DOI 10.1111/johs.

12150

SPECIAL ISSUE

The Maghrib’s Medieval Mariners and Sea Maps:

The Muqaddimah as a Primary Source
Tarek Kahlaoui

Islamic Art History at Rutgers University

Correspondence
Tarek Kahlaoui is an Assistant Professor of
Islamic Art History at Rutgers University
Email: tkahlaoui@gmail.com
Abstract
Ibn Khaldoun Muqaddimah’s richness includes an interesting insight
into an issue rarely discussed in the classical sources, that is pre‐
modern Muslim mariners ‐ notably those who are active in the
Western Mediterranean. This field has been carried out by actors
who are rarely concerned with writing down their expertise. The
practice is not usually depicted in the realm of the elite. Yet Ibn
Khaldoun took the time to discuss the life of these practioners,
which contributed to the heart of his methodology, and helped build
his theoretical views. It also gives us concrete information that sup-
ports the scattered cartographic and textual sources depicting the
important role of the Maghribi medieval mariners in shaping Islamic
maritime knowledge.

1 | I N T RO DU CT I O N

In the Muqaddimah’s section 32 “The ranks of royal and governmental authority and the titles that go with those
ranks” (of Chapter III: “On dynasties, royal authority, the caliphate, government ranks, and al l that goes with these
things”) we find an entry on “Admiralty” (Qiyadat al‐Asatil).1 This subject has been scarcely mentioned when it comes
to the historiography of the maritime activities of Muslims in the Mediterranean. According to mainstream scholar-
ship, using various sources including Ibn Khaldoun’s note on admiralty, the Muslim maritime presence in the
Mediterranean came to an abrupt end with the 13th century, or more precisely following the decline of the Almohad
dynasty (1121–1269 C.E.).2 As some already suggested Ibn Khaldoun’s paragraph on admiralty is used to point out the
relationship between a sophisticated bureaucratic system and the historical cycles.3 He relates the decline of the rank
of admiralty in the Islamic bureaucracy along with the Islamic maritime power in the Mediterranean to the decline of
the historical cycle of the major dynasties in the Maghrib. Yet Ibn Khaldoun’s notes on admiralty and other maritime
activities in his Muqaddimah when examined carefully indicate a nuance view correlating with evidence in the 14th
and 15th centuries which point to a surviving presence of maritime Islamic sea captains, mariners, and maritime map-
making in the Mediterranean in the post‐Almohad period.

J Hist Sociol. 2017;30:43–56. wileyonlinelibrary.com/journal/johs © 2017 John Wiley & Sons Ltd 43
44 KAHLAOUI

2 | I B N K H A L D O U N ’S N O T E S O N M A R I T I M E A C T I V I T I E S

The largest section Ibn Khaldoun talks about maritime activities is his note on “Admiralty” (Qiyadat al‐Asatil). He
points out from the beginning that the inhabitants of the Maghrib (Ifriqiyya as well) are among those who are the best
in navigation among those who inhabited the Mediterranean’s coasts. He supported this position by giving a brief his-
torical survey going back to the times of the Carthaginian‐Roman wars. Ibn Khaldoun emphasized the nomadic nature
of early Muslims as a major impediment for them to become skilled navigators in the early decades of Islam. Yet they
appropriated local maritime traditions notably in the Maghrib. “Every craftsman”, he says, “offered them his best ser-
vices. They employed seagoing nations for their maritime needs. Their own experience of the sea and of navigation
grew, and they turned out to be very expert… This was the special concern of the provinces and border regions closest
to the shores of the Mediterranean, such as Syria, Ifriqiyah, the Maghrib, and Spain.”4
For Ibn Khaldoun, the rising Islamic power in the Mediterranean went hand in hand with the Muslims’ master of
the art of navigation: “During all that (time), the Muslims were gaining control over the largest part of the high sea.
Their fleets kept coming and going, and the Muslim armies crossed the sea in ships from Sicily to the great mainland
opposite Sicily, on the northern shore..” With political decline, the importance of navigation declined as well. But even
then and by pointing to his time, Ibn Khaldoun was clear that the Maghrib was different as opposed to the Mashriq:

Eventually, however, the “Ubaydid (−Fatimid) and Umayyad dynasties weakened and softened and were
affected by infirmity… In Egypt and Syria, interest in the fleet weakened and eventually ceased to exist…
In consequence, the identity of the office of the admiralty was lost in those countries. It remained in
Ifriqiyah and the Maghrib, but only there. At the present time, the western Mediterranean has large
fleets and is very powerful. No enemy has trespassed on it or been able to do anything there.5

According to Ibn Khaldoun, during the time of the Almohads, notably when their admiral was the Jerban Ahmad
al‐Siqilli, it was the apogee, not the end, of the Maghrib’s influential presence in maritime activities: “In his period, the
Muslim fleet was of a size and quality never, to our knowledge, attained before or since.”
Ibn Khaldoun marks the beginning of the political decline in the Maghrib during the Marinids, not with the end of
the Almohads, which means during his own lifetime. This also marked the decline of maritime activities: “Then, the
naval strength of the Muslims declined once more, because of the weakness of the ruling dynasty. Maritime habits
were forgotten under the impact of the strong Bedouin attitude prevailing in the Maghrib, and as the result of the dis-
continuance of Spanish habits.” But the decline did not mean the end as he stated above when comparing the Maghrib
to the Mashriq (including during his lifetime). He stressed this point again by the end of his text on admiralty. Political
decline did not extinguish the navigational skills of Maghribis:

The rank (of admiral) has been preserved to this day in the dynasties of the Maghrib. There, the identity (of
the admiralty is still preserved), and how to take care of a fleet, how to build ships and navigate them, is
known. Perhaps some political opportunity will arise in the coastal countries, and the Muslims will (once
again) ask the wind to blow against unbelief and unbelievers.6

The other section of the Muqaddimah where Ibn Khaldoun refers to the mariners’ of his time was when he started
to describe the Idrisian World Map (Chapter I).7 Here he points very clearly to direct knowledge of maritime activities
and sea charts in one of the rarest examples in Islamic sources describing the ways and tools of the Maghribi naviga-
tors who are usually illiterate and thus did not leave extant literary sources.
When talking about the Islands located at the African Atlantic Ocean’s coasts in the first Climata, Ibn Khaldoun
seizes the opportunity to say what he knows about navigation:

These islands can be reached only by chance, and not intentionally by navigation. Navigation on the sea
depends on the winds. It depends on knowledge of the directions the winds blow from and where they
lead, and on following a straight course from the places that lie along the path of a particular wind.
KAHLAOUI 45

When the wind changes and it is known where a straight course along it will lead, the sails are set for it, and
the ship thus sails according to nautical norms evolved by the mariners (nuwatiyya) and sailors (mallahin)
who are in charge (ru’asa’ al‐sufun) of sea voyages.8

He knows very well that such navigational techniques are very much the traditions of the Mediterranean’s mar-
iners including Maghribi mariners. This is also the case of the maritime charts, which he probably saw first hand during
his travels in the Mediterranean:

The countries situated on the two shores of the Mediterranean are noted on a chart (sahifah) which
indicates the true facts regarding them and gives their positions along the coast in the proper order. The
various winds and their paths are likewise put down on the chart. This chart is called the “compass.” fit
It is on this (compass) that (sailors) rely on their voyages. Nothing of the sort exists for the Surrounding
Sea. Therefore, ships do not enter it, because, were they to lose sight of shore, they would hardly be able
to find their way back to it.9

3 | M A G H R I B I M A R I T I M E T R A D I T I ON S B E F O R E T H E 1 4 T H – 15 T H
CENTURIES

Maghribi mariners were known long before Ibn Khaldoun’s time as experienced navigators especially Andalusians.10
We can read in Al‐Muqaddasī’s observations based on his own trip in the Mediterranean:

