Royal Riches and Parisian Trinkets

The embassy of Saïd Mehemet Pacha to France in 1741-42

and its exchange of gifts.

On Thursday 11 January 1742 the château de Versailles played host to a magnificent, exotic and
curious spectacle: the formal reception by Louis XV, his family, his ministers and his court, of Saïd
Mehemet Pacha, sent as ambassador extraordinary to France by the Ottoman Sultan, Mahmoud I1.

The official reason for the embassy was to solicit French assistance to persuade the Russians to
honour the stipulations of the treaty of Belgrade, a set of agreements which had brought the
Ottomans' war with Russia to an end in 1739. Saïd himself had been one of the commissioners
charged with plotting out the newly-defined frontiers.

In reality, the purpose of this and all other Ottoman embassies to Christian Western Europe at this
period was to try to discover why Europe was so successful compared to the Ottoman Empire, and
see what advances, military, technological and cultural, could be adopted back home to reverse the
gradual decline that had set in since the glory days of Mehmet the Conqueror and Suleyman the
Magnificent. In the end the Ottoman empire failed to adapt to a changing world and its decline
ended in collapse soon after the First World War.

While the Europeans kept permanent embassies in Constantinople and envoys elsewhere in the
Near and Middle East, both to further their political interests and to help individual Europeans with
their often long-term trading relationships in the region, the Ottomans contented themselves with
sending occasional ambassadors, ostensibly to deal with specific questions. This was because apart
from a handful of galley slaves there was practically no Turkish population in Western Europe, and
the trade between the two blocks was largely engineered by European and Armenian merchants. So
the diplomatic exchanges were normally conducted through the European envoys at the Sublime
Porte, the name originally given to the gate which led into the second courtyard of the Topkapi
palace, but which by our period had come to mean the gate into the Grand Vizir's palace and
offices, where foreign envoys congregated before being led into his presence.
The French and the Ottomans had had a long-term relationship since the realisation in the sixteenth
century that they faced a common enemy, namely the Holy Roman Empire. Unfortunately for both,
the French would never take the final step towards a formal treaty of alliance against the Empire,
fearful that such a treaty might be seen as an affront to the Christian religion and that France might
end up as a sort of excommunicated pariah state within Europe, so the Turks were usually given
plenty of promises and presents, but sent away politically empty-handed.

Because of the enormous religious and social differences between the two worlds it comes as no
surprise to learn that they did not really understand each other. The French treated Turkey exactly
as they did China; as some sort of exotic world which was useful for the purpose of adding humour
in such fields as interior decoration or the theatre. We call this Turquerie, and it is exactly as
whimsical as Chinoiserie. The classic example of Turquerie in French theatre is Molière's
Bourgeois Gentilhomme of 1669, and it is no coincidence that in that year an Ottoman envoy had
come to Paris, albeit with a rank considerably lower than that of Ambassador. So by adding an
exotic element to his social satire Molière made it more elegant, more fun, and more easily
swallowable by the establishment.

As for the Ottomans they had lacked until our period the kind of scientific curiosity that exists for
its own sake, and that was to lead in Europe to the Age of the Enlightenment. Islamic religious
observance is generally negative towards too much interest in or contact with the Infidel. Also the
social structure of Ottoman society was very different to European. There was no widespread
prosperous, relatively independent and educated noble or merchant class. Education and wealth
were much more closely linked to being part of the Ottoman official system, whether military, civil
or religious, and this does not make for enterprise or independence of mind.

So the change which happened in the first half of the eighteenth century, although it came too late
to save the Ottoman Empire, affords us a fascinating view of the halting processes by which the two
came into contact. We learn about how they reacted to each other, and we have various splendid
spin-offs such as the magnificent presents which were exchanged, and which themselves tell us a
lot about the priorities of each society and how it thought both of itself and of the alien society it
was probing.
Saïd Mehemet Pacha was not on his first visit to Europe. He had been twice previously, and this
made him the ideal candidate for the 1742 embassy. We are told by contemporaries that he spoke
French almost perfectly, and greatly appreciated the elegant social life of Paris society. His first
visit had been in 1721, as the son and secretary of the previous Ottoman ambassador to the young
Louis XV, Mehemet Effendi. Saïd was about 25 then, and had a marvellous time in Paris. He learnt
the craft of ivory turning from Madame Maubois, who also taught Louis XV, and he visited
libraries and collections of works of art. The duchesse d'Orléans, the Princesse Palatine, writes in a
letter that three noble ladies got him well and truly drunk, then spent two days and nights lost with
him in the maze at Versailles2. The ambassador his father was very concerned about this, and told
his son to keep quiet, as if it became known in Constantinople that he had had relations with
Christian women, he risked having his head cut off. Despite this, he brought home portraits of two
noble French ladies, which were confiscated by the Sultan.

But there was also a serious side to him. As a result of his trip he founded in 1726 the first printing
press in the Ottoman Empire, an important example of the technological advances which such
embassies were intended to bring into Ottoman society. It was forbidden to print religious texts, and
its contribution to learning may have been largely symbolic, but Saïd was so proud of it that back in
Paris in 1742 he visited the Bibliothèque du Roi and presented it with several books from his own
press, including a Turkish-Arabic dictionary, an atlas and a history of the Ottoman Empire.

