Art, Trade and Culture

in the Islamic World and Beyond

From the Fatimids to the Mughals

Studies Presented to
Doris Behrens-Abouseif

Edited by
Alison Ohta, J.M. Rogers and
Rosalind Wade Haddon
 ü n v e r rü s t e m

Figure 1.
The Nusretiye Mosque and its complex viewed facing north, from the parade ground towards the mosque’s right side and rear (qibla) wall.
Projecting from the southwest of the prayer hall are the sultan’s pavilion and prayer loge; extending to the northwest are the right-hand
gate and wall of the original forecourt. To the southeast of the mosque are the clock tower, the pier leading from the Bosphorus (right
foreground), and a small section of the barracks (right middle ground).
Albumen print by Francis Bedford, dated 21 May 1862. Royal Collection Trust © Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2016, RCIN 2700994.

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 Victory in the Making:
The Symbolism of Istanbul’s Nusretiye Mosque
ü n v e r rü s t e m
Built by the reformist Ottoman sultan Mahmud II and completed in
1826, the Nusretiye Mosque has long been associated with Mahmud’s
modernisation of the army, and its name, meaning ‘Victorious’, is widely
thought to refer to his destruction of the janissary corps. This conventional
wisdom is challenged, however, by the fact that the janissaries were not
disbanded until two months after the mosque’s inauguration. Using new
documentary evidence, this article revisits the question of the Nusretiye’s
symbolism, arguing that the mosque, though predating the fulfilment of
Mahmud’s military reforms, was designed and named as a monument to
their anticipated success.
Among the numerous imperial monuments added to the
Ottoman capital of Istanbul during the nineteenth century,
the Nusretiye Mosque holds several distinctions that have
spared it from the generally dim view taken of these buildings.1
[Figure 1] It is, for a start, a structure of considerable visual
appeal: erected on the shore of the Bosphorus between
1823 and 1826, the Nusretiye is the first major extant work
of the famous Balian dynasty of architects, and its majestic
design —at once original and grounded in earlier models—
has garnered a level of praise denied to the family’s later,
more audaciously newfangled creations.2 The mosque is
noteworthy also for being the principal architectural legacy
of a well-regarded patron, Sultan Mahmud II (r.1808–1839),
whose fame as an ambitious political and military reformer
has become intimately connected with the building’s own
reputation. Indeed, this link has given rise to a compelling
story surrounding the Nusretiye’s name, which translates as
‘Victorious’: scholars and tourist guides alike tell us that this
unusual appellation was chosen by Mahmud to commemorate
his quashing of the janissaries —the Ottoman army’s
ancient and unruly elite corps— and their replacement by a
modern army in the year that the building was completed.3
This persuasive account has combined with the monument’s
respectable patronage, impressive appearance, and conspicuous
waterside setting to render it one of the best-known and
most-appreciated of post-classical Ottoman mosques.
Simple facts, however, instantly call into question the
conventional wisdom concerning the Nusretiye. It cannot have
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been named in commemoration of the so-called ‘Auspicious
Incident’ —Mahmud’s grisly though celebrated massacre
of the janissaries— since its opening occurred some two
months before this event. Members of the corps had even
participated in the inauguration ceremony, and by this time,
too, the mosque had already been dubbed Nusret, ‘Victory’, of
which the current name, Nusretiye, is a variant. But while the
traditional explanation for the building’s name is easily enough
debunked, the long-assumed association with Mahmud’s
military reforms —and specifically his disbanding of the
janissaries— is far from specious. That the monument was
intended from the outset as a visual expression of Mahmud’s
military overhaul is evident from its political timing, its
location in the vicinity of the Imperial Cannon Foundry, and
its design, which referred to an earlier project by Mahmud’s
modernising cousin and predecessor Selim III (r.1789–1807,
d.1808). And though the mosque was called Nusret from the
time of its opening, hitherto overlooked documents indicate
that the name was initially a matter of some debate, with two
alternative designations apparently being used alongside, and
perhaps in preference to, the official name during the first few
months of the building’s life. These experimental appellations
were tied to and meant to memorialise rapid developments
in Mahmud’s reform programme, bearing testament to the
mosque’s anticipated function as an emblem of Ottoman
military and political renewal.
th e tim e a n d pl ace f o r r e f or m :
.
th e n usret iye ’ s location a n d pol i ti ca l context
The Nusretiye was built as a prominent landmark on one of
the most significant sites of Istanbul, and it remains so today.
A compact but imposing single-domed edifice, the mosque
originally formed the main component of a much grander
scheme that is largely lost to us because of mid-twentieth-
century redevelopment. It is located in the district of Tophane,
which takes its name from the Imperial Cannon Foundry
(Tophane-i Amire) that still dominates the area from its
position on a steep slope overlooking the Bosphorus. [Figures
2, 3] Established in the fifteenth century by Mehmed the
 ü n v e r rü s t e m

Conqueror (r.1444–1446, 1451–1481), the foundry was rebuilt
in 1743 as a substantial multidomed edifice and continued
to function as a weapons manufactory until the end of the
empire. Its presence made the surrounding area a military
hub and one of the most important locations in Ottoman
Istanbul outside the walled city.4 The district was busy also with
civilian activity, a result of its location along the main road
following the western shore of the Bosphorus, downhill from
the vibrant neighbourhood of Beyoğlu (Pera), where Istanbul’s
community of Westerners resided. By the nineteenth century,
several noteworthy monuments besides the cannon foundry
already lined the thoroughfare intersecting Tophane, all of
them clearly visible from the water. Diagonally opposite the
foundry stood the magnificent mosque of the sea admiral Kılıç
Ali Pasha (d.1587), designed by Sinan (d.1588) on the model of
the Hagia Sophia and completed in 1580/1581.5 Facing both
structures was the massive domed drinking fountain erected by
Mahmud I (r.1730–1754) in 1732, a building that both catered
to and encouraged Tophane’s civilian traffic, as we know from
images that show it surrounded by a thriving marketplace.6
Still extant, the foundry, mosque, and fountain have more or
less maintained their historical relationship to the road, which
is now a modern highway.
The site occupied by the Nusretiye and its ancillaries lies
just to the northeast of these earlier works, mainly on
the shoreline side of the road, and its potential had been
recognised long before Mahmud chose it for his mosque.
Barracks were constructed here in the fifteenth century and
rebuilt in numerous forms thereafter, notably in 1792 by
Selim III, who established three large rectangular blocks
and an adjacent waterside parade ground for the corps of
gun-carriage drivers (top ʿarabacılar). A small domed mosque
with a single minaret stood in the open space between the two
blocks nearest the water, but it was the barracks themselves
that made the dominant visual impression: historical images
show an assemblage of massive multi-storeyed structures of
a type familiar from European military architecture though
still unusual in the Ottoman context during the eighteenth
century.7 [Figure 2] Such eye-catching novelty spoke of Selim’s
radical plans to reform his army, a topic to which I shall return.
These barracks and their accompanying mosque survived
well into the reign of Mahmud, when the entire complex was
destroyed by a devastating fire in March 1823. Within days of
the disaster, Mahmud seized upon the opportunity to begin
reconstructing the newly vacated site in his own name, taking
up Selim’s forward-looking scheme and aiming to surpass it.8
The architect appointed to realise the project was Krikor
Amira Balian (d.1831), founder of a prolific family of
Ottoman–Armenian builders who dominated their profession
in nineteenth-century Istanbul and secured the majority of
imperial commissions at this time.9 Conforming to locational
requirements, Krikor’s design —whose lost elements are
well recorded in old images and maps— perpetuated the
earlier arrangement of a mosque integrated into a military

Figure 2.
Tophane viewed from the Bosphorus circa 1810, showing (from left to right) the Tophane Fountain, the Imperial Cannon Foundry (Tophane-i
Amire), and the parade ground and barracks of the corps of gun-carriage drivers; the dome and minaret of the barracks’ mosque are visible on
the right. Coloured aquatint, from Hobhouse, J.C., First Baron Broughton, A Journey through Albania, and Other Provinces of Turkey in Europe and Asia, to
Constantinople, during the Years 1809 and 1810, London, 1813, 2nd edition, vol.1, plate between pp.830–31. Wellcome Library, London.

94
 v i c t o ry i n t h e m a k i n g : t h e s y m b o l i s m
.
o f i s ta n bu l ’ s n u s r e t i y e m o s qu e

ensemble rather than the kind of pious foundation typical Figure 3.

of more urban settings.10 [Figure 3] The configuration of
parts, however, was now quite different. The long rectangular
blocks constituting Selim III’s barracks had stood side-by-side
parallel with the shoreline, the accompanying mosque being
sandwiched between them and thus obscured from the water
and road except for its dome and minaret. Other barracks of
the period contained similarly screened-off mosques in their
internal courtyards.11 Rejecting this model, Krikor extracted
the mosque from its hitherto introverted setting, enlarged it,
and gave it pride of place on a high basement overlooking the
Map of Tophane dated 1927, showing: 1) the Kılıç Ali Pasha Mosque
Complex; 2) the Tophane Fountain; 3) the Imperial Cannon Foundry
(Tophane-i Amire); 4) the Nusretiye Mosque and its courtyard,
including the ablution fountain, sebīl fountain, and timekeeper’s
room; 5) the approximate sites of the gun-carriage drivers’ barracks
as built in 1826; 6) the approximate site of the drinking fountain and
timekeeper’s room before their relocation; 7) the clock tower; 8) the
viewing pavilion; 9) the marshals’ offices; and 10) the approximate
shoreline in 1826. Adapted from Pervititch, J., Plan cadastral
d’assurances, Istanbul, 1922–45, map 34 of Beyoğlu volume.

95
 ü n v e r rü s t e m
road, as it still does.12 [Figures 1, 5] The barracks, which have
not survived, again comprised multiple buildings on either side
of the road, though now arranged so as not to contain or block
the mosque, with those on the shore located laterally behind it
just to the east.13 [Figure 4]
The large quadrangular parade ground of Selim’s complex
was retained in the new scheme, extending all the way from
the water to the road and bordered on its northeast side by
both the mosque and the shoreline barracks. [Figures 5, 6]
Separated from the road by nothing more than iron railings,
the parade ground not only offered minimally obstructed
views of the exercises for which it was intended, but also
provided the neighbouring mosque with a vast open stage
that ensured high visibility from land as well as sea. Towards
the end of Mahmud’s reign, between 1835 and 1838, a clock
tower —the first in Istanbul— was erected near the pier of
the parade ground.14 [Figure 7] The sultan’s oldest son and
successor, Abdülmecid I (r.1839–1861), rebuilt the tower in
more monumental form in 1847/1848 and added a palatial
viewing pavilion to the parade ground in 1852, calling greater
attention to the space without detracting from the primacy of
the adjacent mosque.15 [Figures 1, 8, 9] Both of these later
structures are extant, but the parade ground has not survived.
The entrance side of the mosque, which faces the street, was
once preceded by a small walled forecourt that connected to
Figure 4.
The Nusretiye Mosque and its complex from the Bosphorus circa 1835,
showing the mosque’s southeast (qibla) wall and, in the foreground,
one of the barracks of the gun-carriage drivers. Lithograph by John
Frederick Lewis after a drawing by Coke Smyth, from Lewis’s Illustrations
of Constantinople: Made during a Residence in that City &c. in the Years 1835–6,
London, 1837, pl.XIV. University of Houston Libraries, Special Collections.
96
a lateral courtyard on the prayer hall’s northeast (that is, to
its left when viewed frontally).16 Though the lateral courtyard
remains, the forecourt was reduced to a small railed enclosure
during the reign of Mahmud’s second son, Sultan Abdülaziz
(r.1861–1876), who, after a fire in 1863, widened the road and
erected a row of marshals’ offices diagonally across from the
mosque.17 [Figures 8, 9] It was with this renovation that the
lateral courtyard, which already featured an ablution fountain
in its centre, acquired the two ornate kiosk-like buildings that
now flank its entrance. [Figure 10] These structures —one a
public drinking fountain (sebīl) and the other a timekeeper’s
room (muvaḳḳitḫāne)— were completed a year after the mosque
and had stood on the opposite side of the street before being
moved to make way for Abdülaziz’s additions, which were
in turn destroyed when the road was widened again in the
1950s.18 The 1863 fire also brought changes to the barracks:
those facing the mosque were rebuilt while those behind it
were replaced with a munitions factory for which the shoreline
was filled and extended, thus distancing the mosque from the
water.19 [Figures 5, 6]
In its original form, the Nusretiye’s ambitious scheme would
have done much to enhance the visual and semantic impact
of the now decontextualised mosque, which served as the
fulcrum and public interface of the complex. Whereas the
earlier mosque of Selim had been reserved for the barracks’
inhabitants, the Nusretiye was for civilian use also, bringing
Figure 5.
The Nusretiye Mosque and its complex from the west,
overlooking the parade ground. Postcard dated 1911. Courtesy of
Harvard University, Fine Arts Library, Special Collections
 v i c t o ry i n t h e m a k i n g : t h e s y m b o l i s m
.
o f i s ta n bu l ’ s n u s r e t i y e m o s qu e

