Arenas-Vives, Fatma Sinem Eryilmaz - The Shehnamecis of Sultan Suleyman (2010)

THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO
THE SHEHNAMECIS OF SULTAN SÜLEYMAN:
‘ARIF AND EFLATUN AND THEIR DYNASTIC PROJECT
A DISSERTATION SUBMITTED TO
THE FACULTY OF THE DIVISION OF THE HUMANITIES
IN CANDIDACY FOR THE DEGREE OF
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
DEPARTMENT OF NEAR EASTERN LANGUAGES AND CIVILIZATIONS
BY
FATMA SINEM ERYILMAZ ARENAS-VIVES
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
AUGUST 2010
UMI Number: 3419770
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Note on Translations and transliteration p. vi
List of abbreviations p. vii
List of tables p. viii
List of illustrations p. ix
Acknowledgments p. xvi
Abstract p. xix
Chapter 1: INTRODUCTION p. 1
a. An Overview of the Literature on the works of ‘Ārif and Eflāṭūn p. 6
b. Introduction to Methodology p.11
c. Methodology according to each chapter p.12
d. The works of ‘Ārif and Eflātūn p.19
Chapter 2: ŞEHNĀMECI FETḤULLAH ÇELEBI (‘ĀRIF) AND AN INTRODUCTION TO HIS WORK

p. 22
a. An introduction to ‘Ārif and his Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān p. 22
b. ‘Ārif’s biography and the evaluation of his contemporaries p. 24
i. The fundamental male figures of ‘Ārif’s personal and professional

life: Dervīş Meḥmed Çelebi, Ibrāhīm Gülşenī, and Elḳās Mīrzā
p. 24
ii. Fetḥullāh Çelebi as şehnāmeci p. 36
iii. The assessment of ‘Ārif by his contemporaries p. 41
iv. ‘Ārif’s work p. 47
ii
c. The case of H. 845: Ġūy ve Çevġān by “‘Ārifī” p. 59
i. The extraordinary traits of the manuscript and their possible

significance p. 59
ii. An evaluation of H. 845 as a copy p. 71
iii. A reassessment p. 73
Chapter 3: THE FIRST VOLUME (ENBIYĀNĀME): THE STORIES OF THE PROPHETS AS A PRELUDE
TO THE STORY OF THE OTTOMAN DYNASTY p. 76
a. An Assessment of what is available p. 76
i. Two preliminary problems: a discussion over a folio attached on an

album and the inaccuracies in the titles p. 79
b. Enbiyānāme: an introduction to its particularities and a proposal for a

method of analysis p. 85
c. Common characteristics and themes p. 91
d. On the nature of authority p. 98
e. Cain and fratricide p. 105
f. Conclusion p.110
Chapter 4: THE FOURTH VOLUME (‘OSMĀNNĀME): THE OBSESSIONS OF SULṬĀN SÜLEYMĀN AND
HIS PALACE p. 117
a. An Assessment of what is available p. 117
b. ‘Osmānnāme: A brief description and some notes on its possible

organization p. 118
c. An introduction to the analysis of ‘Osmānnāme’s miniatures p. 120
d. The rule of ‘Osmān: on Ottoman-Christian friendship p. 127
e. Succession matters p. 140
f. Orḫān’s succession story according to other sources p. 147
iii
g. An image for each Ottoman ruler p. 159
Chapter 5: THE FIFTH VOLUME (SÜLEYMĀNNĀME): THE SAINTLY SULTAN p. 166
a. Introduction p. 166
b. Approaching ‘Ārif’s Süleymānnāme p. 167
c. ‘Ārif’s Süleymānnāme and the royal image p. 170
d. Ibn al-‘Arabī in Süleymānnāme p. 175
e. The cosmos of the decimal system p. 183
f. The tree as a symbol p. 189
g. The image of the tree with water p. 192
h. The cut tree by running water p. 196
i. A cosmological interpretation p. 198
j. A nimbus for an Ottoman sultan p. 206
Chapter 6: ŞEHNĀMECI EFLĀṬŪN: A NEW (?) IMAGE FOR AN OLD SULTAN p. 210
a. Hekāyet-i Seyl Āmeden be Istanbul (H. 1570): The story of the flooding of
Istanbul p. 210
i. Summary of the Text p. 211
ii. A petition letter? p. 217
iii. A new image for an old sultan p. 225
b. The Ambitions of an Ottoman Imperial Scroll: Tomār-ı Hümāyūn p. 229
i. Introduction p. 229
ii. An Overview of the Scroll p. 230
1. The Introduction p. 230
iv
2. The Astrological Disk and the Terrestrial Map p. 231
3. The Central Branch of the Genealogical Tree p. 239
4. The Side Branches p. 246
iii. Some Basic Questions of Identity p. 249
iv. A Question of Style p. 256
v. Ottoman Şehnāme Writing: Can we talk of a Tradition? p. 260
Chapter 7: CONCLUSION p. 262
a. On the Şehnāmes and Şehnāmecis p. 262
b. On Sulṭān Süleymān and his time p. 268
Bibliography p. 272
Appendix A: Illustrations1 p. 283
1
In the electronic version of this thesis, Appendix A is provided in supplementary files. The supplementary files
are organized in batches of 10 images except for the twelfth and last batch which only has 6 images. In other
words, the images 1 through 10 are included in batch 1, the images 11 through 20 in batch 2, the images 21
through 30 in batch 3 etc.
v
NOTE ON TRANSLATIONS AND TRANSLITERATION
All translations are mine otherwise noted.
All transliterations are made into Romanized Ottoman Turkish following the IJMES
chart with one exception: the letter “‫ ”خ‬is transliterated as “ḫ”. All non-modern book names
and personal names are translated unless they appear as the title of a published book or in a
quotation, in which case the authors’ preferences are respected. Geographic names are not
transliterated.
vi
LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS
EI² Encyclopeadia of Islam Second Edition
IJCAS International Journal of Central Asian Studies
TC The Republic of Turkey
TCKB The Cultural Ministery of the Turkish Republic
TIEM Museum of Turkish Islamic Arts and Artifacts
TSMA Topkapı Palace Museum Archive
TSMK A. Topkapı Palace Museum Library, Sultan Ahmed collection
TSMK H. Topkapı Palace Museum Library, Hazine collection
TSMK R. Topkapı Palace Museum Library, Revan collection
vii
LIST OF TABLES
Table 1. A List of Enbiyānāme’s Miniatures…………………………………………………p. 78
Table 2: A general table for the miniatures of ‘Osmānnāme…………………...….p. 124
Table 3: A thematic table for the miniatures of ‘Osmānnāme………………….….p. 126
viii
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The images are included at the end of the dissertation as Appendix A.
All of the images repreoductions with the code “TSM” are courtesy of the Topkapı Palace
Museum. Figures 17 and 116 are courtesy of the Turkish and Islamic Artifacts Museum.
Enbiyānāme and ‘Osmānnāme are in private collections that are not specified in publications.
All of the miniatures of ‘Ārif’s Süleymānnāme and Enbiyānāme except for the miniature “Adam
with Angels” are published in Esin Atıl, Süleymanname: the illustrated history of Süleyman the
Magnificent. New York: Harry N. Abrams, Inc., 1986.
All of the miniatures of ‘Ārif’s ‘Osmānnāme are published in Ernst J. Grube, Islamic paintings
from the Eleventh to the Eighteenth Century in the Collection of Hans P. Kraus. New York: H.P.
Kraus, 1972.
1. Fütüḥāt-ı Cemīle, 1557 C.E. (TSMK H. 1592), 1a p. 283
2. Süleymānnāme, 1558 C.E. (TSMK H. 1517), 505b-506a p. 284
3. Fütüḥāt-ı Cemīle, 1557 C.E. (TSMK H. 1592), 6b-7a p. 285
4. TSMA. E. 5484, before 27th of June 1565 C.E. [The seal of Sokollu Meḥmed Paşa] p. 286
ix
Published in Filiz Çağman in Soliman Le Magnifique: 15 Février au 14 Mai 1990, Galeries Nationales du
Grand Palais, (Paris: 1990), p. 95.
5. Ġūy ve Çevġān, most probably after November 1543 C.E. (TSMK H. 845), 34b-35a. [Sulṭān
Süleymān hunting with his sons] p. 287
6. Ġūy ve Çevġān, most probably after November 1543 C.E. (TSMK H. 845), 33b-34a. [Painting of a
book cover] p. 288
7. Ġūy ve Çevġān, most probably after November 1543 C.E. (TSMK H. 845), 32b-33a [colophon]
p. 289
8. Ġūy ve Çevġān, most probably after November 1543 C.E. (TSMK H. 845), 10b-11a p. 290
15. Süleymānnāme, 1558 C.E. (TSMK H. 1517), 462b-463a. [Sulṭān Süleymān hunting with Selīm]
p. 297
16. Süleymānnāme, 1558 C.E. (TSMK H. 1517) [book cover] p. 298
17. Divān-ı Muḥibbī (TIEM 1962) [book cover] p. 299
x
23. Enbiyānāme, 24b, 20a, 28a, 38b p. 305
24. Enbiyānāme, 45b p. 306
31. Ġūy ve Çevġān (TSMK H. 835), 6b-7ª p. 313
34. Enbiyānāme, “Adam with Angels” p. 316
35. The unattached folio p. 317
36. Tevārīḫ-i ‘ālam (TSMK A. 2935), 1a p. 318
37. Behçet et-Tevārīḫ (TSMK R. 1538), 48b-49a p. 319
38. Tevārīḫ-i ‘ālam (TSMK A. 2935), folio number not clear in copy p. 320
39. Cāmi et-Tevārīḫ (TSMK H. 1653), 9a p. 321
40. Tomar-ı Hümāyūn (TSMK A. 3599) [The beginning of the Scroll, Adam and Eve] p. 322
41. School Scene, Freer copy 1540 p. 323
42. ‘Osmānnāme, 70b p. 324
44. ‘Osmānnāme, starting from top right going clockwise 109 (?), 125b, 114b, 104a p. 326
xi
46. ‘Osmānnāme, starting from top right going clockwise: 24a, 33b, 30a, 22a p. 328
49. ‘Osmānnāme, starting from top right going clockwise: 45b, 62b, 51b, 41a p. 331
51. ‘Osmānnāme, 140a and 150a p. 333
53. ‘Osmānnāme, 9a p. 335
54. ‘Osmānnāme, 79a and 84b p. 336
60. ‘Osmānnāme, 171a and 174a p. 342
63. Süleymānnāme, 1558 C.E. (TSMK H. 1517), 617b p. 345
xii
84. Key Ḫüsrev slays Efrāsiyab, Houghton Şāhnāme 383b, 1525-35 p. 366
85. Siyāvuş receives gifts from Efrāsiyab’s envoy, Houghton Şāhnāme 171b, 1525-35 p. 367
86. Behrām Gūr enthroned, Inju school 1341 p. 368
87. Ḥekāyet-i seyl āmeden be İstanbūl (H. 1570), 14b-15a p. 369
xiii
98. Vaḳ‘a-yi Sulṭān Bayezid ma‘a Selīm Hān (R. 1540 mük), 7b-8a p. 380
99. Tomar-ı Hümāyūn (TSMK A. 3599) [Introduction] p. 381
100. Tomar-ı Hümāyūn (TSMK A. 3599) [The astrological disk] p. 382
101. Tomar-ı Hümāyūn (TSMK A. 3599) [The terrestrial disk] p. 383
102. Tomar-ı Hümāyūn (TSMK A. 3599) [After Naoh] p. 384
103. Tomar-ı Hümāyūn (TSMK A. 3599) [The Ottoman Dynasty] p. 385
104. Tomar-ı Hümāyūn (TSMK A. 3599) [Up to Noah] p. 386
105. Tomar-ı Hümāyūn (TSMK A. 3599) [After Jesus] p. 387
106. Tomar-ı Hümāyūn (TSMK A. 3599) [After the four caliphs] p. 388
107. Tomar-ı Hümāyūn (TSMK A. 3599) [Muḥammed] p. 389
108. Tomar-ı Hümāyūn (TSMK A. 3599) [The imams] p. 390
109. Tomar-ı Hümāyūn (TSMK A. 3599) [‘Ali Ibn-i Sina] p. 391
110. Tomar-ı Hümāyūn (TSMK A. 3599) [The arrival of the Ottoman dynasty] p. 392
111. Tomar-ı Hümāyūn (TSMK A. 3599) [The arrival of Sulṭān Süleymān] p. 393
112. Tomar-ı Hümāyūn (TSMK A. 3599) [Sulṭān Selīm II] p. 394
113. Tomar-ı Hümāyūn (TSMK A. 3599) [Iskender Zūlḳarneyn] p. 395
xiv
114. Tomar-ı Hümāyūn (TSMK A. 3599) [Muḥammed and the Caliphs] p. 396
115. Tomar-ı Hümāyūn (TSMK A. 3599) [Sulṭān Süleymān’s reign] p. 397
116. Zübdetü’t-Tevārīh (TIEM 1973), 18b p. 398
xv
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Inspiration and curiosity have been the driving force behind practically everything I
do. I feel privileged to be surrounded with mentors and professors who have inspired me with
their intellectual vigor, and rigorous standards, and who have helped me keep my curiosity
alive through the years. No words can do justice to express my gratitude and appreciation for
my dissertation committee members Cornell H. Fleischer, Robert Dankoff, and Heshmat
Moayyad: they have never lost their belief in me; and if they have, never have let me see it.
Cornell H. Fleischer’s insight to Ottoman culture, the freedom and agility of his mind,
his vast knowledge and experience have been essential for my formation in general and for the
preparation of this thesis. During my first years at graduate school, in his classes and under his
discreet guidance, the pre-modern Ottoman world began to open its doors for me, revealing
facets I had not previously contemplated. Over the years, Prof. Fleischer has taught me much
about the ethics of scholarship and the scholarly community. He has inspired me in more ways
than he can imagine. I cannot thank him enough.
Robert Dankoff has been extremely kind in remaining on my committee even after he
retired. His efficiency, and his detailed and exact reviews of my work kept me on track when I
was physically miles away from any academic environment. I truly admire and am inspired by
his clarity of mind and his rigorous scholarship. I feel privileged to have been his student.
During the many hours I have spent in his office, I have learnt so much from Heshmat
Moayyad, not only about the intricacies of classical Persian but also about kindness, humility,
and the best one could draw from human hope and tragedy. I thank him for the hours he spent
xvi
with me reading Persian poetry and checking my translations; I thank him for the wonderful
reading class where we read the Story of Rostem and Sohrab; I thank him for his kindness and
generosity.
I should also mention several former professors and mentors who have been
particularly inspirational intellectually and often personally: Halil Berktay, Tamar Herzog,
Cemal Kafadar, Gülru Necipoğlu, and Maria Todorova. Many thanks are also due to Frank Lewis
and Nazanin Amirian who were willing to spend hours with me going over my translations on
such short notice.
The help of the staff of Topkapı Palace Museum have facilitated my research and made
it delightful. I thank the former director Filiz Çağman and the former director of the archive,
Ülkü Altındağ, the former staff member from the library Osman Orhan, as well as the current
director Ilber Ortaylı, and the curators Zeynep Atbaş from the library, Sibel Alparslan Arça
from the textile section, Ayşe Erdoğdu and Aysel Çöpelioğlu from the archive, and Gülendam
Nakipoğlu (formerly from the library). Durmuş Kandıra from the Başbakanlık Achives has been
extremely generous in sharing his work on Seyyid Lokman. I also thank Sevgi Kutluay from the
Museum of Turkish and Islamic Artifacts (Türk Islam Eserleri Müzesi).
During the long ride of my graduate student experience I have had the fortune to have
many friends and family who have shared their knowledge and wisdom and helped me
overcome physical obstacles. They have supported me with their encouragement and
generosity, and above all with their love and patience. I am indebted to all. Nothing would
have been possible without them.
My dear ‘sisters’ Şevin Baysal, Simin Öz, and Tuba Köksal have always been with me
wherever I went, in my best and worst moments. Persis Berlekamp has been extremely
xvii
generous with her time, advice, kindness, and love. Snježana Buzov and Side Emre have been
my comrades from UC; they will always remain special for me. My good and honest friend
Emine Fetvacı; Erdem Çıpa, Gülayşe Öcal; Mehmetcan Akpınar, Sooyong Kim, Ertuğrul Ökten,
Maurice Pomerantz, Nükhet Varlık; my Topkapı friends Zeynep and Sibel; Christian Gruber,
Baki Tezcan: thank you for sharing ideas, sending articles and images, for encouraging words,
for your friendship.
Laura Aguilar, Anna Gudayol, Marcela Lisboa, Jean-Françoise Lormant, Letitia Llobet,
Maribel Ortiga, Ximena Perez, Gaby Susanna, Celine Quetin, Paco Veiga, Trinidad and Teresa,
and of course my family Daniel Arenas, Teresa Vives, Andreu Arenas, Blanca Giribet, David
Arenas, and Assumpta Vives have formed the essential Catalonia-based support line that
enabled me to travel back and forth between Chicago and Barcelona. Daniel and Ela have been
exceptionally understanding.
My dear partner in life Daniel’s practical advice has kept me on the ground. His love has
made life beautiful; his patience and encouragement, this dissertation possible.
Also many thanks to two artists: Flora Albaicin for keeping me sane for the last four
years, and Michael Caine for his advice on turning a disadvantage into an advantage. You will
never know how much you have helped me.
Finally I owe endless gratitude to my parents. Their love has kept me alive and well and
given me confidence and strength. They are and will always be with me.
This dissertation is for my mother.
xviii
ABSTRACT
This thesis is a preliminary study of the works of Sulṭān Süleymān’s two şehnāmecis:
‘Ārif and Eflātūn. As such it includes the detailed examinations of the available folios of ‘Ārif’s
Enbiyānāme and ‘Osmānnāme, as well as his Süleymānnāme, a particular copy of the Timurid
classic Gūy ve Çevgān, the first half of the Imperial Scroll (Tomar-ı Hümāyūn) and Eflātūn’s
Ḥekāyet-i seyl āmeden be İstanbūl. A second group of manuscripts that are related to the official
Ottoman şehnāmes of the period are studied as references. These include ‘Ārif’s Fütūḥāt-ı Cemīle
and Vaķ‘a-yi Sulţān Bayezıd ma‘a Selīm Hān.
The primary aim of this thesis is to provide more and more accurate information of the
unpublished manuscripts listed above. Hence this thesis is at one level an attempt to improve
the limited scholarship on these sources. At the same time, the examination carried out on
each source has revealed cultural nuances of the Ottoman court in the last fifteen years of
Sulṭān Süleymān, revealing a strong experimental vein traditionally not associated with this
period. These documents, all of which were prepared in and for the palace had been casted
aside with the prejudice that they were too close to the center and that they reflected the
uninteresting propagandist view of the pre-modern Ottoman state and its head. In contrast,
what is demonstrated here is that ‘Ārif and Eflātūn did not merely aim to write dynastic
propaganda. Instead, they strove to record sacred history in the eve of –what some
considered—the culmination of an epoch while fashioning a saintly image for Sulṭān
Süleymān.
xix
CHAPTER 1
INTRODUCTION
The initial idea in writing this dissertation was to examine the work of the five official
Ottoman şehnāmecis who produced around fifteen known books and a giant scroll in the second
half of the sixteenth century. My aim was to challenge such concepts as “classical, “”typical,”
and “exceptional” in the context of the “the most classical age of the sixteenth century.” It was
the inherently normative meaning associated with the label “classic” that I wished to
challenge in my thesis. Once the so-called classical, and hence most perfect, form is found, I
argued, later events were doomed to be regarded as deviation and degeneration.
This inescapable prediction had trapped Ottoman historical study in strictly defined
categories so that events and agents are judged as “typical” or “exceptional” by the standards
of these categories. Hence, the failure before Vienna was (1683 C.E.) a “typical” reflection of
Ottoman incompetence, and Köprülü Meḥmed Paşa (d. 1661 C.E.) was an “exceptional”
statesman, both in the context of Ottoman decline. I strongly believed—as I still believe—that
the typicality or exceptionality of historical events and people should be evaluated with much
more sensitivity to the coexisting trends in their own environment, if only to grant the lives of
historical agents the complexity we take for granted in our own lives.
I had planned to challenge these labels by demonstrating the mobility and change that
were involved in the production of the official şehnāmes. By mobility, I had both the mobility of
people and ideas in mind. The Safavid renegade Elḳās Mīrzā, who brought with him the second
şehnāmeci Eflāṭūn, the Ottoman renegade prince Bayezid, the Safavid court artists whom the
Ottoman sultan Selīm I had exported by force, and those who left the court of Shah Tahmasb
1
for the Ottoman court after the shah’s conversion away from courtly pleasures provided rich
material for my argument. So did the intellectual and aesthetic dynamism provoked by the
diplomatic gift exchange between the Ottoman and the Safavid rulers and the movement of
persons who naturally not only travelled with their material belongings, but also with their
professional and cultural histories, personal and vocational ambitions, and aesthetic
preferences. In turn, these artists and patrons influenced the production and expectations in
the Ottoman court.
However, upon merely approaching the material of my proposed study, I realized that
it was impossible to accomplish what I had initially projected. There were too many people,
too many works produced, and too much movement to treat with justice. I had to further limit
my scope. Hence what you have at hand is an examination of the works of the şehnāmecis of
Sulṭān Süleymān (r. 1520-1566), namely ‘Ārif and Eflāṭūn.
What I encountered by studying closely a narrower field of study was not what I was
expecting to find. In my first scheme, I was to prove on the field what logic demanded in theory:
if life cannot be described or understood in several dogmatic categories, the study of passed
lives (history) cannot be, either.
Instead, what I saw challenged my modern conception of history and history writing.
Between the years 1545 and 1566 and at least some members of the Ottoman court and dynasty
perceived their times as extraordinary, and the dynasty and its last ruling member, as divinely
chosen for a mission. In this context, history writing attained a special significance. It was not
only important to record and project to the future a dynastically approved version of “what
really happened” although that never ceased to be one of the aims.
2
In the second half of the sixteenth century, the two şehnāmecis I have studied intended
to fit their contemporaneous history in a much larger framework of not just world history, but
of sacred history. The horizontal progression of physical time ceded its importance before a
vertical and sacred sense of time. Divine Creation had provided the starting whistle for
physical time. For sacred time, Creation also provided meaning and intention. Organized in
epochs, sacred time became a spiritual journey where humans were guided by their temporal
and spiritual leaders to higher levels of consciousness and perfection. The ends of each epoch
were particularly extraordinary both because they anticipated grand scale and effectively
catastrophic events, and because they signified the highest level of the knowledge and
consciousness of that epoch. Each end was an identifiable node along the journey to perfection
and to the reunion with the Divine.
The mystical understanding of time and history that I sketched above found its fullest
formulation in the works of the Murcian Sufi philosopher Ibn al-‘Arabī (d. 1240 C.E.).1 The two
şehnāmecis ‘Ārif (“Gnostic”) and Eflāṭūn (“Plato”) came from cultural and familial backgrounds
where Islamic mystic thinking, Gnosticism, and Neo-Platonism were ordinary yet fundamental
elements of everyday life. Both were the children of Sufis.2 In fact, ‘Ārif’s grandfather İbrāhīm
Gülşenī was one of the most important Sufi leaders of the late fifteenth and early sixteenth
centuries and was considered by some to be the spiritual pole (ḳutb) of the time. At a point
1
The topics of the mystical formulation of history and Ibn al-‘Arabī’s metaphysics will be examined in more detail
in the chapter on Süleymānnāme.
2
‘Ārif’s father was one of Gülşenī’s disciples named Dervīş Meḥmed Çelebi. In the colophon (15a) of his Ḥekāyet-i
seyl āmeden be İstanbūl, Eflāṭūn gives his father’s name as Şeyḫ Dervīş Meḥmed eş-Şirvānī.
3
when Ibn al-‘Arabī’s ideas were contested aggressively, İbrāhīm Gülşenī did not hide that he
was coming from the same tradition.3
In order to have a better understanding of the two major şehnāme projects of
Süleymān’s reign, the five volume-long Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān and the Imperial Scroll (Tomar-ı
Hümāyūn), it is important to bear in mind that in the sixteenth century, neither history writing
nor being a historian had as definite boundaries and regulations as illumination or book
binding or being an illuminator or a binder.4 The two “historians” examined here should be
seen as two court intellectuals with strong mystical backgrounds, working and building a
reputation in a temporally hypersensitive environment. Intermingled with their political and
personal concerns and the concerns of their patron Sulṭān Süleymān, and, to a certain extent,
of the intermediaries such as Rüstem Paşa and Sokollu Meḥmed Paşa, their principal projects—
i.e. the Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān and the Scroll—were the productions of similar mystical visions
of history albeit in two very different formats. The Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān was composed in
Persian verse and within an outer structure of a world history, whereas Tomar-ı Hümāyūn was
designed in the form of a scroll and written for the most part in Turkish prose.
Furthermore, in the sacred histories narrated by ‘Ārif and Eflāṭūn, the contemporary
ruler Süleymān is portrayed as the second person in history (both sacred and human) after the
Islamic prophet Muḥammed who combined perfectly in himself the qualities of a political and
spiritual leader. The assigning of such an important historical role on their patron was an
extension of their panegyric and a form of much needed propaganda, especially in the autumn
of Süleymān’s reign when his military feats had come to a natural halt, his health had
3
For the position of İbrāhīm Gülşenī favoring Ibn al-‘Arabī, see for example in Muḥyī-yi Gülşenī, Menāḳıb-i
İbrāhīm-i Gülşenī. Ed. Tahsin Yazıcı (Ankara: 1982), p. 91, 92, 180, 181, 363.
4
That did not mean that an illuminator or a binder could not also practice other arts. Eflāṭūn, for example, was a
recognized illuminator and a calligrapher.
4
deteriorated, and his reputation greatly damaged by his ordering of the assassination of two of
his most popular sons. However, the prophet-like saintly image formulated for the Ottoman
sultan was too ambitious to be mere lip service panegyric. Besides, to be an effective source of
propaganda, a much larger audience was needed: unlike some of the third şehnāmeci Seyyid
Loḳmān’s work, ‘Ārif and Eflāṭūn worked in larger formats, making their work more difficult to
disseminate.
Their working in large scale in fact reveals a disregard for dissemination, hence
disfavoring the general view on the official Ottoman şehnāmes that they were mainly if not
barely meant for propaganda. Their format of preference matches what many modern minds
would consider the disproportionate view they projected of their ruler.
In the second half of the sixteenth century, however, proportion had different
measures. The idea of a saintly Sulṭān Süleymān whose universal rule was already determined
at the moment of creation, and who uniquely possessed and radiated the Muḥammedan light
might have been ambitious for some in Süleymān’s court, but it was believable. It is more than
likely that there were some who were convinced by such a description of Süleymān. His
allowing and encouraging such a portrayal also demonstrates that at least at some level,
Süleymān himself believed in this particular description of himself.5
Personally, encountering a Süleymān-centric sacred history writing when expecting a
natural display of the mobility of ideas and agents in Ottoman history was a great surprise. It
also brought difficulties. Opposing most of the little that has been said on the şehnāmes and
5
Cornell Fleischer has similar words to say on the sultan and what he most likely thought of his persona in the
first half of the sixteenth century: “Süleyman not only allowed himself to be thought of as the Last World
Emperor, he actively participated in the formation of his messianic image, and for a time at least seems to have
believed in his own apocalyptic role in history.” Cornell H. Fleischer “The Lawgiver as Messiah: the Making of the
Imperial Image in the Reign of Süleymân” in Soliman le Magnifique et son Temps, ed. Gilles Veinstein. (Paris: 1992), p.
166.
5
much that has been assumed of them obliged me to formulate a new argument at every corner.
Examining unpublished manuscripts, some of which were only partially available, made it
necessary to use a different methodology for each chapter.
In the following section of this introduction, I will provide a literature review, which
will also help define my own position concerning ‘Ārif’s and Eflāṭūn’s work. Following the
literary survey, the methodology used in each chapter will be explained. The last section of the
introduction is a categorization of the works of ‘Ārif and Eflāṭūn.
a. AN OVERVIEW OF THE LITERATURE ON THE WORKS OF ‘ĀRIF AND EFLĀṬŪN
Esin Atıl’s study on Süleymānnāme and Ernst Grube’s publication on ‘Osmānnāme are
beyond doubt the two academic works that have been essential for realizing this thesis. Esin
Atıl’s work has been valuable especially in providing the copies of some of the miniatures that
have been otherwise unavailable and in differentiating between the various artists involved in
the Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān project as a whole. 6 Grube’s work has provided the miniatures on
which I wrote the chapter on ‘Osmānnāme.7
While I am thankful to both scholars, I have not always agreed with their assessment of
the miniatures they have published. However, I am not going to discuss these differences in
opinion here as I elaborate on them in the relevant chapters. Likewise, Rachel Milstein and
Zeren Tanındı’s discussion concerning a curious miniature that seems to be related to the
Şāhnāme project is taken up in detail in the chapter on Enbiyānāme.
6
Esin Atıl, Süleymanname: the illustrated history of Süleyman the Magnificent (New York: Harry N. Abrams, Inc., 1986).
7
Ernst J. Grube, Islamic paintings from the Eleventh to the Eighteenth Century in the Collection of Hans P. Kraus (New York:
H.P. Kraus, 1972).
6
Unfortunately, aside from the limited discussion on their careers and on some of the
miniatures of the three known volumes of ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān, the careers of Sulṭān
Süleymān’s şehnāmecis have not received the attention they deserve. None of their şehnāmes
have been studied in its entirety, and they remain unpublished. Christine Woodhead8, the only
historian who has worked on the official Ottoman şehnāmecis, argues that
The primary function of the 16th century court historiographer… was to portray a
proper image for the sultan within a şehnāme text, and more especially to enable him to
be seen as an active patron of literature.9
She further claims that as the Ottoman rulers lost their military edge and became more
sedate, “the şehnāmeci post” lost its meaning. By the end of the century, it was no longer
appropriate to have a post to praise and memorialize military victories, since it was the
ministers of state, the viziers, who served as commanders in the battlefield. Observing the shift
in language form Persian to Turkish during the tenure of the third şehnāmeci, Seyyid Loḳmān,
Woodhead argues that there was a direct causal connection between this change in language
and the shift in the nature of the post towards one that was more scribal. She adds later in her
article that “the increasingly close association of the post holder and his duties with the
secretarial class eventually removed altogether the need for a specifically-designated post.”10
Notwithstanding the important service Christine Woodhead has done to bring to
scholarly attention the careers and the output of the official Ottoman şehnāmecis, I do not
8
Christine Woodhead, “An Experiment in Official Historiography: The Post of Şehnameci in the Ottoman Empire
c. 1555-1605,” WZKM 75 (1983), pp. 157-182. See also her article “‘The present Terrour of the World’ Contemporary
Views of the Ottoman Empire c. 1600,” History, v. 72, 234 (2/1987) pp. 20-37.
9
c. 1555-1605,” WZKM 75 (1983) pp. 181.
10
Ibid. Op. Cit. p.182.
7
share most of her conclusions. I will begin with a lesser disagreement, with the tight
relationship she draws between the şehnāmes and royal patronage. It is true that at one level,
the şehnāmes were examples of the dynasty's patronage of the arts and literature. However, I
would not give this motive the priority that Woodhead does. After all, the dynasty could and
did provide patronage for many types of literary and artistic production without assigning
works of literature officially.
In addition, as I prove in the chapter on Eflātūn’s Ḥekāyet-i seyl āmeden be İstanbūl, the
change in the language of the official şehnāmes from Persian to Turkish occurred not during
the tenure of Seyyid Loḳmān but that of Eflātūn. More importantly, however, I do not agree
with Woodhead’s assumption that Sulṭān Süleymān actually established a post to compose
dynastic history.11
As I have argued above, the works of the two şehnāmecis went much beyond the
framework of dynastic history. The Süleymān-centric history that they produced was too
particular to be the first output of an office to write dynastically approved “regular” history.
Secondly, and related to this first point, the portrayal of Sulṭān Süleymān as the ideal political
and spiritual ruler chosen by God does not make a practical beginning for a first work of a post
destined for posterity. One could argue that the Ottoman rulers after Süleymān also received
Divine approval; however, it would be less convincing to claim that each subsequent Ottoman
ruler was equally saint-like and equally favored by God.
These reasons would not make the continuation of official şehnāme writing impossible.
Yet they make it very unlikely that establishing an official historian’s post was the idea behind
11
Towards the beginning of writing this thesis, as I was struggling with the ad hoc nature I had observed in
Eflātūn’s assignment it, it was Cornell H. Fleischer who had suggested the possibility that there was no established
post at the time. After reading more of the manuscripts, and thinking and writing more, it became clear to me
that his logical intuition was right on the point.
8
Ārif’s first assignment. If there was indeed a şehnāmeci post, and I believe that there was, I
would push the date of its establishment further, to some time during the tenure of Seyyid
Loḳmān as şehnāmeci.
Following the same line of argument, I also believe that rather than the loss of the
military streak of the Ottoman rulers, it was the lack of a clear definition of the aim of the post
that eventually brought its end. In fact, the coherence of the works of the first two şehnāmecis
as opposed to the wider range of the works finished by the rest of the writers with whom they
shared title, bears witness to the fact that the clear intention visible in ‘Ārif and Eflātūn’s
works was lost after the death of Süleymān. What was expected of a şehnāmeci after that was to
be a mouth-piece for a loosely defined panegyric and dynastic propaganda.
In short, I find it extremely important to differentiate between the şehnāmes written
during the reign of Süleymān and those written afterwards. The difference is not a mere
variance in the styles of the writers, either. As I aim to demonstrate in the following pages,
there was already a great difference between the styles and the literary skills of ‘Ārif and
Eflātūn. The difference that is referred to here is one concerning the political and cultural
expectations of the Ottoman court and its royal patron. This is perhaps best seen in the works
that the third şehnāmeci Seyyid Loḳmān took over and finished like Hünernāme and even more
clearly, in Zübdetü’t-Tevārīḫ, or the Quintessence of Histories, which is based on the Imperial
Scroll examined in the sixth chapter of this thesis.
In a fine article with many insightful observations, Baki Tezcan “suggests that the
historical assertions of the sixteenth-century Ottoman sultanate to establish a self-referential
claim for political legitimacy were not accepted by the intellectual elite who successfully
contested the attempt of the court to establish an ideological hegemony over the
9
interpretation of Ottoman history.”12 Tezcan analyzes Seyyid Loḳmān’s hostile reception by
the Ottoman legalist intellectuals basing his evaluation primarily on the Quintessence of
Histories. While finding his argument plausible, I find his methodology problematic, for he
disregards the variation concerning the purpose of the project of the Quintessence of Histories
when Eflāṭūn died and Seyyid Loḳmān took over.
As it was envisioned and executed by ‘Ārif and later by Eflāṭūn, the Quintessence of
Histories, was a scroll for a grand yet private purpose. Aside from its irregularly rotating text,
even its great size (102 feet by 2.6 feet) demonstrates that it was not meant for dissemination
or for casual usage. In contrast, when converted into a book format by Seyyid Loḳmān, it was
reproduced with the purpose of dissemination. In fact, Tezcan himself resembles the
presentation of the copies of the book to different dignitaries as “a royal attempt to publish a
world history in the pre-print age.”13
Moreover, the Scroll that was designed to represent sacred history and Seyyid
Loḳmān’s book version differed considerably in their text, for the latter was the result of a
piecemeal job. Some sections of the Scroll have never made it to the book. When one starts to
read the visually mesmerizing Scroll, one is disappointed to discover that most of the text is
written in a rather rudimentary style. The not-so-elegant Turkish of the Quintessence of Histories
—most probably from the pen of Eflāṭūn—directly copied from the Scroll and the abrupt cuts
of the text would not—and does not—make high quality literature. Hence, unlike Tezcan, I
contend that the literary qualities of Seyyid Loḳmān, who did not have problems in putting his
12
Baki Tezcan, “The Politics of early modern Ottoman historiography,” in The Early Modern Ottomans, ed. Virginia
H. Aksan and Daniel Goffman. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007) p. 167-198.
13
Baki Tezcan, ibid. op. cit. p. 175.
10
name on an incomplete cut-and-paste job, was at least one of the reasons for the unfavorable
reception of his contemporaries.
The issue and problems of Tezcan’s methodology brings us to the methodology, or
rather methodologies, I have used for this thesis. The following section is a discussion of the
methods used in each chapter to evaluate the primary sources that form the backbone of my
study.
b. INTRODUCTION TO METHODOLOGY
Even though the scope of this thesis is much reduced from what was proposed initially,
it still required the study of a good number of manuscripts, all of which remain unpublished.
These include Enbiyānāme, ‘Osmānnāme, Süleymānnāme, Ḥekāyet-i Seyl Āmeden be İstanbūl, and
Tomar-ı Hümāyūn, which form the main body of the texts examined in this thesis. In addition,
Gūy ve Çevgān,14 Fütüḥāt-ı Cemīle, Vaḳ‘a-yi Sulṭān Bayezid ma‘a Selīm Hān, and Hünernāme are
studied and used when relevant. One could say that these form a secondary body of
manuscripts taken up in this study. A third group consists of manuscripts that are used for
comparison, particularly in the discussions on Gūy ve Çevgān and Enbiyānāme and originate
mainly but not entirely from the Topkapı Palace manuscript collection.15 These include such
works as the universal histories of Muḥammed b. Havand Shah’s (d. 903/1497-98) Ravżat aṡ-
14
My argument concerns one of the copies at the Topkapı Palace manuscript library (H. 845). However, other
copies were consulted for comparison.
15
Five of the Gūy ve Çevgān copies consulted are from the collection of the Istanbul University manuscript library:
FY 501, FY 1223, FY 421, FY 1157 (=Halis Efendi 8418), and FY 142/2 (folios 51b-70a).
11
ṡafā, Şükrullah’s (d. 864/1459-60) Behçet et-Tevārīḫ, and Ahmed b. Muḥammed b. Muḥammed al-
Buharī’s (d. 13th century) Tevārīḫ-i ‘ālam.
Ironically, along with the abundance of relevant material present in the manuscript
libraries, at times scarcity caused obstacles for my examination. Two of the manuscripts in the
principal group, namely Enbiyānāme and ‘Osmānnāme, have not been available for examination,
and I had to contend with their published illustrated pages in secondary literature. In order to
answer the challenges caused by abundance at times and scarcity (both in primary sources and
academic literature) at others, I had to encounter a different working method for each chapter.
In this section, I offer a short synopsis of the methods I used in the examination of ‘Ārif and
Eflātūn’s works. The method that corresponds to each chapter is described in more detail in
the relevant chapter.
c. METHODOLOGY ACCORDING TO EACH CHAPTER
The second chapter: The first section of this chapter is a study of ‘Ārif’s life and career,
and the methodology employed is the most straightforward. My aim in this section was to
draw a coherent portrait of ‘Ārif by analyzing what was said about the first şehnāmeci by his
contemporaries as well as in academic literature, directly and as well as in between the lines.
In addition, the confused reports about his familial and cultural background is first
deconstructed and then put into a logical sequence with new information. The material
available was sufficient to undertake a biographical study for ‘Ārif, however the situation was
not the same for the second şehnāmeci. Hence, I do not provide in this thesis a parallel section
for Eflātūn.
12
The method of investigation used in the second part of this chapter requires more
explanation. In this section, the argument that builds on a particular copy of Maḥmūd ‘Ārifī
Herāvī’s (d.853/1449) Ġūy ve Çevġān (“The Ball and the Polo Stick;” H. 845), was the result of a
partially accidental discovery following a footnote in Esin Atıl’s study of Süleymānnāme.16 The
point of departure for my examination is the presence of several peculiar characteristics of the
manuscript. These can be listed as the picture of a book cover, the contrast between the
lavishness of this royal copy and its textually very incomplete state, and the thematically not-
so-relevant double-folio of a royal hunting scene, where—I argue that—the royal crowd
depicted consists of a young-looking Sulṭān Süleymān with four of his sons. Basing my
evaluation on the shared visual elements, names, and artists between the copy of ‘Ārifī’s Ġūy ve
Çevġān and ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān, and on analytical reasoning I argue that this
flamboyant copy was a preliminary work to display the skills and the range of şehnāmeci ‘Ārif’s
team of artists.
The third chapter: This chapter on Enbiyānāme posed the most difficult hurdle to jump
over since the manuscript was not available for study. Furthermore, only six of its ten
miniatures were published.17 In addition, Esin Atıl, who had published five of the six
miniatures, had provided basic descriptions for the five miniatures she had not published in
her study on Süleymānnāme. Fortunately, the illustrations were depictions of the well-known
stories of early prophets.
16
Esin Atıl, Süleymanname: the illustrated history of Süleyman the Magnificent (New York, Harry N. Abrams, Inc.: 1986)
p. 77, footnote 41.
17
Esin Atıl published five of these miniatures, and a sixth was published in the Christie’s catalogue of the season of
1977. See the footnotes 5 and 6 of the third chapter.
13
Hence, in this chapter, using the clearly recognizable stories of the early prophets
depicted in the published miniatures and the lines of text on the illustrated pages as the point
of departure, I compared the visual narration in the published Enbiyānāme miniatures to the
textual narratives in the world history and the Ḳiṣaṣ al-anbiyā copies that were produced in or
before the sixteenth century and that were the most strongly represented at the Topkapı
Palace manuscript library.18 As such, my intention was to reach the versions of the stories
delivered in Enbiyānāme in order to—once again—exhibit peculiarities and thereby, expose
possible hidden agenda, sensitivities or unusual self-perceptions of the Ottoman court and
dynasty in the mid- sixteenth century.
I have to admit that my methodology here has two potentially weak points. The first is
that it is based on the assumption that the miniature program of Enbiyānāme was strictly
narrative. This is a less tricky point than it seems at first sight. Over the course of my study of
‘Ārif’s work, I came to the conclusion that not only in Enbiyānāme but also in Fütüḥāt-ı Cemīle,
‘Osmānnāme, and Süleymānnāme the visual representations collaborate closely with the text to
narrate versions of known incidents in—at times very recent—history.
In fact, the collaboration between the images and the text becomes particularly tight in
some of the miniatures. The two depictions of Bayezid I on folios 171a (Figure 59) and 203a
(Figure 61) in ‘Osmānnāme, and the representation of the Ottoman prince Muṣṭafā’s second to
last visit to his father on folio 477b (Figure 123) in Süleymānnāme are clear examples to the
18
When comparing the visual narratives in Enbiyānāme with the narratives in the manuscript library, I have paid
attention to the paintings in the world history and the Ḳiṣaṣ al-anbiyā copies, as well. However, they did not add
much new information to the comparison. Here, I should add that they highlighted some of the topics chosen for
representation in Enbiyānāme as unusual. This is especially the case for the particular sacrifice scene on folio 24b.
In general, however, often much different in style and much inferior in quality than the paintings in Enbiyānāme,
they complemented the text that corresponded to them in a less detailed fashion than their counterparts in
Enbiyānāme.
14
point.19 In all three of these miniatures details such as the clothes, the positions and the
direction of the gaze of the figures, and the peculiarity of elements in the settings charge
theses images with intentionality. These details, which are employed as tools in rather
sophisticated techniques of narration, also reveal the determination of the producers of these
images to tell a story. In turn, the images become necessary rather than complementary
elements for the narrative.
In the representation of the prince’s visit, while the text appears to describe the
particular visit, the image, just like a stich of poetry that communicates two independent lines
of meaning, communicates to the reader the unuttered and unutterable details of the
following visit when Sulṭān Süleymān ordered and witnessed his son’s assassination. In the
two scenes from ‘Osmānnāme, the almost exaggerated amount of details and in the case of the
scene from the Battle of Ankara, even the surreal representation of the floating tree leave
nothing unrepresented but the essential fall of the Ottoman ruler off his horse. The full
description of the incident otherwise surrounds and accentuates the absence of the fall, which
could not be represented out of convention. This self-conscious absence functions like the
brackets of silence in charged pieces of music; at the end, what is missing has more body than
what is articulated.
Naturally many of the miniatures are more straightforward. Some topics such as the
ascension and reception scenes are chosen to glorify; some, such as the one of soldiers in trees
or the execution scenes in Süleymānnāme provide diversion; and some, such as the lavish court
19
The two miniatures from Osmānnāme are on folios 184a and 203a. (Figures 60 and 61) See the chapter on
Osmānnāme for a discussion of both depictions. The Süleymānnāme miniature is on folio 477b (Esin Atıl, ibid. op.cit.
p. 197). I have examined this miniature in a short article titled “Bir Trajedinin Kurgulanışı: Arifī’nin
Süleymānnāmesinde (TSMK H. 1517) Şehzāde Mustafā’nın Katlinin Ele Alınışı,” (forthcoming in the collection of
articles Commemorative Gift to Filiz Cağman: Topkapı Palace Museum Communication Seminar on the Topkapı Palace and
Ottoman Art, Istanbul, 2010 (?).
15
scenes again in the same volume both glorify and entertain.20 Yet they all tell a story, or rather
stories, and more significantly, they do so with minute attention to detail.
The second potentially weak point in my methodology for Enbiyānāme is more difficult
to circumvent. It is the result of another assumption. I assume in my methodology that the
şehnāmeci team utilized the literature in the palace and that they did so respecting the
integrity of the versions presented in the royal collection. While it is highly likely that most of
the volumes of the Topkapı holdings used for comparison were present in the Ottoman palace
where and when the şehnāmeci team was preparing its work, we cannot know how much use—
if any—‘Ārif and his artists made of them.21 As a result, until I have the opportunity to work on
this manuscript, some of the conclusions of this chapter remain hypothetical. Fortunately, this
weak point does not affect other conclusions drawn by analytical reasoning and where details
of the miniatures were examined independently from the world histories and the Ḳiṣaṣ al-
anbiyā literature chosen for comparison.
The fourth chapter: Like Enbiyānāme, ‘Osmānnāme was not available for textual analysis.
However, unlike Enbiyānāme, its thirty four miniatures have been published by Ernst Grube.22
The method I used in this chapter resembles the one used for the previous chapter and takes as
an assumption the narrative function of the visual representations.
20
The scene of the soldiers in trees is on folio 266a (Esin Atıl, ibid. op. cit. p. 146). For scenes that glorify see for
example the folios 332a (Figure 69), 346a, 441a (Figure 68) (Esin Atıl, ibid. op. cit. p. 160, 164, and 186), for an
execution scene with a sense of humor see folio 98a (Esin Atıl, ibid. op. cit. p. 108); for glorifying and entertaining
court scenes see folios 321b (Figure 70) and 412a (Esin Atıl, ibid. op.cit. p. 157 and 178), all from Süleymānnāme.
21
I acknowledge this assumption in the chapter. However, I find it useful to introduce the problem in the
introduction as well so that it is not disregarded in the dynamics of the argument concocted in the chapter. I
thank Prof. Cornell H. Fleischer for helping me fine- tune my awareness of the problem.
22
Ernst J. Grube, Islamic paintings from the Eleventh to the Eighteenth Century in the Collection of Hans P. Kraus. (New
York: H.P. Kraus, 1972)
16
I used four well-known histories that have had much currency roughly since their
composition. These are the histories of the late fifteenth and the sixteenth century Ottoman
writers Āşıkpaşazāde, Oruç, Neşrī, and Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi. Once again, I compared the narration
of the events depicted in the miniatures with the textual narration of the same events in the
four sources listed above, both to provide more accurate information on the manuscript than
is available in literature and to expose and investigate irregularities.
Here, the second potential weakness mentioned in the case of the methodology
employed in Enbiyānāme posed less of a danger for two reasons. Firstly, the works of
comparison were accepted references in the sixteenth century Ottoman environment.
Secondly and more importantly, it did not matter really whether or not the şehnāmeci team
consulted them as references. The main aim for the comparison made in the chapter on
Osmānnāme was to reveal at what points the official şehnāme coincided and at what points it
differed from the four near contemporaneous sources in the narration of the same events; and
naturally to ask why that was so.
The fifth chapter: Here, the challenge was not the scarcity, but rather the abundance of
the material to be studied. To follow a similar path with the other chapters I decided to focus
on the narrative of the miniatures in Süleymānnāme as my plane of departure. The icon-like
depictions of Sulṭān Süleymān and the peculiar presence of the images of the tree and water
became central for my argument.
However, except for the light image used frequently in metaphors and the various titles
used in reference to the sultan, which could be erroneously dismissed as stereotypical flattery
by cynics, the prophet-like image created for the ruler in the images was not spelled out
17
clearly in the text corresponding to the images. The idea that the Ottoman ruler Süleymān was
chosen by God to lead the world politically as well as spiritually was one that I had seen being
developed in Enbiyānāme. In addition, the design of Sulṭān Süleymān’s medallion within the
visual scheme of the Imperial Scroll underlined the same idea. In the chapter on the saintly
ruler himself there had to be a recognizable articulation of this daring portrayal. Indeed, there
was, and I found it when I decided to concentrate on the part that is traditionally spared for
matters divine, that is in the introductory pages.
I begin the chapter with the close reading of the text particularly of the introductory
section and discuss its philosophical underpinnings. Secondly, I analyze the visual
representations of two images, the tree and water, and discuss alternatives for their possible
symbolic meanings, naturally all associated with the sultan’s image. Finally, I study a selected
number of the representations of the Ottoman ruler in the volume. Through my argument and
interpretation, I draw on modern and pre-modern sources from various mediums for
supporting proofs.
The sixth chapter: This chapter consists of two parts. The first is dedicated to a scarcely
known work of Eflātūn titled Ḥekāyet-i Seyl Āmeden be İstanbūl. Using analytical reasoning based
on supporting material found within the text and on circumstantial evidence, I argue that
Eflāṭūn wrote this short treatise on the catastrophic flood in Istanbul in 1563 C.E. as a sort of
“petition letter” to become the new şehnāmeci after ‘Ārif’s death.
The second section of this chapter includes a preliminary literary and visual
examination of the Imperial Scroll (Tomar-ı Hümāyūn) within a historical context. Aside from a
description and a discussion of especially the first half of the Scroll, which I argue is the output
18
of the first two şehnāmecis, the chapter includes an examination of the authorship of the work.
Finally the existence of a şehnāmeci tradition and a şehnāmeci post is questioned.
The following section is a short introductory categorization of the works of ‘Ārif and Eflātūn.
d. THE WORKS OF ‘ĀRIF AND EFLĀṬŪN:23
1) Fethullah ‘Ārif Çelebi (or ‘Ārif d. 969/1561-62 C.E.)
Tenure as şehnāmeci: 1545(?)-1561-62.
Extinct works: Sanemü’l-hayāl, Feresü’l-hayāl, Risāle fi’l-mu‘ammā, a ḳasīde () in Persian alluding to
a qaside of Hāḳānī or Imam Rīzā, and an account of Hadım Süleymān Paşa’s campaign to India in Turkish
verse.
Known works:
Ravżāt al-Uşaḳ (3 miniatures) According to Esin Atıl this literary work “must have been
completed around 1560.”is reportedly in the private collection of Edwin Binney.24
23
The information in this section is intended merely to orient the reader. More information is given especially in
the chapter on ‘Ārif’s biography. The manuscript codes that begin with the letter combination “TSMK” indicate
their presence in the Topkapı Palace manuscript library.
24
Esin Atıl, op. cit., p. 57. For copies of the paintings of this work see op. cit. p. 71.
19
*Fütüḥāt-ı Cemīle. (32 folios, 7 miniatures) Manuscript composed in Persian verse. It was
finished between 28th of June and the 12th of July in 1557 C.E. TSMK H. 1592.
*Şāhnāme-i Āl-i ‘Osmān (five volumes, all in Persian verse):
We do not know if the second and the third volumes were completed. Of these two volumes,
neither known copies of the finished versions nor any incomplete drafts are known to exist.
1) Enbiyānāme. (48 folios, 10 miniatures) Its transcription was completed on the 12th Jumada of
965 Jemaziyel-evvel/the 2nd of March 1558 C.E. Allegedly it is preserved in the collection of the
Bruschettini Foundation for Islamic and Asian Art in Genoa.
4) ‘Osmānnāme. (205 folios, 34 miniatures) Allegedly it is preserved in the collection of the
5) Süleymānnāme (617 folios, 65 miniatures)
The royal copy was completed in the middle of the month of Ramażān 965 (late June-early
July1558 C.E.). TSMK Hazine 1517.
There is also a partial draft of Süleymānnāme at the library of the Department of History and
Geography in Ankara University (M.O 81)
20
* Vaḳ‘a-yi Sulṭān Bayezid ma‘a Selīm Hān. (50 folios, space left for 2 miniatures) Manuscript in
Persian verse. It was written after the second of June in 1559 C.E. (25th of Shaban 966).25 TSMK
Revan 1540 mük.
2) Abdullātif Şirvanī (Eflātūn, d. 977/1569)
Tenure: 1561-62 - 1569
Known works:
*Ḥekāyet-i Seyl Āmeden be İstanbūl. (15 folios, no miniatures) Manuscript written in Persian
verse. TSMK H. 1570.
Works which Eflātūn coauthored:
*Tomar-ı Hümāyūn (Imperial Scroll). Scroll mainly written in Turkish prose. It was begun by
‘Ārif and after Eflātūn continued by Seyyid Loḳmān. TSMK A. 3599.
*Hünernāme. Manuscript in Turkish prose with some verses in Persian and Turkish. It was
begun by Eflātūn and finished by Seyyid Loḳmān. TSMK H. 1524.
25
The last event related is Selīm’s letter of victory written on that date.
21
CHAPTER 2
ŞEHNĀMECI FETḤULLAH ÇELEBI (‘ĀRIF)
AND AN INTRODUCTION TO HIS WORK
a. AN INTRODUCTION TO ‘ĀRIF AND HIS ŞĀHNĀME-YI ĀL-I ‘OSMĀN
This chapter is an introduction to the first şehnāme project at the time of Sulṭān
Süleymān, Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i‘Osmān. As such, it includes a biographical section on Fetḥullāh Çelebi
(‘Ārif), the author of Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i‘Osmān, and a section on a curious copy of Gūy ve Çevgān, a
fifteenth century classic of Timurid literature, which I claim is a preliminary work for the
Ottoman Şāhnāme.
The limited information available on the life and career of Fetḥullāh Çelebi comes from
the entries in the biographical (sections of) works by several sixteenth century writers such as
‘Āşık Çelebi, Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, Ebu’l Fażl, and Kınalızāde Ḥasan Çelebi. In this study, the
biographical information from these sources will be reorganized and juxtoposed against one
another and against the relevant references from ‘Ārif’s Süleymānnāme. In addition, the poet’s
familial and spiritual ties to İbrāhīm Gülşenī will be examined via Muḥyī-yi Gülşenī’s Menāḳıb-i
İbrāhīm-i Gülşenī, an anecdotal work on the miraculous life of the founder of the Gülşenī order
in the sixteenth century.
The second section of this chapter is a short elaboration of a hypothesis concerning a
particular copy of Gūy ve Çevgān (“The Ball and the Polo Stick”) that had been incorporated to
the Topkapı manuscript library from the Royal Treasury (TSMK H.845).
22
This is a copy of Maḥmūd ‘Ārifī Herāvī’s (d.1449 C.E.) well-known mesnevī 1, originally
titled Hālnāme (“The Book of Ecstasy”). It is a lavishly prepared manuscript in which many
decorative styles (découpage, gold scattering, marbling), colors and designs are used in
ostentatious display. The only miniature of the book is a double-paged image that depicts
Sulṭān Süleymān hunting with four of his sons. (Figure 5) The manuscript also includes a
painting of a book cover. (Figure 6) These two images, the miniature and the representation of
a book cover, are both found in the last folios of the manuscript after the text ends. 2 They bear
no thematic relation to the text, and as such their existence demands justification.
I propose in the following section that this book is closely related to the grand Șāhnāme
project as a preliminary work. It was prepared principally to demonstrate the skill and range
of Fetḥullāh Çelebi’s team of artists in the field of the arts of the book. I argue that the very
characteristics that make this manuscript extraordinary (its aesthetic flamboyancy, the
seemingly irrelevant miniature, and the representation of a book cover), in fact, approximate
it to an artistic portfolio. In other words, the ostentatious artistic program of its written pages
as well as the inclusion within the same manuscript of a hunting scene with contemporary
protagonists and a book cover depiction make perfect sense if indeed, the intention was to
display the extent and height of the skills of the artists in Șehnāmeci ‘Ārif’s team.
1
Mesnevī (‫ )ىﻮﻨﺜﻤ‬is a poetical form organized in distichs where the two lines rhyme with one another. All lines
have the same meter. It is often used to relate longer stories. Despite its relatively minor size, Gūy ve Çevgān can be
thought of as belonging to the larger genre of allegorical mystical stories, such as the thirteenth century classics
Rumī’s Mesnevī, and ‘Attār’s Mantiḳu’t-Tayr.
2
H. 845, folios 34b, 35a, and 34a, respectively.
23
b. ‘ĀRIF’S BIOGRAPHY AND THE EVALUATION OF HIS CONTEMPORARIES
i. The fundamental male figures of ‘Ārif’s personal and professional life: Dervīş Meḥmed
Çelebi, Ibrāhīm Gülşenī, and Elḳās Mīrzā
We do not know much about the life of Fetḥullāh Çelebi before he embarked on his
successful career serving the Ottoman sultan Süleymān. We do not know if he had siblings or
whether he married or had any offspring. Fortunately, there is some information on his
parents. Different sources confirm that his mother was the (only?) daughter of the well-known
and well-respected Sufi sheikh and religious scholar İbrāhīm Gülşenī (d. 940 H./1534 C.E.).3
According to Muṣṭafā ‘Āli (d. 1008 H./1600 C.E.), “beside being the grandchild of a saint-like
Şeyḫ Ibrāhīm, he (‘Ārif) was said to be dearer to him (his grandfather) than his own son.” A
reference in Menāḳıb-i İbrāhīm-i Gülşenī4 confirms their close relationship and demonstrates the
sheikh’s trust in his grandson’s linguistic capabilities. The author of the Menāḳıb, Muḥyī–yi
Gülşenī (d. 1014 H./1605-1606 C.E.) relates that in Egypt the sheikh was dictating five different
works—in three different languages—to five scribes all at the same time. His grandson
Fetḥullāh was, in fact, one of these scribes and was assigned to put ‘Anḳānāme on paper.5
3
‘Āşık Çelebi, Meşā’ir üş-Şu’arā. Ed. G.M. Meredith-Owens. Gibb Memorial Series, no. 24 (London: Messrs. Luzac and
Company LTD., 1971), p. 165a, 165b, 166b; Kınalızade Hasan Çelebi, Tezkîretü’ş-Şuárâ. Ed. İbrahim Kutluk (Ankara:
1989), p. 596; Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, Künhü’l Ahbār’ın Tezkire Kısmı. Ed. Mustafa İsen (Ankara: 1994), p. 238.
4
Muḥyī-yi Gülşenī, Menāḳıb-i İbrāhīm-i Gülşenī. Ed. Tahsin Yazıcı (Ankara: 1982). Hence forward, I will use the short
version, Menāḳıb.
5
İbrāhīm-i Gülşenī’s work is also known as Sīmurġnāme. This missing work is said to be 30 000 couplets long
(Muḥyī, op. cit., p. 302.) Sīmurġnāme might be a poetic and mystic response to ‘Attār’s Mantiḳu’t-Tayr or to Ibn
‘Arabī’s For a reference to its possible association withMantiḳu’t-Tayr, see Berrin Uyar Akalın, “The Poets Who
Wrote and Translated Mantiku’t-Tayr in Turkish Literature” International Journal of Central Asian Studies. Vol. 10-
1:2005, p. !75. It is highly likely that Muḥyī’s words bear some dose of exaggeration. However, even if we refuse to
believe Muḥyī’s statement that the sheikh was working on five different manuscripts in three different languages
simultaneously, the intimate relationship between the grandfather and his grandson implied in this anecdote
24
As for his father Dervīş Çelebi, according to Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, he was “an eloquent man of
Persian descent”6 Likewise, another contemporary biographer, Kınalızāde Hasan Çelebi (d. 12
Şevvāl 1012/15th of March 1604) writes that he was “among the men of learning and belonged
to the Persian elite.”7 ‘Ārif states in the fifth volume of his Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān
(Süleymānnāme) that he was from the city of Abadan.8
In Süleymānnāme, we see Dervīş Meḥmed in a miniature as an elderly envoy to Elḳās
Mīrzā from Sulṭān Süleymān, wearing a Gülşenī turban.9 (Figure 2) ‘Ārif here pays his respect
to his father in a few discreet lines full of appreciation and admiration. Employing the
alliteration of the sounds “ā” (‫ )ﺁ‬and “be” (‫ )ﺐ‬as well as a pun on the word “bāb” (‫)ﺐﺎﺒ‬, he writes
that since his father (‫ )ﺐﺎﺒ‬was from Abadan, Dervīş’s words found trust everywhere (literally at
every threshold, “‫)”ﺐﺎﺒ‬.10 ‘Ārif wishes that his own head never be without his father’s
(protecting) shadow and that his father’s heart always stays content and happy.11
Aside from delivering Fetḥullāh Çelebi’s filial respect and affection for his father, this
miniature in Süleymānnāme also brings us to one of the most contested points in the şehnāmeci’s
would remain valid. For even if ‘Ārif had not written down the mentioned work, this anecdote makes it clear that
for an insider like Muḥyī, it was most natural that ‘Ārif would be entrusted with such a task.
6
“Pederi Dervīş Çelebi nām ‘Acemzāde-i şīrīn-kelām idi” Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, Künhü’l Ahbār’ın Tezkire Kısmı. Ed. Mustafa
İsen (Ankara: 1994), p. 238.
7
“ ‫ ”ﺒﺎﺒﺎﺴﻰ اﺮﺒﺎﺐ ﻤﻌﺎﺮﻒ ﻮ ﻈﺮﻔﺎﺀ اﻋﺠﺎﻤﺪاﻦ‬Kınalızāde Hasan Çelebi, Tezkiretü’ş- Şuarā, ed. with an introduction by
Ibrahim Kutluk. (Ankara: T.T.K.B., 1978), vol. II, p.596.
8
H. 1517, 505 a, lines 1 (‫ )ﻢﺎﺒ ﻩﺪﻨﺨﺮﻔ ﺶﻴﻮﺮﺪ ﺪﺸ‬and 2 (‫)زا ﺎﺠﻨا ﻪﮐ ﺮﻬﺸ ﻦاﺪﺒا ﺐﺎﺒ ﻦﻤ‬. The current city of Abadan is at the Iran-
Iraq border very close to where the river Shatt al-Arab joins the Persian Gulf.
9
Süleymānnāme folio 506a. For a picture of the Gülşenī turban see Mustafa Kara, “Gülşeniyye.” Islam Ansiklopedisi,
v.14, Istanbul, 1996, p. 257.
10
“‫ اﺰ هﺮ ﺒﺎﺐ ﺒﻮﺪ اﻋﺘﻤﺎﺪ ﺴﺨﻦ‬/ ‫ ”اﺰ اﻨﺠﺎ ﻜﻪ ﺸﻬﺮ اﺒﺪاﻦ ﺒﺎﺐ ﻤﻦ‬H. 1517 folio 505a, line 2.
11
“‫ﺜﻨﺎﺨﻮاﻦ اﻮ هﻤﭽﻮ اﻮ ﭙﻮﺮ ﺒﺎﺪ‬/‫ﻪﺸﻴﻤه ﺶﻠﺪ ﺪﺎﺸ ﻮ ﺮﻮﺮﺴﻤ ﺪﺎﺒ‬//‫ ﻪﻜ ﻰﻠﺎﺨ ﺪﺎﺒﻤ ﺰا ﻢﺮﺴ ﺶاﻪﻴﺎﺴ‬/‫ ”ﭙﺪﺮ ﻜﺶ ﻤﻨﻢ ﭙﻮﺮ ﭙﺮ ﻤﺎﻴﻪ اﺶ‬H. 1517, folio
504b, line 15. The second stich of the first distich and the first stich of the second distich are translated in the
main body of the text above.
25
life: the date of his arrival in Istanbul. In secondary literature, it has been assumed that
Fetḥullāh Çelebi’s service for Sulṭān Süleymān had basically started with his arrival in the
Ottoman capital, which, in its turn, is often assumed to be directly related to the arrival in
Istanbul of Elḳās Mīrzā, the Safavid prince who had fled from his half-brother Șāh Ṭahmāsb
and taken refuge with Sulṭān Süleymān in 1547. 12 Both of these assumptions, I believe, are the
results of the scarcity of information on the poet’s career before he worked as the royal
Ottoman şehnāmeci and the ambiguity of the information that exists.
However, of the two assumptions mentioned above—that ‘Ārif started to work for the
Ottoman sultan as soon as he arrived in Istanbul and that he came with Elḳās Mīrzā—the
second has already been proven erroneous. While it is highly likely that Fetḥullāh Çelebi’s
career path crossed that of Elḳās Mīrzā, this contact does not at the same time determine the
commencement date of his literary service for the Ottoman palace. Cornell Fleischer was the
first to note that ‘Ārif could not have come to the Ottoman capital with the renegade Safavid
prince Elḳās Mīrzā in 1547, as it has often been stated.13 Using an archival document now in the
Prime Ministerial Archives (Maliyeden Müdevver 17881), he demonstrates that the writer was
already on the palace payroll on the 31st of October in 1545 C.E.14
12
For more information on the Safavid renegade prince Alqas Mirza, see the unpublished dissertation of Walter
Poch Walter: Der Fall Alkas Mirza und der Persienfeldzug von 1548-1549. Eine Gescheitertes Osmanisches Projekt.
Dissertation thesis at Bamberg University (19. 7. 1999). Edition Wissenschaft, Reihe Orientalistik, Bd. 11, Tectum
Verlag, Marburg, 2000. I could not locate any reference to either ‘Ārif or his father in this study.
13
For examples of this error see for example Esin Atıl, Süleymanname: the illustrated history of Süleyman the
Magnificent (New York, Harry N. Abrams, Inc.: 1986), p. 55; Christine Woodhead, “An Experiment in Official
Historiography: The Post of Şehnameci in the Ottoman Empire c. 1555-1605,” WZKM 75 (1983) p. 159 ; Tahsin
Yazıcı in his introduction for Muḥyī-yi Gülşenī, op. cit., p. LII. After the publication of Cornell Fleischer’s
Bureaucrat and Intellectual in the Ottoman Empire, the Historian Mustafa Ȃli, where he proves ‘Ārif’s service for the
Ottoman palace before 1547, Tahsin Yazıcı modified his account of ‘Ārif’s relationship with Elḳās Mīrzā and wrote
that the poet was already in the capital at the time of the Safavid prince’s arrival. Tahsin Yazıcı, “Ārifī Fethullah
Çelebi,” Islam Ansiklopedisi, v. III, Istanbul, 1991, p. 372.
14
Cornell H. Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual in the Ottoman Empire, the Historian Mustafa Ȃli. (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1986), p. 30, footnote 46.
26
A curious manuscript, H.845, in the Topkapı Palace manuscript library opens the door
for the possibility of an earlier date for ‘Ārif’s first şehnāme assignment. As it will be shown in
the following section of this thesis, this book is most likely to be a preliminary work before the
launching of the Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān project. Its extraordinarily intricate and ostentatious
aesthetics most resembles that of an artistic portfolio that provides a list of the possibilities
the “şehnāme team of artists” could realize, and at the same time showing off the remarkable
extent of their capabilities. The date of completion of the text is given in the colophon as
946/1539-40. However, the absence of Prince Meḥmed, Sulṭān Süleymān’s favorite son, in the
only miniature of the book, where the sultan is depicted hunting with his four sons, suggests
that at least this miniature was added after Prince Meḥmed’s death in 1543.
In effect, there are other references—or cross-references if you will—from the sixteenth
century that complement Cornell Fleischer’s finding. In Menāḳıb, Muḥyī records the incident
when he was presented as a young literary protégée to the “Şehnāmegūy Mevlānā ‘Ārif
Fetḥullāh Efendi” in a learned gathering. This meeting held in the house of Ḥaydar Ağa, one of
the Gatekeepers (kapuağa) of the Ottoman palace, is narrated with many interesting details and
is worth studying in itself. However, for now its importance lies in situating ‘Ārif in Istanbul as
a well-respected man among the Ottoman literati and with the title of “Şehnāmegūy” (narrator
of şehnāmes) in 953/1546, before the arrival of the Safavid prince.15
The fact that he was already the sultan’s şehnāmeci/ şehnāme gūy when the Safavid
prince arrived in Istanbul is also attested to by Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, who is one of the most reliable
15
Muhyī-yi Gülşenī, op. cit., p. 413-415. The lunar year given for this incident, 953, corresponds to the time
interval March 4th 1546-January 23rd 1547. However, we already know from references in Ottoman biographies of
poets that one of the participants of this elite gathering, the poet Mevlana Zatī died within the year 1546. (Sicill,
II, 341; Osmanli Müellifleri, II, 176; Sehī Bey, Tezkire-yi Sehī Bey, Berlin ms. Or.oct.3449 (facsimile), p. 107; Muhyī-yi
Gülşenī, op. cit., p. LII) Hence we can claim that ‘Arif was already working as şehnāmeci in Istanbul in 1546.
27
sources on the issue, both for his rigorous scholarship in general, and for his personal
acquantaince with the şehnāmeci, in particular. In the section of the biographies of poets in his
Künhü’l- ahbar, in the entry for the second şehnāmeci Eflātūn, he writes that when Eflātūn came
to the Ottoman lands from Iran, as the scribe and poet of Elḳās Mīrzā, he sought fame among
the milieu of Ottoman poets. It seems that he saw ‘Ārif as his principal rival and, hence,
“procured enmity against the late ‘Ārif Çelebi who was the royal Şehnāmegūy at the time.”16
If contemporaries such as Muṣṭafā ‘Āli and Muḥyī write of ‘Ārif’s presence in the
Ottoman capital as the Şehnāmegūy of the sultan before the arrival of Elḳās Mīrzā, from where
does the confusion in the current literature originate? As it is suggested above, I contend that
the origin of the confusion in secondary literature stems at least partially from the
misinterpretation of the Ottoman biographies and the assumption that ‘Ārif’s previous service
for the Safavid prince also meant that he was still in his retinue when the prince arrived in the
Ottoman lands.
In Künhü’l Ahbār, ‘Āli also writes that “Monlā ‘Ārif” had served as seal-bearer for Elḳās
Mīrzā. In ‘Āli’s biography, this information on ‘Ārif is presented in relation to the poet’s
mastery of calligraphy especially in the Persian divānī (chancery) style, and the high
recognition he received for his knowledge of the rules and regulations of Persian ceremonial.17
This part of ‘Āli’s entry reads like a confirmation of similar lines in ‘Āşık Çelebi’s (d. Şa‘bān
979/January 1572) entry for the same poet:
16
Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, op. cit., p. 194.
17
“pederi Dervīş Çelebi nām ‘Acemzāde-i şīrīn-kelām idi A’cām revīşindeki ḫaṭṭ-ı dīvānīde ser-āmed ‘kavānīn-i
‘Acem-āyīninde engüştnümā-yı ben-ī ādem olup Elḳās Mīrżānuñ nişāncısı olmış idi.” Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, op. cit., p. 238.
28
“He (‘Ārif) was a man of fine penmanship in the divānī style calligraphy, and in the
mastery of prose, in the field of Persian royal decrees, (and) with respect to the rules of the
protocol of royal orders, he was the most knowledgeable of all masters.”18
Immediately after these laudatory words, ‘Āşık Çelebi, who like ‘Āli was acquainted with
‘Ārif, also adds that he was the seal bearer of Elḳās Mīrzā.19 While both ‘Āşık Çelebi and ‘Āli
write of ‘Ārif’s service for Elḳās Mīrzā, neither states that he was still responsible for the
prince’s seal when the latter fled to the Ottoman lands. In fact, as it is mentioned above, ‘Āli
clearly states otherwise.
Another source of the problem appears to be the confused information presented in
some of the biographies. In his biography of poets, Kınalızāde Hasan Çelebi , for example,
writes that it was his father Dervīş Meḥmed and not ‘Ārif, who was a capable calligrapher and
skillful in the composition of royal orders. He continues that once again it was Dervīş Meḥmed
who came to the Ottoman lands (Rūm) in the service of Elḳās Mīrzā and that later taking his
leave from the prince, went to Cairo where he married the daughter of Şeyḫ Ibrāhīm Gülşenī.20
This information clearly contradicts the dates we have for ‘Ārif’s literary service in the palace
stated above; Dervīş Meḥmed Çelebi could not have possibly married ‘Ārif’s mother after 1547
if their legitimate son was already in Istanbul on the payroll of the Ottoman palace in 1545.
Beyāni (d. 1006/1597-8) in his own biography of poets, which is largely a revised and
shortened version of Kınalızāde’s, repeats that ‘Ārif’s father came to the Ottoman lands with
18
“‫”ﺨﻄ ﺪﻴ ﻮاﻨﻰﺪﻩ ﺤﺴﻦ ﺨﻄ ﻮ ﻠﻄﻒ اﻨﺸﺎﺪﻩ ﺪﺴﺘﻮﺮ ﺴﻼﻄﻴﻦ ﻋﺠﻢ اﻮﺰﺮﻩ ﺁﻴﻴﻦ ﻘﻮاﻨﻴﻦ ﻴﺮﻠﻴﻎ ﻤﻌﻨﺎﺪا ﻋﺎﺮﻒ اﺒﻮ اﻠﻤﻌﺎﺮﻒ ﻜﻤﺴﻨﻪ ﻴﺪى‬
‘Āşık Çelebi, op. cit., p. 165a.
19
“‫ ”اﻠﻘﺎﺲ ﻤﻴﺮﺰاﻨﮎ ﻨﺸﺎﻨﺠﺴﻰ اﻮﻠﺪى‬Ibid. op. cit.
20
Kınalızāde Ḥasan Çelebi, Tezkîretü’ş-Şuárâ. Ed. İbrahim Kutluk (Ankara: 1989), p. 596. Kınalızade writes,
‫”ﻰﺴﺎﺑاﺑ بﺎﺑرا ﻒﺮﺎﻌﻤ ﻮ ﺀﺎﻔﺮﻈ ﻦﺪﻤاﺠﻋا ﻦﺴﺤ ﻪﱠﻄﺨ ﺮﺪﺎﻘ ىﺮﻠﻨﻮﻨﺎﻘ ﻩﺮﺰﻮا ﻎﻴﻠﺮﻴ ﻩﺪﻜﻠﺴﻴﻮﻨ رهﺎﻣ ﻦﻴﻐﻤﻠﻮا ﺲﺎﻘﻠا ازﺮﻳﻣ ﻪﻟﻳﺘﻣدﺧ ﻪﻣور‬
“‫ﻩﺪﻜﺪﻠﮔ ﺮﻳﻤﺖﻣﺪﺨ و نﺪﻩدازﻬﺸ ﻩدازﺁ بﻮﻟوا رﺼﻣ ﻪﻴﻩرهﺎﻘ ﻩدﻗﺪراو ﺦﻴﺸ ﻢﻴهارﺑا ﻚﻧﻰﻧﺸﻟﮔ رﺘﺨد ﺖﺪﺎﻌﺴ ﻰﻧرﺑﺨﻣ بﻮﻟﺁ‬
29
Elḳās Mīrzā and then married the daughter of Şeyḫ Ibrāhīm Gülşenī in Egypt.21 As if the
variance in the reports of the contemporaneous biographers were not sufficient, the
twentieth-century German historian Babinger brings yet a different interpretation about
‘Ārif’s ties with Elḳās Mīrzā.
According to Babinger, ‘Ārif did not come with the Prince’s retinue yet he had been
employed by the Prince earlier. In his entry for the poet in his book on Ottoman historians, he
writes that ‘Ārif in his early youth went with his father to Egypt and then went back again to
his Persian home. He continues that destiny then took the poet to Istanbul, where he settled
and began writing in Persian and Turkish. Shortly after these lines, Babinger adds that ‘Ārif
had already held the position of şehnāmeci—and not seal bearer—in the service of the Prince
Elḳās Mīrzā.22 Unfortunately Babinger does not state exactly where he received this
information. Nor could I locate it in the references he provides for his entry.23
Still, the most confusing report comes from another Ottoman biographer, Nev’īzāde
‘Atāyi Çelebi’s (d. 1634) Hadāyiḳ el-haḳāyiḳ fī tekmilet i’ş-şeḳāiḳ. Here, the main entry for “el-Mūlā
21
“‫ ”ﺒﺎﺒﺎﺴﻲ ﻈﺮﻔﺎﺀ اﻋﺠﺎﻤﺪﻦ اﻮﻠﻮﺐ اﻠﻘﺎﺲ ﻤﻴﺮﺰا اﻴﻠﻪ ﺮﻮﻤﻪ ﮔﻠﻮﺐ ﻤﺼﺮﺪﻩ ﺸﻴﺦ اﺒﺮاهﻴﻢ ﮔﻠﺸﻨﻰﻨﻚ ﻜﺮﻴﻤﻪﺴﻦ ﺁﻠﻮﺐ‬Beyâni Mustafa bin Carullah,
Tezkiretüş-Şuarâ, ed. Ibrahim Kutluk, TTK, Ankara, 1997, p. 161.
22
“In früher Jugend kam er zusammen mit seinem Vater nach Ägypten und kehrte wieder in seine persische
Heimat zirück. Später verschlug ihn das Schicksal nach Stambul, wo er seßhaft wurde und unter dem machlas
‘Ārifī in persischer und türkischer Sprache zu dichten begann…Er stand schon in Persien kurze Zeit hindurch als
šāhnāmeği in Diensten des Prinzen Elqāṣṣ Mīrzā.” Franz Babinger, Die Geschichtsschreiber der Osmanen und Ihre
Werke. (Leipzig:Otto Harrassowitz, 1927), p. 87.
23
I have not been able to check the document mentioned by Babinger with the reference code Hs. or. 39 in the
Biblioteca Barberina titled “poema turcicum historicum ab inicio fundationis imperii usque od.” Franz Babinger, ibid. op.
cit. However, if Babinger’s reference corresponds to the entry “Barb. Orient 39” in Ettore Rossi’s catalog of the
Vatican libraries, it deals with a sixteenth century history of the Ottoman House until the year 945/1538-39 C.E.
written in Turkish verse in mesnevī form. According to the catalog, the unspecified author writes that the idea for
his history of the Ottoman dynastic history came to him in a dream. The genealogy he provides follows the line
Süleymān-Hormüz-Ertuğrul-‘Osmān. Even if we suppose that this reference deals with an unknown history of
‘Ārif in Turkish, the specified origin of the author’s inspiration suggests that he was a freelance writer and was
not ordered to write his history by the Ottoman ruler. That was certainly not the case with şehnāmeci ‘Ārif.
Neither does the genealogy provided follow that of the Imperial Scroll (Tomar-ı Hümāyūn), envisioned and
prepared at various levels by both ‘Ārif and his successor Eflǀātūn. Still, it would not be wise to refuse the
possibility of a direct relation with the Ottoman Şāhnāme project before seeing this manuscript.
30
Fetḥullāh” is rather short. However, outside the main frame of the text, in the left margin of
the folio, more information is provided on the poet’s familial background as well as his career.
After the typical statement of the marriage of ‘Ārif’s father, a Persian gentleman, to the
daughter of Şeyḫ Ibrāhīm Gülşenī, the report continues:
Fetḥullāh Çelebi had descended from that pure origin. He has a sign (signature?) with
the penname ‘Āzimī and an excessive number of poems. The biographers of poets have noted
his skill in particular (or secondary?) sciences (ma‘ārif-i cüz’iye). His name is Dervīş Çelebi. He is
the seal bearer of Elḳās Mīrzā. His calligraphy in the styles of ta‘līḳ and dīvānī was of unequalled
beauty.24 He has completed 60 000 stichs of (his) şehnāme and presented it to the exalted Sulṭān
Süleymān Ḫān.25
Was ‘Ārif or his father Elḳās Mīrzā’s seal bearer, and who was ‘Āzimī? The extent of the
confusion in some of the primary sources—such as the one just cited—suggests that scribal
errors also played a significant role in creating these—at times nearly insensible—accounts. In
‘Atāyī’s entry for example, is the penname ‘Āzimī (‫ )ﻋﺎﺰﻤﻰ‬a copying error that substituted the
visually similar ‘Ārifī (‫ )ﻋﺎﺮﻔﻰ‬in the original text? Is the sentence “His name is Dervīş Çelebi”
misplaced and did it originally belong to an earlier section—not cited here—where information
was given on the father? In order to put an end to the ambiguity surrounding the issue of ‘Ārif
and/or his father’s service for Elḳās Mīrzā, an examination of Persian sources related to the
Safavid prince are needed. At this point, what we can state with certainty is what Cornell
Fleischer has already proven. Whether ‘Ārif acted as seal bearer—or as şehnāmeci, for that
matter—in Elḳās Mīrzā’s court or not, he did not accompany him to Istanbul; he was already
serving the Ottoman sultan when the Prince arrived.
24
A more literal—but perhaps more awkward—translation would be “he used to write calligraphy in the ta‘līḳ and
dīvānī styles with never-before-seen-beauty.”
25
Atāullāh Nev’īzāde ‘Atāi, Hadāyiḳ el-haḳāyiḳ fī tekmilet i’ş-şeḳāiḳ. (Darü’t-Tabā‘ati’l-‘Āmire: 1268/1852-1853), p. 31.
31
As for ‘Ārif’s father, his name and conjugal relationship with the sheikh suggests, and
the Süleymānnāme miniature mentioned above confirms, that he was a disciple of the Gülşenī
order which was founded by Şeyḫ Ibrāhīm as an offshoot of the Rūşenī branch of the Ḫalvetī
order.26 Considering their familial relationship with the founder, it would not be surprising if
both the father and the son had attained an advanced status in the Gülşenī order. 27 It is
interesting to note that in one of his references to Fetḥullāh Çelebi in his Menāḳıb-ı İbrāhīm-i
Gülşenī, Muḥyī-yi Gülşenī used the compound name “‘Ārif billāh”.28 This formulation of the
penname meaning “knowing of God” further hints at the affiliation of the poet with mysticism.
In a curious anecdote in Menāḳıb we hear the story of a certain Dervīş Meḥmed bin
‘Acem Fetḥullāh (Dervīş Meḥmed the son of the Persian Fetḥullāh) in a particularly passionate
semā‘29 session. It is highly likely that the dervish mentioned here is Fetḥullāh Çelebi’s father
who must have given his son his own father’s name.30 Presumably in a deep trance, the dervish
jumps off a high terrace landing on his feet as if “on the wings of birds” with no injury done to
26
For more information and references on the Gülşenī order, see Mustafa Kara, “Gülseniyye.” Islam Ansiklopedisi,
v.14, Istanbul, 1996, p. 257. For a detailed account of İbrāhīm-i Gülşenī’s life and career see the dissertation of Side
Emre for the Department of History at the University of Chicago, “Ibrāhīm -i Gülşeni (ca. 1442-1534):A Heretical
Saint and a Political Dissident in Mamluk and Ottoman Egypt”.
27
It is possible that the title “çelebi” that is often used in reference to him as well as to his son (Fetḥullāh Çelebi) is
an indication of a (high) level within the order. Mustafa Kara writes in his entry for “Gülseniyye” in Islam
Ansiklopedisi that “çelebi” was the name given in this order to the head of the lodge who reached the level of a
saint. (“Gülşeniyye’de pir makamında bulunan postnişine “çelebi” yeni intisap eden dervişe “nevniyaz” denir”)
Mustafa Kara, “Gülşeniyye.” Islam Ansiklopedisi, v.14, Istanbul, 1996, p. 257.
28
“‫ ”ﻒﺮﺎﻋ ﷲﺎﺒ ﻰﻨﻌﻴ ﺢﺘﻔ ﷲا ىﺪﻨﻔا‬Muḥyī, op. cit., p. 415.
29
Semā‘ is a mystic ritual where the dervishes of a particular order whirl with music. Formal rules often charged
with symbolic meaning govern this ritual. Semā‘ is generally known as a ritual dance of the Mevlevī order. It is, in
fact, also practiced by other orders like the Gülşenī and Cerrāḥī orders, which have had strong ties with the
Mevlevī order.
30
This disciple could not have been Fetḥullāh Çelebi’s son because it would have been impossible for him to have
an adult son in the early 1530s.
32
his body and continues with his ritual whirling.31 Şeyḫ Ibrāhīm Gülşenī himself was one of the
witnesses to this event along with his ḫalīfe in Edirne, ‘Āşık Mūsā, who had come to Egypt on a
pilgrimage visit. The presence of these two mystics in Egypt allows us to date the incident
between the sheikh’s return from his visit to the Ottoman capital in 1530 during which he
assigned ‘Āşık Mūsā to Edirne, and the sheikh’s death in 1534.
Aside from spiritual sensibilities,32 the limited information we have on ‘Ārif’s familial
relations also indicates a background of religious and intellectual, as well as political
pretensions. The significance of religion and spirituality for both ‘Ārif’s father and maternal
grandfather should be clear from the summary information given above.
At least on the side of his maternal grandfather, the şehnāmeci also came from a line of
religious scholars. İbrāhīm Gülşenī’s father Muḥammed Āmidī was a scholar who had written
on theology, Islamic jurisprudence, and logic, while his grandfather İbrāhīm was a teacher who
had written on mysticism and Islamic jurisprudence.33
At the same time, it is as important to keep in mind his grandfather İbrāhīm Gülşenī’s
political engagements, which had started very early in his career. Mollā Ḥasan, the military
judge (ḳadı‘asker) of the Akkoyunlu ruler Uzun Ḥasan, was his first mentor outside of his own
family in his earlier youth. Furthermore, İbrāhīm Gülşenī acted as an Akkoyunlu agent in
several occasions in his later youth in Herat, Shiraz, and Karabağ.34
31
“ ‫اﺘﺪﻢ ﻋﻠﻤﻢ ﻴﻮﻏﺪى ﻜﺎﻨﻪ ﺒﺮ ﻨﻴﺠﻪ ﻘﻮﺶ ﺒﻨﻰ ﻘﻨﺎﺪﻠﺮى اﻮﺰﺮﻩ ﺁﻨﺪﻩ اﻨﺪﺮﺪﻴﻠﺮ؛ ﻜﻨﺪﻮﻤﻪ ﮔﻠﺪﻢ ﻴﺮﻩ ﺪﻮﺸﺪﻜﺪﻩ ﻤﺠﺒﻮﺮ اﻮﻠﻮﺐ ﺴﻤﺎﻋﻪ ﻤﺸﻐﻮﻞ اﻮﻠﺪﻢ‬
‫ ” ﭽﻮﻦ ﻜﻨﺪﻮﻤﻰ‬Muhyī-yi Gülşenī, Menākib-i İbrāhim Gülşenī. Ed. Tahsin Yazıcı (Ankara: 1982), p. 225.
32
Furthermore, Ibrāhīm Gülşenī’s uncle and first mentor Seydī ‘Alī was a Sufi sheikh of more than 200 followers.
“İbrȃhim Gülşenȋ” Islam Ansiklopedisi, v.21, Istanbul, 1996, p. 302.
33
Ibid. Op. Cit.
34
Ibid. Op. Cit.
33
In effect, the sheikh’s entire life and career were conditioned by his pro or contra stand
vis-à-vis the ruling authority. When the Safavids entered Tebriz in1502, Gülşenī moved back to
his home town of Diyarbekir and stayed there until the Safavid sphere of influence caught up
with him. The local ruler’s alliance to the Safavids was the reason behind his migration from
Diyarbekir to Mamluk Egypt via Maraş and Jerusalem. After the demise of the Akkoyunlu, it
was the Mamluks who promised him a politically accommodating environment.
In the following years, he maintained a sufficiently good relationship with the Ottoman
sultan Selīm, who had ended Mamluk authority with two decisive victories in 1516 and 1517.
However, his relations with the Ottoman authorities soured during the reign of Selīm’s son
Süleymān.
In September 1520, only a few years after the Ottoman acquisition of the Mamluk
realms, Süleymān inherited the throne upon his father’s untimely death. In the absence of
rival siblings, the young sultan had not been obligated to fight for the throne. However, this
seemingly fortunate circumstance was in fact a mixed blessing: the young sultan had to
consolidate his authority not before but after his enthronement in his own palace and the
formerly conquered Ottoman lands, as well as in the recently conquered lands like Egypt. The
uprising of the governor (beylerbeyi) of Damascus Cānberdī Ġazālī immediately after
Süleymān’s accession was a clear indicator of the precariousness of the situation. Even after
the termination of the uprising in a few months, and the important victories of Belgrade
(August1521), and Rhodes (December of 1522) that enhanced the sultan’s authority and
prestige, Egypt presented the geographical area where the authority of the new sultan and
hence that of Ottoman dominion was—arguably—the most challenged.
34
In this environment, where loyalties were continuously contested and put to question,
İbrāhīm Gülşenī raised suspicions concerning his possible involvement in Ḫāin Aḥmed Paşa’s
revolt, which was contained in 1525. Largely as a consequence of Sulṭān Süleymān’s Grand
Vizier İbrāhīm Paşa’s distrust, he was asked to present himself in the Ottoman capital to
respond to and defend himself against the accusations against him that he had political claims
challenging those of the Ottoman sultan Süleymān.35 İbrāhīm Gülşenī was in his nineties at the
time.
The accusations against the sheikh also involved his marrying of his son, Aḥmed Ḫayālī,
who later became his ḫalīfe, to the defeated Mamluk ruler Tomanbay’s widow.36 We do not
know the number of children Ibrāhīm Gülşenī had.37 Yet, we know of the marriage
arrangements of two; for aside from his politically charged marriage arrangement for his son
Aḥmed, he married one of his daughters to ‘Ārif’s father. Did this marriage also contain
political undertones? The confusing reports discussed above on Dervīş (Meḥmed) Çelebi’s or
his son ‘Ārif’s service for Elḳās Mīrzā hints at a close relationship or a possible alliance between
Dervīş Çelebi and at least a faction of the Safavid dynasty.38 However, since we do not have any
reliable information at this point on the extent of Dervīş Çelebi’s ties to the Safavids, we
cannot answer this question.