The Andalusians are the best experts on it [the Mediterranean], and on its borders and its gulfs because
they travel in it and they raid on whoever is beyond [their territories]; it is through it that they travel to
Egypt and Al‐Shām. I traveled on their ships for a long time. I had consistently asked them about it and
its conditions and then I would show them what I heard from each other on which they never disagreed.
It is a difficult and stormy sea from which you hear an uproar especially Thursday nights.11

In this paragraph the sea seems to be scarier to Al‐Muqaddasī than to the Muslim sailors from Andalusia who are
described as “the best experts” among others like the Sicilians, who include Muslims, and the Rūm. This expertise is
highlighted with regard to the accessibility of the Mediterranean for navigation as opposed to the oceans. The
Mediterranean’s continuous coastlines, which is usually emphasized by Muslim geographers makes it possible to sail
not necessarily by winds but just by following the coastlines. This is reflected not only in the periplus and periplus‐like
treatises including the Islamic examples such as Al‐Bakrī and Al‐Idrīsī’s works, but also in the late medieval sea maps
where we have the series of ports and harbors marked next to each other along the Mediterranean coastlines. This
would explain the close relationship between North African geographers and maritime sources.
Some suggested Al‐Bakri’s geographic treatise “Al‐Masalik” as the proof not only for the existence of maritime
sources written in Arabic as early as the tenth century, but also for the possible usage of compasses with these mar-
itime sources as navigational aides.12 Basing himself on Al‐Bakri’s diagonal description of the western North African
coast in correspondence with the Iberian coast (e directo, ex opposito) he concluded that “Al‐Masalik” would be used
in navigation if supported by a compass. Even the error of such correspondence suggested the seriousness of
al‐Bakri’s sources because the error was systematic.13
The manuscript, titled Gharāʾib al‐Funūn wa Mulaḥ al‐ʿUyūn (translated The Book of Curiosities of the Sciences and
Marvels for the Eyes), is a remarkable source on the Mediterranean for its unique cartographic approach. Even
though its author is still unknown, its contents suggest a Maghribi approach to the Mediterranean.14 In the tenth
and last chapter of book one (“On the blowing of winds, earthquakes and tremors”) there is a diagram of a wind rose
that has information different than that provided in the text. While the text refers to the system of Arabic four
winds, the ṣabā (eastern), dabbūr (western), shimāl (northern), and janūb (southern), his diagram points to another
system, that is the Greek system of the 12 wind rose. This reference to the Greek traditional wind rose coincides
46 KAHLAOUI

with its popularity in the contemporary medieval geographic works. Yet, the question of the wind rose becomes
especially relevant because of the several instances in book two where winds are mentioned, notably in connection
with the description of the Mediterranean harbors and coasts. As noted by mainstream scholarship on maritime
sources, the field use by navigators can be recognized by the vulgar names of winds given within the system of
8 or 16 winds roses as opposed to the Greek ancient 12 winds roses of the rest of the medieval geographic
works.15
Chapter Six, which is titled “On the depiction of seas, their islands, and havens”, makes a direct link between the
depiction of seas and using mariners as a primary source in order to make such a depiction:

Although it is impossible for created beings to know the extent of God’s creation, the knowledgeable and
qualified among them are entrusted with witnessing or imparting a small part of it. We have only
mentioned here what we have heard from trustworthy (?) sailors, from which I selected and made my
own judgments; and from what had reached my ears from the wise merchants who traverse the seas,
and from any ship captain who leads his men at sea, I mentioned what I have knowledge of.16

The very strong link between this work and field maritime activity can also be seen when it deals with the making
of maps for maritime usage. A maritime map fails to be a representation of a maritime space because maritime space is
unmappable.

These sea maps are not accurate representations. When the seas swell, rise and the winds blow heavy the
abundant water inundates its shores. Commensurate with the propulsion of the force, these outlets of
water may extend for many miles and even farsakhs. The people of the eastern seas call them akhwār
(bays, from the Persian, sing. Khor), while the people of the western seas call them jūn (bay)... This shape
of the coast exists in reality, but, even if drawn by the most sensitive instrument, the cartographer
(muhandis) would not be able to position [literally, ‘to build’] a city in its location amidst the sharp or
obtuse angles [of the coast] because of the limits of the space that would correspond to a vast area in
the real world. That is why we have drawn this map in this way, so that everyone will be able to figure
out [the name of any] city.17

The map of the Mediterranean is dominated optically by 116 islands spread almost the entire space that is sup-
posedly the maritime space. They are mostly adjacent circular forms with inscriptions giving their names. Two islands
(Sicily and Cyprus) are distinguished by two horizontal rectangular forms with inscriptions conveying more than the
place names or with toponyms referred to in medieval geography (mostly the Idrisian corpus) or both.
The mainland is clearly marginalized by the red points and the inscription perpendicular to the coastline
representing not simply the coastal sites but more precisely the coastal sites that are actively engaged in maritime
activities. It is not even the city or the urban site or the fortification that is relevant but rather its harbor (“marsā”)
or port (“mīnā”). Only the site that accommodates an anchorage is cited. This is not necessarily new compared to ear-
lier and contemporary geographic writings; the way coastal sites are usually highlighted in the ninth century and even
tenth century works of administrative and human geographies with the various maritime and continental routes net-
works in mind. Thus, the coastal site could be mentioned even when it is not active in maritime routes, or at least its
maritime activity is not necessarily alluded to.
This is certainly the first known cartographic attempt to represent these maritime sites. It would not have been
possible without the unknown sources that were available to the author, and point clearly to a Byzantine origin
due to their emphasis on the Byzantine coast, which is the most characteristic feature of the map. Some of the inscrip-
tions accompanying the Mediterranean harbors reproduce formulas that we find in prior geographic writings, includ-
ing the indication of a marsā (harbor), a mīnā (port), or a dār ṣināʿa (arsenal). Likewise, the indication of the availability of
freshwater is found in prior geographic writings. Still, there are other inscriptions that seem to be unusual when com-
pared to the earlier literature, notably the indication of how many ships one harbor could accommodate or whether it
could accommodate a navy. The degree to this or that harbor is opened to winds is also mentioned in Al‐Bakri’s
KAHLAOUI 47