We are extremely well informed about the 1721 embassy because Mehemet Effendi, like all other
Ottoman ambassadors, wrote a detailed account of his visit, for the purpose of informing the Sultan
and Grand Vizir of what he had seen. The existence of the report soon came to the ears of the
marquis de Bonnac, the then French ambassador to the Porte, and as a result a slightly edited
version was translated into French and published3. It is extraordinary how it reads like
Montesquieu's Lettres Persanes, which first appeared during the ambassador's stay in 1721, or
some of Voltaire's work, though naturally without the irony implicit in the French authors' writings.
But this does not mean it was bland and without feeling. Upon seeing the park at Marly he
exclaimed: "this world is the prison of the believer and the paradise of the unbeliever". Mehemet
Effendi brought back with him a number of engravings of the park at Versailles, as a result of
which a pleasure garden called Sa'dabad was built in Constantinople, inspired in part by features of
French royal gardens such as the Versailles grand canal. Sadly this was destroyed in the Patrona
Halil uprising of 1730. The duchesse d'Orléans paid Mehemet Effendi an enormous compliment in
one of her letters: "il doit être un homme distingué, étant donné qu'il a tant compris" (He must be a
distinguished man, as he has understood so much)4.

Saïd Mehemet's second visit to Europe was a tour to Russia and Sweden undertaken in 1732-33,
and for which he too wrote a detailed account. So it is particularly frustrating that for the 1742
embassy no such account survives. Either he wrote it and it was soon lost in the palace, or he may
have delayed writing and never got round to it.

So we have to rely on contemporary French sources, and fortunately these are varied and rich.
There is the official story told by the Mercure de France, various diaries, the duc de Luynes' in
particular, other documents such as police reports, and the Journal du Garde-Meuble de la
Couronne which describes the furnishing of the ambassador's residence for his stay, and that of the
Galerie des Glaces for the reception5. Notable among the private documents are the letters written
by the Swedish ambassador Count Tessin, the friend of Boucher and Gersaint, to his wife Ulla back
in Sweden. They're not at all dignified and very funny. On one occasion he says about Saïd: "il est
en vérité très aimable et passerait pour Français, sans son turban, et cette vilaine perruque sale qu'il
a au menton". (he is in truth very pleasant and could be mistaken for a Frenchman, were it not for
his turban and that nasty dirty wig he wears on his chin) 6.

The official part of the embassy started on 7 January 1742, a particularly cold day, when the
ambassador and his retinue of 183 people ceremonially entered Paris in a grand procession
accompanied by a large number of French officials and soldiers, and empty carriages representing
the King, his family and his ministers.

He was formally installed in the Hôtel des Ambassadeurs, the house in the rue de Tournon near the
Luxembourg gardens where foreign envoys were lodged. To make him feel at home, the Garde-
Meuble had furnished the house with a mixture of regular French furniture and Oriental opulence.
A commode and a secretaire by Antoine-Robert Gaudreau, the ébéniste du Roi, mingled with
upholstered divans and cushions supplied by Sallior, the Garde Meuble's accredited upholsterer. A
red copper brazier on its polished iron stand had been supplied by Minel, a specialist dealer in
lighting and heating fixtures. Three days after the ambassador's arrival Minel supplied two more. It
was a very cold winter.

But the big day was the official reception at Versailles.

Beautiful though it is, the drawing of the reception by Charles-Nicolas Cochin [Fig. 1] is essentially
monochrome and does not do justice to the amazing sight that must have been presented by the
Galerie des Glaces on that day in January 17427. The glorious polychromy and gilding of the
gallery was enhanced by a number of features:

Figure 1. Reception of the Ottoman ambassador Saïd Mehemet in the Galerie des Glaces at Versailles on 11 January
1742. Charles-Nicolas Cochin. Paris, Musée du Louvre. Photo RMN © Gérard Blot. Though Cochin was probably
present on the day, the throne he represents was not made until a year later.

The wood parquet floor was entirely covered by twenty-one huge Savonnerie carpets of the late
seventeenth century, mostly originally woven for the Grande Galerie at the Louvre. At the Salon de
la Paix end, a platform reached by eight steps was erected and covered with crimson Genoese
velvet edged with gold braid. On this was placed a giltwood throne, but, more importantly, a
canopy of State, called the Dais de Jupiter, made for Louis XIV in 16878. This had a background of
blue and silver silk, and was embroidered in gold with the arms of France and scenes of the life of
Jupiter, including his birth and his victory over the giants, a favourite theme of Louis XIV's, also
used for the Bosquet de l'Encelade in the Petit Parc at Versailles9.
Standing right behind the ambassador at the foot of the steps in Cochin's drawing are his son
Meksous Beg and his son-in-law Seid Achmed Aga. To add to the colourful effect the ladies of the
court had been instructed to put on their Court dresses, and were positioned on benches either side
of the platform, where contemporary diarists told us they had a miserable time as they had to sit
there from 9am to 2pm in perishing cold. Tessin informs us that by the end they all had bright red
noses10.