35
For more information see Side Emre, op. cit. In her thesis, Emre demonstrates Gülşenī’s involvement in the
uprising.
36
“İbrȃhim Gülşenȋ” Islam Ansiklopedisi, v.21, Istanbul, 1996, p. 302. In Muhyī’s Menākib, the marriage of Ibrāhīm
Gülşenī’s son and successor to the deceased Mamluk sultan’s former wife, who “was specifically appropriate (in
rank and according to custom) for Sulṭān Selīm” (‫)ﺨﺼﻮﺼﺎ ﺴﻠﻄﺎﻦ ﺴﻠﻴﻤﻪ ﻤﻘﺎﺒﻞ اﻮﻻﻦ‬, is explained as an anecdote related
by a certain mausoleum keeper Seydī Beg. Here—and elsewhere—it is also reported that the visible popularity of
the sheikh among the “Arabs and Persians” (‫ )ﻋﺮﺐ ﻮ ﻋﺠﻢ‬in Egypt was the other—main—reason of the Grand
Vizier’s distrust. Muhyī-yi Gülşenī, op. cit. , p. 397.
37
Aside from Aḥmed Ḫayālī, Ibrāhīm Gülşenī had at least one more son named Meḥmed. Muhyī-yi Gülşenī, op. cit.,
p. 129.
38
We should also note that both Ibrāhīm Gülşenī and later the prince Elḳās Mīrzā took a stance against the ruling
Safavid authority.
35
The most trustworthy information we have comes from ‘Ārif’s own words. In
Süleymānnāme ‘Ārif writes that his father had served the Ottoman Empire in the capacity of a
diplomatic envoy to Elḳās Mīrzā. From ‘Ārif’s words about him in this work, we also
understand that in his career, he probably worked for more than one royal “threshold” (‫)ﺒﺎﺐ‬
and not merely for the Ottoman.
ii. Fetḥullāh Çelebi as şehnāmeci
After seeing the affiliation of the main male figures of ‘Ārif’s family—as far as we know
it—with religious sciences, mysticism, politics, and diplomacy, it is not so surprising to read in
‘Āşık Çelebi, who had known ‘Ārif personally, that the poet himself was a seeker of many
virtues. 39 Along the same lines, Muṣṭafā ‘Āli writes that ‘Ārif had an established skill in most
sciences.40 These reports of his many interests and his familial background suggest that
Fetḥullāh Çelebi most probably had an education of respectable level. Nev’īzāde ‘Atāyi Çelebi
writes in his Zeyl-i Şakāyık that after coming to the Ottoman lands from Iran, Fetḥullāh Çelebi
had studied with the learned men (‘ulemā) of the period, in other words, he received a part of
his intellectual training from the Ottoman medreses or with several medrese professors.41
However, we have no reference to where and with whom he studied.
39
“‫‘ ” ﻜﺜﺮ اﻘﺴﺎﻢ ﻔﻀﻠﮏ ﻪﻨﻠﻴﺼﺤﺘ ﺐﻠﺎﻄ ىﺪا‬Āşık Çelebi, Meşā’ir üş-Şu’arā. Ed. G.M. Meredith-Owens. Gibb Memorial Series,
no. 24 (London: 1971), p. 165a.
40
“Ekser -i fünūnda mahāreti…muḳarrer olmaġın…” Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, op. cit, p. 238.
41
“‫”ﺪﻴﺎﺮ ﻋﺠﻤﺪﻦ ﺪاﺮاﻠﻤﻠﻚ ﺮﻮﻤﻪ ﻘﺪﻮﻢ ﻮ ﻋﻠﻤﺎﺀ ﻋﺼﺮﺪﻦ اﺨﺬ ﻤﻌﺎﺮﻒ ﻮ ﻋﻠﻮﻢ اﻴﺪﻮﺐ‬Atāullāh Nev’īzāde ‘Atāyi, Hadāyiḳ el-haḳāyiḳ fī
tekmilet i’ş-şeḳāiḳ. (Darü’t-Tabā‘ati’l-‘Āmire: 1268/1852-1853). ‘Atāyi does not say exactly when he arrived at the
Ottoman lands from Iran.
36
From both his extant volumes and his extinct works reported in the biographies of
poets we know that ‘Ārif composed both in Persian and Turkish. Considering the number of
verses he produced as şehnāmeci, we can comfortably claim that Persian was his primary
language of composition.42
When some of his odes (ḳaṣīde), literary treatise (resā’il), and registers (cerā’id) received
the approval and high regard of the sultan, ‘Ārif was initially assigned a daily salary of twenty-
five aspers.43 A daily salary of twenty aspers was the normal salary that a medrese graduate
received for his first teaching post.44 However, there were exceptions. To honor his own
teacher Ḫayreddīn Efendi, Sulṭān Süleymān is known to have ordered a higher first salary of
twenty-five aspers for those who had graduated from him.45 Likewise, in May 1564, thanks to
his connections in the court as well as Sulṭān Süleymān’s high regard of him, the poet Bāḳī46
(d.1600 C.E.), was assigned to his first teaching position with a twenty-five asper daily salary.47
It would not be wrong to assume that twenty-five aspers was a privileged starting salary for an
42
In mid-sixteenth century while poets were expected to compose in Turkish as well, Persian appears to be the
principal idiom of artistic production and the more highly regarded and fashionable language of elegant literary
gatherings. One such a meeting in the Palace Gate Keeper Haydar Ağa’s house reported in Muhyī’s Menākib-i
İbrāhim Gülşenī and mentioned previously provides an invaluable glimpse at the social environment of ‘Ārif, his
admirers and adversaries. Here both in Haydar Ağa’s introduction of Muhyī and in the rest of the dialogue
between the Ağa and ‘Ārif, the language chosen to be used was Persian. Muhyī-yi Gülşenī, Menākib-i İbrāhim
Gülşenī. Ed. Tahsin Yazıcı (Ankara: 1982), p. 413-4.
43
‘Āşık Çelebi, op. cit., p. 165a; Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, op. cit, p. 238.
44
İsmail Hakkı Uzunçarşılı, Osmanlı Devletinin Saray Teşkilȃtı. (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basımevi, 1988), p.363.
45
İsmail Hakkı Uzunçarşılı, ibid. op. cit.
46
For a succinct biography of Bāḳī and more references see İz, Fahīr. "Bāḳī , Maḥmūd ʿAbd al-." Encyclopaedia of
Islam, Second Edition. Edited by: P. Bearman , Th. Bianquis , C.E. Bosworth , E. van Donzel and W.P. Heinrichs. Brill,
2009. Brill Online.
47
Cornell H. Fleischer, op. cit., p. 33.
37
educated writer at around mid 1540s, when ‘Ārif started to draw a regular salary from the
palace.
After being awarded by the sultan and further gaining his admiration with more of his
compositions, ‘Ārif was assigned the task of writing the history of the Ottoman House (Tevārīḫ-i
Āl-i ‘Osmān) in Persian. As he began to dispatch his composition piecemeal, his regard in the
eyes of Süleymān increased constantly. This was reflected in the rewards the poet received as
well as in the sovereign’s decision to build a workshop for the artists of the book working
under ‘Ārif’s direction.48
During the course of his work, his daily salary was also raised to seventy aspers.49 This
salary was higher than that of the chief royal architect Sinan at around the same time.
Necipoğlu writes in The Age of Sinan that the chief royal architect “earned a relatively modest
daily salary (fifty-five aspers in 1548-49), about one-tenth the wage of the Janissary agha, who
received five hundred aspers a day as the highest ranked agha of the imperial court.”50 She
adds that by 1553, Sinan’s salary was increased to 65 aspers.51 A regular royal architect earned
ten aspers while in the years 1557-58—when most if not all of the Ottoman Şāhnāme was
completed—the salaries of the painters in the corps of craftsmen (ehl-i ḥiref) ranged between
25.5 aspers for the head of the Rūmīyān painters, Kara Memi, to a daily wage of one asper for
48
For ‘Ārif’s assignment to write the history of the Ottoman House, his submission of his work piecemeal, the
increasing approval of the Ottoman ruler, and the building of a workshop for his team see ‘Āşık Çelebi, op. cit., p.
165b; Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, op. cit, p. 238. ‘Āşık Çelebi writes that when ‘Ārif’s account reached 20-30.000 distichs, scribes
and painters were assigned and other workshops were built:
“‫”ﻜﺘﺎﺐ ﻴﻜﺮﻤﻰ اﻮﺘﻮﺰ ﺒﻴﮎ ﺒﻴﺖ اﻮﻠﺪﻘﺪﻩ ﻜﺎﺘﺒﻠﺮ ﻮ ﻨﻘﺎﺸﻠﺮ ﺘﻌﻴﻴﻦ ﻦاﺘﺪﻴﻠﺮ ﻮ ﺒﺎﺸﻘﺎ ﻜﺎﺮﺨﺎﻨﻪﻠﺮ ﺒﻨﺎ اﻴﺪﻮﺐ‬
49
‘Āşık Çelebi, op. Cit., p. 165b; Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, op. cit, p. 238.
50
Gülru Necipoğlu, The Age of Sinan: Architectural Culture in the Ottoman Empire. (London: Reaktion Books Ltd., 2005),
p. 156.
51
Gülru Necipoğlu, ibid. op. cit. Also cited in Erhan Afyoncu, “XVI. Yüzyılda Hassa Mimarları” in İsmail Aka
Armağanı. (İzmir: 1999), p. 208: BA, D.BRZ, no. 20617, Bab-ı Defteri, Büyük Ruznamçe, dated M. 961, p. 4-5.
38
the lowest ranking apprentice. The salaries of the bookbinders started eight and a half aspers
lower than those of the painters and dropped to two aspers for the lowest ranking
apprentice.52
While ‘Ārif must have had a higher socio-economic status than the royal artisans—even
the chiefs among them—his duties also made him a de-facto head of an artistic team. His
involvement in and the close control of the narrative of the miniatures that are going to be
inspected later in this thesis stand witness to the fact that his task went beyond the mere
assignment of illustrations for his volumes of universal history. The thematic and stylistic
choices made in the illustrations and the particular and very deliberate relationship observed
between the word and the image on individual illustrated pages, as well as on a larger scale in
the known volumes of ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme, reveal the authoritative presence of a politically-
minded master rather than the disengaged presence of a writer who was on the whole
inattentive to the details of the illustrations that adorned his composition.
Like the artisans working for him, he too was granted awards at various occasions.
Indeed, his relatively unusual working mode of presenting short sections of his work as they
are finished approximate him to the artists of the book who were rewarded for smaller
individual items they produced. With his working schedule, he gives the impression of an
ambitious (and hence discontent) poet seeking favor from the royal court rather than a writer
who was already given a large literary assignment.
While his way of submitting his work piecemeal suggests a sharp eye for material gain
and an acute need for appreciation, it also strongly hints at a strict control of his work by the
52
Esin Atıl, op. cit., p. 255, 256. Atıl produces two registers. In the register for the time period 22nd of December
1557 to the 20th of March 1558, the highest salary among the painters is that of Meḥmed Şāh, the head of the
corps, who was earning 25 aspers daily. In the register for the period 24th of October/22nd of November 1557 to the
14th of October/12th of November 1558, the salaries of some of the painters were increased by half an asper. In this
second register, the head of the painters, Kara Memi, was being paid twenty five and a half aspers daily.
39
sultan and certain members of his court—such as the Grand Vizier Rüstem Paşa and the Rumeli
Beylerbeyi-and-later-third-Vizier Sokollu Meḥmed Paşa.53 His working style might also be
symptomatic of his fear of losing his place in the palace. Rather than waiting to finish his long
opera, he might have preferred showing shorter sections to prove his literary skill and to
receive the public reassurance of his royal patron time and again.
Reading the personal criticism of some of his contemporaries and the spiteful tone of
even some of his admirers, one would not be surprised if ‘Ārif indeed feared losing his
favorable position vis-à-vis the ruler and his court. His high salary, the raise he was granted of
forty five aspers daily, as well as the gifts and the appreciation he received from his royal
patron must have encouraged and nourished the jealousy of his contemporaries and provoked
the negative reactions of some of them.
Ironically, his shorter presentations to reinforce his status as the poet in charge of
composing dynastic history appear to have worked to his disadvantage on at least one
occasion. They facilitated his successor-to-be Eflǀātūn’s conspiracy against him with the
miniature artist Şāhḳūlı when these two prepared folios of badly written poetry adorned with
colorful miniatures. Then they started showing them to people in the court saying, “would a
Şāhnāmegūy compose in such an erroneous manner?”54
In reflecting the envy of ‘Ārif’s contemporaries, it would be difficult to find an incident
that can surpass this one. We know of this complot thanks to the biographies of ‘Āşık Çelebi
53
Sokollu Meḥmed Paşa became the Rumeli Beylerbeyi in 1549 C.E. and the third vizier in 1554 C.E.. He was
promoted in 1561 C.E. and became the second vizier. After Semiz ‘Alī Paşa’s death, he was made Grand Vizier on
the 28th of June 1565 C.E. He remained in this post until his assassination in 1579 C.E. Veinstein, G. "Soḳollu
Meḥmed Pas̲h̲a." Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. Edited by: P. Bearman , Th. Bianquis , C.E. Bosworth , E. van
Donzel and W.P. Heinrichs. Brill, 2009. Brill Online.
54
“Egerçi ki sābıḳu’z-zikr Eflāṭūn ve Naḳḳāş Şāh Ḳulı nāmındaki müfsidle nāmı nemmām bir ḳallāş-ı ḥased-nümūn
terziḳ-i maḫż nice sāḫte naḳṣ-ı pür-rengle nireng u iftirā ile perdāḥte beytler didiler. Şāh-nāme-gūy olan böyle
yañılmış edālar mı eyler diyu şunā buña gösterdiler.” Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, op. cit, p. 238.
40
and Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, both of whom recognized and exploited the anecdotal value of the incident.55
What his contemporaries thought, or rather, wrote, about ‘Ārif is the topic of the following
section.
iii. The assessment of ‘Ārif by his contemporaries
While those who followed him in writing official Ottoman şehnāmes were either ignored
in the biographies of poets (Eflātūn) or criticized severely (Seyyid Loḳmān), ‘Ārif was given
considerable space in the generally positive evaluations of the contemporary or near
contemporary biographies of Ottoman poets. I should begin by saying that I agree entirely
with Hanna Sohrweide who argues that some of the negative criticism of ‘Ārif’s skills stemmed
from personal jealousy and that the mixed assessment that he received demonstrates at the
very least that his skills were taken seriously.56
Perhaps the words of the sixteenth century writer and intellectual Ebu’l Fażl on ‘Ārif
are the most comprehensive. Analyzing Ebu’l Fażl’s short passage on the poet in the
biographical section of his edition of his father Bidlīsī’s Selīm Şāhnāme will present us with a
general view of what his contemporaries thought of the poet. Ebu’l Fażl begins his assessment
of the official şehnāmecis with these words:
“The first was ‘Ārif, one of the renowned poets, who was, in his own view, matchless in
royal regard. Indeed he was better than the others at that time but could not escape the
reproaches of those envious of him. He spent his whole life composing şehnāmes, filled
pages with the drops (of ink) from his pen. He became soaked in the sea of the shah’s
55
‘Āşık Çelebi, op. cit., p. 165b; Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, ibid. op. cit, p. 238.
56
“Dichter und Gelehrte aus dem Osten im osmanischen Reich (1453-1600) Ein Beitrag zur türkisch-persischen
Kulturgeschichte,” Der Islam, 46. (Berlin: 1970), p. 291-292.
41
generosity but he did not have a long life. Before he finished his story, death caught up
with him (literally “the times have warmed up his water”) 57
The relatively large space spared for the poet in established sixteenth century
biographies like those of ‘Āşık Çelebi, Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, and Kınalızāde Ḥasan Çelebi are supporting
proof for Ebu’l Fażl’s first statement on ´Ārif’s well-known name. However, before continuing
any further, it is important to note the double-edged tone of Ebu’l Fażl’s evaluation. Almost
every sentence has a relative clause or a negation that undermines the meaning of the initial
part of the sentence. Hence he is recognized as a well-known poet, but his literary value is
undermined by the mocking statement on the poet’s own high regard of himself. Ebu’l Fażl
agrees that he was better than others and acknowledges that the reproaches he received
pertained to those envious of him, yet he avoids saying that ´Ārif was actually a good writer.
This double-edged tone that criticizes ‘Ārif while recognizing his skill, that mocks him while
showing sympathy is characteristic of the tone used by the biographers of poets who wrote
about the şehnāmeci.
‘Āşık Çelebi, for example, does not openly criticize the poet’s high opinion of himself
but displays his self-appreciation with an anecdote. He writes that ‘Ārif once compared himself
to Firdevsī saying that like the great Persian poet who was praised for not having used Arabic
vocabulary in his work, he too had composed two thousand stichs without a single word from
Arabic. ‘Āşık Çelebi then proves him wrong with an example from ‘Ārif’s work. The şehnāmeci
first tries to argue that the word chosen, “reyḥān”—i.e. sweet basil—has already been
57
Idrīs-i Bidlīsī, Selim Şah-nāme. Ed. Hicabi Kırlangıç. (Ankara: TCKB, 2001), p. 60 in modern Turkish. The original
text is not included in this edition. Some of the datable references in the text suggest that Ebu’l Fażl’s
contribution his father’s text went beyond, its compilation and copying, and the addition of an introduction as
Kırlangıç assumes.
42
naturalized and entered Persian common usage; however, when the biographer proposes the
common Persian equivalent of the word (“siperġam”), ‘Ārif yields his position.58
Another aspect of ‘Ārif’s career that produced mixed assessment is his diligence and
productivity as a writer. In Ebu’l Fażl’s words, he “filled pages with the drops (of ink) from his
pen.” It is possible that Ārif’s prolific output approximated his working style to a hard-working
scribe rather than a more whimsical poetic genius—even though such stereotypes were not set
in bone. Entries for both productive and talented writers such as Fuzūlī were not so rare in the
biographies. It is possible, however, that some of his contemporaries found the impressive
quantity of his literary output as an excuse to question his artistic skill: could one write so
many folios of fine verse?
Both ‘Āşık Çelebi and Muṣṭafā ‘Āli prefer to give ‘Ārif his due. For ‘Āşık Çelebi, ‘Ārif was
“worthy of the highest favors at every level.”59 He writes that even if ten or twenty thousand
stichs out of his sixty thousand stichs long Şāhnāme were “suspicious in quality or defective or
unacceptable in the eyes of experts,”60 there would remain forty thousand, a quantity that no
one would dare to match.
Likewise, Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, who estimates ‘Ārif’s work to seventy thousand stichs, agrees
with the exceptionality of such an output: “indeed composing seventy thousand stichs of verse
is easy only in words.”61 Of his seventy thousand even if half are agreeable, Muṣṭafā ‘Āli judges,
58
‘Āşık Çelebi, op. cit., p. 166a.
59
“‫‘ ”ﺒﻮﻨﮏ ﮐﺒﻰ ﺸﺎﻋﺮ هﺮ ﻤﺮﺘﺒﻪ ﺸﺎﻴﺴﺘﮥ اﻠﻄﺎﻔﺪﺮ‬Āşık Çelebi, op. cit., p. 165b.
60
“‫‘ ”ﻔﺮﻀﺎ اﻠﺘﻤﺶ ﺒﻴﮏ ﺒﻴﺘﺪﻦ اﻮﻦ ﺒﻴﮏ ﻴﺎ ﻴﻜﻴﺮﻤﻰ ﺒﻴﮏ ﻤﺪﺨﻮﻞ ﻴﺎ ﻤﻌﻠﻮﻞ ﻴﺎ اهﻞ ﻘﺘﻨﺪﻩ ﻏﻴﺮ ﻤﻘﺒﻮﻞ اﻮﻠﺴﻪ ﻴﻨﻪ ﻘﺮﻖ ﺒﻴﮏ اﻴﻮ ﺒﻴﺖ ﺒﺎﻘﻰ ﻘﺎﻠﻮﺮ‬Āşık Çelebi,
ibid. op. cit.
61
“El-ḥaḳ yetmiş biñ beyt naẓmı egerçi lāfla āsāndur.” Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, op. cit., p. 238.
43
‘Ārif would have written an approved poetic reply to the Ḫamse.62 At the same time, his
description of the şehnāmeci’s diligence, makes ‘Ārif’s endeavors sound more like sweaty hard
work than the natural outcome of the concentrated study of an artistic spirit. Muṣṭafā ‘Āli
writes of ´Ārif that “with the entire strength of the arm and by pulling the string of the bow of
force up to the ear of desire, he started with the emergence of the Ottomans (on the stage of
history). With a strong willed hand, he grafted the reed pen to the sapling of his forearm of
(literary) capital.”63
As it is mentioned before, mixed assessments of ´Ārif’s worth as a poet at least partially
stemmed from his quick rise in a highly competitive environment and the envy that resulted
from his ascending fortunes. The anecdote from Muhyī-yi Gülşenī of the literary meeting in
the house of Ḥaydar Ağa, one of the Gatekeepers (kapuağa) of the Ottoman palace, was
mentioned previously as one of the proofs of ´Ārif’s presence in the Ottoman literary scene
before the arrival of the prince Elḳās Mīrzā. This anecdote reflects the simultaneous respect
and the envy he incited within the court circles and the intellectual elite.
The anecdote Muhyī narrates consists of two parts. In the first, he writes about his
introduction to ‘Ārif in an elite gathering in the house of Ḥaydar Ağa. There, when Ḥaydar Ağa
bids ‘Ārif to take a look at the then eighteen-years-old budding poet Muhyī (“Muhyī rā neẓer
konīd”), the “Şehnāmegūy Mevlānā ´Ārif Fetḥullāh Efendī,” articulates his wish that the
promising young poet receives the regard of the old masters in the future: “İnşā’llāh neẓer
kerde-yi pīrān şeved.”