ordinary people under the auspices of what remained a

predominantly military site. The patently martial nature of the
overall arrangement compels us to consider the mosque in the
light of Mahmud’s military reforms, which were proceeding
apace as the building was being erected.20 Convinced that
such change was necessary for his empire’s survival, Mahmud
had spent many years quietly planning to do away with the
traditional Ottoman military system, long dominated by
the janissaries. The once-formidable corps had proved a
dangerous nuisance to various sultans since the seventeenth
century, stirring up rebellion and posing a continual obstacle to
reform. Earlier attempts at addressing the problem had ended
in failure and even disaster, notably for the avowed moderniser
Selim III, whose comprehensive reform programme —dubbed
the Niẓām-ı Cedīd (New Order)— met with enough resentment
among the janissaries to bring about his downfall.21 Selim’s
boldest and most contentious initiative was the creation in 1794
of a small new army trained and equipped on the Western
model, a move that ultimately precipitated a janissary-led
uprising in 1807. Despite dissolving his new troops to satisfy
the rebels’ demands, Selim was toppled in favour of his cousin
Mustafa IV (r.1807–1808), prompting a counterrevolution by
supporters of the former sultan. Mustafa responded by putting
Selim to death in 1808 and also ordering the execution of
his own younger brother, Mahmud, but the prince —the only
remaining heir to the Ottoman throne— was kept safe and
installed in place of Mustafa, who was himself executed. To

Figure 6.
The Nusretiye Mosque and its complex from the Bosphorus,
showing the site after its extension into the water and the
construction of the munitions factory, which replaced the barracks
visible in Figure 4. Albumen print by Abdullah frères, 1880–1893,
from the Abdülhamid II albums. Library of Congress, Washington,
D.C., Prints and Photographs Division, LOT 9516, no.27.
Figure 7.
The Nusretiye Mosque and its original clock tower from the
south. Engraving by Thomas Allom, from Allom, T. and Walsh,
R., Constantinople, pl. opposite p.75. Northeastern University
Archives and Special Collections Department.

97
 ü n v e r rü s t e m
the dismay of traditionalists, the young Mahmud II eagerly
picked up Selim’s reformist mantle, though a brief abortive
attempt to establish another new army at the beginning of
his reign soon persuaded the sultan to learn from his cousin’s
mistakes by taking a more patient and measured course.22
Mahmud thus bided his time until the 1820s, when
international events allowed him to justify and gain support for
his military overhaul. The Greek War of Independence, which
began in 1821 and would continue until 1829, exposed the
janissaries as ineffectual, a point underscored by the Ottoman
army’s reliance on help from the recently modernised troops
Figure 8.
View of the Nusretiye parade ground showing the clock tower and, to
the right, the viewing pavilion and marshals’ offices. Postcard after an
albumen print by Sébah & Joaillier, 1888–1910. Author’s collection.
Figure 9.
The Nusretiye Mosque and its complex from the west, with the
mosque and viewing pavilion on the right and the marshals’ offices on
the left. Albumen print by Sébah & Joaillier, 1888–1910.
Library of Congress, Washington, D.C., Prints and Photographs
Division, LOT 13554-2, no.121.
98
of Muhammad ʿAli (r.1805–1848), the largely autonomous
vassal ruler of Egypt.23 Emboldened by this turbulent context,
Mahmud dismissed and banished those who would oppose
him and appointed his allies to key positions of power,
including within the ranks of the janissaries themselves. At
the same time, he greatly increased the size of the artillery
corps (topçuyān), which, though ostensibly tied to the janissaries,
was the most loyal and modernised division of the Ottoman
army, with a history of reform going back to the 1770s.24 It
should be recalled in this regard that Selim III’s Tophane
barracks and mosque —and hence the Nusretiye complex
that succeeded them— served the gun-carriage drivers, who
belonged to this esteemed artillery force. Accompanying these
practical steps was a far-reaching ideological campaign that
mobilised elite and popular sentiment. Like Selim before
him, Mahmud courted the orthodox ulema and exploited
their traditional disdain for the janissaries’ affiliation with the
heterodox Bektashi order. The sultan’s show of religiosity also
impressed the wider Muslim public, whose existing distrust of
the janissaries was further fed by the corps’ inability to quell
the Greek rebellion.25
Mahmud’s multipronged approach to selling his reformist
vision was fittingly echoed by the formation of the Nusretiye,
where the military, religious, and civil came together in
a manner designed to speak to multiple audiences. Even
before construction of the complex began, the sultan had
shown considerable interest in its eventual site, which, as
we have seen, already carried strong reformist overtones: a
document of 1820 records plans to remodel the access points
of the parade ground adjacent to Selim’s barracks, with
particular attention given to the staging of sultanic visits to
the neighbouring mosque.26 When the barracks and their
ancillaries burned down in March 1823, Mahmud may even
have been grateful for the pretext to appropriate the site in its
entirety. The timing was curiously apposite —the fire came less
than a month after he had appointed his ally Rusçuklu Hüseyin
Agha (d.1849) as commander of the janissaries27— and it was
inevitable that such a building project would become pegged
to contemporaneous political developments.
The extent and consciousness of this relationship are strikingly
revealed by a previously unnoted dispatch from The Times that
was brought to my attention by Edhem Eldem. In its entry
for the date 9 March 1826 —a month before the Nusretiye’s
inauguration— the dispatch states:
The public report is, that His Sublimity waits only for the
completion of the mosque which is building at Tophana
by his orders, and the arrival of the Pachas assembled
at the Adrianople, to proclaim the new military system
 v i c t o ry i n t h e m a k i n g : t h e s y m b o l i s m
.
o f i s ta n bu l ’ s n u s r e t i y e m o s qu e

Figure 10. (above) Figure 11. (below)

The Nusretiye Mosque from the northeast, showing the mosque’s left side The Nusretiye Mosque from the north, showing
and its lateral courtyard and ablution fountain, with the sebīl fountain and the entrance portico and royal pavilion. Photograph
part of the timekeeper’s room visible on the right. Author’s photograph. courtesy of Alyson Wharton-Durgaryan.