Louis XV came into the gallery from the Cabinet des Perruques, which was near the other end, and
walked all the way down. He was wearing a coat of embroidered gold cloth with a diamond Saint-
Esprit, and his son the Dauphin was dressed in a similar way, with diamond buttons and the Regent
diamond on a chain around his neck.

The duc de Luynes goes on at considerable length about the protocol for the audience, whether the
King should be seated or standing, whether the Dauphin should take off his hat and a variety of
other details11. At any rate, when Edme Bouchardon drew the moment at which the ambassador
hands over his letter as a project for a medal, the King is shown seated, as he was in 172112.

Fortunately for us Saïd was painted shortly afterwards by Joseph Aved [Fig. 2] wearing his
ceremonial robes of that day, with various attributes including an atlas which was one the first
books produced by his printing press. This portrait was not a commission by the ambassador, and
Aved gave it as a present to Louis XV. It was hung at the château de Choisy, one of the King's
favourite retreats. Contemporary texts tell us that La Tour painted his portrait in pastel, that it was
much admired, and that Saïd took it home with him. Sadly it is not known to have survived.
Figure 2. Saïd Mehemet Pacha. Joseph Aved. Château de Versailles. Photo RMN © Franck Raux.

After the audience the ambassador paid ceremonial visits to members of the royal family and
ministers, and then went to a room in the King's apartment where the presents from the sultan to
Louis XV were laid out13.

In Ottoman culture, the way to honour a foreign prince was to make him a present of the
appropriate equipment for a successful warlord on a military campaign, and this is what Louis XV
got. The set included a complete harness and saddle for a war horse, all covered in gold and
precious stones14, a pair of solid gold stirrups in the Turkish style15, a large silver bowl for the horse
to drink from, and four thick silver chains with rings to tie him up. There were various weapons
including a bow with its case described as being of green velvet with solid gold ornaments enriched
with diamonds, rubies and pearls, and a matching quiver with a huge emerald in the centre16. This
was accompanied by a mace with a gold shaft decorated with diamonds and the end made of a large
piece of rock crystal encrusted with rubies. There were also a number of pistols and guns variously
encrusted with precious stones and with damascened steel barrels.

The duc de Luynes was not at all complimentary about these presents: "Il n'y a pas une de ces
pierres qui ne soit fort vilaine, mais la grande quantité et le travail rendent le présent magnifique"
(not one of these stones is any good, but there is such a quantity of them and the work is so
elaborate that it is truly magnificent)17.

And finally there was a tent, made of Persian gold cloth lined with satin, thirty French feet long by
about 20 wide (9.7 m x 6.5 m). Its two supporting pillars were covered with marquetry of turtleshell
and mother-o'-pearl. The two rings that joined the sections of the pillars were of solid silver, as well
as the two finials. This was too big to display inside so it was erected in the centre of the terrace of
the château, on the garden side, where it stayed for a couple of days. Luynes tells us that it
contained a divan with many cushions18.

We are informed by the duc de Luynes that Louis XV gave pairs of pistols to various friends at the
request of his then mistress the comtesse de Mailly. But most of the gifts went back to the Garde-
Meuble and, when Gabriel's new magnificent building on the Place Louis XV was completed they
were displayed in the Salle des Bijoux, the hall where all the most precious possessions of the
French crown could be seen in specially constructed armoires. By its contents it must have looked
something like the Galerie d'Apollon at the Louvre today. The major exception was the
cumbersome tent, which was put into storage. Sadly on 11 Ventose of year 5 of the Republic (1
March 1797), the minister of finance ordered that the Ottoman gifts be sent to be sold off or
exchanged, together with the presents from Tipu Sultan and the Bey of Tunis that had been
displayed with them19.

We do however know of a use to which the tent was put relatively early on, thanks to Dufort de
Cheverny. He was introducteur des ambassadeurs, or chief of protocol, in the 1750's. By the time
he wrote his memoirs he was languishing in a revolutionary gaol so he never mentions dates, but he
recounts the story that one year, when the court went to Compiègne in the summer, he noticed that
on the edge of the forest a space had been cleared and turned into a wonderful garden with
fountains, exotic flowering plants and cages full of colourful songbirds. In the centre of this space
were, he says, the two tents, the one given in 1742, and the one given by Mehemet Effendi in 1721.
He describes them as being of asiatic magnificence, with rich parquet floors, the inside of crimson
velvet lined with gold braid, the fold-over openings with gold fringes. Each tent held a council
chamber, a bedroom and a dressing room, all with furniture upholstered in Persian toile painted
with birds. There were stoves and fireplaces, magnificent porcelains even, he says, for the most
basic needs, and quantities of lace. He explains that it was all so beautiful that he often took the
ambassadors there with him, but that Louis XV only went there once or twice and was soon bored,
because all he wanted to do was go hunting. When Dufort returned the next year everything had
disappeared20.

From this account it is not easy to distinguish what formed part of or was included in the original
tents, and what was added to them in France.