62
“Farażā nıṣfı pesendīde olsa ḫamseye cevāb-ı müsteṭab yazmış olur.” Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, ibid. op. cit. A “ḫamse” is a
collection five romantic long stories in verse. The Ḫamse is the well-known classic of such form by the Persian
poet Niẓāmī (d. 1209). Wheeler Thackston writes that “Nizâmî’s Khamsa—i.e. Ḫamse—ended the chivalric epic
tradition of the Shâhnâme and paved the way for the lyric epic and its subtle psychology to be adapted by the
mystics.” Wheeler M. Thackston, A Millennium of Classical Persian Poetry. (Maryland: Iran Books, 1994), p. 32.
63
“Ve bi’l-cümle ḳuvveti bāzūya ve zih-i kemān-ı kudreti gūş-i ārzūya getürüp ibtidā ẓuhūr-ı ‘Osmāniyāndan
başladı. Nihāl-i sā‘id-i biżā‘atına dest-i himmetle kalem aşıladı.” Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, ibid. op. cit.
44
The second half of the anecdote takes place at the mausoleum of İbrāhīm Gülşenī
twelve years later. ‘Ārif remembers his now realized wish and recites the poem that the
adolescent Muhyī presented at the gathering in Ḥaydar Ağa’s house word by word. ‘Ārif’s wish
has actually been fulfilled in both of its meanings, for the second meaning of the wish cited
above is that Muhyī becomes the overseer of—Sufi—pīrs: indeed in the second occasion, Muhyī
meets ‘Ārif as the keeper of the mausoleum of a pīr, the founding leader of the Gülşenī order
Sheikh İbrāhīm Gülşenī. Hence, Muhyī has not only found respect among the old masters as a
poet, but he has also become an overseer of the mausoleum, where a great pīr of his time
rested.
The apparent aim of the anecdote seems to be to demonstrate the extraordinary
memory of ‘Ārif while confirming the respected standing of the author Muhyī-yi Gülşenī. In
addition, the realization of both meanings of a phrase uttered with no particular deliberation
by the grandson of Sheikh İbrāhīm Gülşenī makes it an anecdote about predestination and the
unveiling of God’s plan through the intermediacy of a Sufi—here ´Ārif—a typical trope of Sufi
hagiographies. For our purposes, we go back to the first part of the anecdote, to the reception
of ‘Ārif by those present at the gathering.
Muhyī narrates that “one day,” at the house of Ḥaydar Ağa, which was often frequented
by “men of knowledge and culture” (‘ulemā᾽ ve erbāb-ı ‘irfān), and
“when Şemsī Paşa and Cenābī Beg, who later became a paşa, and Mevlānā Żātī and
Mevlānā Seḥābī were present, the late grandson of Şeyḫ İbrāhīm Gülşenī on the side of
his daughter, Şehnāmegūy Mevlānā ´Ārif Fetḥullāh Efendī came in. Ḥaydar Ağa showed
him great respect and treated him with much deference; honoring him (´Ārif), he sat
him by his side.”64
64
Muhyī-yi Gülşenī, op. cit., p. 413:
‫”ﺒﺮ ﮔﻮﻦ ﺸﻤﺴﻰ ﭙﺎﺸﺎ ﻮ ﺠﻨﺎﺒﻰ ﺒﮓ ﻜﻪ ﺁﺨﺮ ﭙﺎﺸﺎ اﻮﻠﺪى ﻮ ﻤﻮﻻﻨﺎ ﺬاﺘﻰ ﻮ ﻤﻮﻻﻨﺎ ﺴﺤﺎﺒﻰ ﺤﺎﻀﺮ اﻴﻜﻦ ﻤﺮﺤﻮﻢ ﻮ ﻤﻐﻔﻮﺮ ﺸﻴﺦ اﺒﺮاهﻴﻢ ﮔﻠﺸﻨﻰ ﻨﯔ‬
45
Muhyī continues that Şemsī and Cenābī Begs, who were both Ağas at the time, did not
appreciate their host’s revering reception of ´Ārif and “their appearance changed.”65
The respected presence of ´Ārif in this meeting composed of figures close to the sultan
and men of high culture is important. What is perhaps more notable in this incident is that
those who could not help but show their displeasure in ´Ārif’s honorable reception were not
his possible literary rivals Mevlānā Żātī and Mevlānā Seḥābī, but the two Ağas. Indeed, Şemsī
and Cenābī Begs appear to be envious of ´Ārif’s high social status the reception of their host
Ḥaydar Ağa reflected and confirmed and obliged them to recognize.
In the strictly and hierarchically ordered Ottoman society where all of the protagonists
of the anecdote lived, an honoring gesture by a powerful host meant more than a
demonstration of his personal preference or affection to the guest for those present.66 In other
words, even if Ḥaydar Ağa’s seating ´Ārif by his side was a consequence of his great love and
admiration for the poet, to the other two Ağas, this gesture signified an overstepping of their
rightful status in the Ottoman ruling society. We should not forget that no matter how positive
his consideration of ´Ārif was, as a participant in the same society, Ḥaydar Ağa must have been
aware of the larger meaning of his gesture. The sensitivity of the two Ağas to ´Ārif’s “rank”
suggests that in 1546, in the eyes of the non-literary court circles, ´Ārif was seen as a palace
official. What is more, the disagreement between the visions of Şemsī and Cenābī Begs on the
one hand, and that of Ḥaydar Ağa on the other, concerning the relative hierarchical level of
“‫ ﻋﺰﺖ ﺒﺮﻠﻪ ﻴﺎﻨﻨﻪ اﻠﺪى‬، ‫ﻘﺰى اﻮﻏﻠﻰ ﺸﻬﻨﺎﻤﻪﮔﻮى ﻤﻮﻻﻨﺎ ﻋﺎﺮﻒ ﻔﺘحاﻠﻠﻪ اﻔﻨﺪى ﮔﻠﺪى ؛ ﺤﻴﺪﺮ ﺁﻏﺎ ﺨﻴﻠﻰ ﺘﻌﻈﻴﻢ ﻮ ﺘﻜﺮﻴﻢ اﺘﺪى‬
65
“‫ ”ﺸﻤﺴﻰ ﻮ ﺠﻨﺎﺒﻰ هﻨﻮﺰ ﺁﻏﺎﻠﺮ اﺪى ﻠﻜﻦ ﺘﻘﺪﻴﻤﻰ ﺨﻮﺶ ﮔﻠﻤﻴﻮﺐ ﺘﻐﻴﺮ ﺸﻜﻠﻦ ﮔﻮﺴﺘﺮﺪﻴﻠﺮ‬Muhyī-yi Gülşenī, op. cit., p. 413,414.
66
Muhyī’s insistence in noting their rank (“Şemsī and Cenābī were both Ağas at the time”) is a further indication
of the importance of hierarchy for the members of the Ottoman—high—society in the mid-sixteenth century.
46
the şehnāmeci suggests that ´Ārif’s official status was not yet as determined as the rest of the
royal servants.
iv. ‘Ārif’s work
According to present knowledge and aside from short exemplary excerpts from some of
his poems, all that is extant of ‘Ārif’s prolific literary career consists of his work as şehnāmeci. It
includes the first, fourth and fifth volumes of his Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān, and two shorter books
both of which narrate contemporary incidents: Fütūḥāt-ı Cemīle on the Temesvar (Timisoara)
campaign (1551-52 C.E.)—a narrative variant of which is included in the fifth volume of his
Şāhnāme—and Vaḳ‘a-yi Sulţān Bayezıd ma‘a Selīm Hān on the events of 1558 C.E and 1559 C.E. that
include Bayezıd’s rebellion against his father Sulṭān Süleymān and his battle against his older
brother Selīm. Another manuscript, Ravżāt al-Uşaḳ, is reportedly in the private collection of
Edwin Binney.67 We also know that he left drafts for the Imperial Scroll (Tomar-ı Hümāyūn) that
were subsequently continued by Eflātūn and brought to an end by Seyyid Loḳmān.
Several other currently missing works of the poet are recorded in contemporaneous
biographies. He is known to have composed an epic account of 2000 stichs on Ḫādım Süleymān
Paşa’s (d. 1547) expedition to India in Turkish verse upon the Paşa’s inquiry as to whether he
was a capable writer in Turkish.68
67
Esin Atıl, op. cit., p. 71, 76 footnote 9.
68
‫”ﻤﺮﺤﻮﻢ ﺒﺮ ﻜﻮﻦ ﺴﻠﻴﻤﺎﻦ ﭙﺎﺸﺎ ﻴﻪ ﻮاﺮﺮ ﭙﺎﺸﺎ ﺘﺮﻜﻰ ﺸﻌﺮ ﺪﻴﻤﻜﻪ ﺪﺨﻰ ﻘﺎﺪﺮ ﻤﻰﺴﻦ ﺪﻴﺪﻜﺪﻩ ﺴﻠﻴﻤﺎﻦ ﭙﺎﺸﺎﻨﮎ هﻨﺪ ﻩ ﻮاﺮﻮﺐ ﻔﺘﺢ اﺘﺪﻮﻜﻰ اﻜﻰ ﺒﻴﮎ‬
“‫‘ ”ﺒﻴﺘﻠﻪ ﺪاﺴﺘﺎﻦ اﺪﻮﺐ‬Āşık Çelebi, op. cit., p. 165b; “Bundan mā‘adā Vezīr Süleymān Paşanuñ ṡevāḥil-i Hinde seferini iki
biñ türkī beytle bir lātīf destān itmişdür.” Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, op. cit, p. 238. In 1539, when Ḫādım Süleymān Paşa
returned from his highly successful Indian expedition, he was awarded the position of the second vizier. The
dismissal of the Grand Vizier Lütfi Paşa in April 1541, paved the way for Ḫādım Süleymān Paşa’s promotion.
However, due to a scandalous incident in a divān meeting where he lost his temper and after an exchange of
insults, drew his dagger on the fourth vizier Hüsrev Paşa, he too was dismissed in November 1544. He died in exile
47
As it is expected from a poet of the time, he was in constant dialogue with other poets:
he responded to their criticism, gave them references, and used their works as sources of
inspiration and borrowing. Muṣṭafā ‘Āli writes that ‘Ārif composed a poetic answer to a ḳaṣīde
of İmām Rāżī—and not to a poem of Ḫaḳānī as ‘Āşık Çelebi had noted in his own biography. 69
Muṣṭafā ‘Āli also writes that in his Turkish account of Ḫādım Süleymān Paşa’s (d. 1547 C.E.)
expedition to India, ‘Ārif had unintentionally (tevārüd ṣūretinde) included a stich of Āhī (d. 1517
C.E.).70 Furthermore, in a personal anecdote with the poet, when Muṣṭafā ‘Āli inquires of his
new and upcoming compositions, ‘Ārif shows his biographer and colleague a satirical four line
verse against a certain Ġurābī who had offended him. In his new composition, ‘Ārif was not
only reproaching Ġurābī by playing with the meaning of his subject’s penname (i.e. crow or
raven), but he had also written his poem in the form of a raven at every limb of which an
individual quatrain (rubā‘ī) was written.
Aside from exemplifying ‘Ārif’s active involvement with the contemporaneous literary
milieu, his satirical verse construction in the form of a raven also reveals the poet’s natural
inclinations in artistic expression. Indeed, his reported yet currently missing works
demonstrate a clear liking on the part of the şehnāmeci for the baroque71 and the bizarre. A
in Malkara in 1547. ‘Ārif must have met the Paşa and was challenged to write in Turkish between 1539 when the
latter arrived at the capital as a hero and November 1544 when he was dismissed and banished from Istanbul. If
so, ‘Ārif must have already been an established literary figure in Persian verse in the court circles at this time
when the Paşa was the second or the Grand Vizier. Hence, the anecdotal information given in the biographies of
both ‘Āşık Çelebi and Muṣṭafā ‘Āli provides us with yet another proof contra the poet’s arrival at the capital with
Elḳās Mīrzā in 1547.
69
Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, op. cit, p. 239; ‘Āşık Çelebi, op. cit., p. 166a.
70
Muṣṭafā ‘Āli,ibid., op. cit.
71
Here I use the word “baroque” outside of its chronological context but as a style that shares characteristics with
the historical baroque dominant and widespread in various media of artistic expression of many parts of Euro-
Asia in the seventeenth century. As such, I follow the description of Webster’s Dictionary for the word, “of,
relating to, or having the characteristics of a style of artistic expression prevalent esp. in the 17th century that is
marked generally by extravagant forms and elaborate and sometimes grotesque ornamentation and specifically
48
more conventional example of this liking is a poetic riddle (mu‘ammā) he wrote to the name of
“Süleymān.” This poem is recorded in the biographies of ‘Āşık Çelebi and Muṣṭafā ‘Āli in its
entirety and in that of Beyāni in partial form.72 Various biographers, such as ‘Āşık Çelebi,
Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, Kınalızāde Ḥasan Çelebi, and Beyāni, also mention in astonishment his strange
inventions of poetic sculptures. These were marble representations of a beautiful beloved (or a
horse73) from every limb of which a stich or a quatrain (ruba‘i) was written.74 According to some
reports, at least one of these statues also projected a “heart-ravishing” (būy-i dilāvīz) smell.75
In the poetry he composed for the Ottoman dynasty, especially in the battle scenes he
described, the reader can sense a similarly “baroque” vein. As such, ‘Ārif’s rich, variegated, and
often grotesque metaphors, full of contrasting elements and exaggeration, paint vivid and gory
fighting scenes. Here are a few couplets from the section describing a one-to-one combat
between the head of the armies of Prince Bayezıd and a landed cavalryman named Kemāl,
leading to the death of the former. In ‘Ārif’s Vaķ‘a-yi Sulţān Bayezıd ma‘a Selīm Hān this section
begins on folio 33a with the title “The Death of the head of the Armies of Bayezıd Hān in the
Hands of Kemāl Za‘īm”76:
The spear in his hand became a shining lightning
also in architecture by dynamic opposition and the use of curved and plastic figures, in music by improvisation,
contrasting effects, and the use of continuo and in literature by complexity of form and bizarre, ingenious, and
often ambiguous imagery.” “baroque” in Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary, A. Merriam-Webster.
(Massachusetts: Merriam-Webster Inc., Publishers: 1988).
72
‘Āşık Çelebi, op. cit., p. 166a; Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, op. cit, p. 239; Beyâni Mustafa bin Carullah, Tezkiretüş-Şuarâ, ed.
Ibrahim Kutluk, TTK, Ankara, 1997, p. 161.
73
Beyāni, op. cit., p. 161.
74
‘Āşık Çelebi, op. cit., p. 166b; .” Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, op. cit, p. 239-240; Beyâni ibid. op. cit.; Kınalızāde Ḥasan Çelebi
Tezkiretüş-Şuarâ, vol. 2, ed. Ibrahim Kutluk, TTK, Ankara, 1989, p. 596-597.
75
Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, op. cit, p. 239.
76
“‫ ”ﻜﺸﺘﻪ ﺸﺪﻦ ﺴﺮ ﺠﻨﺪﻴﺎﻦ ﺒﺎﻴﺰﻴﺪ ﺨﺎﻦ ﺪﺮ ﺪﺴﺖ ﻜﻤﺎﻞ ﺰﻋﻴﻢ‬R. 1540 mük., folio 33a corresponding to the space for lines 7 and 8.
49
The shooting star fastened onto his life source77
…
The swords hung inverted from hands