Masalik, but with an earlier possible date of Ghara’ib Al‐Funun, it is questionable which source introduced this tradi-
tion to geographic writing.
The other major Maghribi geographer and source of maritime field information is Al‐Idrisi. He was also the main
source of Ibn Khaldoun’s notes on geography. The description of maritime routes and coastal sites in his book Nuzhat
al‐Mushtaq poses even more strongly the questions of the possible use of sailing manuals when describing this area.
In addition to the use of distances in miles, just as in Al‐Bakri’s Masalik, the author uses sometimes the distance unit of
“majrā.” Again, the use of words like “taqwīr” and “rūsiyya” suggests directions of two possible sailing routes. Another
characteristic feature is the use of topographical markers such as remarkable mountainous sections along the coast-
line. Also, as in Al‐Bakri’s Masalik, there are occasional indications of the suitability of harbors in specific seasons. For
instance the harbor (Marsā) of Waqūr (east from Shalaf) is described as being “narrow so that it could protect (yastur)
from the eastern wind but not from any other [wind].”18 Although not used as frequently as Al‐Bakri’s Masalik where
the descriptive formula of “e directo, ex opposite” is used in some parts in Al‐Idrisi’s Nuzhat Al‐Mushtaq as well.
Just as Al‐Bakri’s Masalik is usually mentioned when discussing the possible Arabic counterparts of European
portolans, Al‐Idrisi’s Nuzhat Al‐Mushtaq is also mentioned probably more frequently. Ficsher and Kretshmer were
among the first to suggest that the descriptions of maritime routes notably of sections 1, 2, and 3 of clime 3 seem
to use not only sailing manuals but also maritime maps for the use of words like “taqwīr” and “rūsiyya.”19 Yet as noted
by Dalché, again, the uses of only these two words do not point necessarily to geographic orientation.20 But it is also
true that geographic directions are suggested when we read these paragraphs in their context without emphasizing
only specific words, such as “taqwīr” and “rūsiyya”. For instance, the use of the jawn with its various levels (end, middle,
tip…) along with the words “taqwīr” and “rūsiyya” may help with finding the geographic directions. The main issue here
does not seem to be whether the paragraphs in Al‐Bakri’s Masalik and Al‐Idrisi’s Nuzhat Al‐Mushtaq are actually by
themselves sailing manuals but whether they bear traces of not only other unknown sailing manuals but also, and
more probably, of oral sailing directions, which are already confirmed in the sources of the Indian Ocean but not
explicitly indicated in the case of the Mediterranean. It is only from this perspective that we could explain the pres-
ence, already indicated by Dalché, of Arabic names of winds referring to the vulgar names of the European mariners’
wind roses: the southeastern wind shalūq (scilocco)21 and the southwestern wind of al‐libāj (libeccio).22
In a less cited yet highly valuable work, Giovanni Oman emphasized all the terminology that may refer to the close
relationship with the Idrisian text has with the maritime space, or as put by Oman the Idrisian “voci marinaresche.”23
The glossary, which emphasizes the sections that described Africa, mentions the presence of words that refer to the
possible language of the Arab mariners including synonyms in vulgar Italian terminology specific to the Mediterranean
navigational technical language: sākin al‐ḥaraka (“calmo”); ghalīẓ al‐mawj (“grosso”); al‐māʾ al‐mayyit (“l’acqua morta”);
aqāṣīr al‐miyāh (“acque basse”); sāḥil (“costa”); naḥr (“riva”); raʾs (“capo”); masqaṭ (“sbocco”); ramla (“spiagga sabiosa”);
fam (“bocco”); ḥajar (“pietra”); ḥamala (“caricare”); rasā (gettare le ancore”); aqlaʿa (“partire”); dalīl (“pilota”); raṣīf (“diga”);
manāra (“faro”); Isqāla (“echelle” French); majrā (100 “miglia”); shibr (“palmo”).
Nonetheless, whether sailing manuals were used or not, it would be highly difficult to argue for the Idrisian use of
early portolan maps, as has been suggested by Fischer. The Idrisian maps, though they show more interest than the
Atlas of Islam school of mapping in representing the details of the coastal outline, are not by any mean navigational
guides.
Ibn Faẓlallah al‐ʿUmarī (d. 1349) was an official for some time who lived in Cairo, and in Damascus, where he
wrote his encyclopedic work Masālik al‐Abṣār fī Mamālik al‐Amṣār . Yet, it was al‐ʿUmarī who first used in a more con-
sistent way “qunbāṣ” following his source, the Raʾīs Abū Naʿīm the Cordoban.24 But it is not by mere chance that he
got into maritime maps. His rigorous sense in order to provide accurate information when writing his section on
the Mediterranean (“al‐Baḥr al‐Shāmī”) led him to consult the available sources, either oral or written, which included
his Cordoban informant with his maritime map (“qunbāṣ”) that could be the earliest reference to an Islamic maritime
map. In addition he mentions a Genoese source (“Bilbān al‐Jinuwī”) who is used specifically as an informant for the
northern coasts of the Mediterranan.25 Thus al‐ʾUmarī goes further by letting his Cordoban source give an instruc-
tional chapter on this new cartographic tool where he provides in a special chapter interesting and relatively early
48 KAHLAOUI

information in this field along with diagrams used in drawing maritime maps, such as two ‘wind roses’ or as he calls it
‘dāʾirat al‐riyāḥ,’ and the rhumb lines center.26
The word ‘qunbāṣ’ appears in other Islamic sources but appears to be deployed in a slightly different form to char-
acterize maritime maps. The fifteenth century mariner Aḥmad b. Mājid (d. 1500 C.E.) calls his Indian Ocean sailing
manual or map qunbāṣ.27 It derives mostly from the Spanish word “compass,” which means in general the “divider”
but also it is probably specifically related to the meaning of a pair of compasses. It follows that the Spanish word com-
pass was in fact used to indicate the meaning of the maritime map. In another example from the Italian context, Marco
Polo mentions the word of “conpas” to indicate the same meaning.28 For that reason it is very probable that the word
“compasso” mentioned along with the mappamundum in 1293 C.E. is no more than the same Spanish compass (i.e.
maritime map), as it was used then in Medieval Latin.
The content of the two “wind roses”, the sixteen and the thirty two points wind roses (‘dāʾirat al‐arbāʿ’ and ‘dāʾirat
al‐athmān’), is particularly interesting since it confirms the use in Al‐Bakri’s Masalik and Al‐Idrisi’s Nuzhat Al‐Mushtaq
of vernacular Maghribi terms of wind orientations specific of mariners. Thus as indicated in the two illustration in
Al‐Umari’s Masalik Al‐Absar, “barrānī” is used to indicate the various orientations of northwest, “shlūq” is used to indi-
cate the various directions of southwest, “labbāsh” is used to indicate the various orientations of southeast, and
“shirsh” is used to indicate the various orientations southeast.29
Ducène shows how Al‐‘Umarī’s contribution is especially unique when it comes to the Libyan coasts indicating pos-
sibly a Genoese maritime influence.30 It also suggests the presence of an Andalusan “Arab” map given the Arab terms
used for the wind rose.31 But when we compare the list of toponyms given in Al‐‘Umarī for the North African coasts
in general with the prior list given by Al‐Idrisī or the later given in the Maghreb chart we can see that Al‐‘Umarī’s is less
exhaustive. This indicates possibly that he did not use extensively the maritime sources that were at his hands.

4 | M A G H R I B I M A R I T I M E M A P M A K I N G I N TH E 1 4 T H A N D 1 5 T H
CENTURIES

Ibn Khaldoun’s terminology is one of the ways to extract his context as he saw things in his lifetime. He reports that in
the Maghrib the admiral “in customary usage, the person in charge of the admiralty is called Almiland, with an emphatic
l. (The word) is derived from the language of the European Christians. It is the technical term for the office in their
language.” Coming from the Catalan almirant, and Castilian almirante, it is one of the examples of the shared “lingua
franca” used by mariners, Muslims and Christians, in the Mediterranean. Ibn Khaldoun’s notes on navigation shows
the Arabic terminology on the subject. The mariners are described mainly with three terms “nuwatiyya”, “mallahin”,
and “bahriyyin”. The sea captains are named “ru’asa’ al‐sufun”. The same goes for his terminology on the sea chart.
Aside from the clear influence of Al‐Idrisi and prior sources, the Muqaddimah clearly incorporates information based
on the direct knowledge of Ibn Khaldoun during his temporal context. In his trips along the Maghrib and to Egypt he
would have used maritime routes and put him in direct contact with mariners.
Meanwhile, during this period, the middle of the fourteenth century and beginning of the fifteenth century,
Muslims began to produce their own sea maps, most of which of Andalusian origins up to the sixteenth century as
is shown in the following table.

