26

The intricate turban atop his stone is the only one of its kind in this graveyard, since this style of turban, Kafesî, ‘latticed’, was worn by kis- edars, and Sırrı is the only kisedar here.27 The name comes from the lattice-like crosshatching clearly visible on the lower half of the turban.

Given the paucity of our knowledge of Sırrı’s life, perhaps more inter- esting than his career in accounting is his epitaph, composed for him by a commissioned poet, who managed a clever chronogram in the last line:

Wielder of the arts and the pen, Sırrı Efendi by name, Esteemed of rank among senior scribes and men of the Chancery. In his person the art of Treasurer became the fount of excellence,

To high rank he lent grace and lustre.

Falling ill, he left behind him the living members of the profession; With God’s favour may he be settled in the highest heaven.

God’s command is this, it is destiny, there is no remedy whatsoever: Who comes into this transitory world will surely leave it.

May God make his mystery holy, his abode the heavens;

 

Figure 4.11 Sırrı Efendi’s ‘latticed’ turban. AZ.

 

At the command Return! he crossed the bridge of the world. His date of death I spoke; with God’s help it was coined: ‘Disappearing, Sırrı Efendi journeyed to Eden’.

1242 [5 August 1826–27 July 1827]

 

The witty wordplay in the chronogram is the unknown poet’s juxtapo- sition of sır olub (‘disappearing’; literally ‘becoming a mystery’) with Sırrı’s name (sır meaning ‘mystery’).

The chronogram totals 1,244, whereas the year we are anticipating is 1242. Looking, as per custom, to the preceding line, Düşdü ba avn-ı Hüda tarih-i fevtin söyledim, we contemplate the possibilities for a clue to resolve the discrepancy. Its first two words, düşdü ba, form the opening of the phrase that translates ‘With God’s help it was coined’, in which ba is the Persian/Ottoman word for ‘with’. But taken purely by themselves, the literal meaning of the two words düşdü ba is ‘ba fell away’. Ba also being the name of the letter ب, whose numerical value is two, we find that by subtracting that value from the chronogram’s sum of 1,244 we arrive at the year of Sırrı Efendi’s death, 1242.

We suspect that the accountant buried beneath the stone would have approved.

 

yahya eFendi. Sİlâhdar, poet, calliGrapher. plot 63

Turban: Kâtibî

In Yahya Efendi we have not just an official in high service at Topkapı Palace, but also an artist and poet. And we know from the title Hâfız on his headstone that he could recite the Quran from memory.

Albanian by descent, Yahya spent his young years in the Privy Household at the palace, rising through the ranks to the high position of Sword-bearer at court between 1787 and October 1789. This made him Sword-bearer at the end of Abdülhamid’s reign and into the early months of Selim III’s. He was probably already ill when he left office, because he passed away five months later.

Yahya also became a noted calligrapher, and one suspects that cal- ligraphy was his true love. Fortunately, we have at least three examples of his calligraphic skills in marble, all stemming from his short tenure as Imperial Sword-bearer in the last two years of his life.

During this tenure Yahya commissioned two fountains as gifts to the city, which places him among the surprisingly extensive ranks of mili- tary and palace-based personnel who commissioned fountains to adorn Istanbul in the eighteenth century.28 His fountains are the kind with taps so that passers-by could help themselves to water, and both still exist today.

The earlier fountain (earlier by one year only) stands in Hasköy, near the Naval Shipyard on the Golden Horn. Composed of three panels that form a half-hexagon in elegantly carved and gleaming white marble, the small fountain is not only a gem, it also boasts two features of distinction in its inscription of rhyming couplets: Yahya commissioned the noted his- torian and poet Münib Efendi to compose the verse (and since Münib had been a teacher in the Privy Household at Topkapı Palace, almost certainly Yahya knew him there), while Yahya himself designed the calligraphy for the inscription. We know because he tells us so.

Since the poem commemorates a fountain, it abounds with water imagery. It also positively drips with beautiful Persian words and gram- matical constructs, as was the wont of High Ottoman prose of the day. Münib’s eight couplets of rhyming verse on the fountain begin with flat- tery of the monarch whom Yahya Efendi served:

 

Emperor of the Inhabited Quadrant, Cynosure of Occident and Orient, Sovereign of the Seven Climes, Bringer of Justice to the Six Cardinal Points;

Compared to the munificence of His Majesty Sultan Abdülhamid, The Nile and Euphrates are but one or two drops.

The ‘Inhabited Quadrant’ is the temperate zone of Europe, Asia, and Africa, which, of course, the Ottoman Empire intersected.

The verse ends with praise for the benefactor’s commendable deed:

With sincerity of intention, the industrious Silâhdar Who is Yahya Efendi, of luminous features,

Liquidating for the fountain of right judgment much wealth and property, Flowing charity he created, enduring good works he purchased.

O Münib, may they commit to memory, as easily as running water, its date: ‘From the fountain of Yahya Efendi take, drink; let there be life’.

1202 [1787–8]

Calligraphed by Yahya, Imperial Silâhdar My Lord, forgive my sins and conceal my faults

The chronogram does add up to 1,202. The bottommost line, asking God’s pardon for the calligrapher, is in Arabic, as it typically was on Ottoman inscriptions.

Yahya’s second fountain had a tougher life. Constructed in 1788–9 along the Bosphorus at Kabataş, it was dismantled in 1957 for road con- struction, but the marble slabs were saved, and thankfully rebuilt in 1993, up the Bosphorus a bit in Beşiktaş. Erected against a stone rampart, it too is a half-hexagon, elegant in the simplicity of its grey-and-white marble. Each of the three sides bears an inscribed panel telling the fountain’s story. The calligraphy is not signed, but given its strong resemblance to the let- tering on the panel Yahya calligraphed for his fountain in Hasköy, we may surmise with a fair degree of confidence that he also designed the letters for this, his second fountain, unless he was too ill to do so.

We know from the next-to-last verse of the inscription that Yahya com- missioned the poet Edib to compose the fountain’s verse. Edib produced twelve couplets, once again brimming with water allusions, as one might expect, and opening as per custom with praise of the monarch before turning to the fountain’s benefactor:

His Majesty Abdülhamid, padishah of the religion and state, Crown-bearing sultan of throne and good fortune and majesty; Creation, from end to end sated with the water of the brook of his munificence,

From end to end filled the country with his reputation for justice

And his Sword-bearer, the esteemed Yahya Efendi, In the shadow of his favour received much goodness

The verse closes with the customary invocation and chronogram:

Each time the thirsty drink from its waters, may God the Helper Gladden the souls of the progeny of the Prophet.

Write, O Edib, with ardour, its complete date:

‘A spring of limpid purity it is; let drinkers approach’.

1203 [1788–9]

The chronogram does add up to the year in question, which it should, given the poet’s description of it as a ‘complete date’ (tarih-i tam), one of the terms for chronograms that added up to precisely the intended date without resorting to mathematical adjustment.

Yahya’s most prestigious calligraphic composition, designed around the same time as those on the fountains, is in Aya Sofya Mosque. Not only is it within this most eminent of Istanbul mosques, it adorns the mihrab, the niche, within the apse of the former church, that indicates the direction of Mecca. The chosen text is an extract from Quran 3:37, ‘Whenever Zachariah went in to her in the Sanctuary’, selected because the word for ‘sanctuary’ is the Arabic el-mihrâb, rendering the extract eminently suitable for adorning an actual mihrab. Within the triangular colophon, if we may apply that term here, at the left of this panel we read, ‘Written by Yahya, Sword-bearer to Sultan Selim Han’ accompanied by the year, 1203 (1788–9), informing us that Yahya completed it in his brief period in service to Selim III after Abdülhamid’s death.

Turning at last to the inscription on Yahya’s own headstone at the Hamidiye graveyard, we find a simpler treatment than on his fountains. The first four lines of his epitaph form a rhyming poem that appears on six tombstones in this garden, of both men and women, a testament to the ‘popularity’ of this verse for headstones in this era:

Grant me forgiveness, O Lord Yezdan,

For the sake of the Throne of God and the light of the Quran.

May the brethren who visit my grave Bestow the favour of a Fatiha upon my soul.

Formerly Imperial Sword-bearer, The late and divinely forgiven Hâfız Yahya Efendi.

The Fatiha for his soul. 15 C. 1204 [2 March 1790]

Yezdan, the Zoroastrian term for God, figures in Islam as a word for God alongside Allah.

 

Figure 4.12 Climbing roses adorn the footstone of Sword-bearer Yahya’s grave. AZ.

 

Eunuchs

Until the end of its days in the 1920s, the Ottoman court followed the centuries-old practice that made use of enslaved eunuchs for service at the palace, as an adjunct to the courtiers and military men such as we have met in the previous section. In the earlier era of the empire these were white eunuchs with, quite possibly, small numbers of black African eunuchs brought in, probably by the 1450s, to guard the harem, their traditional role in Muslim empires before the Ottomans.29 It was after the Ottoman conquest of Egypt in 1517 that increasing numbers of black eunuchs were brought from Africa into slave service at Topkapı Palace.

During the era of burials at the Hamidiye graveyard, the eunuch corps at the palace numbered considerably more black men than white: as of the 1780s, two hundred black and ninety white, per the reliable contempora- neous source Mouradgea d’Ohsson, who adds that the black eunuchs had been completely castrated, the white only partially (testicles removed), without giving us the reason for the difference.30 The graveyard reflects the ratio of their numbers at the palace in broad terms only: of the eleven eunuchs here, ten are black and one white.

White eunuchs served the monarch in the Privy Household, located in the Third Court of Topkapı Palace. Because the Gate of Felicity (Babüssaade) at Topkapı serves as the threshold into this court, some his- torians have helpfully dubbed the white eunuchs ‘threshold eunuchs’, and their head the Chief Threshold Eunuch.31 The latter designation reflects their title in Turkish, Babüssaade Ağası, ‘Agha of the Gate of Felicity’, or more simply, Kapı Ağası, ‘Agha of the Gate’.

Insofar as the state of our knowledge permits us to say, white eunuchs at the Ottoman palace in this era had been prisoners of war from the Balkans or else hailed from the Caucasus and had been sold into slavery when young.32 We do not know where our white eunuch here, İbrahim Ağa (plot 7), came into the world, but the fact that his gravestone calls him es- seyyid, the title of descendants of the Prophet, an unexpected moniker for a eunuch, implies he was born Muslim, hailed perhaps from the Balkans or Anatolia and, as we will discuss in his entry below, apparently underwent castration willingly.

On quite the other hand, black eunuchs (all black men in service at the Ottoman court were eunuchs) were in service only in the harem. Typically, slave traders had captured these future eunuchs when young, in what is today Sudan or Ethiopia. Castrated usually in Egypt, the few who survived that gruesome ‘surgery’ were eventually sold to or presented to the palace in Istanbul, where the newly arrived eunuch received the name by which he would be known for the rest of his life.

The most capable black eunuchs could rise by seniority to the top three ranks of supervisory harem eunuchs at Topkapı. The lowest of these ranks was musahib-i şehriyarî, ‘imperial companion’. Above this came hazinedar-ı şehriyarî, ‘imperial treasurer’. Above them came the Chief Harem Eunuch (alternatively termed here ‘Chief Black Eunuch’ or ‘Chief Eunuch’), in charge of all the black eunuchs at court, and distinguished by his elaborate title of Darüssaadeti’l-âliye Ağası, ‘Agha of the Exalted Abode of Felicity’, Abode of Felicity being the euphemism for the Topkapı harem.

More informally, especially as the nineteenth century rolled on, the Chief Eunuch would be known by his alternate title Kızlar Ağası, literally ‘Agha of the Girls’ but kız, ‘girl’, also came to mean ‘female servant’.33 That alternate title, however, conceals the extent of the Chief Eunuch’s authority: since the late sixteenth century the holder of this title had wielded vast power at court not only from his role in overseeing and safe- guarding the Imperial Harem, but also because of his supervision over vast staffs of eunuchs and other palace officials, and especially, his control over the immense and rich charitable endowments that supported the Two Holy

 

Figure 4.13 The Chief Black Eunuch, 1780s. D’Ohsson, Tableau général de l’empire othoman, Library of Congress.

 

Cities (Mecca and Medina), the pilgrimage, and the imperial mosques of the capital.34

By the time our tomb made its entrance onto the Ottoman stage in the 1780s, the Chief Eunuch’s power had begun to wane as the authority of the Grand Vizier rose. Once Mahmud II transferred oversight of the Two Holy Cities’ charitable endowments to the new government ministry he created for it in 1826, the Chief Eunuch’s role shrank to only the daily running of the palace.35 One suspects that the actions of his brother’s Chief Eunuch in the 1808 coup, which led to Mahmud’s order to behead him and display his head at Topkapı’s Middle Gate, had undercut the role of Chief Eunuch in Mahmud’s eyes. That role continued with various fluctuations in importance until the transition to constitutional monarchy in 1909, when the Chief Eunuch’s wings were truly clipped, although the Corps of Eunuchs survived at the palace until the end of the monarchy in 1924.36

It may seem surprising that only one Chief Harem Eunuch is buried here (Ebu Bekir Ağa, in 1825), but that is largely because these gentlemen were, per court custom, replaced after a few years and, likely as not, sent off to Medina. There they lived out their days overseeing the tomb of the

Prophet Muhammad, and when they died, they were buried in Medina since Muslim law calls for burial within twenty-four hours of death when possible. All three of Sultan Abdülhamid’s Chief Harem Eunuchs died in Medina, during their tenure there as Chief Tomb Eunuch. So did four of the thirteen subsequent Chief Harem Eunuchs; of the remaining nine who died in Istanbul while the Hamidiye graveyard was receiving burials, only Ebu Bekir Ağa was buried here.

To put it differently, all black eunuchs buried here except Ebu Bekir were lower in rank than Chief Eunuch. If they had risen to that highest post, they would probably have been sent to Medina at the end of their tenure.

The first burial of a eunuch here (Beşir Ağa) took place in 1223/1808–9, and the last (Kemankeş İbrahim Ağa) in 1242/1826–7.

 

ahmed ağa, Zengİ. muSahİb. plot 18

Turban: Kâtibî

Ahmed Ağa’s moniker Zengi, ‘the Negro’, on his headstone leaves no doubt that he was black, while the first word of his epitaph, hadım, ‘eunuch’, confirms his physical state, not surprisingly given that all black men in service at the Ottoman court were eunuchs. The fact that his headstone calls him hadım-ı şahî, ‘Imperial Eunuch’, followed by the title musahib, implies that Ahmed occupied the third-highest post in the harem eunuch hierarchy, musahib-i şehriyarî, ‘Imperial Companion’. It is possible that he was simply one of the many musahibs below this rank, but the fact that a poet was commissioned (probably with funds Ahmed left as a bequest) to pen a rhyming epitaph for him, with chronogram, implies he was a eunuch of loftier standing in the Imperial Harem than rank-and-file musahib.

Eunuch in His Majesty’s service, the musahib Ahmed Ağa suddenly Donned the dervish’s cloak; he paid no heed to any corner of this world. Abandoning all else save love of God, into the wilderness he roamed;

Giving up his soul with praise of the Creator on his lips, he found union with his God.

With a drop of my tears, O Faik, I wrote his date: ‘Zengi Ahmed Ağa set out for the Court of the Creator’.

The Fatiha.

1234 [31 October 1818–19 Octobver 1819]

The various indirect references to Sufism in his epitaph (donning the dervish’s cloak, paying no heed to the world, devoting himself to love of

God, roaming the wilderness, uniting with God) imply that Ahmed Ağa was a practicing Sufi.

The chronogram adds up to 1,704, far more than Ahmed Ağa’s year of death, 1234. Turning as always to the preceding line for a clue to resolve the discrepancy, we see that the poet, Faik, tells us he wrote the year of Ahmed’s death ‘with a drop of my tears’. What resembles a teardrop that has fallen onto a sheet of paper? A dot on a letter in the Ottoman alphabet. The poet is telling us that just the dotted letters in the chronogram are to be counted to reveal the year in question. Following this hint, we arrive happily at 1,234.

 

alİ ağa, CeZayİrlİ (‘the alGerian’). Superintendent oF the old palace. plot 28

Turban: Kâtibî

 

hadİce hatun, SuperviSor (uSta) under alİ ağa in the old PalaCe. plot 17

Ali Ağa and his female ‘work colleague’ of sorts, Hadice Hatun, were both in high-ranking service at what was called the Old Palace, the hilltop royal residence constructed for Mehmed II immediately after his conquest of Constantinople in 1453, and located more or less in the geographical centre of what had been the Byzantine walled city. Mehmed lived in the palace only a few years, and just sporadically, before ordering construction of what would be called the New Palace (and then, over the nineteenth century, when yet newer palaces were built, ‘Topkapı Palace’) near the point of land overlooking the tip of the peninsula. Until the early 1500s the Old Palace housed the Imperial Harem, but after the harem moved to Topkapı the vacated Old Palace and its grounds came to serve as a kind of retirement residence for concubines of deceased or dethroned sultans, and these concubines’ servants. The exception was former concubines who possessed a villa in town where they might live. By the era of Ali Ağa and Hadice Hatun, the Old Palace also contained a steam bath and an infirmary for the eunuchs in royal service.

For two reasons, we conclude that Ali Ağa was a black eunuch: one, his title ağa is that of a eunuch, as we have seen; and two, by his era, the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, all the eunuchs at the Old Palace were black.

From his moniker Cezayirli, ‘The Algerian’, we conclude that Ali Ağa hailed from Algeria, but given that he was black, what this plausibly meant was that he had been in service in Algeria. The most likely scenario is that

he had served at the court of the dey, the governor-for-life of the Ottoman province, who then presented Ali Ağa to the sultan to curry the monarch’s favour. But this is speculation. What is certain is that adding Cezayirli to his name served to distinguish this Ali from the many dozens of other Ali Ağas of any prominence in his day.

What we can also say with certainty is that he had been one of the higher-placed eunuchs at Topkapı before receiving his appointment as ‘Superintendent of the prosperous Old Palace’ (Saray-ı Atîk-i Ma’mure Ağası) in September/October 1814, charged with maintaining order and generally overseeing day-to-day functioning.37 As a high-ranking court official, Ali merited a household of servants in his quarters at the Old Palace, and from her tombstone we know that as the usta, or manager, under his supervision Hadice oversaw this household. One might assume that being a eunuch, Ali had no concubine or wife, but this was not neces- sarily true, and in Ali’s case we do not know. We can be fairly certain that Hadice was not his wife, since female slaves in court service were, so our understanding is, universally unmarried.38

Ali and Hadice are the only associates of the Old Palace buried in this graveyard. When they died, they took with them their knowledge of this ‘retirement home for court ladies’ – more’s the pity, since we have no written accounts of life for former court ladies there. In Ali and Hadice’s day, these ladies would have included concubines and servants from the courts of Abdülhamid, Selim III, and Mustafa IV. Most likely Hadice, and possibly also Ali, would have known the three former consorts resident, in their ‘retirement’, in the Old Palace, and with whom Ali and Hadice came to share this graveyard: Mustafa IV’s Şevkinur and Seyyare, and Abdülhamid’s Binnaz. Almost certainly they also knew Abdülhamid’s Nakşıdil, who lived in the Old Palace from 1789 until her son’s accession to the throne in 1808, when she moved to Topkapı, where Ali and Hadice were then in service. One is tempted to speculate that it was the generous Nakşıdil who arranged for their burial here because she knew them and liked them.

Oddly enough, Ali and Hadice died in the same month and year (in the Hijri calendar). The undated document concerning Hadice’s burial, and payment of the expenses thereof, says only ‘The usta under the late Superintendent of the prosperous Old Palace, who passed away the other day, said usta having also died today . . .’; the document leaves one to wonder at the coincidence of their having died within a few days of each other, adding only that they were to be buried adjoining one another.39 Intentionally or not, their gravesites reflect their relative status in the palace: the eunuch superintendent in the slightly more prestigious position,

 

Figure 4.14 Near one another in death as in life: the gravestones of Ali Ağa (right) and Hadice Hatun. AZ.

closer to the front of the forecourt graveyard, than Hadice, who managed the servants in his household.

But it would be hard to detect from their gravestones any difference in their status, apart from the requisite turban for Ali and floral stone-top for Hadice; the two stones closely resemble one another in decorative ele- ments, the calligraphy appears to be by the same hand, and the invocations are the same. Since they died nearly simultaneously, quite likely the same stonemason carved, or oversaw the carving of, both stones.

One palace financial document tells us that the goods that both Ali and Hadice left behind when they died had been sold by the month after their deaths, Safer 1232.40 A follow-up document records the amounts realised from the sale of Ali’s effects; the gross amount, 71,016 kuruş, includ- ing 4,330 kuruş in ‘coins of various denominations found in his chest of drawers’.41 Both amount to princely sums when one considers that a skilled worker in the 1810s earned around 1,220 kuruş in a year.42 At the bottom of this latter document is a tally of three expenses (in kuruş) on behalf of the deceased Ali:

 

Expenditure for washing, swathing, and laying out (techiz ve tekfin)	1140
Expenditure for his sepulchre stone (seng-i mezar)	1500
Price of one Noble Quran, purchased for presentation as a gift	150

What do these figures tell us? Was it graft, by which the cost charged for the ritual washing of Ali’s corpse, wrapping it in the shroud, and laying it out on a bier, nearly equalled the entire annual salary of a skilled labourer of the day? In general, families would ritually wash the remains of their deceased loved ones themselves, but Ali, being a eunuch, had no children or other relatives to perform this task, at least insofar as we know.

We also learn the relative cost of one sepulchre in the Hamidiye grave- yard. Ali’s sepulchre is grand: a rectangular marble box to hold earth for flowers, with carvings along the sides, and a stately tombstone, topped by the sculpted stone turban, for the epitaph. There are several like Ali’s in this graveyard, and from Ali’s example we see that each cost more than a skilled worker’s income in a year. Lastly, the Quran purchased as a presentation gift must have been splendidly calligraphed and decorated indeed, since its cost equalled what our skilled labourer would have earned in forty-five days’ work.

For Ali the epitaph translates as:

Superintendent of the prosperous Old Palace,

The late and divinely forgiven (And in need of his all-forgiving God)

Ali Ağa the Algerian,

Whose abode is Paradise.

The Fatiha, for the sake of God, For his noble soul.

M. 1232 [21 November–20 December 1816]

And for Hadice Hatun:

Usta to the Superintendent of the prosperous Old Palace, The late Ali Ağa the Algerian,

The late and divinely forgiven (And in need of her all-forgiving God)

Hadice Hatun, Whose abode is Paradise.

The Fatiha, for the sake of God, For her noble soul.

M. 1232 [21 November–20 December 1816]

As the course of Ottoman history had it, the venerable Old Palace survived Ali and Hadice by only some fifty years, until its demolition in the 1860s. With the construction of Dolmabahçe Palace in the 1850s, outmoded Topkapı Palace’s harem wing became the new retirement residence for former court ladies and eunuchs, a role it retained until the end of the monarchy in the 1920s. Around 1909 the then-sultan’s First Secretary wrote his impressions of the harem sections at Topkapı and Yıldız Palaces, where former harem residents had lived out their days; it takes little imagination to apply his descriptions to the Old Palace as well, as Ali and Hadice knew it:

The elderly ladies whom [the sultan] wanted away from him, the hazinedars and harem servant women whose services were no longer needed, and indeed the poor creatures who were made to wait until a husband could be found for them . . . were crammed en masse into these dilapidated, tumbledown piles. These women were finally gotten rid of by dispatching them to a special section of Topkapı Palace Harem, which was put to use as a kind of poorhouse for aged palace ladies and the incurably ill or incompetent.

How desolate was the incarceration suffered by the poor souls condemned to live out their days here, under the glamorous and glittering phrase, a life in the palace. Walking through these rooms, anguish tightened my heart into a knot.43

 

 

beşİr ağa. harem treasurer. Plot 51

Turban: Kâtibî

The harem treasurer Beşir Ağa is one of many black eunuchs who bore this name in Topkapı harem service. Surely all of them were called after

 

Figure 4.15 Fruit bowls on the sepulchre of Hadice Hatun, supervisor at the Old Palace. AZ.

 

the famed Chief Harem Eunuch el-Hajj Beşir Ağa, who died in 1746 after a remarkable thirty years in his post, the longest-serving Chief Harem Eunuch in Ottoman history. That illustrious personage’s tomb at Eyüp Sultan is far grander than that of his namesake here, but nevertheless our Beşir’s tombstone challenges us in three delightful ways.

First of all, what was his job? The epitaph calls him hazinedar-ı şehinşah, ‘treasurer of the emperor’, a wording clearly close to hazinedar-ı şehriyarî, ‘imperial treasurer’, the usual term for the high-ranking black eunuch position that since the seventeenth century had served as stepping-stone to becoming Chief Harem Eunuch. Surely we are justified in deeming the two terms to be variants of one another, and nothing to do with hazinedarbaşı, ‘Head Treasurer’, confusingly enough the white eunuch position in the sultan’s Privy Household; the tombstone here of the white eunuch İbrahim Ağa (buried in plot 7) uses that latter title. Prompted by his name as well as his title, we conclude that Beşir was a black eunuch who occupied the post of ‘imperial treasurer’ in the harem at Topkapı, and not a white eunuch with the similarly (but not identically) named post in the palace’s Privy Household.

The second feature of the stone that provides a challenge is the tuğra at its top, occupying the standard place of the Arabic invocation. At first glance one could reasonably presume this tuğra displays the name of the sovereign under whom Beşir had served at court, although the presence of an imperial tuğra on the tombstone of a palace courtier or eunuch would

be highly unusual. The inscription within an imperial tuğra begins in the lower right corner with the sovereign’s name, and at the beginning of this one we can make out the letter س, ‘s’ – could it be for Selim (III)? But the stone tells us that Beşir died in 1223/1808–9 ‘while treasurer to the emperor of the age’, whereas Selim III had been deposed the previous year, in 1222/1807. Further stirring the pot, the successors to Selim were Mustafa IV and then Mahmud II; either could have been the reigning monarch when Beşir Ağa died, since both reigned during 1223. But both their names begin with the letter م, ‘m’, and the first letter in this tuğra is definitely not م.

With a bit of concentration, we see that none of the other letters in this tuğra follows the centuries-old pattern that the tuğra aficionado would expect, just as we realise that the first letter is not س after all but rather its dotted variant ش, ‘sh’, and is, in fact, the first letter of (to use the Turkish spelling of this Arabic word) şefaat, ‘intercession’. What we have is not a sultanic cypher at all; it is a saying, superbly woven by a talented calligrapher into the typical shape of a tuğra of the eighteenth and very early nineteenth centuries. In this case it is the well-known hadith, or saying attributed to the Prophet Muhammad, thus in Arabic, Şefâatî li-ehli’l-kebâir min ümmetî, ‘My intercession is for the gravest sinners in my Community.’

Calligraphic compositions drawn in the shape of a tuğra began to appear in Ottoman art in the early eighteenth century. But the novel concept of cal- ligraphing a hadith into the shape of a tuğra – thereby symbolically uniting in one device the Prophet of Islam and the Ottoman monarch – flowed from the artistic mind of Sultan Ahmed III (r. 1703–30), Abdülhamid I’s father, whose interests extended to both calligraphy and the study of hadiths. From this royal origin, Ahmed’s hadith-tuğra, reproduced by palace calligraphers, spread throughout the culture in a variety of media over the decades, becoming far and away the most popular tuğra-shaped work of calligraphic art. In its most prominent renderings in the Ottoman world, Ahmed’s innovation appears as a colossal tuğra on the wall at the Old Mosque in Edirne and the Great Mosque in Bursa.44

Circling back to Beşir, later research unearthed a slightly more precise date of death for him, as the list of his worldly goods sold after his death is dated 11 Safer 1223/8 April 1808.45 Almost certainly, then, Beşir Ağa died in March 1808, when Mustafa IV was still monarch. The total value of his goods amounted to 4,731,850 akçe, the list tells us, which equals 39,432 kuruş. Bearing in mind that the average skilled worker in the decade of Beşir’s death earned 662 kuruş in a year, we see that Beşir died a very rich man indeed.

 

Figure 4.16 Hadith-tuğra on the stone of harem eunuch Beşir Ağa. AZ.

 

Finally, in Beşir’s epitaph we have a chronogram; always a pleasure. Its letters do add up to its target year, 1223.

Whilst exalted treasurer of the emperor of the age, Beşir Ağa, the noble resident of Naim, migrated of a sudden.

Hearing of his death, I spoke his date:

‘May the Lord make the depths of his grave the garden of Paradise’.

For the sake of God (may His name be exalted), the Fatiha.