99
 ü n v e r rü s t e m
immediately after the first prayer in this temple.28
This new system would entail training a select number
of janissaries and forming them into a modern corps, the
Eşkinciyān. As we shall see, events did not play out quite as
the report foretells, but what is important is that Mahmud’s
mosque was so thoroughly associated with his reforms that
its opening was apparently considered a prerequisite for their
enactment. Given that the proposed overhaul was advanced
enough in its planning to be the topic of open discussion, the
idea that it would be thus postponed not only demonstrates
how carefully the whole affair was being managed, but also
proves that the Nusretiye was recognised as a sign of military
renewal even before it had been finished and publicly named.
a winning d e si g n :
.
th e n u sr e ti ye ’ s trium ph a l a rc h i te ct u r e
While much of the Nusretiye’s meaning derived from its
physical and chronological context, the architecture itself
was no less significant. The key change brought about by
Mahmud’s redevelopment of the site was the augmented role
Figure 12.
The Nuruosmaniye Mosque from the south, showing the mosque’s right side and rear (qibla) wall. Author’s photograph.
100
assigned to the mosque, whose new prominence necessarily
coloured the complex as a whole. [Figure 5] Intended both to
dominate and complement the adjacent barracks and parade
ground, the mosque stamped Mahmud’s military policy with
the character of a righteous cause in the public interest. This
symbolic function relied for its success on the monument’s
carefully crafted design, which evoked a venerable tradition of
imperial religious architecture while at the same time asserting
its own modernity.
The bulk of the mosque consists of a sizeable prayer hall that
is square in plan and crowned by a high dome that rests on
four grand round arches with copiously fenestrated tympana.
Though internally unencumbered, the prayer hall has cloister-
vaulted galleries along the outside of its lateral walls. [Figures 1,
10] An apsidal projection on the water-facing qibla wall hosts
the mihrab, while the entrance on the opposite side is fronted by
a domed and arcaded three-bay portico that is itself preceded
by paired staircases. [Figure 11] Flanking the portico, and
connected by a gallery that runs behind it, are two block-like
wings carried on arches and covered by low hipped roofs. Each
 v i c t o ry i n t h e m a k i n g : t h e s y m b o l i s m
o f i s ta n bu l ’ s n u s r e t i y e m o s qu e
with its own entrance and staircase, the wings together form a
sort of semiautonomous frontage that is lower but wider than
the prayer hall behind. This structure is the so-called ḫünkār
ḳaṣrı, or royal pavilion, a part of the mosque containing suites of
rooms reserved for the sultan and his retinue. The wing to the
right —which once overlooked the parade ground— has the
larger doorway and gives access to the sultan’s private prayer
loge, which occupies a two-bay extension that is stacked over
the mosque’s southwest lateral gallery and communicates with
the prayer-hall interior through a grilled window. [Figure 1] Two
lofty pencil-like minarets —each with two galleries— rise from
the front corners of the royal pavilion, bringing it into closer
dialogue with the sacred prayer hall and instantly marking the
whole edifice as an imperial mosque.
In its overall arrangement as well as its individual parts, the
Nusretiye’s architecture draws on and combines the choicest
models of the preceding 75 years. Its single-domed, apsed
prayer hall follows a type made canonical by the Nuruosmaniye
Mosque, which was designed by the Ottoman–Greek architect
Simeon Kalfa and erected by Mahmud I and Osman III
(r.1754–1757) in the heart of Istanbul between 1748 and
1755. [Figure 12] Debuting a bold new cosmopolitan style that
has been dubbed the Ottoman Baroque, the Nuruosmaniye
revived in original terms the dormant practice of constructing
sultans’ mosques in the Ottoman capital, and almost all
subsequent mosques of this category —including the
Nusretiye— are indebted to it.29 The Nuruosmaniye, however,
maintains the tradition of an arcaded forecourt preceding
the prayer hall, whereas the Nusretiye, as we have seen, lacks
this element and is instead fronted by a wide royal pavilion.
Such use of the pavilion to replace the arcaded courtyard as
an indicator of sultanic status first began with the Beylerbeyi
Mosque, built on Istanbul’s Asian shore between 1777 and
1778 by Mahmud II’s father, Abdülhamid I (r.1779–1789).
This otherwise understated work took the well-established
feature of the pavilion —which in earlier examples is treated
as an appendage to the prayer hall— and transformed it into a
stately mansion-like façade integral to the mosque as a whole.
Though probably catering to the Beylerbeyi’s water-facing
location, this innovative arrangement, which confers the
aspect of a waterside palace, proved so successful that it
was perpetuated by every sultanic mosque thereafter.30 The
Nusretiye’s rendition is especially close to the parent model
in its inclusion of projecting lateral wings borne on round
arches. Mahmud, moreover, had a special attachment to the
Beylerbeyi as his father’s foundation: not only did he make
lavish visits there by water,31 but he also replaced its original
single minaret between 1820 and 1821 with a pair of new
minarets fitted into the front corners of the pavilion.32 This
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.
renovation, which took place just two years before work began
on the Nusretiye, would render the relationship between the
two mosques even more apparent.
The Nusretiye’s closest prototype, however, is the Üsküdar
Selimiye Mosque, built for Selim III between 1802 and 1805
by Foti Kalfa, another Ottoman–Greek architect.33 [Figure
13] Chronologically as well as aesthetically, the Selimiye is
the immediate precursor to the Nusretiye, which essentially
reproduces the plan and elevation of the older mosque. Among
the more telling correspondences between the two monuments
is the fully rounded profile of the arches supporting their
domes, a contrast to earlier mosques that employ pointed
arches in this capacity. There is a striking overlap also between
their royal pavilions, with that of the Nusretiye faithfully
emulating the Selimiye’s unusual placement of the sultanic
loge outside the space of the prayer hall. It should not surprise
us that Krikor Balian, probably at his patron’s urging, chose the
Selimiye as his template. The mosque was a worthy exemplar
that synthesised the key experiments of preceding years, infusing
the novel layout of the Beylerbeyi with the magnificence and
monumentality of the Nuruosmaniye. Its suitability as a model
was enhanced by its ideological association with Selim III, who
built the mosque as the centrepiece of a new urban development
to showcase his modernising efforts. Located in the district of
Üsküdar on Istanbul’s Asian shore, this uniquely comprehensive
complex also included shops, factories, and a printing press,
all on wide streets laid out in a grid system. Neighbouring the
mosque, and erected in conjunction with it, were the Selimiye
Barracks, a large quadrangular structure to accommodate the
Niẓām-ı Cedīd soldiers.34 The barracks and mosque together
formed an impressive pairing easily seen from the Bosphorus
and even the European shore. The analogous composition of
the Nusretiye complex must, then, be viewed in light of the
Üsküdar scheme, which prefigured both its arrangement and
its combined military and socio-religious symbolism. Given
how heavily Selim’s impact already bore on the Tophane
site, the decision to make additional —and unmistakable—
reference to his Üsküdar foundation served to strengthen
Mahmud’s image as his political and cultural successor.
But such evocation of Selim’s legacy was as competitive
as it was deferential. Despite its ambitious and imposing
architecture, the Selimiye was tainted by a troubled history
that Mahmud would have been anxious not to repeat. The
mosque’s planned inauguration had to be abandoned when,
to quote the official historian Cevdet Pasha (d.1895), ‘the
janissaries —responding to rumours that the soldiers of
the Niẓām-ı Cedīd would replace them in lining up for the
ceremonial salutation— all took up arms with the intention of
 ü n v e r rü s t e m
destroying the dignitaries of the Sublime Porte and targeting
the members of the Niẓām-ı Cedīd with their bullets’.35 Only
upon reassurances that they would retain their traditional
duties did the janissaries desist and allow the mosque to be
opened in a more muted ceremony several weeks later. Still
less auspicious was the fate of the adjacent barracks, which the
janissaries burned to the ground in 1808 after Mahmud’s failed
early bid to revive the new army. The sultan would eventually
rebuild the destroyed barracks, but only after the Nusretiye
had itself been completed.36 Scarred by its past and its
architectural disfigurement, the Selimiye complex thus stood
as much as a warning as it did a model, and Mahmud’s bold
citation of it at Tophane should be understood as a show of his
confidence in being able to succeed where his predecessor had
failed. Not only would the Nusretiye make good its prototype’s
physical losses, but it would do so in a location that was busier,
more central, and of far greater semiotic resonance than the
comparatively peripheral setting of the original.
The Nusretiye’s claim to preeminence rested also on the
skilful way it updated its inherited design. [Figures 1, 13] The
mosque’s silhouette is noticeably more vertical than that of
the Selimiye, and thus more graceful and commanding. The
effect is achieved in part by raising the dome on a true drum,
a departure from the squatter profile traditionally favoured
for Ottoman mosque domes. Adding to the impression of
height are the minarets, which are proportionally far taller
than examples elsewhere. Their soaring stature is the result
of a renovation begun only a month after the mosque was
opened, for sources tell us that the original minarets were
somewhat shorter and had to be partially destroyed and rebuilt
when it was realised that festive lights (māhyas) hung between
them could not be seen because of the dome.37 Fulfilling
the mosque’s promise of loftiness, these extended minarets
constitute the most striking formal difference between the
Nusretiye and the Selimiye, whose single-galleried minarets
appear almost modest by comparison.38
Such theatricality is apparent also in the Nusretiye’s decorative
and stylistic details. The mosque is heir to the modern,
cosmopolitan manner that began with the Nuruosmaniye and
whose defining characteristic is its idiosyncratic adaptation
of Western European forms. At once locally grounded and
internationally relevant, this eighteenth-century Ottoman
Baroque style was part of a more general reassertion of the
empire’s global significance in an era of intensified diplomatic
and cultural contact with the West. The Nusretiye presents a
distinctly nineteenth-century reworking of the same aesthetic
principle, with the earlier Baroque mode now replaced by an
exuberant Neoclassicism reminiscent of the French Empire
102
Style.39 [Figures 1, 10] The cupolaed vertical projections
of the prayer-hall piers thus swell to form bulbous turrets,
unlike their straight-sided counterparts at the Selimiye, while
the roundness of the great arches supporting the dome is
highlighted by an openwork frieze of circles. More dynamic
still is the treatment of the dome itself, which, in a flourish
peculiar to this mosque, is studded all around its base with
gilt baluster-shaped finials that draw attention to its height. A
similar liveliness is exhibited by the lavish carving of the white
limestone and marble that make up the mosque’s walls and
liturgical furnishings. [Figure 14] Such dense plastic ornament
continues a fashion set by the Nuruosmaniye and found also
at the Selimiye, but the formerly Baroque–Rococo motifs have
here given way to rosettes, acanthus scrolls, and swags in the
Neoclassical mould. As much as it responds to past models,
then, the Nusretiye Mosque is equally a product of its own day,
and the same would have held true for the complex as a whole.
Frequently remarked upon by nineteenth-century travellers,40
the Nusretiye’s stylistic modernity allowed Mahmud to put
his own stamp on a long-established building type and, in so
doing, create a monument capable of referring not only to
the achievements of the past, but also to those yet to come.
This architectural statement remained intelligible long after it
was fashioned: in a description of Istanbul published in 1901,
the German traveller Hermann Barth hails the Nusretiye as
the city’s first modern building, exclaiming of it, ‘Reform
everywhere: in art, too, a new spirit takes hold!’.41
a m o squ e by a n y other na m e …
On Friday 9 April 1826 the Nusretiye Mosque was inaugurated
with a splendid royal visit. The occasion was recorded by
several historians of the period, including Mehmed Daniş Bey
(d.1837), a state official who wrote a short eyewitness account of
the events surrounding Mahmud’s military reforms of 1826.42
This account, a copy of which Mehmed Daniş presented to the
sultan, begins with the Nusretiye’s opening, when Mahmud:
in pomp and state set out from the Topkapı Shore Pavilion
aboard the imperial boat and headed straight for the pier
of the Tophane parade ground, and he [then] rode his
light-footed steed on the brocades that had been spread from
the pier to the door of the noble mosque’s imperial tribune;
and before the Friday prayer, he gratified the staff of the noble
mosque as well as those who had served in its construction
with robes of honour and kingly gifts and presents, after
which he returned [to his palace] happy and prosperous.43
Another account is offered by the court chronicler Mehmed
Esʿad Efendi (d.1848), who tells us that the distribution of
gifts took place after rather than before the prayer and who
 v i c t o ry i n t h e m a k i n g : t h e s y m b o l i s m
.
o f i s ta n bu l ’ s n u s r e t i y e m o s qu e

Figure 13.
The Selimiye Mosque, Üsküdar, from the southwest, showing the mosque’s right side and, projecting towards the
foreground, the royal pavilion. Albumen print by Abdullah frères, 1880–1893, from the Abdülhamid II albums.
Library of Congress, Washington, D.C., Prints and Photographs Division, LOT 9541, no.21.