Maps and Atlases Date Maker’s origin

The “Maghreb Chart” (sea map in atlas?) Second half of the 14th century? Andalusian?
The al‐Ṭanjī’s sea map 1414 C.E. Andalusian
The al‐Mursī’s sea map 1461 C.E. Andalusian
The Ḥāj Abū al‐Ḥasan’s sea map Early Sixteenth century? Andalusian or Maghribi?
ʿAlī al‐Sharfī’s sea atlas 1551 C.E. Andalusian

(Continues)
KAHLAOUI 49

(Continued)

Maps and Atlases Date Maker’s origin

ʿAlī Maçar Reis’ sea atlas Circa 1567 C.E. Ottoman

ʿAlī al‐Sharfī’s sea atlas 1571 C.E. Andalusian
ʿAlī Al‐Sharfī’s sea map 1579 C.E. Andalusian
Mehmed Reis’ regional sea map 1591 C.E. Ottoman
Muḥammad Al‐Sharfī’s sea map 1601 C.E. Andalusian
“Atlas‐i Humayun” sea atlas End 16th or 17th century? Ottoman
“Deniz Atlas‐i” sea atlas End 16th or 17th century? Ottoman
Islamic maritime maps and sea atlases of the Mediterranean made until the 16th c.

Still this is a cartographic genre that was clearly much less present in the Islamic World when compared to the
European centers as is shown in the surviving maritime maps. There are about 180 European maps that could be
assigned to the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries alone.32
The earliest surviving example of “Islamic portolan charts” is still ambiguous. The so‐ called “Maghreb Chart”, its
Maghribi script pointing clearly to a Maghribi origin, is not only undated but also it depicts only the western basin of
the Mediterranean (from the Atlantic coasts to the northeastern and southwestern Italian and Tunisian coasts).33 The
argument of the possible use of mariners as sources especially in the description of the Iberian Atlantic coasts Kitāb al‐
Basṭ by Ibn Saʿīd al‐Maghribī (d. 1276 or 1284 C.E.) has been used as a prelude to suggest the existence of a thirteenth
century Arabic maritime cartography.34 Moreover there is a possible earlier dating of the map.35 Yet the dating on
basis of absent or present toponyms has been seriously questioned in general in the discussion over the precedence
of Italian or Catalan maritime maps.36
The map is drawn on paper rather than on vellum, which puts it essentially outside mainstream maritime maps for
they are “almost always drawn in ink on vellum.”37 Another equally important codicological detail is the size of the
“Maghreb Chart”, being 23.5 by 16 centimeters also sets it apart from mainstream maritime maps. In contrast, a single
maritime map would measure in average 65 by 100 centimeters. This is, however, very unusual for a maritime map
even when it is only a fragment representing the western basin of the Mediterranean because its height should not
be as small as 23.5 centimeters. This is even less than the average size of maritime atlases and for which the smallest
examples would have heights averaging 30 centimeters.38
The “Maghreb Chart” should be categorized within another corpus. Its depiction of a fragment of the
Mediterranean rather than the whole Mediterranean puts it more likely within the category of atlases rather than sin-
gle maps. The size of the “Maghreb Chart” seems closer to the size of the maritime atlases depicting in many cases
almost the same area depicted in the “Maghreb Chart” in similar formats. Also, just like several Italian maritime atlases,
the “Maghreb Chart” is highly austere and do not include anything except the coastal outlines and the toponyms in
addition to the wind rose, the rhumb lines centers, and the scale. Among these examples the maritime atlas known
as “Walckenaer‐Pinelli” dated to 1384 C.E. depicting almost the same area as the “Maghreb Chart” in the same format
that is from left/south to right/north.39 This is why it is possible to suggest that it was mostly part of an incomplete
maritime atlas that would have been composed of three folios representing the western basin, the central
Mediterranean, and the Levant. There are similar examples of such a sequence but obviously of a larger size, such
as Jachobus Ciroldis’ 1426 C.E. maritime atlas.40
Overall the “Maghreb Chart” seems to imitate the genre of Italian maritime atlases rather than being itself an
Arabic example of mainstream maritime atlases. It is part of a genre of Maghribi maritime atlases that will flourish later
in the 16th century with al‐Sharfī family suggesting closer connections with the manuscript production traditions and
thus to the regular codicology of the traditional non‐navigational Islamic geographic tradition. This makes the
“Maghreb Chart” part of the pre‐navigational cartography as of the navigational cartography, and thus not the first
known “Islamic maritime map” even if we were to consider the earliest suggestions for its dating. Such a small size
50 KAHLAOUI

could have had an effect on the number of toponyms. There is no example suggesting the reduction of the number of
toponyms to fit the size of the map, yet as noted before: “areas of special name density sometimes provide an excep-
tion of this rule, when large writing or small scale necessitated a number of omissions. Peninsulas and sharp turns in
the coast, like in the southern extremities of Italy and Greece are instances of this.”41 Such an exception seems to fit
the case of the “Maghreb Chart” not only for its exceptionally small size when compared to mainstream maritime
atlases but also because it does not belong in general to such a mainstream tradition. Its prominent title, “the first
Islamic maritime map,” should go instead to al‐Ṭanjī’s map.
This is a map that has the standard characteristics of any maritime map (on vellum measuring 54 by 88
centimeters) and has been thought to be made, until recently, by a certain “al‐Kātibī.”42The colophon of the map,
not transcribed until this moment, is divided into two parts located on the upper (north) and lower (south) scale bars:

Upper scale bar inscription
Lower scale bar inscription
Inscriptions on al‐Ṭanjī’s map.
‫ﺻﻨﻊ ﺑﻤﺪﻳﻨﺔ ﺗﻮﻧﺲ ﺳﻨﺔ ﺳﺘﺔ ﻋﺸﺮﻭ ﺛﻤﺎﻧﻤﺎﺋﺔ‬ Made in the city of Tunis
in the year 816 (1413–14 C.E.)
‫ﻣﻦ ﻋﻤﻞ ﺍﻟﻌﺒﺪ ﺍﻟﻔﻘﻴﺮ ﺍﻟﻰ ﺍﻟﻠﻪ ﺃﺣﻤﺪ ﺑﻦ ﺳﻠﻴﻤﻦ ﺍﻟﻄﻨﺠﻲ‬ From the making of the slave impoverished
to God Aḥmad b.Sulayman al‐Ṭanjī

Thus instead of “al‐Kātibī” the inscription should read “al‐Ṭanjī,” that is from Ṭanja (Tangiers), a harbor that was in
the Andalusian influence zone even though it is located on the northern Moroccan tip between the Mediterranean
and the Atlantic Ocean. The first rectification of this mistake in the catalogue of the Topkapi Sarayi (TKS) and the
Correre Museum was received in silence due to the lack of comments accompanying the identification of the
map.43 The mistake seems to have originated since the beginning of the cataloguing of the maps in the Topkapi
Sarayi’s collection.44 I have given public lectures rectifying the mistake since 2006,45 but the first publication indicat-
ing very clearly the rectification was by Herrera‐Casais in 2008.46
Al‐Ṭanjī’s map, though never discussed at length, is the best example showing us the cartographic transmission
from an almost exclusively European tradition that is maritime mapping to a newly evolving Islamic tradition. The car-
tographic outline is made by a skilled hand recalling the craft of the contemporary European mapmakers. This might be
a strong indication of a cartographer who is not a beginner in drawing maps but who would have been also responsible
for producing other, now lost, maps. His cartographic style with the limited use of colors and the wide empty spaces is
certainly austere. Even though the “plan” of the map is well ordered with the symmetrical positions of rhumb lines
centers, wind roses, and scale bars, he refrained from ornamenting his map extensively. The major spots emphasizing
ornamentation are located around the colorful compass rose (in green, red, and black) at the upper (north) part, and
the major islands or peninsulas in the Mediterranean and the Black Sea, such as Sicily and the Delta of the Nile (green
with golden stripes and a variety of green and red). Yet, they seem to direct the eye towards a quadrangular central
space helping framing the map, and thus its reading. Drawing the attention to the coastline, and its toponyms, rather
than the geographic details of the mainland, as many contemporary Catalan maps do, suggests the accommodation of
the mapmaker to his most probable reader, the viewer coming from the sea, or the mariner.
Ornamentation, then, seems to play a functional role as much as an ornamental role. This dominantly austere style
points, in fact, to a style frequent in Italian maritime maps. Yet this is, in fact, another example, pertaining geograph-
ically to Iberian cartography, further putting in question the determinist relationship espoused in some circles of the
scholarship between the austere style and the Italian context versus the more colorful and artistic approach of the
Catalan maps.47
The attachment of al‐Ṭanjī’s map to the European corpus of maritime maps is also probably attested by the con-
struction of the grid or the “plan” of the map that is the web rhumb lines and wind roses. There is a highly noticeable
correspondence between the “plan” of al‐Ṭanjī’s map and that of an earlier map, Perrinus Vesconte’s 1327 C.E. maritime
map.48 It coincides exactly with the same geographic positions with the central rhumb lines centers in both maps located
exactly on the same spot in the Calabrian gulf. Even though such a coincidence would not mean necessarily the use of
Vesonte’s 1327 C.E. map by al‐Ṭanjī as his model owing to the large chronological span separating them, and the clear
KAHLAOUI 51