1223 [28 February 1808–16 February 1809]

 

CaFer ağa. musahİb. plot 16

Turban: Kâtibî

We have not much information on the eunuch Cafer Ağa beyond what his headstone tells us: that he was in service as musahib at court (apparently, given his year of death, to Mahmud II) and that he died ‘young’. From this title we know that he was a black eunuch. The stone’s reference to ‘Meccan virtues’ leads us to speculate that before coming into service in

the palace in Istanbul he had spent time in service in Mecca as member of the corps of eunuchs that guarded the Ka’ba. The invading forces of the Wahhabis, the followers of a purist Islamic doctrine opposed to Ottoman rule in Arabia, had conquered Mecca in 1805, prompting many of the eunuchs to flee; if Cafer Ağa was indeed in service at the Ka’ba at the time, could this have triggered his relocation to Istanbul?

The only archival document discovered to date for him is an enigmatic financial record dated shortly before his death. It purports to list the col- lection (mecmua) belonging to ‘Our lord, His Excellency the illustrious and gracious Imperial Musahib Cafer Ağa’, but only one item appears: a yellow ruby ring valued at 450 kuruş.46 A splendid jewel indeed, consider- ing the average Istanbul labourer’s earnings in those days of 1,220 kuruş in a year.47

Regardless of how he had come to Topkapı, Cafer Ağa’s lofty position at the palace as a kind of gentleman-in-waiting to Mahmud II is attested by the fact that one of the leading lights among Ottoman poets of the day, Keçecizade İzzet Molla, himself a major figure in cultural life at court, composed Cafer’s epitaph (with chronogram) at his death. Most likely Cafer left funds to hire this distinguished poet for his epitaph, and goodness knows he could afford the best. Quite the fine epitaph it is: long, and exceedingly complex in its vocabulary choices of relatively obscure Persian words that only the literati – the poet’s audience – would know. And clever: plays on the Turkish words bir and iki (‘one’ and ‘two’) and on the diverse meanings of the Persian word dâd (‘wail’, ‘munificence’, and ‘given’), along with unusual and evocative descriptions and invocations.

 

From the hand of intoxicated fate, I am in despair, Ever indifferent in my mind to the feast of the world.

By your hand of munificence, O Fate, by your wail of injustice, Your work is borne by young and old, not by you.

Why did you lay the head of Musahib Cafer Ağa, virtuous as a Meccan, Upon the bolster of ailment and disease?

In the end you destroyed that choice jewel;

Within the stone of his tomb forge him narrowly, until Judgment Day, O Forceful One.

Many times, Fate, you saw the Lord substitute his flourishing paradise For the cosmic calamity of a place of ruin.

And if you know your end, O Fortune that Favours the Vile, is it not possible That all your decrees are doomed to obey the command of past eternity?

As long as that esteemed body lies in the earth, May the Eternal God increase the padishah’s span of life.

I wept, İzzet, as I wrote his jewelled date:

‘The appointed hour of death took Musahib Cafer Ağa while young’.

1231 [3 December 1815–20 November 1816]

 

Heeding the poet İzzet’s clue (‘jewelled’, in the penultimate line of the verse) to count only the dotted letters in the chronogram, we arrive at 1,231, the year of Cafer’s death.

 

ebu bekİr ağa. ChieF harem eunuCh. Plot 46

Turban: Eunuch headdress

The black eunuch Bekir Ağa (the shortened version of his name in archival records, and as he was probably known in the palace) began his career in service at the court of Princess Hadice, sister of Sultan Abdülhamid, probably around 1790. From a responsible post in her household, he was taken into service at Topkapı harem, where his star continued to rise. In 1815 he obtained the second-highest position for a court eunuch, which he occupied for some eight years until Mahmud II appointed him Chief Harem Eunuch on 13 Muharrem 1239/19 September 1823, at the dis- missal of his predecessor in office.48 He is the only Chief Harem Eunuch in this graveyard.

Fate did not grant Bekir long in his high post, for not two years later he was dead, whereas his predecessor had served for eight years and his successor would serve for fourteen. If the four gloomy opening lines of his epitaph – one of the standard verses of graveyard poetry – serve as indica- tion, we may infer Bekir was already ill when he achieved this top rank for eunuchs at the palace. Since the post went to the seniormost eunuch, he would have been in palace service for long years and thus relatively advanced in age.

The palace did not dawdle once Bekir passed away, as the inventory of the personal effects he left behind was completed in the same month that he died. These inventories took place quickly after a palace resident (including eunuchs and concubines) died, for they were considered slaves and as such, their possessions reverted to their master, the sultan, at death, with proceeds of the sale going into the palace treasury. In Bekir’s case the inventory runs over six long and densely filled pages, with the evaluation totalling 17,506,120 akçe, or 145,878 kuruş, not including 7,412 kuruş in cash.49 Comparing this to the 1,446 kuruş per year earned by the average skilled worker in the 1820s, these are staggering sums indeed.50 Clearly Bekir Ağa’s job perk, to serve as administrator of by far the richest endow- ments in the empire, those of the Two Holy Cities of Mecca and Medina, had smiled on him, as had whatever other skimmings he had gleaned from

 

Figure 4.17 Harem eunuch Cafer Ağa’s towering gravestone, sized to fit its lengthy verse by the poet Keçecizade İzzet Molla. AZ.

his previous lofty positions in harem service. He was almost the very last in the centuries-long stream of Chief Harem Eunuchs to benefit from this perk: the year after Bekir’s death, Mahmud II took this lucrative oversight role away from the Chief Eunuch and gave it to the new Ministry of Imperial Endowments, which Mahmud had just founded.

Further into the same file folder is another accounting record, for expenses connected with Bekir’s funeral.51 He may have died at one of the summer villas along the Bosphorus, because several of the recorded expenses document tips paid to porters to transport his things, including horses, by boat to ‘İslâmbol’, a variant name for Istanbul; the usual tip for porters on this document is 13 akçe, a small amount.

Among the many other burial expenses listed in this latter document, we find: 500 akçe in alms for the poor; 500 akçe in ıskat-ı salât (‘dropping of prayers’, the alms given on behalf of the dead in compensation for the religious duties they had neglected during their lifetime); 551 akçe for tips distributed to the sextons and other servants at the Hamidiye Tomb, to the boatsmen and other carriers, and to those who washed and swathed the corpse. For comparison, the daily wage of the average skilled worker we have mentioned was a bit under 500 akçe at the time.

Later in this folder we learn of two additional burial expenditures. The first is 2,101 kuruş for ritually washing and swathing the corpse (techiz ve tekfin), and additional ıskat-ı salât, among other expenses. Once again we see a (decidedly high!) charge for preparing the corpse of a eunuch, who had no family to carry out this task. The second expenditure is 2,101 kuruş for Bekir’s sepulchre (seng-i mezar), from which again we see the tremendous expense, not surprisingly, of an opulent, beautifully engraved marble sepulchre with headstone in the Hamidiye graveyard.

Bekir’s sepulchre and that of Ali Ağa ‘the Algerian’, whom we dis- cussed above, resemble one another almost completely, and yet Bekir’s cost considerably more than Ali’s. Calculating the ratio of sepulchre cost to average worker’s earnings in the respective decades these gentlemen died, we would have expected Bekir’s to have cost around 1,780 kuruş rather than 2,101. Was stone or labour more expensive in the 1820s than in the 1810s? Was graft more rampant? Or both?

Appropriately, that headstone grants the late Ebu Bekir Ağa his full title as highest-ranking official of the Imperial Harem:

 

The shadow of a spectre is how I found this world, Thus no one inquires of my health.

‘Judgment is with God’, I said, ‘To all His commands I submit’, For all eternity Almighty God has foreordained it so.

 

Figure 4.18 Right to left: Eunuch headdress of Ebu Bekir Ağa; Kâtibî turban of Receb Efendi (d. 1829), the last turban in the Hamidiye graveyard; grand floral ‘crown’ of Âtıf Usta, female Palace Superintendent who died in 1840. AZ.

The Fatiha for the noble soul of The late and divinely forgiven Ebu Bekir Ağa

Formerly Agha of the Exalted Abode of Felicity.

Z. 1240 [17 July–15 August 1825]

 

 

İbrahİm ağa. head treasurer in the third Court at toPkaPi. Plot 7

Turban: Eunuch headdress

In İbrahim Ağa we have the only white eunuch buried here. How do we know he was a eunuch? Because his gravestone tells us he worked in the Inner Service (the Privy Household, in the Third Court at Topkapı Palace), and all serving staff there were eunuchs; he is referred to as ağa, by which all eunuchs were known (although not all ağas were eunuchs); and the headdress crowning his gravestone is that of a eunuch in court service. How do we know he was white? Because his tombstone describes him as one of the aghas of the Gate of Felicity, the portal that served as threshold into the Third Court at Topkapı, and we know that all eunuchs beyond the Gate of Felicity were white; and the stone calls him Hazinedar Başı, ‘Head (or Palace) Treasurer’, a title exclusive to white eunuchs in the palace. As noted above, he was what Ottoman historians, identifying eunuchs by where they served in the palace, might call a ‘threshold eunuch’, in contrast to black eunuchs as ‘harem eunuchs’.

İbrahim Ağa’s title es-seyyid on his epitaph tells us he claimed descent from the Prophet Muhammad, thus implying he had been born Muslim. Traditional Islamic law forbids enslaving another Muslim, but this stric- ture was overlooked on occasion, apparently so in İbrahim Ağa’s case. Encountering a eunuch seyyid, a castrated descendant of the Prophet, is unexpected. We have seen several other seyyids in service at the Ottoman court; was castration the only means at İbrahim Ağa’s disposal to enter palace service? If so, the castration (if it was tied to court service) did lead to some recompense, as he rose to a high position at court, followed by burial in this royal graveyard.

In the preceding entry we met the Chief Harem Eunuch Ebu Bekir Ağa; two Ottoman court eunuchs, one white and the other (Ebu Bekir) black, both high in the eunuch hierarchy, within their respective divisions of the palace. Given that they both died in the early 1820s, did they know one another and interact ‘on the job’? We do not have details about eunuch life at court, but the reasonable assumption is, possibly not, at least not inti- mately; the white and black eunuchs worked in entirely distinct sections of the palace. Given their respective high ranks, probably each would have

 

            

Figures 4.19 and 4.20 Eunuch headdress and grapevine stele at sepulchre of white eunuch İbrahim Ağa. AZ.

 

known who the other was, and that was the extent of it. But we cannot be certain.

The inventory of İbrahim’s worldly effects after his death filled only one page, decidedly fewer than we have seen for other eunuchs. Consequently the value of his estate amounted to far less than theirs, namely 817,400 akçe, or 6,811 kuruş, which remains, nonetheless, the estate of a quite well-to-do Ottoman of the 1820s, as one would expect of a relatively high-ranking official at the palace.52

The opening four lines of İbrahim Ağa’s epitaph consist of the standard rhyming verse we have seen on two other stones in this graveyard. The stone provides only his month and year of death, Zilkade 1238, but given that the inventory is dated 16 Zilkade of that year, we can refine his date of death to somewhere between 10 July and 25 July 1823.

Grant me forgiveness, O Lord God

For the sake of the Most Exalted Throne, the Light of the Quran May friends who come to visit my grave

Offer a Fatiha for my soul.

The late and divinely forgiven seyyid İbrahim Ağa,

Agha in the Imperial Inner Service at the exalted Gate of Felicity, Former Head Treasurer.

The Fatiha for his noble soul.

Z.a. 1238 [10 July–8 August 1823]

 

 

İbrahİm ağa, kemankeş. treaSury aGent in the harem. plot 13

Turban: Kâtibî

With Kemankeş İbrahim we have the only ‘Treasury Agent’ (Hazine Vekili) buried in this graveyard. This was the new post created in the late eighteenth century to extend government control over finances in the Imperial Harem, and its occupant was a black eunuch who, if he were capable and ambitious, could leverage the job to rise to Harem Treasurer and then possibly Chief Harem Eunuch.

In autumn 1823 İbrahim became Senior Musahib within Mahmud II’s harem at Topkapı, receiving promotion in June/July 1826 to Treasury Agent. But he had not long to enjoy his new post, as he died sometime over the following twelve months. We have no subsequent knowledge of him, since his career as a palace eunuch ended before he rose to grander heights. The successors in his post, however, would come eventually to oversee the entire palace household after Mahmud abolished the venerable post of silâhdar in 1831.53

Was Kemankeş İbrahim Ağa a master archer by avocation? So one would presume from his moniker kemankeş, ‘archer, bowman’, and quite probably he was a member of the Kemankeş, the Archer’s Fraternity at Istanbul.

Kemankeş İbrahim Ağa’s gravestone tells only the year of his death, but the earliest of several inventories of the goods he left behind is dated 23 Rebiülevvel 1242, or 25 October 1826, so probably he died just shortly before this date.54 For whatever reason, he was the last eunuch buried in this cemetery, although other burials continued here for another forty years.

The Fatiha for the soul of The late and divinely forgiven,

And in need of the mercy of his all-forgiving God, Kemankeş İbrahim Ağa

Who journeyed to the Abode of Permanency While Treasury Agent of His Imperial Majesty.

1242 (5 August 1826–24 July 1827)

 

mahmud ağa. head slave oF the gate. Plot 9

Turban: Kâtibî

Mahmud Ağa’s position at court as engraved on his headstone, Saray-ı Cedid-i Sultanî Baş Kapı Gulâmı, ‘Head Slave of the Gate at the New Imperial Palace’, would have been abundantly clear to his contemporaries at the palace, but not so much to later generations. He was, in fact, the black eunuch whose position figured as nearly the highest in the harem eunuch hierarchy, a kind of esteemed manager just below the Chief Harem Eunuch. What with Mahmud serving in this position from at least the late 1810s until his death in 1824, his boss would have been Ebu Bekir Ağa, whom we met above, and who died in 1825.

There is some puzzlement as to whether the holder of this office tradi- tionally was white or black; possibly in earlier eras of the Ottoman court the incumbent was white, but we can state with certainty that Mahmud Ağa was black because his tombstone describes him as pertaining to the ‘Exalted Abode of Felicity (Darüssaadeti’l-aliyye), the euphemism for the Imperial Harem and, as we have seen, all harem eunuchs were black.55 Duties of the Head Slave of the Gate included maintaining the register

of black eunuchs in service at court, as well as overseeing the host of what would today be called ‘personnel’ issues involving the black eunuch corps, which, if Mouradgea d’Ohsson’s tally for the 1780s remained relatively stable, numbered some two hundred men.56 Beginning as a ‘novice’, he had risen to his post by passing through the intermediary four ranks below Baş Kapı Gulâmı, and when eunuchs received promotion they would kiss the hem of his skirts, just as they did the skirts of the Chief Harem Eunuch. Mahmud Ağa’s high rank also meant he participated in official capacity in palace ceremonies.57

‘The New Imperial Palace’ of his title was how Topkapı Palace had been known since its construction in the fifteenth century, until coming to be called Topkapı in the nineteenth century, as we have noted. One document, in superb penmanship artistically arranged on the paper, waxes far more poetic in describing the palace, delighting us with the rhetorical flourish with which Ottoman writers sought to entertain and impress their readers, although in this case it is to conform to court literary etiquette: Mahmud is Saray-ı Cedid-i bihişt-esami-yi sultanî dâme mahfûz bil- avni’r-rabbânî’de harem-i hümayun-i ismetpenahî ağavatından olub Baş Kapı Gulâmı Mahmud Ağa, ‘Chief Slave of the Gate Mahmud Ağa, one of the aghas of the Imperial Harem (in whom virtue has taken refuge) in the Sultanic New Palace Imbued with the Names of Paradise (may it remain ever safeguarded through divine assistance)’.58 The date of this document,

5 Z.a. 1235, alerts us that Mahmud had served as Head Slave of the Gate since, at the very latest, 14 August 1820, and surely had been serving for a fair stretch of time before then.

The ‘New Palace’ is mentioned in Mahmud Ağa’s title because there was another ‘Head Slave of the Gate’ at the Old Palace, and that eunuch was Mahmud Ağa’s inferior in rank. The ‘gate’ most likely refers to the looming gate of two towers that separates Topkapı’s First Court from the Second Court and had lent its name to palace guard regiments probably in the sixteenth century.59

The inventory of goods Mahmud Ağa left behind when he died totalled 2,579,400 akçe, or 21,494 kuruş, making him a wealthy man, as one would expect of a eunuch in the second-highest position in the Imperial Harem, but dwarfed by his boss’s staggering wealth, and considerably less than that of Abdülhamid’s relict Binnaz Kadın, who also died in the mid-1820s, and whom we shall meet shortly.

Leaving this world, as he did, in 1824, Mahmud Ağa was almost the last ‘Head Slave of the Gate’ in Ottoman history, because Mahmud II abolished the title as part of the reforms he launched after 1826. The opening couplets of his epitaph contain standard phrases of graveyard poetry:

Setting out from the transitory world,

In the Abode of Permanency he made the Mansions of Paradise his dwelling.

Come, recite the İhlas and a Fatiha;

The appointed hour of death grants no one quarter.

A Fatiha for the soul of The late Mahmud Ağa

Eunuch in the Exalted Abode of Felicity, Head Slave of the Gate at the New Imperial Palace.

R.a. 1240 [24 October–22 November 1824]

 

yunus ağa. Child’s governor. Plot 62

Turban: Kâtibî

We have seen one child’s governor, or lâla, in this graveyard, Torun Ahmed Bey, and like Ahmed, Yunus Ağa was also charged with oversee- ing the education and upbringing of Abdülhamid’s eldest son, the future Mustafa IV. But unlike Ahmed, Yunus Ağa was black and a eunuch, and he died before his former charge came to the throne, thereby missing the catastrophe that was to be Mustafa’s reign.

Traditionally, the Ottoman court appointed a governor from among the eunuchs (we cannot be certain whether white or black) in service

at court. He might be appointed shortly after a prince’s birth, as we see in the archival document telling us that the governor to Prince Murad (died 1812 and buried here), one İbrahim Ağa, was already in post when Murad was but two months old.60 As their young charge matured, non- eunuchs at court were also appointed as lâla, which would seem to be the case with Mustafa’s other governor, Torun Ahmed Bey.61 Insofar as we understand it, a black eunuch governor might stay with his charge for years, decades even, perhaps until the eunuch’s death, which seems to have been the case with Yunus, if we may judge from his gravestone. The white governors, on the other hand, might be ‘detailed’ to the prince’s training on a temporary basis, then rotated or promoted to other positions at court.

For this post, not just any eunuch would do; the incumbent would have been well-educated, with polished manners, because he would serve as teacher to the prince both in ‘academic’ schooling as well as in comport- ment. Understandably, a sympathetic governor could become close to a young prince, especially if the eunuch stayed in his service throughout his youth and into manhood. In early periods the court selected three eunuchs as lâla, with the eldest appointed over them as başlâla, Head Governor, but we do not know enough about the custom in Mustafa’s lifetime to say whether this tradition still applied in his day.62

An amusing couplet on the governor’s role as trainer, by the sixteenth- century poet Zâtî, puns on the word lâla, of Persian origin, and lâ, the Arabic for ‘no’:

Nasihat eyledikçe ana lâla Kabul etmezdi sözü derdi: lâ lâ

Whilst counseling him, if the lâla [governor] reproves, He will say ‘lâ lâ’ [no, no!]63

Most likely, Yunus too had been appointed as governor when Mustafa was a young lad; by the time Yunus died, his former royal charge had reached the age of twenty-three, four years before the adventures of his reign. One is left to wonder why Yunus did not rise to any higher eunuch position at the palace than royal child’s governor, although that in itself was a position of respect. Was a lâla thought more a teacher than an admin- istrator? Did Yunus have no interest in administration? Or did he simply lack the seniority for the topmost posts and then died before Mustafa came to the throne and might have granted him a higher post?

In any event, Yunus’s burial here is testament, we surmise, to the affection that existed between governor and former pupil.

Grant a kindness, O God, make my abode the Garden of Paradise.

I submit to your every command, O Lord.

I have surrendered my soul, my happiness on earth; My wish was not granted this day.

May the Creator of the World grant my wish in Heaven.

The late and divinely forgiven Yunus Ağa, Governor to His Highness the noble Prince Mustafa.

The Fatiha for his soul. 9 Z. 1217 [2 April 1803]

The rhyming couplets that open the epitaph form a standard verse for headstones in this era; we see a variant of it on the headstone here of the lady Zeyneb, who died three years after Yunus Ağa.

 

Male Relatives of Palace and Government Officials

On a few occasions, palace courtiers, or eminent persons known to the court, arranged for burial of their close kin at the Hamidiye graveyard. Most likely, their burial here served as a mark of respect for whoever succeeded in arranging it.

 

bahaeddİn eFendİ. Son oF şükrî haSan. plot 2

Fez: Mahmudiye

We can assume from the two lines that open his epitaph, and from the small size of his sepulchre, that Bahaeddin Efendi was an infant or young boy when he died, although we do not know how young. The epitaph tells us that the boy’s father had received his training in the Privy Household (Enderun-ı Hümayun), which in the 1840s would have been at Topkapı Palace. Clearly his father’s former connection to the court is what earned Bahaeddin burial here, as a token of the court’s compassion or respect for his father.

That father was, surely, the Şükrî Hasan Efendi who entered the field of law, serving as professor and rising through the juridical ranks to nearly the top judgeship post before his death in 1297/1880, some thirty-six years after burying his child here (he himself is buried elsewhere). The Ottoman Register describes Judge Şükrî Hasan Efendi as ‘well-spoken, an eloquent orator, a man of knowledge’.64 Was it these fine qualities that managed his boy’s burial here?

Bahaeddin died five years into the reign of Abdülmecid, but the fez on his gravestone is a ‘leftover’ Mahmudiye, not a Mecidiye; perhaps the Mecidiye was not widely used yet or, more likely, stone masons were using up existing stock of Mahmudiye fezzes.

 

Figure 4.21 Mahmudiye fez for the young Bahaeddin. AZ.

 

The first two lines of the boy’s epitaph are one of the standard graveyard verses for young people:

A bird I was, from the nest I flew,

The appointed hour of death parted me from my Mother and Father.

A Fatiha for the soul of

The late and divinely pardoned Mehmed Bahaeddin, Son of the Mahrec Judge Şükür Hasan Efendi

From the Imperial Inner Service Staff. 1260 [22 JanVuary 1844–9 January 1845]

Mahrec was the designation applied to the lowest order of judges. From this we can tell that at the time of his son’s death, Şükrî Hasan was still a relatively young professional not far advanced in his career as a judge. Unexpectedly, the stone spells the first of his two given names as Şükür شکر rather than the far more common Şükrî شکری; perhaps the stone carver made a mistake, but we have left it in the transliteration as the stone has it.

 

haSİb Pasha’s two sons. Plot 1 (ata bey) and Plot 14 (alİ bey)

Fez for Ata Bey: Mahmudiye Fez for Ali Bey: Mecidiye

One of the brighter stars in the Ottoman bureaucratic firmament of the nineteenth century, Mehmed Hasib Pasha’s long career, under three sultans, stretched from the 1820s until his death in 1870. Typical of the highest echelons of Ottoman state service, Hasib Pasha occupied a variety of cabinet posts in a series of appointments that lasted from a few months to a year or two: the traditional system of awarding posts, which brought to the treasury fees paid for the honour of each short appointment.65 When his son Ata died in 1838, he was Minister of the Privy Purse and Minister of Pious Endowments, but at the death of his Ali twenty years later he was Minister of Finance – having occupied a wide range of cabinet appoint- ments in between these two personal tragedies.

It would not have been hard for Hasib Pasha, as a cabinet minister, to pull strings to have these two sons buried here. Typical of many Ottoman tombstones of the elite in this era, and as noted before, the sons’ epitaphs spell out clearly who their illustrious father was (since it was his promi- nent position that had earned them burial in this prestigious ground) but mention nothing about the deceased themselves apart from their name and date of death. We do not know their dates of birth, but judging from the small sizes of their sepulchres, these two sons were quite young. Their tombstones sport the fez of an adult male, but the size of a tombstone fez typically does not reflect the age of the deceased. Their title of seyyid makes clear the claim that they descended from the Prophet.

The Fatiha for the noble soul of The late and divinely forgiven Seyyid Mehmed Ata Bey Efendi Son of His Excellency

The illustrious vizier of the Exalted Sultanate Hasib Pasha.

5 L. 1254 [22 December 1838]

The Fatiha for the soul of The late and divinely forgiven

And in need of the mercy of his all-forgiving God Seyyid Mehmed Ali Bey

Exalted son of His Excellency

The illustrious minister of the Exalted Sultanate The honourable Hasib Pasha, Minister of Finance.

1274 [22 August 1857–10 August 1858]

 

Figure 4.22 Pears for the eunuch Cafer Ağa. AZ.

 

 

mehmed ağa, seyyİd. Father oF mahmud ii’S Senior keeper oF the

robeS. plot 31

Turban: Kâtibî

The fact that Mehmed’s son Bekir was Senior Keeper of the Robes (Başçokadar) to Mahmud II in the Privy Household at Topkapı Palace accounts for Mehmed’s burial here. This is all we know of him, other than that his honorific title seyyid indicates he claimed descent from the Prophet.

Assuming, as seems likely, that Bekir Efendi was Senior Keeper of the Robes at the time of his father’s death, then Bekir numbered among the very last to hold this venerable title, as it was abolished in Mahmud’s reforms of the imperial court following his suppression of the Janissaries the year after Mehmed’s death. We do not know when his son Bekir died, but in all events, he was not buried here.

The Fatiha, for the sake of Almighty God, For the soul of the late and divinely forgiven Seyyid Mehmed Ağa

Father of the Senior Keeper of the Robes Bekir Efendi And for the souls of all people of the faith.

17 C.a. 1240 [7 January 1825]

 

Notes

1.   Halevi 2007, 188.

2.   Findley 2019, 280.

3.    Findley 2019, 280.

4.    Hathaway 2018, 126–7.

5.    Hathaway 2018, 279.

6.    Brookes and Ziyrek 2016, 173.

7.    Süreyya 1996, 236.

8.    Hızır İlyas 1859, 9.

9.    Żygulski 1992, 111.

10.    Yakıt 1992, 197.

11.    Zaimzade 1289, 16–17.

12.    Crane 1999, 484.

13.    Süreyya 1996, 1071.

14.    Eldem 2005, 136.

15.    Pakalın 1946–56, 1:789

16.    Bayerle 1997, 2.

17.    Kökrek 2015, 52–3.

18.    Mouradgea d’Ohsson 1788–1824, 7:42; Pakalın 1946–56, 1:324; Findley

2019, 282, 316.

19.    Süreyya 1996, 1687; Laqueur 1993, 95–100.

20.    Öztuna 1989, 712–13; Laqueur 1993, 102.

21.    Laqueur 1993, 98.

22.    Süreyya 1996, 1630–1.

23.    Süreyya 1996, 1312.

24.    https://islamansiklopedisi.org.tr/enderunlu-vasif, accessed 5 October 2021.

25.    Hızır İlyas 1859, 138–9. The last two lines form a rhyming couplet in Arabic.

26.    Süreyya 1996, 1507.

27.    Karateke 2007, 178.

28.    Hamadeh 2002, 124.

29.    Hathaway 2018, 44.

30.    Findley 2019, 283.

31.    As, for example, Hathaway 2018.

32.    Hathaway 2018, 44.

33.    Hathaway 2018, 236–7.

34.    Findley 2019, 19.

35.    Hathaway 2018, 275–82.

36.    Sultan Mehmed V’s First Secretary describes the role of black eunuchs at that sultan’s court (Brookes 2020, 55–8) as does the harem teacher Safiye at both that court and that of Mehmed VI (Brookes 2008, 243–5).

37.    Süreyya 1996, 237.

38.    Öztuna 1989, 921, states, without documentation, that ‘some’ (bazıları) serving women (cariye) who had married returned to the harem, at their own request, to serve a few more years; if this did occur, it would have been rare.

39.    BOA TS.MA.e, 643 24, dated H-29-12-1200 (the date given records of the thirteenth century ah for which the actual date is unknown).

40.   BOA TS.MS.d 2301, dated H-23-01-1232; the document itself shows the date Safer 1232.

41.   BOA TS.MA.e 237 6, dated H-26-3-1232.

42.   http://pierre-marteau.com/wiki/index.php?title=Prices_and_Wages_in_the_

Ottoman_Empire%2C_1469-1914 (accessed 8 January 2022).

43.   Brookes 2020, 98–9.

44.   Keskiner 2013, 3–9.

45.   BOA TS.MA.d 2957, dated H-29-2-1223; the relevant document, p. 2 in this folder, is dated 11 S. 1223.

46.   BOA TS.MA.d 3063, dated H-1-11-1230.

47.   http://pierre-marteau.com/wiki/index.php?title=Prices_and_Wages_in_the_

Ottoman_Empire%2C_1469-1914 (accessed 8 January 2022).