103
 ü n v e r rü s t e m
mentions Krikor Balian at the end of the considerable list of
individuals whom the sultan rewarded.44 Also honoured with
gifts was the commander of the janissaries, a number of whom
formed part of the sultan’s extensive retinue on the occasion.
Whatever Mahmud may have had planned for the corps, its
members were very much present at the ceremony.
The name of the newly completed mosque must have been
decided by the time of the opening, which is probably when
it was made public. Indeed, a couplet from the lengthy poetic
inscription that is carved in marble above the mosque’s main
entrance proves that a version of the present name was already
set in stone before construction had ended:45
Let this exalted temple be named the Mosque of Victory
[Cāmiʿ-i Nuṣret], May the Lord of the Worlds render its
builder victorious.46
The composer of this inscription was the poet and cadi
Keçecizade İzzet Molla (d.1829), whose text, in keeping with
Figure 14.
Interior view of the Nusretiye Mosque showing the qibla and right walls. The lunettes above the lower windows are carved
with acanthus scrolls issuing from vases. Author’s photograph.
104
tradition, was selected from a number of competing entries.47
He was also, it seems, the inventor of the name itself, as we
learn from a memorandum he wrote after he had submitted
his entry but before the mosque’s appellation had been
finalised.48 Addressing an official he refers to as ‘brother’,
İzzet writes that he has been asked by royal order to suggest
some alternative names to that of Cāmiʿ-i Nuṣret, which was
presumably the frontrunner. He duly provides a range of
options, including Ḫayriyye (Beneficent), Şevket-ābād (Abode
of Majesty), Cāmiʿü’l-Fütūḥ (Mosque of Conquests), Cihādiyye
(Pertaining to Holy War), and Ẓaferiyye (Victorious), but he also
specifies their shortcomings. Many of them, he notes, are quite
un-mosque-like and ‘would cause doubt as to whether they
are the names of royal palaces or imperial ships’,49 while more
explicitly religious designations such as Cāmiʿü’l-Feyż (Mosque
of Divine Grace) are deemed ‘far from fitting’,50 probably
because they would convey nothing specific about the mosque.
Having questioned the suitability of his own alternative
 v i c t o ry i n t h e m a k i n g : t h e s y m b o l i s m
o f i s ta n bu l ’ s n u s r e t i y e m o s qu e
suggestions, İzzet reaffirms the merits of what he had already
proposed in his poem, stating: ‘Indeed, because [the mosque]
is in Tophane and reached completion at a time of triumph
and victory, I believe that naming it “Mosque of Victory” as a
good and propitious omen will please [the sultan].’51
Several key points emerge from this fascinating document.
For one, the question of what to call the building had taken
on remarkable importance: where most imperial mosques
were unimaginatively called after their founders, nothing
less than a semantically charged original title would do for
Mahmud’s mosque. The unorthodox nature of this naming
process explains the level of discussion it engendered, though
the gist of İzzet’s offerings suggests a tacit agreement among
those involved that a name of martial flavour would best
reflect the building’s site and timing. But what exactly are the
‘triumph and victory’ to which İzzet refers? In terms of actual
warfare, the most notable Ottoman success at this time was at
the Greek port town of Missolonghi, which was on the verge
of falling to the empire after being repeatedly besieged during
the Greek War of Independence.52 This came at a time when
the Greek cause seemed more generally to be losing steam, and
the idea of a relationship between this juncture and the mosque
seems especially tempting in light of the fact that the siege was
concluded only two weeks after the Nusretiye opened, as if to
bear out İzzet’s remark on the propitiousness of the appellation.
Such a context for the name is unlikely, however, to be the
whole story. While the fall of Missolonghi inflicted a temporary
blow to the Greeks, it was not altogether a resounding triumph
for Mahmud’s own army, which, having itself failed to take
the town, succeeded only with the help of troops sent by
Muhammad ʿAli of Egypt under the command of his son
Ibrahim Pasha (d.1848). Might İzzet be referring, then, to
another emergent victory, namely Mahmud’s military reforms?
It should be recalled that these reforms were publicly known
to be nearing fulfilment in tandem with the mosque, and that
their official announcement was purportedly contingent on
the building’s opening. Given how Mahmud was framing his
planned overhaul —as an urgently needed and momentous step
towards Ottoman resurgence— the triumphant mood evoked
by İzzet probably had as much to do with the political battle
being fought in Istanbul as it did with international warfare.
The one, after all, was intended to further the other, such that
both struggles would have been ideologically and practically
inextricable. With the auspicious title of Nusret, Mahmud’s
new mosque would act as a votive offering to ensure the success
both of his daring reforms and of the more far-flung victories
that were expected to be their corollary.53 İzzet’s vindication of
the name must indeed have pleased Mahmud, for the official
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.
history of Esʿad echoes the memorandum by telling us that
the sultan himself ordered the monument to be called Nusret
‘as a good omen’.54 The same information is given in a history
written by the palace insider Hafız Hızır İlyas Agha (d.1864),
who goes on to say that the mosque was intended ‘furthermore
to gratify the artillerymen’,55 a retrospective hint at the group’s
imminent show of appreciation.
True to the anticipatory choice of name, the mosque’s opening
was followed by turbulent developments in the capital.
According to Cevdet, the battle lines were already drawn at
the inauguration. He recounts that Mahmud paraded ‘with
the artillery soldiers on his right and the janissaries on his left’,
and that ‘when he stopped for the exchange of salutations,
the artillery soldiers saluted him, but it was noticed that he
did not turn his gaze to the left’.56 Histories authored nearer
the period in question make no mention of this royal snub,
and it may well be that Cevdet, writing decades after the
ceremony, is presenting a mythologised and teleological
version of it. Nonetheless, the tale serves as a telling contrast
to the failed inauguration of the Selimiye, and it also provides
a fitting, if fanciful, introduction to the sequence of events
that we know would follow. Although Mahmud’s reforms
were not promulgated immediately after the mosque’s
opening as predicted in The Times, they were announced at
a grand assembly less than two months later on 28 May. The
new Eşkinci troops were to number 7,650 men drawn from
Istanbul’s 51 janissary battalions, and they were to be regularly
trained in modern warfare. Within a few days, 5,000 Eşkinciyān
had been created, and a small contingent performed the new
drill before high officials on 12 June. The janissaries at large,
however, were none too pleased with these changes, and on 14
June they assembled in the open area known as Et Meydanı
to stage a rebellion. Modern opinion is divided as to whether
Mahmud had been hoping for such a pretext in order to act as
he subsequently did, but in any event the revolt did not catch
him unawares. He immediately called on his loyal troops and
subjects to quash the mutiny, and he had to be dissuaded from
personally leading the attack. Spearheaded by mounted artillery
troops, the sultan’s supporters trapped the janissaries in their Et
Meydanı barracks, which were bombarded and burned down on
15 June. Thousands of janissaries were killed in the violence, and
their demise marked the end not only of the rebellion, but also
of the corps’ very existence. Dubbed the ‘Auspicious Incident’
(Vaʿḳa-ı Ḫayriyye), Mahmud’s eradication of the janissaries
was formalised two days later with a public edict stressing
the religious justification for the act and announcing the
creation of a new army to be known as the ʿAsākir-i Manṣūre-i
Muḥammediyye, the ‘Victorious Soldiers of Muhammad’.57
 ü n v e r rü s t e m
On the previous day, a Friday, Mahmud had attended
prayers with the customary public ceremonial, except that
the janissaries were no longer to be seen among his guard,
which was now made up of artillerymen and bombardiers.58
The mosque on this occasion was that of Zeyneb Sultan (built
1769), a small and rather muted venue that was chosen perhaps
because of a lingering sense of cautiousness in the immediate
aftermath of the revolt. But it was Mahmud’s own foundation at
Tophane that was to emerge as the true architectural memorial
to the ‘Auspicious Incident’, hardly surprising in view of the
site’s existing reformist associations and particularly its ties to
the artillery corps that had so loyally repaid the sultan’s favour.
Sources from the period reveal the enhanced significance the
mosque acquired in the wake of Mahmud’s feat. As noted
above, Mehmed Daniş Bey begins his first-hand account of
the janissaries’ downfall with the Nusretiye’s inauguration, thus
underscoring the relatedness of the two events in the eyes of
contemporary observers. Offering more vivid evidence of the
mosque’s political topicality is another overlooked newspaper
report generously shared with me by Edhem Eldem, this time
a French dispatch from Istanbul written only eleven days after
the ‘Auspicious Incident’ and published in the Journal des débats.59
The report starts with the news that:
[s]ince 15 June, Sultan Mahmud has constantly been
dressed in the Egyptian mode, a type of military uniform as
rich as it is elegant. His example is generally followed. The
caouk [ḳavuḳ, turban] is no longer worn except by certain
ministers and heads of administration.
The adoption of this new attire —‘Egyptian’ because it
resembled the modern uniform of Muhammad ʿAli’s army—
was only one element of a more sweeping shift, for the report
continues: ‘There is talk of completely reforming and renewing
the government. Everything must take a new face.’ This desire
for change apparently extended to the Nusretiye, about which
the dispatch states the following:
The new mosque of Top-Canna [Tophane], constructed
after the fire of 1 March 1823 at the expense of H[is].
M[ajesty], and which had been named Adliïe (the Just),
has just been distinguished by the following appellation:
(Féthy-sultan-Mahmoud), Sultan Mahmoud the Vanquisher.
Although I have found no other sources to corroborate these
extraordinary details, they are too close to the occurrences
in question and have too much the ring of truth to be
disregarded.60 The first of the specified names, ʿAdliyye, was
derived from Mahmud’s epithet of ʿadlī, ‘the just’, and would
have been a logical choice for his foundation. Indeed, the name
was given to a mosque he renovated in Üsküdar in 1815,61
and there is evidence that it was also applied ad hoc to the
Nusretiye by at least some individuals in the later nineteenth
106
century.62 The second name, meanwhile, is a transliteration
of Fetḥī Sulṭān Maḥmūd, with fetḥī —a somewhat unidiomatic
way of expressing ‘conqueror’— used on analogy with ʿadlī as
an epithet.63 It is also possible that the correct parsing should
be Fetḥ-i Sulṭān Maḥmūd, ‘the Conquest of Sultan Mahmud’,
which, though less similar to the French translation, is
comparable in formation to Nuruosmaniye (originally Nūr-ı
ʿOs̱mānī, ‘Light of the Ottomans’).64 Either way, the name
recalls Cāmiʿü’l-Fütūḥ, one of the options suggested and
dismissed by İzzet, and it would have made a highly unusual
label for a royal mosque. Given that the report is unique in the
information it relates, and in light of the fact that the mosque
was inaugurated as Nusret, the two designations mentioned by
the newspaper must be understood as popular or semiofficial
alternative names that may for some time have enjoyed greater
currency than the official title. All this is further proof of the
special concern for nomenclature that surrounded the mosque,
as well as the degree to which the monument’s meaning was
inflected by contemporary political developments. Even if the
reference to conquest was a more general one, encompassing
such events as the taking of Missolonghi, the claimed retitling
did not happen before —and thus must have been prompted
by— the extermination of the janissaries.65 The two names
thus document the connotative range of the mosque in the
context of changing circumstances. Where the first shies away
from mentioning an as yet unrealised victory and instead extols
the justness underpinning Mahmud’s initiatives, the second —
coined after the reforms’ enactment— gives full verbal force to
the idea of a triumphal win.
Neither appellation was to stick, however, and in popular
usage the name of the mosque remained fluid. An account of
Istanbul written by the Englishman Charles White (d.1861),
who lived there in the early 1840s, notes the weight of public
opinion in deciding how the city’s mosques were referred to:
Thus the noble temple built by Mahmoud II is universally
designated Yeny [Yeni] (new) and not Mahmoudya, or
Noossretya, as enjoined by the imperial founder, under
whose reign Turkey was deprived not only of various
provinces in the North but also of Greece.66
Despite the unkind implication that the populace considered
Mahmud unworthy of being commemorated in grander terms,
it may simply have been the mosque’s newness that led to the
situation that White describes, especially since later sources
give no indication that the building continued to be identified
with this name. A French travel guide published in 1886 tells
us that it was ‘generally known by the name of Mahmoudié’,67
and according to the Turkish art historian Semavi Eyice, the
usual way of referring to it by the twentieth century was as
the Mosque of Tophane.68 Even if less striking than Nusretiye,
 v i c t o ry i n t h e m a k i n g : t h e s y m b o l i s m
o f i s ta n bu l ’ s n u s r e t i y e m o s qu e
both of these names —one a reference to the patron, the other
to the site— would have conveyed something of the mosque’s
significance. Their widespread use probably resulted from
their relative normality; unlike the actual designation, they
are entirely consistent with wider mosque nomenclature.
But in the Ottoman sources, at least, the official name came
swiftly to prevail, albeit most often in the adjectival form
of Nuṣretiyye.69 This variant —used by White and already
mentioned in İzzet’s memorandum70— followed the idiomatic
preference for the -iyye ending seen in Istanbul’s other sultanic
mosques and became the most consistent written designation
from the 1830s onwards.71 In a letter sent from Istanbul in
1836, the Prussian Field Marshal Helmuth von Moltke the
Elder (d.1891), who served Mahmud as a military adviser,
mentions the ‘Moschee Nusrethieh’ and translates its name as
‘the Victorious [die Siegreiche]’, showing that foreign audiences
too were aware of the meaning.72 The applicability of the word
to the period’s military sea change is proved by the existence
of the Nuṣretnāme, or ‘Book of Victory’, a versified encomium
of the ‘Auspicious Incident’ written in 1826 by the poet Ayni
(d.1837).73 That Mahmud’s new army was dubbed manṣūre —
denoting ‘victorious’ and derived from the same Arabic root as
nuṣret— would have added further lexical resonance, verbally
cementing the mosque’s ties to the reforms that may well have
inspired its appellation in the first place.
.
v i cto ry ach i e v e d : th e n u sret iye ’ s im pact
Describing a visit by Mahmud to the Nusretiye in 1828, the
British traveller Charles MacFarlane (d.1858) writes that the
sultan, who had entered the building in traditional Eastern
garb, came out ‘in a most simple military dress’.74 Mahmud
—who would dispense with his traditional costume altogether
in 1829— appeared ‘an altered man’ to MacFarlane, whose
account testifies to the Nusretiye’s regenerative purport.75
When in 1831 Mahmud had a medal struck to reward those
who had given him loyal service —a highly novel means of
conferring honour in the Ottoman context— the image chosen
for the reverse was none other than the Mosque of Nusret, so
identified by a caption.76
The mosque’s iconic force would remain potent after
Mahmud’s death, as demonstrated by two pendant depictions
of the sultan from a mid-nineteenth-century album of royal
portraits now in Konya.77 [Figure 15] The contrast between
these two pictures is uncannily reminiscent of MacFarlane’s
earlier description. Whereas in the first image Mahmud
appears in a turban and caftan enthroned before a heavy
curtain, in the second he is neatly attired in modern uniform,
107
.
the curtain behind his throne now lifted to reveal a gleaming
white mosque with a cannon in front of it. The depicted
building is instantly recognisable as the Nusretiye, and the
use of it as the backdrop for the second of these before-
and-after portraits underscores its enduring legibility as an
emblem of Mahmud’s transformative reign. His descendants
were evidently keen to perpetuate and build on this legacy,
as demonstrated by the numerous modifications they made
to the complex.78 Besides continuing as an object of sultanic
patronage, the Nusretiye retained its importance as a locus of
ceremonial, such that by the 1850s it was ‘ancient custom’ for
the sultan to go there ‘in his state caïque’ to pray during Laylat
al-Qadr (the Night of Power), the high point of Ramadan,
when the monument’s unusually slender minarets were strung
with lamps arranged to form the tughra (imperial monogram).79
The meaning attached to the Nusretiye as a physical and
spatial entity is, as I have shown, inherent also in its name.
Although the mosque has been variously dubbed over the
years, the official appellation remained in one form or other
the most persistent, being today the normal label. The
outright claim that the mosque commemorates the ‘Auspicious
Incident’ cannot, from what I have found, be traced earlier in
writing than an Anglophone guide to Istanbul published in
1868,80 and nor did it become a commonplace in the literature
until the second half of the twentieth century.81 Nevertheless,
it is impossible for the name not to have been correlated from
the outset with the bold reforms to which the mosque itself
was conceptually and practically linked. Without having to
refer specifically to the events of 15 June, the designation
of ‘Victory’ was surely redolent of Mahmud’s modernising
struggle, even as it was being fought and especially after it was
won. An Ottoman document from the end of 1826 concerning
payments for the Nusretiye’s furnishings plays on its name to
describe it as the sultan’s ‘Victory-Bringing Mosque’,82 as if the
appellation had delivered on its promise.
His efforts notwithstanding, Mahmud ultimately failed to
hold on to the lands that he was fighting to keep, with Greece
achieving independence in 1829 and other territories also
falling away.83 But he fared substantially better in his war to
redefine the political and military landscape within his own
realm, setting the Ottoman Empire on a modernising course
that it would follow into the twentieth century. The fruits of his
overhaul —and particularly his destruction of the janissaries—
gained wide acclaim both during his lifetime and in the years
that followed.84 Built as that overhaul was taking shape and
located on ground already associated with progress, the
Nusretiye was indeed designed as a monument to Mahmud’s
reformist enterprise, and a herald of its expected victory.
 ü n v e r rü s t e m