difference in the toponyms, one or more immediate intermediary maps may have linked al‐Ṭanjī to Vesconte’s maps. The
wind rose suggests, according to Herrera‐Casais, an influence of Spanish nautical cartography. Otherwise she points to
affinities with Italian sources, notably a Venetian chart, in the representation of the hydrography and the use of “similar
color codes for the geographical identification, and apparently political ascription, of the main Mediterranean islands.”49
The third Islamic work that falls into the genre of maritime cartography is made, according to the inscriptions on
the map, by the Physician (“al‐ṭabīb”) Ibrāhīm al‐Mursī (from the Andalusian city of Mursia) in the “city of Tripoli may
God guards it,” in 15 Ramaẓān 865 H/ 24 June 1461 C.E.50 Just like Al‐Tanji’s map, very few works were interested in
Al‐Mursi’s map. The only publications that have solely focused on it are two articles, a few pages (two and five) each,51
and other scholarly studies have made sketchy remarks on the subject.52
The map, which is on parchment and measuring 90 by 53 cm, portrays codicologically the basic characteristics of
European maritime maps. But unlike the two prior Maghribi maritime maps, Al‐Mursi’s map suggests stronger connec-
tions with this tradition especially with the tradition of Catalan mapmaking. Campbell has already cautioned that the
differences between the two major European schools of cartography, Catalan and Italian, seem to be rather
overemphasized and politicized.53 Even when some generic aspects would be mentioned to point out the differences
between both traditions the occurrence of many exceptions notably of cartographers who made maps in both styles,
some of whom were working in Majorca, suggests the difficulty of determining at ease the style of any maritime maps
by considering only the geographic background of its maker. This is an indication rather of two overlapping traditions
more than two separate ones.
Only recently a major contribution was provided by Herrera‐Casais’ articles,54 which emphasized a possible
source of Al‐Mursī’s map that is a maritime map made in Barcelona dated few years earlier in 1458 C.E. This is espe-
cially the case for the city views in the Iberian Peninsula,55 in addition to the way the Canary Islands are drawn and
colored. Yet it shows the special care given by Al‐Mursī as a Muslim cartographer with an Andalusan background
to Granada by highlighting the topographical signs notably the Guadalquivir and Segura rivers.56 This is a feature that
we will see later with other cartographers of Andalusan background.
There seems to be a consensus among scholars on some aspects that may differentiate Catalan from Italian mar-
itime maps. According to Campbell’s synthesis, these include the following: the emphasis of the Italian maps on
depicting only the coastline and disregarding depictions of the continent such as “beyond the Danube;” they tend
not to include elements that do not have “functional” (navigational) value as opposed to the emphasis of Catalan maps
on topographical elements on the mainland including mountains and rivers; Campbell gives us some detailed examples
of such topographical depictions: rivers “drawn as elongated corkscrews emerging from almond‐shaped lakes,” moun-
tains colored in green notably “the Atlas chain, seems like a bird’s leg, with two, and later three claws at the eastern
end and a spur halfway along;” the Red Sea colored in red “is cut into at its northwest end to mark the miraculous
crossing of the Israelites;” the representations in the Catalan tradition of major religious sites “by a simplified drawing
of a church,” while major cities “are accorded a distinctive sign formed of a circular castle with a red interior, shown in
a bird’s‐eye view;” and notably “Majorca, often picked out in solid gold, is sometimes striped in the colors of Aragon,
and Tenerife (Inferno) occasionally displays a white disk in its center, probably a reference to the snow‐covered Pico
de Teide;” another major characteristic of Catalan maritime maps is the high presence of inscriptions on the map; and
finally another distinctive aspect of Catalan maps is the decorative elements such as tents and ships, which generally
suggest “the work of specialist artists.” Campbell concludes,

with their concern to reveal the nature of the interior, Catalan‐style charts are simultaneously terrestrial
maps. It is not surprising, therefore, that some Catalan draftsmen should have continued their work
eastward to take in regions whose coastlines and hinterland were both little known. This effectively
meant the countries beyond the Caspian Sea and Persian Gulf… Some of those Catalan productions that
ventured east of the Caspian blend into mappaemundi. The farther they go, the more unreliable the
coastal information becomes, as greater weight is given in Asia to interior details and less to navigational
information.57
52 KAHLAOUI