Their own heads had turned into skimmers of blood78
…
From the whizzing of the arrows, the arrow-like tips of the tongues
Rushed forth from the dragons’ bodies79
Below is a list and short descriptions of ‘Ārif’s works that are currently in manuscript
collections. All of them except for Tomar-ı Hümāyūn were composed in Persian verse:
* Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān: This is a five-volume-long universal history beginning with Adam and
ending in 1555 during the reign of the Ottoman sultan Süleymān. We do not know if all five
volumes of this grand project reached their final form, however, three extant volumes have
remained intact to our day.
Volume I: Esin Atıl gives the title of the work as Enbiyānāme.80 The transcription of the
manuscript was completed on the 12th day of Cemāziyel’evvel in 965/the 2nd of March 1558 C.E.
by Yūsuf el-Heravī. The manuscript consists of 48 folios with 10 miniatures and was trimmed
77
“‫ ﺒﺪﻮ ﻨﺠﻢ ﺜﺎﻘﺐ ﺰﺠﺎﻦ ﺒﻨﺪﻩ ﺸﺪ‬/‫ ”ﺴﻨﺎﻦ ﺪﺮ ﻜﻔﺶ ﺒﺮﻖ ﺘﺎﺒﻨﺪﻩ ﺸﺪ‬R. 1540 mük., folio 35b line 4. Here the shining path that Kemāl’s
spear makes as he strikes his opponent is likened to the movement of a shooting star as it observed by the human
eye.
78
“‫ ﻜﻠﺨﻮﺪ هﺎ ﻜﺸﺖ ﻜﻔﻜﻴﺮ ﺨﻮﻦ‬/‫ ”ﺴﺮهﺎى ﺁهﻦ ﺸﺪ اﺰ ﻜﻒ ﻨﻜﻮﻦ‬R. 1540 mük., folio 37a line 2. The imagery in these lines of the
heads of the lifeless cavalry dripping blood is disturbingly vivid.
79
“‫ ﺸﺪﻩ اﺰ ﺘﻦ اﮋﺪهﺎﻴﺎﻦ ﺮﻮاﻦ‬/‫ ”ﺰ ﻔﺸﺂﻔﺶ ﺘﻴﺮ ﭙﻴﻜﺎﻦ ﺰﺒﺎﻦ‬R. 1540 mük., folio 37a line 10. The imagery of tired and out-of-breath
warriors with their tongues hanging out of their mouths, aside from reflecting the physical force they have been
exerting and the difficulty of the combat, is a rather grotesque one as the two men are likened to reptiles.
80
Esin Atıl, op. cit., p. 57. Even though Atıl does not openly state it, it is highly likely that the title is given in the
opening medallion like in the case of the fourth and the fifth volumes of the same project.
50
to the size of 31.0 x 19.5cm. (~12.2 x 7.7 in.).81 It is a very selective account of early prophetic
history. The manuscript had left its original place in the Topkapı Place library and is now
preserved in a private collection in Genoa, Italy. An analysis of the published miniatures of the
book is provided in the third chapter of this thesis.
Volume IV: In the dedicatory medallion (ẓahrīye) the title of the work is given as ‘Osmānnāme.
No completion date is given within the manuscript; however it is likely that like the first and
the fifth volumes of the same project, it too was finished around 1558.82 The manuscript, which
is now in a private collection in Genoa, was trimmed a centimeter or more before it was
rebound using the original covers bringing its size to 36.5 x 24.5 cm. (~14.4 x 9.6 in.).83 As we
have it, the manuscript has two hundred and five folios and seems to be left incomplete. It
narrates Ottoman history from the foundation of the principality to (the end of) the battle of
Ankara between the forces of Bayezıd I and Timur in 1402 C.E. Following Esin Atıl, it is logical
to assume that the continuation of the dynastic history until the ascension of Süleymān was
planned for the rest of the volume. A selected number of its thirty-four miniatures are
examined in the fourth chapter of this thesis.
Volume V: This large volume of six -hundred and seventeen folios measures 37 x 25.4 cm. (14.5
x 10 in.) and is known as Süleymānnāme as it is titled in the first of the two dedicatory
medallions (ẓahrīye) on 1b. In its colophon on page 617b, the completion date is given as mid-
81
Atıl, ibid., op. cit., p. 57. The information in the Christie’s Review of the Season 1977 confirms the information given
by Atıl concerning the date, the numbers of the folios and the miniatures. See Christie’s Review of the Season 1977, ed.
John Herbert, p.442.
82
Ernst Grube writes that the manuscript was completed in the 1550s. Grube, op. cit, p. 216. Atıl estimates the
completion date of around 1558 C.E. for the manuscript. Esin Atıl, op. cit., p. 60-61.
83
Esin Atıl, op. cit., p. 60.
51
Ramażān 965 (late June-early July1558 C.E.) and its calligrapher as Muẓaffer ‘Alī b. Emīr Bey
Şirvānī. Of the sixty five topics that are illustrated, four are represented with double-folio
images, bringing the number of the illustrated pages to sixty nine. Fortunately this volume has
remained in the Topkapı Palace and can be found with the code number H. 1517 in its
manuscript library.
Süleymānnāme is the last volume of ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān and narrates the reign
of Süleymān. At the same time, in both word and image, it projects an ideal world order as it is
constructed ideologically and technically during the reign of the named ruler. As such, it
represents not only an account of the last chain of remarkable events in world history, but also
the perfection and final revelation of an order meant from the beginning of creation. The
narration ends in 1555 when Rüstem Paşa regains the post of the Grand Vizier at the expense
of Aḥmed Paşa. The fifth chapter of this thesis will focus on Süleymānnāme.
*Fütūḥāt-ı Cemīle: This relatively short work is preserved at the Topkapı Palace library with the
library code H. 1592 and contains thirty two folios six miniatures and measures 33 x 22.4 cm
(11.9 x 8.8 in.).84 In its colophon on folio 31b the completion date is given as 964 evāḫir-i
ramażān/ 28.6-12.7.1557 C.E. The text is written in fairly large nesta‘līḳ with the headings
always in blue nesiḫ,85 and it is organized in four columns separated from each other with
84
F. E. Karatay, Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi Kütüphanesi Farsça Yazmalar Kataloğu (Istanbul: 1961), no. 161; Hanna
Shohrweide, “Der Verfasser der als Suleymân-nâma bekannten İstanbuler Prachthandschrif,” Der Islam 47 (1971),
p. 289; Nurhan Atasoy and Filiz Çağman, Turkish Miniature Painting (Istanbul: 1974), p. 29-30, pl. 10; Esin Atıl, op.
cit., p. 56, 57; Filiz Çağman in Soliman Le Magnifique: 15 Février au 14 Mai 1990, Galeries Nationales du Grand Palais, (Paris:
1990), p. 94-95; Zeren Tanındı, “Transformation of Words to Images: Portraits of Ottoman Courtiers in the Diwâns
of Bâkî and Nâdirî,” Res 43 (Spring 2003), P. 132; Şebnem Tamcan, Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi Kütüphanesi’nde Bulunan H.
1339 No.lu Sigetvar Seferi tarihi’nin Tasvirleri, Yüksek Lisans Tezi (M.A. thesis) for Ege Üniversitesi Sosyal Bilimler
Enstitüsü, (Izmir: 2005), p. 16, 17, pl. 1; Serpil Bağcı, Filiz Çağman, Günsel Renda, Zeren Tanındı, Osmanlı Resim
Sanatı. (Istanbul: T.C. Kültür ve Turizm Bakanlığı Yayınları, 2006), p. 106-107.
85
In Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān some of the headings were written in blue, while others in red.
52
double gold lines. One of the six scenes is represented with a double folio. On folio 1a under the
note written in red, there is a signet. (Figure 1) The sentence in red ink states that the book
narrates “the admirable conquests and the curious news of the district of Temesvar and the
castles of Pec,” and that these incidents “had been mentioned and registered.”86 On folio 7a at
the top left, the reader can see the signet of Aḥmed III (r. 1703-1730 C.E.) who had built the
palace library where the book was kept for several centuries. (Figure 3)
Fütūḥāt-ı Cemīle narrates the battle of Temesvar (Timisoara) and the involvement of
Aḥmed Paşa (d. 15) and Sokollu Meḥmed Paşa87 (d. 1579 C.E.) in this military campaign. The
authorship of Fetḥullāh Çelebi is not overtly stated in its colophon, but the sections of this
manuscript that are identical to the corresponding sections in Süleymānnāme (between the
folios 524b-542a), as well as the similarity of the two books in terms of literary and artistic
styles, leave no room for doubt that Fetḥullāh Çelebi was the author. Fütūḥāt-ı Cemīle, which
was finished almost exactly a year before Süleymānnāme, in July 1557 C.E., is clearly related to
this last volume of the Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i‘Osmān.
The main difference between ‘Ārif’s two narrative versions of the same military
expedition is the protagonist. The obvious hero of Fütūḥāt-ı Cemīle is Sokollu Meḥmed Paşa,
whose command in actuality was replaced by Aḥmed Paşa’s during this campaign in 1552 C.E.
In both versions of the campaign, ‘Ārif downplays the role of Aḥmed Paşa, whom Sulṭān
Süleymān appointed as Grand Vizier in the place of Rüstem Paşa88 (d. 1561 C.E.) after the
86
“‫”ﻮﻵﻴﺖ ﻄﻤﺸﻮاﺮ ﻮ ﺒﭽﯽ ﻗﻠﻌﻪﻠﺮﻴﻨﻚ ﻮاﻘﻊ اﻮﻻﻦ ﻓﺘﻮﺤﺎﺖ ﺠﻤﻴﻠﻪ ﻮ ﺤﻮاﺪﺚ ﻏﺮﻴﺒﻪ ﻠﺮى ﺒﻴﺎﻨﻴﻨﺪﻩ ﺪﺮ ﻜﻪ ﺬﻜﺮ ﻮ ﺘﺤﺮﻴﺮ اﻮﻠﻨﻤﺸﺪﺮ‬See figure 1.
87
For the biography and more references on Sokollu Meḥmed Paşa see Veinstein, G. "Soḳollu Meḥmed Pas̲h̲a."
Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. Edited by: P. Bearman , Th. Bianquis , C.E. Bosworth , E. van Donzel and W.P.
Heinrichs. Brill, 2009. Brill Online.
88
For a succinct biography of Rüstem Paşa and for more references see Woodhead, Christine. "Rüstem Pas̲h̲a."
53
assassination of the Ottoman prince Muṣṭafā in October 1553 C.E. This was an attempt to pacify
the army which was alarmingly angry at the assassination of their favourite crown-prince and
which accused Rüstem Paşa for leading a complot against the prince and for turning the sultan
against his own son. In comparison, the then-second-vizier Aḥmed Paşa had openly supported
the Prince. By 1557 C.E., however, as Fütūḥāt-ı Cemīle was being completed, the tables have
turned once more. Aḥmed Paşa was beheaded on the 28th of September 155589 by a royal
decree and Rüstem Paşa had regained his former office as the second most powerful man in
the Ottoman government.
At the same time, the manipulation of the “story” and the downplaying of Aḥmed
Paşa’s significance for the campaign are more extreme in Fütūḥāt-ı Cemīle, where the textual
and visual presence of Sokollu reaches disproportionate levels while Aḥmed Paşa’s name was
conspicuously avoided. Furthermore, Aḥmed Paşa’s name was omitted from some titles
otherwise identical in Süleymānnāme introducing identical sections in the narrative.90
The manipulation is particularly striking because the Temesvar campaign did not
constitute a particularly high point in Sokollu’s career. Not only was his success limited to the
capture of secondary castles, but the campaign also included a sour memory for the would-be-
Grand Vizier. In his report of a later expedition in the summer of 1566 C.E., the sixteenth
89
Baysun, M. Cavid. "Aḥmad Pas̲h̲a, Ḳara." Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. Edited by: P. Bearman , Th.
Bianquis , C.E. Bosworth , E. van Donzel and W.P. Heinrichs. Brill, 2009. Brill Online.
90
On folio 16ª of Fütūḥāt-ı Cemīle (H. 1592), for example, the title which reads “‫“( ”رﺴﻴﺪﻦ اﺤﻤﺪ ﭙﺎﺸﺎ ﺒﻘﻠﻌﮥ ﺪﻤﺸﻘﺎر‬The
Arrival of Aḥmed Paşa to the Castle of Temesvar”) in Süleymānnāme (H. 1517) is replaced with “‫”ﺘﻌرﻴﻒ ﺤﺼﺎﺮ ﺪﻤﺸﻘﺎر‬
(“The Description of the Fortress of Temesvar”). Likewise the title “‫“( ”ﺠﻨﻚ اﺤﻤﺪ ﭙﺎﺸﺎ ﺒﺎ ﺪﻤﺸﻘﺎﺮﻴﺎﻦ‬The Battle of Aḥmed
Paşa with the People of Temesvar”) is replaced with “‫“( ”ﺒﻄﻮﭗ ﺰﺪﻦ ﻜﺎﻔراﻦ اﺴﭗ ﺒﺎﺸﺎ ى ﻤﺸﺎراﻠﻴﻪ‬The Striking of the Horse
of the Aforesaid Paşa by the Cannonading of the Infidels”) on folio 17a in Fütūḥāt-ı Cemīle.
54
century Ottoman historian Selānikī91 (d. 1600) reports that when certain officials and courtiers
of the castle of Zigetvar said that there was gunpowder in the castle and that it would explode,
destroying the castle as well as killing the Ottomans in it, Sokollu got upset. Referring to an
unfortunate incident during the Temesvar campaign, he said that a similar incident happened
in Solnuk and gave orders to get the Ottoman soldiers out.92
What could be the reason, or rather, the reasons behind ‘Ārif’s blatantly revisionist
attempts? A satisfactory answer for this question demands a comprehensive scrutiny of
Fütūḥāt-ı Cemīle and a thorough comparative examination of the manuscript with
Süleymānnāme. As mentioned previously, I have decided not to examine Fütūḥāt-ı Cemīle in
detail for this thesis. Nor is a complete study of ´Ārif’s Vaķ‘a-yi Sulţān Bayezıd ma‘a Selīm Hān
included here. While both manuscripts are related to the Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān project,
neither is formally a part of it. As such, they exceed the scope of this thesis. For the current
study, preliminary examinations of these manuscripts are made and references are provided
whenever relevant.
However, even at this stage, it is still possible to draw several conclusions on Fütūḥāt-ı
Cemīle. Firstly, the close resemblance of the relevant section in Süleymānnāme demonstrates
that before the final royal copies were prepared, ´Ārif and his team of artists had been working
on Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān for more than a year—possibly several years as only the relatively
91
For a short biography and more references on Selānīkī see İpşirli, Mehmet. "Selānīkī , Muṣṭafā Efendi."
92
“Hay meded çavuş-başı, bu mel‘ûn ne söyler işidirmisin, yaramaz dir, bu iş benüm başuma Solnuk’da gelmişdür,
yetiş serdârlara” Selânikî MustafaEfendi, Tarih- i Selânikî (971-1003/1563-1595), ed. Mehmet İpşirli,2nd edition. (Türk
Tarih Kurumu, 1999), p. 34 (corresponding to 21b in Süleymaniye Esad Efendi nr. 2259). Solnuk (Solnok, Szolnok,
Sonluk, ‫ )ﺼﻮﻠﻨﻖ‬lies in the region of Eğri and Budin. Nuri Akbayar, Osmanlı Yer Adları Sözlüğü. (Istanbul: Türk Vakfı
Yurt Yayınları, 2001), p. 147.
55
short Fütūḥāt-ı Cemīle must have required some time and several drafts before the completion
of the final edition.
Secondly, we should consider the high probability that the hero of Fütūḥāt-ı Cemīle was
also its patron. Filiz Çağman observes that in its format and textual content, the nameless seal
on folio 1a of Fütūḥāt-ı Cemīle strongly resembles the seal of Sokollu Meḥmed Paşa in a
document he had composed before becoming the Grand Vizier. (Figure 4)93 Indeed, aside from
the close aesthetic similarity of the two seals, the words “tawakkuli 'alā ḫāliḳī” in the cartouche
are repeated in both.94 In addition, Çağman notes that the date inscribed within the cartouche
of the Fütūḥāt-ı Cemīle seal, “972,” (9th of August 1564- 28th of July1565) includes the first month
of Sokollu’s Grand Vizierate.95 Following this observation, Zeren Tanındı further suggests that
the manuscript « may have been written for Sokullu Mehmed Paºa as a propatory [sic.] trial for
Arifî’s Süleymannâme.”96
For our purposes, the existence of two different versions experimenting with the
relative importance of Sokollu Meḥmed and Aḥmed Paşas indicates that ´Ārif and his patron(s)
were well aware of the political ramifications of writing history, and they intended to use
them. The variance in the two versions also demonstrates ´Ārif’s shrewd understanding of
93
TSMA E. 5484. “On a découvert dans les archives du Palais (E. 5484) de Topkapı un sceau (non daté) de Sokullu
Mehmed pacha avant qu’il ne soit «Sadrazam» (grand vizir). Les deux sceaux seressemblent beaucoup tant sur le
plan de la forme que des louanges qu’ils contiennent. » Filiz Çağman in Soliman Le Magnifique: 15 Février au 14 Mai
1990, Galeries Nationales du Grand Palais, (Paris: 1990), p. 95.
94
Many thanks are due to Cornell Fleischer and Zeynep Çelik for their help in reading and locating the seals.
95
“La seule date est celle de l’année où Sokullu Mehmed Pacha devint viziriazam 972 H (1565).” Çağman, ibid. op.
cit. Sokollu Meḥmed Paşa started his long tenure as Grand vizier immediately after Semiz Alī Paşa's death on 27
June 1565. G. Veinstein, ibid. op. cit.
96
Zeren Tanındı, “Transformation of Words to Images: Portraits of Ottoman Courtiers in the Diwâns of Bâkî and
Nâdirî,” Res 43 (Spring 2003), p. 132. The typo in the publication most probably stands for the word “preparatory”.
56
what was deemed appropriate in each circumstance and for each patron as well as his craft in
manipulating history.
I should add that after a first investigation, it is my impression that ´Ārif’s manipulation
is based more on shifting the emphasis on the protagonist both textually and visually rather
than on pure invention. While pure invention would have required recklessness on ´Ārif’s part,
especially since he was dealing with recent history in this case, his style of manipulation was
much more underhanded and discreet: he drew attention to less significant events—i.e. the
capture of lesser castles by Sokollu’s troops—by sparing more pages and illustrations, he
minimized the mentioning of the real hero Aḥmed Paşa’s name and displayed him in a
humiliating position on folios 18b-19a off his horse and on foot, at a moment when his horse
was hit by the enemy.
*Vaķ‘a-yi Sulţān Bayezıd ma‘a Selīm Hān: This short manuscript of 50 folios measures 24.3 x 15.5
cm (9.6 x 6.1 in.) and is preserved at the Topkapı Palace library (R. 1540 mük.)97 Unlike Fütūḥāt-
ı Cemīle, in this manuscript ´Ārif states his authorship explicitly.98 It was prepared after the
completion of the last volume of the Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i‘Osmān. It narrates the rebellion of
Süleymān’s son Bayezıd against his father and the subsequent battle between him and his
brother Selīm. The events narrated begin with the refusal of Bayezıd to leave his post as
governor in Kütahya and move to his new seat in Amasya. This move had been ordered on the
6th of September 1558 C.E. (23rd of Zilkade 965) by his sultan father, who had, at the same time,
commanded his other remaining son, Selīm, to transport his court from Manisa to Konya. The
97
TSMK R. 1540 mük.; F. E. Karatay, Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi Kütüphanesi Farsça Yazmalar Kataloğu. (Istanbul: 1961), no.
157; Şerafettin Turan, Kanuni Süleyman Dönemi That Kavgaları. 2nd ed. (Ankara: Bilgi Yayınevi, 1997) p. 100-101.
98
R. 1540 mük., folio 3a line 10 and folio 50a line 1.
57
narration ends shortly after the battle between the two princes in the plain of Konya. The last
event related is Selīm’s letter of victory written on the second of June in 1559 C.E. (25th of
Şa‘bān 966) to his father.99
* Ravżāt al-Uşaḳ100 Esin Atıl writes that the manuscript, which is preserved in a private
collection in San Diego, “must have been completed around 1560.” She reports that it contains
three miniatures of high quality “representing a princely couple in a palace with the lady
gazing ather reflection in the pool; a purely genre scene showing a buthcher’s shop; and the
fable of the fox with the animal dressed as a dervish.”101 The themes of the miniatures makes it
likely that it is a collection of stories. This manuscript, too remains outside of the boundaries
of the current study.
*Tomar-ı Hümāyūn: This scroll of very large size (31.16m by 0.79m) is preserved in the Topkapı
Palace library with the library code A. 3599. Tomar was started at the time of Sulṭān Süleymān.
As I will argue in chapter 6 section c, it was produced by three authors and at least two
calligraphers. The first author or at least the intellectual father of the Scroll was ‘Ārif even
though I believe that the first half of the scroll with its astrological and terrestrial disks, and
carefully designed genealogical tree owes its particular character to ‘Ārif’s successor Eflātūn.
Hence, Tomar-ı Hümāyūn will be examined among the works of the second Şehnāmeci Eflātūn.
99
For a rich and detailed discussion of the Bayezıd incident see Şerafettin Turan, op. cit. Unfortunately, here
Turan does not fully exploit ´Ārif’s account. He considers Vaķ‘a-yi Sulţān Bayezıd ma‘a Selīm Hān of no importance
for historical investigation because of its “completely exaggerated and poetic narration.” Ibid. op. cit. p. 16.
100
Edwin Binney 3rd, Turkish Treasures from the Collection of Edwin Binney, 3rd. (Portland: 1979) no. 13; Esin Atıl, op. cit.,
p. 56, 57, 70, 71.
101
Esin Atıl, op. cit., p. 70. For small size black-and-white representation see ibid. op. cit. p, 71.
58
c. THE CASE OF H. 845: ĠŪY VE ÇEVĠĀN BY “‘ĀRIFĪ”
In this section, I argue for the close association of one of the four copies of the fifteenth
century Persian classic Ġūy ve Çevġān (“The Ball and the Polo Stick”) in the Topkapı Palace
manuscript library to ‘Ārif’s Șāhnāme project. I base my argument on the examination of the
extraordinary aspects of the manuscript: its flamboyant, highly sophisticated, and costly
aesthetics, its bad textual quality as a copy, the inclusion in the manuscript of a royal hunting
scene, which I argue that depicts Sulṭān Süleymān with four of his sons, and the presence of a
representation of a book cover. My hypothesis that H.845 is—if not an album—an artistic folio
to display and confirm the extensive skills of Șehnāmeci ‘Ārif’s team of artists of the book is an
offshoot of the questions I raise concerning the peculiarities of the manuscript and the
possible answers I suggest to explain these extraordinary choices made in its preparation.
i. The extraordinary traits of the manuscript and their possible significance
In the catalogue of the Topkapı Palace manuscript library, this relatively small book
(240x153mm) of 35 folios is listed as the earliest of the four copies of Maḥmūd ‘Ārifī Herāvī’s
(d.853/1449) Ġūy ve Çevġān (“The Ball and the Polo Stick”).102 The meter of this Sufi mesnevī is
102
I am indebted to Persis Berlekamp, professor at the Art History Department of the University of Chicago, for
her reading and criticism of an earlier version of this section. For more information on Maḥmūd ‘Ārifī Herāvī see
Z. Safa, “‘Ārefī Herāvī, Mawlānā Mahmūd,” in Encyclopædia Iranica, edited by Ehsan Yarshater (London and New
York: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1987), Vol. II, p. 392-393. For a list of all the four copies of Ġūy ve Çevġān in the
Topkapı collection see Fehmi Edhem Karatay, Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi Kütüphanesi Farsça Yazmalar Kataloğu. (Istanbul:
Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi, 1961), p. 229-230. Another copy is listed in the catalogue of the British Museum: Charles
Rieu, Catalogue of the Persian Manuscripts in the British Museum, v II, London:1888, p. 639, Add. 27266) mentioned in
Agah Sırrı Levent, Türk Edebiyatı Tarihi, (Ankara: TTKB, 1998), Vol. I, p. 224. For more information on Maḥmūd
‘Ārifī Herāvī and references to other copies of his work in Istanbul, also see Ahmed Ateş, İstanbul Kütüphanelerinde
59
hazac aḫrab maḳbūz maḥzūf.103 The manuscript was prepared by Muḥammed b. Ġażanfer in
946(1539-40) 104 (figure 7) in the highly complicated and costly style of découpage (ḳaṭ‘), where
calligraphic writing is produced by cutting letters out of a paper and then pasting them onto
another sheet. Upon a closer look, this “copy” of the Sufi mesnevī proves to be, in fact, rather
unique.
Firstly, it must be said that the rich decoration of the book makes an astonishing
impact. The variation in design and color schemes is extraordinary. At times, two facing pages
are in different colors, on marbled or merely starched paper, and with varying decorations
both within and outside the frame of the text.105 (Figures 8, 9, and 10) The illuminations also
show off various styles, playing not only with colors, but also with different geometric shapes.
These geometric designs appear on both sides of the text and organize the page.106 (Figures 10
and 11)
At the same time, the play with different colors and styles is done in a way that creates
a complex yet harmonious effect.107 This—at times minutely calculated—harmony is attained
Farsça Manzum Eserler I (Üniversite ve Nuruosmaniye Kütüphaneleri) (İstanbul: Milli Eğitim Basımevi, 1968), p. 353-356.
The five copies listed in Ateş’s catalogue are from the collection of the Istanbul University manuscript library: FY
501, FY 1223, FY 421, FY 1157 (=Halis Efendi 8418), and FY 142/2 (folios 51b-70a). For an analysis of Ġūy ve Çevġān
see Ehsan Yarshater, ‫ﺸﻌﺮ ﻔﺮﺴﻰ ﺪﺮ ﻋﻬﺪ ﺸﺎﻩﺮخ‬. (Tehran: 1334/1915-1916), no. 268, p. 177-180. Also cited in Ateş, ibid.
op. cit.
103
The scanning of this meter is “--./.-.-/.--”. Wheeler M. Thackston describes this meter, which was used by
Nizāmī in his Leylī u Mecnūn, as “one of the most lilting and melodic of all Persian meters.” Wheeler M.
Thackston, A Millennium of Classical Persian Poetry, (Bethesda, Maryland: 1994), p. xx.
104
H. 845, folio 33a.
105
As examples, the images of the folios 10b-11a , 16b-17a , and 28b-29a (figures 8, 9, and 10) are included in the
appendix.
106
Compare, for example, the images of the subsequent double folios 28b-29a and 29b-30a (figures 10 and 11).
107
The case of the folios 32b-33a (figure 7) is an exception. The text ends with the colophon on 33a. It is possible
that at that point there remained no prepared decorated pages to create a more harmonious pair of facing pages
as it has been done in the previous folios. The back of 33a also poses a problem, which might have been related to
the difference in styles observed in the folios 32b and 33a. 33b appears to have some kind of an image with or
60
by employing various methods. One of these methods is the reversing of the color that forms
the background within the frame of the text with the color of the page that remained outside
of the frame on facing pages as in the folios 16b-17a, 26b-27a, and 30b-31a (figures 9, 12, and
13). Another method is the usage of the two dominant hues of the double pages outside the
textual frame within the frame as its background color. On folios 21b and 22a (figure 14), for
example, the blue of the marbled page is used as the background color within the frame of the
text on 22a while golden brown is used similarly on the facing page on 21b.
Often we find a combination of both methods. Folios 26b-27a (figure12), where the
method of reversing of colors was used, could also be an example of the second manner of
color mixing. On these facing pages, light pink and golden brown, the two hues of the color of
the paper that remains outside of the frame are maintained on both pages. Pink forms the
background color of the frame of the text on 26b and golden brown on 27a. Golden brown
dominates 26b whereas on 27a pink is the main color.
Secondly, the only miniature in this manuscript deserves careful inspection. This is a
double page miniature of a royal hunting scene, which I contend that depicts Sulṭān Süleymān
108
and four of his sons: Muṣṭafā, Selīm, Bayezıd, and Cihāngīr. (Figure 5) The attire of all of the
figures, in both the style of their clothes and their headgear—with the feathers adorning their
turbans—suggest that they are Ottoman royalty. Bearing in mind that the miniature was
prepared at the time of Sulṭān Süleymān, this identification should not come as a surprise.
without text that is painted over. Despite the kind assistance of Zeynep Çelik at the Topkapı manuscript library,
various attempts to decipher this covered image resulted in failure.
108
H. 845, folios 33b-34a.
61
Still, how can we identify the five figures in the miniature individually? How do we
know, for example, which one of the bearded figures is Sulṭān Süleymān?109 The answer
involves the composition of the miniature. Compositionally it makes more sense to portray the
sibling princes similarly involved in hunting while differentiating the father by his activity in
the scene. Comparisons with similar hunting scenes in Süleymānnāme reveal that when the
sultan hunts by himself, he is always in the center.110 On the other hand, when he hunts with
his sons, indeed he is often depicted as the observer in the background and the sons are
displayed in action in the foreground. 111
Furthermore, familiarity with the images and the descriptions of Sulṭān Süleymān and
his sons during his reign strongly suggest that this is the depiction of four Ottoman princes
hunting with their father Sulṭān Süleymān. In fact, a comparison of the figures painted here
with the physical descriptions of the princes by foreign observers allows us to say that the
portraits aimed to be close resemblances of those portrayed.
In the miniature, we can easily discern the taller older prince Muṣṭafā slaying a lion. As
mentioned above and just as in the Süleymānnāme, here too he is represented with a moustache
and a beard, extra-customary accessories for an Ottoman prince. (Figure 41)112 His depicted
109
According to Ottoman custom, an Ottoman prince could only grow a beard after his accession as the ruler. See
İ. H. Uzunçarşılı. Osmanlı Devletinin Saray Teşkilatı, Ankara, 1988, p. 75, 188. The presence of two bearded figures in
royal attire in this painting might be considered unusual at first sight. However, as it will be said below, in several
contemporaneous literary and visual sources, Prince Muṣṭafā was described with beard.
110
See H. 1517, 177a and 403a; Atıl, p. 126 and 176 respectively.
111
See H. 1517, 393a and 576a; Atıl, p. 174 and 220 respectively. The exception is on H. 1517 folio 462b (Atıl, p. 193).
Here while the sultan-father remains in the background, he is not an observer anymore, but an active participant
in hunting.
112
H. 1517 477b,; Atıl, p. 197. In the Süleymānnāme miniature Muṣṭafā is depicted almost as a smaller copy of his
father. I will argue in chapter fifth that this resemblance was intended for political purposes. The miniature
served as an integral part of the defense of the Palace—especially of Sulṭān Süleymān and his Grand Vizier
Rüstem—against the harsh accusations they received from many social echelons concerning their unjust killing of
the Prince. At least—or perhaps particularly—in ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i‘Osmān, loyalty to physical reality was
62
features match with the physical description of Muṣṭafā by Johannes Dernschwam, the
Bohemian humanist and businessman traveling with the Austrian delegacy. Dernschwam’s
description seems quite accurate even though the miniature was prepared about 10 years prior
to his travel report, depicting a younger Muṣṭafā: the prince indeed looks greater than his
father in stature and has a well-maintained black beard.113 The youngest and hunchbacked
brother Cihāngīr114 is holding a falcon while his older brother Bayezıd is depicted as having just
shot a wild goat.
In accordance with what the Austrian ambassador Ogier Busbecq mentions in his
letters, in this miniature, Bayezıd clearly resembles his father. Also in harmony with Busbecq’s
opinion, the same cannot be said of his brother, Selīm, who is seen here preparing to shoot at
gazelles with his bow and arrow.115 Selīm’s depiction in the miniature resembles his
representation in another hunting scene with his father in Süleymānnāme. (Figure 15)116 The
comparison of the two miniatures is particularly significant for the latter miniature also
balanced both in text and image with political concerns, often yielding to the latter. On the other hand, Ġūy ve
Çevġān was prepared before the strife for succession started in Süleymān’s family hence the painter of its
miniature did not have to concern himself with a special political agenda. As a consequence, I contend that in this
miniature we have one of the most realistic depictions of the male members of Süleymān’s family.
113
“…dan der Mustaffa ein schone, lange, gerade person, ein schwarczen gestuczten barth, vnd grosser als der
vatter gewesen.” Hans Dernschwam’s Tagebuch Einer Reise Nach Konstantinopel und Kleinasien (1553/55), Ed. with
introduction by Franz Babinger (München und Leipzig: Verlag von Duncker & Humbolt, 1923), p. 136.
Dernschwam had not met the prince in person. In fact, in April 1555, by the time he had arrived at Amasya, the
seat of the prince as governor, Muṣṭafā was already executed with the order of his father. Hence his description
must be based on the observance of another party or parties.
114
Dernschwam also mentions this physical handicap of the prince:“…mit seinem jungsten sun, ein hogkerle,…”
Ibid., p. 50; “der Gangir, der jungste puklete sun,…” Ibid., p. 90.
115
“They were attracted to the young man (Bayezıd) by his looks, which strongly resembled his father’s; while, on
the other hand, Selim was totally unlike the Sultan, and inherited the face and manner of his unpopular mother.”
Charles Thornton Forster and F.H.Blackburne Daniell, The Life and Letters of Ogier Ghiselin de Busbecq, V. I (London: C.
Kegan Paul & Co., 1881), p. 275.
116
H. 1517 462b; Atıl, p. 193.
63
depicts the prince around the same time, in the close aftermath of his older brother Meḥmed’s
death in November 1543.
As mentioned above, the physical dissimilarity between the father and the son
displayed by these two miniatures is attested by Busbecq’s letter written on the first of June
1560 to Nicolas Michault, the Seigneur of Indeveldt, and that delivers the comments of some
Ottoman soldiers along the same lines. At the outbreak of the fight between the two princes
Bayezıd and Selīm for the favor of their father—also for the throne and ultimately for
survival—these soldiers were reportedly puzzled at the favoring of Selīm by his father: “‘Why
had the father,’ they murmured, ‘disowned a son who was the living image of himself? Why
had he preferred to him that corpulent drone, who showed not a trace of his father’s
character?’”117
Finally and aside from the evidence of the written and visual sources that support my
identification, there is another and rather simple reason why if the miniature is indeed of the
sultan and his four sons, these four princes have to be Muṣṭafā, Selīm, Bayezıd, and Cihāngīr. If
Süleymān and Hürrem’s primogenitor Meḥmed were alive he would have been included in the
painting as the favorite son, active in hunting like his other brothers. Similarly, it would have
been unreasonable to exclude Muṣṭafā as he was arguably as promising as Meḥmed to be the
heir at the time. Most importantly for our purposes of identification, Meḥmed died before the
other four, leaving his brothers as the remaining Ottoman princes to be portrayed in dynastic
projects.
117
Ibid. p. 276. The miniature in H. 845 depicts Selīm at least 15 years prior to the outbreak of the incident at the
end of the 1550s with his only remaining brother. (By the autumn of 1558 the rivalry between the two brothers
was clearly articulated. See Şerafettin Turan, Kanuni Süleyman Dönemi That Kavgaları. 2. edition. (Ankara: Bilgi
Yayınevi, 1997) for a detailed account of the incident). The image depicts the young prince before he developed
into his overweight state due to his reputed gluttony and indulgence in alcoholic drinks.
64
The absence in this image of Prince Meḥmed, who was known as the favorite son and
probable heir of Süleymān, also suggests that the miniature was prepared after Meḥmed’s
death of ill health on the 6th of November 1543. This date is several years after 946 (1539-40),
the date given in the colophon for the completion of the text.118 (Figure 7) The prominent
position given in this miniature to the oldest prince Muṣṭafā, who was seen as the natural heir
to his father only after the death of Meḥmed, supports this suggested dating. In the image, we
see Muṣṭafā depicted at the top of the left folio, almost at the same level with his father and
higher than his brothers. His slaying of the lion with one strike of his sword while turning his
giant body backwards on his galloping horse emphasizes an extraordinary physical strength
resembling that of the great Shāhnāme hero, Rüstem. This difficult posture and the association
it evokes with Rüstem further confirm Muṣṭafā’s prominent status in the painting.119
The great artistic quality of this miniature aside, here we are confronted with the
problem of the coherence of the manuscript. How is this beautiful miniature related to the
text? Clearly, the relation is not thematic.120 The same problem challenges the viewer more
acutely on page 34a with the depiction of a book cover just before the end of the manuscript.
118
H. 845, folio 33a.
119
In fact, the position of the lion behind his horse with one pawn grasping one of the hind legs of the prince’s
horse reminds one of the episode of Rüstem’s first trial, where a lion in whose den the hero chose to sleep, plans
to attack Rüstem’s horse and then the hero himself. At the end, the lion is killed by Rüstem’s extraordinary horse
Raḫş, while his owner continues to sleep in the lion’s reed bed. If any resemblance to Rüstem was intended in this
miniature, the reference to the story of the first trial would have been an indirect one: the differences between
this well-known story and the scene depicted here do not allow for a direct comparison. See image of H. 845 folios
34b-35a (figure 5) in the appendix.
120
Polo and hunting share the common denominator of being royal pastimes. (I thank Persis Berlekamp for
reminding me of this.) Still, this relationship is thematically too loose to legitimate the presence of the miniature
if we think of the hunting scene as an accompanying image for Ġūy ve Çevġān. On the other hand, their belonging
to the same category would have provided the sufficient relation between the text of Ġūy ve Çevġān and the
hunting scene if we were to consider H. 845 as an album. Even though the manuscript is not a proper album, the
hypothesis argued here that it is an artistic portfolio approximates it to one.
65
(Figure 6) A full page painting of a book cover has never been thematically related to a Sufi
mesnevī neither before nor after “Ġūy ve Çevġān-ı ‘Ārifī”.
On a different note, seeking similarities of the manuscript with other works of the
period, instead of discussing merely its particularities, could be a fruitful path. The figure of
Selīm in this miniature, for example, is almost identical to the depiction of the prince in
Fetḥullāh Çelebi’s Süleymānnāme on folio 462b.121 (Figure 15) Furthermore, this second
miniature also portrays the prince hunting with his father at around the same time, shortly
after the death of the older prince Meḥmed. In her study of the miniatures of Süleymānnāme,
Esin Atıl identifies the principal artist of both of these hunting scenes as “Painter B,” who was
not only one of the two main painters of Süleymānnāme, the fifth volume of Şāhnāme-yi Āl-
i‘Osmān, but was also responsible for the paintings in ‘Osmānnāme, the fourth volume of the
same project.122
Similarly, the curious picture of the book (figure 6) cover bears a striking resemblance
to the covers of Süleymānnāme and the Divān-ı Muḥibbī. (Figures 16 and 17) The latter is
preserved in the Museum of Turkish and Islamic Art and acclaimed for the beauty of its fine
cover.123 These two covers are both attributed to Meḥmed b. Aḥmed (also known as Meḥmed
Çelebi).124
121
H. 1517, 462b (Süleymān hunting with Selīm). See figure 15 in the appendix.
122
Esin Atıl, Süleymanname: the Illustrated History of Süleyman the Magnificent (Washington: 1986), p. 72, p. 77, ft. 41,
and p. 192.
123
TIEM 1962.
124
Esin Atıl, Süleymanname: the Illustrated History of Süleyman the Magnificent (Washington: 1986), p. 63, 81. Esin Atıl
writes that Meḥmed Çelebi had entered the team of artists of the Ottoman palace during the reign of Selim I and
“the payroll registers of the society of imperial bookbinders state” that he served as the head of the bookbinders
between the years 1545 and 1566, at the time of Süleymān. Ibid. p. 63. According to Muṣṭafā ‘Ali, on the other
hand, he was the head bookbinder at the time of Selīm I and not his son Süleymān. Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, Menakıb-ı
Hünerverān, with introduction by Ibn’ül Emīn Maḥmūd Kemāl Bey, (Istanbul: 1926), p. 73.
66
Furthermore, the diagonal-shaped illumination design that was used on many folios of
Gūy ve Çevgān-i‘Ārifī seems visually and functionally related to the diagonal lines of text on
three pages of Enbiyānāme, the first volume of Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i‘Osmān as well as the pages
preceding many of the illustrations in Süleymānnāme. In Gūy ve Çevgān-i‘Ārifī, these diagonal
shapes are placed in rectangular frames and include floral ornaments that vary in color.125 On
the pages where these decorative elements were used, a distich was inscribed in two lines
rather than in one. The extra space gained by this division was used for the rectangular boxes
that bear the diagonal designs at the left and right extremes of each stich. Each page of the
manuscript has seven lines of verse and two or three pairs of these decorative elements. In
other words, on the pages with the diagonal designs not every line of poetry was decorated on
its two sides with this type of illumination. While other rectangular boxes often bearing floral
ornaments were also used in the same way to organize the text visually, the alternating angles
of 45º and 135º at which these diagonals were positioned add a unique sense of rhythm and
dynamism to the aesthetics of the manuscript.126
The three miniatures of Enbiyānāme, the first volume of Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i‘Osmān that Esin
Atıl considers “revolutionary” represent “Idrīs teaching calligraphy, an outdoor school setting
with boys writing, reading, and misbehaving; Cemşīd teaching husbandry, a rural landscape
with farm houses, animals, and figures; and the Deluge with figures climbing trees, roofs, and
mountains to escape the flood.”127 The representations of Idrīs and his teachings (figure 23)
125
H. 845 folios 9a (figure 18), 10b (figure 8), 13b-14a (figure 19), 15a (figure 20), 16b-17a (figure 9), 17b-18a (figure
21), 22b-23a (figure 22), 25a, 26b-27a (figure12), 28b-29a (figure 10), 30b-31a (figure 13), and 32b-33a (figure 7).
126
For good examples of this functional play by alternating the angles of the diagonals, see the images of the
double folios 16b-17a (figure 9), 17b-18a (figure 21), and 22b-23a (figure 22).
127
Esin Atıl, Süleymanname: the Illustrated History of Süleyman the Magnificent (Washington: 1986), p. 59.
67
and the Deluge (figure 24) are reproduced in diminished size in Atıl’s Süleymanname: the
Illustrated History of Süleyman the Magnificent.”128
In these paintings, the text is written in three different styles. At the top and the
bottom of the page, the verse lines follow the linear organization found in the other illustrated
pages of the manuscript. On the page with the image of Idrīs, the title of the miniature (and of
the section of the text?) is given in a box in the top center. On the page describing the Flood,
the title is given in a box in between the lines of verse, dividing each of the two distichs. On
both pages, the rest of the text is written in verse and in diagonal forms.
Unfortunately, Enbiyānāme is preserved in the collection of the Bruschettini Foundation
for Islamic and Asian Art in Genoa and has not been available for examination for this thesis.
As a consequence, it is not possible to propose a list of all the alternative functions the text on
the illustrated pages of this manuscript might possess. However, an inspection of the pages
published in Atıl’s study suggests that aside from the aesthetics of calligraphy—a concern
always present in manuscripts—the diagonally written text on both pages has two distinct
functions. On the one hand, the words deliver the narrative voice of the scenes. As such, the
text and the images depicted complement one another. The text written in all three forms—in
verse and linearly, in prose and in a box, and in verse and diagonally—fulfills this function. In
fact, the lines of verse at the top and the bottom and the boxed titles on each of the two pages
included in Atıl’s study fulfill only this function.
The diagonal lines of text, on the other hand, have yet another function. They divide
the different scenes depicted on the same page in rhombus shaped or triangular “frames.” In
128
Esin Atıl, op. cit., p. 58-9.
68
this way, they separate these scenes and enable the visual representation of several moments
described by the text, without leading the viewer to confusion.
In Süleymānnāme, the diagonal forms are employed to order the lines of verse in various
angles that create, in turn, various different shapes. (Figures 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, and 30) An entire
page might be organized around these diagonal forms as in 281b and 477a. (Figures 25 and 26)
The diagonally written calligraphy might also constitute a smaller part of the text (figures 27,
28, and 29).
The diagonal forms in Süleymānnāme are used only immediately before the
miniatures.129 The examples given here, the figures 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, and 30, are followed by
the depictions of the “Siege of Budapest”, “Süleyman conversing with Mustafa”, “Süleyman
receiving the crown of Hungary”, the “Reception of the French ambassador”, the “Reception of
Elkas Mirza”, and “Süleyman inspecting prisoners” respectively.130 However, not all of the
miniatures are preceded by folios with diagonally written lines.
The presence of the diagonal compositions does not appear to underline the
importance of the events to be depicted immediately after these pages, either. If there is such
an intention, it is at least not a direct one. The miniature of the Ottoman soldiers climbing
trees in a storm on their way to Vienna on folio 266a, for example, follows a full page adorned
with diagonally written calligraphy forming rhombus shapes while the page preceding the
129
It would be interesting to see if the diagonal forms were also used before the miniatures of Enbiyānāme and
‘Osmānnāme, both of which are presently in the Bruschettini collection in Genoa.
130
Except for the figures 22 and 25, all the examples in the appendix include both the diagonal composition and
the miniature it follows. For practical reasons Atıl’s titles are used above. See Atıl, op. cit. p. 149-155, 164-165, 194-
197. In Atıl’s study, all of the miniatures as well as the diagonal forms in figure 21 (H. 1517, 281b) are reproduced.
69
double-page representation of the sultan’s ascension to the throne on folios 17b-18a does not
have even a single line of diagonal forms.131
On the other hand, the variance created by the presentation of the text in these
geometric forms breaks the visual monotony of the plainly written text and prepares the
viewer for the coming illustration. In other words, they act as preludes to the images. Perhaps
the absence of such a prelude to the ascension scene among other highly prestigious scenes
was done intentionally to increase its impact. Yet, it is impossible to ascertain this claim
especially because the subsequent double paged miniature of the “Meeting of the Divan,” no
doubt a highly prestigious scene, follows two pages of text organized with the diagonal forms.
Further inspection of Süleymānnāme as well as the presently inaccessible manuscripts,
Enbiyānāme and ‘Osmānnāme, might make it possible to understand better the aesthetic
function of the diagonal forms. At this point, however, we can suggest that the diagonal
forms—whether including words or floral decorations— invite an association of Gūy ve Çevgān-
i‘Ārifī with both the first (Enbiyānāme) and the fifth (Süleymānnāme) volumes of Şāhnāme-yi Āl-
i‘Osmān. This association is based on three elements: their visual similarity, their extraordinary
usage in organizing the page, and their function of transforming the visual experience of the
page by changing the horizontal aesthetics of the plain text and implanting it a feeling of
energy.
131
The miniatures mentioned here on folios 17b-18a, and 266a are not included in the appendix. However, they
are published in Atıl’s study. For a reproduction of 17b-18a and the reproduction of a detail from the same scene,
see Atıl, op. cit. p. 91-93. For 266a and 255b, the preceding page with diagonal forms, see Atıl, op. cit. p. 146, 147.
70
ii. An evaluation of H. 845 as a copy
Until this point, we have discussed the visual characteristics of the manuscript. An
evaluation of the text as a “copy” is essential, I believe, to understanding the possible reasons
behind the preparation of this manuscript. To examine the distinctive qualities of the
manuscript as a copy, I have compared H. 845 with three other copies of the same text: another
Topkapı manuscript (H. 835), an Istanbul University library manuscript (FY 421), and a third
“royal” manuscript that is preserved at Harvard University’s Fogg Art Museum.132 The Topkapı
and the Fogg manuscripts were both executed in Herat with a few years of difference: H. 835
was produced in 931(1524-25) and the Fogg manuscript in 929(1522-23).133 The Istanbul Library
manuscript is not dated. However, according to Ahmet Ateş’ catalogue of the Persian
manuscripts in the Istanbul and Nuruosmaniye libraries, it was also executed in the sixteenth
century.134
Of these four manuscripts, H. 835 and the Fogg manuscript bear the most resemblance,
with only minor differences. H. 845, the lavish manuscript that is our topic of study, is
distinguished from all three copies as a result of the relocation and, at times, the complete
elimination of a considerable number of lines, as well as many changes in words.135 The
132
This royal copy forms the basis of the text that W.M. Thackston, Jr. and Hossein Ziai used for their edition and
translation of Herāvī’s Gūy ve Çevgān in The Ball and Polo Stick. (Costa Mesa: Mazda Publishers, 1999) The textual
variants between the text they prepared for the edition, the royal copy, and a second copy are stated clearly at
the end of their book.
133
Ibid. xiii. Here, there is a spelling error: the date 929 A.D. should instead be 929 A.H.
134
Ahmet Ateş, Istanbul Kütüphanelerinde Farsça Manzum Eserler I (Üniversite ve Nuruosmaniye Kütüphaneleri).
(Istanbul: Milli Eğitim Basımevi, 1968), p. 355. On this page, the date given for the manuscript (“X./XIV. yüzyıl”)
has a typo. It should read “X./XVI. yüzyıl”.
71
changes in vocabulary could stem from the misreading of the scribe or of the scribe of the text
this copy is based on. The elimination of long passages, such as it was done at the beginning of
page 9a (figure 18), and the major relocations, such as it was done at the beginning of 11a
(figure 8), suggest errors in the compilation of the pages before the binding of the book and
the loss of some of the original text. The time interval between the preparation of the written
word by Muḥammed b. Ġażanfer in 946(1539-40) and the highly likely date of the final
compilation of the manuscript after the death of the prince Meḥmed in the November of 1543
would certainly have facilitated the losing of pages of the original copy. Yet, even that does not
explain the frequency of the lost single or pairs of distichs.
I think that a possible answer can be related to the technique of découpage. The
calligraphy of H.845 is made up of carved out letters prepared by Muḥammed b. Ġażanfer. We
know that artists of découpage in the 19th and the 20th centuries prepared several copies of the
carved out product by first gluing together several sheets of paper and then, after the carving
was finished, separating them in a special solution. After the carving was done, they preserved
all copies of both the carved out product and the paper they were carved out from for future
usage.136
135
Here are a few examples for the elimination and the dislocation of lines in H. 845 compared to a much more
correct copy, H.835. For practical reasons, only a selected number of visual representations of these examples are
provided in the appendix. If no catalogue reference is given, the line numbers pertain to H. 845. On 2b between
distichs 4 and 5 one distich was skipped; on 3b and on 8a between the first and second distichs two districhs were
skipped. Once again on 8a eight distichs were skipped between the second and third distichs, and the verse order
was changed in the rest of the page. In comparison to the reciprocate folios 14b-15a in H. 835 (figure 33), on 23a of
H. 845, 4 distichs were excluded at the beginning of the page (H. 835, 14b, lines 6, 7, 8, 9), another distich after the
first distich (H. 835, 14b, line 11), and yet another between distichs 6 and 7 (H. 835, 15a, line 3). On 9a up to 59
distichs (four and a half pages of the text in H. 835) were skipped. At the beginning of 11a (figure 8) the text of H.
845 goes back to a previously skipped section of the text in H. 835 (6b, line 9, figure 31). On 14b (figure 20) the
whole page order was changed and the lines on page 8b of H. 835 (figure 32) were reorganized as “8, 7, 9, 11, 12,
14, 13.” Line 10 on 8b of H. 835 (figure 32) was skipped. On 31b the text returns to selected lines in 19a and 19b of
H. 835.
136
A. Süheyl Ünver, Türk İnce Oyma Sanatı: “Kaat’ı”. (Ankara: İş Bankası Kültür Yayınları, 1980).
72
Returning to the manuscript at our hand and assuming that Muḥammed b. Ġażanfer
followed the same practice as his modern age fellow artists, it would be perfectly logical to say
that the date of his preparation of the letters in 946(1539-40) does not need to correspond to
the date of their attachment on paper with the necessary special glue. If the letters indeed
were made to wait for three or more years before their final placement on the highly
decorated pages of the manuscript, the possibility of the losing and misplacement of passages,
both short and long, would increase. Whether or not this is the case, there remains the
question why such a “bad” copy of the Persian classic was chosen to be prepared with such
lavish decoration? The only sensible response seems to be that the final manuscript was not
produced to be read, but to be viewed.
iii. A reassessment
In the absence of the “dreamed” document that states the role of H.845 as a preliminary
work before the Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i‘Osmān project, and in order to draw clear lines between what is
certain and what is probable, at this point it would be useful to see exactly to where this study
has taken us. The close relation of Gūy ve Çevgān-i‘Ārifī to the Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i‘Osmān project is
clear in several ways. Certainly they were produced in the same cultural and physical
environment as it is proven by their sharing of artists from the Ottoman royal workshop:
painter B of the fourth and the fifth volumes of Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i‘Osmān and the bookbinder
Meḥmed b. Aḥmed. The depiction of the book cover that closely resembles that of
Süleymānnāme and the inclusion of the miniature of the royal hunting scene with the
contemporaneous members of the Ottoman dynasty—in a work that uses the metaphor of a
73
polo game and not hunting—tighten this relationship. Moreover, the diagonal shaped
illumination found in the manuscript seems to have inspired the diagonal lines of verse that
organized three pages of the first volume (Enbiyānāme) of Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i‘Osmān and resembles
closely the diagonal forms frequently used on the pages immediately prior to the paintings in
the fifth volume (Süleymānnāme) of the same project.
The luxury of the production and its sheer beauty based largely on a minutely planned
complex harmony, as well as its surprisingly bad textual quality as a copy indicate that it was
intended for visual appreciation only, and not as a well executed copy to be read. The fact that
there is a bound copy of this manuscript at the Ottoman Treasury gives testimony to the
acceptance of this unusual discrepancy between the visual and the textual qualities of the
manuscript. In other words, the important errors in the text were not problematized as they
would normally be especially in a work destined for royal consumption. This acceptance
supports the argument that H. 845 was conceived and presented as a visual artistic work rather
than a literary one. In turn, thinking of a book only in visual terms clearly differentiates this
manuscript form ordinary manuscripts. It converts it into a visual tool, an artistic portfolio as I
would like to call it.
There is yet another pending question relating to the choice of Maḥmūd ‘Ārifī Herāvī’s
work. Even assuming that H. 845 was not intended to be read, a choice was made concerning
the text to be copied for the manuscript. Why was Gūy ve Çevgān and not another literary work
selected as the text for this luxurious book?
The popularity of Gūy ve Çevgān in the Ottoman cultural environment of the time is
proven by the many copies of the classic in Istanbul manuscript libraries. This, together with
its rather short size must have surely favored its selection for this magnificent and costly
74
production. The resemblance between the pennames of the author of the original work,
Maḥmūd ‘Ārifī Herāvī, and the first şehnāmeci Fetḥullāh Çelebi (‘Ārif or ‘Ārifī) is curiously
suggestive. So is the well-known theme of Gūy ve Çevgān: the passionate love of a poor dervish
for the king and his demonstration of his unconditional love with an ultimate gesture of self-
sacrifice by offering and actually giving his head as a ball for the royal polo game. I contend
that Gūy ve Çevgān would, indeed, be the perfect text for ‘Ārif, himself associated with the
Gülşenī order by lineage and by spiritual bonds, to choose in order to demonstrate both the
wide artistic range of his şehnāme team of artists and at the same time to extend his absolute
and unconditional devotion to his ruler, Sulṭān Süleymān.
75
CHAPTER 3
THE FIRST VOLUME (ENBIYĀNĀME):
THE STORIES OF THE PROPHETS AS A PRELUDE TO
THE STORY OF THE OTTOMAN DYNASTY
a. AN ASSESSMENT OF WHAT IS AVAILABLE
Enbiyānāme, or the Book of Prophets, is the first volume of ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān.
This volume, which appears to have belonged originally to the Royal Ottoman Library, is now
preserved in a private collection in Italy. 1 Hence, the information we have is based on the
scarce amount of art historical secondary literature that is available. In fact, it is mainly based
on Esin Atıl, who is one of the few—if not the only—scholar who has seen the manuscript.2
Atıl reports that according to its colophon (48b), it was “written at the request of Sulṭān
Süleymān,” and its transcription was completed on the 12th Jumada of 965 Jemaziyel-evvel/the
2nd of March 1558 by Yusuf el-Heravī. The manuscript consists of 48 folios with 10 miniatures
1
This manuscript was sold to a private collector on the 17th of November 1976 by Christie’s. Its former presence at
the Royal Ottoman library is attested in the publication of Christie’s Auction House for the season of 1977.
Christie’s Review of the Season 1977, ed. John Herbert (London: Studio Vista, 1977), p.442. Zeren Tanındı says that it
presently belongs to a private collection in Italy. Zeren Tanındı, Siyer-i Nebī (Istanbul, Hürriyet Vakfı Yayınları:
1984), p. 12. As it is mentioned in the previous chapter, Enbiyānāme is preserved in the collection of the
2
Atıl provides most of the information available on the manuscript. Esin Atıl, Süleymanname: the illustrated history
of Süleyman the Magnificent (New York, Harry N. Abrams, Inc.: 1986), p. 57-59. In addition, a limited yet more
accurate evaluation of the Enbiyānāme miniatures can be found at Serpil Bağcı, Filiz Çağman, Günsel Renda, Zeren
Tanındı, Osmanlı Resim Sanatı. (Istanbul: T.C. Kültür ve Turizm Bakanlığı Yayınları, 2006), p. 97-98.
76
and was trimmed to the size of 31.0 x 19.5cm. (~12.2 x 7.7 in.).3 This volume, Esin Atıl tells us,
“includes the history of the world from the creation of Adam to the birth of Gog and Magog.”4
In her study of ‘Ārif’s Süleymānnāme, Atıl provides black-and-white reduced sized copies
of five of the ten miniatures with their folio numbers. (Figures 23,24) The topics of the other
five are briefly described.5 All of the miniatures, she states, were executed by a single artist, the
Painter A of Süleymānnāme. If we put the two groups together, we have: Adam and the angels,6
(figure 34) Eve giving Adam the forbidden fruit—here it is wheat—(20a), the sacrifice of Cain
and Abel (24b), the battle of Seth and Cain, İdris teaching commerce, the use of weights,
writing, and tailoring (28a), İdris teaching writing and tailoring (38b), Cemşīd teaching
husbandry, Żaḥḥāk ordering the execution of Cemşīd, the Deluge (45b), and the “Miraj”.7 None
of the pages without miniatures are reproduced.
Despite the obvious limitations that the lack of first-hand examination and the absence
of most of the text pose for us, I believe it is still possible and worthwhile to study what is
3
Esin Atıl, op. cit., p. 57. The information in the Christie’s Review of the Season 1977 confirms the information given
by Atıl concerning the date, the numbers of the folios and the miniatures. See Christie’s Review of the Season 1977, ed.
John Herbert, p.442.
4
Esin Atıl, op. cit., p. 57. Contrary to Esin Atıl, who reports that Enbiyānāme ended with the birth of Gog and
Magog, Zeren Tanındı states that the book narrates the history of the prophet Muḥammed and the prophets
before him. Zeren Tanındı, Siyer-i Nebī, p. 12.
5
Esin Atıl, op. cit., p. 57-59.
6
A reproduction of the miniature depicting Adam adorned by the angels is published in Christie’s Review of the
Season 1977, ed. John Herbert, p. 442. No folio number is given. A smaller sized reproduction in color can be found
at Serpil Bağcı, Filiz Çağman, Günsel Renda, Zeren Tanındı, Osmanlı Resim Sanatı. (Istanbul: T.C. Kültür ve Turizm
Bakanlığı Yayınları, 2006), p. 97. Figure 34 is scanned from the latter reproduction.
7
I have organized this list according to the chronological order of the themes respecting the folio numbers
provided. Atıl’s titles are used for this grouping. Their accuracy will be one of the themes of this discussion. Not to
cause unnecessary confusion, Atıl’s choice of translation is maintained. Accordingly, the names “İdris” and
“Cemşīd” are given in Turkish whereas for the other figures in Enbiyānāme, such as Adam, Noah, or Seth, their
English names are used. “Miraj” (or to follow the transliteration system used here, Mi‘rāc) is the miraculous night
journey of the Prophet Muḥammed. Atıl’s reproductions of the folios 20a, 24b, 28a, 38b, and 45b are included as
figures 23 and 24.
77
available. An exhaustive thematic evaluation of the miniatures is a fruitful path towards
understanding this book.
Assuming that the images depict moments relevant in the text, it is not difficult to form
a reasonable idea of the organization of the text from the location of the images. The
chronological listing of the miniatures given above forms the skeleton of the work. The
protagonists of the paintings must also be the protagonists of the stories included in the text,
for the frequency of the images do not leave much room for stories associated with other
prophets. Accordingly, we can say that ‘Ārif’s Book of the Prophets includes the following
stories: God’s giving Adam authority over the angels, Eve offering the forbidden fruit (i.e.
wheat) to Adam, the story of Cain (with Abel and with Seth), the story of İdris, the story of
Cemşīd (his teachings and his punishment carried out by Żaḥḥāk), the story of Noah, and the
miraculous nightly journey of Muḥammed. Below is a table of the miniatures with the titles
and the folio numbers given by Atıl.
Table 1. A List of Enbiyānāme’s Miniatures
Title Folio
Adam with angels ?