Figure 15. A and B

Portraits of Mahmud II before and after the dress reform. Ottoman, body colour on paper, from an album executed
1840–1850. Konya Mevlana Museum, inv. no. M.114, fols.88b and 27b. Photographs courtesy of Serpil Bağcı.

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o f i s ta n bu l ’ s n u s r e t i y e m o s qu e

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Notes
Note to the reader: Ottoman personal and place names are
generally written with minimal diacritics in accordance with
modern Turkish orthography, though medial ʿayns have been
transliterated where appropriate. I have used full diacritics
when discussing terminology and nomenclature, even in
the case of place names. All translations are my own unless
otherwise indicated.
This article grew out of a series of discussions on the Nusretiye
with Edhem Eldem, and I owe him a great debt of gratitude for
his generous help and interest at every stage of the project and
particularly for his comments on an earlier draft. I should also
like to thank Sami De Giosa and Alison Ohta for inviting me
to present a paper on this topic at the Royal Asiatic Society in
London, where I received much useful feedback. I am likewise
grateful to Tim Stanley for his helpful suggestions, which have
made my text more readable, and to Serpil Bağcı for her kind
assistance in tracking down images. As always, I thank Andrew
Halladay for his tireless encouragement and support.
My interest in better understanding the Nusretiye and its
circumstances goes back to my first scholarly encounter with
the building under the tutelage of Doris Behrens-Abouseif,
who defied long-standing art-historical prejudice by featuring
late Ottoman architecture among the material she taught her
students. Her inclusion of the Nusretiye was motivated by more
than just a sense of curricular conscientiousness, however; she
also made amply clear that the mosque was one of her very
favourites, thus claiming her place alongside its numerous
admirers. It is particularly appropriate, then, that my present
investigation of this remarkable monument —already so
meaningful to Doris— should be dedicated to her.
1. For the architectural transformation of Istanbul in the
nineteenth century, see Çelik, Z., The Remaking of Istanbul: Portrait
of an Ottoman City in the Nineteenth Century, Seattle and London,
1986; and Ersoy, A.A., Architecture and the Late Ottoman Historical
Imaginary: Reconfiguring the Architectural Past in a Modernizing Empire,
Farnham and Burlington, 2015.
2. Compare, for example, John Freely’s treatment of the Nusretiye
with his descriptions of later Balian mosques: Freely, J., A History
of Ottoman Architecture, Southampton, 2010, pp.398–405.
3. Most of these sources state or assume that the mosque was
completed after the janissaries’ demise: see, for example, Eyice,
S., ‘Nusretiye Camii’, in Türkiye Diyanet Vakfı İslâm Ansiklopedisi
33, Istanbul, 2007, p.275; Goodwin, G., A History of Ottoman
Architecture, London, 1971, p.417; Sumner-Boyd, H. and Freely,
J., Strolling through Istanbul: A Guide to the City, Istanbul, 1972,
pp.467–68 (republished in expanded form as Strolling through
Istanbul: The Classic Guide to the City, London and New York,
2010, pp.416–17); Taylor, J., Imperial Istanbul: A Traveller’s Guide,
London and New York, 2007, p.208; and Tuğlacı, P., The Role of
the Balian Family in Ottoman Architecture, Istanbul, 1990, p.47. Also
see notes 45 and 81 below.
4. For the foundry and its significance, see Ágoston, G., Guns
for the Sultan: Military Power and the Weapons Industry in the
Ottoman Empire, Cambridge, 2005, pp.183–86; Aran, A. and
Yetişkin Kubilay, A., ‘Tophane-i Âmire’, in Dünden Bugüne
İstanbul Ansiklopedisi 7, Istanbul, 1994, pp.278–79; Rüstem, Ü.,
110
Architecture for a New Age: Imperial Ottoman Mosques in Eighteenth-
Century Istanbul, unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Harvard University,
2013, pp.115–18; and Tunç, S., Tophâne-i Âmire ve Osmanlı Devletin
Top Döküm Faaliyetleri, Istanbul, 2004, pp.20–27.
5. Necipoğlu, G., The Age of Sinan: Architectural Culture in the Ottoman
Empire, London, 2011, pp.428–38.
6. Most famous among these is the engraving by Antoine-
Ignace Melling in his Voyage pittoresque de Constantinople et des
rives du Bosphore, Paris, Strasbourg, and London, 1819, pl.22,
reproduced in Hamadeh, S., The City’s Pleasures: Istanbul in
the Eighteenth Century, Seattle and London, 2008, p.140. For
discussion of the Tophane Fountain, see Hamadeh, S., City’s
Pleasures, pp.76–109 passim; and Rüstem, Ü., Architecture for a New
Age, pp.97–100.
7. For Selim’s barracks and the mosque accompanying them, see
Aran, A. and Yetişkin Kubilay, A., ‘Tophane-i Âmire’, p.279;
Arslan [Sevin], N., Gravür ve Seyahatnamelerde İstanbul: 18. Yüzyıl
Sonu ve 19. Yüzyıl, Istanbul, 1992, pp.196–99; Arslan Sevin, N.,
Gravürlerde Yaşayan Osmanlı, Ankara, 2006, p.240 and fıgs.180–
81; and [Tanman, M.B.], Uzun Öyküler: Melling ve Dunn’ın
Panoramalarında İstanbul [Long Stories: İstanbul in the Panoramas of
Melling and Dunn], Istanbul, 2008, pp.74–75. For such new-
style Ottoman barracks more generally, see MacFarlane, C.,
Constantinople in 1828: A Residence of Sixteen Months in the Turkish
Capital and Provinces [...], London, 1829, pp.288–91; Trant, T.A.,
Narrative of a Journey through Greece in 1830 [...], London, 1830,
pp.396–97; and Kuban, D., Ottoman Architecture, Mill, A. (trans.),
Woodbridge, 2010, pp.552–57.
8. While work on the mosque began in June, the reconstruction
of the barracks commenced within days of the fire and was
completed a year later: see Ayvansarayi, H., enlarged by Satı,
A., The Garden of the Mosques: Hafız Hüseyin al-Ayvansarayî’s Guide
to the Muslim Monuments of Ottoman Istanbul, Crane, H. (trans. and
ed.), Leiden, Boston, and Cologne, 2000, pp.384, 386.
9. For the Balian family and their works, see Tuğlacı, P., Role of
the Balian Family; and Wharton, A., The Architects of Ottoman
Constantinople: The Balyan Family and the History of Ottoman
Architecture, London and New York, 2015.
10. For descriptions and images of the Nusretiye Mosque and its
complex, see Ali Satı’s entry in Ayvansarayi, H., Garden of the
Mosques, pp.384–85; Eyice, S., ‘Nusretiye Camii’, pp.274–76,
Goodwin, G., History of Ottoman Architecture, pp.417–18; Kuban,
D., Ottoman Architecture, pp.631–33; Suner, Y., ‘Nusretiye
Camii’, in Dünden Bugüne İstanbul Ansiklopedisi 6, Istanbul, 1994,
pp.105–07; Tuğlacı, P., Role of the Balian Family, pp.47–52;
Wharton, A., Architects of Ottoman Constantinople, pp.103–05;
‘Nusretiye Camii’, Archnet, http://archnet.org/sites/3482; and
Eski İstanbul Fotoğrafları Arşivi, http://eski.istanbulium.net/
tagged/nusretiye%20camii.
11. For further examples, see Kuban, D., Ottoman Architecture,
pp.553–54; and Rüstem, Ü., Architecture for a New Age, pp.346–47.
12. A court history written by Hafız Hızır İlyas (d.1864) tells us
that the mosque bequeathed by Selim ‘was originally not large
enough’ (ʿan aṣl vüsʿatsiz olmaġla) and that Mahmud undertook
 v i c t o ry i n t h e m a k i n g : t h e s y m b o l i s m
o f i s ta n bu l ’ s n u s r e t i y e m o s qu e
to remedy this shortcoming after the fire, believing that ‘the
creation in that district of a mosque with two minarets would be
counted as a good work’ (o ṭarafda iki mināreli bir cāmiʿ īcād olunması
maḥsenātdan taʿdād olunacaġından). In the same vein, the author
describes the rebuilding as ‘the cause of transformation and
rectification’ (sebeb-i taʿdīl ü tesviye), presumably with reference to
the site. See İlyas, H., Osmanlı Sarayında Gündelik Hayat: Letâif-i
Vekayi’-i Enderûniyye, Şükrü Çoruk, A. (ed.), Istanbul, 2011,
p.395. While Hızır İlyas may be overstating the deficiencies
of the earlier structure for the sake of flattering Mahmud, the
new mosque’s scale and prominence must have been decisive
markers of its superiority, from the perspective of both patron
and viewer.
13. For the barracks, see Aran, A. and Yetişkin Kubilay, A.,
‘Tophane-i Âmire’, pp.279–80; and Arslan [Sevin], N., Gravür ve
Seyahatnamelerde İstanbul, p.249. Historical images do not give a
definitive sense of the barracks’ appearance, and it is clear that
they were modified on several occasions. The best indication of
their original form is provided by a drawing executed between
1835 and 1836 by Coke Smyth (d.1882) and later lithographed
by John Frederick Lewis (d.1876), for which see Figure 4 of the
present article. For another relatively early view, see [Tanman,
M.B.], Uzun Öyküler, pp.92–95 (although, as Coke’s depiction
shows, the text is mistaken in stating that the barracks were
entirely set back from the shore). As I shall discuss presently in
the main text, the barracks underwent their most significant
changes after a fire in 1863.
14. With the exception of Goodwin, G., History of Ottoman
Architecture, p.419, the scholarly literature seems invariably
to mention only the present tower, built by Abdülmecid, but
Mahmud’s tower, which was a pagoda-like structure perhaps
made of wood, is depicted and exultantly described as a sign of
Ottoman progress in Allom, T. and Walsh, R., Constantinople
and the Scenery of the Seven Churches of Asia Minor Illustrated, London
and Paris, 1838, vol.1, p.75 (for the illustration, see Figure 7 of
the present article). The tower’s absence from the view drawn