Saïd spent the next few months in Paris making and receiving visits and going to the opera and the
theatre. When he went to the royal workshops of the Savonnerie and the Gobelins, he was guided
by Robert de Cotte, the King's architect, who also accompanied him to visit Jean de Julienne's
textile factory and his renowned collection of works of art. On several occasions he joined the other
ambassadors for the weekly diplomatic audience and lunch at Versailles on a Tuesday, and he
travelled to see the court during its May sojourn at Fontainebleau. On that occasion Louis XV gave
him the rare honour of a carriage in which to follow the royal hunt. On another visit to Versailles he
was taken to visit Queen Marie Leszczyñska. When news of this event reached Constantinople after
Saïd Mehemet's return, the Ottomans were in a quandary. If the French could show the ambassador
around the King's harem then they had no choice but to reciprocate in kind, so the French
ambassador, the comte de Castellane, with some French officers who had accompanied Saïd on his
return journey, were summoned to the Topkapi, presented with rich kaftans and some medals with
the Sultan's Tugra or monogram, and marched round parts of the Topkapi Harem. This was seen by
the ambassadors of other foreign powers as confirmation of the unassailable hold of the French
over the Ottomans, and may therefore have had more diplomatic usefulness than anything else Saïd
did during his stay in Paris21.

He had various problems with his retinue, including a threatened rebellion by his son-in-law, who
was present as Grand Maréchal of the Embassy; police reports regularly mention Turks getting
involved in fights because of alcohol, women or boys, and the ambassador was keen to show his
respect for Western society by inflicting exemplary beatings upon his followers. He kept a French
mistress, a Mademoiselle Pichard, and Tessin tells us that he treated her very well: "Un Turc
genereux et une P. recoñoissente sont Deux Animeaux bien singuliers!" (a generous Turk and a
grateful w[hore] are two very rare birds indeed)22.

In a curious reversal of a scene from Molière's Bourgeois Gentilhomme, the ambassador dressed his
Greek doctor Diamantes Ulaste in a disguise, calling him Dr. Vlastus, and got the professors of the
Faculté de Médecine to listen to him reciting a thesis, and award him an honorary doctorate.

Among the many friends he made was Voltaire, who wrote in February 1742 to his niece Madame
Denis: "J'ay vu l'ambassadeur turc, j'ay diné avec lui, il me paraît que c'est un homme plus franc et
plus rond que nos ministres chrétiens" (I have seen the Turkish ambassador, I have dined with him.
He seems to me a man more honest and straight than our Christian ministers). But Voltaire was
being careful as he had just written his tragedy Mahomet, and he was waiting until the ambassador's
departure to stage it in Paris for fear of causing him offence. In a letter to a friend he said : "j'auray
encore le temps d'attendre que l'ambassadeur turc soit parti, car en vérité il ne seroit pas honnete de
dénigrer le prophète pendant qu'on nourrit l'ambassadeur, et de se moquer de sa chapelle sur notre
théatre. Nous autres français nous respectons le droit des gens, surtout avec les turcs (I had better
wait until the turkish ambassador has gone, as in truth it would not be honest to speak ill of the
prophet while feeding the ambassador, and to mock his chapel in our theatre. We Frenchmen
respect people's rights, especially if they are Turks) 23.
But eventually, on Tuesday 12 June 1742, the ambassador came to Versailles for his farewell
audience, which was held not in the gallery but in the Salon d'Apollon, the last room in the Grand
Appartement before the Salon de la Guerre, which had been used as the regular throne room since
the days of Louis XIV.

On this occasion he was given a set of presents of extraordinary variety and richness. The French
already knew perfectly well that what Mahmoud I loved above all else was receiving lavish
diplomatic gifts, and so they obliged accordingly. The Registre des Présents du Roi24 describes
them thoroughly, and the Mercure de France adds a few details, some of which contradict the other
documents.

Before discussing the inanimate presents, it should be mentioned that Louis XV sent as a gift 22
specialist gunners to join the artillery regiment created for the Ottomans by the French renegade
nobleman and soldier the comte de Bonneval, who had behaved so badly that he had been hounded
out of Paris, Brussels and Venice and eventually ended up in Constantinople25. His regiment was a
rare shining example of Ottoman adoption of Western technology.

The total value of the presents was 237,960 livres. In his diary Pierre Narbonne, the chief of the
Versailles police force, who presumably didn't know what they had cost, estimates them at 1
million livres26. Six months previously he thought the presents given by Saïd to Louis XV were
worth 2 million livres, so even if Luynes criticised the stones they must still have been fairly
dazzling.

There were presents not only for the Sultan, the Grand Vizir and the ambassador himself, but also
for two important Ottoman officials, the reys effendi or foreign minister, the Grand Vizir's kyaya or
home secretary, and for members of the embassy staff according to their rank, including the
ambassador's son Meksous Beg, the Grand Maréchal and son-in-law Seid Achmed Aga, the Grand
Treasurer, the secretary, Doctor Ulaste, the imam, the stablemaster Khasson Aga, two masters of
ceremonies, and the first, second and third drogmans or interpreters, who were all Armenians.