Eve giving Adam the Grain of Paradise 20a
The Sacrifice of Cain and Abel 24b
The Battle of Seth and Cain ?
İdris Teaching Tailoring and Use of Weights 28a
İdris Teaching Writing and Tailoring 38b
Cemşīd Teaching Husbandary ?
Żaḥḥāk Ordering the Execution of Cemşīd ?
The Deluge 45b
The Mi‘rāc ?
78
i. Two preliminary problems: a discussion over a folio attached on an album and the
inaccuracies in the titles
Before starting a thematic examination, I should mention two important issues
concerning the number and subjects of Enbiyānāme’s miniatures. The first is about a missing, or
rather an unattached page. Zeren Tanındı reports that Enbiyānāme includes two miniatures on
the Islamic prophet Muḥammed. One of these, a Mi‘rāc depiction, is also mentioned by Atıl.
The other one, writes Tanındı in Siyer-i Nebī, depicts the prophet in Mescidü’l Aḳṣā (The Dome
of the Rock) with prophets previous to him. 8 Figure 24. The existence of two miniatures on the
Islamic prophet is repeated by Hilal Kazan who apparently is basing her statement on
Tanındı’s report.9
Yet upon further consideration, Tanındı reviews her first decision. Along with Serpil
Bağcı, Filiz Çağman, and Günsel Renda, who are the co-authors of an illuminating volume on
the Ottoman painting, she identifies the protagonist of this miniature that appears to be set in
the Mescidü’l Aḳṣā as the prophet Solomon.10 This reassessment has much to do with another
art historian’s evaluation of the same page. Rachel Milstein argues that the miniature is a
depiction of Sulṭān Süleymān as Solomon. She ties this analogy to the image of Solomon as the
ideal man with respect to the values of Renaissance and as the prototype for the Messiah.
According to Milstein, this image of Solomon would have resonance in the Ottoman
8
Zeren Tanındı, Siyer-i Nebī, p. 12. Figure 24 is scanned from Esin Atıl, Süleymanname, p. 59.
9
Personal communication, also see Hilal Kazan, “Prophet Muhammed (PBUH) In Miniature” in Lastprophet.info
Online.
10
Serpil Bağcı, Filiz Çağman, Günsel Renda, Zeren Tanındı, Osmanlı Resim Sanatı. (Istanbul: T.C. Kültür ve Turizm
Bakanlığı Yayınları, 2006), p. 97-98. This publication also includes a small sized colored reproduction of the
miniature on page 98.
79
environment because of “the aspirations of an Ottoman heart which, in the 15th century, had
opened itself to the Italian Renaissance and, in the 16th, developed messianic tendencies.”11
Preceding these developments in the discussion concerning the identity of the
miniature’s protagonist, Atıl stated a different opinion. She wrote that this miniature, which is
now at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, was most likely executed by Painter A of
Süleymānnāme12 and belonged to the second volume of ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme project. Moreover, she
offered it the title “Prophet Muḥammed with his companions in a mosque.”13 (Figure 24) After
her, Tahsin Yazıcı repeated the statement that this one page miniature was the only known
page of the second volume of the Ottoman Şāhnāme project.14
If indeed this miniature belongs to ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme, the identification of the protagonist
as the prophet Solomon seems the most likely. As Milstein argued in an earlier presentation
delivered before the publication of her La Bible Dans L’Art Islamique, the haloed figure in the
center left of the page cannot be the prophet Muḥammed because of his unveiled face—an
unacceptable presentation of the prophet at this time.15 Besides, as Milstein stated on the same
occasion, the presence of the hoopoe, which is encountered in Islamic literature and miniature
painting as the messenger of King Solomon, perched at the top of the highest dome makes it
more than likely that the figure in question is the prophet/king Solomon. As an additional
11
Rachel Milstein, La Bible Dans L’Art Islamique. (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 2005), p. 107, translation
mine.
12
Esin Atıl, Süleymanname, p. 70.
13
Esin Atıl, Süleymanname, p. 59; given as the title for the black and white reproduction of this miniature
mentioned in footnote 8.
14
Tahsin Yazıcı, “Arifi Fethullah Çelebi,” İslam Ansiklopedisi, v. III. (Istanbul: 1991), p. 371-373.
15
Rachel Milstein, “King Solomon at the Topkapı Palace” paper presented in Topkapı Sarayı ve Osmanlı Sanatı, “Dr.
Filiz Çağman’a Armağan Uluslararası Sempozyum,” forthcoming in Commemorative Gift to Filiz Cağman: Topkapı Palace
Museum Communication Seminar on the Topkapı Palace and Ottoman Art.
80
proof for her argument, she stated that “an inscription on the wall of the monument within
which the group is seated, identifies the person as King Solomon.” While I could decipher the
mention of Solomon/Süleymān’s name from the reproductions, I cannot verify Milstein’s claim
that these lines read as verse from Sa‘adi: “he is Solomon of his time, he has the kingdom of
Solomon in his days.”16 Nevertheless, the association between the prophet Solomon and Sulṭān
Süleymān should not be surprising for, at the time, this association was already the subject of a
very commonly drawn analogy.17
Once again, assuming that the miniature belongs to ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme and accepting
Milstein’s identification for the principal figure, we still do not know where it belongs in the
five volumes that make up ‘Ārif’s work. It has already been mentioned that Atıl thinks that it
was removed from the second volume. Serpil Bağcı, Filiz Çağman, Günsel Renda, and Zeren
Tanındı claim that it pertains to Enbiyānāme,18 while Milstein writes that one could suppose it
was the frontispiece of Süleymānnāme.19
Among these three claims Milstein’s seems the least likely because Süleymānnāme, as we
have it, maintains its original binding and no folio appears to be missing. Even though
Enbiyānāme was rebound,20 the two eyewitness reports we have, that of Atıl and the Christie’s
16
Milstein, op. cit., p. 1.
17
The comparison between Sulṭān Süleymān, whose name was given after the prophet Solomon in the Koran
(Neml, 30), and his name-sake prophet was common in his reign. It was not only poets of the period like Yahyā
Beg, Bāḳī or Ārif who used this analogy; but the Sulṭān himself in his poems written with the penname Muḫibbī,
made references to the prophet and the different aspects of the stories around him. See Sulṭān Süleymān, Dȋvȃn-ı
Muhibbī (Kanunī Sultan Süleyman’ın Şiirleri), ed. Vahit Çabuk. 3 volumes. (Istanbul: 1980), numbers 550 (vol. 2), 727,
and 953 (both vol. 3). See also the footnote 87 in this chapter for references to analogies between the prophet
Solomon and Sulṭān Süleymān in the poems of various Ottoman poets of the period.
18
Serpil Bağcı, Filiz Çağman, Günsel Renda, Zeren Tanındı, Osmanlı Resim Sanatı. (Istanbul: T.C. Kültür ve Turizm
Bakanlığı Yayınları, 2006), p. 97.
19
Rachel Milstein, La Bible Dans L’Art Islamique. (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 2005), p. 107.
20
81
report, mention no missing folios. Consequently, it is highly unlikely that this miniature
belongs to Enbiyānāme.
Atıl’s claim, on the other hand, draws upon her reasonable conviction that ‘Ārif’s
second volume narrated “the rise of Islam.” A miniature that she interpreted as depicting the
Islamic prophet, she must have thought, would be relevant in a volume dedicated for the
history of Islam. If so, why then is the Mi‘rāc scene included in Enbiyānāme? If, Atıl is incorrect
in her identification of the protagonist of this miniature, where would a miniature depicting
the prophet Solomon (as the Ottoman Sulṭān Süleymān?) belong?
The second problem concerns the naming of the miniatures. Not having access to the
manuscript, we have to rely for the moment on Atıl’s naming of the miniatures. Yet it is
possible to check the appropriateness of the titles given in six of the miniatures that have been
reproduced.21 A reading of the text excerpts of these published pages with miniatures reveal
that Atıl’s titles lack precision.
A significant inaccuracy concerns the two depictions of İdris. The titles given to these
miniatures both and equally underline his role as a teacher. On folio 38b, İdris is indeed shown
teaching in a medrese teacher’s garments and with a turban on his head, surrounded by
children—some occupying themselves with mischief, others with their studies. (Figure 23)
However, neither in the image nor in the text is there anything that indicates that he is
teaching them tailoring as Atıl’s title states. In fact, the presence of the books and the reading
desks suggests that İdris is instructing the children in a field that is more theoretical than
vocational.22
21
The miniatures produced in Atıl’s Süleymanname are mentioned in the previous page with their folio numbers.
22
The school scene on folio38b is a genre scene from contemporaneous Persian painting. Similar school scenes
were especially used in the depiction of Leylā and Mecnūn in class. See for example figure 40. I thank Prof. Robert
82
Furthermore, in the proceeding representation of İdris in the manuscript on folio 28a,
he is not depicted actively teaching. Instead, in an architectural setting, he is cutting a robe
while his community is carrying on with the activities he had taught them previously. (Figure
23) The text on this page explains how İdris taught the children of his family, who were
inclined for commerce (‫)ﺒﻴﻊ ﻮ ﺸﺮﺁ‬, the use of scales and measures (‫ ﻤﻴﺰاﻦ ﻮ ﻜﻴﻞ‬also ‫)ﺮﺴﻢ ﺘﺮﺁﺰﻮ ﻮ ﺴﻨﮏ‬
to ensure justice in their business. It also states that he taught them the vocation of writing
(‫)ﺸﻐﻞ ﺪﺒﻴﺮ‬. The text ends with the Archangel Gabriel’s bringing of God’s order to İdris to mount
on his horse and lead his army against the children of Cain. Hearing God’s decree, İdris
addresses “his army” (‫ )ﺨﻴﻞ ﺨﻮﺪ‬right away. The text is cut here.23
Although İdris’s capacity as a teacher is recognized, on page 28a he is presented, in text
and image, as the leader of a community to which he introduced justice (weights and
measures) and civilization (writing and tailoring). The Archangel’s bringing of God’s order to
him and the fact that he has an army to address further confirm his position as the leader and,
when needed, the commander of a community. Indeed, in this miniature, İdris is crowned both
with the fiery nimbus of a prophet and with a royal crown. His caftan is also much statelier
than the humble teacher’s robe in which he was portrayed in the other miniature. (Figure 23)
The titles given by Atıl, “İdris Teaching Writing and Tailoring” (folio 38b) and “İdris
Teaching Tailoring and Use of Weights” (folio 28a)—aside from the error in the naming of the
scene on folio 38b—fail to reflect this difference, which I believe, signify more than an artistic
choice.24 As I will explain later in this study in more detail, I argue that both the differences
Dankoff for suggesting this comparison and providing me the reference as well as for his many comments that
have given more direction to this chapter and made it more accurate.
23
Esin Atıl. Süleymanname, p. 58.
24
An alternative title for the miniature on folio 28ª might be “İdris as the civilizing leader of his community.”
83
between the two representations and the contrast they create are used to demonstrate the
independent existence of political leadership, spiritual guidance, and cultural teaching, all of
which are vocations İdris is said to have performed.
The four miniatures to which we do not have access are named by Atıl as the battle of
Seth and Cain, Cemşīd teaching husbandry, ¯aḥḥāk ordering the execution of Cemşīd, and the
Mi‘rāc. The identification of Żaḥḥāk should not have posed any problems, for this doomed
character is traditionally represented with serpents on his shoulders.25 Atıl writes that the
battle between Seth and Cain takes place within a landscape, Żaḥḥāk’s ordering Cemşīd’s
execution before an architectural setting, and Cemşīd’s teaching of husbandry in “a rural
landscape with farm houses, animals, and figures”.26
We also learn from Atıl that this last one follows the same compositional organization
as two others in the same volume that are reproduced in her study: “İdris Teaching Writing
and Tailoring (sic.)” and “the Deluge”. In other words, the lines of verse divide the page into
diagonal spaces in which different moments of the narrated event can be depicted. It is true
that this rather descriptive compositional style facilitates the naming of the image, however,
in this case, the title should be questioned, for teaching husbandry is not one of the known
activities of Cemşīd. Does this scene from the reign of the mythic-prophetic king Cemşīd,
presenting him in a rural environment with farm life and other figures, actually show him
teaching husbandry or is he displayed establishing the farmers’ caste (Nasūdī) instead? In
25
See for example “Feridun’un Zahhak’ı Yakalaması” (“The Capture of Żaḥḥāk by Ferīdūn”), Tercüme-i Şehnāme,
TSMH 1116, fol. 14b published in Serpil Bağcı, Filiz Çağman, Günsel Renda, and Zeren Tanındı, Osmanlı Resim Sanatı,
p. 96; “The Nightmare of Zahhak” from a copy in a private collection (fol. 28b) and “Zahhak Hears his Fate and
Faints” (fol. 29b) from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, gift of Arthur A. Houghton, Jr., (1970.301.4) both scenes
published in Ehsan Yarshater, Dick Davis, Stuart Cary Welch, The Lion and the Throne (Washington D.C.: Mage
publishers, 1998) vol. 1, p. 261 and 262 respectively.
26
84
contrast to his teaching husbandry, his organization of society according to different castes is a
well-recorded element of Cemşīd’s legacy.
Cemşīd’s depiction before an architectural setting, on the other hand, might emphasize
his status as a political (and spiritual?) leader while his depiction in the rural setting with farm
life—whether he is teaching husbandry or establishing the caste of the farmers—might have
been utilized to display his status as a civilizing figure for his community; hence following the
scheme used in the two representations of İdris discussed above.
b. ENBIYĀNĀME: AN INTRODUCTION TO ITS PARTICULARITIES AND A PROPOSAL FOR A
METHOD OF ANALYSIS
The choice of the stories depicted in Enbiyānāme single it out as a rather particular
compilation. To begin with, skipping the stories of such figures as Abraham, Jacob, Joseph,
Moses, and Jesus makes Enbiyānāme an anomaly as a book of prophets. However, it is not only
the absence of many of the major figures in Judaic, Christian, and Islamic prophetic traditions
that is particular to this volume. The inclusion of the Indio-Persian hero king, Cemşīd also
requires an explication since unlike the rest of this book’s protagonists, Cemşīd is not
mentioned in any of the three books that the above-mentioned religious traditions follow: he
is not a prophet, neither is he a saint in the Torah or the New Testament or in the Koran.
Part of the explanation to these particularities can be found in the sources that might
have inspired and influenced ‘Ārif. In the sixteen the century, there were several well-known
sources within the Islamicate cultural tradition on which Enbiyānāme could have drawn. One of
these sources is the Ḳiṣaṣ al-anbiyā (Stories of Prophets) literature which, in turn, has organic
85
ties with Jewish and Christian folkloric and mystic literature and the Scriptures, as well as the
Koran.27 As a result of the incorporation of the Scriptures within the Islamic tradition, figures
like Cain, Abel, or Seth, who are not mentioned in the Koran, could have their stories
elaborated in the post- Koranic Islamicate sources. Likewise, while İdris (Enoch and Akhnuhk
in Christian and Jewish Scriptures) has merely two short references in the Koran 28, this
prophet plays a prominent role especially in Jewish apocalyptic and later Hekhalot literature,
as well as in Christian Gnostic literature, and in many Islamicate stories of the prophets.29
The stories of these sources, many of which date before the Koran, were delivered to
and incorporated in the Muslim prophetic tradition thanks to the Sira of Ibn Ishak (dc. 767).
Ibn Ishak’s universal history/biography of the prophet Muḥammed was later summarized by
‘Abd al-Malik bin Hisham (d. 833/34). Several centuries later, a less scholarly but more popular
collection of prophetic tales was written by al-Kisā’ī.
The interest of the Ottoman cultural milieu in this genre of literature on the stories of
the prophets is attested by the number of copies at the Topkapı Palace manuscript library
prepared before the seventeenth century, in their original and in translation.30 Naturally, not
all of these volumes in the imperial library were prepared at the Ottoman court. 31
27
For a general introduction to the literature on the stories of the prophets see The Tales of the Prophets of al-Kisa’i,
trans. by W.M. Thackston, Jr. (Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1978), p. xi-xxxiv.
28
Suras 19: 57/56-58/57. Also 21: 85-86.
29
A good introduction to the significance of prophetic figures in other religious traditions is the collection of
essays edited by Michael E. Stone and Theodore A. Bergen, Biblical Figures Outside of the Bible. (Harrisburg: Trinity
Press International, 1998).
30
All of the manuscripts mentioned below were prepared before the seventeenth century unless otherwise
mentioned. For brief information on these manuscripts see the relevant entries in Fehmi Edhem Karatay, Topkapı
Sarayı Müzesi Kütüphanesi Farsça Yazmalar Kataloğu. (Istanbul: Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi, 1961) and Fehmi Edhem
Karatay, Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi Kütüphanesi Arapça Yazmalar Kataloğu. (Istanbul: Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi, 1966) v. 3.
31
From the names of their calligraphers and patrons, we can discern that at least three of the nine Arabic copies
of al-Kisā’ī’s stories of the prophets, for example, originate from the Mamluk court (A. 2861, A. 2863/1, A. 2863/4).
86
Nonetheless, their sheer number indicates their currency in the Islamicate realms conquered
by the Ottomans, as well as a high level of interest in and availability for the Ottoman court.
While we can never be sure that ‘Ārif and his team used these sources in their own
composition of the prophets’ stories, the correspondence in the narrative details of
Enbiyānāme’s miniatures with the narrative details of particular sections in some of these
sources suggest that the şehnāmeci team might have used them selectively. In fact, it should
not be surprising if the şehnāmeci team consulted the classic literature on the stories of the
prophets among the Topkapı holdings and borrow from the authority of these well-known and
established works in preparing their own prestigious undertake.
Of the eleven volumes in Persian on the histories of the prophets in the manuscript
library, eight are sixteenth century copies of Ibn Ishak’s Ḳiṣaṣ al-anbiyā32 and one is the work of
Muhammad b. al-Hasan ad-Dīdūzamī.33 The authors of the other two are anonymous.34 Among
the manuscripts composed in Arabic, at least fourteen were prepared before the seventeenth
century and elaborate on the stories of the prophets.35 Of these copies, at least five (most
It is highly likely that another five (A. 2862, A. 2863/2, A. 2864, A. 2865/, A. 2865/2) share the same origin. Fehmi
Edhem Karatay, Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi Kütüphanesi Arapça Yazmalar Kataloğu, v.3, p. 407-409. See also footnote 32
below. They must have been incorporated to the Ottoman library after the conquest of the Mamluk realms by
Sulṭān Selīm I (r. 1512-1520).
32
B. 249, H. 1224, H. 1225, H. 1226, H. 1227, H. 1228, R. 1536, E.H. 1430. It is important to note that of these eight
volumes five have arrived to the present collection from the Royal Treasury (marked as “H”) indicating a closer
affinity to the Sulṭān as audience.
33
B. 250. Fehmi Edhem Karatay, Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi Kütüphanesi Farsça Yazmalar Kataloğu, p. 47.
34
R. 1534, H. 1236. Fehmi Edhem Karatay, ibid. op. cit.
35
R. 1584, R. 1585, A.2964, A. 2965, A. 2861, A. 2862, A. 2863/1, A. 2863/4, 2865/2, A. 2866, A. 2867, A. 2868, B. 41, and
A. 3006. A further four (A. 2863/2, A. 2864, A. 2865/1, H.S. 578) are not dated. A. 2863/2 formally resembles the
Mamluk copies and as such must date from the late fifteenth century. The calligraphy of A. 2864 and A. 2865/1
also suggest that they originate from the same source, and hence are likely to date from late fifteenth or early
sixteenth centuries.
87
probably eight) are copies of al-Kisā’ī work.36 As it will be demonstrated in the section on Adam
and the nature of authority, some narrative details of the textual and visual depiction of Adam
and Eve’s eating the forbidden wheat reveal that in Enbiyānāme ‘Ārif and his team might have
used al-Kisā’ī’s collection. Among the Topkapı museum’s Arabic manuscripts, there are also
two copies of Ibn Ishak’s Ḳiṣaṣ al-anbiyā37 one of which (A. 2964) was prepared in 1556, about
two years before Enbiyānāme’s date of completion.
Ibn Ishak’s biography was also used extensively by Muḥammed bin Jarir aṭ-Ṭaberī (d.
923) in his universal history. The Topkapı manuscript library holds six volumes of what seem
to belong to the same set of this universal history in Arabic.38 In the Persian collection of the
same library presently there is only one translated copy of this work (E.H 1390), and it was
prepared in the eighteenth century.39 The interest in universal history that includes the
histories of the prophets is visible in the other holdings of the library. There are nine copies of
the universal history of Muḥammed b. Havand Shah (d. 903/1497-98), namely Ravżat aṡ-ṡafā.40
Of these volumes, seven were prepared after the sixteenth century. Of the sixteenth century
copies, however, one (A. 2916) was copied in 1553 when ‘Ārif’s own universal history project
was at his preparatory stages.
Şükrullah’s (d. 864/1459-60) Behçet et-Tevārīḫ (R. 1538) is present with two copies while
there is one copy of Tevārīḫ-i ‘ālam (A. 2935) of the thirteenth-century writer Ahmed b.
36
A. 2861, A. 2862, A. 2863/1, A. 2863/4, A. 2865/2. The undated copies A. 2863/2, A. 2864, A. 2865/1 are also copies
of the same work. See footnote 30 and 34.
37
A. 2964, A.2965. Fehmi Edhem Karatay, Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi Kütüphanesi Arapça Yazmalar Kataloğu, v.3, p. 406-
407.
38
A. 2929/1, A. 2929/9, A. 2929/11, A. 2929/12, A. 2929/13, R. 1555. Fehmi Edhem Karatay, Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi
Kütüphanesi Arapça Yazmalar Kataloğu, v.3, p. 339-341.
39
Fehmi Edhem Karatay, Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi Kütüphanesi Farsça Yazmalar Kataloğu, p. 37.
40
Fehmi Edhem Karatay, op. cit., p. 39-42.
88
Muḥammed b. Muḥammed al-Buharī. The inscription of the word “‫ ”ﺨﺰﻴﻨﻪ‬on folio 1a of the
latter manuscript indicates that this manuscript, which was prepared for Uluğ Beg’s library
around mid-15th century, passed to the manuscript library of Ahmed III most probably from
the Royal Treasury.41 (Figure 35)
Yet another well-known universal history found in the current Persian manuscript
collection of the Topkapı museum is Cāmi et-Tevārīḫ. Raşīd ad-Dīn’s (d. 718/1318) history is
represented with three copies: H. 1653, H. 1654, and R. 1518.42
While all of these universal histories mentioned treat the life stories of the prophets,
though often in summary fashion, only Taberī’s history and Tevārīḫ-i ‘ālam include Iranian
history as part of their narrative program. Between the two, Taberī’s treatment of the histories
of both the prophets and the Iranian rulers is much more extensive. It is also much more
resourceful as it narrates varying versions of many of the stories (concerning the life stories of
the prophets in particular) often naming the original source.
It would not be wrong to conclude that the inclusion of Iranian mythic history in Ṭaberī
and Buharī’s histories provide precedence for Enbiyānāme and places it within a certain line of
tradition in universal history writing. After all, Enbiyānāme is the first volume of a universal
history. However, it does not suggest explanations for the other unusual aspects of this work.
It does not help solve, for example, the problem of the absence of the other major prophets in
Enbiyānāme. Neither does it explain why Cemşīd, instead of his Persian progenitors like
Kayūmars or Hūşang, was chosen as, if not the only, at least the most important,
41
Fehmi Edhem Karatay, Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi Kütüphanesi Farsça Yazmalar Kataloğu, p. 43.
42
Fehmi Edhem Karatay, op. cit., p. 38, 53, 329. For this study I examined H. 1653. The entry in the Topkapı
catalogue is incorrect; however, a second hand had corrected the error in the museum copy. My personal copy is
the photocopy of this corrected version.
89
representative of the royal Persian genealogy.43 Furthermore, we are still left with the problem
of the manuscript’s title. Even as the first volume of his universal history, Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i
‘Osmān, why did ‘Ārif call his work “The Book of Prophets”, and hence, by way of his inclusion
of Cemşīd, made this Persian king a prophet?
It seems to me that the answer to the perplexing choices made in this work lies
principally in not thinking of it merely as an account of the lives of the—traditionally
accepted—prophets. In our efforts to make sense of this work, I argue that we must pursue our
examination along two lines. We should seek to understand the interrelation of the
protagonists of Enbiyānāme as well as investigate into the significance of the individual
personas focused on this book vis-à-vis the Ottoman Şāhnāme Project. In other words, there
must be a common element or a number of elements linking Cemşīd to Adam, Cain, Seth,
Enoch, Noah, and Muḥammed that do not exist between these figures and other “well-
established” prophetic figures. Likewise, the figures focused on in Enbiyānāme must have some
kind of significance for this particular Ottoman dynastic project, a special type of relation that
other prophetic figures do not possess.
Accordingly, this brief study will first examine the coherence of the group of
“prophets” whose stories were selected to be narrated. I will begin by discussing the common
elements in the legacies of Adam (and Eve), Cain and Seth, İdris (Enoch), Noah, and
Muḥammed and then continue with an analysis of the dominant themes of ‘Ārif’s work as
much as they can be known from its miniatures. The particularities of these images will guide
us in understanding the thematic coherence of the book, as well as the political concerns it
reflects and the messages it projects.
43
We do not know if in his Enbiyānāme ‘Ārif mentioned mythical Persian rulers other than Cemşīd. However, from
the absence of any other representation of the royal Persian lineage and the decision to include two miniatures
depicting Cemşīd, we can safely say that he is portrayed as the most important of the genealogy.
90
c. COMMON CHARACTERISTICS AND THEMES
One of the common threads that pull most of these prophets together is their
significance for the genealogy of humankind. Adam is the first man, the father of all. However,
in the story of creation both in the Bible and the Koran, Adam is more than just the first in the
history of the human race. God creates Adam as his viceroy (ḫalīfe) on earth.44 What is more,
after creating Adam’s body from clay, He breathes His spirit into him.45 In other words, the
first human Adam embodies the Divine Spirit in his essence.
It is this Divine trait of Adam that further connects him to the figures depicted in
Enbiyānāme. According to the Judeo-Christian tradition Cain almost brings the end of the
transmission of the divine essence to future generations as he kills his brother Abel, who was
to inherit it. Following Abel’s murder, Seth becomes the second chance for this transmission as
well as for the survival of the human race. The significance of Seth’s line is underlined in the
Judeo-Christian tradition as the Great Flood at the time of Noah kills all but a handful of Seth’s
descendants. Consequently, through his birth, his inheritance of Adam’s secret knowledge, his
transmission of his father’s spiritual essence, and his procreation, Seth brings about a second
beginning for the human race in general and the prophetic line in particular.
While Seth secures the existence of human life and transmits it along with the Divine
essence in it, İdris is generally accepted as the second prophet after Adam in the Muslim
tradition. After him, the prophetic line continues with Noah, who becomes a type of new
44
Sura 2:30.
45
Sura 38:71-72.
91
Adam, marking a new beginning after God’s second big punishment of human sin.46 The Islamic
prophet Muḥammed, who is chronologically the last prophet depicted in ‘Ārif’s work, is
another marker of a new era. Obviously, his is historically and culturally the most relevant era
for the Ottoman milieu for and by which Enbiyānāme was produced.
Another common trait that all of these figures mentioned possess is their role as
founders of civilization. They exercise this role through teaching knowledge that originated
from God and through their building projects.
Upon his creation, Adam is taught all names. He is then ordered by God to teach these
names to the angels.47 The knowledge of names passed onto him by God seems to have
provided Adam a higher status vis-à-vis the angels he, as God’s viceroy, was to rule over. His
act of teaching names, and thereby sharing the knowledge given to him by the Divine Source,
consummates his supremacy over the angels. 48 The first miniature of Adam, which is
reproduced in the 1977 Christies’ catalogue, is a representation of this supremacy. (Figure 34)
In the miniature, Adam is depicted standing on a pulpit. A flying angel (Gabriel) is bringing
him the fiery nimbus of prophethood on a tray while the other angels are standing or kneeling
before him respectfully.
46
The first divine punishment that affected history of humanity in this scheme was the expulsion of Adam and
Eve from the Garden. The principal passage on the story of Noah in the Koran is the 71st sura that bears the
prophet’s name. Other references to the story of Noah are found in the following suras: 7:57-64; 10:71-74; 11:27-51;
23:23-31; 26:105-22; 37:73-82; 54:9-17; 66:10.
47
Sura 2:31-32.
48
Here I would like to make a clarification: authority derived from knowledge does not equal to an overriding
power. Angels possessed many powers that the human Adam did not. At the same time, authority based on
knowledge does not guarantee political power. In the Judeo-Christian as well as the Islamic tradition, God had
appointed Adam as His viceroy over the angels and put this decision into practice by sharing His knowledge and
appointing him as a teacher. Adam’s authority came first through God’s will, second through God’s favoring him
in his act of sharing His knowledge, and only thirdly through Adam’s acquired knowledge. The distinction
between cultural, political, and spiritual authority will be taken up again.
92
The knowledge that once brought Adam authority over the angels is then passed onto
Seth, who is depicted in Enbiyānāme fighting Cain. In Islamicate literature he is referred to as
“the first ūriyā (a Syriac word signifying “teacher”)”.49 In the Muslim tradition, Seth is also
credited for building the Ka‘be along with 1000 cities.50
The following depicted figure in ‘Ārif’s work, İdris, is the teacher par excellence. (Figure
23) He teaches fair commerce by introducing to mankind scales, weights, and various
measuring devices.51 He shows the art of tailoring to humans who, until his teaching, knew
only to cover themselves with animal skins.52 ‘Ārif also reminds us that İdris wrote many books
in the occult sciences (‫)ﻋﻠﻢ ﺤﮑﻤﺖ‬.53 He gave news of the rotation of the heavenly skies.54 He had
the knowledge of letters and of calculation and wrote a book on that science.55 He made
divinations about the state of matters in the world through his knowledge of arithmomancy
(‫)ﺠﻔﺮ‬56, and in order that it may be remembered, he put it down on stone.57 In fact, ‘Ārif says
that the science of arithmomancy was İdris’ legacy to ‘Alī.58
49
Huart, Cl. "S̲H̲īt̲h̲ ." Encyclopaedia of Islam. Edited by: P. Bearman , Th. Bianquis , C.E. Bosworth , E. van Donzel and
W.P. Heinrichs. (Brill Online: Brill, 2007).
50
Ibid. op. cit.
51
Enbiyānāme, folio 28a; Esin Atıl, Süleymanname, p. 58.
52
Enbiyānāme, folio 38b; Esin Atıl, op. cit., p. 58.
53
“‫ ﺒﺴﻰ ﻨﺎﻤﻪ ﺪﺮ ﻋﻠﻢ ﺤﻜﻤﺖ ﻨﻮﺸﺖ‬/ ‫ ”ﺰ ﺪﺁﻨﺶ ﺴﺮ ﻤﻮ ﻘﺼﻮﺮى ﻨﻬﺸﺖ‬Esin Atıl, ibid. op. cit.
54
“‫ اﺰ ﻮ ﻤﺎﻨﺪ ﻋﻠﻢ ﻔﻠﮎ ﺪﺮ ﺠﻬﺎﻦ‬/ ‫ ”ﺨﺒﺮ ﺪﺁﺪ اﺰ ﻜﺮﺪﺶ ﺁﺴﻤﺎﻦ‬Esin Atıl, ibid. op. cit.
55
“‫ ﻨﻮﺸﺖ اﻨﺪﺮ ﺁﻦ ﻋﻠﻢ ﭽﻨﺪﻴﻦ ﻜﺘﺎﺐ‬/ ‫ ”ﭽﻮ ﺁﮐﻪ ﺸﺪ اﺰ ﺴﺮ ﺤﺮﻒ ﻮ ﺤﺴﺎﺐ‬Esin Atıl, ibid. op. cit.
56
Aritmomancy is the divination by means of numbers. “‫ ”ﺠﻔﺮ‬in S. Haïm, New Persian-English Dictionary (Tehran:
Farhang Moaser, 1991).
57
“‫ هﻤﻰ ﻜﺮﺪ ﺒﺮ ﺮﻮى ﺴﻨﻜﻰ ﻨﻜاﺮ‬/ ‫ هﻤﺎﻦ ﺮﻤﺰهﺎ ﺮﺁ ﭙﻰ ﻴﺎﺪﻜﺎﺮ‬// ‫ ﺮﻘﻢ ﻜﺮﺪ ﺒﺎ ﺮﻤﺰهﺎى ﻜﺰﻴﻦ‬/ ‫ ”هﻢ اﺰ ﺠﻔﺮ اﺤﻮﺁﻞ ﻤﻠﮎ ﺰﻤﻴﻦ‬The text continues
that at the end, some people seized it with the intention of acquiring a gem:
“‫ ﺒﺴﻰ ﻜﻮهﺮ ﺁﻤﺪ ﮐﺴﺎﻨﺮا ﺒﭽﻨﮎ‬/ ‫”ﺴﺮ اﻨﺠﺎﻢ اﺰ ﻮ ﺼﻔﺤﮥ ﺨﺎﺮﻩ ﺴﻨﮎ‬. Enbiyānāme, folio 38b; Esin Atıl, op. cit., p. 58.
58
“‫ ﻋﻠﻰ ﺮﺁ ﺰ ﻤﻴﺮﺁﺚ اﺪﺮﻴﺴﺖ‬/ ‫ ”ﻜﻨﻮﻦ ﺠﻔﺮ ﻜﻮﻋﻠﻢ ﺘﻘﺪﻴﺴﻴﺴﺖ‬Ibid. op. cit.
93
The case of the next prophet, Noah, offers us another example of God’s sharing His
knowledge with a chosen being as He holds it from the rest. God tells Noah of the coming flood,
and Noah, as His messenger, tries to warn his people and save them. In this case, God’s sharing
of His knowledge does not seem to bring his messenger and delegated teacher authority over
his people who do not believe him: knowledge might be a necessary but certainly not a
sufficient cause for authority or for power. They take Noah’s word as human prediction at best
and not as the words of God. Noah cannot convince many.
God’s delivering of information on the imminent flood and Noah’s attempts to share
this information can also be seen as a final test and a last chance for the salvation of the
unfaithful in Noah’s generation. As such, while İdris uses his Divine mandated knowledge to
order society and bring justice, Noah tries to use it to save mankind. Muḥammed joins these
two usages of knowledge as both an organizer of society and as a vehicle to save it. In the
Islamic tradition, the knowledge that he brings is considered to be embodied in the Koran.
How does Cemşīd relate to these Biblical and Koran ic figures? He, indeed, appears to be
associated with the prophetic figures discussed above with more than one connection. One
current in Islamicate historical tradition that is supported in Ṭaberī’s history sees Cemşīd as
the type of the first man to reign throughout the first millennium.59 As such, he too is a marker
of an era.
Moreover, his legacy in the Shāhnāme and in Iranian mythology in general underlines
his role as founder and teacher of civilization. To this end, we can list his establishment of
59
Huart, Cl. "ḎJ̲ams̲h̲īd." Encyclopaedia of Islam. Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel
and W.P. Heinrichs. (Brill Online: Brill, 2007). As Huart notes in his article, this view is by no means the only or the
most accepted view. Other traditions place him after his predecessors, namely Kayūmars (or Gayōmart) and his
children, Hūşang, Tahmūras (or Tak̲h̲mōruv). The Ottoman Tomār-ı Hümāyūn (TSMA.3599), for example, singles
out the political leadership of Kayūmars rather than that of Cemşīd.
94
morality and religion, his foundation of a great number of towns and cities, and his
organization of society according to castes. As mentioned previously, his ordering of society in
castes might very well be represented visually in Enbiyānāme by the scene named by Atıl as
“Cemşīd Teaching Husbandary”. Like İdris, Cemşīd also taught mankind how to spin, weave,
and saw and introduced them to different types of textiles. In fact, with their teaching of
tailoring using materials other than animal skin, both İdris and Cemşīd had saved humans
from indignity.
As a matter of fact, the role of savior of humankind is another recurrent characteristic
of the figures depicted in ‘Ārif’s volume. Seth had saved humankind and the prophetic line
from extinction.60 Aside from his teaching tailoring, İdris, with his introduction of weights and
measures, had saved men and women from injustice. Moreover, with his teaching of writing,
he had saved knowledge and history from extinction and the future generations from
ignorance. As mentioned before and aside from the pairs of animals that board on his arc,
Noah tried to save all humankind, good and bad, from the flood, and had to content with only
saving a part of his family that remained faithful. In his turn, Cemşīd gave his community the
possibility of forming a civilized society and saved them from primitiveness and chaos. 61
Yet another and equally important theme that brings together the heroes of
Enbiyānāme is their active involvement in human sin and its punishment by divine justice. Of
the ten miniatures included in this volume, three are depictions related to punishments and
60
On a similar note, in Gnostic literature and Manicheanism Seth is seen as the Savior of mankind. See Philip S.
Alexander, “From Son of Adam to second God: Transformations of the Biblical Enoch” in Biblical Figures Outside of
the Bible, ed. Michael E. Stone and Theodore A. Bergen. (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 1998), p. 87-122.
61
Furthermore, like Noah, he is said to have saved humankind from extinction by providing for it an enclosure
called the Var against the cold and the heavy flooding of a winter. However, there is no reference to the Var in the
Islamic sources. In the limited material at hand, nor is there anything suggesting that the şehnāmeci team
exploited this resemblance with Noah and his ark.
95
two depict moments before the commitment of the sin. We will first look at the punishment
scenes.
Chronologically and in order of appearance in the manuscript, the first of these scenes
is the battle of Seth against Cain. According to one legend, Seth fought Cain as the murderer of
Abel, defeated him, delivered him in fetters to the avenging angels, and enslaved all his
progeny.62 By his delivering his murderer brother to the angels rather than killing him after
defeating him, Seth escapes the fate of repeating Cain’s sin of fratricide. In this way, he also
escapes the divine curse cited in the Bible where God tells Cain that any person who kills Cain
will be revenged seven times. 63 Seth’s was a just and god-willed punishment to Cain’s sin.64
The second miniature related to the theme of sin and its just punishment is the
execution of the Iranian hero Cemşīd, who, out of vanity, believed himself to be god and lost
his purity. As a result, he was stripped off of his divine luster (‫ )ﻓﺮ‬which had provided him with
physical and intellectual power and charisma. His situation very much resembles that of Adam,
who, with Eve, aspired for more than what was his due and ate the “fruit” which was supposed
to bring him eternal life. Eternity being a quality reserved only for God, Adam too trespassed
God’s law. As a result of his sin he lost his divinely mandated glory, like Cemşīd, as well as his
kingdom in Paradise. As we will see shortly, in Enbiyānāme, Adam and Eve’s losing divine favor
is associated with the description of their being stripped off of their royal garments.
62
Huart, Cl. "S̲H̲īt̲h̲ ." Encyclopaedia of Islam. Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel and
W.P. Heinrichs. (Brill online: Brill, 2007).
63
Genesis 4: 13-16. Not having access to the text at this point, we cannot know whether or not ‘Ārif referred to
God’s curse mentioned in the Bible in his Enbiyānāme.
64
Another version of the Muslim legend has Cain killed by his blind descendant (Lemeh). This version is
mentioned in Jerome, Ep. 36 ad Damasium. See Vajda, G. "Hābīl wa Ḳābīl ." Encyclopaedia of Islam. Edited by: P.
Bearman, Th. Bianquis , C.E. Bosworth , E. van Donzel and W.P. Heinrichs. (Brill Online: Brill, 2007).
96
On a different note, Cemşīd reminds one of the Biblical Cain in his efforts to escape his
punishment by hiding.65 This potentially great king who was seduced by vanity and greed was
discovered by the demons after a century. The scene in Enbiyānāme is supposed to describe the
demon king Żaḥḥāk ordering his execution. According to one legend, Cemşīd was sawn in the
hollow tree in which he had taken refuge.66 The Şāhnāme says that Cemşīd was sawn in two.67
The last depiction associated with the theme of punishment in this volume is of the
well-known story of the Great Flood, which is described both in the Bible and the Koran. This is
the story of God’s punishment of humanity who had strayed away from pure ways and did not
listen to His messenger, Noah. The miniature we have in this volume of ‘Ārif underlines Noah’s
characterization as the perspicuous admonisher (nāẓir mubīn)68 and offers the reader glimpses
of the suffering of the people in the flood as a dark cloud smears the face of the sun pitch black
and the thunders from the sky shake the world.69 (Figure 24) Yet ‘Ārif’s words do not bear the
slightest compassion towards the apparently futile plight of those depicted. One who fled to
the top of a roof out of fear is doomed to stay there forever hanging in hell.70 Another seeking a
way of escape at the top of a mountain finds nothing but a mountain of sin. 71 The sinners’ cruel
mocking of Noah is mentioned and, in return, they are mocked at in word and image, pitilessly.
65
According to the Torah, after killing his brother, Cain goes in hiding. Genesis 4:13-16.
66
See Huart, Cl. "ḎJ̲ams̲h̲īd." Encyclopaedia of Islam. Edited by: P. Bearman , Th. Bianquis , C.E. Bosworth , E. van
Donzel and W.P. Heinrichs. (Brill Online: Brill, 2007).
: “‫ ﺠﻬﺎﻦ ﺮا اﺰﻮ ﭙﺎﺎﮎ ﺒﻰ ﺒﻴﻢ ﻜﺮﺪ‬/ ‫”ﺒﻪ اﺮﺶ ﺴﺮاﺴﺮ ﺒﻪ ﺪﻮ ﻨﻴﻢ ﻜﺮﺪ‬. ‫ﺤﻜﻴﻢ اﺒﻮاﻠﻘﺎﺴﻢ ﻔﺮﺪﻮﺴﻰ ﻄﻮﺴﻰ‬, ‫ﺸﺎهﻨﺎﻤﻪ ﻔﺮﺪﻮﺴﻰ‬. (‫ﻦ‬١‫ﺘﻬﺮ‬: ‫ﻨﺸﺮ ﺰهﺮﻚ‬,
67
١٣٧٨), p. 11. See the last section before the rule of Żaḥḥāk in Firdevsī’s Şāhnāme.
68
Suras 11: 27 and 71:2.
69
“‫ ﺒﻴﻨﺪﻮﺪ ﺒﺎ ﻘﻴﺮ ﺮﺤﺴﺎﺮ ﻤﻬﺮ‬/ ‫ ”ﺴﺤﺮ ﻜﻪ ﻴﻜﻰ اﺒﺮ ﺘﺎﺮﻴﮏ ﭽﻬﺮ‬Enbiyānāme, folio 45b. Figure 24 is scanned from the reproduction
in Esin Atıl, Süleymanname, p. 59.
70
“‫ ﻮ ﺰ ﺁﻨﺠﺎ هﻤﻴﺸﻪ ﻨﻜﻮﻦ ﺪﺮ ﺠﺤﻴﻢ‬/ ‫ ”ﻴﻜﻰ ﺒﺮ ﺴﺮ ﺒﺎﻢ ﻤﻰﺸﺪ ﺰ ﺒﻴﻢ‬Ibid. op. cit.
97
Having looked, albeit briefly, at the miniatures depicting punishments, we can move on
to the two miniatures that depict instances before the committing of the first two sins in
human history: Adam and Eve’s eating of the forbidden “fruit” and Cain’s killing of his brother
Abel.
d. ON THE NATURE OF AUTHORITY
In the depiction relating to the original sin, the moment narrated is shortly before the
sinning of Adam. In the Garden, Eve is seen offering her partner a cluster of wheat. (Figure 23)
Principally, Adam’s fall from grace is described in this miniature as his losing his kingship. Off
his hexagonal throne,72 he is seen accepting the cluster of wheat from Eve. The presence of the
peacock and a figure that seems to be Satan, along with the serpent, suggests that the version
of the story of the original sin described in this miniature corresponds only to the version in
the Ḳiṣaṣ of al-Kisā’ī. To my knowledge, only in the Ḳiṣaṣ and in Enbiyānāme, all of the three
figures conspiring against Adam and Eve are present, and Satan is not in hiding.73
71
“‫ ﻨﻤﻰ ﻴﺎﻔﺖ اﻤﺎ ﺰ ﻜﻮﻩ ﻜﻨﺎﻩ‬/ ‫ ”ﻴﻜﻰ ﺒﺮ ﺴﺮ ﻜﻮﻩ ﻤﻴﺠﺴﺖ ﺮﺁﻩ‬Ibid. op. cit. The Ku’ran states that one of Noah’s sons tried to
escape the flood by climbing on a high mountain, refusing to get in the ark that his father had prepared (11:42-
46). On the page reproduced by Atıl there is no direct reference to him. However, Noah’s son’s erring is a well-
known part of the story of the Flood in the Muslim tradition, and the depiction and verses related to this
particular attempt of escape must have brought this episode to mind.
72
It is interesting that the Ottoman sultans in the fourth (‘Osmānnāme) and the fifth (Süleymānnāme) volumes of
‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme are also depicted sitting on hexagonal thrones while other types of thrones are chosen for
historical figures like the Byzantine emperor Cantacuzene (‘Osmānnāme folio 104r) or the French king Louis II (H.
1517, folio 200a). For the depiction of Ottoman royal thrones see the reproduction of the folios 7v, 45v, 56v, 79v,
96r, 140r, and 150r in Ernst J. Grube, ‘Osmānnāme in Islamic Paintings From The 11th To The 18th Century In The Collection
Of Hans P. Kraus (New York: H.P.Kraus, 1972).
73
All the translations from al-Kisā’ī are from The Tales of the Prophets of al-Kisa’i. Trans. by W.M. Thackston, Jr.
(Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1978), p. 36-42.
98
In the versions related in Ṭaberī, for example, Satan talks to Eve through a serpent or
openly as an angel. The peacock does not appear in any of them, and in those where Satan does
not hide, there is no mention of the snake.74 In Behçet et-Tevārīḫ, Satan talks to Adam and Eve
through the snake telling them that in order to stay in the Paradise eternally (‫)ﺠﺎﻮﻴﺪ‬, they have
to eat from the cluster of grain. 75 (Figure 36)
In al-Kisā’ī’s version, Satan promises the peacock, the most beautiful bird of Paradise, to
teach him the three words that would save him from old age, illness, and death and thus,
convinces the peacock to help him enter Paradise. The peacock, being afraid of Rıżvān, the
Guard of Paradise, fetches the serpent, the mistress of the beasts of Paradise, to help Satan in
his desire. Seduced by the same promise, the serpent agrees to take Satan between her fangs to
Paradise. Then, Satan carries out his plan of temptation by approaching Eve and talking to her
first through the mouth of the serpent, and then, outside of the serpent’s body, pretending to
be a slave who had eaten from the Forbidden Tree and hence gained eternal life.76
The verses on the page do not narrate the actual moment depicted in the image, but its
aftermath. They do not describe how Adam becomes aware of his nakedness, either. Instead, as
in al-Kisā’ī’s version, they describe how he is literally stripped off his garments and insignia of
kingship: he loses his throne, crown, and seal ring. In this way, his nakedness becomes a
metaphor for his descending to a baser state after losing the supremacy and glory God
bestowed upon him earlier.
74
See The History of al- Tabarī (Ta‘rīkh al-rusūl wa’l-mulūk). Translated and annotated by Franz Rosenthal, (Albany:
State University of NY Press, 1989), vol 1, p. 274-282.
75
TSMK (R.1538, 49a.)
76
For various versions of the story of the original scene and general references, see Pedersen, J. "Ādam."
Encyclopaedia of Islam. Edited by: P. Bearman , Th. Bianquis , C.E. Bosworth , E. van Donzel and W.P. Heinrichs (Brill,
2007. Brill Online).
99
His crown flew off his head because of that sin
His hand became empty of (its) ring, his head bare of (its) crown
His belt fell from his waist onto the ground

The seal ring dropped down from his fingers
His body became bare of crown and garment

Just like a branch in autumn is made to suffer by a strong wind77
The narration of the loss of his insignia of royalty recalls other details from al-Kisā’ī.
Basing his narration on Ibn ‘Abbas, al-Kisā’ī writes,
“And by Him in whose hand is my soul, no sooner had Adam tasted one of the ears of
grain than the crown flew off his head, his rings squirmed off his hand and everything
that had been on both him and Eve fell off—their clothes, jewelry and ornaments.”78
Later, in the narration, we learn that “the pearls which were in Eve’s tresses fell off her hair,
and the belt fell open from her waist.”79 As all animals and plants both lament Adam and Eve’s
disobedience of God and rebuke them for it, the dove, which used to cast light on Adam’s
crown, approaches him and says, “O Adam, where is your crown, your jewels, your finery? O
Adam, after beauty and magnificence, you have come to be cursed!”80
The message that Adam loses his kingdom after he sins is underlined in the Enbiyānāme
miniature by the presence of his community, who is watching the events unfold from under a
portico. (Figure 23) This “community” becomes the audience to the most decisive event in
77
“‫ ﭽﻮ ﺸﺎخ ﺨﺰﺁﻦ ﺪﻴﺪﻩ اﺰ ﺒﺎﺪ ﺴﺨﺖ‬/‫ ﺘﻨﺶ ﻜﺸﺖ ﻋﺮﻴاﻦ ﺰ ﺘﺎﺞ ﻮ ﺰ ﺮﺨﺖ‬//‫ ﻔﺮﻮ ﺮﻴﺨﺖ اﺰ ﻨﻜﺸﺘﻬﺎﻴﺶ ﻨﻜﻴﻦ‬/‫ ﻔﺘﺎﺪ اﺰ ﻤﻴﺎﻨﺶ ﻜﻤﺮ ﺒﺮ ﺰﻤﻴﻦ‬//‫ﺒﻰ ﻜﻶﻩ‬
‫ﻜﻔﺶ ﺒﻰ ﻨﻜﻴﻦ ﺸﺪ ﺴﺮﺶ‬/ ‫ ”ﭙﺮﻴﺪ اﺰ ﺴﺮﺶ اﻔﺴﺮﺶ ﺰﺁﻦ ﻜﻨﺎﻩ‬Enbiyānāme, folio 20a; Esin Atıl, Süleymanname, p. 59.
78
The Tales of the Prophets of al-Kisa’i. Trans. by W.M. Thackston, Jr. (Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1978), p. 41. For
comparison see Muhammed Ben ‘Abdallah Al-Kisa’i, Vita Prophetarum. Ed. Isaac Eisenberg. (Lugduni-Batavorum:
E.J. Brill, 1923), p. 40.
79
Ibid. op. cit.
80
The Tales of the Prophets of al-Kisa’i. Trans. by W.M. Thackston, Jr. (Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1978), p. 41-42. See
Muhammed Ben ‘Abdallah Al-Kisa’i, Vita Prophetarum. Ed. Isaac Eisenberg (Lugduni-Batavorum: E.J. Brill, 1923), p.
41.
100
human history. At the same time, its existence confirms and gives sense to Adam’s political
stance as a ruler. After all, a ruler—by definition—needs subjects to rule. Their presence is all
the more curious because they do not particularly resemble angels. The descendants of Adam
and Eve were born after their exodus, so the presence of other humans would be even more
extraordinary.
The spectators under the portico also resemble a royal crowd with their crown-like
helmets. Could they be future rulers placed in the Garden in a convoluted temporal setup to
learn from Adam and Eve’s mistake? Whether they are angels whose wings are hidden behind
them or other creatures, at least a part of their function is clear: along with the architecturally
organized space, they stress the political and “worldly” kingship of Adam at this stage,
ironically in the “heavenly” Garden. Indeed, with her crown and courtly dress, Eve, too looks
like a queen.
On the other hand, the depiction of an empty throne is a trope that is used later in
‘Ārif’s Fütuhat-i Cemīle in the miniature depicting Ahmed Paşa in the Temesvar campaign. In
both instances, the representation of the man (Adam, Ahmed Paşa) off the symbol for his
“office” (the throne) is a reminder of the separation of the two. Offices and political authority
are given and taken away, whether by God as in the case of Adam and Eve, or by his shadow on
earth, namely Sulṭān Süleymān, as in the case of Ahmed Paşa, who lost both his title and his
head by a royal decree on the 28th of September 1555.
Going back to the first representation of Adam in Enbiyānāme, we see him on a pulpit in
a stately and ceremonial outfit. (Figure 34) While the details of his appearance do not follow al-
Kisā’ī’s version exactly, the decision to depict Adam on the pulpit wearing a crown and royal
101
clothes with the angels gathered around him—details that are unique to the version in al-
Kisā’ī—makes it possible that in Enbiyānāme this version was utilized albeit not verbatim.
In this miniature, a different kind of separation is articulated. Here a temporal—and
therefore existential— separation is drawn between political and spiritual authority. In fact,
Adam’s political kingship is represented as not only separate from but also preceding his
prophethood. The already crowned Adam is about to be re-crowned with the fiery nimbus of
prophethood brought to him on a tray by the Archangel Gabriel.
However, al-Kisā’ī’s version does not mention the crowning of Adam with the nimbus.
Instead, after Adam establishes his superiority over the angels by his demonstration of the
knowledge of names that God had shared with him, he descends the pulpit. The text continues,
“…and God increased his beauty and radiance. God caused a bunch of grapes to draw near to
Adam, and he ate it; and that was the first fruit of Paradise Adam had eaten.”81
It is clear from these narrative differences that there is no one-to-one correspondence
between the version illustrated in Enbiyānāme and the version told in al-Kisā’ī. Yet if ‘Ārif
indeed chose to partially use the version included in al-Kisā’ī’s book of prophets’ lives, a good
reason for his choice would have been the opportunity to present Adam in royal clothes on a
pulpit. 82 (Figure 34) As mentioned earlier, similar details in apparel and architecture are used
in the representations of İdris and possibly of Cemşīd as symbols of political leadership. Here
presenting Adam in royal attire standing on a pulpit surely is a perfect choice for the King
Adam’s coronation ceremony as prophet.
81
“‫ ”ﻮﻨﺰﻞ اﺪﻢ ﻤﻦ ﻤﻨﺒﺮﻪ ﻮﻘﺪ ﺰاﺪ اﻠﻠﻪ ﻔﻰ ﺤﺴﻨﻪ ﻮﺠﻤﺎﻠﻪ ﺜﻢ ﻘﺮﺐ اﻠﻴﻪ ﻘﻄﻴﻔﺎ ﻤﻦ ﻋﻨﺐ اﻠﺠﻨﺔ ﻔاﻜﻠﻪ ﻔﻬﻮ اﻮﻞ اﻠﺸىﺀ اﻜﻠﻪ ﻤﻦ ﻄﻌﺎﻢ اﻠﺠﻨﺔ‬Muhammed Ben
‘Abdallah Al-Kisa’i, Vita Prophetarum. Ed. Isaac Eisenberg. (Lugduni-Batavorum: E.J. Brill, 1923), p.30.
82
This image is reproduced in Christie’s Review of the Season 1977, ed. John Herbert, p. 442, and Serpil Bağcı, Filiz
Çağman, Günsel Renda, and Zeren Tanındı, Osmanlı Resim Sanatı.p. 97. Figure 3 is scanned from the latter.
102
Even if we can never be sure of the origins of ‘Ārif’s stories of the prophets and how
they were constructed, we can still say that with the two representations of Adam, rather clear
messages are transmitted. Accordingly, God created a kingdom to be ruled by a human in the
Garden even before Adam and Eve were expelled to our known world. In other words, in his
creation or shortly afterwards, the human was destined to rule. It is also possible to stretch
this statement to say that in the original and ideal scheme of things, God willed only one
human to rule the rest, the way Adam did.
In addition, these representations declare the separate existence of worldly and
spiritual power, which can be, but are not necessarily, held by the same person. Worldly
authority of a ruler is conditioned by the Divine will. It is bestowed upon the chosen human
being, who is always in a position to lose it if he trespasses God’s law(s). Both Adam and Cemşīd
are good examples for this last point. Here, I would like to remind the reader of a point made
earlier and that is part of the message of these representations of Adam: knowledge which has
originated from God provides, confirms, and legitimizes authority. I should also repeat that by
itself, authority based on knowledge is not sufficient for political leadership. The best example
to this from ‘Ārif’s book is Noah.
The overindulgence in these miniatures in representing worldly power, as well as the
insistence of the separation of worldly from spiritual power (the miniature of Adam with the
angels) and the “office holder” from his “office” (the miniature of Adam off his throne in the
Garden with Eve) indicate that this particular “Book of Prophets” was not thought of or
prepared as a mere chronological collection of the prophets’ life stories. These particularities
hint at the presence of a possible and well-groomed political agenda.
103
Indeed, the concept of the nature of authority is taken up again in the two depictions of
İdris. I also suspect that the same discussion continues in the two representations of Cemşīd
(Cemşīd teaching husbandry—or rather, establishing the farmers’ caste—in a rural setting and
Cemşīd’s execution by Żaḥḥāk in an architectural setting) that we do not have the opportunity
to examine at this point. The case of the İdris miniatures was mentioned briefly above. Not
only the variations in the physical aspect of this Biblical figure, but also the organization of the
page—with the prophet-king İdris sitting underneath a portico while the teacher İdris
conversing with (or possibly chiding) a student in an undefined space—presents a curious and
potent contrast between the two representations of the same figure in the same book by the
same artist. The contrast is too sharp to miss or to dismiss as a stylistic choice. It is highly
likely that these differences are intentional tools to communicate a specific vision concerning
worldly and spiritual guidance and leadership.
On the one hand, the two miniatures, “İdris Teaching Writing and Tailoring (sic.)” and
“İdris Teaching Tailoring and Use of Weights,” (figure 23) together display an individual case
where the different titles and responsibilities of a civilizing teacher, a political leader, and a
spiritual guide were held by one person: here the Biblical figure, İdris. On the other, both the
differences in these images and the distinct symbols used (the crown, the prophetic nimbus,
and the courtly dress in one, and the turban and the teacher’s garb in the other miniature) to
represent İdris’ various titles bear witness to the possibility of the separate existence of
political, cultural, and spiritual leadership. It is possible for one to execute one, any
combination, or all of these functions, or hold any or all of these titles (of prophet, king, and
teacher).
104
Returning to the theme of human sin and its just punishment, we should mention a
third miniature that portrays Adam. This time he is not depicted as a king, but rather as an
arbitrator and a father-prophet. Similar to that of the original sin, this miniature also depicts
the decisive moment before the actual committing of the sin: Cain’s murder of his brother
Abel.
e. CAIN AND FRATRICIDE
The second sin in human history according to the Judeo-Christian and Islamic
traditions, as well as to Enbiyānāme was committed by Adam’s eldest son, Cain, who killed his
brother Abel. In ‘Ārif’s book, the two significant events before and after the actual sin are
narrated visually: the presentation of the sacrifices offered to God by the two brothers (figure
23) and the battle leading to Cain’s defeat by his youngest brother, Seth, who was born to
Adam and Eve to replace Abel. The representation of the battle of Cain and Seth was
mentioned earlier as one of the three depictions in Enbiyānāme related to the theme of
punishment. Our present discussion concerns the depiction of the sacrifices and Cain’s plea to
God. After the miniature of the original sin in the Garden, this is the second scene in
Enbiyānāme associated with the concept of human sin.
The Koran does not give the names of Cain or Abel, but like the Bible, it too gives the
reason for Cain’s murder of his brother as God’s accepting Abel’s sacrifice instead of his.83 In
some of the elaborations of Cain’s story in Islamicate literature where Cain and Abel each had a
twin sister, Cain’s desire to marry his own twin sister instead of Abel’s twin sister is also
83
Sura 5:27-32.
105
narrated. In Enbiyānāme according to the Persian verse on the same page as the miniature,
Cain, who is madly in love with his twin sister, asks for Divine approval to marry her. God’s
acceptance of Cain’s plea was to be demonstrated by His acceptance of Cain’s offering (ears of
corn) instead of Abel’s (a young ram).
The moment represented is the moment God makes his decision to accept Abel’s
sacrifice, and therefore refuse Cain’s wish for marrying his twin sister: the plea he has just
finished articulating. (Figure 23) The miniature is divided vertically in two with a tree in the
top middle and Adam just underneath it. Adam’s hands are open and like his face, they are
turned up towards the sky. On Adam’s right side is a group of young women, who must be his
daughters. The woman closest to him, who must be Eve, is drawn in the forefront and seems to
react more explicitly to the situation than the rest of the younger-looking women—i.e. her
daughters— behind her. Above and behind the women is a mountain at the top of which Cain’s
offering of ears of corn is laid.
On Adam’s left are his sons.84 The two brothers who are depicted in front of the group
of young men and boys must be Cain and Abel. Both are showing strong reactions. Above and
behind this group is another mountain at the top of which Abel’s sacrifice of a ram is placed.
Divine choice is represented by a patch of fire descending towards the animal. Below the
figures, which are either standing or walking on an herb covered land, is what seems to be a
84
Here I agree with the grouping made by Serpil Bağcı, Filiz Çağman, Günsel Renda, and Zeren Tanındı in Osmanlı
Resim Sanatı (op. cit., p. 97) rather than that of Rachel Milstein who writes that the group on the left (of the
miniature) represents Cain’s household of farmers and the group on the right (of the miniature) represents the
shepherds from the clan of Abel. (“Il est évident que le groupe à gauche, devant les épis de blé, représente la
famille d’agriculteurs de Caïn, tandis que les homes à demi nus à droite sont les pâtres du clan d’Abel.”) Rachel
Milstein, La Bible Dans L’Art Islamique. (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 2005), p. 58. My preference is based
on two reasons. First of all, the two groups are clearly differentiated by gender. It is more logical to interpret the
group of women as the daughters of Adam and Eve rather than as Cain’s household of farmers and the group of
men as the sons rather than Abel’s shepherds. Secondly, according to the Biblical story, at this point in time no
one except for Adam and Eve were paired as a couple. Hence no one had a family or a household of his own except
for Adam and Eve.
106
river. The text of eight couplets is equally divided between the extreme top and bottom of the
depiction.
There are many versions of the story of Cain and Abel that might have given form to
the version narrated in Enbiyānāme. In Tevārīḫ-i ‘ālam (A. 2935) Adam tells his sons that they
should each offer his sacrifice and the one whose sacrifice is accepted is determined by a fire
that descends to consume the accepted sacrifice.85 (Figure 37) In Cāmi et-Tevārīḫ (H. 1653),
Adam similarly orders his sons to each present his sacrifice when Cain refuses to marry Abel’s
twin sister and let his brother marry his (Cain’s) twin sister. Adam then prays and offers a
sacrifice to God that the right side be determined.86 (Figure 38)
In al-Kisā’ī, where once again Adam tells his sons to present their sacrifice, the reason
of Cain’s rebellion is given as his fear that after his death, Abel’s descendants would act with
superiority towards his because the heavenly white light burnt their father’s offering
demonstrating divine preference. There is no mention of Cain’s desire to marry his twin
sister.87 Ṭaberī offers the most elaborated treatment of the story and presents diverse versions.
Which one of these versions, if any, correspond to the version narrated in Enbiyānāme? Or,
does this Ottoman şehnāme offer us yet another version? Cain’s monologue in the illustrated
text is suggestive:
Ḳābil said to himself like a drunken man