by Coke in about 1835 provides us with a date range for its
construction.
15. The tower was designed by Krikor’s son Nigoghos (d.1858)
and the pavilion by the English architect William James Smith
(d.1884); see Can, C., ‘Tophane Kasrı’, in Dünden Bugüne İstanbul
Ansiklopedisi 7, Istanbul, 1994, p.277; Tuğlacı, P., Role of the
Balian Family, pp.391–93; and Wharton, A., Architects of Ottoman
Constantinople, pp.38, 81.
16. Eyice, S., ‘Nusretiye Camii’, p.275.
17. Aran, A. and Yetişkin Kubilay, A., ‘Tophane-i Âmire’, p.280;
and the images in Tuğlacı, P., Role of the Balian Family, pp.77–78
(the text conflates the offices with the associated though separate
barracks).
18. The completion date of the fountain and timekeeper’s room
is recorded in their inscriptions, for which see note 46 below.
Photographs taken in 1854 or 1855 by James Robertson (d.1888)
show both structures in their original location —more or less
opposite the viewing pavilion of the parade ground— with their
original broad-eaved roofs; see ‘Street of Tophanna [Tophane,
Istanbul, Turkey]’, Royal Collection Trust, http://www.
royalcollection.org.uk/collection/2700800/street-of-tophanna-
tophane-istanbul-turkey; and Suner, Y., ‘Nusretiye Sebili’, in
Dünden Bugüne İstanbul Ansiklopedisi 6, Istanbul, 1994, p.107.
111
.
19. For images documenting these changes, see Abdul Hamid
II Collection, Library of Congress, http://www.loc.gov/
pictures/item/2001699651/, http://www.loc.gov/pictures/
item/2003672009/, http://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/
2003672010/, http://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/2003672025/,
http://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/2003672029/, http://www.
loc.gov/pictures/item/2003672033/ and the websites cited in
note 10 above. In the twentieth century, the munitions factory
was converted into warehouses and then into a plant for the
Ford Motor Company before being demolished and replaced
by modern warehouses, which still stand today: see Odman, A.,
‘Galata Rıhtımı’nda “Modern Zamanlar”: Ford’un Tophane
Otomobil Montaj Fabrikası 1925–1944’ [“Modern Times”
at the Galata Docks: Ford’s Automotive Assembly Plant in
Tophane 1925–1944]’, in Exchange, İstanbul–Marseille: Endüstri
Mirasını Görünür ve Anlaşılır Kılmak [Industrial Architectural Heritage
Developing Awareness and Visibility], exhibition catalogue, Istanbul,
2011, pp.106–21, especially pp.112, 114.
20. For Mahmud’s reign and reforms, see Aksan, V.H., Ottoman
Wars, 1700–1870: An Empire Besieged, London and New York,
2007, pp.259–398; Finkel, C., Osman’s Dream: The Story of the
Ottoman Empire 1300–1923, London, 2005, pp.422–46; Shaw,
S.J. and Shaw, E.K., History of the Ottoman Empire and Modern
Turkey, vol.2, Reform, Revolution, and Republic: The Rise of Modern
Turkey, 1808–1975, Cambridge and New York, 1977, pp.1–54;
and Yılmaz, C. (ed.), II. Mahmud: Yeniden Yapılanma Sürecinde
İstanbul [Istanbul in the Process of Being Rebuilt], Istanbul, 2010.
21. Aksan, V.H., Ottoman Wars, pp.180–258; and Finkel, C., Osman’s
Dream, pp.389–422.
22. Aksan, V.H., Ottoman Wars, pp.259–65.
23. Aksan, V.H., Ottoman Wars, pp.288–99, 306–13; and Shaw,
S.J. and Shaw, E.K., History of the Ottoman Empire, pp.17–19. For
the impact of Muhammad ʿAli’s own modernising programme
on the art and architecture of Egypt, see Behrens-Abouseif,
D., ‘The Visual Transformation of Egypt during the Reign of
Muhammad ʿAli’, in Behrens-Abouseif, D. and Vernoit, S. (eds.),
Islamic Art in the 19th Century: Tradition, Innovation, and Eclecticism,
Leiden and Boston, 2006, pp.109–29.
24. See Ágoston, G., ‘Military Acculturation’, in Ágoston, G. and
Masters, B. (eds.), Encyclopedia of the Ottoman Empire, New York,
2009, p.381; and Aksan, V.H., Ottoman Wars, pp.198–206,
315–16. The related corps of bombardiers (ḫumbaracıyān) had
an even longer history of modernisation that began in 1735
under the guidance of Claude-Alexandre, Comte de Bonneval
(d.1747), a French army officer who converted to Islam and
served the Ottoman Empire as Humbaracı Ahmed Pasha; see
Ágoston, G., ‘Military Acculturation’, p.381; and Ágoston, G.,
Guns for the Sultan, p.40.
25. Ágoston, G., ‘Military Acculturation’, pp.316–17; and Shaw, S.J.
and Shaw, E.K., History of the Ottoman Empire, p.19.
26. The document, which is housed in the Prime Ministry Ottoman
Archive, Istanbul (henceforth BOA), is incorrectly catalogued as
pertaining to the construction of the Nusretiye itself; see HAT,
1553/46, dated 29 Dhu’l-Hijja 1235 (7 October 1820).
27. Aksan, V.H., Ottoman Wars, p.315.
28. ‘Constantinople, March 13’, The Times, London, 13 April 1826,
p.2. The dispatch is acknowledged as being translated from
 ü n v e r rü s t e m
L’Étoile, Paris, 11 April 1826. I have not had the opportunity to
track down the French original.
29. The Nusretiye’s resemblance to the Nuruosmaniye is noted in
Marchebeus, Voyage de Paris à Constantinople par bateaux à vapeur
[...], Paris, 1839, p.160, where the author, a French architect,
opines that the later mosque is more exquisitely fashioned than
its forerunner. For the Nuruosmaniye Mosque and its impact,
see Ayvansarayi, H., Garden of the Mosques, pp.24–25; Goodwin,
G., History of Ottoman Architecture, pp.382–87; Hocchut, P., Die
Moschee Nûruosmâniye in Istanbul: Beiträge zur Baugeschichte nach
osmanischen Quellen, Berlin, 1986; Kuban, D., Ottoman Architecture,
pp.526–36; Peker, A.U., ‘Return of the Sultan: Nuruosmânîye
Mosque and the Istanbul Bedestan’, in Bilsel, C. et al. (eds.),
Constructing Cultural Identity, Representing Social Power, Pisa, 2010,
pp.139–57; Rüstem, Ü., Architecture for a New Age, pp.159–252;
and Suman, F.S., ‘Questioning an “Icon of Change”: The
Nuruosmaniye Complex and the Writing of Ottoman
Architectural History’, METU Journal of the Faculty of Architecture
28, no. 2, 2011–2012, pp.145–66.
30. Kuran, A., ‘The Evolution of the Sultan’s Pavilion in Ottoman
Imperial Mosques’, Islamic Art 4, 1990–1991, pp.281–301; and
Rüstem, Ü., Architecture for a New Age, pp.314–69.
31. Rüstem, Ü., Architecture for a New Age, pp.342–44.
32. See Ali Satı’s entry in Ayvansarayi, H., Garden of the Mosques,
p.481; and Rüstem, Ü., Architecture for a New Age, pp.344–45.
Much of the literature —including my own dissertation—
misdates this renovation to 1810–1811.
33. For the Selimiye Mosque and its complex, see Ali Satı’s entry
in Ayvansarayi, H., Garden of the Mosques, p.495; Batur, S.,
‘Selimiye Camii’, in Dünden Bugüne İstanbul Ansiklopedisi 6,
Istanbul, 1994, pp.512–15; Goodwin, G., History of Ottoman
Architecture, p.413; Kuban, D., Ottoman Architecture, p.545;
Ramazanoğlu, M.G., ‘Selimiye Camii ve Külliyesi’, in Türkiye
Diyanet Vakfı İslâm Ansiklopedisi 36, Istanbul, 2009, pp.434–36;
and Rüstem, Ü., Architecture for a New Age, pp.359–69.
34. Batur, A., ‘Selimiye Kışlası’, in Dünden Bugüne İstanbul
Ansiklopedisi 6, Istanbul, 1994, pp.515–16; and Ramazanoğlu,
M.G., ‘Selimiye Kışlası’, in Türkiye Diyanet Vakfı İslâm
Ansiklopedisi 36, Istanbul, 2009, pp.436–37.
35. Cevdet, A., Tārīḫ-i Cevdet, revised edition, Istanbul, 1302–
1309/1884–1891, vol.8, p.68.
36. MacFarlane, C., Constantinople in 1828, pp.289–90; Batur, S.,
‘Selimiye Kışlası’; Kuban, A., Ottoman Architecture, p.555 (where,
however, it is incorrectly stated that the barracks’ reconstruction
began in 1825); and Ramazanoğlu, M.G., ‘Selimiye Kışlası’.
37. See Ali Satı’s entry in Ayvansarayi, H., Garden of the Mosques,
p.385 (though the hijrī date is wrongly converted).
38. The impressive height and slenderness of the minarets
are frequently remarked upon in the travel literature; see,
for example, von Moltke, H.K.B., Briefe über Zustände und
Begebenheiten in der Türkei aus den Jahren 1835 bis 1839, Berlin,
Posen, and Bromberg, 1841, p.26; White, C., Three Years in
Constantinople; or, Domestic Manners of the Turks in 1844, London,
1845, vol.1, p.242; Gautier, T., Constantinople of To-day, Gould,
R. H. (trans.), London, 1854, p.78; and Barth, H., Konstantinopel,
Leipzig, 1901, p.166. The minarets are criticised as attenuated
in Joanne, A. and Isambert, É., Itinéraire descriptif, historique
112
et archéologique de l’Orient, Paris, 1861, p.384; and De Paris à
Constantinople, Paris, 1886, p.190.
39. The connection to the Empire Style was observed as early as
the late nineteenth century in a French guidebook to Istanbul;
see De Paris à Constantinople, p.190. For the use of Neoclassical
modes in Istanbul’s nineteenth-century architecture more
generally, see Çelik, Z., The Remaking of Istanbul, pp.126–43; and
Ersoy, A.A., Architecture and the Late Ottoman Historical Imaginary,
pp.200–05.
40. For example, Duckett, W.A., La Turquie pittoresque: Histoire –
mœurs – description, Paris, 1855, p.217; Joanne, A. and Isambert,
E., Itinéraire descriptif, p.384; and De Paris à Constantinople, p.190.
Duckett opines that the Nusretiye ‘is distinguished by its
modern style of construction from all the other mosques, for
which St. Sophia has served as a model’.
41. Barth, H., Konstantinopel, pp.165–66.
42. Daniş, M., Neticetü’l-Vekayiʿ, transliterated and discussed in
Mutlu, S. (ed.), Yeniçeri Ocağının Kaldırılışı ve II. Mahmud’un Edirne
Seyahati: Mehmed Dâniş Bey ve Eserleri, Istanbul, 1994, pp.16–26,
41–80.
43. Daniş, M., Neticetü’l-Vekayiʿ, pp.42–43.
44. A week later, on the first Friday of Ramadan, the mosque