Al‐Ṭanjī’s map shares some major aspects of the Italian‐style austerity such as the absence of banners, city views,
and topographic representations deep in the continent (there is an emphasis on the representations of the rivers’
deltas on the Mediterranean and the Black Sea). Yet it suggests some characteristics of the Catalan‐style maps such
as the coloring of islands (with Majorca in gold) and decorative elements (geometric elements colored in green, black,
red, and gold emanating from the box where a nicely done compass rose is drawn). Al‐Mursi’s map, however, shows
much clearer signs of the Catalan‐style maps. The islands are brightly colored in blue, red, green, and gold. The Danube
River is prominently featured in green in the upper half of the map with three large islands and a string of brightly col-
ored fortresses along its banks. The presence of mountains deep in the continent is prominently suggested especially
the Atlas chain, which is made just like in the Catalan maps. Several flags, banner, with city views similar in essence to
the contemporary Catalan examples, though poorly executed as mentioned above.
The representation of city views is one of the aspects that could locate specific works that may have been among
the examples that were used by al‐Mursī. There seems to be a contextual factor that shaped al‐Mursī’s choices. A gen-
eral tendency in the fifteenth century, during the 1460s, was towards an inclusion of city views within a general ten-
dency for more territorial views. When looking closer to specific cities there are indications connecting al‐Mursī to a
major contemporary Catalan cartographer: the two city views of Genova and Venice in al‐Mursī’s work compared with
the almost contemporary (1464 C.E.) views in Pterus Roselli’s Nuremberg map. Both point to earlier examples notably
the 1420’s maps by the Genoese cartographer Beccari, who is, according to Henrisch Winter, one of the few Italian
mapmakers who leaned more towards “Catalan customs.”58
There is another codicological connection between Al‐Mursi’s map and Beccari’s works that is cutting the map in
a gable‐form at the western end, which is also the case of another well known Catalan example Valesca’s 1439 C.E.
map.59 Its gable‐form, obviously for an Islamic nautical chart is cut in the eastern end, is another indication of his cor-
relation with Catalan or Catalan‐like material. Still in terms of style al‐Mursī handled very differently his city views:
colors dominated the scene and the outlines seem to be marginalized. His palette is also different bringing to attention
a trend of “city views” in classical Islamic cartography that appears notably in a thirteenth century manuscript of Ibn
Hawqal’s Surat Al‐Ard.
Yet, the most imposing specificity of Al‐Mursi’s map that makes its comparison with any other example very dif-
ficult is the amateurish style of its maker. Unlike Al‐Tanji’s, the outlines are shaky, the coloring of city view, flags, and
topographic representation is barely within the designated forms. The toponyms include many orthographic problems
even for the Arabic locations. The profession of the maker as a physician is not a reason itself to suggest that map-
making is simply an occasional practice of al‐Mursī. Andalusian physicians making maps is not a totally unusual case,
and they do not seem to be inherently amateurish as it is shown in later sixteenth century examples. Still the visual
properties of al‐Mursī’s map suggest undeniably an amateurish hand, which takes us to the identity of the map’s maker
and his location at the time of this map’s production.
The few scholars who discussed al‐Mursī’s map usually stressed Tripoli of Libya as the place of production on the
basis of visual aspects such as the Maghribi script and the “precision” of the toponyms on the African coast according
to Rossi.60 But the Maghribi script could travel with a Maghribi scribe and does not suggest necessarily the location of
production and the toponyms are not as “precise” as Rossi suggests. A leaflet published by the Deniz Müzesi seems to
point to the center of the central rhumb lines center, which coincides with Tripoli of Libya. Yet this does not seem to
be pointed out as an obvious evidence of the location of production in maritime maps.
On the other hand, there are at least two reasons that may suggest that the location of al‐Mursī map’s production
is rather, Tripoli of Syria. The first is present in the map where the only location singled out in the actual map by the
political praise formula associated in the inscription with “Aṭrāblus” (Tripoli) that is of “May God guards it” (“ḥarasahā
Allāhu taʿālā”) is the location of the city of Cairo, which is also distinguished by the biggest city view in the whole map.
Since Cairo was the capital of the Burjī Mamluks who were ruling much of al‐Shām including Tripoli this seems to
point to al‐Mursī’s allegiance to the Mamluks and thus that he was under their rule. Therefore, Tripoli of Syria seems
to be the most likely candidate for the anonymous “Aṭrāblus” mentioned in his map.61 The other reason that would
not make Tripoli of Syria an unexpected location for someone like al‐Mursī is the precedent occurrences of “Mursīs”
KAHLAOUI 53

in the Levant. Being from Murcia points not only to his Andalusian background but more specifically to a region, the
eastern coasts of Andalusia, from where people use to travel by sea throughout the Mediterranean and where there is
a long tradition of Andalusian mariners. There are “Mursīs” who were known to be present and active not only in the
Maghrib but as far as the Levant. Biographical encyclopedias mention a number of religious figures, including physi-
cians, bearing the name of al‐Mursī in places like Damascus, Alexandria and Acre especially during the thirteenth
and fourteenth centuries.62
Clearly there is ample evidence that the decline of Almohads did not bring with it an end of the Islamic maritime
presence in the Mediterranean. Ibn Khaldoun’s Muqaddimah not only marks the times of the Marinids as the begin-
ning of the political decline in the Maghrib but points out very clearly that by his time, that is in the 14th and 15th cen-
turies, the art of navigation was still vibrant in the Maghrib. The continuation of the admiralty rank is just one example
of a continuing tradition. The increasing number of surviving sea charts made by Muslims since the 14th century and
the reoccurring indications since Al‐Muqaddasi but especially with Al‐Bakri and Al‐Idrisi constitute strong evidence of
a long tradition of Maghribi maritime manuals and guides that started long before the 14th century.

ENDNOTES
1
Ibn Khaldoun, Muqaddimah, translated by Rosenthal, 1967, pp. 506–514.
2
See on the perception of the 13th century as a turning point towards a Western European navigational dominance and
more specifically a Genoese‐Venetian supremacy in the Mediterranean: Abu‐Lughod, Janet, Before European Hegemony:
The World System A.D. 1250–1350. Oxford University Press, London, 1989, pp. 302–334. See also: Fromherz, Allen. Islam
and the Sea. Oxford Islamic Studies Online (last accessed November 2015): “The Thirteenth Century a tipping point in
the Eastern Mediterranean as well: European, especially Italian merchants began to outpace Muslim traders in the
Mediterranean, setting prices and commanding the market. European naval expansion would not meet serious resistance
until the rise of the Ottomans.”
3
“Another example by Ibn Khaldun is about admiralty. In the age of ignorance, Arabs were a primitive and nomadic popu-
lation and totally ignorant of maritime practices. As political structure became more organized and powerful, they
prevailed over other non‐Arab communities, so expansion of their sovereignty entailed specialization in maritime affairs.
As is seen, Ibn Khaldoun accounts for changes in bureaucratic organization in close relation to palpable historical phenom-
ena.” In: Mehmed Topses, “ Ibn Khaldun’s Social Structure Analysis”, Indian Journal of Applied Research, Volume: 4, Issue: 3,
Mar 2014, p. 142.
4
Ibn Khaldoun, Rosenthal, pp. 507–508.
5
Ibn Khaldoun, Rosenthal, pp. 510–511.
6
Ibn Khaldoun, Rosenthal, p. 514.
7
See: Kahlaoui, Tarek, “Towards reconstructing the Muqaddimah following Ibn Khaldun’s reading of the Idrisian text and
maps”, Journal of North African Studies, 2008 , Volume: 13 , Number: 3 , pp: 293–308.
8
Ibn Khaldoun, Muqaddimah, p. 110.
9
Ibid.
10
I will be using here: Kahlaoui, Tarek. “The Depiction of the Mediterranean in Islamic Cartography (11th‐‐16th Centuries):
The Suras (images) of the Mediterranean from the Bureaucrats to the Sea Captains.” PhD Dissertation: University of
Pennsylvania, 2008.
11
Al‐Muqaddasi, Muhammad. Ahsan Al‐Taqasim fi Marifat Al‐Aqalim, Madbouli, Cairo (Leiden), 1991, p. 15. Tarek Kahlaoui’s
translation.
12
Vernet argued for these points notably in: Vernet, J. “La navigacion en la Alta Edad Media.” 2 Vols. La Navigazione
mediterranea nell’alto Medioevo, Settimane di studio del Centro Italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo. Spoleto: 1978:
pp. 323–388; reprinted in: Estudios Sobre Historia de la Ciencia Medieval. Barcelona: Universidad de Barcelona, 1979:
pp. 383–448. We can find few other ideas about Al‐Bakri’s Masalik in his: Ibid. “Influencias musulmanas en el origen de
la cartografia nautical.” Boletin de la Real Sociedad Geografica, 89, 1953: pp. 35–62; reprinted in: Estudios Sobre Historia
de la Ciencia Medieval. Barcelona: Universidad de Barcelona, 1979: pp. 355–382.
13
Vernet, “La navigacion...,” pp. 371–379. Patrick Gautier Dalché, the main current authority on maritime manuals, was
interested in Al‐Bakri’s Masalik and also on Vernet’s views on it. He seems to wonder whether the information in texts
like Al‐Bakri’s Masalik found their way to a European maritime manual. For him, none of Vernet’s evidence really proves
that the Arab mariners used compasses since the eleventh c. He agrees, however, that Vernet’s arguments “attestent
l’existence, dès le 11e siècle, de guides à l’usage des marins d’origine arabe pour les côtes africaines et hispaniques.” Still,
54 KAHLAOUI