48.   Süreyya 1996, 427.

49.   BOA TS.MA.d 442 43, dated H-29-12-1240.

50.   http://pierre-marteau.com/wiki/index.php?title=Prices_and_Wages_in_the_

Ottoman_Empire%2C_1469-1914 (accessed 8 January 2022).

51.   BOA TS.MA.e 442 42, dated H-23-11-1241.

52.   BOA TS.MA.d 2080, dated H-29-12-1238.

53.   Süreyya 1996, 739; Hathaway 2018, 226, 237; Öztuna 1989, 933.

54.   BOA TS.MA.e 199 12, dated H-25-11-1242, but document on folio 7 is dated 25 C. 1242.

55.   Uzunçarşılı 1988, 357, briefly lists the baş kapı gulâmı as one of the white eunuchs, but Pakalın 1946–56, 1:165, unhesitatingly describes the post as Zenci hadımağalara mahsus olan bu vazife, ‘this position pertaining to the black eunuchs’. Perhaps earlier occupants had been white, but based on his epitaph, clearly this occupant of the post (Mahmud Ağa) was black.

56.   Findley 2019, 283. By comparison, the 1903 list of court eunuchs showed thirty-one eunuchs in service at the monarch’s residence of Yıldız Palace and 163 at other residences of the Imperial Family around Istanbul. Ehud

R. Toledano (1998), Slavery and Abolition in the Ottoman Middle East, Seattle: University of Washington, 41ff.

57.   Pakalın 1946–56, 1:165.

58.   BOA TS.MA.e 1203 9, dated H-5-11-1235.

59.   Hathaway 2018, 81.

60.   BOA TS.MA.e, 879 13, dated H-07-02-1227.

61.   Uzunçarşılı 1988, 124.

62.   Uzunçarşılı 1988, 110.

63.   Pakalın 1946–56, 2:354.

64.   Süreyya 1996, 1606.

65.   Findley 2019, 4.

Chapter 5

The Women in the Garden:

The Female World of the Imperial Harem

 

 

 

Burials of females in the garden debuted in 1797 and concluded in 1863, and consist largely of the kalfas, hazinedars, and ustas who managed the Imperial Harem and the households of married princesses around town. Harem staff in other positions are here too, including secretaries, wet- nurses, nannies, and one Mistress of the Coffee Service.

In addition, seven ladies interred here were Imperial Consorts (kadın): four of Abdülhamid I and three of Mustafa IV. No concubines of the next monarch, Mahmud II, are here because he preferred to bury his late concubines at the tomb of his mother, Nakşıdil, while those who died after his reign were interred at his mausoleum.

As with the men buried in the garden, we shall consider in detail only those women who pique our interest because of their tombstone, or because their ‘job’ allows us to shed light onto the workings of the Ottoman palace in their day.

 

Imperial Consorts

In Chapter 3, we explored the overall workings of the concubinage system. Let us consider now the lives of the Imperial Consorts (no concubines below that rank are buried here).

By the late eighteenth century, most Imperial Harem ladies, whether concubine or staff, came from the Caucasus (or their families originated there), primarily Circassians and Georgians. At an age typically between four and ten, they were sold into slavery and eventually purchased by the palace or presented as gifts to the court, to join the corps of 500–600 women estimated to be in palace service as of the 1780s.1

Once in palace service, novice slave girls received new names that were almost always Persian or Arabo-Persian in origin, which differentiated

these servants from princesses, whose names were nearly always Arabic in origin. Her palace name might express some real or desired feature about her, for example, Nakşıdil, ‘Adornment of the heart’, Çeşmiferah, ‘Wide-eyed’, Kamertab, ‘Moon lustre’, Binnaz, ‘A thousand coquetries’. Occasionally the novice received a name that made no real sense, or that in her Circassian or Georgian accent morphed into something unique to her, not found in Persian vocabulary. We know that by the later nineteenth century, and probably in earlier centuries too, harem staff occasionally called one another by their birth name instead of their palace ‘stage name’.2 Once established in the Imperial Harem, a novice slave girl’s training

in palace etiquette and service began, under the tutelage of a secretarial kalfa. She would then be assigned to one of the ‘teams’, headed by a kalfa, in service to the Mother Princess if there were one, to one of the consorts or ikbals and her children if any, to one of the sons of a previous sultan, or to the highest women supervisors of the harem; or, for the less fortunate, to work in the pantries or the külhan, the stokehold of the steam bath.3 The trainee’s education continued, for those more gifted and ambitious, with learning to read and write, followed by lessons in music – the harem’s Turkish music ensemble performed for palace residents – or drawing, even calligraphy.4 The more attractive and talented female servants might catch the eye of a prince (or of his mother or sisters, who would recom- mend them to him) and receive, if he came to the throne, appointment as one of his ikbals or perhaps consorts.

Occasionally, but not always, the gravestones of consorts record their numerical order in the hierarchy: Senior, Second, Third, or Fourth Consort. Alas, due to the fact that a consort advanced one notch in rank at the death of a lady higher than she, there can be considerable confusion as to these ladies’ official ‘number’ at any given time, or of a lady’s identity if she is described as, say, ‘The Third Consort’ without including her name (an extremely frequent occurrence). The number would have been of central importance to the ladies in question – a matter of prestige, and probably income – but for our purposes it is usually enough to know that the lady was an Imperial Consort, a Kadın Efendi, no matter the number of her rank.

The gravestones show us that in this era, consorts could be known by a number greater than four (we have both a Fifth Consort and Sixth Consort here). A sultan might have up to seven or eight (sources vary on this number), which would indeed be permissible, if not necessarily traditional; given that the consorts were not legal wives, Islamic law, which limited a man to four wives, was not broken.5 In any event, over the course of the nineteenth century greater order was brought to the system,

                    

Figures 5.1 to 5.3 Headstones of three women of the Imperial Harem: left to right, Şevkinur (d. 1813), consort of Mustafa IV; Cezbiara (d. 1826), kalfa in the reign of Mahmud II; Ruhusafa (d. 1825), kalfa to Mahmud II’s Second Consort. In the eyes of the court, the top harem managers merited tombstones as grand as those of Imperial Consorts. AZ.

ending the designation of any consort with an ordinal number larger than ‘Fourth’.

Because consorts were not considered members of the Imperial Family, they were buried in the graveyard around a royal tomb rather than inside it. If, on quite the other hand, the lady’s son had come to the throne during her lifetime, elevating her to the status of Mother Princess and a member of the Imperial Family, at her death she would be buried inside a royal tomb (we saw the exception to this in the case of Abdülhamid’s concubine Sineperver). The tomb might be her son’s, or her late husband’s, or, if she had built one, her own. None of the ladies buried here qualified for this special case, since none had a son who came to the throne during her lifetime.6

As the seat of the Royal Household, the Imperial Harem functioned as a kind of inner sanctum of the palace, a separate and highly guarded space in which the women selected as concubines might bear and raise the monarch’s offspring, most importantly the potential heirs to the throne. One might expect this royal cemetery to reflect the elite status of these ladies among palace residents. But death has been the great leveller, and they lie intermixed, in no special arrangement or status, among the other servants of the dynasty in these grounds, side-by-side with male courtiers in a proximity that would never have occurred during their lifetimes. The harem eunuchs buried here, on the other hand, these ladies would have known quite well.

Just as the mausoleum played the role of presenting the Imperial Family to the populace, so too the elaborate gravestones of Imperial Consorts performed the same function for these high-ranking ladies of the court. It is not terribly likely that many visitors to the Hamidiye graveyard explored the closely packed tombstones, though, and with the extremely low lit- eracy rate only a few could read the epitaphs on them, so probably the most we can postulate is that the magnificent marble steles with Rococo flourishes at the top in lieu of a turban or fez alerted visitors that grand ladies also lived at the palace and lie buried here.

The consorts are presented in alphabetical order under the name of the sultan whose concubines they were. As consorts of the same monarch, referring to one another in palace parlance as yoldaşım (‘my companion’), living in close quarters in the apartments for consorts in the Topkapı harem and at the smaller summer palaces the monarch frequented along the Bosphorus, they would have known each well in life.7 Following ‘their’ sovereign’s death, they and their children would have been moved to the Old Palace (unless they possessed a villa in town), where they would cross paths with the widows and children of other deceased sultans,

as well as with kalfas and ustas formerly in the service of dead monarchs – the gloomy truth that earned the Old Palace its nickname, Gözyaşı Sarayı,

The Palace of Tears.8

 

conSortS oF abdülhamİd i

Where a consort’s entry states that she had no children, or no more chil- dren, the possibility remains that one of the three daughters of Abdülhamid by an unknown mother (the princesses Aynişah, Melekşah, and Rabia (1)) may have been her daughter.

 

Binnaz Kadın. Plot 6

Binnaz numbered among the ladies whom Abdülhamid selected as his con- sorts shortly after he came to the throne in 1774, as attested by the engraved seal in the Topkapı Palace collections, Her Highness the Felicitous Second [Consort] Binnaz Kadın, 1189, or 1775–6.9 Her enumeration as ‘Second’ on this early seal conflicts with her gravestone from 1823, over three decades after her term as an Imperial Consort had ended, which calls her the sultan’s Third (Consort) Binnaz (Üçüncü Binnaz Kadın). Amusingly, archival documents in the few years before her death also bounce back and forth between identifying Binnaz as Second Consort or Third Consort, which demonstrates that even contemporaneous staff of the court were not fully certain of, or apprised of, her rank. Consorts are known to have advanced in rank, not regressed, thus this remains a puzzlement we cannot hope to resolve given the current state of our information.

We do not know of any children born to Binnaz. She may not have been a mother, but from multiple archival documents she appears to have been an excellent steward of the properties assigned to her for income, control- ling an array of tax farms and charitable endowments.

The inventory and valuation of her worldly goods took place within days of her death in June 1823.10 The title of the inventory treats her with due deference: ‘Her Highness the late Binnaz Kadın, consort of His Majesty Sultan Abdülhamid Khan, whose abode is Paradise, who dwells in Eden’, the latter two stock phrases applied to her deceased husband again on her gravestone. Densely entered over three long pages, the list of Binnaz’s effects totalled 4,334,440 akçe in value, or 36,105 kuruş. When compared to the yearly wage of our skilled worker in the 1820s, 1,446 kuruş, we see that the income assigned to Binnaz had made this former slave girl wealthy indeed. Not in the same realm as Chief Eunuch Bekir Ağa, whose estate, as noted, totalled some 145,000 kuruş when he died two years after Binnaz (no one in palace service could match the Chief

Eunuch’s income), but astronomically higher than the vast majority of Ottoman subjects.

Binnaz wrote her will decades before her death, as it is dated 15 C. 1198/6 May 1784; in it she named her husband as executor to carry out its contents. Along with freeing her slaves at her death, her will set up a chari- table endowment to provide monies for alms given on behalf of the dead, for prayers for her soul, for a fast in expiation of her sins, for the poor, for washing her corpse and swathing in the shroud, and for her tombstone.11

Binnaz survived her husband by thirty-four years, at which time this will went into effect and presumably paid for the tombstone we see today: a tall stele of creamy white marble, in the female style (floral motifs at the top), adorned with exuberant Rococo elements and elegantly calligraphed within the frame of a flowering vine. This superb gravestone forms a magnificent tribute to this high lady.

Consort of His Majesty Sultan Abdülhamid, Whose abode is Paradise, who dwells in Eden, (Mercy and pardon be upon him)

The late and divinely pardoned (And in need of her all-forgiving God)

Third [Consort] Binnaz Kadın.

The Fatiha for her soul.

L. 1238 [11 June–9 July 1823]

On Binnaz’s stone, her name and title appear in the unusual fashion by which she is also known in archival records: Üçüncü Binnaz Kadın, liter- ally ‘the Third Binnaz Kadın’, rather than something along the lines of ‘the Third Kadın, Binnaz’. Such was palace usage of this era, one of many language quirks peculiar to the palace.12

The epitaph shows only that she died in Şevval 1238, but since the first posthumous inventory of her effects is dated 5 Şevval 1238, 15 June 1823, we can state that Binnaz died somewhere between 11 and 15 June of the latter year.13

 

Hadice Ruhşah Kadın. Plot 55

This lady bearing the double name is known alternatively as Hadice Ruhşah, or Ruhşah on personal correspondence in the archives, or, as we see on her tombstone, Hadice. She had been in service to Abdülhamid while he was still a prince, and when he came to the throne in 1774, he appointed her one of his four consorts. Following the death of the two ladies above her in rank, Ruhşah became his Senior Consort, Başkadın, probably in 1778. She gave birth to a stillborn son in June 1779, sources

telling us that for some period of time ‘in his grief the padishah did not leave the mabeyin’.14 She had no more children.

The emotion-laden correspondence between Abdülhamid and Ruhşah, still extant in the archives, testifies to their passionate relationship, rather unexpected, to the outsider at least, in writings between a sultan and his concubines. ‘I rub my face in the dust of your footprints’, he tells her melodramatically, calls himself her slave, wishes to kiss her feet, and implores her to reconcile with him following a resentment she was harbouring.15

Ruhşah survived her husband by eighteen years. About her death, one document in the archives, undated but estimated to be from 1222/1807–8, the year of her death, announces ‘the appointment of a court official to take possession, since she has died, of the personal effects of the lady who was Senior Consort to the late Sultan Abdülhamid I’.16 Once again we have the code of discretion at the Ottoman court identifying the lady only by title, not by name, but as we know from her tombstone that Ruhşah died in 1222/1807–8, and no other former Senior Consort of Abdülhamid died around then, this document must refer to her.

During her long widowhood Ruhşah undertook the pilgrimage to Mecca, which we know because her tombstone prefaces her name with el-hâce, ‘the (female) pilgrim’. This long and arduous journey must have proven quite the incredible change from what would have been her rather monotonous daily life within the confines of the Old Palace, and we only wish that we had a diary of her experiences. At the present state of our knowledge, only two other Imperial Consorts are known to have under- taken the pilgrimage, all in their widowhood, but Hadice Ruhşah did so decades earlier than they. She was clearly an exceptional person.

The Fatiha, for the sake of God (may His name be exalted), For the good soul of the late and divinely pardoned Hajji, Her Highness Hadice Kadın

Who was distinguished with the rank of Senior Consort To the previous monarch, His Majesty Sultan Abdülhamid,

Whose Abode is Heaven, who dwells in Paradise.

1222 [11 March 1807–27 February 1808]

 

Mutebere Kadın. Plot 57

According to one archival record, Abdülhamid and Mutebere underwent some sort of engagement ceremony (akd-ı nikâh), each represented by a proxy, within the Chamber of the Noble Mantle at Topkapı in October 1774, a few months after he came to the throne.17 Given the Ottoman dynasty’s devotion to slave concubinage, this sort of ceremony would

have been rare, and was certainly undertaken quietly. Unfortunately, at present we have no further sources to elucidate us on the ceremony, or on whether Abdülhamid engaged himself to or wed others of his concubines. As her gravestone makes clear, Mutebere was officially known as Fifth Consort, attesting to Abdülhamid’s bending court tradition by designating more than four of his ladies as kadın. It is testament that the title of kadın was a symbol of rank in the harem, not a symbol of having undergone a legal marriage, since at that moment there were more than four kadıns.

Perhaps the ‘engagement ceremony’ was more in the nature of attesting his devotion to her, rather than contracting a legal marriage.

As we have noted, in 1779 Mutebere gave birth to her son Süleyman, who died when he was seven and is buried inside the tomb. Apparently, she had no other children, or at least none who lived long enough to be recorded.

Mutebere survived her husband by forty-eight years and her son by fifty-one. Of her nearly five decades in the Old Palace as a widow whose son had died when he was seven, we know nothing. It is fitting that when she died, she was laid to rest in this garden surrounding the tomb that shelters her husband and her son.

The Fatiha for the soul of

Her Highness the late and divinely pardoned Fifth Consort Mutebere

Of the Virtuous Imperial Harem of

His Majesty Sultan Abdülhamid, whose abode is Paradise.

Having on this occasion manifested the secret within Return unto thy Lord, She drank the sweet drink of her appointed hour of death

And forgot the troubles of this world.

R.a. 1253 [5 June–4 July 1837]

In presenting us her title, Mutebere’s stone uses the same quixotic wording, peculiar to palace usage of this era, that we saw on the stone of her harem ‘sister’ Binnaz: Beşinci Mutebere Kadın, literally ‘the Fifth Mutebere Kadın’.

 

Nevres Kadın. Plot 65

Nevres’s magnificent sepulchre is in the shape of an open-topped, exqui- sitely carved marble rectangle filled with soil for plants to grow and flanked by two towering steles, one at either end. From the first line of her epitaph, we learn that Nevres had served under Abdülhamid as hazinedar (‘treasurer’), the high rank we have seen for court eunuchs, but which in the harem denoted the small (perhaps eight or ten), elite group of women

 

Figure 5.4 Pomegranates for Mutebere Kadın. AZ.

 

staff in personal service to the monarch in his apartments, and to consorts in theirs.

On quite the other hand, we also have archival documents (but not her two gravestone epitaphs!) referring clearly to Nevres as a consort of Abdülhamid. What we have is a hazinedar who was promoted to the rank of consort at some point in the monarch’s reign.18 Rather unex- pectedly, the documents continue to refer to Nevres as both hazinedar and consort, Sultan I. Abdülhamid’in Üçüncü Kadını Hazinedar Nevres Kadın Efendi, ‘The hazinedar Nevres Kadın Efendi, Third Consort of Sultan Abdülhamid I’, to give one example.19 Usually consorts were selected from the ranks of younger slave girls in service at court, not from the higher-level (and older) hazinedars in the sovereign’s personal service. But there is no particular reason a hazinedar could not be chosen, and Nevres is proof that at least one was. After all, the monarch would have known his hazinedars quite well, what with their serving him per- sonally. She may well have been promoted first from hazinedar to ikbal, which occurred from time to time, and then to consort.20 Nor is the choice especially surprising for Abdülhamid, who was already bending court tradition by fathering children through concubines whose sons were still living.

Since Nevres lived only eight years after Abdülhamid’s death, she was most likely already along in years when she was promoted to Third Consort – if we may go by the general rule that normally a young woman in harem service would not have risen to a rank as high as hazinedar.

Unlike the vast majority of Imperial Consorts, or certainly the vast majority of the women who had risen to some rank in the harem, Nevres does turn up by name in the archives, thanks to the charitable endow- ment she established. This gives us a bit of insight into this woman, who otherwise would have disappeared into the dusts of history along with her harem sisters. All harem serving women received allowances, with higher-ranking staff such as Nevres becoming comfortably off, in Nevres’s case supplemented by the income from tax farms that would have been assigned her once she became a consort. By means of the Nevres Kadın Charitable Endowment, which she set up as a subsidiary appendage of the ‘Sultan Abdülhamid I Pious Endowment’ that her late husband had established, Nevres donated significant funds to the poor of Mecca and Medina. The endowment was still donating money for this purpose twenty-five years after her death, according to archival records, and probably for longer than that.21

The archives also tell us she possessed a farm near Salonica as well as a seaside villa along the Bosphorus, where she lived after Abdülhamid’s death. Since Nevres had no children, when she died these properties passed to her husband’s daughter Princess Heybetullah. Surprisingly, the document detailing transfer of the Salonica farm to Heybetullah still refers to Nevres as ‘Sultan Hamid’s wife and Third Hazinedar’. Could she have still worked as a hazinedar even when she was married to the monarch? One would not think so, as when transitioning from hazinedar to consort, a woman transitioned from servitor to mistress. The frequent use of both titles for her, though, even years after she had become an Imperial Consort, implies it.

A document from 1205/1790–1 (two years after she became a widow), gives us a clue to the situation, in its description of Nevres:

Merhûm cennetmekân firdevsaşiyan Sultan Abdülhamid Han aleyhi’r- rahmet ve’l-gufrân tabe serahü efendimiz hazretlerinin harem-i hümayun-ı şevketmakrunda sabıkan hazinedar kadın rütbe-i celilesiyle bekâm buyurulan Üçüncü iffetlû Nevres Kadın efendimiz hazretleri.22

Her Highness our virtuous Third Consort Nevres, formerly gratified with the illustrious title of Hazinedar Kadın in the Imperial Harem, suffused with gran- deur, of our liege lord His Majesty the late Sultan Abdülhamid Khan, who

Figure 5.5 The elaborate cage surrounding Nevres Kadın’s sepulchre. AZ.

resides in Heaven, whose abode is Paradise, God’s mercy and pardon upon him, may his grave be pleasant.

It is the single word ‘formerly’ (sabıkan) in this flowery phrase that allows us to conclude that for whatever reason, Nevres retained the hazinedar title but did not still work as one. Or – did she continue to perform some of the hazinedar duties because she enjoyed them? We cannot know. But we can say that the florid honorifics in this document tell us a fair amount about the importance of titulature at the Ottoman court, as at all royal courts; that referring to Nevres as Hazinedar Kadın establishes that by this era the title kadın had spread from consorts to hazinedars; and that her use of dual titles certainly helps pinpoint Nevres in archival records, unlike untold numbers of harem ladies who have been confused with others of the same name.

Nevres’s engaging and poignant epitaph plays on her title of hazinedar/‘treasurer’, even as it evokes the soil-friendly design of her sepulchre:

With plentiful coin of loyalty, treasurer she was,

At the court of her sovereign Abdülhamid, this departed lady, ah!

May God illumine her grave, just as now black earth Has hidden that virtuous lady thus, like a treasure.

Not like a drop of dew, like a child it weeps

As it gathers above the tomb of that mother of good deeds, ah! When she transited from the timeworn world, I spoke her date:

‘May the lady Nevres fashion a chamber of splendour in the mansion of the heavens’.

The Fatiha for her soul.

L. 1211 [30 March–27 April 1797]

The chronogram does indeed add up to 1,211. Requesting God to illu- mine her grave, a standard request on tombstones and in elegies, stems from the Islamic belief that even after death, the spirit continues to exist in the grave, and that God could bathe the grave in light to comfort the spirit.23

The reverse side of Nevres’s headstone contains a briefer, standard, and far less engaging epitaph, but it does tell us the exact day of her ‘transit’:

The Fatiha for the soul of Nevres Kadın

The late and divinely forgiven hazinedar to the late And divinely forgiven previous sovereign,

His Majesty Sultan Abdülhamid, Whose abode is Paradise.

17 L. 1211 [15 April 1797]

In the execution of the calligraphy and floral decorations of the marble, in the open-sarcophagus design of the monument, and in the delicate metal cagework surrounding the gravesite, Nevres’s place of rest testifies to her importance in life even as it presents an exquisite gift to the visitor. Almost certainly, in her will, Nevres left a sum of money for her monument as well as for the top-notch poet (alas, anonymous) who composed the rhyming epitaph and clever chronogram on its front façade. Altogether, her sepul- chre constitutes a most appropriate monument for a high lady in service to, and then adjunct of, the House of Osman.

 

conSortS oF muStaFa iv

These three widows would have lived out the remainder of their lives in the Old Palace after their husband’s overthrow and execution in 1809.

 

Dilpezir Kadın. Plot 44

Confusion reigns in the secondary sources as to whether Dilpezir was consort to Abdülhamid or to his son Mustafa IV. Her tombstone does not

Figure 5.6 Grapevine on the footstone of Nevres Kadın’s grave. AZ.

tell us and no archival records have yet surfaced to clarify the situation. The Ottoman Register of the 1890s lists her as consort of Mustafa, without telling us why, but this does seem the more likely option as otherwise that sultan would have had but two consorts – possible in his relatively short reign, but not probable.24 Here we shall assume her husband to have been Mustafa.

Dilpezir would have been appointed consort of the ill-fated Mustafa shortly after he came to the throne in May 1807. As we have seen, she may be the mother of Mustafa’s posthumous baby daughter Princess Emine, born probably in March 1809 and buried inside the mausoleum when she died at the age of a few months, but we cannot be certain. Both that baby (according to one source) and Dilpezir died in the same month, Şaban 1224/ September–October 1809. If Dilpezir was Emine’s mother, did she die from lingering complications of the birth? But perhaps she was not the baby’s mother and the fact that they died in the same month is a dark coincidence. In any event, in making no mention of who her late royal husband was, Dilpezir’s gravestone is the only one of an Imperial Consort in this graveyard to omit that piece of information. This leads us further to suspect that Dilpezir had indeed been the wife of the disgraced Mustafa, when one considers that his two confirmed consorts buried here, Şevkinur and Seyyare, who died four and nine years, respectively, after Mustafa’s execution do name him. Had enough time passed so that mentioning that disgraced monarch by name became acceptable later, assuming it was not so acceptable in 1809? Was he mentioned on Şevkinur’s stone in particu- lar because she was his Senior Consort? Or was there no political reason whatsoever for the disparity in the tombstone wordings, merely a matter of choice on the part of whichever palace officials ordered the tombstones?

We can but speculate.

The epitaph is relatively brief and contains the small gender error (discussed in Chapter 1) in the Arabic phrase ‘the all-forgiving’. But it is a beautiful work of grey marble in a style entirely appropriate to an Imperial Consort. From this we can see that – assuming Dilpezir was Mustafa’s widow – even so soon after the tumultuous events involving Mustafa’s downfall and execution, his widow was accorded burial proper for an Imperial Consort, so that in Dilpezir’s tombstone we have the dynasty exhibiting respect for its deceased members and concubines regardless of the political climate.

 

The Fatiha for the soul of The late and divinely pardoned

(And in need of the mercy of her all-forgiving God)

 

Figure 5.7 Date palm on the sepulchre of Dilpezir Kadın. AZ.

 

 

Dilpezir Kadın

For the sake of God (may His name be exalted).

Ş. 1224 [11 September–9 October 1809]

 

Şevkinur Başkadın Efendi. Plot 38

As with the other concubines buried here, we know nearly nothing of Şevkinur’s life apart from what is inscribed on her gravestone. Like the others, she was probably Circassian in origin and had numbered among the serving women in the palace household of Mustafa IV before he came to the throne. The fact that he appointed her his Senior Consort shows that he held her in some degree of respect, and possibly affection. She may have been the mother of his daughter Emine, who is buried within the tomb, but we cannot be certain.

An archival document dated 25 Safer 1228/27 February 1813, worded in the typical Ottoman phrases relevant to a death, tell us that the revenue- producing farmland assigned to ‘Her Highness Şevkinur Kadın, who has journeyed to the Realm of Permanency, Senior Consort to the previous

sovereign, His Majesty Sultan Mustafa Khan, who dwells in Paradise, may his grave be pleasant’ were to be transferred to Mahmud II’s consort, Ebrifettan.25 From this we can pinpoint Şevkinur’s date of death a bit more accurately than her epitaph; she almost certainly died in November or December of 1812.

Her Highness the late Şevkinur Kadın, Senior Consort to the previous monarch,

His Majesty the late and divinely pardoned Sultan Mustafa.

May God grant mercy to her and to all believing men and women.

The Fatiha.

1227 [16 January 1812–3 January 1813]

Şevkinur’s elegant marble tombstone is exquisitely calligraphed, as befits an Imperial Senior Consort. It does contain one seeming anomaly that could give the reader of the stone pause. In the last line above the date, in the word mü’minata مومناته (‘to believing women’), the second and third letters, vav و and mim م, are superimposed atop one another. This works spatially because both letters contain equal-sized loops that can fit atop one another perfectly, with the ‘tail’ of the vav swooping gracefully below the loop that has been pressed into double duty as the loop of both these letters. It is an elegant and pleasing manner of combining a vav followed by a mim, and one of the accepted variants one occasionally encounters in Arabic calligraphy.

In employing this option, afforded him by the presence of the word mü’minata on this stone, the (anonymous) calligrapher reveals to us his skill and artistic taste, while subtly lending a further degree of sophistica- tion to Şevkinur’s already magnificent gravestone. In a further mark of the calligrapher’s talent, he has chosen to employ this superimposed variant only on mü’minata, not on its masculine version mü’minîn (‘believing men’) in the line above it. Perhaps the use of this device in only one of these two words was that in the calligrapher’s reckoning, the line with mü’minîn would not look better with this slight shortening. Or perhaps a brilliant calligrapher would not wish to tire his audience with too much artistry.

See the next entry for more on this calligraphic device.

 

Seyyare Kadın. Plot 53

Seyyare had been Mustafa’s Second Consort, as her tombstone and archi- val records tell us. She was to be his last surviving widow after the death of her harem ‘sister’ Şevkinur in 1812.