was further honoured with a visit by the grand vizier, who
had already presided over a ceremony held there the previous
year to mark the start of the raising of the dome. See Esʿad
Efendi, Vak‘a-nüvı ŝ Es‘ad Efendi Tarihi (Bâhir Efendi’nin Zeyl ve
İlâveleriyle), 1237–1241/1821–1826, Yılmazer, Z. (ed.), Istanbul,
2000, pp.460–61, 534–39. For other historical accounts of the
inauguration, see İlyas, H., Osmanlı Sarayında Gündelik Hayat,
pp.395–97; and Ali Satı’s entry in Ayvansarayi, H., Garden of the
Mosques, pp.384–85. The inauguration was a grander version
of the weekly selāmlıḳ, the sultan’s ceremonial public attendance
of Friday prayers, for relevant descriptions of which see
MacFarlane, C., Constantinople in 1828, pp.250–51; and Rüstem,
Ü., Architecture for a New Age, pp.342–44.
45. Even so, certain scholars who are aware of the mosques having
been inaugurated before the ‘Auspicious Incident’ state or
suggest that it was (re)named after the event; see Gurallar, N.,
‘Sultan II. Mahmut ve İstanbul’da Dönüşüm’, Mostar 74, April
2011, http://www.mostar.com.tr/koseDetaylar.aspx?id=770;
and Tuğlacı, P., Osmanlı Mimarlığında Balyan Ailesi’nin Rolü,
Istanbul, 1993, p.47 (where the author contradicts the English
edition of the same book; see note 3 above). The impossibility of
this notion is discussed in Eldem, E., Pride and Privilege: A History
of Ottoman Orders, Medals and Decorations, Istanbul, 2004, p.137.
46. Cāmiʿ-i Nuṣret ola nāmı bu vālā maʿbediñ / Eyleye bānīsini manṣūr
Rabbü’l-ʿālemīn. For a transliteration of the entire inscription,
which was calligraphed by the famous Yesarizade Mustafa İzzet
Efendi (d.1849), see Ayvansarayi, H., enlarged by Satı A. and
Besim, S., Hadîkatü’l-Cevâmî‘: İstanbul Câmileri ve Diğer Dînî-Sivil
Mi‘mârî Yapılar, Galitekin, A. N. (ed.), Istanbul, 2001, p.463,
note. For the inscriptions of the complex more generally, see
Raʾif, M., Mirʾat-ı İstanbul, Istanbul, 1314/1896, pp.354–58; and
Database for Ottoman Inscriptions, http://www.ottomaninscriptions.
com/information.aspx?ref=list&bid=976&hid=4307.
47. Esʿad Efendi, Vak‘a-nüvı ŝ Es‘ad Efendi Tarihi, pp.537–38.
48. For an image and partial transcription of the document, which
 v i c t o ry i n t h e m a k i n g : t h e s y m b o l i s m
o f i s ta n bu l ’ s n u s r e t i y e m o s qu e
is in the Topkapı Palace Archive (E. 4301/1–2), see Mutlu, S.
(ed.), Yeniçeri Ocağının Kaldırılışı ve II. Mahmud’un Edirne Seyahati:
Mehmed Dâniş Bey ve Eserleri, Istanbul, 1994, pp.16–18, note 35,
p.130.
49. ʿAcabā ḳaṣr-ı şāhāne ve sefāyin-i hümāyūndan biriniñ ismi-midir
deyü īrās -̱ ı şübheden ḫālī değildir. It is interesting in light of this
concern that the name Nuṣretiyye, which İzzet includes in the
list of options concluding his memorandum (see note 70 below),
would be given to an Ottoman frigate built in 1835. It appears,
then, that an appellative overlap between mosque and warship
ultimately came to be sought rather than avoided. For the
Nusretiye frigate, see von Moltke, H.K.B., Briefe, pp.125–26;
and Langensiepen, B. and Güleryüz, A., The Ottoman Steam Navy,
1828–1923, Cooper, J. (trans. and ed.), London, 1995, pp.1, 4,
193.
50. Elfāẓ-ı müteberreke ile tesmiye buyrulsa münāsebet mevḳiʿden baʿīd olur.
51. Fi’l-haḳīḳa Ṭobḫāne-i ʿAmire’de olup esnā-yı fevz ü nuṣretde resīde-i
derece-i tekmīl olduġundan tefeʾʾülen ve teyemmünen Cāmiʿ-i Nuṣret tesmiyesi
ṣanirim-ki . . . ḥażret-i ḫilāfetpenāhīye çihre-nümā-yı beşāret olur.
52. Aksan, V.H., Ottoman Wars, pp.293–94, 316; and St Clair,
W., That Greece Might Still Be Free: The Philhellenes in the War of
Independence, revised edition, Cambridge, 2008, pp.108–09, 170,
238, 241–43. I am grateful to Edhem Eldem for suggesting the
possibility of a connection to Missolonghi. It is telling in this
regard that the dispatch in The Times that refers to the mosque’s
imminent completion is paired with another about the fall of
Missolonghi: see ‘Constantinople, March 13’ and ‘London,
Thursday, April 13, 1826’, The Times, London, 13 April 1826, p.2.
53. The tradition of founding a sultanic mosque ‘as a pledge to
be fulfilled in return for awaited triumph’ went back to the
fourteenth century; see Necipoğlu, G., Age of Sinan, p.60.
54. Tefeʾʾülen Cāmiʿ-i Nuṣret ile tesmiye buyurduḳları [...]; Esʿad Efendi,
Vak‘a-nüvı ŝ Es‘ad Efendi Tarihi, p.534.
55. Belki tobculara da bāʿis -̱ i tarżiye gibi olmaġın; İlyas, H., Osmanlı
Sarayında Gündelik Hayat, p.395.
56. Cevdet, A., Tārīḫ, vol.12, pp.144–45.
57. For modern scholarship on these events, see Aksan, V.H.,
Ottoman Wars, pp.313–36; Reed, H.A., The Destruction of the
Janissaries by Mahmud II in June 1826, unpublished Ph.D. thesis.,
Princeton University, 1951; Shaw, S.J. and Shaw, E.K., History
of the Ottoman Empire, pp.19–24; and Şakul, K., ‘Auspicious
Incident’, in Ágoston, G. and Masters, B. (eds.), Encyclopedia of
the Ottoman Empire, New York, 2009, pp.60–61. For historical
accounts, see Daniş, M., Neticetü’l-Vekayiʿ, pp.41–80; Esʿad
Efendi, Üss-i Zafer: Yeniçeriliğin Kaldırılmasına Dair, Arslan, M.
(ed.), Istanbul, 2005; Esʿad Efendi, Vak‘a-nüvı ŝ Es‘ad Efendi Tarihi,
pp.569–617; and ‘Turkey’, The Gentleman’s Magazine and Historical
Chronicle 96, part 2, July–December 1826, pp.66–68.
58. Esʿad Efendi, Üss-i Zafer, p.83; Esʿad Efendi, Vak‘a-nüvı ŝ Es‘ad
Efendi Tarihi, p.614; Cevdet, A., Tārīḫ, vol.12, p.166; and Reed,
H.A., ‘Destruction of the Janissaries’, p.238.
59. ‘Turquie’, Journal des débats, 26 July 1826, [p.1].
60. Our knowledge of the original name(s) of the Laleli Mosque,
built between 1760 and 1764 by Mustafa III (r.1757–1774),
likewise derives from unique sources; see Rüstem, Ü., Architecture
for a New Age, pp.264–66.
113
.
61. See Ali Satı’s entry in Ayvansarayi, H., Garden of the Mosques,
p.496.
62. Writing of the First Constitutional Era (1876–1878) in his
memoirs, the Ottoman general and grand vizier Ahmed Muhtar
Pasha (d.1919) mentions a visit by the sultan to ‘the Adliye
Mosque in Tophane’, by which he can mean only the Nusretiye;
Muhtar, A., Anılar 2: Sergüzeşt-i Hayatım’ın Cild-i Sanisi, Demirel,
Y. (trans.) and Akbayar, N. (ed.), Istanbul, 1996, p.6.
63. Fātiḥ is the normal Ottoman word for ‘conqueror’, but one
heavily associated with Mehmed II. Fetḥī —which Redhouse’s
Lexicon defines as ‘[p]ertaining to conquest’— had currency as a
surname and would have complemented the identically formed
ʿadlī. Relevant in this regard is the travel account written by
Antoine-François Andréossy (d.1828), French ambassador to
the Porte, who tells us that Mahmud, following his triumph
over the janissaries, ‘took the title of Fèthy (vanquisher) and
added it to his cypher, Toura [tughra] —where previously only
that of Adly ( just) could be seen— as it appears on money’.
See Andréossy, A.F., Constantinople et le Bosphore de Thrace [...],
Paris, 1828, pp.66–67; and ‘Glance at the Internal State of
the Turkish Empire’, The Asiatic Journal and Monthly Register
for British India and Its Dependencies 26, no. 154, October 1828,
p.438. Despite Andréossy’s intimate knowledge of the Ottoman
Empire, I have found no further evidence (other than later
European sources that merely borrow the claim) that such an
appellation was adopted by or used of Mahmud, much less
that any coin was stuck bearing it (coins with ʿadlī, on the other
hand, were indeed minted). It is likely, then, that Andréossy’s
words represent a misunderstanding or elaboration of a genuine
piece of information related to —or perhaps even the same
as— that underlying the Journal des débats report. Whether or
not the title was ever officially approved, it appears that fetḥī was
at least being mooted as a royal epithet in the aftermath of the
‘Auspicious Incident’. For the use of ʿadlī on Mahmud’s coinage,
see Damalı, A., Osmanli Sikkeleri Tarihi [History of Ottoman Coins],
Ankara and Istanbul, 2010–2014, vol.8, pp.2758–62; and Ölçer,
C., Sultan Mahmud II Zamanında Darp Edilen Osmanli Madeni
Paraları, H. 1223–1255, M. 1808–1839, Istanbul, 1970, pp.136,
145, note 17.
64. Rüstem, Ü., Architecture for a New Age, pp.159–60.
65. Some in Mahmud’s time certainly regarded his defeat of
the janissaries as a sort of conquest: besides the French case
discussed in note 63 above, we have an eyewitness Ottoman
account of the ‘Auspicious Incident’ and the events surrounding
it entitled Gülzār-ı Fütūḥāt (Rose Garden of Conquests), for
which see Şirvanlı Fatih Efendi, Gülzâr-ı Fütûhât: Bir Görgü
Tanığının Kalemiyle Yeniçeri Ocağı’nın Kaldırılışı (İnceleme, Tahlil,
Metin), Beyhan, M.A. (ed.), Istanbul, 2001. Given that the
traditional Ottoman notion of conquest pertained to victories
over infidel enemies, it is relevant to note that the janissaries —
already vilified for their heterodox leanings— were accused of
having been infiltrated by Christians. Indeed, the edict read out
after their demise claimed that some of the corps’ slain members
had been discovered with crosses tattooed on their arms. See
Aksan, V.H., Ottoman Wars, pp.318, 322.
66. White, C., Three Years in Constantinople, vol.1, p. 243.
67. De Paris à Constantinople, p.131. The mosque is called by the
same name in Barth, H., Constantinople, Paris, 1903, p.146. It is
referred to elsewhere as the Mosque of Mahmud; see Duckett,
 ü n v e r rü s t e m
W.A., Turquie pittoresque, p.217; and Joanne, A. and Isambert, É.,