The presents fall into two broad categories: the first, of specially-made highly magnificent objects
produced by workshops regularly employed by the crown, some of which had a topical
significance, and the second, of objects which are typical of the kind of fashionable luxury goods
that could be readily bought from the best Paris marchands-merciers.
It will be noticed that most of the specially-made pieces were produced by different craftsmen.
Sharing the burden was no doubt a way to ensure that they would be ready in time. But we do have
evidence that this may not have been the case, as in August 1744, Marville, the chief of the Paris
police, explains in a note to his minister that he is overseeing the packing of the presents intended
for Saïd Mehemet, and their sealing into their crates before being despatched to Constantinople
with the luggage of a chargé d'affaires27.

As for the marchand-mercier objects, the list does not say by whom any of these were supplied, but
other, subsequent lists of ambassadorial presents do. For example, when the comte des Alleurs went
to Constantinople as ambassador in 1747, the list of presents he took includes mentions such as
"achetés chez Gallien" for a pair of tureens, or "achetés au galleries du Louvre" for some pistols,
and the list of the presents taken by the chevalier de Vergennes in 1757 states that some things were
supplied by Lazare Duvaux; even when it does not one can identify them in Duvaux's daybook
among Vergennes' purchases28.

So it seems probable that the objects were bought from one or more marchands-merciers, except
perhaps for the watches, as many watchmakers were also retailers. The mercier most frequently
mentioned in the Journal du Garde-Meuble at this period was Thomas-Joachim Hébert, and it
would make sense if many or all of these presents came from him.

Presents for the Grand Seigneur:

Figure 3. Design for a gilt-bronze mirror frame. Ange-Jacques Gabriel. According to Alfred de Champeaux, the note on
this drawing stated that it was this design which was actually made.

The first item on the list is a pair of mirrors 15 French feet tall and 8 wide (487 cm high x 259 cm
wide). These are described as having gilt-bronze frames with a tall cresting, and mirror pilasters,
the gilt bronze with attributes appropriate to the Ottoman empire, and trophies of weapons and of
the riches of the seas, at a cost of nearly 25,000 livres. We are told that the gilt bronze was the work
of Jacques Caffiéri to designs by Louis XV's architect Ange-Jacques Gabriel. There were three
designs for these in the Bibliothèque Nationale among Robert de Cotte's papers. Annoyingly one
drawing was torn out of its album some years ago, and is presumed to have been stolen, but
fortunately it had already been photographed and published by Alfred de Champeaux in 1889
29
[Fig. 3]. Champeaux recorded that the drawing bears an inscription confirming that this particular
one is Gabriel's design which was executed by Caffiéri. The Mercure tells us that because of their
size they were dismantled for shipping and that the King himself ordered that five workmen travel
to Constantinople to reassemble them and install them in situ. So a Paris miroitier called Blavet
went with some of his assistants30. They did their work at the Palace in disguise at the very moment
that Castellane and the officers were visiting the Harem. One can only hope that they will turn up
one day, perhaps masquerading as late 19th century somewhere like the Dolmabahce Palace!

Now the list of presents given to Mahmoud I by the Austrians in 1740, just after the treaty of
Belgrade, also starts with a pair of mirrors, 76 pouces high (246 cm) and with silver frames, and
some of the following presents echo the ones on that list. So the composition of such gifts was
undoubtedly guided to some extent by ambassadors reports of what other powers had recently
given.

The first category naturally included Savonnerie carpets, which was rich in irony, since Turkey
carpets were subject to draconian import duties if they came into France. Three Savonneries were
given to the Sultan. These carpets were hardly ever woven to order, but rather like a tapestry, once
a pleasing cartoon had been produced, a number of examples were woven and kept in stock to
decorate royal palaces or be given in cases such as these.

But in this case the first of the three carpets for the Sultan had been woven specially. Louis XV had
already sent Mahmoud I three Savonnerie carpets in 1740, along with two smaller ones for the
Grand Vizir, on the occasion when the comte de Castellane took over as ambassador from the long-
serving marquis de Villeneuve31. Seeing how pleased the Sultan had been with his, the Grand Vizir
asked on the Sultan's behalf for a carpet of the same size as the largest one Castellane had brought,
and even bigger if possible, with decoration that should not include fleurs de lys, but to make sure it
had a gold border. So the list describes it as being strewn with flowers, cornucopiae and other
ornaments, with a border with a gold ground and of a new design and specially made. The three
carpets together were put in at just over 26,000 livres32.

Then comes an organ, with a case made of carved, green painted and gilded wood and gilt bronze,
costing 9,000 livres. The Sultan had sent one of his servants on the embassy to learn the organ in
Paris, and Saïd brought him back fully taught and ready to play and teach music in his turn back
home. Von Hammer, in his monumental history of the Ottoman empire written in the middle of the
19th century using the Topkapi archives, laments the fact that the innovation of organ music did not
survive as well as the innovation of the printing press33.