Among the very few references to her in the archives, we have the (copy of?) the imperial decree, in beautiful penmanship, informing the

financial administrators that ‘Her Highness the virtuous Second Consort Seyyare, consort to the late Sultan Mustafa, may his grave be pleasant’, was to receive a monthly allowance of 500 kuruş.26 It was a generous grant, considering that our average skilled worker earned some 120 kuruş per month in the 1820s, and presumably supplementary to the income from properties assigned her when she became a consort. It is hard to imagine what expenses Seyyare would have had to meet, but the account- ing sheet after her death speaks of her debts. One might think she could have accumulated funds for a charitable donation such as a street fountain, but no such public gift has surfaced.

The allowance was to come from the surplus income of ‘the illustrious endowment’ (evkaf-ı celilesi) of the late Sultan Abdülhamid Khan’. This was the Hamidiye Endowment that Abdülhamid had set up to fund his Charitable Complex, of which this tomb formed a part. With this we see a widow of the problematical Mustafa IV benefitting from the benefi- cence of her late ‘father-in-law’. We also deduce that Mahmud II bore no grudges against this widow of the brother who had tried to have him murdered. And we see how appropriate the Hamidiye graveyard is as the burial site for Seyyare, given that the endowment that funded the tomb and graveyard had cared for her financially during her lifetime.

A financial document from May 1818, also crafted in fine penmanship, tells of the disposal of the worldly effects Seyyare left behind, mentions that all her estate passed to the Imperial Treasury, from which her debts would be paid, and records the creditors to whom she owed funds, which leaves us to wonder what she used the additional 500 kuruş allowance for.27

The document begins with reference to ‘the exalted mansion, situated on Divanyolu in well-guarded İslâmbol [Istanbul], of Her Highness Princess Esma of august qualities’, then goes on to mention that ‘The Second Consort of His Late Majesty Sultan Mustafa Khan, Her Highness Seyyare Kadın, having obtained her desire with her departure [to Paradise], passed away a short time ago while resident in the aforementioned princess’s exalted mansion.’ From this we infer that since her husband’s overthrow, Seyyare had been living not in the Old Palace but with her ‘sister-in-law’, Esma. Given that Esma was the full sibling of Mustafa IV and had been devoted to him and his cause, it makes sense that she would take care of his widows. One wonders whether his other two widows, Dilpezir and Şevkinur, had taken up residence with Esma too; it seems likely that she took all three of them in. It was this mansion of Esma’s (she had several around town) that would be demolished in 1839 to make way for the Mahmud II Mausoleum.

We are not certain what her income was, but it seems Seyyare should have left enough money to cover the cost of the exquisite marble tomb- stone that marks her final resting place here. Or – did Princess Esma pay for it?

The wording of her gravestone follows that of Şevkinur’s exactly (apart from the difference in their titles), including mentioning their deposed husband by name. We do not know if the same calligrapher drew both epitaphs, but given the six years between them, and the slightly different rendering of the numerals on Seyyare’s stone, it seems unlikely. What is more, in contrast to the artistic rendering of the word mü’minata on Şevkinur’s tombstone discussed in the preceding entry, here on Seyyare’s tombstone the word is written out in standard fashion, as is its masculine version mü’minîn in the same line.

When pondering why the vav-mim device was not used on this stone, we notice that on Şevkinur’s tombstone the phrase that contains these two words, ve cemi mü’minîn ve mü’minata Hak rahmet eyleye el-Fatiha, was constricted within one and one-half lines. But on Seyyare’s stone the phrase spreads across two complete lines. In Seyyare’s case, then, possibly the calligrapher felt he need not employ the artistic device of superimpos- ing the vav over the mim in order to save a bit of space. Or perhaps it simply was not to his taste.

Her Highness Seyyare Kadın Second Consort to the previous sovereign,

The late and divinely pardoned Sultan Mustafa.

May God grant mercy to her and to all believing men and women.

The Fatiha.

1233 [11 November 1817–30 October 1818]

Since the last line of the long accounting document concerning Seyyare’s estate bears the date, written out in Arabic, ‘the twenty-fifth day of Receb the Venerated in the year two hundred and thirty-three’ (the number ‘one thousand’ being often dropped in writing Ottoman years), we can refine her date of death to sometime between 11 November 1817 and 31 May 1818, but given that accountings of a deceased concubine’s effects routinely took place soon after her death (to judge from archival records), almost certainly closer to the latter date.

 

Harem Staff

Nineteen ladies in harem service are buried here. Almost everything we know of them comes from the few lines inscribed onto their tombstones.

 

 

 

 

Figures 5.8 and 5.9 The different renditions of ve müminata on the headstones of Seyyare (left) and Şevkinur (right). Correct orthography is

AZ. .و مومناته

 

As with Imperial Consorts, higher-ranking administrators of the Imperial Harem in this era began life as (most likely) Circassians or Georgians sold into slavery at a young age, then purchased by, or presented to, the palace. As a cariye, the bottom level of the harem hierarchy (although cariye was also the generic word for female harem staff of any rank), novice female slaves began their palace careers in general service in the harem, learning the work as well as how to comport themselves properly in the palace environment. As they gained experience, the more capable women advanced through the management ranks of the harem, which, after all, constituted by far the largest component of Topkapı Palace, a veritable small city requiring provisions and maintenance and what today we would call personnel management.

An adept and aspiring young woman in Imperial Harem service might rise first to the rank of kalfa, receiving assignment in the entourage of the consorts and concubines, the Mother Princess, the princesses, the sons of deceased monarchs in the kafes or princely quarters at Topkapı (or in their own villas in town, after the mid-nineteenth century, when princes were allowed to do so), or even the monarch himself. A kalfa’s responsibilities included training novice girls, overseeing harem mealtimes on a rotational basis, and supervising the weekly cleaning of the entire harem. She had to be literate to receive this promotion, and many a palace kalfa became a musician in the harem orchestra.28

As they accumulated years of experience, the more capable kalfas could win the sultan’s appointment to the next higher rank, hazinedar, the exclusive cohort of women servitors we have noted in personal service to the monarch or to the consorts. Their chief, the Hazinedar Usta or Başhazinedar, figured as the executive director of the entire Imperial Harem, ranking below only the Mother Princess, the consorts, and the royal children. She held all keys to storerooms and oversaw the hazinedars in their duty of keeping watch over the sultan’s apartments day and night. Only she had the right to sit in the sultan’s presence; even his consorts would stand when he came into their presence.29

Another capable, experienced, and cultured hazinedar might rise to become Mistress of Ceremonial of the Imperial Harem, the exalted post known as Kâhya Kadın or Kethüda Kadın (kâhya being a variant of kethüda, ‘steward’). Her rank was separate and equal to that of the Hazinedar Usta. Her ample salary, the same as the Hazinedar Usta’s, rewarded her work, which included affixing the monarch’s Imperial Seal to documents concerning the harem, and overseeing matters of protocol on all great ceremonies involving the harem, from weddings to birth celebra- tions to the great religious festivals.30 These ceremonies she attended in

 

the uniform of her position, with its long skirt and embroidered waistcoat, bearing in one hand the silver-plated staff presented her by the sultan as symbol of her supreme authority. Still, her work, and that of the Hazinedar Usta, came under the oversight of the sultan’s mother, if she were alive, or if not then under the Senior Consort. Each of them, it should be remem- bered, had started her palace career years or even decades earlier in the same way as had the Kâhya Kadın and Hazinedar Usta: as a young slave girl purchased or presented to the palace.

There was a third position at the top of the harem hierarchy, Saray Usta, ‘Palace Superintendent’. Historians disagree over this lady: was she the same as the Kâhya Kadın, or was hers an entirely separate position?31 Only four records in the Ottoman archives have surfaced that mention ‘Saray Usta’, which seems odd indeed. None really clarifies the matter, but two support the notion that the Saray Usta was a separate post: the records of monetary gifts to the harem staff for Ramazan of 1811 and 1815 both list first the Kethüda Kadın, then the Saray Usta, then the Hazinedar Usta, followed by the lower-ranking ustas.32 On both occasions, the Kethüda Kadın and Hazinedar Usta received the same monetary gift amount (400 kuruş in 1815), the Saray Usta noticeably less (300 kuruş), but all three amounts far higher than for the other ustas (85 kuruş that year). Given her location in both lists immediately after the Kethüda Kadın but before the Hazinedar Usta, who, if we may go by the gift amounts, clearly outranked her, are we to conclude that the Saray Usta was a kind of executive assis- tant to the Kethüda Kadın? It is also possible that in earlier decades and centuries, the Saray Usta had indeed been an alternate title of the Kethüda Kadın, but by the early 1800s the title had split off for use by that lady’s assistant. Perhaps by the 1800s the Saray Usta was in overall charge of the kalfas and lower-ranking servitors; this would place her above the kalfas (as a high-ranking usta would be), but below the Kethüda Kadın and the Hazinedar Usta, as the two Ramazan gift lists imply.

If the sultan they served lived long enough, the ‘career’ of harem serving women could last a lifetime – barring dismissal or transfer for some infrac- tion. After nine years in servitude all harem serving women were freed. They could stay in harem service, and many did; after all, palace service brought a good income, a secure environment for a single woman, and the chance for promotion to far more responsible positions than women might attain in society at large. Or they could retire to residence in the Old Palace or, after the 1850s, in Topkapı’s former harem section, as wards of the state. Or they could leave palace service, requesting a husband be found for them, the palace providing a dowry and a furnished house. In town their new neighbours knew them typically as saraylı, a ‘person of

 

Figure 5.10 Harem ladies’ marble forest: Kamerbend Kalfa (centre), Mistress

of the Coffee Service Rami Usta (left), and Harem Secretary Peyker Kalfa (right). AZ.

 

the palace’, a term of respect. If her husband died, the saraylı received a widow’s pension paid by the palace – another ‘job perk’ of great import.33 Surely the most traumatic episode in the life of the Imperial Harem

of this era came in the bloody summer of 1808, following the murder of Selim III and the coup that dethroned Mustafa IV. The new sultan, Mahmud II, acted quickly to purge the harem of women disloyal to him, ordering the expulsion of ‘nannies (dadı) and wet-nurses (daye) and haz- inedars, as well as others who should be expelled’,34 on top of executing Mustafa IV’s consort Peykidil, who had encouraged her husband to have Mahmud murdered.

The Kâhya Kadın, Saray Usta, and Hazinedar Usta occupied what were without doubt the three highest posts a working woman (as opposed to a princess or royal concubine, whose duties were far lighter) could obtain in the Ottoman Empire of their era. Three of these ladies (Âtıf Usta, Dilperi Usta, and Ruyiş Kadın) are buried here.

 

âtiF uSta, palace Superintendent (Saray uSta). plot 25

Since ‘Âtıf’ is typically a man’s name, one might assume, without seeing the headstone, that this would be the grave of a male. We cannot rely upon the grammar of the epitaph to help us discern Âtıf Usta’s sex, since Turkish does not show gender. What is more, Âtıf’s title, usta (‘superin- tendent’), applied to both men and women.

But when observing the stone, three facts readily tell us that Âtıf Usta was female: (1) the tombstone is that of a woman (floral motifs at the top); (2) the poem gracing the stone invokes traditionally female attrib- utes; and (3) the deceased’s job title Saray Usta, ‘Palace Superintendent’, was that of a senior woman manager in the Imperial Harem, as we heve just seen.

Almost certainly she received her palace name Âtıf (‘kind, compas- sionate’) when she came into palace service as a young slave girl. She rose through the harem hierarchy until appointed to her high post by, most likely, Mahmud II. We do not know when that occurred, but in the 1811 and 1815 documents listed above, her name appears as ‘just’ an usta, not yet the Saray Usta (although near the top of the list, which, knowing the Ottoman court, and as the amount of the gift reflects, is by seniority). At Mahmud’s death in 1839 she would already have known the new monarch, Abdülmecid, very well, probably from when he was born (in 1823), since she had already been long in harem service by then. She did not serve him long as Palace Usta, though, because she died the year after he came to the throne.

 

The first seven lines of Âtıf Usta’s epitaph imply that she was young, but we know that as an usta in 1811, she had to have been in service at least perhaps twenty years, making her probably in her thirties by then, so in her sixties at her death. Perhaps the epitaph wishes to express that she was younger than one might expect for someone who had risen to such a high post. But these rhyming lines numbered among the stock poems for adorning tombstones, and whether they exactly fit the deceased probably did not enter into a great deal of consideration.

Choice regal rosebud of the garden of felicity, Ah! That excellent jewel from the mine of goodness.

Those regions intoxicated with life you undid, O cupbearer of fate;

Before drinking her fill of the goblet of wishes, the cup of the hour of her death brimmed.

A youthful person of angelic nature was she, not misled by her youth; Oh! If destiny is fitting, may her nest be of stone such as this,

May her sepulchre be a garden, a mansion in the garden of the Heavens.

Her Excellency Âtıf Usta

Palace Superintendent to our liege sovereign.

For the sake of Almighty God, the Fatiha for her soul.

7 Z.a. 1256 [31 December 1840]

Âtıf Usta’s stunning gravestone culminates in a breathtaking exuber- ance of floral motifs sprouting from a vase – a fitting crown indeed to grace the stone of this most powerful woman. And yet, her exalted posi- tion notwithstanding, and in line with the traditional discretion in matters concerning the Imperial Harem, the Ottoman newspapers of the day made no mention whatsoever of her passing.

 

ayşe, wet-nurse in the imPerial harem. Plot 52

Ayşe’s tombstone describes her role at court as daye, a wet-nurse brought in to suckle an infant, adding that she had been daye to Prince Mahmud, the future Mahmud II. The word is unhelpfully close to dadı, ‘nanny, governess’, and the two words appear to have overlapped in meaning over time; as a result we cannot be absolutely certain which one Ayşe was, but shall adopt the view of one reputable scholar on the topic of palace life and opt for ‘wet-nurse’.35 Perhaps English speakers are not so certain either if nanny and wet-nurse are the same thing.

As a centuries-old practice at court, the palace brought in wet-nurses, ostensibly wives of ‘good’ men and from ‘good’ families, to suckle royal babies. Alternatively, wet-nurses might be lactating mothers purchased for harem service, with their own children cared for outside the palace.

 

Figure 5.11 Marble magnificence for Palace Superintendent Âtıf Usta, 1840.

 

We know precious little about how women were selected as wet-nurses at the Ottoman court, nor why their own mothers did not nurse them if the mother survived delivery. As to what emotional impact they had on their charges, judging from the copious evidence of honours paid by sultans to their former wet-nurses over the centuries, and extrapolating from the experience of nannies in royal families in Europe, their emotional ties to the children in their care could be profound, lasting a lifetime.36 The eighteenth-century poet Nedim agreed, in his rhyming couplets:37

Şehnişinler ziyneti ağuşlar pirayesi Dahi bir yıldır yanından ayrılalı dayesi. Kûh-ı derya iki canibden derağuş eylemiş Sanki derya dayesi kühsar ise lâlasıdır.

Ornament of the window seat, adornment of the breast, Even with the wet-nurse gone for a year.

Embraced on two sides, the Mountain in the Sea; The sea her wet-nurse, the hills her tutor.

‘The Mountain in the Sea’ is Nedim’s poetic evocation of Istanbul, while his invocation of a tutor as someone embraceable implies that childhood emotional ties with a lâla could be as strong as for a wet-nurse.

Taking into account that Ayşe was honoured with burial in this royal graveyard, that a poet was commissioned to compose an original epitaph for her, including a chronogram, and that her resting place is distinguished by a magnificent white marble tombstone of exceptional beauty (beautiful not least because the inscription is placed at an eye-catching 45˚ angle, one of only five stones so designed in this graveyard), then we may surmise not only that Ayşe cared for Prince Mahmud throughout his childhood, but that even as he entered adulthood he remained closer emotionally to her than perhaps to anyone, apart from (or possibly even including) his own mother. After all, who but a wet-nurse could have taken an Ottoman prince or princess onto her lap and, one presumes, showered the child with love? Perhaps a tutor, as Nedim implies.

If Ayşe had indeed been a wet-nurse and, in order to be lactating, married with children, her stone does not mention a husband. Her assumed husband, possibly long dead by the time of her own demise, may have been a palace official, as such marriages had often occurred in the Ottoman palace down the centuries.38 We can only speculate. In any event, no known ‘milk-siblings’ (sütkardeşler, children of one’s wet-nurse) of Mahmud II have come to light.

When Ayşe died in 1808, Mahmud had been living, since his father’s death in 1789, in the Şimşirlik, the ‘Boxwood Grove’ of twelve small

 

pavilions adjoining the harem, each encompassed within a tall wall that gave rise to the name for the princes’ apartments, kafes, ‘the cage’.39 As fate had it, Ayşe died in the Hijri year before her twenty-three-year- old former charge ascended the throne, eventually revolutionising the Ottoman state as his reign progressed. But of course, nothing of that future was known to Mahmud’s old nurse Ayşe.

Royal son, he of evident prowess, Prince Mahmud, Behold, his wet-nurse set out for the next world.

Nest-builder she became, atop the Tûba tree of the universe, The bird of her soul having taken wing from the cage of the flesh.

Merciful God made her neighbour to Sıddika;

Like a beautiful cypress she became, strolling the gardens of Paradise. One inspired by the invisible world spoke her death date in this image: ‘The Lord God made Ayşe the adornment of Paradise’.

1222 [11 March 1807–27 February 1808]

Sıddika (‘lady of eminent truth’) is the title bestowed upon the Prophet’s wife Ayşe, in allusion to that illustrious lady, whose given name the deceased shared. ‘Cypress’ or ‘like a cypress’ formed a standard trope in Ottoman poetry to describe a graceful youth or woman.

As for the chronogram, the sum we are seeking is 1,222, the year of Ayşe’s death. But the chronogram totals 1,223. Looking to the preceding line for a clue to resolve the predicament, we see the word fevt, which means ‘death’ but also means ‘letting an opportunity escape, letting some- thing slip by’. If we take that as the poet’s artful clue to subtract 1, we arrive at the correct sum of 1,222. One further quirk about the chronogram

 

Figure 5.12 Wet-nurse Ayşe’s headstone. AZ.

 

is that in order for the line to scan correctly we must read the name in its three-syllable variant, pronounced A-i-şe, rather than the more common two-syllable Ayşe, the latter probably being the way the lady herself pro- nounced it.

When contemplating this superb tombstone, one beguiling possibil- ity should be addressed: could the future Sultan Mahmud himself have composed this epitaph and chronogram, or calligraphed it, in tribute to his old wet-nurse? Mahmud did write verse; he completed his apprenticeship in calligraphy in 1807, around the time of Ayşe’s death; his emotional connection to his former nurse was likely close; and the epitaph is not signed (few were), so that its author is not clear. But no, one is forced to conclude, upon reflection; had Prince Mahmud himself composed and/or calligraphed the epitaph, it seems far more likely that its wording would have clearly identified such an illustrious author.

 

cezbİâra kalFa. SuperviSor in the imperial harem. plot 35

The two opening couplets of Cezbiâra’s epitaph form one of the standard verses for tombstones, although this is the only example of it here:

Do not glance and pass by; this is my request, O People of Muhammad: The favour of an immediate Fatiha from the living to the dead.

Whosoever visits my grave, O People of the Prophet, And offers me a Fatiha, will find Heaven.

The Fatiha for the soul of

Figure 5.13 Superbly chiselled calligraphy for wet-nurse Ayşe. AZ.

 

Cezbiâra Kalfa

Household servant to His Majesty Our Liege Lord.

14 N. 1241 [22 April 1826]

 

From her stone’s referral to her as cariye, we know that Cezbiâra was a slave woman who worked in the Imperial Harem. Her title of kalfa tells us that over the years she had risen to that intermediate position within the harem, which explains her burial in this elite graveyard. Given her date of death, her ‘liege lord’ was Mahmud II.

We have seen that the new name that slave girls received when they entered harem service was almost always Persian in origin, describing some physical attribute or personality feature about the girl. We have also mentioned how these names could twist around on the tongues of these Circassian or Georgian servants, who almost certainly had no knowledge of Persian. Cezbiâra’s tombstone clearly spells her name as ‘Cezbiâra’, ارا جزبی, but since there is no such word as cezbi, جزبی, we will deem this a phonetic spelling of the way she pronounced ‘Cezbeâra’, ارا جذبه, Persian for ‘rapture-adorning’. Or possibly ‘Cezbâra’, ارا جذب, Persian for ‘allurement-adorning’.

 

dİlperİ usta. PalaCe suPerintendent (saray usta). Plot 64

The second of the three female managers of the harem to be buried here, Dilperi Usta’s life remains as hidden from our view as those of the other two. Her palace career would have been the same as theirs, we may speculate with confidence: entering the Imperial Harem as a young slave, rising through the ranks of the harem staff of cariye, kalfa, and usta due to her abilities, finally honoured with a top post in the harem. But all we can say with certainty is that she died on 28 June 1845, in the sixth year of the reign of Sultan Abdülmecid.

Since her epitaph describes her as ‘Palace Usta to our liege sovereign’, and not ‘to the former sovereign’, we can conclude that Abdülmecid was the monarch whose Imperial Harem Dilperi helped direct. Abdülmecid had not yet constructed Dolmabahçe Palace, so we can add that Dilperi Usta oversaw the Imperial Harem at almost the very end of its nearly 300-year existence at Topkapı Palace, some eleven years before the harem moved to Dolmabahçe when that new palace became the seat of the monarchy.

Dilperi’s tall tombstone in splendid white marble, beguiling us with undulations along the sides, is distinguished by the tuğra in the top line of the inscription, where normally we find one of the standard Arabic invocations. Only one other stone in this garden features a tuğra: that of

 

the harem eunuch Beşir Ağa, who died in 1808/1809. As we have seen on that stone, this is not an imperial tuğra but rather the well-known hadith- tuğra, designed by Sultan Ahmed III in the early eighteenth century, of the Prophet’s saying (and thus in Arabic), Şefâatî li-ehli’l-kebâir min ümmetî, ‘My intercession is for the gravest sinners in my Community’.

Dilperi’s stone is capped by the expected design for women, floral motifs, in this case sprays flowing elegantly from a cornucopia.

The late and divinely pardoned [And in need of]

The mercy of [her] all-forgiving God, Dilperi Usta

Palace Superintendent To our liege sovereign. For the sake of God,

The Fatiha for her noble soul. 22 C. 1261 [28 June 1845]

Magnificent though Dilperi’s tombstone is, the inscription contains two errors in the Arabic formulae on it – as discussed in Chapter 1, surely traceable to the unfamiliarity of this Turkish stone carver (or of the cal- ligrapher who designed the epitaph?) with Arabic grammar. The stone reads ‘his God’ instead of ‘her God’, and omits el-muhtâce, ‘the woman in need of’, which should proceed ‘the mercy of [her] all-forgiving God’. The omission, alas, successfully torpedoes the flow of the Arabic phrases in the epitaph.

 

Fatma hanim. maidServant in the imperial harem. plot 5

The burial of this harem maidservant (cariye) in this prestigious graveyard indicates that someone among the Imperial Family held her dear. The densely packed and indifferent calligraphy on her diminutive headstone is even more difficult to read nowadays due to water damage, but the two opening couplets of the epitaph are clear enough to tell us that that someone was Princess Esma, sister to Mahmud II, the reigning monarch at the time of Fatma’s death.

A tiny bird flew from the nest,

By command, from the sweet garden of ancestors.

Maidservant she was to Her Highness

The noble Princess Esma, nightingale (?) of the House.

From the remainder of the stone, which is turning to powder, we can pick out words, among them taye/daye, ‘wet-nurse/child’s nurse’, sine,

 

‘bosom’, and beşik, ‘cradle’. May we conclude that Fatma was not just maidservant but also had been wet-nurse to this princess in her infancy? It seems likely, and if so, she would have entered service at Topkapı Palace at the latest by 1778, when Princess Esma was born to Abdülhamid.

If Fatma had indeed been this royal child’s wet-nurse, then Fatma would have been born by around 1760. If so, at her death on, as the stone tells us, ‘the first day of N. 1249’, or 12 January 1834, she would have been in her seventies, while Princess Esma was in her mid-fifties. In other words, the princess would have known Fatma intimately for decades, since quite probably Fatma remained in the princess’s service, first as her wet-nurse and then as a kind of special household servant. We are probably not wrong in surmising that Princess Esma arranged for Fatma’s burial here, and for her tombstone, including the poet, calligra- pher, and stone carver who together produced it. It is a small, unassuming tombstone, almost mannish, plainly done and not at all elegant – perhaps suiting Fatma’s personality?

This is, of course, conjecture. What is not conjecture is that the pres- ence of nurse Fatma’s remains in this graveyard is testament to Princess Esma’s affection for her.

Princess Esma arranged for a second headstone in this garden in the same shape as Fatma’s, for another cherished member of her household: her ‘adopted servant’ Yarderun. See Yarderun’s entry for discussion of the mushroom-shaped device atop Fatma’s stone.

 

Fİkrî vİSal kalFa. SuperviSor in the imperial harem. plot 29

The two opening couplets of Fikrî Visal Kalfa’s epitaph number among the standard verses of graveyard poetry for tombstones of both men and women. The lines imply that Fikrî Visal died relatively young, or at least unfulfilled in some way. But she had lived long enough to receive promo- tion to the important rank of kalfa in the Imperial Harem, and her burial here affirms that she had earned for herself a fair degree of importance in palace life. Judging from her date of death, the master she served was Sultan Abdülaziz, grandson of Abdülhamid; hers is the only grave here (with the faintly possible exception of Saydıcenan Kalfa) of a person in that monarch’s service.

 

Sighing and weeping, I took not my fill of my youth,

For the goblet of the hour of death has brimmed; I received not my desire.

O longing! I lived not the full length of life in this transitory world; O separation! Fate was thus, even unto past eternity I knew it not.

 

Figure 5.14 The hotoz hat for Fatma’s stone. AZ.

 

 

A Fatiha for the soul of the late Fikrî Visal Kalfa

Household servant to Our Liege Lord, His Majesty Sultan Abdülaziz.

Safer 1280 [18 July–15 August 1863]

Quite in contrast to the grim verse adorning it, Fikrî Visal’s stone is sheer beauty: superb white marble, scalloped edges, the epitaph inscribed diagonally, at the attractive 45˚ angle we have seen on the stone of wet- nurse Ayşe, and framed within a scalloped border of carved vines. Atop the stone, the pointed-arch shape of rose branches, denoting the tombstone of a woman, surrounds a carved motif of sun rays, a symbol of the Ottoman monarchy, thus serving, whether intentionally or not, in allusion to Fikrî Visal’s service in the Imperial Palace.

Fikrî Visal Kalfa was the last person to be buried in this garden grave- yard. It had filled up.

 

 

Gümüş ayşe. harem hazİnedar (?). plot 50

Water damage has heavily defaced this stone, and at one point it broke in two and has been put together again, but still we can read enough to raise questions, even if, alas, we cannot definitively answer them.

. . . the gracious tomb . . .

. . . recited . . .

Sultan Abdülhamid, whose abode is Paradise, Hazinedar[?] Gümüş Ayşe . . .

. . . Paradise . . . God . . . The Fatiha for her soul.

M. 1225 [6 February–7 March 1810]

What can we conclude from these paltry remnants? At the least, that the lady Gümüş Ayşe had served as a high-ranking manager in the Imperial Harem – a hazinedar, if, as seems likely, we are reading the crumbling letters correctly – under the late Sultan Abdülhamid. What we have is the burial here of one of Abdülhamid’s harem supervisors some twenty-one years after his death.

With the inscription (or as much of it as remains) mentioning no other palace service for Gümüş Ayşe after the death of ‘her’ sovereign, Abdülhamid, probably her gravestone confirms for us how the Ottoman court handled the sticky business of what to do with the harem staff (not the concubines, but the women managers and servants in the harem) when a sultan died. The problem was that the sultan’s successor would have his own female entourage in service to him, and whom he had known for much or even all of his life. Naturally enough, most likely he would want these ladies to continue in his service. There is some lack of clarity among historians on this issue of what happened to a monarch’s harem staff at his death, but what seems to have occurred is what one would expect: the top managers rotated out, replaced by the new mon- arch’s choices, while the rank-and-file female staff members remained in place (supplanted by a few incoming staff already in the former prince’s service), since (1) they were highly experienced, and (2) the prince now coming to the throne would not have in his princely entourage anywhere near the number of staff that the monarch’s harem would require to carry out its daily tasks.40

In other words, if we are interpreting the historical sources and this tombstone correctly, Gümüş Ayşe, being among the top manag- ers of the Imperial Harem, had to leave Topkapı Palace when Sultan Abdülhamid died. Unless she owned or purchased a house in town, she

 

Figure 5.15 Fikrî Visal Kalfa’s elegant and dynamic headstone. AZ.