Itinéraire descriptif, p.384.
68. Eyice, S., ‘Nusretiye Camii’, p.275, based on Eyice’s entry on
the same subject in Türk Ansiklopedisi 25, Ankara, 1977, p.354.
Indeed, a short piece on the Nusretiye written by Ahmet Refik
(d.1937) in 1936 is entitled ‘Tophane Camii’ (see note 72 below).
A number of nineteenth-century European sources also refer
to the building as the Mosque/mosque of Tophane, though it
is not always clear whether the toponym is being treated as the
monument’s actual name or merely as a locational descriptor;
see Boulden, J.E.P., An American among the Orientals: Including
an Audience with the Sultan, and a Visit to the Interior of a Harem,
Philadelphia, 1855, p.155; Bazancourt, C.L., The Crimean
Expedition, to the Capture of Sebastopol: Chronicles of the War in the
East, from Its Commencement to the Signing of the Treaty of Peace,
Gould, R. H. (ed.), London, 1856, vol.1, p.75; and Hornby,
E., Constantinople during the Crimean War, London, 1863, p.340.
Unusually in relation to other Ottoman sources, which prefer
the official name, the famous photograph collections that
Abdülhamid II (r.1876–1909, d.1918) gave to the British and
Americans between 1893 and 1894 label the Nusretiye in
both Turkish and French as the Mosque of Tophane; see Abdul
Hamid II Collection, Library of Congress, http://www.loc.gov/
pictures/item/2001699651/, http://www.loc.gov/pictures/
item/2003663360. The matter is complicated by the fact that
other Ottoman sources often referred to the nearby Kılıç Ali
Pasha Mosque as the Mosque of Tophane; see, for example,
Ayvansarayi, H., Garden of the Mosques, p.381; and Raʾif, M.,
Mirʾāt-ı İstanbul, p.358.
69. This is in contrast to the sultanic mosque of Mustafa III, which
quickly shook off any sort of official appellation and came to be
known even in governmental documents as the Laleli Mosque,
in reference to its location; see Rüstem, Ü., Architecture for a New
Age, pp.264–66.
70. İzzet treats Nuṣretiyye as a separate name from his favoured
Nuṣret, including it in the list of alternatives with which he
concludes the document. Nevertheless, use of the adjectival form
evidently developed out of, rather than separately from, the
official appellation, for the reasons I discuss.
71. In official Ottoman documents, the name Nuṣret remained
common, and perhaps usual, in the decades immediately
following the mosque’s construction, with Nuṣretiyye gaining
ground during the second half of the nineteenth century. For
examples of both usages, see BOA, İ.DH., 479/32183, dated 17
Rabiʿ I 1278 (22 September 1861); and İ.DH., 627/43623, dated
21 Dhu’l-Qaʿda 1287 (11 February 1871). For early examples
of the form ‘Nusretiye’ in Western sources, see ‘Türkei’, Grätzer
Zeitung, 3 August 1839, [p.2]; and ‘Constantinopoli’, Ristretto
Dei Foglietti Universali, 25 April 1845, [p.1]. It is notable in this
regard that the name of the Nuruosmaniye (Nūr-ı ʿOsm ̱āniyye)
Mosque was similarly changed from its original form of Nūr-ı
̱ ānī; see Rüstem, Ü., Architecture for a New Age, pp.159–60,
ʿOs m
note 3.
72. Moltke, H.K.B., Briefe, p.26; and Refik [Altınay], A., ‘Tophane
Camii’, in Yücel, T. (ed.), Kafes ve Ferâce Devrinde İstanbul,
Istanbul, 1998, pp.127–29. The name is likewise glossed in
White, C., Three Years in Constantinople, vol.1, p.242.
73. Arslan, M., ‘Yeniçeriliğin Kaldırılmasına Dair Edebî Bir
Metin: Aynî’nin Manzum Nusretnâme’si’, in Osmanlı Edebiyat,
114
Tarih, Kültür Makaleleri, Istanbul, 2000, pp.319–70. For further
examples of the use of nuṣret (and the synonymous ẓafer) in
relation to Mahmud’s destruction of the janissaries, see Esʿad
Efendi, Üss-i Zafer, pp.67–68; Dedes, Y., ‘Blame it on the
Turko-Romnioi (Turkish Rums): A Muslim Cretan Song on
the Abolition of the Janissaries’, in Balta, E. and Ölmez, M.
(eds.), Between Religion and Language: Turkish-Speaking Christians,
Jews and Greek-Speaking Muslims and Catholics in the Ottoman Empire,
Istanbul, 2011, p.351, note 65; and Erdoğan, M., ‘Yeniçeriliğin
Kaldırılısına Dair Tarihî ve Edebî Bir Eser: Emâre-i Zafer’,
Türkiyat Araştırmaları Dergisi 25, 2009, pp.71–107, especially
pp.77, 83, 93–95, 98–100, 102, 105.
74. MacFarlane, C., Constantinople in 1828, pp.250–51.
75. Quataert, D., ‘Clothing Laws, State, and Society in the
Ottoman Empire, 1720–1829’, International Journal of Middle East
Studies 29, no. 3, August 1997, pp.403–25.
76. The obverse bore the tughra (imperial monogram) and the
inscription Nişān-ı İftiḫār, ‘Order of Glory’. For discussion and
images of this medal, see Eldem, E., Pride and Privilege, pp.113,
136–38, 148.
77. Konya Mevlana Museum, inv. no.M. 114, fols.27b and 88b.
The album is dateable to the reign of Abdülmecid, the last
sultan to feature in it; see Bağcı, S., Çağman, F., Renda, G., and
Tanındı, Z., Ottoman Painting, Şeyhun, M.H. (trans.), Ankara,
2006, p.292.
78. As well as the various renovations mentioned above, the exterior
walls of the mosque itself were painted in an indeterminate
medium or dark hue from the late nineteenth to the early
twentieth century, a fact recorded in old black-and-white
photographs; in addition to Figures 5, 6, and 9 of the present
article, see the images at ‘Nusretiye Camii’, Archnet,
http://archnet.org/sites/3482.
79. As recounted in much fuller detail in Hornby, E., Constantinople
during the Crimean War, pp.339–42. The Nusretiye seems to
have been the normal venue for the celebration of Laylat al-
Qadr during the reigns of Mahmud’s sons Abdülmecid and
Abdülaziz; see Bazancourt, C.L., The Crimean Expedition, vol.1,
pp.75–76; ʿAli Rıza Bey, Eski Zamanlarda İstanbul Hayatı, Çoruk
A.Ş. (ed.), Istanbul, 2001, p.233; and Uşaklıgil, H.Z., Saray ve
Ötesi: Son Hatıralar, Istanbul, 1965, p.227.
80. The book is actually an English translation —perhaps by way
of an earlier French rendering— of the second edition of an
account of Istanbul written by Constantios I (d.1859), patriarch
of Constantinople, between 1830 and 1834. While the mosque
is admiringly mentioned in all three versions, only the English
writes that it was built ‘to commemorate the destruction of the
Janissaries’ and ‘called the Nusrettieh, or the “Victorious”’. This
interpolation must be attributed to the translator, John Porter
Brown (d.1872), who was secretary and first dragoman to the
American legation at the Sublime Porte. Given his familiarity
with the city and knowledge of Turkish, Brown’s editorial
intervention could very well be based on what he heard about
the building from the Ottomans themselves. See Constantios I,
Ancient and Modern Constantinople, Brown, J.P. (trans.), London,
1868, p.121; Constantios I, Constantiniade, ou, Description de
Constantinople ancienne et moderne, M.R. (trans.), Istanbul, 1846,
p.162; and Constantios I, Kōnstantinias palaia te kai neōtera,
ētoi, Perigraphē Kōnstantinoupoleōs, Istanbul, 1844, p.168. I am
 v i c t o ry i n t h e m a k i n g : t h e s y m b o l i s m
o f i s ta n bu l ’ s n u s r e t i y e m o s qu e
extremely grateful to George Manginis for providing me with a
careful translation of the Greek original.
81. Other than the book discussed in the preceding note, I have
identified only two sources from before the second half of
the twentieth century stating (without any citations) that the
Nusretiye commemorates the ‘Auspicious Incident’: Riggs,
C.T., ‘The Minarets of Constantinople’, Art and Archaeolog y
28, no. 4, October 1929, pp.141–42; and Chandler, D., ‘The
Transformation of Turkey: New Hats and New Alphabet are the
Surface Symbols of the Swiftest National Changes in Modern
Times’, The National Geographic Magazine 75, no. 1, January 1939,
p.23. The earliest claims to this effect that I have found in the
Turkish literature date to the start of the 1970s: Barutc̣u, Ö.,
İstanbul’un Tarihi ve Camileri, Ankara, 1970, p.115; and Ziyaoğlu,
R., İstanbul Kadıları – Şehreminleri – Belediye Reisleri ve Partiler
Tarihi, 1453–1971: İdarı ̂-Siyası ̂, Istanbul, 1971, p.468. The one
earlier Turkish commentary on the name that I encountered
—though it does not propound a link to the janissaries— comes
at the end of a short piece written by Ahmet Refik in 1936.
Discussing the mosque in light of Moltke’s description of it and
his interactions with Mahmud II, Refik concludes that the
115
.
name was a product of the sultan’s penchant for the army and
for military victory: see Refik [Altınay], A., ‘Tophane Camii’,
especially p.129; and note 72 above.
82. Cāmiʿ-i şerīf-i Nuṣret-redīf. BOA, HAT, 1569/41, dated 25 Jumada
I 1242 (25 December 1826). The same formulation occurs in
BOA, HAT, 1570/3, dated 4 Jumada II 1242 (2 January 1827).
83. Aksan, V.H., Ottoman Wars, pp.343–98; and Shaw, S.J. and
Shaw, E.K., History of the Ottoman Empire, pp.29–35. Ironically,
the elimination of the janissaries and the ensuing military
overhaul may have diverted Mahmud’s energies and resources
away from the Greek conflict, contributing to the Ottomans’
eventual defeat; see Aksan, V.H., Ottoman Wars, p.297.
84. In addition to the predictably eulogistic Ottoman sources
cited in notes 58 and 73 above, see, for example, Allom, T.
and Walsh, R., Constantinople, vol.1, pp.xxvi–xxviii; Andréossy,
A.F., Constantinople, pp.63–71; Boulden, J.E.P., An American
among the Orientals, pp.80–81; Constantios I, Ancient and
Modern Constantinople, p.121; and Riggs, C.T., ‘Minarets of
Constantinople’, pp.141–42.