it is unclear how could we define the genre of these unknown Arabic maritime “guides”. See: Dalché, P. G. Carte Marine et
Portulan de XIIe Siècle. Rome: Ecole Française de Rome, 1995, p. 11, and pp. 58–61.
14
Johns, Jeremy and Savage‐Smith, Emilie. “The Book of Curiosities: A Newly Discovered Series of Islamic Maps.” Imago
Mundi Vol. 55 (2003): pp. 7–24.
15
Dalché, Carte Marine..., pp. 69–76.
16
Ghara’ib Al‐Funun, website’s translation, folio 29a.
17
Ghara’ib Al‐Funu, website’s translation, folio 29a.
18
Abū ʿAbd Allāh Muḥammad Al‐Idrīsī. Nuzhat al‐Mushtāq fī Ikhtirāq al‐Āfāq. Būrsaʿīd: Maktabat al‐Thaqāfa al‐Dīniyya, 1990,
vol. 1, p. 272.
19
Fischer, Th. Sammlung mittelaterlicher Welt – und Seekarten italianischen Urspungs und aus italianischen Bibliotheken und
Archiven. Venice: 1886, p. 67; Kretschmer, Konrad. Die italienischen Portolane des Mittelalters. Hildesheim: Georg Olms
Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1962, p. 176. The same view is then supported by Vernet in his “Maghreb Chart” article (see infra.).
20
Dalché. Carte Marine..., p. 52.
21
This wind is mentioned when describing islands near Majorca. Al‐Idrisi, Nuzhat Al‐Mushtaq, vol. 2, p. 587.
22
Al‐libāj is mentioned when describing the location of the harbor of the island of Lampedusa (Lanbadhūsha). Al‐Idrisi,
Nuzhat Al‐Mushtaq, vol. 2, p. 588.
23
Oman, Giovannin. “Vocci marinaresche usate dal geografo arabo al‐Idrīsī (XII secolo) nelle sue descrizioni delle coste
settentrionali dell’Africa.” Annali del Istituto Universitario Orientale di Napoli. Vol. 13 (1963): pp. 1–26.
24
Sometimes comes up as ‘Al‐Ustādh al‐Rāyis Abī Muḥammad ʿAbd Allah al‐Anṣārī al‐Qurṭubī.’ Al‐Umari, Masalik Al‐Absar,
vol. 2, p. 155.
25
Ibid. vol. 2, p. 155. The section on the Mediterranean is supposed to include regional maps (unclear if there were maritime
maps) of the Adriatic Sea and the Black Sea yet the folios are empty. See: Al‐Umari, Masalik Al‐Absar, vol. 2, pp. 150–161.
26
See: Al‐Umari, Masalik Al‐Absar, vol. 2, pp. 165–175; Sezgin, The Contribution of the Arabic‐Islamic…, plates 16, 17, and 19.
It is interesting to notice that Ibn Khaldūn is among the first to get interested in this field by mentioning the use of such
maritime maps when discussing the Mediterranean in the ‘takmila’. His use of the word ‘qunbāṣ’ (from ‘compasso’) to
describe this cartographic genre was believed to be the only precedence before its use in the sixteenth century. See: Ibid.
“Islamic Charting in the Mediterranean.” History of Cartography, vol. 2: pp. 263–287, p. 286, note 66. Yet as noted above
Al‐ʿUmarī used the same term even earlier than Ibn Khaldūn.
27
G. Tibbets “The Role of Charts in Islamic Navigation in the Indian Ocean.” History of Cartography, vol. 2: 256–257.
28
Tibbets. “The Role of Charts…,” p. 256.
29
Al‐Umari, Masalik Al‐Absar, vol. 2, pp. 172–173.
30
Ducène, Jean‐Charles, “Le portulan Arabe decrit par Al‐‘Umarī,” Cartes & Géomatique, n° 216 (Juin 2013), pp. 81–90. The
list of toponyms of the Libyan coasts seems to be in corroleation with two Genoese sources: ““Cette liste de toponymes
pour la côte libyenne est importante car on y trouve de rares éléments. D’abord, nous avons la plus ancienne attestation du
toponyme de Ben Ghazi. Jusqu’ici, on pensait que la cite ne prenait cette dénomination qu’après 1450 lorsqu’un saint
homme du nom de Sīdī Ġāzī s’installe à Berenice et y décède. Ensuite, dans un travail antérieur, nous avons remarqué
que pour le golfe de Syrte et la côte de la Cyrénaïque, par al‐ʿUmarī (Zanāra, Kurkura, Millel, al‐Dawīra, al‐Fuwāra) se
retrouvent uniquement dans l’atlas maritime de Pierre Vesconte (1313) et dans l’Atlante Luxoro (première moitié du XVe
siècle)”. Ducène, “Le portulan Arabe,” 84.
31
Ducène, “Le portulan Arabe,” 86–87.
32
Campbell, Tony. “Portolan Charts from Late Thirteenth Century to 1500.” History of Cartography, vol. 1: pp. 371–463,
p. 373.
33
Vernet‐Gines, J. “The Maghreb Chart in the Biblioteca Ambrosiana.” Imago Mundi, Vol. 16 (1962): pp. 1–16.
34
For instance this is what Vernet concludes from a quote talking only about the role of Cantabrian mariners along the
African coasts by the end of the thirteenth century: “These indirect references suggesting the existence of a Cantabrian,
and even an Arabic nautical cartography.” See: Vernet. “The Maghreb…,” p. 2.
35
Brice, William. “Early Muslim Sea‐Charts.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland, (1977): pp. 53–61.
36
Caraci, Giuseppe. Segni e Colori degli Spazi Medievale. Italiani e Catalani nella Cartografia Nautica Medievale. Rome: Edizione
Diabasis, 2nd edition, c 1993, p. 9, note 2.
37
Campbell, Tony. “Portolan Charts…”, p. 376–377.
38
This average is deduced from the collections of maritime atlas manuscripts of the British Library, the Bibliotheque
Nationale de France, and various Italian collections: Pflederer, Richard. Catalogue of the Portolan Charts and Atlases in
the British Library. USA (printed privately), 2001; Shirley, Rodney. Maps in the Atlases of the British Library. A Descriptive
KAHLAOUI 55