 

and the other ‘pensioned-off’ top harem managers would have taken up residence in the Old Palace, while the lower-ranking women in harem service remained at Topkapı to serve the new sultan, Selim III. As dis- cussed earlier, these top harem managers who were moved to the Old Palace at the start of a new reign would have been joined by the previ- ous monarch’s concubines (excepting concubines who owned a villa in town), who also left Topkapı for the Old Palace after ‘their’ sultan’s death or dethronement, to be replaced by concubines of the new monarch’s choosing.

We have seen that female harem staff could petition for release from palace service, requesting that a husband be found for them. While we cannot be certain whether Gümüş Ayşe did so, we would surmise prob- ably not, which could explain why she is buried here rather than beside a husband.

Her name, by the way, means ‘Silver Ayşe’. Was her hair silver-like when she received her palace name? Was it a harem corruption of the female name Gülnuş? We can but speculate.

 

hadİce hatun, SuperviSor in the old palace. See alİ ağa, cezayİrlİ, under the Section For eunuchS

 

kamerbend hatun. See ruhuSaFa kalFa

 

ruhuSaFa kalFa and kamerbend hatun, houSehold StaFF oF the

seCond Consort. Plots 32 and 34 resPeCtively

Yet again, all we know for certain about these two ladies comes from their white marble headstones. This information amounts to little more than that they held positions in the entourage of Mahmud II’s Second Consort and that they died within weeks of each other in spring 1825.

The headstone of Ruhusafa adds that she was a kalfa to the Second Consort. The stone of Kamerbend, on the other hand, does not tell us her position in that household, but given her burial here we may assume she too was a higher-level member of the consort’s staff. This seems even more likely when we consider that the title by which the stone addresses Kamerbend, hatun, designated in Ottoman days a lady who was mistress over inferiors (the word is archaic nowadays). The word appears on one other headstone in the graveyard, that of Hadice Hatun (plot #47), an usta in palace service, as her stone tells us. Possibly, then, Kamerbend Hatun was an usta in the Second Consort’s household. But in household service an usta ranked higher than a kalfa, and the fact that Ruhusafa’s head-

 

stone is a bit larger and a touch more opulent implies that she outranked Kamerbend in the Second Consort’s household, unless she just outranked her in the Second Consort’s affections.

We can be reasonably certain that the Second Consort arranged for their burials here. She may also have paid for the two headstones, which resemble one another but are not identical. The decoration of both stones includes, on the top above the inscription, the bowl of fruit fashionable as decorative art in this era. In the case of these two gravestones, the bowls contain pomegranates that have been sliced open (allowing the viewer to tell that they are pomegranates), six pomegranates for Ruhusafa, three for Kamerbend. We have discussed how these fruit images in graveyards served as symbols of Paradise but, loaded with large seeds as they are, it is hard to miss how pomegranates lend themselves spectacularly as a symbol of female fertility, and they appear on several tombstones of women in this graveyard. The irony of their appearance on the stones of women in service in the palace harem is that harem staff were unmarried and thus not in a position to put their fertility to use. Perhaps the stones neglect to

 

Figure 5.16 Pomegranates for Ruhusafa Kalfa. AZ.

 

tell us that both ladies had requested release from service, with husbands found for them?

The stones also complement one another in presenting us with two of the more maudlin standard verses in cemetery use. For Ruhusafa:

No one endures, for the world is inconstant; Come, recite the İhlâs and Fatiha, be not mum.

Approach, regard this corpse’s grave, take warning:

Every soul is transitory, but God is the immortal Ever-living One.

The Fatiha for the soul of the late Ruhusafa Kalfa

Kalfa to Her Excellency the Second Consort.

13 B. 1240 [3 March 1825]

While that for Kamerbend cheers us with:

Come, Sir or Madam, ponder this my tombstone; If wise you are, be not heedless, come to your senses.

Whilst swaggering and strolling along, what things befell me: In the end I became dust, a stone erected o’er my head.

The Fatiha for the soul of

The late and divinely pardoned Kamerbend Hatun Of the household of the virtuous Second Consort.

9 N. 1240 [27 April 1825]

Clearly, the virtuous Second Consort was magnanimous toward her servants in death. It is just that we are left to speculate who this Second Consort was. She would have been Second Consort to Mahmud II, the reigning sultan in 1825, but the usual difficulties in nailing down which lady occupied that post at any given time prevail, given that Mahmud II had several ‘Second Consorts’ during the course of his long reign. The core of the dilemma is, once again, that the Imperial Harem closely guarded its privacy, as personal family information was not held to be the public’s business, and often the palace, insofar as we know, did not keep exact records of such events as the death of harem residents. Deaths of a prince or princess might be announced, particularly as the nineteenth century wore on, but deaths of concubines or harem staff, no. The result is that, given the current state of our knowledge, we cannot be absolutely certain which lady occupied the post of Second Consort in spring 1825.

The most likely candidate is the lady Nevfidan (also known as Pertev Piyale), whom Mahmud at his accession appointed as Third Consort, and who advanced to Second Consort when the Senior Consort died in 1809. The dilemma is that we do not have a date of death for the lady who became Senior Consort in 1809 – her name was Âlicenab – which means

 

we do not know for certain whether Nevfidan was still Second Consort as of spring 1825, or whether she had advanced to Senior Consort by then.

We could easily find the date of death for Âlicenab if only we could find her grave and read the inscription on her gravestone or pall. But even though she was the Senior Consort of the most significant sultan of the early nineteenth century, mother of his first heir to survive infancy, we cannot identify where Âlicenab was buried. The most likely place, by far, is the mausoleum of the lady Nakşıdil – Mahmud II’s mother and thus Âlicenab’s ‘mother-in-law’ – as that tomb had been completed only around 1818 and contained plenty of space yet for burials, and we have noted that Mahmud preferred this site for burying his family members. Twelve of the fifteen cenotaphs at Nakşıdil’s tomb today have palls with embroidered names of who is buried beneath them, but none of the palls is that of Âlicenab. Three have no pall (most likely the palls deteriorated and were thrown out) so that we cannot identify who is buried beneath them. Almost certainly, one of them is Âlicenab, but nonetheless that avenue of research for our purposes here is at a dead end, so to speak.

One major clue to help us is the archival document dated 7 June 1824 that mentions ‘the Senior Consort, who has recently died’ (vefat eden Başkadın Efendi) without giving her name, but as of that date it could only be Âlicenab.41 If Âlicenab indeed died on or slightly before 7 June 1824, then Nevfidan became Senior Consort at that point and Mahmud’s lady Zernigâr would have figured as the official Second Consort at the time of our two 1825 tombstones.

But a third possibility exists, that the two kalfas buried here were retired at the time of their deaths, so that when they had been working for Nevfidan she was indeed the Second Consort. We know that Nevfidan gave generously of her money for benevolent causes throughout her life at court, constructing a mosque, a water cistern, and a primary school named for her, and establishing several charitable foundations. She also engaged in meritorious acts: in 1842, after her husband’s death, she became one of the three Imperial Consorts known to have performed the pilgrimage to Mecca, as had, decades earlier, Ruhşah, the consort (buried here) of Nevfidan’s ‘father-in-law’, Abdülhamid. In other words, erecting beauti- ful headstones for her serving ladies would have fit her personality.

The only point we can make without hesitation is that Sultan Mahmud’s Second Consort as of March and April 1825, whoever she was, felt a close connection to her serving ladies Ruhusafa and Kamerbend, if we are correct in assuming that she arranged for their burial here and probably for these magnificent monuments, then told the world about it on their epitaphs. And that if she did pay for these steles, this Second Consort did

 

not stint when it came to providing magnificent headstones for household servants of whom she was fond.

Finally, one is left to speculate whether these two ladies died of small- pox. The maudlin nature of their epitaphs would suit those who had died before their time. And then, three of Mahmud’s children died of the disease that spring of 1825, including Princess Fatma, Nevfidan’s fifteen-year-old daughter. If these two women in her service died around the same time that her daughter was also struggling with the disease, dying of it shortly after these ladies, it would be most appropriate for Nevfidan to arrange their burial in this elite graveyard and honour them with beautiful headstones, in hope that they would accompany her daughter in the afterlife.

 

ruyİş kadin, miStreSS oF ceremonial (kethüda kadin) oF the

imperial harem. plot 60

The two rhyming couplets that open Ruyiş Kadın’s epitaph number among popular graveyard poetry; the same verse appears on one other stone in these grounds.

O Lord, may the glory of that blessed, pure name,

The veneration of the Prophet and of the Monarch of the Two Worlds, Make of her grave a garden of Heaven, O Lord of the Worlds;

May the houris and youths of Paradise render service day and night.

The Fatiha for the soul of

Her Excellency the Superintendent Ruyiş Kadın Household servant to His Majesty Our Sovereign Lord.

1 C. 1274 [17 January 1858]

Ruyiş’s epitaph gives her the title kethüda, the alternate term we have noted for Kâhya Kadın, the Mistress of Ceremonial of the palace harem, who would have risen through the harem managerial hierarchy to this topmost post. In this way, the couplets’ reference to houris and youths of Paradise serving her pleasingly evokes her own service at court, which had included overseeing the many female servitors in the harem.

Given her date of death, Ruyiş served at the court of Sultan Abdülmecid; quite likely she occupied her lofty post in the harem when the Ottoman court moved into brand-new Dolmabahçe Palace in 1856. It was not yet the fashion for ladies in court service to write their memoirs; more’s the pity, for Ruyiş took to her grave her priceless knowledge of the workings of the Imperial Harem and of the personalities of the staff and concubines, not to mention personal knowledge of Abdülmecid and of his mother, Bezmiâlem, who had died five years before Ruyiş’s death.

 

The sultan’s concubines outranked Ruyiş, but they would have comported themselves with great respect toward this powerful woman and obeyed her directives; after all, given that only senior women were appointed as Kethüda Kadın, almost certainly the concubines had once been lowly harem staff vastly inferior to her in rank and subject to her directives. Besides, her duties in managing an organisation as complex as the Imperial Harem, numbering hundreds of staff, were far more cumber- some than the duties of a concubine.

Hers is one of the few graves here to have a waist-high metal railing surrounding it. Possibly the railing has no significance beyond aesthetics, but it can be seen as reflecting Ruyiş’s exalted status, at the end of her lifetime, as probably the highest-ranking working woman in the Ottoman Empire. What with top-level managers of the Imperial Harem receiving a generous salary, quite probably Ruyiş left money in her will to pay for her gravesite. It is another superb example of a female gravestone topped by an elegant, carved floral bouquet (peonies?), and distinguished by engraving her epitaph at the exquisite 45˚ angle we have seen on other tombstones here.

 

şaheSte dadi usta, nanny and haZinedar. Plot 45

In Şaheste we have an Imperial Harem servant woman who carved a niche for herself as a dadı, a nanny, the nurse selected from among the more capable serving women of the harem staff to take care of a royal child. Together with the wet-nurse and kalfa also appointed to the service of royal offspring, nannies raised the monarch’s children and could remain close to them for as long as both lived. In Şaheste’s tombstone we see a testament to that affection.

Insofar as we can tell, Şaheste is the only resident of this graveyard to have practiced that profession (solely a nanny), as opposed to the two women here, Ayşe and Fatma, who bore the title daye, a wet-nurse who also looked after a child. It seems she formed a deep bond with her young royal charge, because the latter retained Şaheste in her employ for the next fifty years. Most likely it was that mistress who ensured that Şaheste was laid to rest in this prestigious garden, probably also commissioning the stone carver to fashion Şaheste’s exquisite tombstone and the poet to compose her touching and elegant epitaph with chronogram.

The royal child to whom Şaheste was appointed was Princess Heybetullah, whom we have met previously: Sultan Abdülhamid’s last child, born in 1789 and, as fate or good genes would have it, one of the six of his twenty-six children to survive into adulthood. Şaheste’s services

 

Figure 5.17 Florid elegance for Ruyiş Kadın, Mistress of Ceremonial of the Imperial Harem. AZ.

 

as nanny would have played out in the apartments or villa allocated to her young charge’s widowed mother, the lady Şebisefa. Once Heybetullah married, in 1804, she and her new husband moved into the extensive sixteenth-century villa she had inherited at Kadırga Limanı (‘Galley Harbour’), the only Ottoman royal villa on the Sea of Marmara. To judge from the headstone, Şaheste accompanied the princess to live and work there on the Sea of Marmara, although as hazinedar in Heybetullah’s household rather than as nanny, since Heybetullah had no children. Given that Heybetullah became a widow at age twenty-three, seven years after her marriage, and never remarried, one imagines, as the tombstone implies, that the presence of her old nanny in her household brought comfort over the following decades.

Heybetullah had supported her brother Mustafa IV in the nastiness of 1808 that led to Mustafa’s execution, later reconciling with her other brother, the victorious Mahmud II. Şaheste would have lived through those days of crisis alongside her mistress. But all that was thirty years in the past by the time Şaheste breathed her last.

The stele that marks her grave, of sumptuous white marble with the undulating edges of the more elegant stones here, and exquisitely cal- ligraphed, is especially tall, given that it contains fourteen lines of verse:

 

Oh, since the child’s nurse Şaheste Usta, possessor of worth and honour, Withdrew and passed from the world, may her abode be Paradise.

To that princess whose name and essence are Heybetullah, ‘the Majesty of God’,

At first nanny she was, then hazinedar, for long years.

A serving and pious Rabia of character was she;

Her occupation was reciting the Quran and litanies, morning and evening, in every moment.

In the end the zephyr of the appointed hour of death blew into the gardens of her life;

Her strength and breath paled, to dust she fell as would a ruin.

Now, for as long as she lies may God render The noble princess’s path lengthy and abundant.

And so, O Visitor, be not deceived in this world, come, Take warning from Şaheste, modestly a reciter of the İhlâs be.

By the calculation of my dotted date on her death, Refik: ‘May Şaheste be bound to God’s kindness forthwith’.

Zilhicce 1254 [15 February–16 March 1839]

 

Rabia, the female Sufi mystic of eighth-century Basra, was famed for her virtue and piety.

 

The chronogram, distinguished by erudite vocabulary and sparkling with internal rhyme, reflecting these attributes in the verse itself, does indeed total 1,254 when one follows the poet Refik’s clue in the preced- ing line to add up only the dotted letters in it. The personalised, rhyming epitaph is one of the few in this graveyard composed by a poet hired specially to commemorate the deceased – another clue that it was probably Princess Heybetullah who arranged for this special stone, and probably paid its expenses, although Şaheste would have earned a good salary and may have left money in her will for it.

Did Şaheste ever marry? Former slave women in domestic service could request their master or mistress to find them a suitable husband, and it is possible that Şaheste did too, but our guess is that she did not do so, because almost certainly she would have had to leave her work, whereas the epitaph states that she had been in Princess Heybetullah’s service çok zaman, ‘for a long period of time’.

If we assume, as seems reasonable, that Şaheste was appointed nanny shortly after Heybetullah’s birth in 1789, then Şaheste herself would prob- ably have been born in the 1760s. In this scenario Şaheste was in her seventies when she died in 1839. It is fitting that she was buried at the tomb of her princess’s father.

The good wishes of the epitaph for God to make the path of the princess lengthy and abundant were not to be realised, as Heybetullah died only two years after her old nanny, at the age of fifty-two, and was laid to rest in the newly built tomb of her late brother, Mahmud II.

 

yarderun hanim, orphan Servant to princeSS eSma. plot 26

In the headstone for Yarderun Hanım, we have another expression in this graveyard of the affection and esteem held by Princess Esma, sister of Mahmud II and of Princess Heybetullah, for three of her long-time household servants. We have already seen two of these three graves that Esma probably arranged here: first, for her major-domo Ömer Ağa, during the reign of her brother Mustafa IV in 1808; last, Esma’s nurse Fatma, in 1834. In between we have Yarderun, in 1816. Princess Esma’s receiv- ing permission to bury Yarderun here demonstrates that she had mended fences with her half-brother, Mahmud II, after her support for Mustafa in the two brothers’ fight for the throne in 1808.

Yarderun’s epitaph refers to her as ahretlik, which means an adopted child in general, but in particular an adopted orphan brought up as a servant. This second meaning explains Yarderun’s status in Princess Esma’s household: a servant, but more than ‘just’ a servant, something akin to an adopted child.

 

The Fatiha for the soul of Yarderun Hanım

Adopted servant to Her Highness Princess Esma, Glory upon her, esteemed daughter of

Our Sovereign Lord, His Majesty Sultan Abdülhamid, Whose Abode is Heaven, Who Dwells in Paradise.

1231 [3 December 1815–20 November 1816]

Yarderun’s small and inelegant headstone is distinctive for two reasons other than its diminutive size: it is capped by an unusual mushroom-shaped device; and the epitaph is carved onto the side of the stone, not the front.

The front surface is filled with a verse that takes up that whole façade but does not mention who is buried in the grave (insofar as one can tell, that is; the front of the stone has suffered erosion). When inscribing the epitaph along the side, the stonemason has eased his task, and that of the reader, by inscribing it at a 45-degree angle along that narrow side, rather than running it parallel or perpendicular to the ground.

As for the unusual mushroom-shaped device on top, a sort of orna- mental knob, what we see on this stone (and that of Fatma Hanım, the

 

Figure 5.18 Yarderun’s ‘hat’. AZ.

 

other household servant of Princess Esma buried here; both stones closely resemble one another) is an exception to the practice of topping female gravestones with floral devices. At least by the early eighteenth century, and probably earlier, gravestones of female commoners (that is, not royalty) might feature this representation of the hotoz, a standard head- covering, or kind of hat, worn by women when outside the household. The hotoz came in various shapes, but on gravestones it is usually relatively flat, or gently peaked, as we see here, where it rests upon a tall and slender column said to represent a woman’s neck.42 When comparing the hotoz atop Yarderun’s gravestone to the top of a similarly-sized gravestone of a male, say, Bahaeddin Efendi in plot 2, one concludes that both began as ‘generic’ tombstone blanks, with a solid block at the top ready to be sculpted into the headdress of either a male or a female.

 

zatiGül kalFa, harem SuperviSor. plot 20

A kalfa in the Imperial Harem, Zatıgül died in autumn 1854. Had she lived another two years, she would have joined her fellow supervisors, and the serving women under their management, in moving from the antiquated harem at Topkapı Palace into the modern harem, outfitted with the latest home accoutrements of the 1850s, at brand-new Dolmabahçe Palace. This makes Zatıgül one of the last of the countless serving women and female managers who spent their entire careers in the Topkapı Palace harem – an unbroken chain of female staff stretching back some three hundred years, most of whose names we do not know because, among other reasons, they did not receive tombstones such as Zatıgül’s. Quite possibly she knew Dilperi Usta, the harem manager at Topkapı who was buried here nine years earlier.

All we know of Zatıgül’s life is the scant information on her grave- stone. Given that she died during the Crimean War, we can state that the ‘sovereign lord’ at whose court she served was Sultan Abdülmecid, and that her title of kalfa indicates she had reached a responsible position in the harem. The two rhyming couplets that open her epitaph numbered among the standard graveyard verses, but perhaps we can interpret them as reflecting regret that she died before her time, specifically before she could rise further in the harem hierarchy.

 

Like a rose that did not bloom I withered, Even the nightingale weeps wretchedly for me.

I set forth unfulfilled, disappointed.

May my soul be glad, my abode be Paradise.

 

For the sake of God, the Fatiha for the soul of The virtuous Zatıgül Kalfa

Household Servant to His Majesty Our Sovereign Lord.

Safer 1271 [24 October–21 November 1854]

 

 

Female Relatives of Palace and Government Officials

Just as the top male staff at Topkapı Palace occasionally arranged burial here for their male kin, so on a few occasions, palace courtiers, or eminent persons known to the court, managed to arrange burial of their close female kin at the Hamidiye graveyard, constituting a mark of respect, most likely, for whoever succeeded in arranging it. Three of these female kin are buried here.

 

ayşe hanim, WidoW oF Sİlâhdar Ömer ağa. Plot 40

Ayşe Hanım is the only lady whose husband is also buried in this grave- yard. This lack of husbands’ graves is not surprising, since the vast major- ity of the women buried here worked in the Imperial Harem and thus by custom were unmarried, while the husbands of the Imperial Consorts in the graveyard are buried within the mausoleum.

Ayşe’s late husband, Ömer Ağa (interred in plot 49), had been Senior Keeper of the Robes to Mahmud II in the early years of the latter’s reign. In identifying Ayşe as Ömer’s ‘lawful wife’ (halile), the epitaph makes clear that she was no concubine, but rather legally married.

Ayşe survived Ömer by four years. We do not know why she was buried here, other than in tribute to her late husband, whom Mahmud knew well and had been fond of, and who had fallen dead during a procession while in attendance upon him. The rather startling circumstances of his old courtier’s death may explain why Mahmud granted permission for his widow to be buried here, as an act of compassion. Or possibly Ayşe was a close friend to one or more of Mahmud’s consorts, who may have spoken to Mahmud to request that she be buried here, near her husband. A further possibility is that when young, Ayşe had been in service in the harem (of Mahmud?), requested that she be manumitted and a husband found for her, and that husband was, or became, the sultan’s Senior Keeper of the Robes; if so, she would have been well-known to the consorts.

All this is speculation. But what we can state with certainty is that Ayşe’s tombstone equals in beauty that of the consorts buried here; in fact, it is nearly identical to theirs, even though they outranked her by far

 

in life. We are back to speculation, but one simply suspects this is rooted somehow in affection for the deceased Ayşe, about whom so precious little is known.

The Fatiha for the soul of The late and divinely pardoned

Ayşe Hanım

Lawful wife of the deceased

(And in need of the mercy of his all-forgiving God) Seyyid Ömer Ağa,

Previously Senior Keeper of the Robes to His Majesty the Sultan.

1237 [28 September 1821–17 September 1822]

 

ayşe hanim, şerİFe, dauGhter oF Grand vizier mehmed paSha. plot 61

Şerife Ayşe Hanım was the daughter, so her tombstone tells us, of Silâhdar Seyyid Mehmed Pasha, Sultan Abdülhamid’s Grand Vizier who, at his death in 1781, became the first person to be buried in the Hamidiye grave- yard. From her father’s year of death, we know that she was an adult at her own demise (at the very least eighteen years of age, but probably more); and indeed, her tombstone calls her hanım, ‘lady’, the title usually reserved for an adult female. The honorary title şerife before her name indicates her claim to descent from the Prophet, clearly through her father, whose honorary title seyyid indicates his claim to this exalted descent.

The reasons for interring Mehmed Pasha – that preeminent star of Sultan Abdülhamid’s court – here during the latter’s reign are clear. But why would his daughter have been buried at this site? She died long after Abdülhamid was dead, so no chance of that monarch’s honouring his old courtier by allowing his daughter here. Was she the wife of some current pillar of the community? Not likely, or her tombstone would have mentioned him, almost surely. The most likely reason lies in the fact that her paternal uncle Mustafa had married Princess Şah, whose brother was the reigning monarch, Selim III, at the time of Ayşe’s death, and that her uncle and royal aunt arranged for her burial here.

As we have seen on a few other gravestones, Ayşe’s epitaph is engraved on both sides of the stone, in exactly the same wording although with very slight differentiation in layout of the text. Her grave is near enough to the street, but the front of the stone faces away from the street; clearly her family wished her epitaph to be visible to passers-by, through the iron grills in the wall, so that they might offer the Fatiha prayer on her behalf. For the same reason, the gravestone of her father, near to whom she was

 

buried in the small side garden beside the mausoleum, also is inscribed on both sides.

The Fatiha for the soul of Her Late Excellency the virtuous

Şerife Ayşe Hanım Esteemed daughter to His Excellency

The late and divinely pardoned,

(And in need of the mercy of his all-forgiving God) Former Grand Vizier,

Silâhdar Seyyid Mehmed Pasha. 13 Zilkade 1213 [18 April 1799]

 

 

zeyneb hanim, dauGhter oF nazİF ahmed eFendİ. plot 58

The mystery raised by Zeyneb’s gravestone is, why is she here?

True to Ottoman reluctance to reveal information publicly about the women of a family, Zeyneb’s headstone tells us next to nothing about her, but does tell who her late father was:

Grant a kindness, O God, make my abode the garden of Paradise; I submit to your command, O Lord; I have surrendered my soul.

Ah, ungratified I went from the world today,

May the Creator of the World grant me my wish in Heaven. While in the transitory world my body, delicate as a rose,

Departed suddenly; the appointed hour of death granted not one moment’s mercy.

O grieving parent of mine, weep and lament not, Day or night forget me not in your prayers.

The Fatiha for the soul of the late Zeyneb Hanım

Chaste daughter of the late Nazif Ahmed Efendi, Former major-domo of the Grand Vizierate.

25 L. 1220 [16 January 1806]

The first four couplets of Zeyneb’s epitaph constituted one of the standard graveyard verses. We have seen the first two couplets on another grave- stone, that of Prince Mustafa’s tutor Yunus Ağa.

Zeyneb’s stone is engraved on both sides. One side contains a far longer epitaph that, unexpectedly, faces the wooden wall of the sextons’ quarters immediately behind it, rendering it invisible unless one steps into the tight space there. The sepulchre next to it, that of Abdullah Ağa (#59) sports the same anomaly, which leads us to conclude that the sextons’ quarters

 

were built only after 1806 (the year of Abdullah’s death) at the earliest. In any event, the shorter epitaph on Zeyneb’s stone faces the street, allowing passers-by to see its request for the Fatiha.

It is this shorter epitaph that contains one of the rare variants with which calligraphers delight us, of merging the loop in the letter vav و with the loop in the next letter, mim م, which we saw earlier in the word mü’minata on the stone of Şevkinur Kadın. Here it is in merhûm, مرحوم, ‘the late’ (referring to Nazif Ahmed Efendi), in which vav and mim form the last two letters of the word. That position has allowed the artist to fashion two marvelously swooping, parallel tails to the letters, in the hopes of entertaining his readers and impressing them with his skill. He has succeeded.

So, we know who Zeyneb’s father was. As ‘major-domo of the Grand Vizierate’ (Kethüda-yı Sadr-ı Âli), Nazif Ahmed Efendi oversaw the empire’s internal affairs section at the Grand Vizier’s office, which became, in the 1830s, the Ministry of the Interior. An important figure of state; accordingly, one would guess that Zeyneb earned burial here because of who her paterfamilias had been.

 

Figure 5.19 Calligrapher’s flourish for Zeyneb’s stone, on the word merhûm (outlined in black). Its standard orthography is مرحوم. AZ.

 

But it is what the stone does not tell us that intrigues. Nazif Ahmed Efendi had come to know the future Sultan Abdülhamid well when the latter was still a prince, receiving appointment to a wide range of high posts in the years after Abdülhamid came to the throne; the job as major- domo at the Grand Vizier’s office was just the last in his long string of appointments. His busy career ended abruptly at the death of his patron in 1789, though, when amid accusations of misconduct on Nazif Ahmed’s part the new monarch, Selim III, ordered his execution. If we may rely upon his biographical entry in the Ottoman Register, Nazif Ahmed’s post- humous reputation was not particularly good.43

With her father disgraced, and the monarch who had ordered his execution still upon the throne when she died, it does not seem likely that Zeyneb was buried here because of her father. For what Zeyneb’s stone does not tell us is her maternal lineage: Zeyneb was a granddaughter of Sultan Abdülhamid. Her mother, Dürrüşehvar, was born to Abdülhamid while he was still a prince. We have seen that princes of this era were not allowed to sire children, and if a child did result with one of the harem servants allotted him, the child was aborted. But through some means, the newborn Dürrüşehvar was smuggled out of the palace, her paternity kept secret.44 One wonders whether the sultan, Mustafa III, had given his approval to this subversion of tradition. Almost certainly, had the infant been a boy he would have been put to death; but females posed no threat to the succession.

Away from the palace, the baby girl was raised quietly by a foster- mother, which gave rise to her nickname during her lifetime and ever after, Ahretlik Kadın, ‘Adopted Lady’. Only when he mounted the throne could Abdülhamid reveal her existence to the world at large. But having been born contrary to the rules of the Imperial House, in line with court practice she could only be known, even though her father was now the monarch, as ‘Lady’ (Hanım) and not as ‘Princess’ (Sultan), the title by which Abdülhamid’s daughters born after he came to the throne were known, as we have seen on their cenotaphs inside the tomb.45

Dürrüşehvar remains the most famous example in Ottoman history of a royal baby born to a prince and surviving into adulthood. The other famous example came to light only in 1861, when the new sultan Abdülaziz announced that he had a four-year-old son, Yusuf İzzeddin. Thereafter, as the Ottoman monarchy adapted to the nineteenth century, princes were allowed to father children.