After that two large necessaires in marquetry and gilt bronze, each filled with silver fittings for
coffee, sorbet and jam, as well as a microscope, telescope, two binoculars with gold mounts and
various instruments for surgery, clockmaking, mathematics and gunsmithing. Their price was just
over 22,000 livres. According to the Mercure, shortly after his arrival in Paris Saïd visited the
maker of scientific instruments Jean-Baptiste Nicolas Bion for the purpose of ordering a wide
assortment of the finest precision instruments of all kinds to take back to Constantinople. Bion's
father Nicolas had written in 1709 a book on the subject entitled "Traité de la construction et des
principaux usages des instruments de mathématiques", and the Mercure informs us of the high
reputation the son had for this. The order placed by Saïd stipulated that each instrument must be
specially made and of the highest quality. The Mercure further states that they were arranged in
fitted compartments in a made-to-measure case, and that once it was ready Saïd took special pride
in showing off the contents to distinguished guests, replacing the key in his own pocket afterwards
for safekeeping. This feels like a fairly blatant form of scientific espionage, and just what Saïd had
been sent to France to do. So it is curious that they should be included in the list among the presents
for the Sultan, and perhaps the coffee, sorbet and jam fittings were added as a way of making them
more elegant.

The Mercure also mentions a very elaborate microscope on an ebony base containing a concave
mirror to light up the slide, in a shagreen case which also contains a telescope and an opera glass.
According to the Mercure this was the work of another maker called Lebats at the Galeries du
Louvre. But it does not feature in the Présents du Roi list.

The next items were probably purchased from a marchand-mercier:

A rock crystal ewer and basin with a gold mount with a large hyacinth flower on the cover at 5,200
livres. It must have been very similar to the example in the Wallace Collection, which has Paris
gold mounts by Jean Gaillard of 1727-32.

There was a tea service with a red lacquer box and six lacquer cups and saucers, which the Mercure
claims is Ancien Japon, though Japanese lacquer is not normally red. It is described as covered in
"jonc" which is probably some sort of reed or cane; according to the official list, it was mounted
and lined in silver gilt, but according to the Mercure it was mounted in gold.

The next two specially-made items are each of silver:

A set of eight candelabra, four shaped as palm trees and four as laurels, with their leaves, seeds and
fruit, each with three branches, plus a candleholder in the centre, with a total weight of 624 marcs,
or 152 kilos. The silver cost 34,000 livres including the hallmarking, and the manufacture 12,000
livres. The palm trees were slightly heavier than the laurels, weighing each about 21 kilos, while the
laurels weighed about 16 kilos. As a comparison each of the famous duke of Kingston tureens of
1734-36 weigh about 18 kilos. According to the Mercure the candelabra were 36 pouces tall (97
cm).

These were supplied by Claude Ballin II, whose uncle Claude I had been one of the goldsmiths who
had made the famous silver furniture for Louis XIV. Claude II was named orfèvre du Roi in 1723
and participated in some of the most important commissions of his time, including many of Louis
XV's table services, a number of surtouts de tables for foreign monarchs, and parts of the duc de
Penthièvre's great silver service. Apparently Ballin, like many other silversmiths of his period,
remained faithful to his uncle's baroque tradition for shapes, and used the rococo style more for
ornament than form.
Ballin's obituary in the Mercure in 1754 states that "the King, to whom he had the honour to be
attached, employed him for the presents sent to the Grand Seigneur after the embassy of 1742."34.
So they were obviously famous in their time.

The next item was a table of three and a half pieds diameter (113 cm) with on it a tureen, twelve
saucers and twelve Turkish style spoons, all of total weight of about 39 kilos. The Mercure adds
that this table could sit twelve people, and that the spoons are of a type used by "des Grands chez
les Orientaux" (important people in the Orient). According to the Mercure the tureen was shaped as
a richly-decorated vase just over two feet tall and fitted to hold about forty bowls. This was the
work of another royal goldsmith, the celebrated Thomas Germain. The silver cost 8,500 livres, and
Germain's work 3,000 livres.

The likelihood of either of these having survived is practically none. They must surely and sadly
have been melted.

Finally, the Grand Seigneur received a marquetry armoire, some scarlet cloth, 54 cushions of gold
and silver cloth costing 12,600 livres which the Mercure tells us were of Lyon silk, and a quantity
of gilt braid and fringes.

As for the Grand Vizir, he got a divan made of 18 large cushions, and some more scarlet cloth and
fringes, as well as a silver ewer and basin by Germain. According to the Mercure, the basin was
oval and 2 pieds (65 cm) in length, with a socle in the centre to hold a ewer nearly 3 pieds (97 cm)
tall.

The Reys Effendi (foreign minister) received a set of gold-mounted flasks, a table veneered with
mother-o'-pearl and gold, which had a pen with a diamond at the end, and a piece of scarlet cloth.
Perhaps the precious pen symbolised the wisdom of his diplomatic correspondance. For the Kyaya
there were two tea sets, one of "jonc" and one of rock crystal, in a fitted case, and a piece of scarlet
cloth.

There is a more personal touch to the ambassador's presents. First he received a ring with a large
diamond, which was a polite way of giving him money, 10,500 livres to be precise. Normally by
this period ambassadors got gold boxes with the King's portrait surrounded by diamonds, which
they quickly traded in for pastes, but this would have offended the Muslim prohibition on the
human image. Then there were two Savonnerie carpets, costing together just over 5,000 livres.