Catalogue c. AD 850–1800. London: The British Library, 2004. 2 vols; La Ronciere, Monique de, and Mollat du Jourdin,
Michel. Les Portulans. Cartes Marines du XIIIe au XVIIe siecle. Fribourg: Nathan, 1980 ; Uzielli, Gustavo. Mappamondi, Carte
Nautiche, Portolani e Altri Monumenti Cartografici Specialmente Italiani del Secoli XIII‐XVII. 1882. 2nd edition. Amsterdam:
Meridian Publishing Company, 1967.
39
Kamal, Youssouf. Monumenta Cartographica Africae et Aegypti. 6 vols. Frankfurt am Main: Institut für Geschichte de
Arabish‐Islamischen Wissenschaften, 1987, vol. 5, p. 431.
40
Kamal, vol. 6, pp. 244–245.
41
Campbell, “Portolan Charts…,” p. 421.
42
Soucek, “Islamic Charting…,” p. 64, Fig. 14.2.
43
Portolani e Carte Nautiche XIV‐XVIII Secolo. Istanbul: Güzel Sunatlar Matbaası, 1994, 40–41, map no. 2.
44
The identification of the mapmaker with the name of “al‐Kātibī” could be found as early as in I. Hakki Topkapi Sarayinda:
Deri üzerine yapılmiş Eski haritalar. Istanbul: Istanbul Ülkü Basımevi, 1936, 258.
45
Tarek Kahlaoui, “On the Meaning of ‘Copying’ Maps: The Case of Islamic Maritime Cartography” In HIAA 2006 Majlis, the
annual meeting of the Historians of Islamic Art Association (HIAA), Boston, February 25, 2006.
46
Herrera‐Casais, Mónica, “The 1413–14 sea chart of Aḥmad al‐Ṭanjī”, in E. Calvo, M. Comes, R. Puig and M. Rius (eds.), A
Shared Legacy: Islamic Science East and West. Homage to Prof. J. M. Millàs Vallicrosa, Barcelona: Universitat de Barcelona,
2008: 283–307.
47
Campbell, “Portolan Charts…,” pp. 392–395.
48
Venice‐Biblioteca Medicea. Cart. Naut. 248.
49
Herrera‐Casais, Mónica, “The 1413–14 sea chart,” 289–290.
50
At the upper (north) part (in the outer frame of the map): “‫ﻭﺿﻌﺖ ﻓﻲ ﻣﺪﻳﻨﺔ ﺍﻃﺮﺍﺑﻠﺲ ﺣﺮﺳﻬﺎ ﷲ ﺗﻌﺎﻟﻰ ﻓﻲ ﺍﻟﺨﺎﻣﺲ ﻋﺸﺮ ﻣﻦ ﺷﻬﺮ ﺭﻣﻀﺎﻥ ﺍﻟﻤﻌﻈﻢ‬
‫ ;” ﻣﻦ ﻋﺎﻡ ﺧﻤﺴﺔ ﻭ ﺳﺘﻴﻦ ﻭ ﺛﻤﺎﻧﻤﺎﻳﺔ‬in the lower (south) part (in the outer frame of the map): “ ‫ﻋﻤﻞ ﺍﻟﻄﺒﻴﺐ ﺍﺑﺮﺍﻫﻴﻢ ﺍﻟﻤﺮﺳﻲ ﻟﻄﻒ ﷲ ﺑﻪ ﻭ ﺿﻌﺖ ﻓﻲ‬
‫”ﻣﺪﻳﻨﺔ ﺍﻃﺮﺍﺑﻠﺲ ﺣﺮﺳﻬﺎ ﷲ ﺗﻌﺎﻟﻰ ﻓﻲ ﺍﻟﺨﺎﻣﺲ ﻋﺸﺮ ﻣﻦ ﺷﻬﺮ ﺭﻣﻀﺎﻥ ﺍﻟﻤﻌﻈﻢ ﻣﻦ ﻋﺎﻡ ﺧﻤﺴﺔ ﻭ ﺳﺘﻴﻦ ﻭ ﺛﻤﺎﻧﻤﺎﻳﺔ‬.
51
Rossi, Ettore. “Una Carta Nautica Araba Inedita di Ibrāhim al‐Mursī 865 Egira =1461 dopo Cristo.” Compte Rendues de
Congrès Internationale de Géographie, 5 Vols., Caire: L’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale de Caire, 1926, Vol. 5:
pp. 90–95; Epalza, M. de. “El Portulano de Ibrahim de Murcia.” Sharq al‐Andlaus, Studios Arabes, Anales de la Universidad
de Alicante, Vol. 3 (1986), pp. 167–168. In addition some leaflets and introductory notes have been distributed by the
Deniz Müzesi including on its 1997 reproduction of the map.
52
For instance, Soucek seems to have used mainly earlier articles and probably leaflets distributed by the Deniz Müzesi, and
did not have the chance to consult directly the map. See: Soucek, Svat. “Islamic Charting in the Mediterranean.” HOC 2: pp.
263–287, pp. 264–265, fig. 14.3.
53
Campbell, “Portolan Charts…,” pp. 392–395. The debate about the European schools of maritime cartography has been
driven mainly by the issue of who were the earliest makers of maritime maps, Italian or Iberian cartographers. Among
the major contributions to this debate: Winter, Heinrich. “Catalan Portolan Maps and their Place in the Total View of Car-
tographic Developments,” Imago Mundi, Vol. 11 (1954), pp. 1–21; Caraci, Segni e Colori....
54
Herrera‐Casais, Mónica, “Un mar para navegar, imaginar y compartir: la imagen del Mediterráneo y otras geografías en la
carta náutica de Ibrāhīm al‐Mursī”, in: Maria Domingo & Iolanda Muña (eds), Investigación, conservación y restauración de
materiales y objetos cartográficos. Actas del curso celebrado en el Instituto del Patrimonio Cultural de España en
noviembre de 2010 (Madrid: Ministerio de Educacion, Cultura y Depoprte, 2012): 42–55. Herrera‐Casais, Mónica, “Gra-
nada en los atlas náuticos de al‐Šarafī, e identificación de un modelo mallorquín para la carta de al‐Mursī,” Al‐Qantara
XXX 1, (enero‐junio/ 2009): 221–235.
55
Herrera‐Casais, “Un mar para navegar,” 47–49.
56
Herrera‐Casais, Mónica, “Granada en los atlas náuticos”: 229–231.
57
Campbell, “Portolan Charts…,” pp. 392–395.
58
On Roselli see: Winter, Henrisch. “Petrus Roselli.” Imago Mundi, Vol. 9 (1952), pp. 1–11. This is one of the occasions when
Winter tried to reestablish a major role of Catalan cartography with regard to the Italian tradition. On one hand Roselli
should have been an expected model for al‐Mursī’s map notably for he is coming from an Iberian context. On the other
hand Beccari’s influence on Roselli shows that the usual difference made between Catalan and Italian cartographic tradi-
tions might be exaggerated sometimes.
59
Plate 24 in HIC 1.
60
Rossi, “Una Carta…,” p. 92.
61
Tripoli of Syria seems to be associated with the term of “al‐mahrūsa” (God‐guarded) in official Mamluk documents, which
is, however, not an exclusive term for any specific Islamic city. See: Richards, D. S. “A Late Mamluk Document concerning
56 KAHLAOUI

Frankish Commercial Practice at Tripoli.” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, Vol. 62,
No. 1, (1999), pp. 21–35.
62
Unfortunately, I did not find yet any example from the fifteenth century. Some of the figures bearing the name of al‐Mursī
have as their first name Ibrāhīm and bear the title of “al‐Ḥakīm” (“the physician”), which suggests that practicing medicine
was a tradition of Murcian immigrants in the Levant. These are for example the cases of thirteenth and fourteenth centu-
ries figures such as Quṭb al‐Dīn b. Ibrāhīm al‐Mursī al‐Mutaṣawwif, a known mystic in Egypt; Abū ʿAlī b. Hūd al‐Mursī, who
was a mystic and a physician in Syria; Abū al‐ʿAbbās al‐Mursī, a scholar in Alexandria; Muḥammad b. Muḥammad b.
Maymūn al‐Khazrajī al‐Mursī and his son Ibrāhīm known also as “al‐Ḥakīm” (“the physician”) both known to be physicians;
there is also Abū al‐Ḥakam ʿAbd Allāh b. al‐Muḍaffar b. ʿAbd Allāh al‐Mursī, who was active as a mystic and physician in the
māristān of Damascus. See: Al‐Yāfʿī. Mirʾāt al‐Jinān wa ʿIbrat al‐Yqaḍān fī Maʿrifat Ḥawādith al‐Zamān. p. 705. November
2016 <http://www.alwaraq.com>; Al‐Ṣafadī. Aʿyān al‐ʿAṣr wa Aʿwān al‐Naṣr. p.78. November 2016 <http://www.
alwaraq.com>; Al‐ʿAsqalānī, Ibn Ḥijr. Al‐Durar al‐Kāmina fī Aʿyān al‐Miʾa al‐Thāmina. pp. 34 and 600. November 2016
<http://www.alwaraq.com>.

How to cite this article: Kahlaoui T. The Maghrib’s Medieval Mariners and Sea Maps: The Muqaddimah as a
Primary Source. J Hist Sociol. 2017;30:43–56. https://doi.org/10.1111/johs.12150