We do not know when Dürrüşehvar was born (around 1755?). Nor who her mother was: one of Abdülhamid’s three wives who lie buried here in the Hamidiye graveyard? Possibly, but not likely, as a sultan’s wives were

 

selected largely to produce children, whereas, as mentioned, the women allowed a prince were presumed not to be fertile. Nor do we know when Abdülhamid arranged his daughter’s marriage to his court favourite, Nazif Ahmed, but given the existence of an archival document of 23 April 1775 referring to her as Nazif Ahmed’s wife, we can conclude that their marriage took place not long after Abdülhamid came to the throne in January 1774 and could reveal his daughter’s existence.46 Nor do we know when Zeyneb was born to this marriage, but the later 1770s would not be an unreasonable guess, placing her in her late twenties or perhaps thirty at her death in 1806. So, Zeyneb’s royal descent surely accounts for her burial here. But this business of her mother not being considered quite ‘princess’ enough to use the title explains Zeyneb’s burial in the garden and not inside the tomb with her grandfather and aunts and uncles. The same reason explains why Zeyneb’s stone does not mention her mother, what with Ottoman tombstones only mentioning fathers, generally speaking, unless the mother was a princess. But her mother was not considered a princess. Does her ‘under-the-table’ royal connection also explain why her imperial grandfather was not mentioned on the stone? Or, by devoting the stone to her late husband alone, was Dürrüşehvar (who, having survived her daughter, presumably commissioned it) attempting to erect a positive, or at least neutral, monument that would refurbish, to a degree, her late

husband’s tarnished reputation?

The only hint of Zeyneb’s special descent (apart from her presence in this graveyard) is her beautiful headstone graced by a rhyming epitaph elegantly calligraphed. One would also never know from her gravestone that at her death Zeyneb was married, to İsmail Rahmî Efendi, who in the decades after her death rose to high posts as a judge.47

Dürrüşehvar possibly visited her daughter’s grave on many occasions, we may surmise, since she outlived Zeyneb by twenty years. When she died in 1826, on the cusp of the monumental reforms about to be forcibly introduced by her younger half-brother Mahmud II, to whom she was close, Dürrüşehvar was laid to rest in the garden graveyard outside the mausoleum of Mahmud’s mother, the lady Nakşıdil. There was still room then inside Nakşıdil’s tomb, so we are left to conclude that once again the slight defect in her royal status had caught up with Dürrüşehvar and pre- vented her burial inside the tomb – just as it had with her daughter Zeyneb.

 

Notes

1.    Findley 2019, 284.

2.    Açba 2004, 87–90.

 

3.   Uluçay 2001, 20–1.

4.   Uluçay 2001, 18; Brookes 2008, 136, 181–4, 242, 249–50.

5.   Akgündüz n.d., 31; Ali Rıza 2007, 300–9.

6.   For more on the burial of concubines, see Brookes and Ziyrek 2016, 60.

7.   Akgündüz n.d., 32.

8.   Akgündüz n.d., 33.

9.   Uluçay 1992, 106.

10.   BOA TS.MA.d 2080, dated H-29-12-1238, folios 12–13, which show the date of 7 L. 1238.

11.   Uluçay 1992, 106.

12.   On the special language of the Ottoman palace in a later era, see Brookes 2008.

13.   BOA TS.MA.d 237 23, dated H-19-2-1239, although folio 3 bears the date

5 L. 1238.

14.   Sarıcaoğlu 2001, 11.

15.   Sarıcaoğlu 2001, 11–12.

16.   BOA, HAT 1354 52936 0, dated H-29-12-1222.

17.   Sarıcaoğlu 2001, 8–9. Alderson 1956, 96 n. 2, also mentions Abdülhamid’s marriage.

18.   BOA, C..SM.. 130 6533 0, dated H-29-02-1194.

19.   BOA, TS.MA.e, 406 12, dated H-22-11-1195.

20.   Akgündüz n.d., 27.

21.   For example, BOA HAT 1553 31 0, dated H-29-12-1235.

22.   BOA TS.MA.e 293 14, dated H-29-12-1205.

23.   Halevi 2007, 30.

24.   Süreyya 1996, 10; Alderson 1956 follows Süreyya, while Öztuna 1989 and Uluçay 1992 list Dilpezir under both Abdülhamid I and Mustafa IV.

25.   BOA TS.MA.d 1284 65, dated H-25-02-1228.

26.   BOA C..SM.. 91 4562, dated H-20-03-1228. This date does not appear on the document itself, so it remains unclear how it was assigned; equal- ling 23 March 1813, the date seems rather late, as Seyyare died around this time.

27.   BOA TS.MA.e 1203 3, dated H-25-07-1233.

28.   Akgündüz n.d., 27.

29.   Uluçay 2001, 132–3.

30.   Uluçay 2001, 136–7.

31.   Pakalın 1946–56, 3:127 (‘Saray Ustası’); compare with Akgündüz n.d., 27,

and Uluçay 2001, 136–7.

32.   BOA TS.MA.d 9962, two documents with this catalogue number, dated H-29-12-1226 and H-20-09-1230; actual documents show dates N. 1226 and

N. 1230, respectively.

33.   Uluçay 2001, 30–1; Akgündüz n.d., 29.

34.   BOA TS.MA.e 899 79, dated H-29-06-1223.

35.   Uluçay 2001, 138–9.

 

36.    As recounted, for example, in Charlotte Zeepvat (2006), From Cradle to Crown: British Nannies and Governesses at the World’s Royal Courts, Stroud: Sutton.

37.    Pakalın 1946–56, 1:407.

38.    Peirce 1993, 145.

39.    Pakalın 1946–56, 3:357; Findley 2019, 287.

40.    Uluçay 2001, 144, in which the author apparently revises his assertion on

p. 133 that all hazinedars left the palace at a change of monarch.

41.    BOA HAT 1564 16 0, Vefat eden Başkadın Efendi’nin Şehremini vasıtasıyla tanzim edilen merkadı ve sandukası için yapılan masrafların Haremeyn Hazinesi’nden karşılanması, dated H-09-10-1239.

42.    http://www.kusadasikulturelmiras.com/?pnum=131&pt=Hotoz, and https:// www.sanatinyolculugu.com/osmanli-donemi-serpus-baslik-tipleri/ (accessed 6 September 2021).

43.    Süreyya 1996, 1235.

44.    Uluçay 2001, 32.

45.    The Foreign Review 3:4 (January 1829), 229–30.

46.    BOA C..EV.. 203 10133 0, dated H-21-02-1189.

47.    Süreyya 1996, 837.

 

Conclusion: Benevolence in Stone

 

 

 

 

Our journey through the Hamidiye mausoleum and graveyard has sought to unearth information about those buried here, which in many cases extends no farther than the inscription on their tombstones. Their names have led us to touch, among other points, upon the placement and promotion of chancery and royal household staff at the Ottoman court, the hierarchy of concubines and staff within the Imperial Harem, the position of eunuchs at court, and the elaborate protocol for royal funerals (even those of infants), which dictated the presence or absence of palace folk at these ceremonies. The Introduction posed questions to consider while investigating the Hamidiye Complex. As to whether the graveyard reflects the vast changes wrought by Mahmud II in his sweeping reforms after abolishing the recal- citrant Janissary Corps in 1826, the answer is ‘yes’. The switch from turban to fez on gravestones is the prime manifestation of the reforms in the graveyard, but if we consider the pattern of burials here before 1826 versus those after 1830, by when Mahmud’s relentless revamping of the government and society had begun to take root, we notice another

dramatic change.

Rather abruptly, the Hamidiye graveyard lost its status as a prestigious burial site for high-ranking men of the palace, as after 1830 the only male burials here were of five boys whose fathers had some connection to court. The subject of burial practices of palace elites after Mahmud’s reforms has not received academic study, but it seems likely the change in burial pat- terns of men here stemmed, at least in part, from the state of confused flux at the palace occasioned by the sudden reforms. A contributing factor may have been Mahmud’s search, as part of his efforts to strengthen the central state, for more visible burial sites for his male court officials, primarily at imperial mosques. The construction of Mahmud’s tomb, following his death in 1839, then provided his successors with a far grander burial site

 

for officials whom the reigning monarch of the day wished to honour in death. These factors contributed to the Hamidiye graveyard’s loss of prestige as a burial site for men of the court. The cessation of male courtier burials in this graveyard after 1830 left the field open for the Hamidiye sexton to bury two of his own sons and sons of his friends here – a turn of events surely unthinkable before Mahmud’s dramatic changes and then the debut of his splendid new necropolis on the ridge uphill from the Hamidiye Tomb.

On quite the other hand, the Hamidiye mausoleum, we should hasten to point out, retained its status as a perfectly acceptable burial chamber for members of the Imperial Family. Only two interments took place here post-1830, both of infants, but the reason for the diminished use was simply that the chamber was fast filling up.

Mahmud’s reforms of the centuries-old court culture and structure included abolition, in 1831, of traditional titles of court officials (notably Silâhdar and Çokadar, ‘Sword-bearer’ and ‘Cloth-bearer’) that we have observed on men’s gravestones here, replaced by titles and functions similar to those at European courts of the era.1 We would have seen the new titles on tombstones here if court officials had still been buried in the Hamidiye graveyard after introduction of the reforms; but given that they were not, the only example in the Hamidiye graveyard of the ‘modern’ titles that Mahmud II introduced is on the tombstone of the last boy buried here, in 1858/59, which describes his father, Hasib Pasha, as Maliye Nazırı, ‘Minister of Finance’.

Burials of females, on quite the other hand, were not affected by Mahmud’s reforms. We see no difference in the number of women buried here after 1830 versus before, no change in the status of the women interred here (harem managers and higher-ranking staff), no influx of daughters of dignitaries rather than dignitaries themselves. Furthermore, court titles and duties of females in royal service remained the same as before 1826, the epitaphs show us, since Mahmud’s reforms did not touch the structure of the Imperial Harem and households of princesses. And since women did not wear the turban or fez, female headstones looked no different after the sultan’s reforms. What the absence of change in female burials and gravestones at the Hamidiye graveyard demonstrates is that Mahmud aimed his reforms overwhelmingly at the male half of society. Life in the Imperial Harem remained essentially unchanged, continuing as it had for centuries, up to the end of the monarchy in 1924.

We have seen how the newer Mahmud II graveyard came, in the latter half of the nineteenth century, to greatly surpass the Hamidiye grave- yard in national significance. Especially in the reign of Abdülhamid II

 

(1876–1909), the Mahmudiye graveyard evolved into a national pantheon that served the emerging Ottoman patriotism fostered by his court, and sought to nurture allegiance to the dynasty. The new imperial graveyard offered a single location (as opposed to at various mosques) for burying elite figures of state, along the major boulevard in the central city, anchored by the grand Mahmudiye mausoleum in its eye-catching European neo- classical style. Here indeed were ideal components for the Imperial House to showcase its central role in the life of the empire, by arranging burials of high men of state here.

In contrast, the Hamidiye graveyard never varied from its traditional role of honouring not elite figures of state, but loyal servants at the palace, male and female, by providing them or their relatives burial here. In so doing, the graveyard articulated in stone the benevolence of the House of Osman, its concern for the well-being of the populace in its care. Still today, the tomb and graveyard present, to passers-by immediately outside its windows and open walls, the compassionate face of the Imperial House as it appeared in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.

Which leads us to consider what purposes Ottoman royal graveyards served, beyond the obvious one of burying the dead royals and higher ranks of the palace staff. These royal tombs and graveyards in the heart of town, for the most part open and easily accessible to visitors rather than behind palace walls or far out of the city, indeed at street level and visible to passers-by through windows, counterbalanced the relative seclusion of the Ottoman monarch and his family in life and the restricted accessibility of the palace to the public, apart from the very few persons with a specific reason for admittance. Once dead, no longer was the sultan tucked away in the harem at Topkapı, or spotted at a distance in his procession to mosque on Fridays or at the religious holidays; here anyone could ‘visit’ him or his children, or Imperial Consorts and high-ranking courtiers and harem managers, at their graves, approaching their remains far more closely than the rank-and-file public could have approached these elites during their lifetimes.

As a result, royal tombs and graveyards provided a useful means of keeping the monarchy in the public eye. The mausoleum in particular admitted all visitors to its royal space of opulence and beauty, a kind of palace hall in miniature that imparted something of the elegant milieu surrounding the monarch and his court at Topkapı. For their part, the exquisite tombstones of consorts, courtiers, and palace staff in the garden graveyard signalled that the dynasty took care of its servitors, even in death, by furnishing a ‘royal’ place of burial. When considered as a whole, the tomb ensemble, in projecting the aura of the ruling House among the

 

populace, worked to impress upon the visitor that the dynasty reigning over them was illustrious and favoured by God, warranting respect and allegiance.

Royal funerals played another part in keeping the monarchy in the public eye, by their ostentatious procession through town. Resplendent the funerals were, with the glory and pageantry of the Imperial House on display, but they also worked at the empathy of the populace who wit- nessed them; possibly the sight of the coffin in the streets evoked a spirit of condolence for the royal survivors who had lost a parent, child, or spouse. At the end of the procession, the tossing of coins to the populace served to remind the populace of the benevolence of the ruling family.

Not to be overlooked is the role the Hamidiye Tomb played in fostering the decorative arts at which Ottoman culture traditionally excelled, as most of these arts are represented here: calligraphy; mother-of-pearl inlay; wood inlay; stained glass; stone sculpting, especially visible here in the façade and the tombstones; and Marash work, the weaving of words and designs into cloth by means of gilt thread. The reigning House is display- ing itself as patron of the decorative arts, commissioning artisans to create works of beauty for the public to savour in this easily accessible building and its garden. Evident in the entire complex (including the Hamidiye water kiosk relocated in 1911) is the dynasty’s role as patron of superb architecture to embellish the city, and as patron of poets, commissioned to contribute verses with chronograms to adorn selected components of the complex.

Given the lack of newspapers in the pre-modern era, royal graveyards also provided the sultans’ subjects a modicum of insight into the workings of the imperial court and harem, in particular by naming, on the stones, the multitude of ranks and court positions of both males and females. Undermining this potentially instructive role of graveyard inscriptions, however, was the low rate of literacy in Ottoman times, along with the low probability that visitors would actually read the inscriptions on the stones. But the dynasty had made the effort, for those who could read or have the inscriptions read to them.

We have seen that despite its small size, the Hamidiye Tomb employed five sextons when it opened, along with other persons to clean the space and keep it functional, their salaries paid by the charitable endowment that Sultan Abdülhamid set up to fund the complex. Their daily duties were necessary and routine, but the motive behind hiring these gentlemen was of grander significance: the reigning House is securing staff to display the court to the public. These posts provided a further means for the reigning House to manifest munificence toward its subjects, by employing the

 

sextons in a salaried position that amounted to a prestigious, lifelong sinecure, one highly sought whenever a vacancy opened.

Royal tombs provided another means for the reigning House to com- municate pious benevolence toward its subjects, by adding extensively to the inventory of semi-sacred sites around town that anyone could visit for prayer. One could pray for the sultan’s soul at his very grave. By providing the stage for this act, we see the tomb enabling the deceased monarch’s subjects to contribute to the royal soul’s rest, a meritorious act in the eyes of the religion. Or, supplicants offering prayers at the monarch’s grave might request the dead sultan’s intercession on their behalf. For visitors praying at the graves of the monarch’s family or of palace staff, the same outcome could ensue: meritorious act for the visitor, beneficent result for the souls of the dead.

In similar fashion, the exceptional hallmark of the Hamidiye Tomb – the Sacred Footprint of the Prophet – afforded visitors the opportunity to contemplate and, ideally, enhance their religious convictions by placing them in close proximity to a most rare and highly venerated memento of the Prophet himself, whilst enabling them to offer a prayer in its sanctified presence. In making this holy relic accessible to the public in the heart of the capital, the reigning House was meeting its obligations to serve the religion and to encourage religiosity among its subjects.

Alongside providing a place of burial for its servants and a place of prayer and contemplation for its subjects, one tangible and practical expression of the dynasty’s beneficence toward its subjects lay in provid- ing free water from fountains. The drinking water for passers-by at the street and, in the courtyard, the ablution water for those seeking to pray, complemented the other gifts presented by the Hamidiye Complex: the alms-kitchen, library, mescid, school, and college. Abdülhamid’s good deed continues its charitable work today, in the new ablution water basins installed in the courtyard of the tomb.

Royal tombs also created beauty spots around the city, rather like a small park with an elegant kiosk, offering peaceful refuge from the clamour of the surrounding streets. With its location immediately beyond the row of shops whose income supported the complex, the Hamidiye Tomb was no exception to the role of Ottoman royal mausolea in providing quiet places of refuge, for residents of Istanbul as well as of Bursa, the first Ottoman capital, with its nine royal tombs from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. The location of this tomb in particular, directly on the street in this busy quarter, with windows that allow a glimpse onto the royal gravesites inside, forms a powerful statement of humility. Death, the great leveller, has brought the Imperial Family out of the palace and down into the

 

heart of the city, literally alongside ‘the churlish noise of traffic’, where urchins ‘smear the windows with their dirty hands’, as Princess Bibesco noted. Here is acknowledgement indeed of the transitoriness of rank and privilege in the face of God’s commands. Here too the members of the greatest Muslim dynasty of the age affirm their station in death, as Islam sees it: equal with all fellow Muslims before God. The sepulchre may be elegant, but the corpse below it is the same as that of the poorest Muslim: swathed in the shroud and set into the earth on its right side, facing Mecca. We can also see in this and all Ottoman royal tombs a means for the dynasty to exhibit piety, through the religious inscriptions calligraphed inside the tomb and on the courtyard walls. Even illiterate passers-by or visitors, the vast majority of Ottoman Muslim subjects, would have understood these to be religious verses, one presumes, as would most foreigners even if unversed in the Ottoman or Arabic languages. By means of these inscriptions, the dynasty portrayed itself as upholding the religion, and as we have seen in the calligraphed panel over the portal as one exits

the tomb courtyard, exhorted visitors to follow its lead and do the same.

The Hamidiye Tomb serves as a particularly strong exemplar of the dynasty’s portrayal of piety in that all the wall inscriptions here, both on the courtyard walls and inside the tomb, derive from the religion. In contrast, the next royal mausoleum complex to be built in Istanbul, that of Mahmud II, contains only two courtyard wall inscriptions, both rhymed verses that praise the deceased monarch and his heir, each verse incor- porating an imperial tuğra, while national and secular symbols adorn the exterior façade of the tomb itself. In other words, the exterior decoration at the Mahmudiye Tomb is entirely secular and royal in nature, not religious. By the era of that tomb, in the fourth decade of the nineteenth century, in the wake of Mahmud’s vast reforms to strengthen the Ottoman state, national symbols and odes in praise of the dynasty trumped religious verse when it came to the exterior of that exceptional monarch’s last resting place. Quranic excerpts and one chapter do adorn the interior, but they are fairly overpowered by the unexpected European neoclassicism and by the magnificent European crystal chandelier.2

Not so Abdülhamid’s tomb, built, as it was, before the advent of nationalism left its mark in Ottoman architecture. This building fitted squarely into the tradition of employing Quranic excerpts to adorn royal tomb complexes, inside and out, in what one suspects is also a reflection of Abdülhamid’s personal religious sensibilities, given his reputation for piety. The single imperial tuğra here, adorning the niche of the Sacred Footprint, was a later addition not part of the original design of the tomb complex, and serves to impress the visitor with the sultan’s piety, with

 

his concern for and attention to the religious welfare of his subjects, by making this holy relic available to them. No other imperial tuğras are here, only two of religious content, on stones of individuals in the graveyard.

Of the two sultanic mausolea built in Istanbul after Mahmud’s, that of Abdülmecid in the 1850s followed closely his grandfather’s Hamidiye Tomb in lacking national or royal insignia and exhibiting only religious calligraphy. The mausoleum of Mehmed V, from 1914, is a mélange: national symbolism in the Ottoman-revivalist exterior façade, while on the interior the traditional Ottoman royal tomb penchant for classic Iznik tile- work that predated, and is completely absent from, the Hamidiye, and that can be read as an element of the Ottoman-revivalist trend in architecture.

Even today, the effect of the inscriptions, with their bold gilt strokes, on the perspicacious visitor is powerful, as it was intended to be. In disseminat- ing awareness and understanding of the monarchy, in offering a quiet space for prayer or reflection, in symbolising the munificence and beneficence and piety of the ruling House, as well as the dynasty’s preeminent role as patron of the traditional arts, this and all Ottoman imperial tombs continue to carry out the tasks for which they were constructed centuries ago.

Figure C.1 Flower vase for white eunuch İbrahim Ağa. AZ.

 

Figure C.2 The majestic doorway into the mausoleum. AZ.

 

 

Notes

1.    Öztuna 1989, 933.

2.    Brookes and Ziyrek 2016, 13–26.

 

 

 

 

Appendix A: Burials in the Mausoleum

 

 

 

 

 

 

Name, Title, Cenotaph #	Father	Date of Death
1770s
Ahmed, Prince, 4	Abdülhamid I	28 L. 1192 (19 November 1778)
1780s
Rabia (1), Princess, 5	Abdülhamid I	c. 24 C.a. 1194 (28 May 1780)
Aynişah, Princess, 3	Abdülhamid I	26 B. 1194 (28 July 1780)
Mehmed, Prince, 7	Abdülhamid I	25 S. 1195 (20 February 1781)
Melekşah, Princess, 8	Abdülhamid I	28 M. 1196 (13 January 1782)
Rabia (2), Princess, 9	Abdülhamid I	25 L. 1196 (3 October 1782)
Murad Seyfullah, 13	Abdülhamid I	10 R. 1198(?) (3 March 1784)
Mehmed Nusret, Prince, 14	Abdülhamid I	19 Z. 1199 (23 October 1785)
Fatma, Princess, 15	Abdülhamid I	10 M. 1200 (13 November 1785)
Süleyman, Prince, 16	Abdülhamid I	18 R.a. 1200 (19 January 1786)
Âlemşah, Princess, 17	Abdülhamid I	28 R. 1200 (28 February 1786)
Saliha, Princess, 19	Abdülhamid I	18 Ş. 1201 (5 June 1787)
Abdülhamid I, Sultan, 1	Ahmed III	13 B. 1203 (9 April 1789)
1790s
Emine (1), Princess, 20	Abdülhamid I	4 B. 1205 (9 March 1791)
1800s
Mustafa IV, Sultan, 2	Abdülhamid I	28 N. 1223 (17 November 1808)
Emine (2), Princess, 18 1810s	Mustafa IV	16 Ş. 1224 (26 September 1809)
Bayezid, Prince, 10	Mahmud II	14 C.a. 1227 (25 June 1812)
Murad, Prince, 11	Mahmud II	4 B. 1227 (14 July 1812)
1840s
Mevhibe, Princess, 12	Abdülmecid	17 N. 1256 (12 November 1840)
1850s
Mehmed Rüşdî, Prince, 6	Abdülmecid	18 Ş. 1268 (7 June 1852)

 

 

 

 

Appendix B: Burials of Men and Boys in the Garden Graveyard

 

 

 

BE = black eunuch; WE = white eunuch

Name, Plot #                             Title                                          Date of Death

1780s & 1790s:

Silâhdar Mehmed Pasha, 66     Grand Vizier (Sadrazam)        25 S. 1195 (20 February

1781)

Hâfız Yahya Efendi, 63            Sword-bearer (Silâhdar-ı

Şehriyarî)

15 C. 1204 (2 March 1790)

1800s:

Yunus Ağa, 62 (BE)                  child’s governor (lâla) to

Prince Mustafa

Abdullah Ağa, 59                      Sword-bearer (Silâhdar-ı Hazret-i Şehriyarî)

Ömer Ağa, 54                            Major-domo (Kethüda) to Princess Esma

Beşir Ağa, 51 (BE)                    Harem Hazinedar (Vâlâ Hazinedar-ı Şehinşah)

9 Z. 1217 (2 April 1803)

 

gurre-yi N. 1220 (23

November 1805)

Z.a 1222 (January 1808)

 

1223 (1808–9)

1810s:

Derviş Nezir Ağa, 39 (BE)       Imperial Companion

(Musahib-i Hazret-i

Şehriyarî)

Mehmed Reşid Ağa, 56            agha in the Imperial

Treasury (Hazine-yi Hümayun ağalarından)

Karakulakzade Ali Bey, 27       Chamberlain (Mabeynci-yi

Hazret-i Şehriyarî)

Ferhad Ağa, 30 (BE)                 Harem eunuch (Harem-i

hümayun ağalarından)

8 Zilhicce 1225 (4 January

1811)

 

17 N. 1227 (24 September

1812)

 

1228 (1813)

 

1229 (1813–14)

Death and Life in the Ottoman Palace

Name, Plot #                             Title                                          Date of Death

Mehmed Esad Ağa, 42              Keeper of the Robes (Ağa-

yı Çokadar-ı Hazret-i

Şehriyarî)

Cafer Ağa, 16 (BE)                   Imperial Companion (Musahib)

Cezayirli Ali Ağa, 28 (BE)       Superintendent of the Old

Palace (Saray-ı atîk-i ma’mure Ağası)

Ömer Ağa, 49                            Senior Keeper of the Robes (Başçokadar) and Companion (Nedim) to the sultan

1231 (1815–16)

 

 

1231 (1815–16)

 

M. 1232

(November–December 1816)

M. 1233

(November–December 1817)

Ahmed Ağa, Zengi, 18 (BE)

 

Torun Ahmed Bey Efendi, 19

 

1820s:

eunuch; Imperial Companion (Hadım-ı şahî, musahib)

Sword-bearer (Silâhdar-ı Hazret-i Şehriyarî) and child’s governor (lâla)

1234 (1818–19)

 

 

5 Z.a. 1234 (26 August

1819)

İbrahim Ağa, 7 (WE)                Head Treasurer (Hazinedarbaşı)

Mehmed Ağa, 8                        Janissary Commander (Serbostaniyan)

Mahmud Ağa, 9 (BE)                Harem manager (Saray-ı

Cedid-i Sultanî Baş Kapı Gulâmı)

Mehmed Ağa, 31                      father of Senior Keeper of the Robes Bekir Efendi

Mehmed Emin Ağa, 10             Chief Detective of the

Imperial Guard (Silâhşoran-ı Hassa’dan)

Ebu Bekir Ağa, 46 (BE)            Chief Harem Eunuch

(Darüssaadeti’l-âliye Ağası)

İbrahim İbiş Ağa, 11                 Chief Detective of the

Imperial Guard (Sertebdil-i Silâhşoran-ı Hassa’dan)

Osman Ağa, 12                         Keeper of the Robes (Ağa- yı Çokadar-ı Bab-ı Silâhdar-ı Hazret-i Şehriyarî)

Z.a. 1238 (July–August

1823)

3 C. 1239 (4 February

1824)

R.a. 1240

(October–November 1824)

 

17 C.a. 1240 (7 January

1825)

Ş. 1240 (March–April

1825)

 

Z. 1240 (July–August

1825)

 

gurre-yi C.a. [1]241 (12

December 1825)

 

15 C. 1241 (25 January

1826)

Mehmed Emin Ağa, Hâfız, 48

Keeper of the Robes (Ağa- yı Çokadar-ı Hazret-i Şehriyarî)

1241 (1825–6)

Appendix B

Name, Plot #                             Title                                          Date of Death

Kemankeş İbrahim Ağa, 13 (BE)

Treasury agent (Hazine vekili)

1242 (1826–7)

Sırrı Efendi, 47                          Accountant (Kisedarlık)           1242 (1826–7)

Receb Efendi, 36                       Superintendent of the Palace Larder (Kilâr-ı Hassa Kethüdası)

28 B. 1244 (3 February

1829)

1830s:

Kıbrısî Mehmed Emin Efendi, 41

Treasury Superintendent (Hazine-yi Hümayun Kethüdası)

21 B. 1245 (16 January

1830)

Mehmed Şevket Efendi, 3         son of tomb sexton Hattat

Mustafa Vâsıf Efendi

Z.a. 1251 (18 February–18

March 1836)

Mehmed Ata Bey Efendi, 1       son of Hasib Pasha                   5 L. 1254 (22 December

1838)

1840s:

Mehmed Bahaeddin Efendi, 2

son of Şükrî Hasan Efendi        1260 (1844–5)

Mehmed Şahabeddin Efendi, 4

1850s:

son of tomb sexton Hattat Mustafa Vâsıf Efendi

25 S. 1260 (16 March

1844)

Mehmed Ali Bey, 14                 son of Hasib Pasha                   1274 (1857–8)

 

 

 

 

Appendix C: Burials of Women in the Garden Graveyard

 

 

 

Name, plot #                 Title                                                 Date of Death

1790s:

Nevres Kadın, 65          Hazinedar and Third Consort to

Abdülhamid I

L. 1211 (March–April 1797)

Şerife Ayşe Hanım, 61

1800s:

daughter of Silâhdar Seyyid Mehmed Pasha

13 Zilkade 1213 (18 April

1799)

Zeyneb Hanım, 58         daughter of Nazif Ahmed

Efendi

25 L. 1220 (16 January 1806)

 

Hadice (Ruhşah), 55     Senior Consort (Başkadın) to

Abdülhamid I

1222 (1807–8)

Ayşe, 52                        wet-nurse (daye) to Mahmud II       1222 (1807–8)

Kamertab Kalfa, 43       Kalfa                                                27 B. 1224 (7 September

1809)

Dilpezir, 44                   Consort (Kadın) to Mustafa IV (?)