The final specially-made objects are the two braziers intended for the ambassador, of which one
survives at the Topkapi [Fig.4]. But they are very succinctly described in the list as "deux brasiers
de similor", at a cost of 7,000 livres. Similor was an alloy rather like the English pinchbeck which
was intended to look like gilded bronze or gold. But on examination it does look very like gilt
bronze. The surviving brazier is signed by Jean-Claude Duplessis, who was shortly to become the
chief designer at the young porcelain factory at Vincennes-Sèvres, and it is evident that the general
principles of Duplessis' modelling of the rococo porcelain shapes there are already embryonic in
this object.
Figure 4. Brazier. Gilt bronze. Jean-Claude Duplessis 1742. Topkapi Palace, Istanbul. Photo RMN © Jean-Marc Manaï.

Perhaps the commissioning of these braziers was inspired by the ambassador's complaints about the
cold, which one can only guess at in the light of the supply of extra braziers to the hôtel des
ambassadeurs in January. We know from his embassy report from Sweden that he had suffered
much from the weather there: "we did not see a single day that deserved to be called a summer day
during our stay. Only exalted Allah knows if summer came after we left"35.
A word should be said about how the brazier arrived at the Topkapi. It appears that all states
servants property was assumed to belong to the Sultan, so either Saïd Mehemet considered it polite
or wise to present the Sultan with one or both of them, or it will have been taken into the Sultan's
possessions at the time of his death36.

Among the more regular objects he received a rock crystal chandelier with its green and gold rope,
four gold snuff-boxes, one of which is described as "pour femme" (for a lady), which he perhaps
passed on to Mlle. Pichard, and another shaped as a shell, some gold cutlery and an opera glass.
Since we know that he much enjoyed the opera and the theatre during his stay in Paris, perhaps this
too had a personal meaning like several of his other presents.

The ambassador's son received a large box containing a tea and coffee service of yellow-ground
Meissen porcelain and Japanese lacquer, as well as a gilt-bronze clock with red lacquer sides.

Many of the other members of the embassy staff were given gold watches and chains, but some of
the presents make a discreet allusion to the recipient's position: The imam's watch, for example,
which was by the great clockmaker Julien le Roy, had a strike mechanism. Useful perhaps for
remembering when to call the faithful to prayer, and Dr. Ulaste's present consisted of two gold
cases, one with surgical instruments, the other for writing, but no watch.

The final word should go to the Tessins. Countess Tessin, who had met Saïd Mehemet in Sweden,
years later described him in her "Portraits des Hommes Illustres" adding: "Ces ambassades de
carneval sont dispensieuses et de nulle utilité réelle" (These carnival embassies are extremely
expensive and of no real use)37.

And her husband, writing to his wife in June, says: "Il partira le 25 de ce mois, aprés avoir fait la
besogne la plus agreable que je connoisse: venir a Paris, ne pas recevoir une Lettre, ne pas ecrire
une Ligne, ne pas negocier une affaire, tirer tous les matins Quinze cent francs, se voir accablé de
politesse, et partir comblé de presens; en verité rien ne seroit si agréable, s'il n'y avoit pas la crainte
du cordon au bout" (He's leaving on the 25th, after having held the most pleasant job you can
imagine; coming to Paris, not receiving or writing one line of a letter, having no business to
transact, drawing every morning fifteen hundred francs, be showered with politenesses, and leaving
heaped with presents. In truth, nothing would be so pleasant if there was not the fear of the
hangman's rope at the other end)38.

Luckily for Saïd there was no rope at the end and he continued in various posts in the Ottoman
administration for some years, even serving a brief term as Grand Vizir in 1755. But it is through
his French embassy that he has earned his place in history.

John Whitehead

The lecture version of this text was read at the Fragile Diplomacy: Meissen Porcelain for European
Courts, c. 1710-1768 conference at the Bard Graduate Centre in New York on 16 November 2007.

The text has been published with others from the conference in The Court Historian, Volume 14, 2,
December 2009. Certain errors and omissions in the published text have been corrected in the
present version.

This text is a résumé of the work the author has done on this subject. It is hoped to be able to
publish in more detail at some stage.