Out of (his) passion for (his) sister, the reigns of reason having left (his) hands
85
“‫ﻜﻨﻴﺪ ﻘﺮﺒﺎﻦ هﺮ ﻜﻪ ﻘﺒﻮﻞ اﻔﺘﺪ ﺪﺨﺘﺮ ﺮا ﺒﺴﺘﺎﻨﺪ ﻮ ﺪﺮاﻦ ﺰﻤﺎﻦ ﻘﺮﺒﺎﻦ ﺒﻴﺮﻮﻦ ﻤﻰﻨﻬﺎﺪﻨﺪ ﺁﻨﺠﻪ ﻤﻘﺒﻮﻞ ﻤﻰاﻔﺘﺎﺪ ﺁﺘﺶ اﺰ هﻮا ﻔﺮﻮ ﻤﻰ ﺁﻤﺪ ﻮ ﺁﻦ ﻘﺮﺒﺎﻨﺮا ﻤﻰﺴﻮﺨﺖ‬
‫ ”اﻮ ﺒﺨﻮاهﺮ ﺨﻮﺪ ﺮﻏﺒﺖ ﺪاﺸﺖ ﺁﺪﻢ ﻋﻠﻴﻪ اﻠﺴﻠﻢ ﻔﺮﻤﻮﺪ ﻜﻪ ﺨﻮاهﺮ ﺘﻮاﻢ ﺘﺴﺖ ﺒﺮ ﺘﻮ ﺤﺮاﻤﺴﺖ اﻮ ﻘﺒﻮﻞ ﻨﻤﻰ ﻜﺮﺪ ﻔﺮﻤﻮﺪ ﻜﻪ ﺘﻮ ﻮ ﺒﺮاﺪﺮﺖ ﻘﺮﺒﺎﻦ‬TSMK A.
2935, introductory page under the title “‫”ﺬﻜﺮ اﺤﻮاﻞ ﺁﺪﻢ ﺼﻔﻰ ﻮ ﻔﺮﺰﻨﺪاﻦ اﻮ ﻮ اﻮﻻﺪ ﻨﻮح ﻋﻠﻴﻪ اﻠﺴﻠﻢ‬.
86
“‫[ ﻜﻪ اﺪﻢ ﺪﺮ ﺴﺎﻠﻰ ﺮﻮﻤﻰ ﻤﻌﻴﻦ ﻜﺮﺪﻩ ﺒﻮﺪ ﻜﻪ ﺪﺮ اﻴﻦ ﺮﻮﺰ ﺪﻋﺎ ﺴﺠﻮﺪ ﻮﻘﺮﺒﺎﻦ ﻜﺮﺪى‬illustration] ‫ﺮﻀﺎ ﻨﺪاﺪ اﺪﻢ ﻔﺮﻤﻮﺪ ﻜﻪ ﻘﺮﺒﺎﻦ ﻜﻨﻴﺪ ﻮ ﺠﻨﻴﻦ ﻜﻮﻴﻨﺪ‬
‫ ”اﺪﻢ ﻔﺮﻤﻮﺪ ﻜﻪ ﺘﻮاﻢ ﻘﺎﺒﻴﻞ اﺰ اﻦ هﺎﺒﻴﻞ ﻮ ﺘﻮاﻢ هﺎﺒﻴﻞ اﺰ اﻦ ﻘﺎﺒﻴﻞ ﺒﺎﺸﺪ ﻘﺎﺒﻴﻞ ﺒﺪاﻦ‬TSMK H. 1653, folio 9a (?).In Behçet et-Tevārīḫ (R. 1538)
the story of Cain and Abel is not elaborated.
87
“‫”ﻮ ﻠﻢ ﺘﺎﻜﻞ ﻘﺮﺒﺎﻦ ﻘﺎﺒﻴﻞ ﻔﺪﺨﻠﻪ اﻠﺤﺴﺪ ﻤﻦ ﺬﻠﻚ ﻻﺨﻴﻪ ﻔﻘﺎﻞ اﻦ اﻮﻻﺪ هﺬا ﺘﻔﺘﺎﺨﺮ ﻋﻠﻰ اﻮﻻﺪى ﻤﻦ ﺒﻌﺪى ﻔﺎﺠﻬﺪ ﻨﻔﺴﻪ اﻦ ﻴﻘﺘﻠﻪ‬Muhammed Ben
‘Abdallah Al-Kisa’i, Vita Prophetarum. Ed. Isaac Eisenberg. (Lugduni-Batavorum: E.J. Brill, 1923), p. 72.
107
“My sacrifice is made for my union
Accept it, if not, you are my Lord88”
In none of the histories mentioned above, the author had included such a call to God
from Cain’s lips. The echo of these lines can be heard, however, in a slightly later Ottoman
work Tomār-ı Hümāyūn (TSMK A. 3599), which will be discussed in more detail in the sixth
chapter of thesis. Here, it would suffice to repeat what was said previously in chapter two: this
Imperial Scroll was first conceived as an idea by ‘Ārif, but until a certain point in the narration
of Süleymān’s reign, it appears to be the product of Eflātun’s pen. As we will see in chapter six,
the literary and artistic authorship of the Scroll forms one of the main themes of my
examination of the Imperial Scroll. The style of the lines quoted below exemplifies what I
identify as Eflātun’s style. In the Scroll, Cain says of his sacrificial offering: “Eğer kabūl ola ve
eğer kabūl olmaya, ben bu kızı almazam” (“May it be accepted, if not, I will not take this girl!”)89
(Figure 39)
The story in the Scroll continues with Adam’s desire to visit Mecca. Adam attempts to
entrust his son (Abel), whose sacrifice had received divine favor, first to the Sky and then to
the Earth. Upon their refusal to take the responsibility, Adam asks the same favor from the
Mountains, only to receive another negative reply. Finally, he asks Cain to safeguard his
brother Abel. Cain accepts the responsibility saying, “You go ahead; may you see him when
you return as you will see (him?) when you leave.”90 Needless to say, Cain does not keep his
promise.
88
“‫ ﭙﺬﻴﺮﺪ ﻮ ﻜﺮﻨﻰ ﺨﺪﺁﻮﻨﺪ ﻤﻦ‬/‫ ﻜﻪ ﻘﺮﺒﺎﻦ ﻤﻦ ﺒﻬﺮ ﭙﻴﻮﻨﺪ ﻤﻦ‬// ‫ ﻋﻨﺎﻦ ﺪﺁﺪﻩ اﺰ ﻋﺸﻖ ﺨﻮﺁهﺮ ﺰ ﺪﺴﺖ‬/ ‫ ”هﻤﻰ ﻜﻔﺖ ﻘﺎﺒﻴﻞ ﺒﺎ ﺨﻮﺪ ﭽﻮ ﻤﺴﺖ‬Enbiyānāme,
folio 24b. For a reproduction see Esin Atıl, Süleymanname, p.58.
89
TSMK A. 3599. See the last two lines of the rhombus shaped section to the left of Seth’s ornamented disk.
90
“Var git yine gelüb göresin nitekim gitdükde görirsin” TSMK A. 3599. See the fourth line that starts with “‫ﻮﻴﺮﺪى‬
‫ ”ﻗﺎﺒﻴﻠﻪ اﻤﺎﻨﺖ‬in the first rhombus shaped section to the left of the genealogical tree.
108
This version of the story bears significant resemblance to one of the two versions which
include the detail of the descending fire in Ṭaberī’s history. However, in Ṭaberī’s version, it is
God who orders Adam to go and see “His House on earth” in Mecca. More significantly, Adam
takes off for his trip to Mecca on the day of the sacrifice.91 In other words, Adam is not present
at the time of the sacrifice. Furthermore, it is not only his son whom Adam tries to entrust in
safe hands before leaving for Mecca, but his entire family. The rest of Ṭaberī’s narration
follows a very similar path to that of the Scroll.
It is quite possible that the Scroll’s version of the story of Cain and Abel was
constructed synthetically from the material found in Ṭaberī’s history for none of the other
previously mentioned sources in the Topkapı manuscript library include the version with
Adam’s trip to Mecca.92 We know, as it will be demonstrated in chapter sixth, that ‘Ārif had
already begun working on the Scroll’s project and that his work was later used by Eflātun. How
much of the Enbiyānāme’s stories of the prophets was used in the Imperial Scroll?
In Adam and Eve’s sinning scene, basing my argument primarily on the joint presence
of the serpent, the peacock, and the figure of Satan in the miniature, I had argued that it was
the version in Ḳiṣaṣ of al-Kisā’ī that was possibly used in Enbiyānāme. In the Imperial Scroll, we
see that the same choice was made, and the story of the primal sin includes Satan as well as his
two collaborators.93 (Figure 39) We also saw that Cain’s call to God asking him to accept his
sacrifice and stating his loyalty was a uniquely Ottoman narrative technique and an integral
91
The History of al- Tabarī (Ta‘rīkh al-rusūl wa’l-mulūk). Translated and annotated by Franz Rosenthal, (Albany: State
University of NY Press, 1989), vol 1, p. 308.
92
As far as the present Topkapı collection is concerned, I believe that my investigation has been quite thorough.
Nevertheless, we still must not rule out the possibility that the Scroll’s version comes from another source now
not found in the manuscript library, or from a manuscript that I overlooked in my research.
93
See the section to the right of the beginning of the genealogical tree. The story of the first sin is narrated in the
rhombus shaped section directly under—and touching the tip of--the first (inverted) triangular text. It starts with
“iblīs añī gördi…” TSMK A. 3599.
109
part of both works, Enbiyānāme and Tomār-ı Hümāyūn. Yet before reading the relevant pages in
the manuscript of Enbiyānāme, it is impossible to ascertain that the synthetic version of the
Scroll originates from Enbiyānāme.94
f. CONCLUSION
At the beginning of this study we have posed a number of questions and noted several
particularities that needed to be explained. Towards the end of our examination, it would be
fruitful to do a balance to see which questions have met with likely answers and which remain
to be investigated. Now, for example, we do not regard the inclusion of Cemşīd in Enbiyānāme
so unusual. Like the histories of Ṭaberī and Buharī (Tevārīḫ-i ‘ālam), Enbiyānāme is not a
thematically independent work on the prophets, but the first of five volumes of universal
94
If in Enbiyānāme ‘Ārif’s narration indeed was based on Ṭaberī’s version where Adam entrusts his family to his
son Cain and than was betrayed by him, it would be very tempting to interpret ‘Ārif’s decision in choosing this
particular version as an offshoot of the obsession with the theme of dynastic killings that I have encountered in
the works of ‘Ārif and Eflātun for Süleymān.
My inclination to interpret ‘Ārif’s account as related to this theme is, on the one hand, due to the
curiously thorough treatment of Cain’s story with two miniatures out of ten in the manuscript. On the other
hand, I find that the question allegedly formulated by Süleymān on the case of his son, Muṣṭafā, to get a legal
answer (fetwa) from the Müftü of Istanbul has much resonance with Adam’s entrusting his oldest son Cain his
family as he leaves for Mecca: “There was at Constantinople a merchant of good position, who, when about to
leave home for some time, placed over his property and household a slave to whom he had shown the greatest
favour, and entrusted his wife and children to his loyalty. No sooner was the master gone than this slave began to
embezzle his master’s property, and plot against the lives of his wife and children; nay, more, had attempted to
compass his master’s destruction.” According to the Austrian ambassador Ogier Ghislein de Busbecq, who is our
source for this incident, the Sulṭān then asked: “What sentence could be lawfully pronounced against this slave?”
See Charles T. Forster and F.H. Blackburne, Daniell, The Life and Letters of Ogier Ghiselin de Busbecq. (London, C.
Kegan Paul & CO: 1881), vol. I, p. 116.
If we take the Austrian diplomats words as reliable, it is easy to understand how Ṭaberī’s particular
version becomes extraordinarily convenient to make a comparison between Cain and Muṣṭafā. According to
Busbecq, the question asked to the Müftü pertained, in the more immediate sense, to Muṣṭafā’s reported treason
against his father when the army started out for the Persian campaign with the Grand Vizier Rüstem Paşa as
commander. Yet, it also reflects the worries of the Sulṭān and his wife Hürrem concerning the fortunes of their
male children (Selīm, Bayezid, and Cihāngīr), Muṣṭafā’s half brothers, after the death of their Sulṭān -father.
Formulated in other words, they were understandably worried that when God ordered Süleymān to leave his
family and go to His abode in heaven, as He ordered Adam to visit His house on earth, Muṣṭafā, like Cain, was to
kill his brother(s) out of ambition.
110
history, where the absence, rather than the presence of the stories of the Persian kings would
be surprising.
On a different note, we can now start seeing how the shared characteristics of the
heroes of Enbiyānāme as markers of eras, as civilizing leaders for their communities, as saviors,
and as agents in human sin and/or its just punishment make their interrelation clearer and
the volume, as a whole, coherent. However, I admit that this does not explain why some other
prophets like Abraham, Moses, Lot, or Christ, who shared at least some of the same traits, were
not selected.
One possible answer would be that the lives of these prophets are narrated in the
second volume of the same project. The visual division of history into five epochs in Tomār-ı
Hümāyūn (TSMK A. 3599), which was ‘Ārif’s subsequent şehnāme project, supports this
possibility. In the Scroll, the epochs of human history are marked by the arrivals of Adam and
Eve, Noah, Muḥammed, the first Ottoman ruler ‘Osmān, and Sulṭān Süleymān. In the book
format, ‘Ārif begins the first, fourth and fifth volumes of his universal history with Adam,
‘Osmān, and Süleymān, respectively. Accordingly, in the suggested scheme, the second volume
would explain human history between the times of Noah and Muḥammed, and the third
volume will continue with Islamic history starting with Muḥammed. The idea of dividing
history into five epochs and the similarity in the conceptions of these epochs between the two
works clearly back this claim.
Why then is Noah included in the first volume? Should he not start the second volume
the way Adam, ‘Osmān, and Süleymān do the first, fourth, and the fifth volumes respectively?
It is possible to go around this problem. The miniature of the Great Flood at the time of Noah is
111
on folio 45b in a book of 48 folios. Perhaps the first volume/epoch ends with the Flood and the
second starts (or was planned to start) from right after the Flood with Noah again.
The presence of Muḥammed in this volume with the Mi‘rāc scene is more difficult to
explain. Should he not be represented at the beginning of the third volume? Or could the
miniature thought of as a Mi‘rāc scene in fact depict İdris visiting Heaven and Hell while still
alive? (Is it possible to mistake a Mi‘rāc scene?) It should be said that we do not know the exact
location of this miniature identified as a Mi‘rāc scene. A glance at the chart of miniatures
provided at the beginning of this chapter would reveal that there appears to be too many
pages that are not illustrated between the two miniatures of İdris that are reproduced in Atıl
(“İdris Teaching Tailoring and Use of Weights” on folio 28a and “İdris Teaching Writing and
Tailoring (sic.)” on folio 38b). Could a miniature on the miraculous journey of İdris—and not
Muḥammed—be placed in one of the 10+ folios that appear without any illustrations in the
chart? Needless to say, to answer these questions we need to see the manuscript itself.
Still, even if we accept that the second volume narrated (or was planned to narrate)
prophetic history after Noah, this does not explain the choice of the title for the first volume,
Enbiyānāme, or ‘The Book of Prophets.’ Some remedy to this problem arrives from the concept
of prophethood utilized in Enbiyānāme. Not only with the inclusion of Cemşīd, but also via the
exceptional usage of the halo in the miniatures, Enbiyānāme preached a version of the concept
of prophethood different from the conventional one. İdris’ representation without a prophetic
nimbus, and Adam’s political crown before his acquisition of the halo, his holy crown,
supported the unconventionality of the interpretation of prophethood we find in this volume.
So, how can we define this particular interpretation?
112
As far as we can observe from the miniatures and the verses that complement the
visual representations, this notion pertains to a divine light and a special and intimate
relationship with God. In the case of İdris, in Enbiyānāme his intimate relationship with God is
mediated by the Archangel Gabriel. On the page of the miniature where he is depicted with a
prophetic nimbus (figure 23), we learn of the Archangel Gabriel’s bringing of God`s order of
ġazā (holy war) against the descendants of Cain. Muḥammed has the most direct contact with
God on his miraculous nightly trip, Mi‘rāc, which is—reportedly—represented with a miniature
in Enbiyānāme.
Outside of the reproduced folios, Noah’s dialogue with God before, during and after the
flood is well-known.95 It is highly likely that Noah’s communication with God is also related in
the inaccessible folios of Enbiyānāme. We should also add that it was God’s favor represented
physically by the divine luster (‫ )ﻓﺮ‬that had provided the power and authority of Cemşīd until
he lost it by his foolish attempt be divine. Cemşīd’s initial possession and posterior losing of the
divine favor and luster are essential components of his lore, and must have been mentioned
before his punishment scene in Enbiyānāme.
Prophethood, as such, provides authority. However, the representations also seem to
tell the reader that it is not the only type of authority. We learn that authority based on
political and/or cultural leadership also exists alongside and independent from spiritual
authority or prophethood.
Needless to say, this is a mere approximation to the notion of prophethood that ‘Ārif,
with the help of his artistic team, projects to the reader. He divides human history in epochs
and, by calling the first of the five volumes of the Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān, Enbiyānāme,
95
See the sura 11, lines 42-47.
113
designates this first period as the epoch of the prophets, the definition of whose vocation is
sketched out above. As mentioned, the last two stages of human history are defined by the
fortunes of the Ottoman political entity. The fourth period which corresponds to Şāhnāme-yi
Āl-i ‘Osmān’s fourth volume is the era of ‘Osmān, the founder of the Ottoman principality and
narrates the history of the first nine Ottoman rulers, hence ‘Ārif’s title of “‘Osmānnāme”. The
fifth volume is named “Süleymānnāme” and is devoted solely on the reign of Sulṭān Süleymān.
In this way, Süleymān is not only presented as the second founder of the Ottoman state, but
also as the marker of a new epoch in human history.
When we think of the Ottoman Şāhnāme project in its entirety, beginning with the era
of the prophets and ending with the era of Süleymān, the close relationship of some of the
themes discussed above with the concerns and the political agenda of Süleymān’s time become
clearer and easier to discern. Indeed, the choice of the versions of the prophets’ stories
elaborated in Enbiyānāme, as well as the inclusion and the exclusion of details from the
miniatures hint at the existence of a political agenda.96
It is not so surprising to find the imprint of Süleymān and his reign in this project: after
all, Sulṭān Süleymān was the main patron of this historical work. The presence of this
relationship also enables us to understand why Cemşīd, instead of his Persian progenitors, was
given protagonism in this volume. The explanation lies in the close connection that was
commonly drawn between Cemşīd and King—and prophet—Solomon.97 This great namesake of
96
In his book on the Eckstein Şāhnāme, Will Kwiatkowski similarly finds Ottoman ideology expressed in the
sixteenth century truncated Şāhnāmes, and the Ḳiṣaṣ series. He bases the identification of a group of Ḳiṣaṣ
manuscripts from the same period (second half of the sixteenth century) as Ottoman to “the ideological outlook
of the series: Qisas al –Anbiya’ manuscripts partake in the Ottoman vision, shared with such works as the Siyer-i
Nebi, that links the dynastic Ottoman present to the Prophetic past. For the Ottomans, whose claims to legitimacy
were at best resourceful, identification with the Prophets created an aura of snctity around the dynasty at a point
in time when religious leadership was increasingly identified with the state.” Will Kwiatskowski, The Eckstein
Shahnama: An Ottoman Book of Kings (London: Paul Holberton, 2005), p. 51.
114
the Ottoman sultan was the principal figure to whom Sulṭān Süleymān was compared in
contemporaneous literature, in terms of justice, power, wealth, and generosity.98
Süleymān’s characteristic role according to the Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān as a marker of an
era in human history is only one of the elements that tie him to the “prophets” mentioned
here. The Ottoman ruler, like Cemşīd and Idris in particular, was also an educator and
organizer of his society. His civilizing mission was mainly related to the ordering of the state
apparatus, and the standardization and the dissemination of law. In fact, his main legacy both
in his own time and after his death, was based principally on his activities in the
standardization of law. At the same time, the mosque complex that was constructed in his
name around the same time as ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme included the highest learning center of his
time.99
Another recurring theme that links Süleymān with Enbiyānāme’s prophets is that of sin
and punishment. The theme of sin and punishment appears almost as an obsession at the later
stage of Sulṭān Süleymān’s reign. Further in this study, in chapter six section “b”, we will see
how Eflātun exploits this obsession in his treatise on the flood of Istanbul100 to further his case
as a şehnāmeci candidate after ‘Ārif’s death. Still, perhaps the clearest manifestation of the
97
It is interesting that some Arab scholars had objected the identification of Cemşīd with Solomon, which as Huart
noted in his entry on Cemşīd “proves that the belief was widespread”. See Huart, Cl. "ḎJ̲ams̲h̲īd." Encyclopaedia of
Islam. Edited by: P. Bearman , Th. Bianquis , C.E. Bosworth , E. van Donzel and W.P. Heinrichs. (Brill Online: Brill,
2007).
98
See for example the poems of Fuzūlī (especially for justice, wealth, and power), Lāmi‘ī (for power), Hayālī (for
power, wealth, and generosity), Yahyā Bey (for power) in Ali Yıldız, Kanuni Sultan Süleyman’a Yazılan Kasideler.
(Ankara: T.C. Kültür Bakanlığı, 1996) p. 178, 70, 188, 208, 216, 272, 340 respectively.
99
While the founding inscription of the mosque gives 1550 as its foundation and 1557 as its inauguration date, we
now know that the construction had been started before and continued after these dates. Gülru Necipoğlu, The
Age of Sinan (London: Reaktion Books, 2005), p. 208. Stefanos Yerasimos writes that the preparation of the slopped
land of the construction site probably lasted about two years between the springs of 1548 and 1550. Stefanos
Yerasimos, Süleymaniye (Istanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2002), p. 54.
100
This manuscript is among the manuscript collection of the Topkapı Museum (TSMK H. 1570).
115
heavy feeling of guilt and the need for redemption can be detected in Süleymānnāme. However,
the last volume of ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme is the topic of the fifth chapter of this study. Now, we
continue our examination with the fourth volume: ‘Osmānnāme.
116
CHAPTER 4
THE FOURTH VOLUME (‘OSMĀNNĀME):
THE OBSESSIONS OF SULṬĀN SÜLEYMĀN AND HIS PALACE
a. AN ASSESSMENT OF WHAT IS AVAILABLE
As in the case of Enbiyānāme, we have very limited knowledge of the particular history
of this manuscript. Aside from its original ‘birth place’ and its final ‘place of residence,’ we are
not able to track down the details of its itinerary that took this royal copy from the Ottoman
palace library (most probably from the Royal Treasury like Süleymānnāme) over the Atlantic
ocean to the Kraus collection in New York, and then back to the old continent to an Italian
collector, who is also the current owner of Enbiyānāme. The rubbed seal on the dedicatory page
that could have provided us a hint at the manuscript’s previous whereabouts, and that we can
see in a modern publication, is unfortunately not legible.1 This leaves us once again with the
copies of the miniatures that are inferior in quality and often smaller in size in the academic
literature, this time prepared by the art historian Ernst J. Grube, and the summary information
offered in his publication.
The following discussion is primarily based on these images, as well as the lines of verse
that share the same pages with the images. My examination has as its first aim to provide more
accurate information on these images and, as such, owes its existence to Grube’s publication in
the same way that the parallel section on Enbiyānāme is indebted to Esin Atıl’ preliminary
work.
1
Ernst J. Grube, Islamic paintings from the Eleventh to the Eighteenth Century in the Collection of Hans P. Kraus. (New
York: H.P. Kraus, 1972), color plate XLI.
117
In this chapter on the fourth volume of ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme, for practical reasons and aside
from some general remarks, I will examine only a selected number of the miniatures of
‘Osmānnāme. I hope to demonstrate that the visual program of ‘Osmānnāme reveals an agenda
beyond the telling of the history of the reigning dynasty. Just like in the previous section on
Enbiyānāme, here, too I argue that what is being narrated in ‘Osmānnāme is at least as much
inspired by and related to the current political environment and preoccupations of the
roughly last ten years of Süleymān’s reign as it is based on the history of the foundation and
the early years of the Ottoman empire. In the following pages, I will also examine how each of
the four rulers in this volume is represented by the şehnāmeci team. On this issue, my
evaluation will be based on the distribution and the choice of topics in each case. First,
however, I will introduce the manuscript and share some notes on its organization.
b. ‘OSMĀNNĀME: A BRIEF DESCRIPTION AND SOME NOTES ON ITS POSSIBLE
ORGANIZATION
The aesthetic format of ‘Osmānnāme seems to closely resemble that of the other two
extant volumes of the same dynastic project, namely Enbiyānāme and Süleymānnāme. Like these
two volumes, it was composed in fairly large nesta‘līḳ with the headings in blue or red nesiḫ.
Similarly, the text is organized in four columns separated from each other with double gold
lines. It seems like just as in Enbiyānāme, each non-illustrated page has 19 lines of Persian verse,
each line containing two couplets.2
2
In the absence of Grube’s witness account, my estimate of 19 lines a page, which coincides Esin Atıl’s, is based on
the organization of the text on the published pages. Esin Atıl, Süleymanname: the illustrated history of Süleyman the
Magnificent (New York, Harry N. Abrams, Inc.: 1986), p. 56.
118
As for its binding, Grube states that the manuscript has maintained “its original binding
of red-brown morocco decorated with pressed relief cartouches filled with floral scrollwork.
The cartouches have been gilded.”3 In her study on ‘Ārif’s Süleymānnāme, Esin Atıl adds that
once again, similar to Enbiyānāme, the manuscript was trimmed a centimeter or more before it
was rebound using the original covers.4
This volume of ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme begins to narrate the history of the Ottoman dynasty.
The following and last volume of the project, namely Süleymānnāme, picks up the historical
narrative at the ascension of Süleymān to the throne in 1520; consequently one expects the
fourth volume to extend its narration up to the end of the reign of Süleymān’s father Selīm I.
However, the illustrated text ends with the Ankara debacle where the fourth Ottoman ruler
Bayezıd I was defeated and taken as prisoner by Timur in 1402. Hence, this fourth volume
appears to be left incomplete. In other words, the histories of the sultans after Bayezıd I until
Süleymān, namely the sultans Meḥmed I, Murād II, Meḥmed II, Bayezıd II, and Selīm I, were left
untold.
The interruption of the narrative at the end of Bayezıd’s reign or—if the text included
his death at captivity—at the end of his life, might have been unintentional. In other words, it
might have been caused by some practical reason that affected the working environment of
‘Ārif and his team of artists. At the same time, it is conceivable that this ‘cut’ at a point in
Ottoman history where the prospects of the dynasty appeared dimmest provided a logical
break in the working schedule of the team. As such, the volume would be thought of as having
two sections. The first would start from ‘Osmān and finish at the end of Bayezıd’s reign, when
3
Grube, op. cit., p. 216.
4
Esin Atıl, op. cit., p. 60.
119
the Ottoman political entity, and by extension Ottoman dynastic history, faced the possibility
of extinction.
As events turned out, the Ottoman failure before Timur did not bring about a full stop
to the history of the dynasty. After a pause of eleven years marked by strife between Bayezıd’s
sons, the Ottoman principality resumed its course in history. So must have ‘Ārif’s narration. In
this scheme, the second section of ‘Osmānnāme must have been planned to narrate the events
from after Bayezıd’s death to the end of Selīm’s reign (1520 C.E.).
Whether or not such an organizational division was conceived or if it was, to what
extend it was articulated, it is impossible to tell for sure without having seen the manuscript.
What is possible to say is that the extant part of the fourth volume was finished completely,
with the introductory medallions and all of its miniatures. In other words, the illustrated pages
we are studying here belong not to a draft, where the visual elements, such as the miniatures
and the medallions, would not have been present, but to an incomplete final copy. The fact that
the part of the text and the images until Bayezıd’s death was completed in its entirety does not
prove but suggests that the producers of the volume envisioned it as a finished unit.
c. AN INTRODUCTION TO THE ANALYSIS OF ‘OSMĀNNĀME’S MINIATURES
The principal method used in this brief study is the “textual reading”5 of ‘Osmānnāme’s
visual and literary material that is published. For the identification and the evaluation of these
images, the historical narratives written before ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme—such as the histories of
5
By the term “textual reading” I mean the effort to untangle the multiple meanings of the miniatures by
examining it like a text. This method is based on the assumption that the visual representations are largely
involved in the historical narration of the book.
120
Āşıḳpaşazāde, Oruç, Neşrī—in addition to Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi’s Tāc’üt-Tevārīḫ, whose draft was
prepared at the time of Selim II (1566-1574), less than two decades after ‘Osmānnāme, are used
for comparison.6 As it is mentioned previously, by comparing the depictions of these incidents
and the accompanying verses on these pages to the narration of the same events in
Āşıkpaşazāde, Oruç, Neşrī, and Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi, my aim is to offer more accurate
identifications of the miniatures.
Among these four Ottoman histories, Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi’s Tāc’üt-Tevārīḫ appears to be
the closest to ‘Ārif’s ‘Osmānnāme partially because being written later and in a similar courtly
and scholarly tradition, it must be informed of ‘Osmānnāme. Indeed, the affinity between the
two works can be proven textually, for Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi’s narration includes examples of
details that match perfectly with the visual and textual narration of ‘Osmānnāme’s miniatures.
To this end, we can mention the similarity between a literary metaphor in Tāc’üt-Tevārīḫ that
finds its parallel (at least) in the visual idiom of ‘Osmānnāme. Whereas in the story of the
conquest of the Aydos castle, Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi likens the tresses of the daughter of the lord of
Aydos to the lasso she lowers to aid Abdurrahman Ġāzī climb up the walls of the castle,7 ‘Ārif’s
team of artists painted her offering her long tresses as a lasso for Abdurrahman Ġāzī. 8 (Figure
41)
6
Āşıḳpaşazāde, Tevārīḫ-i āl-i ‘Osmān, ed. Nihal Atsız. (Istanbul: Türkiye Yayınevi, 1947); Neşrī, Kitāb-ı Cihānnümā, ed.
Faik Reşit Unat, Mehmed A. Köymen, vol. 1. (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basımevi, 1987); Oruç Beğ, Oruç Beğ
Tārīḫi, ed. Nihal Atsız. (Istanbul: Tercüman 1001 Temel Eser Serisi, 1972?); Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi, Tāc’üt-Tevārīḫ, ed.
Ismet Parmaksızoğlu, vol. 1. (Ankara: Kültür Bakanlığı Yayınları, 1999).
7
“…bezgin zülfü gibi bir kemendi hemen aşağıya sarkıttı.” Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi, op. cit., p. 57.
8
This incident echoes the episode in the Shāhnnāme, where Rudāba offers her two long tresses to aid Zāl climb up
to the top of the turret, where she was expecting him. Though impressed by the beautiful princess’ offering, Zāl
declines to use her tresses. In their stead, he climbs up the wall with the help of a lasso he throws to the pinnacle
of the tower.
121
Another example is the case of the successful climber of another castle (Pravadi) by a
cavalryman named Ḥüseyin Bey.9 (Figure 42) Unlike the close associates of ‘Osmān, such as
Köse Miḫal, Aygud Alp, Turgud Alp, Ḥasan Alp, etc., Ḥüseyin Bey is not a warrior whose name
is well-known to us. The reason is simple: his name does not appear in the histories of
Āşıkpaşazāde, Oruç, or Neşrī that have commonly been used for early Ottoman history. It is
possible that both ‘Ārif and Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi used sources that were not incorporated into the
three histories mentioned above and that included details such as Ḥüseyin Bey’s heroic feat in
the capture of the castle of Pravadi. It is also possible that Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi used ‘Ārif’s
account in his work. Why then does he not name ‘Osmānnāme as one of his sources?10
Ascertaining the origins of Ḥüseyin Bey’s story would involve the examination of
several other historical accounts that Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi had used in his Tāc’üt-Tevārīḫ, such as
the works of Idris-i Bidlisī, Ibn Kemāl, Isḥaḳ Çelebi, and Hātifī, as well as anonymous
chronicles. Such an undertaking goes beyond the limits of this study. Basing our judgment on
the mentioned—and soon-to-be-mentioned—narrative similarities between Tāc’üt-Tevārīḫ and
the visual program of ‘Osmānnāme, we can claim, however, that Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi and ‘Ārif had
much in common in their literary-aesthetic tastes and their understanding of social and
political order. At the end, one of the issues examined in this dissertation is this understanding
of the particular life-organizing order, which the miniatures of ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme simultaneously
both reflected and propagated within the parameters of the aesthetic language employed by
the artists of the time. Indeed, it is from the issue of Ottoman order that this volume of ‘Ārif’s
9
“Herkesten önce Ḥüseyin Bey adında bir sipahi Tanrının başarı kemendi ve Hazreti peygamberin ruhaniyeti
eseri hisar duvarına çıktı…” Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi, op. cit., p. 171.
10
In this thesis, I will not do much more than raise this question. At the same time, it should be said that the bad
press that the şehnāmeci’s received in the late sixteenth century would have made it rather undesirable to
mention a şehnāmeci’s work as a source.
122
Şāhnāme draws its significance to a large extent. After all, beyond the narration of the
successive military victories of the Ottoman polity, this volume narrates the foundation of this
order.11
In this section, I will focus on two themes associated with the Ottoman world order,
namely Muslim Ottoman-Christian relationships and the dynastic succession. These are not
the only themes one could draw from the study of ‘Osmānnāme’s miniatures. However, I believe
that they are two of the issues that are especially emphasized in the manuscript’s visual
program. After the examination of these two themes, this section will conclude with a brief
discussion of the particular portrayal of each of the four Ottoman rulers whose reigns are
narrated in ‘Osmānnāme. While the way each royal image is constructed visually gives the
viewer a sense of how dynastic history and its heroes were perceived by—at least some of—the
members of Süleymān’s palace, the style of expression employed in these paintings offers us
glimpses of the rules of etiquette in the palace in the 1550s.
Before starting the discussion on some of the ways the foundations of Ottoman life-
organizing order were spelled out in ‘Osmānnāme’s miniatures, two tables are provided below
as technical aids. The first locates each of the manuscript’s 34 miniatures and suggests a
preliminary categorization. The second groups the images according to their categories.12
11
I use the word “order”in the sense of “nizām” unless otherwise mentioned.
12
Reproductions of these miniatures are provided in the appendix at the end of the dissertation. All the images
are scanned from Grube’s publication (Ernst J. Grube, Islamic paintings from the Eleventh to the Eighteenth Century in
the Collection of Hans P. Kraus. (New York: H.P. Kraus, 1972).
123
Table 2: A general table for the miniatures of ‘Osmānnāme13
Title of Miniature Folio Category Subcategory

Number
1. Emīr ‘Osmān with princes & 7b Reception Ottoman ruler receives
notables from Anatolia non-Ottoman
dignitaries
2. Emīr ‘Osmān converses with 9a Reception Ottoman ruler is being
Şeyḫ Edebali received
3. Emīr ‘Osmān victorious in 13b Battle Individual bravery
combat
4. Emīr ‘Osmān with Māl Ḫatūn 15a Harem Ottoman ruler with his
the daughter of Şeyḫ Edebali wife; romantic
5. Ayḳud defeats a Greek enemy 22a Battle Individual bravery
6. Emīr ‘Osmān receives Turkish 24a Reception Ottoman ruler receives
Chieftains non-Ottoman
dignitaries
7. Emīr ‘Osmān defeats the 30a Battle Involves numerous
Byzantines fighters
[the defeat of the Lord of
Bilecik ?]
8. Emīr ‘Osmān & his son Orḫān 33b Reception Ottoman ruler
feasting receiving his son
[The wedding feast of Orḫān ?]
9. The Ottoman army attacking 37b Battle Involves numerous
the Byzantine fortress of fighters
Köprühisar
10. The forces of Emīr ‘Osmān 41a Battle Involves numerous
battling the Byzantines led by fighters
the Bey of Kite who takes
refuge in the fortress of Ulubad
11. Köse Miḫal announces his 45b Reception Ottoman ruler receives
conversion to Islam allied dignitary;
conversion story
12. Orḫān proves his strength 51b Battle Individual bravery
13. Emīr ‘Osmān with his court 56b Court Feasting outdoors with
[The correct title: Emīr ‘Osmān music
abdicates in favor of Orḫān]
13
In the chart Grube’s titles are maintained except when there is an error or some missing information that is
significant for understanding the content of the manuscript. Then, a new title is suggested in brackets.
124
Table 2: A general table for the miniatures of ‘Osmānnāme, continued
14. Emīr ‘Osmān places Orḫān 62b Reception Ottoman ruler receives
on a throne his son
[The correct title: Orḫān
seeking his brother ‘Alā’eddīn’s
overt confirmation of his
leadership of the Ottoman
principality]
15. The capture of Aydos by the 70b Battle Heroic/romantic
Turks episode in battle;
conversion story
16. The head of Kalo-Yoannis 76a Battle Incident after battle;
shown to Orḫān after the battle related punishment scene
of Koyunhisar
17. Orḫān feasting 79a Court First interior scene in
royal setting
18. Orḫān defeats a Byzantine 84b Battle Individual bravery
19. The death of Ṭursun 89b Battle; death Incident in battle
20. Byzantine prisoners are 96a Battle Ottoman ruler
brought before Orḫān related; receiving captives;
Reception; punishment
captive
21. The Byzantine Emperor 104a Foreign The court of the
Cantacuzene is informed of court Byzantine Emperor
Süleymān’s approach Cantacuzene
22. A supernatural army come 109? Battle; Supernatural army;
to the aid of the Ottomans and supernatural divine interference in
their adversaries are defeated favor of the Ottomans
23. The siege of a Byzantine 114b Battle Siege scene
town
[The siege of Çorlu]
24. Ḥācı İlbeyi’s victory over 125b Battle Individual bravery
the infidel [in the battle of
Sırpsındığı]
25. Murād I after the conquest 132a Divine interference in
of Apollonia [not Süzebolu but favor of the Ottomans
the castle of Tanrıyıḳdı]
26. Murād I feasting 140a Court Feasting outdoors with
[The wedding feast of Prince music, dancing, and
Bāyezid with the daughter of acrobatics
Germiyanoğlu?]
27. Nefīse asks pardon for her 150a Reception Ottoman ruler receives
husband his daughter; interior
scene in royal setting
125
Table 2: A general table for the miniatures of ‘Osmānnāme, continued
28. Yaḫşī Bey takes the fortress 154b Battle Individual bravery
of Pravadi [Ḥüseyin Bey climbs
up the walls of Pravadi]
29. The death of Murād I 163a Battle The death of Ottoman
related; ruler caused by an
Death enemy; interior setting
30. Bāyezid I defeats two 171a Battle Individual bravery
warriors from Karaman
[More accurately: Bāyezid I
defeats Karamanoğlu Ali Bey
and his son Meḥmed Bey]
31. Bāyezid and the sister of the 174a Harem The Ottoman ruler with
King of Serbia his wife; interior scene;
romantic
32. The battle of Nicopolis (1396 184a Battle Involves numerous
C.E,) fighters; The text
describes the moment
of Bāyezid’s fall from
his horse whereas in
the depiction the
enemy horsemen are
falling from their
horses
33. Bāyezid sends a message to 193b Diplomacy; Interior setting
Tīmūr message
dispatching
34. Bāyezid at the battle of 203a Battle Individual bravery
Ankara ( 1402 C.E.)
Table 3: A thematic table for the miniatures of ‘Osmānnāme 14
Reception Feast Romantic Sultan as Other General Punishment

hero Ottoman battle of enemy &
heroes captivity
‘Osmān: ‘Osmān: ‘Osmān: ‘Osmān: ‘Osmān: ‘Osmān: ‘Osmān: -
7b, 9a, 33b 15a 13b 22a 30a, 37b, -----------
24a, 45b, 41a
56b
14
The miniature on folio 104a showing the Byzantine emperor receiving the news of Süleymān Paşa does not fit in
any of these categories.
126
Table 3: A thematic table for the miniatures of ‘Osmānnāme, continued
Orḫān: Orḫān: Orḫān: - Orḫān: 84b, Orḫān: Orḫān: Orḫān:

62b 79a ---------- 51b (as heir 70b, 89b 109 76a, 96a
prince)
Murād I: Murād I: Murād I: Murād I: Murād I: Murād I: Murād I:
150a 140a ----------- 132a, 125b, 114b ------------
163a(death) 154b
Bāyezid: Bāyezid: - Bāyezid: Bāyezid: Bāyezid: Bāyezid: Bāyezid:
(193b)15 ---------- 174a 171a, 203a ----------- 184a ------------
-
d. THE RULE OF ‘OSMĀN: ON OTTOMAN-CHRISTIAN FRIENDSHIP
As it is made clear from the title of the manuscript, the protagonist of this volume of
‘Ārif’s universal history is ‘Osmān. Like Adam in Enbiyānāme and Süleymān in Süleymānnāme, he
begins a chapter in human history. Surprisingly, his prominence in the manuscript is not
reflected by a correspondent presence in the text. The 56 folios until the miniature that
describes his abdication roughly equal the number of pages spared for his son Orḫān’s reign,
which ends somewhere in between the miniature of the interference of the supernatural army
on folio 109(?) and the siege of Çorlu on folio 114b. (Figure 43) This is true especially when one
considers the introductory remarks that must have preceded the narration of ‘Osmān’s reign.
Neither is it so much longer than the number of pages that narrate the reign of his grandson
Murād I, who dies on folio 163a.
On the other hand, ‘Osmān is given a noticeable prominence visually. Of the 34
miniatures in this manuscript, 13 deal with events of Emīr ‘Osmān. This is followed by 9
15
While not formally a reception scene, the miniature of Bāyezid sending Timur a letter before the battle of
Ankara is included in this category for it depicts the Ottoman ruler’s engagement in communication and
diplomacy.
127
miniatures for Orḫān, 7 for Murād I, and 5 for Bāyezid I. The higher frequency of the images of
‘Osmān’s reign cannot be explained by the greater number of events that promised interesting
representations. In fact, several of the scenes depicted are not interesting visually. For
instance, we see the greatest number and the greatest percentage of reception scenes in the
first 56 folios of ‘Osmānnāme. While the subsequent three rulers are each represented in a
reception scene once, ‘Osmān receives four times and is being received once by Edebali. Of
these five scenes, in two of them, on folios 7b and 24 a, he is seen explaining the Ottoman
enterprise to other Anatolian chieftains. (Figures 44 and 45) He underlines that the Ottoman
military activity has holy war (ġazā) as its driving force and demonstrates the booty he and is
men had amassed as proof of their success and possession of divine favor.
Moreover, it seems that at times, a visually less interesting representation is preferred
over a potentially more interesting one. On 56b in the abdication scene, the text narrates that
‘Osmān descends the throne and seats his son on it. In contrast, in the visual representation,
he is denied any movement. (Figure 46)
It seems to me that the reasons behind the high frequency of the representations and
the static quality of the reception scenes are similar. In ‘Osmānnāme, the images are not only
thought of as elements accompanying and adorning the text. They are also used as emphatic
marks to secure a more lasting place for the particular incident in the memories of the
viewer/reader. In this particular case, what is emphasized first and foremost is the driving
force of holy warfare as a basis for Ottoman political and military activity.
Indeed, one of the most striking features of the miniatures that were selected to
highlight the incidents in Emīr ‘Osmān’s reign is their presentation of the Ottoman principality
as having a set political project from the very beginning. Judging from these depictions, the
128
Ottoman Emīr appears to be a champion of a holy war (ġazā) declared against the neighboring
Christian/Byzantine lordships rather than a mere frontier warlord. His alliances with the local
Christian lords such as the Lord (tekvur) of Bilecik and especially his partnership with Köse
Miḫal are clearly undermined. In their stead, the real or imaginary antagonism inherent in
their relationship is visually emphasized.
It is highly likely that the battle scene we see on folio 30a depicts the unexpected attack
of the Emīr’s men against those of the lord of Bilecik. (Figure 43) My identification of this scene
as such is based on the conjunction of the chronology of the incidents in Ottoman chronicles I
examined (Āşıkpaşazāde, Neşrī, Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi 16), the order of ‘Osmānnāme’s miniatures,
and the insistent mention of the darkness of the night on the verse lines on this page (“the
dark evening of black color”, “the pitch black colored night”, “the tar of the night”, etc.17) and
the same timing given in the Ottoman chronicles mentioned above.18
According to Āşıkpaşazāde, Neşrī, and Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi, this well-known incident took
place during the wedding night of the daughter of the lord of Yar Hisar with the son of the lord
of Bilecik. Aware of the treacherous intentions of his “friend,” the lord of Bilecik, to capture all
his family, men, and belongings when they have all arrived for the wedding, Emīr ‘Osmān
devised a plan to conquer the castle of Bilecik by sending his men hidden among the articles of
storage he had sent with mules to the castle in the customary manner. Later in the night, he
arrived at the plain where the wedding took place with more of his men who were disguised as
old women. After hearing the news of the fall of the castle from his secret messengers and
16
Oruç does not mention this incident.
17
“‫”ﺘﻴﺮﻩ ﺸﺎﻢ ﺴﻴﻪ‬, “‫”ﺸﺐ ﻘﻴﺮ ﻜﻮﻦ‬, “‫‘”ﻘﻄﺮاﻦ ﺸﺐ‬Osmānnāme folio 30a. See Grube, op. cit., p. 221.
18
Āşıkpaşazāde, op. cit., p. 101-102, Neşrī, op. cit., p. 96-103, and Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi, op. cit., p. 33-36.
129
pretending to take flight, he, with his disguised men and Köse Miḫal defeated the lord of
Bilecik and his men, who had followed them in the dark of the night.
The actual reason(s) behind the breaking of the “friendship” between ‘Osmān and the
Byzantine lord is (are) not well-defined. However, historians have offered various
interpretations. Cemal Kafadar, for example, suggests that the Emīr’s attack on the wedding
night and his carrying off the bride might have been part of a plan “prevent an alliance
between the two tekvurs” (i.e. the lords of Bilecik and Yar Hisar that would have been sealed
by the wedding of their children.19 Lindner argues that the conquest of Bilecik made “good
geographical sense” with the Ottoman plans of advance down the Sakarya (Sangarius) river
towards Iznik (Nicaea) as well as to Bursa.20
Among our Ottoman sources for comparison, Neşrī mentions that ‘Osmān felt
humiliated by the lord of Bilecik at an earlier incident: the lord of Bilecik had offered ‘Osmān
his hand to be kissed when he met with the Ottoman Emīr to thank him for his help against the
lord of Köpri Hisar.21 While Āşıkpaşazāde does not offer any reason behind the opportunistic
and treacherous behavior of the lord of Bilecik,22 Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi finds the roots of the
Byzantine lord’s behavior in “the jealousy arising from the difference in religion and from his
nature.”23
19
Cemal Kafadar, Between Two Worlds. (: UCLA Press, 1995), p. 129.
20
Rudi Paul Lindner, Explorations in Ottoman Prehistory. (Ann Arbor: the University of Michigan Press, 2007), p. 83.
21
Neşrī, op. cit., p. 92-95. Neşrī gives the reason for ‘Osmān’s killing of his uncle Tursun as his opposition to attack
the lord of Bilecik who had humiliated ‘Osmān by having his hand kissed.
22
Needless to say, an alternative reading would easily render ‘Osmān’s “Ali-Baba-and-the-forty-thieves”-meets-
the-battle-of-Troy type of design to capture his “friend’s” castle during the friend’s daughter’s wedding
celebration, at least as opportunistic and treacherous.
23
Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi, op. cit., p. 33.
130
On the issue of the unveiling of the Byzantine machinations against ‘Osmān, both
Āşıkpaşazāde and Neşrī clearly state that Köse Miḫal informed and warned ‘Osmān of the ill
wishes of the lord of Bilecik and others gathered for the wedding. Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi
undermines the role of Köse Miḫal in this incident. He writes that ‘Osmān became aware of the
designs against him on account of his “exemplary clear mind and with the inspiration
provided him by God.”24 He adds that in addition to his own intuition, ‘Osmān asked the matter
from Köse Miḫal, it seems, for confirmation of his own suspicions.
It will be useful, at this point, to turn our attention to the way Köse Miḫal, the Christian
friend and ally of ‘Osmān, is dealt with visually in ‘Osmānnāme. Two of the thirteen miniatures
depicting events in ‘Osmān’s reign portray Köse Miḫal, who was also the Lord of Harmankaya,
as one of the protagonists. As such, aside from the Ottoman rulers themselves, he becomes one
of the rare figures who are depicted twice in one reign.25 His inclusion in the visual project of
this manuscript with two depictions is, in fact, more noteworthy than the inclusion of the
conquest of Bilecik. After all, thanks to the deceitful plotting of both parties involved—
especially to ‘Osmān’s well-planned trickery—the incident is a good choice for a depiction per
sè.26
In both representations of Miḫal, he is juxtaposed against ‘Osmān and assumes an
inferior position. The first miniature with Köse Miḫal draws attention to the potential danger
24
Ibid. Op. Cit.
25
The other two exceptions both come from ‘Osmān’s reign. They are his wife, the daughter of Edebali, and his
son, the prince Orḫān.
26
We should note that although the incident offers many visually more interesting moments to represent (such as
Ottoman warriors hidden among articles of storage or the reception of ‘Osmān with his men dressed as old
women at the wedding), the moment displayed is a typical battle scene.
131
and enmity of even a “good” Christian. In fact, it describes an incident that is not often
narrated in other Ottoman histories.
In his first appearance in‘Osmānnāme, Miḫal is not presented as ‘Osmān’s ally and friend.
On the contrary, he is seen lifted from his belt off his horse by a Rustam-like ‘Osmān.27 (Figure
47) The text on the page testifies to the great force of Miḫal’s own strike at ‘Osmān earlier. “If
he were a mountain” ‘Ārif writes of Miḫal’s foe, “he would have been uprooted from under the
saddle.”28 Yet, not even a single hair in ‘Osmān’s beard moves. When it is ‘Osmān’s turn to
respond, Miḫal is left no opportunity to contemplate. He is first taken by his belt and thrown
off his horse and then tied up with a lasso. For a moment Miḫal comes close to death as his
marrow becomes void of breath. Having put down one of the bridles, he is also deserted by his
lion-like horse, which runs back to his castle. 29 At the end of the confrontation, ‘Osmān—here
the greater of the fortunate ones (‫—)ﻤﻬﺘﺮ ﻨﻴﻜﺒﺨﺖ‬sees his foe ashamed in his difficult position and
lets him survive. His gesture of forgiving, in ‘Ārif’s words, is a form of religiously sanctioned
alms giving for his victory.30
How is the incident told in our sources of comparison? Oruç explains that Köse Miḫal
approached the Ottoman camp in the morning after ‘Osmān’s wedding in order to convert to
Islam with ‘Osmān’s guidance and to join his warriors.31 Āşıkpaşazāde, on the other hand, tells
27
Grube observes that this scene “seems to follow a well-established iconographic scheme in which Rustam is
shown lifting his adversary, Afrāsīyāb from the saddle gripping the enemy’s belt and throwing him off his horse.”
Grube p. 219.
28
“‫‘ ”ﺒﺮ ﻜﻨﺪى اﺮ ﻜﻮﻩ ﺒﻮﺪى ﺰ ﺰﻴﻦ‬Osmānnāme folio 13b, Grube p. 218.
29
‫ ﺪﺮﺁﻮﺮﺪ ﺪﺴﺘﺶ ﺒﺨﻢ‬/‫ ﺠﻮ ﺰ اﻨﺴﺎﻦ ﻔﻜﻨﺪ ﺶ ﺒﺨﺎﮎ ﻨﮋﻨﺪ‬//‫ ﻜﻪ ﺪﺮ ﺘﻦ هﻤﻪ اﺴﺘﺨﻮاﻨﺶ ﺸﻜﺴﺖ‬/‫”ﭽﻨﺎﻨﺶ ﺰﺪ اﺰ ﻜﺎﻩ ﺒﺮ ﺨﺎﮎ ﺒﺴﺖ‬
Ibid. op. cit. “‫هﺰﺒﺮ ﭽﻨﺎﻨﺶ ﺒﺮ ﺰﻴﺮ ﻜﻤﻨﺪ‬/‫ ﺒﻘﻠﻌﻪ ﺮﻮاﻦ ﻜﺮﺪ ﺁﻨﻜﻪ ﺴﻤﻨﺪ‬//‫ ﻴﻜى ﭙاﻠﻬﻨﻜﺶ ﺒﻜﺮﺪﻦ ﻨﻬاﺪ‬/ ‫ﺘﻬى ﻜﺮﺪ ﻤﻐﺰﺶ هﻤﺎﻨﺪﻢ ﺰ ﺒﺎﺪ‬
30
“‫ ”ﻜﻪ ﺒﻮﺪﺶ ﺒﻜﺮﺪﻦ ﺰﻜﺎﺖ ﻈﻔﺮ‬Ibid. op. cit.
31
Oruç, op. cit., p. 26.
132
us that the “infidels” of Harmankaya served the Ottomans after ‘Osmān was made a provincial
lord (sancak beyi) by the Selçuklu sultan, an event several military successes after ‘Osmān’s
wedding.32 Of the four histories used here for comparison—i.e. Āşıkpaşazāde, Oruç, Neşrī, and
Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi —only Neşrī mentions an incident of aggression between ‘Osmān and
Miḫal.33
According to Neşrī, the physical conflict involving Köse Miḫal took place in the
aftermath of ‘Osmān’s safeguarding a woman he had fallen in love with when he realized that
the Bey of Eskihisar was also interested in her. Köse Miḫal was among the warlords sent by the
Bey of Eskihisar to capture ‘Osmān, who was in Inönü at the time. Seeing that the people of
Inönü were divided on the issue of whether or not to surrender him, ‘Osmān, along with his
brother Gündüz and a few men loyal to them, began fighting those sent by the lord of
Eskihisar. This act of bravery encouraged more men from Inönü to join the fight on ‘Osmān’s
side. Neşrī writes however, that it was not ‘Osmān, but these men from Inönü who captured
Köse Miḫal. ‘Osmān, on the other hand, recognizing the bravery of Miḫal, felt compassion for
him and pardoned his life. In return, Miḫal became a loyal servant of ‘Osmān with his men and
a true friend.34
Whether the physical encounter depicted in ‘Osmānnāme is ‘Ārif’s invention or it
belongs to a rarely narrated/extinct version of the history of ‘Osmān’s reign, it is not the only
unusual element of this miniature. All the other early Ottoman heroes depicted in this
manuscript, such as Ayḳud Alp in the reign of ‘Osmān or Ḥācı İlbeyi and Yaḫşī Bey in the reign
32
Āşıkpaşazāde, op. cit., p. 99.
33
See Neşrī, op. cit., p. 74-77.
34
“‫ﺒﻬﺎﺪﺮ اﻮﻠﻤﻐﻴﻦ اﻠﺪﺮﻤﻜﻪ ﻘﻴﺎﻤﻴﺐ ﻜﻨﺎهﻦ ﻋﻔﻮ اﻴﺪﺐ اﺰاﺪ اﺘﺪى ﻜﻮﺴﻪ ﻤﺨﺎﻞ ﺪﺨﻰ هﻤﺎﻦ ﺠﺎﻦ ﻮ ﺪﻠﺪﻦ ﻋﺛﻤﺎﻦ ﺒﻜﻪ اﺘﺒﺎﻋﻴﻠﻪ ﻨﻮﻜﺮ اﻮﻠﺐ ﻜﺮﭽﻚ ﻤﺤﺒﻰ اﻮﻠﺪى‬
‫ﻴﺎﻨﻨﻪ ﺨﻴﻠﻰ ﻴﻜﻴﺖ ﺠﻤﻊ اﻮﻠﺐ ﺪﻮﻨﺐ اﺴﻜﻰ ﺸﻬﺮ ﺒﻜﻨﻮﻚ ﺨﻠﻘﻨﻰ ﻤﻨﻬﺰﻢ ﻘﻠﺐ ﺨﺮﻤﻦ ﻘﻴﺎ ﻜﺎﻔﺮﻠﺮﻴﻨﻚ ﺘﻜﻮﺮى ﻜﻮﺴﻪ ﻤﺨﺎﻠﻰ ﻄﻮﺘﺪﻠﺮ اﻨﺪﻦ ﻋﺛﻤﺎﻦ ﺒﻚ ﻜﻮﺴﻪ ﻤﺨﺎﻠﻰ‬
‫”ﻋﺛﻤﺎﻨﻚ ﻴﺎﻨﻨﻪ‬Ibid., p. 76.
133
of Murād I, are shown in individual acts of bravery, fighting against the enemies of the
Ottoman family. In contrast, Köse Miḫal, who had played an important role in many early
Ottoman conquests, is depicted fighting against ‘Osmān.
Later in the text, in the conversion scene (45b), Köse Miḫal is the representative of the
defeated religion. (Figure 48) He asks ‘Osmān to teach him the Islamic oath and raises his
finger to deliver the Islamic formula. In this way he embraces the—true—faith and liberates
himself from blasphemy.35 He becomes clean of polytheism and of intoxicated perverseness.
Upon Miḫal’s conversion, ‘Osmān cries out of joy and showers Miḫal’s head with gems. It was
‘Ārif writes, “as if an ocean of water passed over their head.”36
In the accounts of Āşıkpaşazāde, Neşrī, and Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi the conversion of Miḫal is
reported with slight variances in detail. The timing of this incident is similar in these three
accounts and in ‘Osmānnāme. After the successful defeat of the united forces of the lords of
Kestel and Kite, the warriors led by ‘Osmān hasten their attacks on the castle of Bursa. With
the recent military successes and their financial benefits, the Ottoman entity composed of an
alliance of warlords under the leadership of ‘Osmān, appears to have gained much confidence
and momentum. All of the accounts mentioned write about the desire of the warlords to wage
non-stop warfare against the Byzantine lords in the vicinity.37
At this conjuncture, the warlords ask their leader, ‘Osmān, to summon Miḫal and to
offer him the option of conversion or death. It seems that Miḫal’s shared credence with most
35
“‫ ﺒﻴﺎﻮﺮﺪ اﻴﻤﺎﻦ ﻮ اﺰ ﻜﻔﺮ ﺮﺴﺖ‬/ ‫‘ ”ﺒﻜﻔﺖ اﻴﻦ ﻮ ﺒﺮ ﺪاﺸﺖ اﻨﻜﺸﺖ ﺪﺴﺖ‬Osmānnāme folio 45b, Grube, op. cit., p. 223.
36
“‫ ﻜﻪ ﭽﻮﻦ ﺁﺐ ﺪﺮﻴﺎ ﻜﺬﺸﺘﺶ ﺰ ﺴﺮ‬/‫ ﺒﻔﺮﻘﺶ ﺒﻔﺸﺎﻨﺪ هﻤﻪ ﭽﻨﺪﺎﻦ ﻜﻬﺮ‬//‫ ﺒﺮ اﻤﺪ ﻏﺮﻴﻮ اﺰ ﺸﻪ ﻠﺸﻜﺮى‬/‫ ”ﺸﺪ اﺰ ﺸﺮﻚ ﻮ ﻄﻐﻴﺎﻦ ﺴﻚ ﺮﻩ ﺒﺮى‬Ibid. Op.
Cit. Here there is also play with a secondary meaning of “‫( ”ﻄﻐﻴﺎﻦ‬overflowing rage of sea) and the following water-
related metaphors.
37
Āşıkpaşazāde, op. cit., p. 106, 107; Neşrī, op. cit., p. 119; Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi, op. cit., p. 41, 42.
134
of their enemies formed a problem of trust or, not unrelated to this possible concern, Miḫal’s
closeness to their leader had caused jealousy.
In all three historical accounts Köse Miḫal hastens to the call. In Neşrī’s dry narration,
where Miḫal immediately and plainly asks to be guided into conversion, his decision seems
based on reasons more practical—i.e. physical survival—than spiritual. Āşıkpaşazāde adds that
Miḫal told his fellow warriors that the prophet Muḥammed had commanded him to convert in
his dream. Once again Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi uses a language similar to ‘Ārif’s in ‘Osmānnāme for he
explains that Miḫal asked ‘Osmān to teach him the Islamic oath and that with the conversion,
Miḫal attained the opportunity of happiness in both worlds.38 Instead of a dream with the
Islamic prophet, Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi states that Miḫal already had the burning desire to convert.
Oruç’s account displays striking differences with the three narratives discussed above.
Accordingly, Miḫal’s conversion occurs at the very beginning of ‘Osmān’ career. As it is
mentioned previously, Miḫal approaches the encampment of ‘Osmān and his men in the
morning after the wedding of ‘Osmān and Şeyḫ Edebali’s daughter. After the consummation of
the wedding the previous night, in the morning, ‘Osmān has performed ablution and his
morning prayer. He then has mounted and galloped his horse with his warrior companions.
Later, they have gone hunting following custom. It is on their return trip that they see a fully
armored Greek warrior approaching them from a cloud of dust. 39 This warrior, who then asks
for ‘Osmān, is, of course, no other than Miḫal.
Upon being shown to ‘Osmān, Miḫal drops on his knees and says that in his dream the
night before, he has seen the Islamic prophet who taught him the Islamic oath, the Fātiḥa and
38
Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi, op. cit., p. 43. Compare with the lines: “‫ ﺒﺪاﻦ ﺪﻴﻦ ﻮ ﺪﻨﻴﺎﻢ ﺁﺒﺎﺪ ﻜﻦ‬/ ‫”ﺒﻤﻦ ﻘﻮﻞ اﺴﻠﺎﻢ ﺮا ﻴﺎﺪ ﻜﻦ‬in ‘Osmānnāme
folio 45b, Grube, op. cit., p. 223.
39
Oruç, op. cit., p. 25, 26. Oruç gives the name of Şeyḫ Edebali’s daughter as Rābia.
135
the Iḫlāṣ suras and gave him the name “‘Abdullah”. Muḥammed then told him to find ‘Osmān
and join his men in their battles and conquests on behalf of Islam (ġazā). Miḫal repeats the
Islamic oath before ‘Osmān and converts to Islam. In this way, ‘Osmān enacts in actuality what
the Islamic prophet had done in Miḫal’s dream.
In the miniature of Miḫal’s conversion in ‘Osmānnāme there are two groups of figures.
(Figure 48) At the forefront, there is a group of six men wearing clothes often worn by the
military. They appear to be immersed in fervent discussion. This image might very well allude
to the discussion of the warlords on the future direction of their joint raids and on the theme
of Miḫal’s conversion: a discussion confirmed by Āşıkpaşazāde, Neşrī, and Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi in
their accounts.
Above them and in the center of the miniature the Ottoman ruler is seated on a stately
throne. To his left, three figures are seated witnessing the conversion. To ‘Osmān’s right there
are two young guards who seem to be walking towards Miḫal carrying maces.40 To display the
height of the throne, and hence, to underline the superior hierarchal position of ‘Osmān, the
miniature includes a ladder of two big steps placed at the foot of the throne. In front of the two
stepped ladder and before Köse Miḫal, a tray of fruits (quince?) is placed.
In academic literature, the trays of fruits that are typical to reception and other courtly
scenes are hardly ever considered details of interest or value. However like any other detail in
miniatures, and especially when these miniatures accompany historical texts, they have the
potential to transform into elements that are indispensible in understanding the narrative of
the image. In ‘Osmānnāme, the position of the tray fruits in this miniature, and on folio 56b
(Figure 46), where the first Ottoman ruler is declaring and acting on his decision to abdicate in
40
The presence of these mace carrying guards is likely a hint at Miḫal’s unfavorable prospects in the case of his
reluctance to convert.
136
favor of his son Orḫān, communicate to the viewer the nature of the relationship between the
ruler and those he receives in each instance at his court.
In both cases, the reception is depicted as a positive event. ‘Osmān’s body and face are
turned towards Orḫān and Miḫal and both “guests” are offered trays with an abundance of
fruits placed before them. In both cases the giant steps emphasize the height of the Ottoman
ruler’s—typically hexagonal—throne in exterior scenes otherwise lacking in references to the
ruler’s majesty. (Figures 46 and 48)However, whereas in the scene with Orḫān the trays are
placed to the left of the throne, in the conversion scene, the painter working in ‘Ārif’s team
placed them right in front of the two giant steps at the feet of ‘Osmān’s throne, certainly not a
usual place for fruit trays.
The choice concerning the placement of the trays is no arbitrary decision: the positions
of the trays confirm the approved seating of the “guests” in the image. While Orḫān is seated
to one side of his ruler-father as in a regular reception scene (Figure 46), Miḫal is seated at the
feet of ‘Osmān’s throne before the two giant steps. (Figure 48) In order to tell ‘Osmān of his
wish to convert to Islam, he has to look up as it is depicted in the miniature. Consequently, in
the conversion scene, the height of the throne and hence the might of ‘Osmān—both
immediately as himself and more importantly as the founding member of the Ottoman
dynasty—is stated vis-à-vis the “belittled” Christian warlord Köse Miḫal. As a result, a typical
narrative detail in this reception scene, the fruit tray, becomes a functional element that
confirms the physical—and by extension social and political—space deemed appropriate for a
Christian ally by the Ottoman conception of order in the 1550s, when the image was concocted.
The thematic and stylistic choices made in this conversion scene as well as in the other
two miniatures discussed here—the representation of ‘Osmān defeating Köse Miḫal and the
137
depiction of the Bilecik incident—define the nature and boundaries of a possible and approved
alliance between Christian dignitaries and Ottoman rulers. The Bilecik incident shows the
untrustworthiness of a Christian ally whereas the miniature where Miḫal is seen fighting
‘Osmān provides a perfect opportunity to display the potential aggression inherent in this type
of relationship.
Furthermore, these miniatures are very careful in stating that such a relationship
between a Muslim and a Christian could never endure time when both parties involved claim
equal footing, or better put, when the Muslim/Ottoman side is not superior. Once again, the
case of the lord of Bilecik, a regional leader not inferior but perhaps slightly superior in
standing to ‘Osmān, is an example to the point. In the case of Köse Miḫal, the inequality
between the two parties could not have been more deliberately stated.
In ‘Osmānnāme their friendship is made possible only after Miḫal is subjected to
humiliation: in the first representation, he is defeated and escapes from death thanks to the
pity ‘Osmān feels for his abject state. (Figure 47) Later, turban in hand and on his knees on the
ground, he pleads to ‘Osmān to guide him to Islam while the latter, with the inexpressive royal
poise of the Ottoman classical style, looks down at him from his hexagonal throne.(Figure 48)
Judging from the three instances depicted, ‘Osmānnāme’s position on Muslim/Ottoman-
Christian friendships seems clear enough: a long-lasting comradeship with a Christian ally is
impossible. Such a relationship is inherently antagonistic and will, sooner or later, end in the
treachery of the Christian side. On the other hand, if the Christian side acknowledges his
natural inferiority and subjects himself to Ottoman authority and to Islam, the situation
changes. He is then not a Christian ally, but an Ottoman subject. In this way, Köse Miḫal, the
Christian friend and partner-in-battle of Osmān, is turned in ‘Osmānnāme into the proto-type of
138
the Christian-convert vizier serving the Ottoman sultan, a common feature in ‘Ārif’s
environment and an approved participant in the Ottoman world order.
The emphasis on the importance of fighting for Islam and against the Christian infidel
in the Ottoman mission, as it is represented and established in the first thirteen images, is
carried through the manuscript. Even though we know from other sources such as the four
histories we have been using for comparison that the Anatolian principality of
Germiyanoğulları and the Tatars were causing at least as many problems for the Ottoman
enterprise as the Byzantine warlords during the reigns of ‘Osmān and Orḫān, no visual
representation of physical conflict against them made it to ‘Osmānnāme.41
The acquisition of the Karesi principality at the time of Orḫān is not represented,
either. In its stead, the death of Tursun Bey who was from the Karesi dynasty and who had
chosen to be an Ottoman agent and ally is included on folio 89b.(Figure 49) While the conflict
with the ruling member of the Karesis, Aclan Bey, is hence touched on rather tangentially, the
depiction resembles the death scene of an Ottoman hero shot in battle, rather than an episode
in Ottoman rivalry with a neighboring Anatolian principality.42
Likewise, the increasingly aggressive rivalry with the Karaman principality is not
represented until the reign of Bayezıd, when the Ottoman ruler’s victory of this greatest of the
post-Selçuk principalities precipitated the union of the Anatolian beys against the upwardly
mobile Ottomans. The only miniature that is related to the sour Ottoman-Karaman relations
before Bayezıd is the depiction on folio 150a of Murād’s daughter Nefīse asking for her father’s
41
For some examples on the relations with Germiyanoğulları and the Tatars see Āşıkpaşazāde, op. cit., p. 97, 101,
103, 108, 109, Neşrī, op. cit., p. 87, 89, 95, 123, 125, and Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi, op. cit., p. 45, 46, 151, 156, etc.
42
For comparison see Süleymānnāme folio 235a. Also produced in Atıl, op. cit., p. 138.
139
pardon for her husband the Bey of Karaman. (Figure 50) Once again, this, too, is a tangential
reference at best.
The impossibility of a friendship between a Muslim Ottoman and Christian on equal
standing is not surprising in the ideological framework of holy war (ġazā). Neither is the
underlining of the war against the infidel so unusual in this volume on early Ottoman history.
What is particular here is the rigorously systematic articulation of this vision in the visual
program of ‘Osmānnāme. It appears that at times the formulation of this first rule of the
Ottoman order on Muslim Ottoman-Christian relations was given priority over the attempt to
narrate history. In the same vein, earlier chronicles were used principally as useful references
in the phrasing of this rule, rather than as foundational blocks for a more reliable account. The
manipulation of primary sources becomes even more evident in the second rule of the Ottoman
order: the rule of succession.
e. SUCCESSION MATTERS
One issue that has to be made clear before we start is that practically, there was no rule
determining which son was to inherit the throne during the reigns of the first four Ottoman
rulers. Except for the rule that sovereignty passed from father to son, and that it was not
divided between the siblings but passed intact to one sibling,43 there were no other regulations
for dynastic succession at the time of Sulṭān Süleymān, either.
43
Both of these rules seem to be established in practice during or soon after ‘Osmān’s reign. In written form, in
the law code of Mehmed II it is stated that it is acceptable for the prince upon whom sovereignty is bestowed by
God, to kill his brothers for the sake of public order (“ve her kimesneye evladımdan saltanat müyesser ola,
karındaşların nizām-ı ālem için katl itmek münasibdir asker ülemā dahi tecviz etmişdir anınla āmil ola,”
Kanunnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān, TOEM eki, Istanbul, 1330, p. 27. In ‘Osmānnāme, the opposition to shared dominion is
clearly and forcefully stated in Orḫān’s address to his brother in the meeting scene on folio 62b.
140
The lack of any regulations in the struggle for sovereignty between brothers, on the
one hand provided a test of will and luck for the princes. The brother who survived, became
the sovereign. In this scheme, success became a clear indicator not only of a stronger stamina,
but also of divine favor.
At the same time, the lawlessness of the fraternal competition had caused cruel results.
Towards the end of the 1550, when ‘Osmānnāme was being prepared44, Sulṭān Süleymān was
bearing the historical—if not psychological—burden of the legacy of a father who had killed his
own father, all of his brothers, and his nephews. In addition, by ordering the murder of his
oldest son Muṣṭafā in 1553, Süleymān, himself had started building a similar legacy on the
rubbles of his earlier and much more desirable reputation of a just ruler. In the late 1550s, the
presence of two remaining sons only promised more bloodshed, whether between the father
and his sons or between the sons themselves. I believe it is the coalescence of this precarious
political environment with the obsessive streak for a life-governing order that resulted in the
particular representation of the ideal dynastic succession formulated in ‘Osmānnāme.
The first Ottoman dynastic succession from ‘Osmān to his son Orḫān is represented in
‘Osmānnāme with two images. The first image on folio 56b is identified by Grube as a depiction
of ‘Osmān with his court. (Figure 46) An important detail that is missing in Grube’s description
is that this image also depicts the abdication of the first Ottoman ruler in favor of his son
Orḫān.
44
As it has been stated earlier, according to Grube, the extant part of ‘Osmānnāme was prepared in the 1550s.
(Grube, op. cit., p. 216) It is quite probable that it was finished in 1558 like the first and the last volumes of the
same project, namely Enbiyānāme and Süleymānnāme, or at least around this date. This is merely a few years
(around five) after Prince Mustafa’s murder in 1553, and a short time before the rebellion of Prince Bayezıd in
1559 against his father provoked by what the prince saw as his father’s preference for his older brother Selīm. Atıl
also estimates the completion date of around1558 for the manuscript. See Atıl, op. cit., p. 60-61. Grube’s and Atıl’s
estimates have been cited before in this thesis. See footnote 56 in chapter two.
141
When the old shah granted his purpose
The countenance of the new shah became filled with embarrassment
Then he came down from his throne of gold

He sat him on that throne and tied around him his (royal) belt45
The text continues with the Ottoman (and allied) dignitaries submitting their loyalty to
Orḫān and hence, confirming his ascension. The military commanders in their entirety throw
themselves at the feet of his (Orḫān’s) throne. In fact, there was so much kissing of the
ground—as if the ground were (the lover’s) cheek—‘Ārif writes that it became fully
embroidered like a woven fabric.46 The old dignitaries—or chieftains—also delivered fresh
prayers on the new shah for a long and festive reign.47
The image, which is flanked at the top and the bottom by the two lines of text
translated and paraphrased above, does not depict the event narrated in the text on the same
page, but the moment before. ‘Osmān, still seated on his throne is seen communicating his
intention to his son and two others.
The image is organized in three horizontal planes. The lower plane includes two
courtiers chatting with a tray of pomegranates before them. The one on the right is wearing an
unadorned tunic and a caftan,48 and has a concerned expression on his face. He appears to be
45
“‫ ﻨﺸﺎﻨﺪ ﺶ ﺒﺮ اﻦ ﺘﺨﺖ ﻮ ﺒﺴﺘﺶ ﻜﻤﺮ‬/‫ ﻔﺮﻮﺪ ﺁﻤﺪ ﺁﻨﻜﻪ ﺨﺪ اﺰ ﺘﺨﺖ ﺰﺮ‬//‫ ﺮخ ﺸﺎﻩ ﻨﻮ ﺮا ﭙﺮ ﺁﺰﺮﻢ ﻜﺮﺪ‬/‫”ﭽﻮ ﺸﺎﻩ ﻜﻬﻦ ﻋﺰﻢ ﺮا ﻜﺮﻢ ﻜﺮﺪ‬
‘Osmānnāme folio 56b. Grube, op. cit., p. color plate XLIII.
46
“‫ ﭙﺮ اﺰ ﻨﻘﺶ ﻜﺮﺪﻨﺪ ﻤﻨﺴﻮج ﻮاﺮ‬/‫‘”ﺰ ﺒﺲ ﺨﺎﮎ ﺒﻮﺴﻰ ﺰﺰﻤﻴﻦ ﺮا ﻋﺬاﺮ‬Osmānnāme folio 56b. Grube, op. cit., p. color plate XLIII.
47
“‫ ﺪﻋﺎ ﺘﺎﺰﻩ ﻜﺮﺪﻨﺪ ﺒﺮ ﺸﺎﻩ ﻨﻮ‬/‫‘”ﻤﻬﺎﻦ ﻜﻬﻦ ﻜﺸﺘﻪ ﭽﻮﻦ ﻤﺎﻩ ﻨﻮ‬Osmānnāme folio 56b. Grube, op. cit., p. color plate XLIII. Here, Orḫān
is compared to the new moon.
48
The modest outfit of this figure might signify that he pertained to the religious-scholarly elite, whereas the
more ostentatious clothes of his companion possibly indicate that he was a member of the military elite, at this
time mainly composed of warlords. Indeed the cross-buttoned tunic of the latter resembles those worn by
commanders in battle scenes in ‘Osmānnāme and Süleymānnāme and by princes in hunting scenes in Süleymānnāme.
See, for example, folios 154b, 170b, and 462b in Süleymānnāme published in Esin Atıl, Süleymanname: the illustrated
history of Süleyman the Magnificent (New York, Harry N. Abrams, Inc.: 1986), p. 123, 125, 193 See also folios 41b, 109,
and 132a in ‘Osmānnāme published in Grube, op. cit., p. 225, 231, 232.
142
pointing to the plane above them, where the main event (the pronouncement of the
abdication) is taking place. His companion, who is depicted with a much more ostentatious
outfit, is pulling at his hand as if trying to get his attention.
On the same plane, but in the center, a young servant is pouring a drink from a long
necked vessel into a cup. His back is turned towards the remaining figures on this plane. These
remaining figures are two musicians, one of whom is playing the reed flute (ney) and the other
a stringed instrument that resembles a type of saz—an instrument that makes reference to the
Anatolian nomadic traditions of the Ottoman principality at the time.
The middle plane constitutes the center of the image. In its center, ‘Osmān is seated on
a high throne, talking towards the group seated on his left. The audience of the Ottoman ruler
is a group of three that is composed of his son Orḫān and two dignitaries. The outfits of the
dignitaries sitting beside the young prince repeat the one-modest-the other decorated robe
pattern of the two dignitaries at the lower plane discussed previously. The identical
expressions on the faces of both of these figures, accentuated by their raised eyebrows, give
the impression that they are caught at a rather uncomfortable situation to which they do not
quite know how to react. Before these figures are two trays of fruits. The functional
significance of the fruit trays was discussed earlier in the section on Köse Miḫal’s conversion
scene.
In contrast to the conversion scene, in this miniature, the hierarchy between ‘Osmān
and Orḫān is based more on the traditional respect that is expected from a son towards his
father than on political authority. That is not to say that the difference in the political
authority between the ruler-father seated on his mighty throne and his subject-son placed on
the ground with his hands submissively joined in his lap are ignored. However, the lowered
143
eyes of the beardless heir-prince49 as well as the description of his expression of
embarrassment in the text underline filial respect more than respect for political authority.
(Figure 46) The contrast between ‘Osmān’s decided and self-confident disposition, which is
apparent both in his image and in his words addressed to his son, and Orḫān’s bashful,
uncomfortable, and unsure psychological state, which is likewise represented in image and in
text, is further underlined by the depictions of the trees behind each figure.
The two trees along with other flora and the stylized cloudy sky constitute the third
and uppermost plane of the miniature. Here, the giant carnations moving in various directions
and the contrasting postures of the two trees—one steady and the other moving—give support
to the interpretation that this upper plane does not merely form a natural background to the
incident. After all, unless there is a storm, it is not normal for vegetation to move in opposite
directions, and neither the Ottoman ruler nor those in his presence appear to be disturbed by a
strong wind.
In this miniature, where there are only two trees depicted, I interpret that the one
behind the sultan reflects the psychological state of ‘Osmān as at ease and tranquil, and the
tree behind his son, the corresponding psychological state of Orḫān as uncomfortable,
nervous, and bashful. It seems very likely that the unnaturally big carnations, which are along
with tulips the most well-known figures of Ottoman textiles and ceramics especially from the
sixteenth century onwards, add a further shade of meaning to the narrative of the miniature.
Unfortunately, at this point I am not prepared to make any suggestions as to what they might
49
According to Ottoman customs a prince could only grow a beard after his ascension to the throne as ruler. On
this issue see İ. H. Uzunçarşılı. Osmanlı Devletinin Saray Teşkilatı, Ankara, 1988, p. 75, 188. Uzunçarşılı does not give a
date for the commencement of this tradition. Even though we cannot be sure that this dynastic tradition was
already being followed so early in Ottoman history, it is very likely that it was in practice at the time of Süleyman
when the manuscript was produced.
144
signify. I can contend, on the other hand, that the repetition in the text of the adjectives old
(‫ )ﻜﻬﻦ‬and new (‫ )ﻨﻮ‬emphasizes the age difference as a part of the father-son relationship while
at the same time, confirming the passing of political authority from the older ‘Osmān to his
son Orḫān as natural and necessary—one might say as the changing of the phases of the moon
with Orḫān as the new moon (‫ )ﻤﺎﻩ ﻨﻮ‬to which he is likened on this page.50
About five folios later, on folio 62b, we encounter the second illustrated page that
describes what one might see as the second stage of Orḫān’s succession after his father as the
leader of the Ottoman enterprise. (Figure 48) The ruler seated on a carpet on the floor is
identified by Grube as ‘Osmān, who “in ill health, announces his desire to have his son Orhān
recognized as his deputy.” “For that reason” Grube continues, “he places him on a throne and
presents him to members of his court.”51 Once the text on the page is read, however, we see
that this identification is erroneous.
On this page, ‘Ārif informs us that the chieftains had gathered in the royal court (‫)ﺒﺎﺮﻜﺎﻩ‬.
He continues:
This is what he said then, the illustrious shah

In that assembly with his elevated brother
Today, we and you, both of us are from the same father

We are worthy of the crown as well as the throne and the royal belt
(Having) two shahs on one throne is (having) the danger of an error

Two heads in a body is not right for a person52
When one chessboard is the throne for two shahs,

There would be no escape for one from checkmate
50
“‫ ﺪﻋﺎ ﺘﺎﺰﻩ ﻜﺮﺪﻨﺪ ﺒﺮ ﺸﺎﻩ ﻨﻮ‬/‫ ” ﻤﻬﺎﻦ ﻜﻬﻦ ﻜﺸﺘﻪ ﭽﻮﻦ ﻤﺎﻩ ﻨﻮ‬Folio 56b. Grube, op. cit., p. Color plate XLIII.
51
52
Here the poet is making a pun (tacnīs) on the word “‫ ”ﺘﻨﻰ‬that means “a body” or “a person” as well as “a brother-
german.”
145
It is on this account that the sign of the constellation of Gemini
Is the shooting target for the celestial arrow
(Our) father had bestowed the ownership of the crown on me

He had sat me on the throne of sovereignty53
Even lacking the folios in between these two miniatures, the narrated (hi)story is clear:
Orḫān, who was overtly chosen by his father ‘Osmān to succeed him as a ruler, is here seen
holding an assembly with his brother to confirm his position. After warning against the
alternative of shared sovereignty, he begins to articulate the basis of his legitimacy as the sole
leader: his father’s publicly declared choice.
Consequently, the figure sitting on the carpet on the floor must be Orḫān while the
other sitting on the throne is his brother ‘Alā’eddīn. Even though it is ‘Alā’eddīn who is
depicted on a throne, the contrast between his uncomfortable posture sitting at the edge of his
seat slightly leaning forward and his avoiding of Orḫān’s gaze and Orḫān’s sultan-like cross-
legged sitting position and confident gaze leave no doubt as to who is the dominant figure in
this miniature. (Figure 48)
We should also note that the throne ‘Alā’eddīn is granted is not the hexagonal
sovereign’s throne but the kind that is offered to honored guests such as the corsair-turned-
admiral Barbaros Ḫayreddīn and the Safavid renegade prince Alḳas Mīrzā, who were depicted
on similar thrones as Sulṭān Süleymān’s guests in Süleymānnāme.54 Moreover, the robust tree
53
‫ ﺪﺮ اﻦ اﻨﺠﻤﻦ ﺒﺎ ﺒﺮاﺪﺮ ﺒﻠﻨﺪ‬/‫ﭽﻨﻴﻦ ﻜﻔﺖ اﻨﻜﻪ ﺸﻪ اﺮﺠﻤﻨﺪ‬
‫ ﺴﺰاﻮاﺮ ﺘﺎﺠﻴﻢ ﻮ ﺘﺨﺖ ﻮ ﻜﻤﺮ‬/‫ﻜﻨﻮﻦ ﻤﺎ ﻮﺘﻮ هﺮ ﺪﻮ اﺰ ﻴﮏ ﭙﺪﺮ‬
‫ ﺘﻨى ﺮا ﺪﻮ ﺴﺮ ﺪﺮ ﺒﺪﻦ ﻨﻴﺴﺖ ﺮاﺴﺖ‬/‫ﺪﻮ ﺸﻪ ﺒﺮ ﻴﮏ اﻮﺮﻨﮏ ﺒﻴﻢ ﺨﻄﺎﺴﺖ‬
‫ﻨﺒﻮﺪ ﻴﮑﯽ ﺮا ﻜﺰﻴ‬ ‫ ﺰ‬/‫ﺪﻮ ﺸﻪ ﺮا ﭽﻮ ﻴﮏ ﻋﺮﺼﻪ ﺒﺎﺸﺪ ﺴﺮﻴﺮ‬
‫ ﻨﺸﺎﻨﻪ ﻜﻪ ﺘﻴﺮاﺨﺘﺮ ﺒﻮﺪ‬/‫اﺰ اﻨﺮﻮ ﻜﻪ ﺠﻮﺰا ﺪﻮﭙﻴﮑﺮ ﺒﻮﺪ‬
‫ ﻨﺸﺎﺎﻨﻴﺪﻩ ﺒﺮ ﺘﺨﺖ ﺸاهﻰ ﻤﺮ‬/‫ﭙﺪﺮ ﺪاﺪﻩ ﺼﺎﺤﺐ ﻜﻼهﻰ ﻤﺮا‬
‘Osmānnāme 62b. Grube, op. cit., p. 225.
146
behind Orḫān at the top of the image offers us another example of tree symbolism in ‘Ārif’s
work. Representing the devlet of the Ottoman dynasty, in this instance embodied by Orḫān, this
fully leaved and still tree appears to have caused a kind of awe in the two pairs of cypresses on
its either side as these four trees are bent back in unnatural postures.
The accurate identification of these two images, in fact, raises many more questions
about the way the first Ottoman succession story is dealt with in ‘Osmānnāme. What we see
from the reading of the text and the visual narration on these two illustrated pages is that
‘Ārif’s version of how political authority was transferred from ‘Osmān to Orḫān differs notably
form what received knowledge has informed contemporary scholarship on early Ottoman
history. In the following section, I will compare ‘Osmānnāme’s version discussed above with the
way the succession is explained in Āşıkpaşazāde, Neşrī, Oruç, and Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi.
f. ORḪĀN’S SUCCESSION STORY ACCORDING TO OTHER SOURCES
In all four of the histories that we have been using for comparison the issue of
Orḫān’s succession is essentially linked with the conquest of Bursa. The accounts of
Āşıkpaşazāde, Neşrī, and Oruç with their particularly explanatory tone on this issue reveal that
there was an ongoing discussion as to whether or not ‘Osmān was alive at the time of the
conquest, and if he was, why he did not lead the army himself instead of his son Orḫān.
Āşıkpaşazāde, for example, takes up the issue at the end of the section on the conquest of
Bursa in the form of a dialogue between two imaginary people, one asking the questions, and
the other providing the answers.
54
Süleymānnāme folios 360a and 471b respectively, published in Esin Atıl, Süleymanname: the illustrated history of
Süleyman the Magnificent (New York, Harry N. Abrams, Inc.: 1986), p. 168, 195.
147
In all four accounts, ‘Osmān’s health problem related to his feet is given as one
of the primary reasons.55 Neşrī explicitly states that he had gout (‫)ﻨﻘﺮﺲ‬. As another principal
reason, Āşıkpaşazāde, Neşrī, and Oruç list ‘Osmān’s desire for his son to obtain a glorious name
for himself in his (‘Osmān’s) lifetime. Neşrī writes that ‘Osmān wished his son Orḫān to make a
glorious name for himself so that after ‘Osmān’s death, the people respected and obeyed him.56
Similarly Oruç explains that ‘Osmān wanted the people and the country to support his son
during his own tenure.57 In fact, Āşıkpaşazāde, Neşrī, and Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi write explicitly
that it was not merely as a result of the circumstances that Orḫān had to lead the assault
against Bursa, but that ‘Osmān sent his son himself. Including Orḫān’s maturity in age as a
further reason for his leadership in the conquest of Bursa, Āşıkpaşazāde also mentions that
Orḫān had two sons at the time.58
It is clear from these sources that ‘Osmān decided to use the expedition on Bursa to
publicly communicate his preference for Orḫān’s succession after his death, as well as to give
his son a head start during his own reign. What is not clear is whether he merely designated
his military authority to his son for this expedition; he made his son his commander-in-chief
and heir to the throne; or he resigned both his military and political authority to Orḫān before
the conquest of Bursa.
‘Osmān’s death towards the end of the Bursa expedition makes it impossible to
determine if he left the military leadership of his men to Orḫān only for one particular
55
See Āşıkpaşazāde, op. cit., p. 111, 112; Oruç, op. cit., p. 31; Neşrī, op. cit., p. 136-7; Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi, op. cit., p.48.
56
“Ve dahi bunı kasd itdi-kim oğlı Orḫān kendü zamanında şevket tutub nâmdâr ola ki, kendüden sonar halk aña
ita‘at göstereler.” Neşrī, op. cit., p. 137.
57
Oruç, op. cit., p. 31.
58
Āşıkpaşazāde, op. cit., p.112.
148
expedition or if he designated Orḫān his commander-in-chief from henceforth. However, the
reports on the interpretation of ‘Osmān’s decision to send Orḫān to this rather important
military feat emphasizing his physical disability and wish to promote his son suggest that it
was probably not a one-time-only decision. Besides, except for Oruç, all of our sources relate
how ‘Osmān sent his son as commander on earlier occasions, such as in the conquests of Kara
Tekin (‫ )ﻘﺮﻩ ﺘﻜﻦ‬and Kara Çepiş (‫)ﻘﺮﻩ ﭽﭙﺶ‬.59 Still, the issue of how much and what kind of
authority ‘Osmān transferred to Orḫān remains fuzzy. Here, our sources differ in their reports.
Among the four sources, that of Oruç is the least detailed; nevertheless it is quite
interesting in its interpretation of Orḫān’s sovereignty. According to Oruç, Orḫān became the
sole sovereign of the Ottoman principality after his father’s death. I contend that his usage of
the word “sole” (müstaḳil) in his narration is significant as he repeats it in relation to Orḫān’s
relationship with his brother. He writes: “Orḫān Ġāzī became the sole ruler (padişah) of the
country. Moreover, his brother ‘Alī Paşa gave up his beylerbeylik and gave it to Orḫān.”60
With his deliberate usage of the word “müstaḳil” Oruç distinguishes between individual
and shared sovereignty. Could this also mean that in Oruç’s opinion, Orḫān and his father
‘Osmān shared the sovereignty of the Ottoman principality while the latter was alive? It is hard
to say. The one deduction we can make is that Oruç felt the need to underline the unshared
character of Orḫān’s rule after his father’s death, perhaps because it was an argued point,
and/or perhaps he considered that it marked Ottoman political culture from the beginning.
59
Āşıkpaşazāde, op. cit., p. 108; Neşrī, op. cit., p. 124-129; Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi, op. cit., p.46-48. In Parmaksızoğlu’s
edition of Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi’s history, the castle of “Kara Çepiş” is referred to as “Karaciş” instead. Oruç writes
that ‘Osmān and Orḫān fought together and conquered new places like Iznik and Köprühisar. See Oruç, op. cit.,
p.29.
60
Oruç, op. cit., p. 34. Oruç refers to Orḫān’s brother as ‘Alī Paşa instead of ‘Alā’eddīn, the name used by
Āşıkpaşazāde, Neşrī, and Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi.
149
Neşrī on the other hand, clearly states that ‘Osmān entrusted the principality to Orḫān
and retired due to old age.61 In fact, he even compares ‘Osmān’s decision to the retirement of
Murād II to Manisa over a century later in 1444 and leaving the throne to his son Meḥmed II.
He says that the only difference between the two incidents was that Murād II later regretted
his decision, but ‘Osmān did not.62
Āşıkpaşazāde delimits the incident to a public statement of preference and a
transferring of military power. After ‘Osmān’s death, Āşıkpaşazāde writes, Orḫān held an
assembly with his brother ‘Alā’eddīn and the leaders of the ahī brotherhoods to discuss the
inheritance of his father. In this meeting, when ‘Alā’eddīn was asked by his brother Orḫān his
opinion on the distribution of their father’s inheritance, he said that the country needed “a
ruler (pādişāh) to shepherd it”, and the possessions of their father, who had been the former
ruler, should pass on to this new ruler. When Orḫān asked him to assume the role of the
shepherd, ‘Alā’eddīn replied, “Brother! The prayer and saintly support of our father is with
you. Because of this (his favor) in his own lifetime he had placed the military under your
leadership. Now the rank of being the shepherd is yours, as well.” The assembly of saints gave
consent to this order. 63
According to Āşıkpaşazāde, upon ‘Alā’eddīn’s refusal of his suggestion that ‘Alā’eddīn
lead the Ottoman principality, Orḫān offered his brother to be his vizier (paşa), instead.
Declining this offer as well, ‘Alā’eddīn asked for a village (Fodora) in the vicinity of Bursa, on
61
“El-hasıl beğliği Orḫān’s teslim idüb kendü pîr olub mütekâ‘id olmuşdı.” Neşrī, op. cit., p. 137.
62
Ibid. op. cit.
63
““Kardaş! Atamuzun du‘ası ve himmeti senün iledür. Anun içün kim kendü zamanında askeri sana koşmış idi.
İmdi çobanlık dahı senündür” dedi. Ve hem azizler dahı bu buyruğı kabul etdi.” Āşıkpaşazāde, op. cit., p. 115. The
assembly was held in the aḫī lodge of Aḫī Ḥasan.
150
the plain of Kite. Āşıkpaşazāde writes that ‘Alā’eddīn later constructed a dervish lodge and a
mescid in it environs.
Āşıkpaşazāde’s account of the meeting of the brothers witnessed by an assembly of
men, whose opinion and consent were deemed essential for the Ottomans, shows clearly that
he understood the military authority given to Orḫān in his father’s life time as different from
political authority. This understanding that the Ottoman ruler normally (and ideally?) held
two types of authority—military and political—and that he could, if he wished to, designate his
military authority to a second person was not unique to Āşıkpaşazāde.
It is interesting that Sulṭān Süleymān who was to start his rule about two centuries
later appears to have shared Āşıkpaşazāde’s idea of the ruler’s political authority as separate
and at the end superior to his military authority. Hence Süleymān designated two of his grand
viziers, first Ibrāhīm Paşa and than Rüstem Paşa as commander-in-chief for the first (1533-
1536) and the third Persian campaigns (1553-1555).
One should also bear in mind that this vision that permits an Ottoman ruler to resign
his military authority, even when it is temporarily, was not shared by all at the time of
Süleymān. The first Persian campaign increased the rumors that Ibrāhīm was acting like an
Ottoman sultan and accelerated his fall64; whereas in the third Persian campaign, Rüstem Paşa
fearing physical injury and/or a rebellion by the army that seemed to reject his authority had
to call the sultan to lead the army instead. Nor does this vision seem to be commonly accepted
at the time when Āşıkpaşazāde was writing his memoir-history in the final quarter of the
fifteenth century.
64
For a full account of Ibrāhīm Paşa’s life and career especially as it is related to the Ottoman imperial agenda,
refer to the doctorate thesis of Ebru Turan, The sultan's favorite : İbrahim Pasha and the making of the Ottoman
universal sovereignty in the reign of Sultan Süleyman (1516-1526) Thesis (Ph. D.) University of Chicago, Dept. of Near
Eastern Languages and Civilizations, March 2007.
151
In the history of Neşrī, the same meeting of the two brothers Orḫān and ‘Alā’eddīn
before the aḫīs is narrated for the most part similarly. The variance occurs in ‘Alā’eddīn’s reply
to Orḫān’s offer that he be the shepherd to the Ottoman flock. ‘Alā’eddīn replies that his father
in his life time had handed over the lordship to Orḫān. He continues that while Orḫān is
around, ‘Alā’eddīn could have no claim to leadership. “Besides” he adds, “you (Orḫān) are my
older brother, the substitute for my father.”65
Clearly, Neşrī sees ‘Osmān’s sending Orḫān as head of the army to conquer Bursa as a
transferring of total sovereign authority. As such, the meeting, which took place in Aḫī Ḥasan’s
lodge after ‘Osmān’s death, was a confirmation of ‘Osmān’s will concerning his succession.
Even though the confirmation of ‘Osmān’s decision by ‘Alā’eddīn and the aḫīs was important to
avoid any strife that might have led to the demise of the newly emerging principality, the
decision was already made prior to ‘Osmān’s death.
Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi’s account is less clear on this issue. First, he writes that ‘Osmān sent
Orḫān as commander against Bursa.66 At the same time, when writing about the negotiations
led by Miḫal during the same campaign for the submission of the Pınarbaşı castle to the
Ottomans, he refers to Orḫān as the ruler (pādişāh).67 Hence, he seems to observe no separation
between military and political authority at least at this stage of Ottoman political history: the
commander of the Ottoman forces was naturally the head of the political entity. However,
later in the text, when he writes of the aftermath of ‘Osmān’s death, he discerns a difference
65
“Atam hal-i hayatında beğlüği saña tefvīz kılmışdur. Sen tururken baña ne iş düşer. Sen heman benüm atam
yirine ulu karındaşum-sun” Neşrī, op. cit., p. 148, 149.
66
Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi, op. cit., p. 48.
67
Ibid., p. 50.
152
between Orḫān’s sovereignty before and after his father’s death. At the beginning of the
section on Orḫān’s ascension to the throne, he includes the couplet:
When the call of God the merciful reached ‘Osmān

Now the watch of sovereignty arrived at his son the brave Orḫān 68
In this way, Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi perceives Orḫān’s sovereignty that was approved and even
proposed by his father as de facto before his father’s death. Hence, only after his father’s death
does Orḫān attain his sovereignty de jure.
Interestingly, in Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi’s account the meeting with ‘Alā’eddīn occurs much
later, after the conquest of Izmit (Nicomedia) in 1337. Before he begins the narration of
‘Alā’eddīn’s visit to is brother Orḫān to make suggestions on government (to mint coins in the
name of the Ottoman sultan, to designate a specific dress code for the Ottoman soldiers, and to
augment the number of the infantry), Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi states that “many years before”
‘Alā’eddīn had decided with much maturity to leave the sovereignty to Orḫān.69
In this version, after ‘Alā’eddīn explains his suggestions, Orḫān asks him to be his vizier
and gives him the village of Fodora in the district of Kite. With many more flatteries and much
insistence, Orḫān manages to get an affirmative answer from ‘Alā’eddīn who has found
contentment away from political life up to that point. With such words, Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi’s
‘Alā’eddīn not only accepts the position of the vizier that he was made to deny in the accounts
of both Āşıkpaşazāde and Neşrī, but he is also given Fodora without his asking for it. In this
way, Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi draws a quite different portrait for the second Ottoman ruler.
68
“Yarlığayan Tanrının çağrısı ulaşınca ‘Osmān’a / Erişti şimdi beylik nevbeti oğlu yiğit Orḫān” Ibid., p. 53.
69
Ibid., p. 65.
153
Firstly, in his narration, Orḫān does not need the confirmation of his sovereignty by his
brother and the aḫīs. He does not even half-heartedly offer the leadership of the Ottoman
polity to ‘Alā’eddīn. Later, by accepting the suggestions of his brother and asking him to be his
vizier so that he could continue making recommendations, Orḫān demonstrates his confidence
in his own uncontested authority and his wisdom in recognizing good advise and beneficial
advisors.
Furthermore, Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi’s inclusion of Orḫān’s gesture of giving his brother the
village of Fodora exemplifies Orḫān’s generosity, which is absent in Āşıkpaşazāde and Neşrī’s
accounts, where the donation was presented as the consequence of a negotiation between the
two brothers. To sum up, Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi’s Orḫān is much more magnanimous, confident,
and stately. He is more of a sultan than a warlord.
How does ‘Ārif’s narration compare to those of Āşıkpaşazāde, Oruç, Neşrī, and
Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi? From the order of the miniatures, we can curtail that both of Orḫān’s
meetings, the one with his father and the one with his brother, occur in between a battle
where Orḫān led a principal role (possibly the conquest of the castle of Kara Tekin) as he is
depicted on folio 51b (Figure 48) and the capture of Aydos, which is the next scene depicted on
folio 70b (Figure 41). Consequently, it is very likely that ‘Ārif’s timing matches with those of
Āşıkpaşazāde and Neşrī. In other words, Orḫān is ordered to his father’s presence before the
full fledged assault on Bursa and convenes with his brother ‘Alā’eddīn after his father’s death
to discuss the issue of his father’s political and financial inheritance.
Overall, in ‘Ārif’s account the transition of power from ‘Osmān to Orḫān is very well-
defined and free of any ambiguities. In the visual program of ‘Osmānnāme this transition is
narrated in two stages. The first stage is marked by the absolute transferring of authority from
154
father to son and is represented in the text of the illustrated page by ‘Osmān’s descending the
throne and placing the belt of kingship around his son. Hence, on the issue of the transferring
of authority from father to son, ‘Ārif’s account is similar to Neşrī’s: ‘Osmān passes all of his
authority on to Orḫān and retires. Furthermore, the miniature informs the viewer that
‘Osmān’s abdication and “coronation” of Orḫān is done before a selected group of dignitaries.
The second stage of ‘Ārif’s version of this first dynastic succession story is much more
original. In ‘Osmānnāme, Orḫān does not offer the leadership of the Ottoman polity to his
brother ‘Alā’eddīn. Neither does ‘Alā’eddīn recommend to his brother that all of their father’s
property should be inherited by the son who would lead the Ottoman enterprise, as he does in
the histories of Āşıkpaşazāde and Neşrī. 70 In fact, in ‘Osmānnāme, at least at the initial stage of
the encounter, which is represented in the illustrated page, ‘Alā’eddīn does not open his
mouth to say a single word.71 (Figure 48)
As it was quoted and translated above, in ‘Ārif’s version, Orḫān first acknowledges that
as the sons of the same father, both he and ‘Alā’eddīn are worthy of lordship. After warning
against shared authority with many metaphors, Orḫān suggests the best nominee for
leadership: himself. He was, after all, given by their father the (rank of the) ownership of the
crown and installed by him on the throne of kingship.72 Possessing both the crown and the
70
While ‘Alā’eddīn’s recommendation has ‘Osmān’s physical inheritance as its starting point, it is clear that the
real issue at stake after their father’s death is his political inheritance. His material and territorial possessions
were seen basically in service of the Ottoman political enterprise.
71
We have seen earlier that in his Tāc’üt-Tevāriḥ, Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi does not narrate the meeting between the two
brothers after their father’s death. In its stead, he writes of another meeting in which ‘Alā’eddīn gives
recommendations to his brother towards the making of an administrative tradition for the young principality.
Orḫān’s offer to his brother of an advisory/ministerial position and the village of Fodora are incorporated in
Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi’s account to this second meeting. He also mentions that with a mature gesture, ‘Alā’eddīn had
yielded his claims on leadership “many years prior.” See Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi, op. cit., p. 67.
72
“‫ ﻨﺸﺎﻨﻴﺪﻩ ﺒﺮ ﺘﺨﺖ ﺸاهﻰ ﻤﺮ‬/‫‘ ”ﭙﺪﺮ ﺪاﺪﻩ ﺼﺎﺤﺐ ﻜﻼهﻰ ﻤﺮا‬Osmānnāme 62b, Grube, op. cit., p. 225.
See footnote 47 for the whole section.
155
throne, Orḫān appears in the representation to expect ‘Alā’eddīn’s overt acknowledgment of
his leadership, rather than showing willingness to engage in an open discussion of inheritance.
As such, ‘Ārif’s Orḫān is shown as the protagonist: a self-confident ruler, who always
takes the initiative. He is already the head of the Ottoman principality as he hosts his brother
‘Alā’eddīn. This is represented both by his words (his argument for the basis of his authority,
his warning of his brother) and by the visual details of the miniature described above (the
sitting positions, the type of throne offered to ‘Alā’eddīn, Orḫān’s awesome tree of devlet). In
this way, he is portrayed similar to how he appears in Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi’s account.
However, ‘Ārif’s account goes beyond the mere portrayal of the second Ottoman ruler.
In ‘Osmānnāme, we are also made aware of the perils of shared kingship. Moreover, inherent in
Orḫān’s warning against such an alternative that his brother ‘Alā’eddīn might to be
entertaining as a thought, one can discern the beginnings of a threat.
Orḫān first describes shared authority with dark metaphors: as an error, as something
not right and perverse (a body with two heads). Then his metaphors become more acute as he
warns his brother that sovereignty just like the chess board allows for only one shah. In fact,
when Orḫān adds that the two bodied constellation Gemini is the natural shooting target of the
heavens, he is merely one step away from threatening to shoot his brother with an arrow. In
other words, Orḫān communicates to his brother that sharing the leadership would be a
dangerous mistake that would bring trouble for him and that would eventually lead to
‘Alā’eddīn’s—though undesired, necessary—demise.
Once again, the improvisations in ‘Ārif’s narration, especially his emphasis on Orḫān’s
filial respect, the articulation of the perils of shared authority, and the switching of the
protagonist of the dialogue between the two brothers from ‘Alā’eddīn to Orḫān, bring to mind
156
the concerns of Şehnāmeci ‘Ārif’s patron, Sulṭān Süleymān, at the time of the manuscript’s
production between 1550 and 1560 (around 1558?).
These special circumstances also suggest an explanation for why the moment chosen
for depiction in the earlier abdication scene on folio 56b is not the actual descending of the
throne and/or the placement of the royal belt but the moment right before. (Figure 46) If one
does not know the incident explained in the text, the image resembles any other outdoors
courtly scene. On the other hand, while less interesting visually, this curious choice provides
the opportunity for the viewer to better observe the relationship between the father and the
son. Perhaps it is the emphasis placed upon the portrayal of the bashful and respectful son
before his dominant father—an emphasis realized both textually and visually—where we
should look for the reason(s) behind this artistic choice.
To put it in another way, in such a politically charged project as the Ottoman Şāhnāme
prepared in the years when dynastic succession caused the biggest headache for the old and
ailing sultan, the smooth, well-defined, and almost idealized transition of power ‘Ārif narrated
in ‘Osmānnāme from the founder of the dynasty to his son Orḫān, the heir-prince’s underlined
respect, as well as his brother ‘Alā’eddīn’s docile obedience to his father’s preference even
after the father’s death reveal suggestive thematic parallels. Was ‘Ārif—or Süleymān through
his şehnāmeci—trying to deliver a message to the remaining two princes Bayezıd and Selīm by
this particular construction of the first Ottoman dynastic transition story? Was Sulṭān
Süleymān considering making a formal declaration of his preference for one of his two
remaining sons—most probably Selīm—and expect his other son to respect this decision? I see
it as a likely possibility that such an alternative to the wild race for sovereignty was toyed with
in the minds of the sovereign and the court at this time.
157
Only when Bayezıd had already rebelled and his forces were defeated by the joint forces
of his brother Selīm and his father Sulṭān Süleymān at the very end of the spring of 1559, do
we have an open declaration of his father’s preference and the relationship between the divine
favor/fortune the son possesses and the consent and blessing of his father. The closing lines of
‘Ārif, in Vaḳ‘a-yi Sulṭān Bayezid ma‘a Selīm Ḫān, most likely his last finished work, are addressed
to Selīm. Reading them, however, brings one back to the representations of the succession
story of Orḫān in ‘Osmānnāme. In ‘Ārif’s words,
When a son has his father’s consent

He becomes deserving of the place of his father
Especially when it is the throne of joy

(And) the father is the shah, and the selected son, the son of the shah.
The father’s blessing is the iron armor,

Which in the Day of Resurrection, is the breast plate of the body.
The father’s consent is the essence of devlet