Ş. 1224 (September–October

1809)

1810s:

Gümüş Ayşe, 50            Hazinedar to Abdülhamid I             M. 1225 (February–March

1810)

 

Şevkinur, 38                  Senior Consort (Başkadın) to Mustafa IV

Yarderun Hanım, 26     orphan/servant (ahretlik) to

Princess Esma

Hadice Hatun, 17          Superintendent (Usta) under

Cezayirli Ali Ağa

1227 (1812)

 

1231 (1815–16)

 

M. 1232

(November–December 1816)

Seyyare, 53                   Consort (Kadın) to Mustafa IV       1233 (1817–18)

 

Name, plot #                  Title                                                 Date of Death

1820s:

Ayşe Hanım, 40             canonical wife (halile) of Ömer

Ağa

1237 (1821–2)

Binnaz Kadın, 6             Consort (Kadın) to Abdülhamid I   L. 1238 (June–July 1823) Ruhusafa, 32               Kalfa to the Second Consort                          13 B. 1240 (3 March 1825)

Zühde Usta, 33              Superintendent (Usta) in the

Imperial Harem

Ş. 1240 (March–April 1825)

Kamerbend Hatun, 34

member of Second Consort’s entourage (İkinci Kadın Efendi’nin tarafından)

9 N. 1240 (27 April 1825)

Cezbiâra Kalfa, 35         household servant (cariye) to

Mahmud II

14 N. 1241 (22 April 1826)

Mahınur Hatun, 21        unknown                                         21 C. 1242 (20 January 1827)

 

Tagaffül Hatun, 37        unknown                                         gurre-yi B. 1242 (29 January

1827)

1830s:

Fatma Hanım, 5             household servant (cariye) to

Princess Esma

Rami Usta, 23                Mistress of the Coffee Service

(Kahveci) to Mahmud II Mutebere Kadın, 57                Fifth Consort (Kadın) to

Abdülhamid I

gurre-yi N. 1249 (12 January

1834)

21 N. 1250 (21 January 1835)

 

R.a 1253 (June–July 1837)

Zürubican Kalfa, 22      Kalfa                                                1254 (1838–9)

Peyker Kalfa, 24            First Secretary (Başkâtib) to

Mahmud II

R. 1254 (24 June–22 July

1838)

Şaheste Dadı Usta, 45

1840s:

nanny (dadı) and hazinedar to Princess Heybetullah

Zilhicce 1254

(February–March 1839)

Âtıf Usta, 25                  Palace superintendent (saray ustası)

Dilperi Usta, 64             Palace superintendent (saray ustası)

7 Z.a. 1256 (31 December

1840)

22 C. 1261 (28 June 1845)

1850s:

Zatıgül Kalfa, 20           Kalfa to Sultan Abdülmecid            Safer 1271

(October–November 1854)

Ruyiş Kadın, 60             House-mistress (Kethüda) to

Sultan Abdülmecid

1 C. 1274 (17 January 1858)

1860s:

Saydıcenan Kalfa, 15

Under-stewardess to the sultan (Hazret-i Şehriyarî vekil ustası)

Cemaziül’evvel 1278

(November–December 1861)

Fikrî Visal Kalfa, 29      household servant (cariye) and

kalfa to Sultan Abdülaziz

Safer 1280 (July–August

1863)

 

 

 

 

 

Appendix D: The Epitaphs in the Garden Graveyard

 

 

 

Arranged by plot number.

 

Transliterations omit the formulaic invocation at the top of each stone. Asterisks indicate persons discussed in Chapters 4 and 5.

 

1.  Mehmed Ata Bey*

Efham-ı müşiran-ı saltanat-ı seniyeden Devletlû Hasib Paşa Hazretleri’nin Mahdumları merhûm ve mağfûrun-leh Es-seyyid Mehmed Ata Bey Efendi Ruh-ı şerifiyçün el-Fatiha

Fi 5 L. sene 1254

 

2.  Mehmed Bahaeddin Efendi*

Bir kuş idüm uçdum yuvadan

Ecel ayırdı beni anamdan babamdan Enderun-ı Hümayundan Mahrec Şükür Hasan Efendi’nin mahdumu Merhûm ve mağfûrun-leh Mehmed Bahaeddin Efendi ruhuna Fatiha Sene 1260

 

3.  Mehmed Şevket Efendi Ya Hay ya Kayyum el-Meded Cennetmekân Gazi Sultan Abdülhamid Han Efendimiz Hazretleri’nin türbedarı Hattat Mustafa Vâsıf

 

Efendi’nin mahdumu Mehmed Şevket Efendi’nin Ruhuna Fatiha

Z.a. sene 1251

 

4.  Mehmed Şahabeddin Efendi

Hamidiye kıl makamı El-hâc Mustafa Vâsıf Efendinin mahdumu

Cennetmekân Mehmed Şahabeddin Efendi ruhuna Fatiha

Fi 25 S. sene 1260

 

5.  Fatma Hanım*

(a largely speculative reading) Küçücük bir mürg uçdu laneden Emr iken şirin bustan-ı atalardan Cariye kılmışdı Hazret-i Esma Sultan-ı âlişana bülbül[?]-i haneden Kendine versün ömür Zülcebbar

Bu niyazım ruz şebimiz daneden Bu iş tek[?] biçare göresün Gitdi Cennet içre geçdi fânîden Nelere canı gurub uyudu taye an Geçdi süflî felek-i il-i kanıdan(?) Şol beşikdi setri civanın

İstedi ukba’da zer-i Gilşeh’den(?) Huri gılmana karışdı yavrucuk Çekdi el bu alemî derbandan

Kül kadar etdi cihanın sinesini Verdi ruhun hiç dünyevî raneden(?)

Sine-yi dami’(?) görünecek ve . . . nur-ı Hak(?) Neylesin[?] emr-i Hakkı, gitdi daneden[?]

Yed-i sulbi[?] ruh . . . etdi gûş Geçmeden bu zeri mürgün[?] şaneden Fatma Hanım gitdi Cennet’e Bunların[?] fermanı ana sübhandan Gurre-yi N. sene 1249

6.  Binnaz Kadın*

Cennetmekân Adnaşiyan

 

Sultan Abdülhamid Han Aleyhi’r-rahmet ve’l-gufrân Hazretleri’nin kadınlarından Merhûme ve mağfûrun-leha

El-muhtâce ilâ Rabbihi’l-gafûr Üçüncü Binnaz Kadın’ın

Ruh-ı şerifesiyçün el-Fatiha Fi L. sene 1238

 

7.  İbrahim Ağa*

Beni kıl mağfiret Ey Rabb-i Yezdan Bi-hak-ı Arş-ı Âzam Nur-ı Kur’an Gelüb kabrimi ziyaret eden ihvan Edeler ruhuma bir Fatiha ihsan

Enderun-ı Hümayunda Babüssaadati’l-aliyye Ağalarından Hazinedarbaşı-yı sabık Merhûm ve mağfûr es-seyyid İbrahim Ağa’nın ruh-ı şerifiyçün el-Fatiha

Fi Z.a. sene 1238

 

8.  Mehmed Ağa*

Beni kıl mağfiret Ey Rabb-i Yezdan Bi-hak-ı Arş-ı Âzam Nur-ı Kur’an Gelüb kabrimi ziyaret eden ihvan Edeler ruhuma bir Fatiha ihsan Bilfiil Serbostaniyan-ı hassa iken Âzim-i hadika-yı cennet ve vâsıl-ı Devha-yı rahmet olan merhûm

Es-seyyid el-hâc Mehmed Ağa ruhuna el-Fatiha Fi 3 C. sene 1239

 

9.  Mahmud Ağa*

Edüb dâr-ı fenadan azm-ı rihlet Beka’da mesken etmiş diyer-i cinanı Oku ihlas ile bir Fatiha gel

Ecel bir kimseye vermez amanı Darüssaadeti’l-aliyye ağalarından Saray-ı Cedid-i Sultanî Baş

Kapı Gulâmı merhûm Mahmud Ağa’nın Ruhuyçün el-Fatiha

Fi R.a. sene 1240

 

10.  Mehmed Emin Ağa

Vâsıl-ı rahmet-i Hak Sertebdil-i Hazret-i Cihandarî-yi esbak Silâhşoran-ı Hassa’dan Merhûm ve mağfûr el-muhtâc İla gufrân Rabbihi’l-gafûr

El-hâc Mehmed Emin Ağa’nın Ruhuyçün rızaenlillâh el-Fatiha Fi Ş. sene 1240

 

11.  İbrahim İbiş Ağa

Merhûm cennetmekân firdevsaşiyan Gazi Sultan Selim Han aleyhi

’r-rahmet ve’l-gufrân Hazretlerinin Sertebdil-i Silâhşoran-ı Hassa’dan merhûm

Ve mağfûr el-muhtâc ilâ rahmeti Rabbihi’l-gafûr El-hâc İbrahim İbiş Ağa’nın ruhuyçün Rızaenlillâhi taalâ el-Fatiha

Fi gurre-yi C.a. sene [1]241

 

12.  Osman Ağa

Fena dünyaya meyl etmek beka olmaz, olur yeksan Gezüb âlemleri beraber alır ibret olan irfan Benim gibi gider bir gün gerekse pir gerek sıbyan Benim bu sinem üstünde bana ver Fatiha ihsan

İki âlemde şad etsün(?) ol Rabb-i Yezdan

Ağa-yı Çokadar-ı Bab-ı Silâhdar-ı Hazret-i Şehriyarî Merhûm Osman Ağa’nın ruhuyçün el-Fatiha

Fi 15 C. sene 1241

 

13.  Kemankeş İbrahim Ağa* Hazine vekili-i Hazret-i Şehriyarî İken rihlet-i dâr-ı beka eden Merhûm ve mağfûr el-muhtâc

İla rahmeti Rabbihi’l-gafûr Kemankeş İbrahim

Ağa’nın ruhuyçün el-Fatiha Sene 1242

 

14.  Mehmed Ali Bey*

Efahim-i vükelâ-i saltanat-ı seniyyeden

 

Maliye Nazırı devletlû Hasib Paşa Hazretlerinin mahdum-ı âlileri Merhûm ve mağfûr el-muhtâc

İla rahmeti Rabbihi’l-gafûr Es-seyyid Mehmed Ali Bey’in Ruhuyçün el-Fatiha

Sene 1274

 

15.  Saydıcenan Kalfa

Ya İlâhî ol mübarek ism-i pakin izzeti

Hem Resulün Fahr-i âlem Şah-ı kevneyn hürmeti Eyle kabrim ravza-yı cennet ya İlâhülâlemin Gece gündüz eylesinler hur gılman hizmeti

Ya Huda lütfun ile meskenimi kıl bağ-ı cinan Hazret-i şehriyarî vekil ustası

Cennetmekân merhûme ve mağfûrun-leha

Saydıcenan Kalfa’nın ruh-ı şeriflerine lillâh taalâ Fatiha Cemaziül’evvel sene 1278

 

16.  Cafer Ağa, Musahib*

Çarh-ı sermestin elinden dâd bir feryad iki Virimde bezm-i cihana ikide birde kesel

Dad elinden ey felek feryad-ı cevrinden senin Senden işin değil pir ü civana muhtemel

Bir Mekki haslet Musahib Cafer Ağa’yı niçün Eyledin serdade-yi balin-i eskam u ilel

Âkıbet etdin telef ol gevher-i pakizeyi

Seng-i kabrile dökün dar haşra dek ey mütebezzil Sen harab-abad-ı kevnî âke çok gördün felek Eyledi ma’mure cennatını Mevlâ bedel

Sende bilsen aczini olmaz mı ey gerdun-ı dûn Cümle ahkâmın iken mahkûm-ı ferman-ı ezel Ol vücud-ı muhterem yatdıkça yerde eylesün Padişahın ömrünü efzun Hüda-yı lem-yezel Ağladım İzzet yazarken cevherî tarihini Genç iken aldı Musahib Cafer Ağa’yı ecel Sene 1231

 

17.  Hadice Hatun*

Saray-ı Atîk-i ma’mure ağası merhûm Cezayirli Ali Ağa’nın ustası

 

Merhûme ve mağfûre el-muhtâce İla Rabbiha’l-gafûr cennetmekân Hadice Hatun’un ruh-ı şerife- siyçün rızaenlillâh el-Fatiha

M. fi sene 1232

 

18.  Ahmed Ağa, Zengi*

Hadım-ı şahî musahib Ahmed Ağa nâgehan Hırkapuş oldu cihanın bakmadı hiç cahına Masivayı terk edüb düşmüş idi sahralara

Zikr-i Hakla can verüb buldu vusul-ı Allahına Katra-yı eşkimle yazdım Faikâ tarihini

Oldu âzim Zengi Ahmed Ağa Hak dergâhına El-Fatiha

Sene 1234

 

19.  Ahmed Bey, Torun*

Meskenim dağlar başı sahraya hacet kalmadı Hep onuldu yaralarım cerraha hacet kalmadı İçdim ecel şerbetini Lokman’a hacet kalmadı Silâhdar-ı Hazret-i Şehriyarî

Merhûm ve mağfûr Mîr Torun Ahmed Bey Efendi’nin Ruhuyçün el-Fatiha

Fi 5 Z.a. sene 1234

 

20.  Zatıgül Kalfa*

Gül gibi açılmadan soldum hele Zar zar ağlar bana bülbül bile Hasret olub namurad gitdim yola Ruhum şad, meskenim cennet ola Şevketlû Efendimizin cariyelerinden İffetlû Zatıgül Kalfa’nın

Ruhuyçün rızaenlillâh el-Fatiha Safer sene 1271

 

21.  Mahınur Hatun

Ya İlâhî kıl inayet kabr-i lebriz-i nur

Birliğine şüphe yokdur hu-yı(?) Muhammed olresul Gözüme her an Kur’an görünür

Mahınur Hatuna eyle yoldaş

 

Arş-ı Âzam Kur’an-ı Nur

Fatiha ile ruhumu edeler pürnur Fi 21 C. sene 1242

 

22.  Zürubican Kalfa Lâilaheillallah Muhammedun Resulullâh

Harem-i hümayundan Merhûme ve mağfûrun-leha İla rahmeti Rabbihi’l-gafûr Zürubican Kalfa’nın Ruhuyçün el-Fatiha

Sene 1254

 

23.  Rami Usta

Beni kıl mağfiret Ey Rabb-i Yezdan Bi-hak-ı Arş-ı Âzam Nur-ı Kur’an Gelüb kabrimi ziyaret eden ihvan Edeler ruhuma bir Fatiha ihsan Şevketlû Efendimizin

Kahvecisi merhûme Rami Usta’nın ruhuna Fatiha Fi 21 N. sene 1250

 

24.  Peyker Kalfa

Şevketlû Efendimiz Hazretlerinin Başkâtibi cennetmekân Firdevsaşiyan

Merhûme ve mağfûrun-leha Peyker Kalfa ruhuyçün Rızaenlillâh el-Fatiha

R. fi sene 1254

 

25.  Âtıf Usta*

Bağ-ı ikbalin güzide gonca-yı şahanesi

Ah! Ol pakize gevher-i kân-ı hüsnün danesi Ol hayf-ı mest-i hayata kıydın ey saki-i çarh

Came-yi kâma kanmadan dolmuş ecel peymanesi Bir melekhaslet-i civan idi kanmadı gençliğine Ey felek layık mı böyle taşdan olsun lânesi Merkadı bağ ola bağ-ı cinan kâşanesi

 

Şevketlû Efendimizin saray ustası Saadetlû Âtıf Usta Hazretleri Ruhuyçün lillâh taalâ el-Fatiha Fi 7 Z.a. sene 1256

 

26.  Yarderun Hanım*

Cennetmekân firdevsaşiyan

Sultan Abdülhamid Han Efendimiz Hazretlerinin kerime-yi muhteremeleri Devletlû ismetlû Esma Sultan

Aleyhi’ş-şân Hazretleri’nin ahretliği Yarderun Hanım ruhuna Fatiha Sene 1231

 

27.  Ali Bey Efendi, Karakulakzade*

Merhûm ve mağfûrun-leh

El-muhtâc ilâ rahmeti Rabbihi- ‘İl-gafûr Mabeynci-yi Hazret-i Şehriyarî-yi sabık Karakulak- Zade Ali Bey Efendi’nin Ruhuyçün rızaenlillâh Fatiha Sene 1228

 

28.  Ali Ağa, Cezayirli* Merhûm ve mağfûr el-muhtâc İlâ rahmeti Rabbihi’l-gafûr Saray-ı Atîk-i Ma’mure Ağası

Cezayirli cennetmekân Ali Ağa’nın Ruh-ı şerifiyçün rızaen

Lillâhi taalâ el-Fatiha Fi M. sene 1232

 

29.  Fikrî Visal Kalfa*

Ah ile zar kılarak tazeliğime doymadım

Çun ecel peymanesi dolmuş muradım almadım Hasretâ fânî cihanda tûl-i ömür sürmedim Firkatâ takdir bu imiş ta ezelden bilmedim Şevketlû Sultan Abdülaziz Han

Efendimizin cariyelerinden merhûme Fikrî Visal Kalfa ruhuna Fatiha

Fi Safer 1280

 

30.  Ferhad Ağa

Beni kıl mağfiret Ey Rabb-i Yezdan Bi-hak-ı Arş-ı Âzam Nur-ı Kur’an Gelüb kabrimi ziyaret eden ihvan Edeler ruhuma bir Fatiha ihsan

Harem-i hümayun ağalarından devletlû Merhûm Ferhad Ağa’nın

Ruhuyçün el-Fatiha Sene 1229

 

31.  Mehmed Ağa, Seyyid* Başçokadar Bekir Efendi’nin Pederi merhûm ve mağfûrun-leh Seyyid Mehmed Ağa’nın ruhuyçün Ve kâffe-yi ehl-i imanın Ervahlarıyçün

Lillâhi taalâ Fatiha Fi 17 C.a. sene 1240

 

32.  Ruhusafa Kalfa*

Kimesne baki değildir çünki dehr bî-sübut Gel oku İhlâsla Fatiha etme sükût

Gel nazar eyle bu mevta kabrine ibret al Küllü nefsin fânîyetin fe-Allah hayy lâyemut Devletlû İkinci Kadın’ın kalfası

Merhûme Ruhusafa Kalfa’nın Ruhuyçün el-Fatiha

Fi 13 B. sene 1240

 

33.  Zühde Usta

Lâilaheillallah Muhammedun Resulullâh Harem-i hümayundan

Merhûme ve mağfûre ila rahmeti Rabbihi’l-gafûr vekil

Zühde Usta ruhuna

El-Fatiha fi Ş. sene 1240

 

34.  Kamerbend Hatun*

Gel efendim nazar eyle bu mezarım taşına Âkıl isen gafil olma aklını al başına

Salınub gezer iken her dem neler geldi başıma

 

Âkıbet türab oldum taş dikildi başıma İsmetlû İkinci Kadın Efendi’nin tarafından Merhûme ve mağfûre Kamerbend Hatun Ruhuyçün el-Fatiha

Fi 9 N. sene 1240

 

35.  Cezbiâra Kalfa*

Bakub geçme ricam budur ey Muhammed ümmeti Ölünün diriden hemân bir Fatiha minneti Kabrimi ziyaret eden ey Resul’ün ümmeti

Bize bir Fatiha ihsan eden bulur cenneti Şevketlû Efendimiz Hazretleri’nin cariyesi Cezbiâra Kalfa’nın ruhuna

El-Fatiha fi 14 N. sene 1241

 

36.  Receb Efendi

Kilâr-ı Hassa Kethüdası İken irtihal-i dâr-ı beka eden

Merhûm ve mağfûr ilâ rahmeti Rabbihi’l-gafûr Hâfız Receb Efendi’nin ruhuyçün Rızaenlillâhi taalâ Fatiha

Fi 28 B. sene 1244

 

37.  Tagaffül Hatun

Kemâlim buldum âhir bulmadım derdime derman Ecel geldi vermedi bir dem aman

Mevlâ kavuşdura dostlarım ile Cennet’de her an Ya Rab kıl mağfiret Arş-ı Âzam Nur-ı Kur’an Tagaffül Hatun’u ziyaret eden ihvan

Üç İhlas bir Fatiha edeler ihsan Fi gurre-yi B. sene 1242

 

38.  Şevkinur Kadın* Hüdavendigâr-i sabık merhûm Ve mağfûrun-leh Sultan Mustafa Han Hazretlerinin Baş Kadınları merhûme Şevkinur

Kadın Hazretlerine ve cemi mü’minîn

Ve mü’minata Hak rahmet eyleye el-Fatiha Sene 1227

 

39.  Derviş Nezir Ağa

Merhûm ve mağfûr

El-muhtâc ilâ rahmeti Rabbihi’l-gafûr Musahib-i Hazret-i Şehriyarî

Derviş Nezir Ağa Ruhuyçün el-Fatiha

Fi 8 Zilhicce sene 1225

 

40.  Ayşe Hanım*

Merhûme ve mağfûrun-leha El-muhtâc ilâ rahmeti Rabbihi ’l-gafûr Ser Çokadar-ı

Hazret-i Şehriyarî-yi sabık Müteveffa Seyyid Ömer Ağa’nın Halilesi Ayşe Hanım

Ruhuyçün el-Fatiha Sene 1237

 

41.  Mehmed Emin Efendi, Kıbrısî Hazine-yi Hümayun Kethüdası iken İrtihal-i dâr-ı beka eden

Merhûm ve mağfûr ilâ rahmeti Rabbihi’l-gafûr Kıbrısî

Es-seyyid Mehmed Emin Efendi Merhûmun ruhuyçün Fatiha Harrarahu Hûsî(?) fi 21 B. sene 1245

 

42.  Mehmed Esad Ağa Merhûm ve mağfûrun-leh El-muhtâc ilâ rahmeti Rabbihi’l-afüvvi’l-gafûr Sabıkan Ağa-yı Çokadar-ı Hazret-i Şehriyarî

Es-seyyid Mehmed Esad Ağa’nın Ruhuyçün el-Fatiha

Sene 1231

 

43.  Kamertab Kalfa

Beni kıl mağfiret Ey Rabb-i Yezdan Bi-hak-ı Arş-ı Âzam Nur-ı Kur’an

 

Gelüb kabrimi ziyaret eden ihvan Edeler ruhuma bir Fatiha ihsan Merhûme ve mağfûrun-leha Kamertab Kalfa’nın

Ruhuyçün el-Fatiha Fi 27 B. sene 1224

 

44.  Dilpezir Kadın* Merhûme ve mağfûrun-leha El-muhtâce ilâ rahmeti Rabbiha’l-gafûre

Dilpezir Kadın’ın Ruhuyçün rızaen Lillâhi taalâ el-Fatiha Ş. Sene 1224

 

45.  Şaheste Dadı Usta*

Ah kim Şaheste Dadı Usta sahib-i kadr ü şan El çeküb geçdi cihandan meskeni olsun cinan Nam ü zatı Heybetullah Hazret-i Sultan’a ol Evvelâ dadı ve sonra hâzin idi çok zaman Âbide ve zâhide bir Rabia-yı siret idi

Şuglü vird ü zikr idi subh ü mesa fi külli an Âkıbet esdi riyaz-i ömrüne bâd-ı ecel

Berg ü bâdı soldu düşdü hâke manend-i harab Şimdi bu yatdıkca efzun ü firavan eylesün Ömrünü sultan-ı zişan’ın ucu Müstean

İşte ey zair bu dünyada sakın aldanma gel İbret al Şaheste’den aheste ol İhlâshân Fevtine tarih-i menkutum hesabınca Refik Lûtf-ı Bari’ye ola Şaheste vabeste hemân Fi Zilhicce sene 1254

46.  Ebu Bekir Ağa*

Böyle buldum bu cihanı sanki bir zıll-ı hayal Ol sebebden kimse benim halden etmez sual Ben dedim elhükmü lillâh razıyım her emrine Çün ezelden böyle takdir eylemişdir Zülcelal Darüssaadeti’l-âliye ağası-yı

Sabık merhûm ve mağfûr el-muhtâc

İlâ rahmeti Rabbihi’l-gafûr Ebu Bekir Ağa’nın

 

Ruh-ı şerifiyçün el-Fatiha Fi Z. sene 1240

 

47.  Sırrı Efendi*

Sahib-i fen ü kalem Sırrı Efendi benam Hacegân ü ehl-i divan içre kadri muteber Kisedarlık menşe-yi feyz olmuş idi zatına Mesned-i vâlâya da verdi kemâli zib ü fer Zindegânı mansıbın terk eyledi olub alil

Lûtf-i Hakla Cennet-i A’lâ’da olsun müstakar Emr-i rabbanî budur tehire yokdur çare hiç Kim gelürse dehr-i fânîye yine elbet gider Eylesün Hak sırrını takdis me’vasın cinan İrciî emriyle etdi cisr-i âlemden güzer

Düşdü ba avn-ı Hüda tarih-i fevtin söyledim Sır olub Sırrı Efendi eyledi Adn’e sefer Sene 1242

 

48.  Mehmed Emin Ağa, Hâfız

Ağa-yı Çokadar-ı Hazret-i Şehriyarî İntikal-i dâr-ı beka eden

Merhûm ve mağfûr el-muhtâc İlâ rahmeti Rabbihi’l-gafûr Hâfız Mehmed Emin Ağa’nın Ruhuyçün el-Fatiha

Sene 1241

 

49.  Ömer Ağa, Seyyid (Senior Keeper of the Robes)*

Seyyid Ömer Ağa ki tarikinde alub feyz Olmuşdu Hakkın nail-i eltaf-ı azîmi İffetle sadakatle salâhıyla cihanda Darbu’l-mesel-i âlem idi zat-ı kerimi Fehm eyleyüb ihlâs-ı derûnun Şah-ı Âlem Kılmışdı anı Başçokadarı ve nedimi Sabitkadem-i hizmet olub sıdkla deh sâl Puyende-yi şevk idi rikâbında kadimî Ferman-ı ilâhîyle edüb ruhunu teslim Can atdı Cinana olub Ukbanın azîmi

Mahz-ı kerem-ı Hakla olub mazhar-ı gufrân Firdevs-i berinin ola şevkiyle mukimi

Vâsıf oku tarihini mu’cemle dua kıl

 

Seyyid Ömer Ağa kıla ca sahn-ı Naimi Ruhuyçün el-Fatiha

M. sene 1233

 

50.  Gümüş Ayşe* Türbe-yi lâtif . . . Kıraat olunan . . .

Cennetmekân Sultan Abdülhamid Han’ın? Hazinedarları? Gümüş Ayşe . . .