1
For a detailed study of the relations between France and the Ottoman Empire in the eighteenth
century see Fatma Müge Göçek, East Encounters West, France and the Ottoman Empire in the
Eighteenth Century, Oxford University Press, New York, 1987. The introductory part of this article
draws heavily on this source.
2
Göçek p. 69.
3
The most recent edition of this text is Gilles Veinstein (ed.), Mehmed efendi, Le paradis des
infidèles, Paris, Maspero, 1981.
4
Auguste Boppe, Les Peintres du Bosphore au XVIIIe siècle, Paris, Hachette, 1911, p. 128.
5
The Mercure de France June 1742 issue has a large section on French-Ottoman relations and Saïd
Mehemet's embassy on pp. 845-1051. See duc de Luynes, Mémoires du duc de Luynes sur la Cour
de Louis XV (1735-1758), Paris, Firmin Didot, 1860-65. For the Journal du Garde-Meuble see
Archives Nationales 01 3297 Prêts pour l'ambassadeur turc et sa suite.
6
Gunnar von Proschwitz (ed.), Tableaux de Paris et de la cour de France 1739-1742, lettres
inédites de Carl Gustav, comte de Tessin, Göteborg, Acta Universitatis Gothoburgensis, 1983, p.
296.
7
The Mercure de France's report on that day's reception is cited in Stéphane Castellucio, Les Fastes
de la Galerie des Glaces, Paris, Payot, 2007, pp. 133-137.
8
For the manufacture of the dais see Danièle Véron-Denise et Jean Vitet, 'Versailles, les broderies
de Saint-Joseph et Jean Lemoyne le Lorrain', in Versalia, Revue de la Société des Amis de
Versailles, no. 11, 2008, p. 62. For its use and for drawings of the platform on which it stood see
Stéphane Castellucio, 'La Galerie des Glaces, les réceptions d'ambassadeurs', in Versalia, Revue de
la Société des Amis de Versailles, no. 9, 2006, pp. 45-50.
9
Journal du Garde-Meuble de la Couronne, Archives Nationales, 01 3313, 5 January 1742. For a
plan of the arrangement of the carpets see Archives Nationales, 01 1772-2.
10
Proschwitz p. 277.
11
Luynes, vol. 4, p. 70, 12 January 1742.
12
For the drawing see Christie's, Paris, Dessins Anciens et du 19ème siècle, 18 March 2004, lot 95
(i).
13
For the list of presents see Ministère des Affaires Etrangères. Mémoires et Documents Turquie;
Tome 10, 36, fo. 472 ff.
14
Probably similar to a saddle now at Wawel Castle in Poland, originally part of a gift by sultan
Mustafa II to the Polish ambassador Stanislaw Malachowski in 1699. See Collections of the Royal
Castle of Wawel, Warsaw, Arkady, 1994, pp. 40 and 252.
15
Probably similar to a pair at the Topkapi palace, see Topkapi à Versailles, Trésors de la Cour
ottomane, exhibition catalogue, Versailles 1999, p. 278.
16
Probably similar to a set at the Topkapi palace, see Topkapi à Versailles, p. 276.
17
Luynes vol. 4, pp. 79-80.
18
Similar Ottoman campaign tents may be seen in several places today, including the Topkapi
Palace: see Topkapi à Versailles, pp. 44-45; and Wawel Castle, Poland: see Wawel pp. 41 and 250.
19
Stéphane Castelluccio, Les Collections royales d'objets d'art de François I à la Révolution, Paris,
Les Editions de l'Amateur, 2002, pp. 216 and 220.
20
Jean-Pierre Guicciardi (ed.), Mémoires de Dufort de Cheverny, La Cour de Louis XV, Paris,
Perrin, 1990, p. 139.
21
J. de. Hammer, Histoire de l'Empire Ottoman depuis son origine jusqu'à nos jours, Paris,
Bellizard, Barthès, Dufour et Lowell, 1889, vol. 15, pp. 61-62.
22
Proschwitz p. 347.
23
The complete works of Voltaire, Institut et Musée Voltaire, Les Délices, Genève, 1970, vol. 92,
pp. 163 and 168.
24
Ministère des Affaires Etrangères, Présents du Roi, 2097: Etat général des Présens faits par le
Roy à la Porte Ottomane, à l'occasion de l'Ambassade qu'elle a envoyée à Sa Majesté. Lesdits
Présens fournis dans le cours des Mois d'Avril, May et Juin 1742.
25
Roger Baury, 'Bonneval-Pacha, transfuge, apostat, et agitateur de l'Europe', in Versalia, Revue de
la Société des Amis de Versailles, no. 2 (1999), pp. 32-45, and no. 3 (2000), pp. 50-63.
26
J.-A. Le Roi (ed.), Journal des Règnes de Louis XIV et Louis XV, de l'année 1701 à l'année 1744,
par Pierre Narbonne, Premier Commissaire de police de la ville de Versailles, Paris, Durand et
Pedone Lauriel, 1866, pp. 503 and 505.
27
A. de Boislisle (ed.), Lettres de M. de Marville lieutenant général de police au ministre
Maurepas (1742-47), Paris, Société de l'histoire de Paris, 1896, vol. I, p. 188.
28
Louis Bonneville de Marsangy, Le Chevalier de Vergennes, son ambassade à Constantinople,
Paris, Plon, 1894, vol. I, pp. 364-365, 367. Louis Courajod, Livre-Journal de Lazare Duvaux,
marchand-bijoutier ordinaire du Roy 1748-1758, Paris, Société des Bibliophiles Français, 1873,
vol. II, entry no. 2069.
29
See Topkapi à Versailles, p. 319, and Alfred de Champeaux, Portefeuille des arts décoratifs,
Paris, 1888-1891.
30
Archives Nationales, 01 1907, pièce 12, mémoire de Blavet.
31
A carpet of this model has recently entered the collections of the Château de Versailles. See
Bertrand Rondot, 'Un tapis "aux armes de France couronnées"', in La Revue des Musées de France,
no. 3, 2009, pp. 14-15.
32
See Pierre Verlet, The James A. de Rothschild Collection at Waddesdon Manor, The Savonnerie,
Fribourg, Office du Livre, 1982, pp. 499-500.
33
Hammer, p. 63.
34
My thanks to Maureen Cassidy-Geiger for this reference.
35
Göçek p. 93.
36
Suggestion kindly made to the author by Philip Mansel.
37
Proschwitz p. 331. This feeling was to be echoed years later by King George III.
38
Proschwitz p. 328.