Dahi Cinan-ı Hak . . . Ruhuyçün el-Fatiha Fi M. sene 1225

 

51.  Beşir Ağa*

Vâlâ hazinedar-ı Şehinşah-ı dehr iken Göçdü Naim beyli Beşir Ağa nâgehan Gûş eyleyüb vefatını tarihini dedim Mevlâ derûn-ı kabrini ede gülşen-i Cinan Rızaenlillâhi taalâ el-Fatiha

Sene 1223

 

52.  Ayşe*

Şahzade o celi menkıbe Sultan Mahmud Eyledi işte anın dayesi azm-ı ukba Lânesaz oldu cihan içre ser-i Tûba’da Mürg-i ruhu kafes-i tenden olub balküşa Kıldı hemsâye-yi Sıddika anı Rabb-i rahim Hemçu serv oldu hiraman-ı riyaz-ı Me’va

Fevti tarihini bu resme dedi mülhem-i gayb Eyledi Ayşeyi ziver-i cennet Mevlâ

Sene 1222

 

53.  Seyyare Kadın*

Hüdavendigâr-i sabık

Merhûm ve mağfûrun-leh Sultan Mustafa Han Hazretlerinin İkinci Kadınları merhûme Seyyare Kadın Hazretlerine

Ve cemi mü’minîn ve mü’minata Hak rahmet eyleye el-Fatiha Sene 1233

 

54.  Ömer Ağa*

Fa’alam innahu lâilaheillallah Muhammedun Resulullâh Cenab-ı ismetmeab devletlû Esma Sultan

Aleyha’ş-şan Hazretleri’nin kethüda-yı Âlicaları iken İrciî ilâ rabbiki

. . . celili emrine mütabaat ile irtihal-i

. . . baki menzilet-i il-i şan ser-bevvabîn-i dergâh Cennetmekân firdevsaşiyan Ömer Ağa Ruhuyçün rızaenlillâhi taalâ Fatiha fi Z.a 1222

 

55.  Hadice Ruhşah Kadın* Hüdavendigâr-i sabık cennetmekân Firdevsaşiyan Essultan

Abdülhamid Han Hazretleri’nin Baş Kadın rütbesiyle mümtaz olan Merhûme ve mağfûrun-leha el-hâce Hadice Kadın Hazretleri’nin ruh-ı

Tayyibesiyçün rızaenlillâhi taalâ el-Fatiha Sene 1222

 

56.  Mehmed Reşid Ağa*

Azmedüb gitdi cihandan vâlideyninin gülü Bir nihali gonca idi ola cennet bülbülü Hak taalâ rahmetiyle ruhunu şad eyleye Hasretiyle firkatıyle yakdı can dili

Hazine-yi Hümayun ağalarından merhûm Ve mağfûr Mehmed Reşid

Ağa’nın ruhuyçün el-Fatiha Fi 17 N. sene 1227

 

57.  Mutebere Kadın* Cennetmekân Sultan Abdülhamid Han Hazretleri’nin seraperde-yi İffetleri olub bu defa İrciî

İlâ rabbiki sırrına mazhariyetle ecel

Şerbetin nûş ve mihnet-i dünyayı

Feramûş eden merhûme ve mağfûrun-leha Beşinci Mutebere Kadın

Hazretleri’nin ruhuyçün El-Fatiha fi R.a sene 1253

 

58.  Zeyneb Hanım*

Lûtf eyle meskenim kıl ya Hüda bağ-ı Cinan Razıyım emrine ya Rab eyledim teslim-i can Ah namurad gitdim cihandan ben bugün Vere cennetde muradım bana Hallâk-ı Cihan Fânî dünyada dururken gül gibi nazik tenim Nâgehan ayırdı ecel vermedi bir dem aman Ey benim dertli vâlidim ağlayub etme figan Ruz şeb hayır duadan beni unutma hemân Kethüda-yı Sadr-ı Âli-i esbak merhûm Nazif Ahmed Efendi’nin duhter-i pakizesi merhûme Zeyneb Hanım’ın ruhuyçün el-Fatiha

Fi 25 L. sene 1220

 

59.  Abdullah Ağa Silâhdar-ı Hazret-i Şehriyarî-yi esbak Merhûm ve mağfûr

El-muhtâc ilâ rahmeti Rabbihi El-gafûr es-seyyid

Abdullah Ağa’nın Ruhuyçün el-Fatiha Maa’s-salavât

Fi gurre-yi N. sene 1220

 

60.  Ruyiş Kadın*

Ya İlâhî ol mübarek ism-i pakîn izzeti

Hem Resül’ün Fahr-i Âlem Şah-ı Kevneyn hürmeti Eyle kabrin ravza-yı cennet ya İlahu’l-âlemîn Gece gündüz eylesünler hur ü gılman hizmeti Şevketlû Efendimiz Hazretleri’nin

Cariyesi saadetlû kethüda Ruyiş Kadın ruhuyçün

El-Fatiha fi 1 C. sene 1274

 

61.  Şerife Ayşe Hanım*

Merhûm ve mağfûr el-muhtâc

İlâ rahmeti Rabbihi’l-gafûr Sadr-ı Sabık Silâhdar es-seyyid Mehmed Paşa Hazretleri’nin kerime-yi mükerremeleri İffetlû merhûme Şerife Ayşe

 

Hanım Hazretleri’nin ruhuyçün El-Fatiha Zilkade 13 sene 1213

 

62.  Yunus Ağa*

Lûtf eyle meskenim kıl ya Hüda

Bağ-ı Cinan razıyım her emrine ya Rab Eyledim teslim-i can elimden dünya Muradın namurad oldum bugün

Vere muradım cennetde bana Hallâk-ı Cihan Necabetlû Sultan Mustafa

Efendimiz’in lâlası merhûm ve mağfûr El-muhtâc ilâ rahmeti Rabbihi’l-gafûr Yunus Ağa’nın ruhuyçün

Rızaenlillâh el-Fatiha Sene 1217 fi 9 Z.

 

63.  Yahya Efendi, Hâfız*

Beni kıl mağfiret Ey Rabb-ı Yezdan Bi-hak-ı Arş-ı Âzam Nur-ı Kur’an Gelüb kabrimi ziyaret eden ihvan Ede ruhuma bir Fatiha ihsan Sabıkan Silâhdar-ı Şehriyarî Merhûm ve mağfûr

Hâfız Yahya Efendi ruhuyçün Rızaenlillâh el-Fatiha sene 1204 Fi 15 C.

 

64.  Dilperi Usta* Şevketlû Efendimiz’in Saray Ustası

Merhûme ve mağfûrun-leha İlâ rahmeti Rabbihi’l-gafûr Dilperi Usta’nın

Ruh-ı şerifesiyçün Rızaenlillâhi el-Fatiha Fi 22 C. 1261

 

65.  Nevres Kadın*

Vefret-i nakd-i sadakatle hazinedar idi

Devlet-i Abdülhamid Hanı’da bu merhûme ah Nur ede kabrin Hüda kim şimdi ol mestureyi

 

Böyle pinhan eyledi gencine-veş hâk-i siyah Katra-yı şebnem değil sıbyan gibi giryan olur Türbesi üzere bitüb ol üm-i hayratın kim ah Nakl edince köhne dünyadan dedim tarihini Eylesün Nevres Kadın Kasr-ı Cinanda cilvegâh Ruhuyçün el-Fatiha

L. sene 1211

 

On reverse of stone:

Hüdavendigâr-ı sabık merhûm ve mağfûr Cennetmekân Sultan Abdülhamid Han Hazretleri’nin hazinedarı merhûme

Ve mağfûrun-leha Nevres Kadın ruhuyçün El-Fatiha

Fi 17 L. sene 1211

 

66.  Mehmed Pasha, Silâhdar*

Payını paye-yi evreng-i fenadan çekdi Sadr-ı pürcud Silâhdar Mehmed Paşa Bende-yi sadık idi husrev-i haydermenişe Caye-yi ömrünü çak eyledi hayfa ki kaza

Mazhar-ı rahmet ü gufrân ede Rahman-ı gafûr Eyleyüb ruhunu gülzar-ı cinanda iva

Eser-i sıdkını gör ba’d vuku’l-rıhle Eyledi zıll-ı Velina’mında iva

Ey gelüb zair olan böyle oku tarihin Cennet-i Adnı makam ede Mehmed Paşa Sene 1195

 

 

 

 

Glossary

 

 

 

 

ağa/agha                              title of respect accorded to men of rank, and in particular to eunuchs

akçe                                     smallest unit of currency; 120 akçe equalled one kuruş

Bairam                                 either of the two major religious festivals in Islam

baltacı                                 see Halberdiers with Tresses

Başçokadar                          see çokadar

Başkadın                              ‘Senior Lady,’ title of the sultan’s Senior Consort, the highest-ranking concubine

bey                                      title of respect for men of some rank

caique                                  long wooden boat with multiple banks of oars

chronogram                          line of verse composed of words chosen for the numerical values of the Arabic letters; the sum of their values equals a date the versifier had in mind

çokadar (or çuhadar),           Senior Keeper of the Robes; second alternatively Başçokadar highest position of male courtiers or Çokadar Ağası, ‘Head

Çokadar’

efendi                                  title of respect for men of considerable standing

Fatiha                                   the opening chapter of the Quran, easily memorised and often recited

gazi                                      title granted to a victor or hero in a war against non-Muslims

 

Grand Signior                       European appellation, in the eighteenth century, for the Ottoman sultan

Grand Vizier                        the senior minister of state, equivalent to prime minister

Hâfız                                    honorary title of a person who has memorized the Quran

hajji                                     one who has performed the hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca

Halberdiers with Tresses       the servants and guards in the Inner (Zülüflü baltacılar)    Household or Privy Chamber at Topkapı

Palace; woollen tresses (zülüf) at their cap distinguished them

han                                      ‘khan’, or monarch, an alternative title for the sultan

hanım                                  title of respect accorded women

hatun                                   courtesy title for women of some rank

hazinedar                             ‘treasurer’, high-ranking post of court eunuchs and female managers of the harem; for the latter, akin to a house-mistress

Hijri calendar                       the Muslim lunar calendar, which began in the year 622 ce

ikbal                                    ‘fortunate one’, the middle of the three ranks of concubines in the Imperial Harem

kadın                                   ‘lady’, title of the four Imperial Consorts as well as the topmost managers of the harem

kalfa                                    title of women supervisors in the Imperial Harem

kethüda                                ‘steward’, high title applied to various positions at court; especially major-domo of a princess’s household and house- mistress of the Imperial Harem

kisedar                                 ‘purse-bearer’, the official in charge of accounts of a high office

kuruş                                   the main Ottoman coin until 1844, known in Europe as ‘piastre’; equalled 120

akçe

Marshal of the Prophet’s       leader of those who claimed descent from Descendants (Nakibüleşraf) the Prophet Muhammad

Mother Princess                   title of the mother of the reigning sultan (Valide Sultan)

Death and Life in the Ottoman Palace

 

musahib                               ‘companion’, venerable court title that by the late eighteenth century applied solely to black eunuchs of higher rank

Naim                                    the fourth of the eight levels of Paradise described in the Quran

padishah                               emperor; alternative title for the sultan

pasha                                   title accorded the highest-ranking men in civil or military service

qibla                                    the direction of Mecca

Rumelia                               collective name for the Ottoman Balkan provinces

sebil (or ‘sebilhane’)             drinking fountain, specifically a small

building, almost always projecting from a wall, with grated windows through which water, served in cups, is distributed free of charge to anyone requesting it

şerife                                    title accorded a female descendant of the Prophet Muhammad

şeyhülislâm                          chief Muslim religious dignitary of the empire, overseeing canon law and Islamic institutions

seyyid                                  title indicating descent from the Prophet Muhammad

sheikh                                  head preacher; head of an order of dervishes

silâhdar                               ‘sword-bearer’, seniormost position at court, chief of personnel in the Privy Household; title abolished in 1831

Stamboul                              historic central core of Istanbul, the peninsula between the Golden Horn and the Sea of Marmara

Sublime Porte                       seat of the Ottoman government, with offices of the Grand Vizier; named for the elaborate gate into the compound

sultan                                   title of the Ottoman monarch or (when placed after her name) of an Ottoman princess; until mid-nineteenth century, also title of an Ottoman prince

sultana                                 European term for Ottoman princesses; never used at the Ottoman court

 

Topkapı                               ‘Cannon Gate Palace’, seat of the Ottoman monarchy from 1470s until 1850s

Tûba                                    the tree in Paradise that is laden with every sort of fruit and flower

tuğra                                    calligraphed cypher of the sultan, interweaving his and his father’s names; served as a symbol of imperial authority

türbe                                    tomb, mausoleum

ulema                                   the class of educated religious scholars, including judges and professors

usta                                      female supervisor of women servants in the Imperial Harem

vizier                                   high-ranking pasha; minister of state

Ya-Sin                                 Quran chapter 36; often recited at funerals due to its affirmation of resurrection.

Yezdan                                God, in a Zoroastrian term adopted by Islam

 

 

 

 

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Index

 

 

 

 

 

Abdülhamid I, Sultan, 1–48 appearance/portrait, 97, 99

consorts, 221–9

death and burial of, 100, 102–7 death/burials of children and

grandchildren, 16–19, 100, 118,

120–1, 149, 153–4

epitaph, 104–5

marriage, 90–1

personal attributes, 97–8, 107

philanthropy, 98

and relics, 76–7

sequestration, and accession to throne, 95–6, 267

see also child deaths/burials; children, royal; Hamidiye Tomb; individual names of consorts

Abdülhamid II, Sultan, 165, 271 Abdülmecid, Sultan

accession to throne, 145 birth, 239

calligraphy, 145, 147

children, 145

death/burials of children, 147, 148–9

garden burials, 159

seaside residence, 142 vaccination, support of 153

ablaq (architectural technique), 51–2, 58–9

Âdile, Princess, 154

Ahmed, Prince, 17, 19, 123–4 Ahmed Ağa, Zengi, 191–2

Ahmed III, Sultan, 24, 100, 198, 246

Âlemşah, Princess, 117–18

Ali Ağa, Cezayirli, 192–6, 203 Ali Bey, Karakulakzade, 168–70 Âlicenab (consort), 253–4

alms-kitchen, 6, 7, 15, 37

Arabic (language), 35, 117, 141, 186, 198,

210

calligraphy, 72–3, 81

epitaphs, tombstone, 39–40, 105

names, 96

architecture, architects, 14–15, 50

Baroque, 8, 31–2, 52–4, 57–8, 74

domes, 73–4

eclecticism, 54–5

graveside, 29–33

Islamic, 51–2, 58

Ottoman, 49–50

artistic tradition, Ottoman, headstones and headgear, 22–9

Âtıf Usta, 239–40

Aya Sofya Mosque, 5, 82, 187

Aynişah, Princess, 130–1

Ayşe (wet-nurse), 240–4

Ayşe Hanım (widow of Silâhdar Ömer Ağa), 262–3

Ayşe Hanım, Şerife, 263–4

 

Bahaeddin Efendi, 211–12 Baroque see architecture, architects

Baş Kapı Gulâmı (Head Slave of the Gate), 208–9

Bayezid, Prince, 2, 141–4 Bekir Efendi (Başçokadar), 214 Beşir Ağa, 196–9

 

Beylerbeyi, 7, 54, 98

Bibesco, Marthe, Princess, 84–6 Binnaz (consort), 193, 221–2 births, royal see child births

black African eunuchs see eunuchs;

individual names of eunuchs

Black Vizier, 171–5

burial rites/expenses, 133, 195, 203

 

Cafer Ağa, 199–201

cagework (at sepulchres), 29, 227, 229

calligraphy, calligraphers, 11, 16, 50–1,

55–8, 147, 185–8

artistic variants, 234, 265

hadith-tuğra, 198, 199, 246

interior of mausoleum, 68–75, 77–9

sextons as, 81–2

see also epitaphs, tombstone; floral motifs

çantacı see purse-bearer Caucasus, 217

cenotaphs, 60–1, 114, 118, 152

palls on, 61–6, 104–5, 150–1

turbans on, 28–9

Ceride-yi Havadis (newspaper), 150 Cevdet Pasha, 16–17, 95, 111, 112, 121

Ceylânyâr (concubine), 145–6

Cezbiâra Kalfa, 244–5

charitable endowments, 13–14, 63,

189–90, 201, 226

child births, 92, 93

limit on male births, 114

child deaths/burials, 8, 118, 124–5, 130–9; see also under Abdülhamid I;

Abdülmecid; Mahmud II announcements of, 94–5

funerals, 41–5, 109, 112, 123

memorials to, 109–10, 117, 120, 123–4

palls, 63–6

chronograms, 35–9, 199, 273

on appointments, 172

on births, 111–12, 113–14, 115, 118,

119, 123, 125–6, 130–1, 132, 133,

136, 141

double, 95–6, 107, 109

on enthronements, 128

and Fatiha, 31

on fountains, 110, 124, 186–7

on palls, 135, 139, 149, 150–1

on tombstones, 175, 182, 183–4, 191–2,

199–201, 228–9, 242–4, 259

see also epitaphs, tombstone clothing, state ceremonies, 103–4

Çokadar (Keeper of the Robes), 162, 214 concubines, 95, 99, 100, 192, 217; see also

Imperial Harem childbearing by, 91–2, 99, 114

hierarchy of, 88–9

marriage with, 89–91

consorts, 88, 89, 108–30, 133–4, 136,

148–51, 251–5

naming of, 217–18

retirement residence, 193

see also individual names of consorts

Constantinople, Mehmed II’s conquest of, 192

 

deaths, royal, of infants see child deaths/ burials

decorative art

fruit motifs, 31–4, 252

Marash work, 61, 64, 68, 105

tombstone, 31–4, 176–7, 222, 240, 252

see also calligraphy; floral motifs Dilperi Usta, 245–6

Dilpezir (consort), 229–31 disease

smallpox, 88, 112, 114, 151–3

tuberculosis, 116, 146, 172

Dolmabahçe Palace, 142, 196, 245, 255

domes, 49–50, 73–4

Dürrüşehvar (daughter of Abdülhamid I), 266, 267

 

Ebu Bekir Ağa, 191, 201–5

Egypt, 188, 189

Emine (1), Princess, 119

Emine (2), Princess, 134–6

Enderunî Vâsıf, 139, 181–2 Enverî (court chronicler), 6

epitaphs, tombstone, 29–31, 104–6, 166–8,

173–5, 182, 191–2

errors, 39–40, 105–6

harem, 220, 222, 228–9, 240

see also calligraphy, calligraphers; chronograms; rhyming couplets

 

Esad Efendi, 103, 104

Esma, Princess, 19, 122, 125, 179–80,

233–4, 247, 259

eunuchs

black, 161, 166, 188–204, 207–11

Chief Eunuch of the Imperial Harem, 14, 189–91

garden burials, 160, 220

hazinedar-ı şehinşah (eunuch superintendent), 44, 189, 197

white, 162, 205–7

European travellers see travel writers/ travelogues

 

faith-healers, 22

Fatiha, recitation of see Quran Fatma, Princess, 124–5

Fatma Hanım, 180, 246–7

fez, the, 23–9; see also headgear, headstones

Fikrî Visal Kalfa, 247–8, 250

Fıtnat Hanım (poet), 7, 37, 111–12

floral motifs, 24, 31, 63, 117, 152, 195,

222, 246; see also decorative art Footprint of the Prophet, Sacred, 76–80 fountains, 11, 21, 185–7, 274; see also

water kiosk (sebil)

fruit motifs, tombstone, see decorative art funerals, royal, 40–5, 94, 102–7, 116

children, 112, 119, 129, 137–8, 142

see also burial rites/expenses

 

garden graveyard (hazire), 2

Hamidiye Tomb, 159–60, 165, 181, 187 Mahmud II Tomb, 163–5

Governor (child’s) see lâla

Grand Vizier, 98, 171–5, 190

Grosvenor, Edwin, 80

guidebooks see travel writers/travelogues Gümüş Ayşe, 249, 251

 

Hadice Hatun, 192, 193–5, 196

hadith-tuğra, 198, 199, 246

Hamidiye Charitable Complex, 8, 98, 233

desecration of, 14–15

street location, 10–11 Hamidiye Tomb

components, 2

exterior, 4

headstones and headgear, 22–9 location, 5, 10, 84–6

reasons for constructing, 7–8 staff at, 80–2

see also architecture; calligraphy; garden graveyard (hazire)

Harem, Imperial, 99, 100, 108, 160, 189,

217–69

administrators, 29, 132, 146, 160, 219,

234–40, 245–6

and the Mother Princess, 89, 113, 116,

220

purge of, 239

see also eunuchs; individual harem women

Hasib Pasha, 213

hazinedar (female harem superintendent), 224–9

headgear, tombstone, 22–9, 176–7

Heybetullah, Princess, 19, 226, 256,

258

Hijri calendar, 33–35

historians, Ottoman, 128–9

on royal births and deaths, 94

see also individual names of historians/ chroniclers

Hobhouse, J. C., 129 Hoşyâr (consort), 148

hotoz (hat), 248, 260–1

Hümaşah (consort), 108, 110

 

İbrahim Ağa (Hazinedar Başı), 189, 205–7

İbrahim Ağa, Kemankeş, 207 ikbals, 88–9, 113

İlyas Ağa (chronicler), 169–70, 182 Imperial Consorts see consorts Imperial Treasury see Treasury

infant mortality see child deaths/burials Istanbul Tombs Administration, 29

 

Janissary Corps, 172, 178

aghas, 176

annihilated, 171

funeral protocols, 102–3

Gardeners Corps (Bostaniyan), 170 Selim’s New Army and, 126

 

kadın, 131–2, 218, 224, 228

Kâhya Kadın (Mistress of Ceremonial), 236, 237, 240, 255, 256

kalfas, 218, 236

Kallâvi turban, 103, 104, 171, 174

Kamerbend Hatun, 251–2, 253, 254–5

Kâtibî turban, 24–6

Kemaleddin Bey (architect), 14–15

 

lâla (child’s governor), 165–6, 209–10, 242 Lâleli Mosque Complex, 54

language use, 72–3, 151, 210

epitaphs, tombstone, 39–40, 64, 66, 139,

187

library, Hamidiye, 7, 8

literacy, rates of, 94, 220, 273

London Gazette, 95, 96, 106, 112

 

Mahmud Ağa (Baş Kapı Gulâmı), 208–9 Mahmud II, Sultan, 2–3, 14, 89, 102, 128,

142, 145, 181

accession to throne, 113

birth and childhood, 114, 242

calligrapher, 244

concubines, 217

death and burial of, 104, 239 death/burials of children, 141–4 executions of Janissary officers, 171 introduction of the fez, 23, 26 Ministry of Imperial Endowments, 14,

203

and Mustafa IV, 168, 233

palace reforms, 162–3, 171, 190, 209,

270

and smallpox, 153

Tomb and garden graveyard, 18, 19,

150, 163–5

Marash work, 61, 64, 68, 105 marriage, and concubinage, 89–91

mausoleum (türbe), 2; see also Hamidiye Tomb

Mecca, 190, 200, 201, 226

Medina, 190, 201, 226

medrese, 7, 16–17, 45

Mehmed, Prince, 108–10, 160, 172

Mehmed Ağa, 170–1

Mehmed Emin Efendi, Kıbrısî, 55–7, 68–74, 160

Mehmed II, Sultan (the Conqueror), 5, 89, 192

Mehmed Nusret, Prince, 119–20 Mehmed Pasha, Silâhdar, 29, 159, 171–5 Mehmed Rüşdî, Prince, 146–8

Mehmed Süreyya, 95

Melekşah, Princess, 131–2

Mevhibe, Princess, 148–51

mihrab, 71, 72

military officers, 24, 162, 163; see also

Janissary Corps

Ministry of Imperial Endowments, 14, 203

mosques, small (mescid), 7

Mother Princess (Valide Sultan), 89, 113,

116, 218, 220

Muhammad, the Prophet descendants of, 160, 189 Sacred Footprint of, 76–80

Murad, Prince, 136–9, 141–4, 210 Murad Seyfullah, Prince, 113–14 Mustafa bin Ahmed Çelebi (construction

superintendent), 55

Mustafa III, Sultan, 1, 6, 76, 95

Mustafa IV, Sultan, 19, 89, 125–30, 133,

134, 165–6, 168, 179–80

childhood, 112, 210

consorts, 229–34

Mutebere (consort), 111–12, 223–4

 

Nakşıdil (consort), 89, 113–17, 193, 217,

254

Nakşıdil mausoleum, 63

nannies (dadı), 122, 240, 256, 258–9

nationalism, Ottoman, 165

Nazif Ahmed Efendi, 264, 265, 266, 267

Nedim (poet), 242

Nevfidan (consort), 253, 254, 255

Nevres (consort), 1, 224–9 New Mosque

alms-kitchen, 6, 7

Hadice Turhan Valide Sultan tomb, 69 royal tombs at, 5, 6, 9–10, 17

New Palace, 192; see also Topkapı Palace

newspapers

European, 106–7, 109

London, 94–5, 96, 106, 112, 128

 

newspapers (cont.)

on royal infant deaths, 94–5, 123, 150

Nuruosmaniye Mosque, 8, 69, 137, 138

 

oil lamps, 21–2

Old Palace, 192, 193, 196, 220–1

Ömer Ağa (Major-domo), 177–81

Ömer Ağa, Seyyid (Başçokadar), 181–3, 262

Osman, House of concubines of, 88–91

custom on the bearing of children, 91–2, 99

mothers and children, 108–54 Ottoman Baroque, 57, 71; see also

architecture, Baroque Ottoman poets see poets, Ottoman

Ottoman Register, The (Sicill-i Osmanî), 95, 173, 181, 211, 230, 266

 

palace courtiers/staff, 159–60, 161–3

burial of kin, 211–14, 262–7 palls see cenotaphs

pensions, 239

Persian (language), 137, 143, 185, 210,

217–18, 245

poets, Ottoman chronograms, 35–9

female, 7, 37, 111–12, 154

see also calligraphy; chronograms; epitaphs, tombstone

print culture, Ottoman, 92–4

Privy Household, 161–2, 169, 177, 181–2,

189

Purse-bearer (çantacı), 177

 

Quran

the Fatiha, 11, 30–1, 50

reciters, 20–1, 22

 

Rabia (1), Princess, 132–3

Rabia (2), Princess, 120–1

reforms see Mahmud II, palace reforms relic, holy, 76–80

Reşid Ağa, Mehmed, 175–7

rhyming couplets, 64–5, 77, 110, 131,

170–1, 185–6, 187, 211, 255, 261;

see also epitaphs, tombstone

Rococo decoration, 13, 54

Ruhşah (consort), 97, 222–3

Ruhusafa Kalfa, 219, 251, 252–3, 254–5

Rumî, 73

Ruyiş Kadın, 255–6

 

Şaheste Dadı Usta, 256, 258–9

Saliha, Princess, 114–15

Şanizade, Mehmed Ataullah (historian), 137, 141, 143

Saray Usta (Palace Superintendent), 237, 239, 245

School of Medicine, Imperial, 153

Şebisefa, Fatma (consort), 117–18, 121–2

Selim III, Sultan, 45, 97, 106, 107, 159,

169

Şevkinur (consort), 133, 193, 219, 231–2,

234

sextons, 19–20, 80, 81–2

Seyyare (consort), 133, 193, 232–4

seyyids, 80, 160, 171, 263

Sicill-i Osmanî see Ottoman Register, The Silâhdar (Sword-bearer), 162–3 Sineperver (consort and Mother Princess),

89, 122–5, 124

Sırrı Efendi, 183–5

slave concubinage, 89; see also

concubines

smallpox, 112, 114, 151–3 soup kitchen see alms-kitchen Stamboul, 6, 8–9, 15

Şükrî Hasan Efendi (judge), 211, 212

Süleyman, Prince, 111–12

Sürûrî (poet), 36, 39, 95–6, 107, 114, 115,

128, 131, 132–3

 

Tahir Ağa, Mehmed (architect), 15, 54,

57, 74

Temple, Grenville, 21–2

Tevfik Efendi (şeyhülislâm), 45 time calculation, 33–5 titulature

of concubines, 89, 113, 121, 131, 221,

222, 224, 226, 228

of harem managers, 237, 239, 245, 251,

255, 261

of royal children, 117, 121, 123, 125 tomb sextons see sextons

 

tombstone epitaphs see epitaphs, tombstone

Topkapı Palace, 2, 76, 95, 175–6 harem moved to, 192

male staff/courtiers, 159–60, 161–3

Privy Household, 161–2, 169, 177,

181–2, 189

retirement residence, 196

see also eunuchs; Imperial Harem; Treasury

Torun Ahmed Bey, Silâhdar, 165–8 travel writers/travelogues, 20–2, 29, 60,

63, 82–6, 99, 129

Treasury, 146, 160, 175, 176, 201, 233

trompe l’oeil work, 54–5 tuberculosis, 116, 146, 172

tuğra (imperial cypher), 77, 79, 197–8,

199, 245–6, 275

turbans

Kallâvi, 103–4, 171, 174

Kâtibî, 24–5

Örfî, 103–4

on tombstones, 28–9, 61

see also headgear, headstones Turkish (language), 35, 39, 40

vaccination, 152–3

Valide Sultan see Mother Princess Vâsıf, Enderunî, 139, 181–2

Vâsıf, Mustafa, 81–2, 83

 

Walsh, Rev. Robert, 92

water kiosk (sebil), 7, 12–13, 15 Watkins, Rev. Thomas, 99

wet-nurses (daye), 240–4, 246–7 women

funeral/burial customs, 44–5 headstones and headgear, 23–4 see also Imperial Harem

 

Yahya Efendi, 185–8

Yarderun Hanım, 259–61

Yezdan, 187

Yunus Ağa, 209–11

 

Zâtî (poet), 210

Zatıgül Kalfa, 261–2

Zerrin cap, 176–7, 178

Zeyneb, Princess, 15

Zeyneb Hanım, 264–7

Ziver (poet), 149, 150–1