The father’s blessing is the coat of mail against disaster.73
…
Aside from setting the norms for desired relationships between Ottoman Muslims and
foreign Christians, father and sons, and between siblings, the miniatures of this volume
demonstrate the contours of the approved images for the first four Ottoman rulers. In other
words, the visual program of ‘Osmānnāme also offers us important clues as to how these first
four rulers were perceived by Sulṭān Süleymān and at least some members of his inner circle.
The following section briefly examines each ruler’s image as it is projected by the miniatures
of his reign.
73
‫ ﺴﺰاﻮاﺮ ﺒﺎﺸﺪ ﺒﺠﺎى ﭙﺪﺮ‬/‫”ﭽﻮ ﭙﻮﺮى ﺒﻮﺪ ﺒﺎ ﺒﻮﺪ ﭙﺪﺮ‬
‫ ﭙﺪﺮ ﺸﺎﻩ ﻮ ﭙﻮﺮ ﻜﺰﻴﻦ ﺸﺎهﭙﻮﺮ‬/‫ﺨﺼﻮﺼﺎ ﻜﻪ ﺒﺎﺸﺪ ﺒﺘﺨﺖ ﺴﺮﻮﺮ‬
‫ ﺪﺮ ﺤﺸﺮ ﺪﺮاﻋﻪ ﺘﻦ ﺒﻮﺪ‬/‫ﺪﻋﺎى ﭙﺪﺮ ﺪﺮع ﺁهﻦ ﺒﻮﺪ‬
“‫ ﺪﻋﺎى ﭙﺪﺮ ﺠﻮﺸﻦ ﺁﻔﺘﺴﺖ‬/‫ﺮﻀﺎى ﭙﺪﺮ ﻤﺎﻴﮥ ﺪﻮﻠﺘﺴﺖ‬
Vaḳ‘a-yi Sulṭān Bayezid ma‘a Selīm Ḫān, ‘Ārif. TSMK R. 1540 mük.
158
g. AN IMAGE FOR EACH OTTOMAN RULER
The types of images chosen for the narration of ‘Osmān’s reign clearly indicate that his
legacy was associated first and foremost with the protection and the spreading of Islam.
‘Osmān fulfills this mission by engaging in warfare with his Byzantine neighbors as it is
demonstrated in five miniatures in this volume. Of these five, three (folios 30a, 37b, and 41a;
figures 45, 51, and 48 respectively) depict attacks of his men against the Byzantine lords of
Bilecik, Köprühisar, and Kite respectively, whereas in two others individual acts of bravery
against Christian rivals are represented. On folio 22a the hero is Ayḳud Alp (Figure 45) and on
folio 13b (Figure 47), it is ‘Osmān himself. Moreover, as it is mentioned earlier, in two of the
reception scenes, on folios 7b and 24a (Figures 44 and 45), he is seen explaining his military
activity on the basis of this mission to his allies. At the same time, ‘Osmān is shown working on
the dissemination of Islam through peaceful means. This, he achieves though converting
Christians, as in the case of Köse Miḫal.
Even though throughout the entire volume, both during and after ‘Osmān’s reign,
Ottoman military activity forms a principle theme, ‘Osmān’s rule stands out as one that also
involved much activity in public relations. In fact, his authority appears to rest to some extent
in his communicative activity. Aside from explaining his activities to other chieftains, on folio
9a, he is seen visiting his father-in-law-to-be Şeyḫ Edebali, most probably to have his curious
dream—with the tree emerging from his navel—interpreted. This is the only miniature in
‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme where an Ottoman sultan is being received. (Figure 52)
159
‘Osmān’s visit has a special place in Ottoman lore as Edebali, who interprets ‘Osmān’s
dream as one that promises a long-living and prosperous dynasty, is seen as an intermediary in
the transmittance of divine favor to the founding member of the dynasty. To seal this
transmittance, Şeyḫ Edebali gives his daughter to ‘Osmān.74 The inclusion of a miniature of this
visit among the representations of ‘Osmānnāme confirms its significance. Another important
reception scene is the miniature of ‘Osmān’s abdication, which was discussed in detail above.
In contrast to his father, Orḫān is not portrayed engaged so much in public relations or
in general communicative activity. Nevertheless, the only such reception scene is a rather
important one. The unique reception scene of his reign is the depiction of his meeting with his
brother ‘Alā’eddīn on folio 62b. (Figure 48)
On the other hand, two new elements are introduced in the images of his reign. One of
these novelties is the first interior scene on folio 79a, where Orḫān is seen feasting. (Figure 53)
The composition of the miniature with many courtiers dressed in rich costumes bringing forth
a seemingly endless number of plates of food, demonstrate ostentatiously the increased wealth
and sophistication of the principality. Unlike his father who is always portrayed in tents when
not engaged in combat, Orḫān is shown having a palace of his own.
Another new element of the images of Orḫān’s reign is the inclusion of two scenes that
show the gruesome prospects of his enemies. On folio 76a the severed head of Kalo-Yoannis is
shown to him after the battle of Koyunhisar. (Figure 54) On folio 96a (Figure 55), Byzantine
captives, who are tied to one another by ropes around their necks, are brought to his presence.
The two images on folios 51b (figure 48) and 84b (Figure 53) demonstrating Orḫān’s physical
strength and valor add to his image as a formidable warrior. When we add to this image of the
74
For ‘Osmān’s dream and marriage see also Āşıkpaşazāde, op. cit., p. 95, Neşrī, op. cit., p. 80-83, and Sa‘ādeddīn
Efendi, op. cit., p. 29, 30. In Oruç, ‘Osmān’s father Ertuğrul has the dream. For the dream episode and ‘Osmān’s
marriage in Oruç, see op. cit., p. 25.
160
fearsome warrior, Orḫān’s well-pronounced confidence in his own right to be the sovereign at
the meeting with his brother, and his rich palace and court, we see that the second Ottoman
ruler is portrayed as one who has already crossed the line—so-to-speak—that separated a
chieftain from a mighty prince.
After the first representation of an interior setting among the miniatures of Orḫān’s
reign, the reigns of both Murād I and Bāyezid I include two images set in royal pavilions. The
seven miniatures of the reign of Murād I contrast with those of his father in their portrayal of
the Ottoman ruler.
The first miniature that portrays Murād I shows him as a saintly figure whose prayer is
heard by God. On folio 132a he is depicted under a tree resting. (Figure 56) On the left side of
the painting, the Apollonia castle is depicted actually turned upside down on the heads of its
defenders. From our historical sources of comparison, we know that shortly before Murād I
decided to rest, he had made a curse and wished that God put the castle in ruins. When the
news of the castle’s fall reached the sultan, he attributed agency to the great tree under which
he was resting and named it the Great Auspicious Tree or the Auspicious Poplar according to
Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi (devletlü kaba ağaç or devletlü kavak). 75 With a characteristic play on words,
‘Ārif makes the sultan the source of auspiciousness in ‘Osmānnāme:
There was a tree under the shadow of which the sovereign

Found repose with the fortune of the reputed (shah)
Just like the throne, for a few moments

That tree (too) became neighbors with the fortune of the shah’s shadow76
75
The realization of Murād’s curse appears to have inspired the name (Tanrıyıkdı / Godruined) given to this castle
by the Ottomans. For various accounts of this incident see Āşıkpaşazāde, op. cit., p. 132, Neşrī, op. cit., p. 212-213,
and Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi, op. cit., p. 141, 142.
76
“‫ﺪﻤﻰ ﺠﻨﺪ هﻤﺴﺎﻴﻪ ﻜﺸﺖ اﻦ ﺪﺮﺨﺖ‬/‫ﭽﻮ ﺒﺎ ﺪﻮﻠﺖ ﺴﺎﻴﮥ ﺸﺎﻩ ﺘﺨﺖ‬//‫ ﺸﺪ اﺴﻮﺪﻩ ﺒﺎ ﺪﻮﻠﺖ ﻨﺎﻤﺪاﺮ‬/‫ ”ﺪﺮﺨﺘى ﺪﺮ ﺴﺎﻴﻪاﺶ ﺸﻬﺮﻴﺎﺮ‬Osmānnāme, folio
132a, Grube, op. cit., p. 232. Here there is a pun (tacnīs) on the word “‫ ”هﻤﺴﺎﻴﻪ‬which means both “neighbor” and
“sharing the same shadow.”
161
Later, on folio 150a, Murād is shown receiving his daughter Nefīse who asks his pardon
for her husband the Bey of Karaman. (Figure 50) According to ‘Ārif, “when the shah of shahs
saw the affliction of his dear child”, his heart bled with her tear-inducing pain; and he forgave
his troublemaker son-in-law.77 The final miniature where we see Murād I depicted is folio 163a.
(Figure 57) In the image he lies in bed about to become a martyr after being struck with a knife
by the infidel enemy in 1389.
The Ottoman ruler whose reign is depicted next is Bāyezid I. The miniatures of his reign
portray him as a fierce warrior who, unlike his father, always preferred to be in the most
heated place amidst the battlefield. Among the four rulers, his reign is the only one where
there is no depiction of the bravery of a warrior other than him.
In the two interior scenes of his reign, on folio 193b (Figure 58) he is seen dispatching a
missive to Timur, and on folio 174a (Figure 59) he is portrayed with the sister of the Serbian
king on their wedding night. In ‘Osmānnāme, he is the second sovereign, after ‘Osmān, who is
depicted in a romantic scene. However, while the daughter of Edebali is always praised in
Ottoman histories—‘Osmānnāme and the four works used here for comparison included—the
Serbian princess is often criticized for having introduced wine to the court feasts and to have
led Bāyezid astray.78 Perhaps the curious lack in ‘Osmānnāme of any feasting scenes for
Bāyezid’s reign can be explained by a silent criticism on behalf of ‘Ārif and his team along the
same lines. Whether the absence of a feasting scene was used as a discreet—and somewhat
77
“‫ﺰﺰاﺮﻴﺶ ﺨﻮﻦ ﺠﻜﺮ ﺘﻮﺸﻪ ﺪﻴﺪ‬/‫”ﺸﻬﻨﺸﻪ ﭽﻮ ﺴﻮﺰ ﺠﻜﺮﻜﻮﺸﻪ ﺪﻴﺪ‬Osmānnāme, folio 150a, Grube, op. cit., p. 233. Literally, her
weeping supplied his liver with blood.
78
For the criticism of the Serbian princess see Āşıkpaşazāde, op. cit., p. 138, Neşrī, op. cit., p. 332-333, Oruç, op. cit.,
52, and Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi, op. cit., p. 210.
162
sly—method for criticizing Bāyezid, we cannot be sure. However, two of the three battle scenes
demonstrate examples of a similar mentality where the message is delivered through the well-
defined absence of an image.
On folio 184a, Ottoman forces are depicted fighting in the battle of Nicopolis (Niğbolu).
(Figure 60) In the center, two Ottoman cavalrymen are shown attacking with their maces. In
fact, looking at the miniature, one would say that the main weapon used in this battle was the
mace. Except for the archer on the hills in the background, all of the Ottoman warriors and the
only enemy soldier bearing arms are painted carrying maces.
Another curious detail about the miniature is the great number of horses without
riders. Of the three enemy soldiers, two are depicted already off their horses, and a third is
being thrown off his horse by one of the two Ottoman cavalrymen mentioned above. The horse
belonging to one of these enemy soldiers is shown entering the frame from the right. In the
foreground next to two Ottoman soldiers, there are two more horses with no riders. These
must be extra horses on reserve for cavalry who might fall off during combat.
The two stichs included on the illustrated page narrate an event seldom narrated in
Ottoman chronicles,79 and one that is not depicted in the image: Bāyezid’s fall from his horse.
‘Ārif writes,
His mountain-like horse fell from the belt

The shah rolled off from the saddle with grandeur
The Heavens (lit. the World) protected his body from injury
However the horse sacrificed its head80 (Figure 60)
79
Among our four sources it is only narrated in Tāc’üt-Tevāriḥ. Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi, op. cit., p. 220, 221. According to
Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi, the reason for his fall was the strike of an enemy with a mace.
80
“‫ ﻮﻠﻴﻜﻦ ﻔﺪاى ﺴﺮ ﺶ ﺸﺪ ﺴﻤﻨﺪ‬/‫ ﻨﻜﻬﺪاﺸﺖ ﻜﺘﻰ ﺘﻨﺶ اﺰ ﻜﺰﻨﺪ‬//‫ ﺒﻐﻠﻄﻄﻴﺪ اﺰ ﺰﻴﻦ ﺸﻩ ﺒﺎ ﺸﻜﻮﻩ‬/‫”ﻔﺘﺎﺪ اﺰ ﻜﻤﺮ ﺒﺄﺮﻩ هﻤﭽﻮ ﻜﻮﻩ‬Osmānnāme, folio
184a, Grube, op. cit., p. 237.
163
Hence, by employing absence as a narrative tool, in ‘Osmānnāme the incident of the blow
Bāyezid received from an enemy mace and his falling from his horse as a result is explained to
the reader/viewer without actually showing the humiliating image of the Ottoman ruler off his
horse.
Unfortunately, the battle of Nicopolis, which ended in an important victory for the
Ottomans, was not the only or the last battle where Bāyezid fell from his horse. According to
Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi, a resembling incident happened at the battle of Ankara in 1402. 81 This time
a stone startled his horse and caused it to rear up and throw its rider off. As a consequence,
Bāyezid, who was already deserted by all of his sons and allies and most of his soldiers, was left
entirely vulnerable in the battlefield among the forces of Timur.
This incident is recorded with a similarly curious miniature in ‘Osmānnāme on folio
203a. (Figure 61). All the details of Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi’s account are included except for the fall
of the Ottoman ruler. In the image marked by a rocky landscape, we see the Ottoman ruler on a
horse that has risen on its hind legs. However, Bāyezid is portrayed in control of his horse and
about to trample over an enemy soldier. Just like in the image of the battle of Nicopolis, here,
too, horses that do not have any riders abound: there is one led by an Ottoman soldier entering
the scene in the foreground from the right, and two others are shown entering the frame from
both sides in the center. An enemy cavalryman had just fallen off his startled horse on the
plane right below Bāyezid’s representation.
To complete the scene, a seemingly floating blooming tree is painted blowing wildly in
the background. Grube has also noticed this tree as he comments: “The large tree in the left
81
Both Āşıkpaşazāde and Neşrī write that Bāyezid was mounted on his horse when he was captured and brought
to Timur because Timur did not find it within the royal decorum for a sovereign to walk. See Āşıkpaşazāde, op.
cit., p. 144 and Neşrī, op. cit., p. 352, 353. Oruç also says that Bāyezid was taken to Timur on his horse. He does not
give any more details. Oruç, op. cit., p. 61.
164
background is particularly noteworthy as it seems to grow out of the golden sky, only a few
lines indicating the ground-level above the horizon with which it does not connect, an unusual
feature in these paintings.”82 This tree, I claim, is the tree of devlet associated with Bāyezid,
blossoming as the ruler fights bravely in the battlefield, but at the same time, about to fly
away.
82
165
CHAPTER 5
THE FIFTH VOLUME (SÜLEYMĀNNĀME):
THE SAINTLY SULTAN
a. INTRODUCTION
Süleymānnāme is the fifth and the last volume of ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān.
Fortunately, this volume on the reign of Sulṭān Süleymān is preserved in its original location at
the Topkapı Palace of Istanbul. It is a fairly large book of 617 folios and measures 37 x 25.4 cm.
(14.5 x 10 in.). In the first of the two dedicatory medallions (ẓahrīye) on 1b its title is given as
Süleymānnāme. From its colophon on page 617b, we learn that it was copied by the calligrapher
Muẓaffer ‘Alī b. Emīr Bey Şirvānī and was completed in the middle of Ramażān 965 (late June-
early July1558 C.E.). (Figure 63) Of the 65 topics that are illustrated, four are represented with
double-folio images, bringing the number of the illustrated pages to 69.
Like the other volumes of the same Ottoman Şāhnāme project, this manuscript also
remains unpublished. Esin Atıl’s study of the manuscript, which has been mentioned in the
previous chapters, displays an interest in ‘Ārif’s volume principally as a visual production and
as such, provides a valuable yet rather summary introduction for further examinations.
The manuscript with its 617 folios and 69 paintings offers a wealth of information and
possibilities for investigation that are impossible to exhaust in a single study. Here, I have
chosen to focus on a rather limited section of the introduction, the symbolic usage of the
image of the tree, and the stylized representations of charismatic/sacred light associated with
Sulṭān Süleymān’s royal persona. Rather than offering generalized observations on
166
Süleymānnāme as a whole, I have opted for a detailed examination of selected and restricted
themes and excerpts from the manuscript.
Naturally, I see the themes selected to be discussed here central to the volume and to
the entire Ottoman Şāhnāme project. The metaphysical and neo-platonic underpinnings of the
introduction as well as the possible symbolic meanings of the prominent trees in the
miniatures and the various forms of the prophetic/saintly nimbus or the divinely anointed
light of Süleymān’s representations provide the essential guidelines to understand the saintly
emperor’s image drawn for the sultan in ‘Ārif’s project.
b. APPROACHING ‘ĀRIF’S SÜLEYMĀNNĀME
The association of royal power with the divine is a well-known and, in certain cases, a
well-studied phenomenon in world history. Ernst Hartwig Kantorowicz had traced the two
natures of the king—human and sacred—from the middle ages to the early modern period in
western Europe in his now classical The King’s Two Bodies, first published in 1957.1 In Empereur et
Prêtre: Etude sur le “Césaropapisme » Byzantin, Gilbert Dagron had examined the evolution of the
relationship of earthly and divine monarchy and that of the political and spiritual authority of
the emperors in Byzantine history.2
In another study, this time on a contemporary of Sulṭān Süleymān, Anne-Marie Lecoq
provided an insightful evaluation and interpretation of a large body of visual and literary
1
Ernst Hartwig Kantorowicz, The King’s Two Bodies. (Princeton : Princeton University Press, 1997; first Published in
1957).
2
Gilbert Dagron, Empereur et Prêtre: Etude sur le “Césaropapisme » Byzantin. (Paris: Editions Gallimard, 1996). It was
translated to English by Jean Birrel as Emperor and Priest : The Imperial Office in Byzantium. (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2003).
167
material used in representing Francis I and the nature of his rule.3 Some of the traits and the
epithets attached to the French king, such as his role as a crusader, as God’s reflection on
earth, as God’s anointed ruler, the second Caesar, the New Constantine, and even as the New
Christ, invite comparisons with the various facets of Sulṭān Süleymān’s image proposed and
propagated in the literary and visual medium of the period.
To give yet another example, this time closer in geography, Kathryn Babayan’s Mystics,
Monarchs, and Messiahs examined issues such as the historical trajectory of Iranian Gnosticism,
the cyclic sense of time, and the construction and manipulation of memory, which are closely
related to the discussion in the present study.4 Her section on the Persian saintly king Shah
Tahmasb once again offers many points of comparison with the courtly image of the Ottoman
sultan studied here.5
Despite the theoretical groundwork done in these studies and others on the nature of
kingship and charisma, and despite the wealth of material they offer for comparison, there has
not been a parallel examination of Sulṭān Süleymān’s rule. The royal image of Sulṭān
Süleymān—especially for the second half of his reign—that is represented in modern
historiography has been dominated by sobriety, orthodox Sunni ideology, and austerity. More
emotional and excitement provoking elements such as the sultan’s saintly figure, the
messianic expectations centered around him, the notion of his predestination from Creation as
3
Anne-Marie Lecoq, François I Imaginaire. Symbolique et Politique à l’Aube de la Renaissance Française. (Paris : Macula,
1987). I would like to thank Jean-François Lormant for helping me reach this source.
4
Kathryn Babayan, Mystics, Monarchs and Messiahs: Cultural Landscapes of Early Modern Iran. (Cambridge: Harvard
University Press, 2002).
5
Babayan op. cit. p. 295-348. I hope this thesis to be a useful step for a more comprehensive study of the evolving
royal image of Sulṭān Süleymān. At this juncture, I contend by merely suggesting various venues of comparison
and refrain from a further comparative analysis. Such a comparative framework would be essential for a larger
and more exhaustive project.
168
a political and spiritual leader of humankind have been overlooked in modern Ottoman
historiography as they did not fit the straight-laced and repressed Turkish Republican culture
marked by forced secularism, self-importance, and self-imposed austerity.6
Aside from Cornell H. Fleischer’s work on Sulṭān Süleymān, which has provided much
needed insight and knowledge for this chapter and will be taken up shortly, the field of
architecture, and especially the monographs of the Süleymaniye mosque have been important
as they study a comparative medium associated closely with the royal persona. Here Gülru
Necipoğlu and Stefanos Yerasimos’ evaluations must be singled out both in their scholarship
and in their suggestive observations.
For instance, in her study of the social, cultural, and architectonic meanings of the
Süleymaniye complex Gülru Necipoğlu notes in the construction of the mosque “Süleymān’s
desire to acquire columns with a rich range of royal connotations.” 7 The act of bringing
columns from legendary places within the Ottoman realm, all associated with great Kings such
as Alexander and Solomon can be seen as a symbolic attempt to bring together the legendary
universal power of these kings. In the case of these two legendary kings and in the context of
Islamicate culture, we should also remember that they held prominent places in sacred as well
as in political history. In the Imperial Scroll, Alexander the Great is considered as one of the
three Persianate rulers who are represented with a medallion. Furthermore, his medallion is
6
As a side note and in order not to mislead the reader, I freely admit to be a child of the Republican culture some
aspects of which I criticize above.
7
Gülru Necipoğlu-Kafadar, “The Süleymaniye Complex in Istanbul: An Interpretation. In Muqarnas, vol. 3, (1985),
p. 92-117.
169
placed conspicuously close to the central prophetic line of the genealogical tree.8 King
Solomon, on the other hand, is already accepted as a prophet-king.
At the same time, the columns that were charged with symbolic connotations of
political—and often sacred—power were brought together in a religious architecture that
aimed at uniting the Islamic community under its large dome. Using Ömer Lütfi Barkan’s
detailed study of the registers pertaining to the construction of the Süleymaniye complex,
Stefanos Yerasimos gives a convincing account of how myth, political aspirations, and—quite
literally—the realities on the ground intertwined with one another in the construction of the
visually powerful, highly functional, and architecturally sophisticated mosque and its complex.
Both Yerasimos’ and Necipoğlu’s accounts reveal the constant dynamic between
political and religious aspirations. What concerns us here is that the acquisition or what we
might call the “active inheritance” of recognized symbols of political power of the passed
universal rulers in the construction of a sacred space, which, in turn, in its physical presence
and in its history of construction bore many associations with the sultan’s worldly power, was
an endeavor that mirrored what ‘Ārif and his team were doing in Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān at
around the same time, albeit in a different medium.
c. ‘ĀRIF’S SÜLEYMĀNNĀME AND THE ROYAL IMAGE
In Süleymānnāme, the relationship drawn between Sulṭān Süleymān and God—here not
only as the Creator, but also as the Most Perfect and Divine Source of Light and Knowledge—
underlines the message that his political authority was not merely approved by God but he
8
For more details, see the following chapter of this thesis.
170
was, in fact, chosen to rule as the universal emperor of the time. However, his special capacity
as it is described in Süleymānnāme is not limited to global political leadership. In the cosmology
laid out in the introductory folios of this volume ‘Ārif declares that the Ottoman ruler is the
last reformer of—the true—religion (müceddid),9 (Figure 64) and the seal indicating the end of
“kingship and credence” (‫)ﺸﺎهﻰ ﻮ ﻜﻴﺶ‬.10 (Figure 64) Furthermore, the formulation of ‘Ārif’s
argument as well as his vocabulary strongly suggest the idea that after the Prophet
Muḥammed, Sulṭān Süleymān was the representation of the Perfect Man (Insān al-Kāmil).
To be sure ‘Ārif’s formulation laden with eschatological connotations and messianic
significance, though daring, was not unique. Mevlānā ‘Īsā (d. 1543 C.E.) had described
Süleymān with similar terms in the third revision of his Ottoman history Cāmī‘ ül-Meknūnāt
(The Compendium of Hidden Things) written in 1543.11 He brought evidence to support his
argument of the arriving of the last historical age and of Süleymān’s special role as the
temporal and spiritual leader who would guide the humans to the new Millennium in his
capacity as the Master of the Conjunction (ṣaḥib ḳırān) and the renewer of religion (müceddid).
Beyond the obvious similarities, there are several differences in the accounts of ‘Ārif
and Mevlānā ‘Īsā. Firstly the difference in the historical circumstances that influenced the
context of their arguments should be noted. Mevlānā ‘Īsā’s apocalyptic account was triggered
to a significant extent by the on-going Ottoman-Habsburg contention crystallized in the
personal rivalry between Süleymān and Charles V, both of whom claimed universal hegemony.
9
H. 1517, 6a specially lines 5 and 6.
‫ ﻜﻨﺪ ﺪﻴﻦﭙﻨﺎهﯥ ﺒﻜﻴﺘﯥ ﻈﻬﻮﺮ‬/ ‫ﺒﺘﺠﺪﻴﺪ ﺪﻴﻦ هﻤﭽو ﺘﺎﺒﻨﺪﻩ هﻮﺮ‬// ‫ ﻜﻪ ﻗﺮﻨﻴﺴﺖ اﺰ ﻜﺮﺪﺶ ﻤﺎﻩ و ﻤﻬﺮ‬/‫ﻜﻪ ﺪﺮ هﺮ ﺴﺮ ﺼﺪ ﺰ ﺴﺎﻞ ﺴﭙﻬﺮ‬
‫ﻜﻪ ﺒﺘﺠﺪﻴﺪ ﺪﻴﻦ ﺁﻴﺪ اﻮ ﺮا ﺰ ﺪﺴﺖ‬/‫ﻜﻨﻮﻦ اﻴﻦ ﺸﻬﺴﺖ ﺁﻦ ﺸﻪ ﺪﻴﻦﭙﺮﺴﺖ‬//‫ ﺒﺘﺠﺪﻴﺪ ﺁﻴﻴﻦ ﭙﻴﻐﻤﺒﺮى‬/‫ﺰﻨﺪ ﻜﻮﺲ ﺪﻮﻠﺖ ﭙﯥ ﺪاﻮﺮى‬
10
H. 1517, folio 6a, line 9, the first stich: ‫ﭽﻮ ﺨﺎﺘﻢ ﺒﺪﺴﺖ ﺴﻠﻴﻤﺎﻦ ﺒﻴﺶ‬/‫ﺒﺪﻴﻦ ﺸﺎﻩ ﺸﺪ ﺨﺘﻢ ﺸﺎهﻰ ﻮ ﻜﻴﺶ‬
11
Cornell H. Fleischer. “The Lawgiver as Messiah: the Making of the Imperial Image in the Reign of Süleymân.” In
Soliman le magnifique et son temps, Actes du Colloque de Paris. 7-10 mars 1990. Edited by Gilles Veinstein. Paris,
Galeries Nationales du Grand Palais, 1992, p. 164-166.
171
While international rivalry does not appear to have had a “triggering” effect in ‘Ārif’s
case, the cultural realm in which his work was written and the more apparent political and
cultural rivalry it projects is Persian oriented. In addition, the historical circumstances in
which ‘Ārif composed has made his work particularly sensitive to the royal image of the old
and ailing ruler whose reputation was seriously and negatively affected by his decision to have
his oldest and most popular son, Muṣṭafā killed in 1553 C.E.
The second major difference between the accounts of the two writers concerns their
method of argumentation. While Mevlānā ‘Īsā based his argument on a wide spectrum of
proofs ranging from his astrological interpretations to the increasing reported appearance of
Ḫıẓır,12 ‘Ārif situates the Ottoman ruler’s special role in human and sacred history in a
comprehensive cosmology articulated in the introduction of Süleymānnāme. In the
introduction, ‘Ārif makes clear references to various philosophical and mystic currents, in
particular to Pythagorean Neo-Platonism and to the Ibn ‘Arabīan school of metaphysics. We
can say that in a larger context, the messianic literature of the earlier years of the sixteenth
century, of which Mevlānā ‘Īsā’s text is an example, used both—what the modern scholar
considers—orthodox and unorthodox religious texts in addition to the narration of
contemporaneous phenomena that were deemed extraordinary. In Süleymānnāme, however,
‘Ārif argues within the more philosophical vein of the Sufi tradition, linking his claims
concerning the sultan’s identity directly to the ontology of the Divine.
12
Ḫıẓır is an Islamic saint—for some a prophet—who is mentioned in the Wensinck, A.J. "al- K̲H̲aḍir (al- Ḵh̲iḍr )."
Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. Edited by: P. Bearman; , Th. Bianquis; , C.E. Bosworth; , E. van Donzel; and W.P.
Heinrichs. Brill, 2010. Brill Online. For a more comprehensive and updated account see Patrick Franke, Begegnung
mit Khidr: Quellenstudien zum Imaginären im Traditionellen Islam. Beiruter Texte und Studien 79. (Stuttgart: Franz
Steiner Verlag, 2000).
172
Furthermore, the intended audience of the two works differed significantly. In contrast
to Ārif, who worked for Sulṭān Süleymān, Mevlānā ‘Īsā did not compose for a royal audience.
Despite our hind knowledge that his work was read and used by at least one member of the
Ottoman intellectual elite, that is Muṣṭafā ‘Ālī, its style approaches it to the genre of popular
literature.13 In this way, Mevlānā ‘Īsā’s work testifies to the existence of messianic expectations
at the popular level, while Muṣṭafā ‘Ālī’s familiarity and acknowledgement of his work suggests
that his ideas found currency also in elite circles.
In the case of Ārif’s Süleymānnāme, we know that the work was not meant for
circulation in popular circles14 while it stands as solid proof to the acceptance of apocalyptic
ideas and expectations in the court of Süleymān. Furthermore, it bears witness to the
acceptance of the saintly and messianic image of the sultan formulated in word and image in
Süleymānnāme by the sultan himself. In fact, as far as we know, there is no precedence to the
existence of such a distinctly formulated identity by the palace, for ‘Ārif gave the poetic—and
as it appears here, philosophical—voice to Süleymān and his court between 1545 to 1558.
The fact that Ārif was working for a royal audience naturally affected the format of his
work as an artistic product. His argument for Süleymān’s significance as the last political and
spiritual ruler of the times is made particularly effective by the visual representation of the
sultan in the miniatures executed under his supervision and management. In these images,
Süleymān depicted in several ways: as the second Solomon on his golden throne of universal
dominion (Figures 28, 30, and 65), as a saint with a nimbus behind/around his head (Figure 66,
13
Cornell H. Fleischer, op. cit., p. 166.
14
‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān project as a whole appears to be prepared as a unique set of five volumes intended
for the palace library. However, it is impossible to say with certainty that the several drafts predating the final
version did not leave the palace. In fact, Fütūḥāt-ı Cemīle (TSMKH. 1592), which was most likely prepared for
Sokollu Meḥmed Paşa and bears his seal, is an example of how a partial draft/version did indeed circulate outside
of the palace though not necessarily at the popular level.
173
67), and as a divinely approved and selected world ruler with the light of divine sanction and
auspiciousness (fer) (Figure 70). In short, in Süleymānnāme Süleymān is projected as the divine
ruler with a mission, combining in his legacy the legends of the greatest and the most sacred
rulers of the Sasanian, Mazdean, Jewish, Christian, and Muslim traditions and justifying in his
very being the considerably neo-platonic metaphysics of Ibn ‘Arabī, the mystic thinker-
theologian, and possibly of Ibn-i Sīna, the philosopher.15
Finally, it should be emphasized that this formulation from the Ottoman center of
authority comes rather late in Süleymān’s reign. As such, it challenges the accepted view of
recent Ottomanist scholarship that after 1550, Sulṭān Süleymān’s reign was marked by a sober
and more conservative streak characterized by the representation of a straight-laced Sunni
Islam—as opposed to the Safavid twelver Shiism—rather than the experimental spirit of the
earlier years.16
How was the saintly and quasi-sacred royal image formulated in Süleymānnāme? The
following sections of this chapter are intended to demonstrate several facets of the ambitious
15
The philosophical references in Süleymānnāme mainly pertain to the school of Ibn ‘Arabī, except for the
reference to the Tenth Intellect. The concept of the Tenth Intellect originates from the metaphysics of al-Farābī
and after him was developed by Ibn-i Sīna. In addition, the exceptionally prominent place of Ibn-i Sīna in the
Imperial Scroll suggests the involvement of his philosophical conceptions in the making of the particular royal
image discussed here. This last point will be taken up again in chapter 6, in the section on the Imperial Scroll. For
more on the Intellect in the thought of al-Farābī and Ibn-i Sīna see H. Davidson, Alfarabi, Avicenna, and Averroes in
Intellect. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997); Z. Kuksewicz, “The Potential and the Agent Intellect.” In
Cambridge History of Later Medieval Philosophy. (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1982).
16
Here, I am referring to the pioneering work done in the late 1980s and early 1990s by Cornell H. Fleischer and
Gülru Necipoğlu, who showed in their rigorous historical work that the spirit of Sulṭān Süleymān’s reign was one
of intense and eclectic experimentation rather than one of static classicism. See for example Cornell H. Fleischer,
“The Lawgiver as Messiah: the Making of the Imperial Image in the Reign of Süleymân,” in Gilles Veinstein, ed., in
Soliman le magnifique et son temps; (Paris,1992) and Gülru Necipoğlu, “Süleyman the Magnificent and the
Representation of Power in the Context of Ottoman-Hapsburg-Papal Rivalry.” The Art Bulletin, 71, 1989, p. 401-427.
Their successful challenging and deconstruction of the “classical” paradigm allowed a fresh breath of historicity
to enter the rather stagnant state of academia pertaining to the time of the Lawgiver. At the same time, it led to a
misinterpretation and a misconception of their work as arguments for a period of experimentation limited to
roughly the first half of Süleymān’s reign. A closer look at the works of the first two şehnāmecis ‘Ārif and Eflāṭūn
reveals that the dynamic and experimental spirit of the 1520s and 1530s survived much longer than it has been
suspected, at least in the political and cultural aspects of life.
174
program in Süleymānnāme concerning the significance of Sulṭān Süleymān in sacred world
history and the nature of his rule. These sections will principally be interpretive examinations
of parts of the textual and visual material at hand.
d. IBN ‘ARABĪ IN SÜLEYMĀNNĀME
‘Ārif begins his enigmatic section with a misleading title: “In declaring the superiority
of his Majesty the Sulṭān, Master of the Auspicious Conjunction (ṣaḥib ḳırān), over the other
Ottoman sultans” (folio 51, Figure 73). In fact, what he does in the lines following is to argue
for his patron’s superiority over all the rulers of the past and not merely his ancestors in the
Ottoman House.
Indeed, ‘Ārif openly states at the end of the section that while the kings of the past each
and all possessed the accoutrements of kingship and were auspicious, Süleymān’s divine luster
and majesty transcended the usual. While the former kings each had “tied the belt of
sacrifice”17 and served to fulfill their covenant with God, Süleymān’s faith and his sheltering of
it surpassed all. True, there have been kings unique in their own right, even other Masters of
the Auspicious Conjunction. However, no other person had joined royal glory and religious
leadership in his person like Sulṭān Süleymān, who ruled over the world in a century equally
extraordinary. (Figure 2) According to ‘Ārif, both the century—the 10th after the Hijra—and its
child and Lord—the tenth in the Ottoman dynasty—Sulṭān Süleymān were far different than
anyone could have possibly imagined.18
17
H. 1517, 6a.
‫ﺒﺪاﻨﺴﺎﻨﻜﻪ ﺒﺎﺸﺪ ﺒﺸﺎهﺎﻦ ﺴﺰاى‬/‫ﭽﻮ هﺮ ﻴﻜ ﺮﺴﺎﻨﺪﻨﺪ ﺨﺪﻤﺖ ﺒﺠﺎى‬//‫ﺒﺸﻤﺸﻴﺮ ﻮ ﺘﺎج ﻮ ﻜﻤﺮ ﺒﻨﺪ ﺰﺮ‬/‫هﻤﻪ ﺒﺴﺘﻪ ﺒﻮﺪﻨﺪ ﺒﺮ ﺠﺎﻦ ﻜﻤﺮ‬
18
Ibid. Op. Cit: ‫ﭽﻨﻴﻦ ﺪﻮﻠﺘﻰ هﻴﺞ ﺼﺎﺤﺐ ﻗﺮاﻦ‬/‫ﻜﺠﺎ ﺪﻴﺪﻩ ﺪﺮ هﻴﺞ ﻗﺮﻨﻰ ﻤﺎﻦ‬//‫ﺒﻜﻴﺘﻰ ﻨﺪﻴﺪﻨﺪ ﻗﺮﻨﻰ ﻮاﺐ‬/‫ﺒﺪﻴﻦ ﺪﻴﻦ ﻮ ﺪﻮﻠﺖ ﺒﺪﻴﻦ ﻓﺮ ﻮ ﺎﺐ‬
175
‘Ārif’s argument of Süleymān’s extraordinary place in history—human and sacred—is
based on ontological and cosmological positions that invite close association with the thought
of Ibn ‘Arabī. The name of Ibn ‘Arabī or of his works are not mentioned in his text. However,
‘Ārif’s vocabulary and references make such an association highly likely. In fact, it would not
be surprising if the Murcian mystic’s ontology of the Divine Being and his doctrine of the
Perfect Man (insan al-kamil) formed the cornerstones of ‘Ārif’s argumentation. 19
‘Ārif’s explanation in his introduction of the unit’s journey to the One is perfectly
aligned with Ibn ‘Arabī’s metaphysical vision, especially the way it is elaborated in his Fuṣūṣ el-
ḥikam. At the same time, there are also many clues that are outside of the text and that support
the likelihood that Ibn ‘Arabī was the authority behind this section of Süleymānnāme.
It is true that both the teachings as well as the persona of Ibn ‘Arabī have been under
attack intermittently until today.20 In the time period that concerns us, however, he and his
teachings were accepted and respected to a great extent by the Ottoman dynasty. In fact, we
can claim that Ibn ʿArabī's ideas made the largest impact and found the most currency in
19
For biographic information on Ibn ʿArabī see William C. Chittick. “Ebn Al-Arabī, Moḥyī-al-dīn Abū ‘Abd-Allāh
Muḥammed Ṭā’ī Ḥātemī.” In Encyclopaedia Iranica, edited by Ehsan Yarshater, 2011, online; Ahmet Ateş, “Ibn al-
ʿArabī , Muḥyi'l-Dīn Abū.” In Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition, edited by P. Bearman , Th. Bianquis , C.E.
Bosworth , E. van Donzel and W.P. Heinrichs. Brill, 2009. Brill Online. Unfortunately Ateş’ synopsis of his thought
is dryly analytic and as such, unsympathetic to the mystic’s metaphysics that admittedly makes it crucial to
exercise phenomenological imagination for any kind of understanding of his work. Also see Editors, L. Lewisohn,
shortened by the; Zarcone, Th.; Hunwick, J.O.; Ernst, C.; Jong, F. de; , L. Massignon-[B. Radtke]; Aubin, Françoise.
"Taṣawwuf (a.)." Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. Edited by: P. Bearman , Th. Bianquis , C.E. Bosworth , E. van
Donzel and W.P. Heinrichs. Brill, 2010. Brill Online.For a very concise, clear, and efficient introduction to his
thought see Marshall G. S. Hodgson, Vision of Islam II, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1977) p. 226-244.
For a detailed and admirably clear study of his thought see Claude Addas, Quest for the Red Sulphur: the Life of Ibn
‘Arabi. Translated by Peter Kingsley. (Cambridge: Islamic Text Society, 1993) Also see Hernández, Miguel Cruz.
Historia del Pensamiento en el Mundo Islámico, v. 2. (Madrid: Alianza editorial, 2000), p. 244- 273.
20
For a general view and references on his reception in Anatolia and elsewhere see Ahmet Ateş ibid. op-cit.
176
Anatolia in particular and in the Ottoman lands in general.21 This was achieved to a great
extent as a result of the activities of his friend’s son, disciple, and adopted son Ṣadreddīn
Konevī. The library of the Topkapı Palace for example, abound with the volumes of Ibn ‘Arabī
works as well as explications and commentaries in favor and—albeit less in number—against
his numerous books both in Arabic and in Turkish and Persian translation.22
The visit of Selīm I to Ibn ‘Arabī’s tomb after his campaign to Syria and Egypt (923-
24/1517-18 C.E.) is certainly the most public sign of this general acceptance and of his prestige.
During this visit the Ottoman sultan ordered the restoration of the tomb and the building of a
new lodge. On this occasion Kemālpaşazāde (d. 1534 C.E.),23 who was the military judge of
Anatolia at the time, issued a fatwa in favor of Ibn ʿArabī. 24
21
For an orientational article on the influence of Ibn ‘Arabī in the Ottoman lands see Mustafa Tahralı, “A General
Outline of the Influence of Ibn ‘Arabī on the Ottoman Era.” Journal of the Muhyiddin Ibn ‘Arabi Society, vol. XXVI,
1999, online.
22
Among the current Arabic collection of the Topkapı Palace Museum, there are 36 titles pertaining to works by
Ibn ʿArabī and by those who wrote elaborations of or responses to his work. Of these at least 17 were copied
during or prior to the sixteenth century. Fehmi Edhem, Karatay, Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi
Kütüphanesi Arapça Yazmalar Kataloğu. (Istanbul: Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi, 1966), vol. 3, p. 132-145. The
Turkish collection at the Palace library consists mainly of translations of the works of other authors on
Ibn ʿArabī’s Fuṣūṣ el-ḥikam and, with one clear exception (Y. 282), date from after the sixteenth
century. Y. 282 (Tercümet el-Fevā’iḥ el-Miskīye fī’l-fevātiḥ el-Mekkīye) is a translation of Bisṭāmī’s
elaboration on Ibn ʿArabī’s Futūḥāt el-Mekkīye prepared for a palace official in 980 (1572-72 C.E.)
during the reign of Selīm II. For the various references to these works see Fehmi Edhem, Karatay,
Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi Kütüphanesi Türkçe Yazmalar Kataloğu. (Istanbul: Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi, 1961), vol.
1, p. 49-72. Of the two volumes in the Persian collection, one dates from the seventeenth century (R.
495). The other (A. 1507) is an elaboration on Ibn ʿArabī’s Fuṣūṣ el-ḥikam. See Fehmi Edhem, Karatay,
Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi Kütüphanesi Farsça Yazmalar Kataloğu. (Istanbul: Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi, 1961) p. 15,
26, 27.
23
For an introduction on the life and career of this Ottoman religious intellectual, historian, writer, and Ottoman
official who also attained the highest religious position (șeyḫ ül-islām) in the reign of Süleymān, see Ménage, V.L.
"Kemāl Pas̲h̲a-zāde , or ibn(-i) kemāl, usual appellations of s̲h̲ams al-dīn aḥmad b. sulaymān b. kamāl pas̲h̲a."
24
See Ahmet Ateş, ibid. Op. Cit. Cornell Fleischer writes that with Selīm’s visit, Ibn ʿArabī became the dynastic
patron saint. Cornell H. Fleischer, “Ancient Wisdom and New Sciences: Prophecies at the Ottoman Court in the
Fifteenth and Early Sixteenth Centuries.” In Falnama The Book of Omens. Edited by Massumeh Farhad with Serpil
Bağcı (London: Thanes and Hudson, 2009)p. 239. For the text of Kemālpaşazāde’s fatwa see Hüseyin Atay, “İlmî Bir
177
One of the best reflections of his popularity after 1550s is the usage of his works as
“text-books” in Ottoman madrasas. The royal edict of 1565 concerning the academic
curriculum of the Süleymaniye madrasas, the most advanced educational institution of the
empire, states among its 55 works on theology, exegesis, ḥadis, legal theory (uṣūl al-fıḳh) and
positive law (furū al-fıḳh) a work historically attributed to Ibn ‘Arabī.25 Shahab Ahmed and
Nenad Filipoviç, who in an article they co-wrote in 2004, provide the list of the titles included
in this list. They find it “certainly striking” that “the creators of the curriculum should have
made a point of including a Ṣūfi tafsīr .. as it indicates that the study of Ṣūfi hermeneutics was
considered a necessary part of the education of mid-10th (16th century) representatives of
official Ottoman Islam.” Likewise, they note that the association of the only work of Ṣūfi
authorship with Ibn ‘Arabī is “significant.”26
Another, and this time chronologically earlier proof of the currency of Ibn ‘Arabī’s
school of thought during the reigns of Selīm and his son Süleymān, especially in the early
sixteenth century, is the active reworking of his system particularly those elements that
inspired and facilitated the contemporaneous interest and pursue of knowledge related to
prophecy in the Islamic Mediterranean. On this point, the recent scholarship of Cornell
Fleischer offers many examples.
Tenkit Örneği Olarak İbn Kemal Paşa’nın Muhyiddin b. Arabî Hakkında Fetvası.” In Șeyhülislam İbn Kemal
Sempozumu, Tebliğler ve Tartışmalar. (Ankara: Türkiye Diyânet Vakfı Yayınları, 1986), p. 267-9.
25
Shahab Ahmed and Nenad Filipoviç write that ‘Abd al-Razzāḳ al-Ḳāșānī’s (d.730/1329(d.730/1329 C.E.)
commentary has historically been attributed to Ibn ‘Arabī. Shahab Ahmed and Nenad Filipoviç. “The Sultan’s
Syllabus: A Curriculum for the Ottoman Imperial medreses Prescribed in a fermān of Qānūnī Süleymān, Dated 973
(1565).” In Studia Islamica, No: 98/99 (2004), p. 211. Ahmet Ateş also mentions the usage of Ibn ʿArabī’s books in the
Ottoman madrasas.
26
Shahab Ahmed and Nenad Filipoviç, ibid. op. cit.
178
Fleischer demonstrates the wide circulation in the Ottoman court of works explicitly
related to the apocalyptic expectations of the tenth century of the Hijra. Of these works, he
writes that the Miftaḥ al-Cafr al-Camī’ (the Key to the Comprehensive Prognostication) of
Abdurraḥman al Bistāmī stands out as “the most comprehensive” and with its nearly thirty
copies, “in terms of production, verifiably datable.”27 The text of this highly present book in
the Ottoman court also contained “several prophetic works attributed to Ibn ʿArabī.”28
Another title on prophecy that had at least some circulation was “Al Shajarah al-
Nu’maniyya fi al-Dawla al-‘Uthmaniya” (the Crimson Tree on the Ottoman Glory) attributed to
Ibn ʿArabī.29 This book predicted Suṭān Selīm’s victory over the Mamluks and the universal
hegemony of the Ottoman dynasty. The phrase “when the sīn enters Damascus then the tomb
of Muḥyīddīn will be discovered” from this book was interpreted as the prognostication of
Suṭān Selīm’s entry in Damascus and his visit to the tomb of Muḥyīddīn ‘Arabī.30 I should add
here that the presence of books falsely attributed to Ibn ʿArabī as well as the circulation of
explications of his work by other authors and books inspired by him all confirm the accepted
authority of Ibn ʿArabī and the interest in his works as much as the presence of the copies of
his own works at the Palace library do.
27
Cornell H. Fleischer, “Ancient Wisdom and New Sciences: Prophecies at the Ottoman Court in the Fifteenth and
Early Sixteenth Centuries.” In Falnama The Book of Omens. Edited by Massumeh Farhad with Serpil Bağcı (London:
Thanes and Hudson, 2009) p. 238.
28
Fleischer, ibid. op.cit.
29
Fleischer, op.cit. p. 239. Also see Cornell H. Fleischer. “Shadows of Shadows,” in Turkish Studies, vol. 13, 2007, p.
56.
30
Selīm’s name begins with the letter sīn “‫ ”ﺲ‬from the Arabic alphabet. See Tahralı op. cit. p. . Tahralı quotes the
phrase from Irfan Gündüz, “Sadreddin Konevî’nin Eş-şecerü’n-Numâniyye fi’d-Devleti’l-‘Osmâniyye’ye Yaptığı
Șerhin Değerlendirilmesi.” Selçuk Dergisi, no. 4, Ocak (January). (Konya: 1989), p. 101-111. Also see Cornell H.
Fleischer. “Shadows of Shadows,” in Turkish Studies, vol. 13, 2007, p. 56.
179
Another example of the high evaluation Ibn ʿArabī received from ‘Ārif’s Ottoman
contemporaries and from the Ottoman dynasty is found in the contemporaneous Ottoman
historian Muṣṭafā ‘Āli’s account of Sulṭān Süleymān’s visit to the Melāmī sheikh Pīr ‘Alī
Alaeddīn Aksarayī in Konya at the beginning of his Persian expedition in 1534.31 According to
Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, during this visit, Pīr ‘Alī gave Ibn ʿArabī’s Al-‘Anḳa’ al-Muġrib (The Resplendent
Griffin) as a gift to the sultan. The presentation of this volume which allegedly foretold the
meeting of the Ottoman ruler with the Melāmī sheikh reflects once again the prestige of Ibn
ʿArabī at the time.32 The anecdote makes it clear that in the 1530s a book of Ibn ʿArabī held a
high social value and was suitable as a gift to the sultan.
The detail of the prophecy included in it makes the anecdote even more interesting. Pīr
‘Alī’s reading of the prophecy in a way that associates it with the ruler’s visit—at least at some
level—serves to further his relationship with the sultan: the meeting between Süleymān and
Pīr Alī becomes all the more important as it was worth being mentioned by the Great Sheikh.
Furthermore, the anecdote demonstrates, as Cornell Fleischer notes, “the seriousness with
which Sulṭān Süleymān” took “the centrality of Ibn ʿArabī to prophecy associated with
dynastic eschatological roles.”33
Considering these anecdotes and examples that demonstrate the currency, prestige,
and authority that the thought and name of Ibn ‘Arabī possessed for the Ottoman dynasty,
31
For more information on this prognostication see Cornell H. Fleischer. “Shadows of Shadows,” in Turkish Studies,
vol. 13, 2007, p. 5. Also by the same author see “Ancient Wisdom and New Sciences: Prophecies at the Ottoman
Court in the Fifteenth and Early Sixteenth Centuries.” In Falnama The Book of Omens. Edited by Massumeh Farhad
with Serpil Bağcı (London: Thanes and Hudson, 2009) p. 239.
32
“In 940 AH, the virtuous man whose name begins with Sin [:Süleyman] will meet in the city the name of which
begins with Qaf and ends with Ha [:Qunyah]” Cornell H. Fleischer. “Ancient Wisdom and New Sciences: Prophecies
at the Ottoman Court in the Fifteenth and Early Sixteenth Centuries.” In Falnama The Book of Omens. Edited by
Massumeh Farhad with Serpil Bağcı (London: Thanes and Hudson, 2009), p. 239.
33
Fleischer ibid. op.cit.
180
from 1518 (Selīm’s visit) to 1565 (the issuing of the royal edict for the Süleymaniye madrasa),
‘Ārif’s basing his cosmology on the Murcian mystic-philosopher should not come as a surprise.
We should also add that the şehnāmeci’s own background in mysticism supports this likelihood.
In Muhyi-i Gülşenī’s book on the life of İbrahim Gülşenī, the maternal grandfather of
‘Ārif, there are several anecdotes where Sheikh İbrahim Gülşenī aids the reputed Sheikh (Dede)
Ömer Rūşenī, who was accused of defending the thought of Ibn ‘Arabī especially as it was
represented in Fuṣūṣ al-ḥikam. We also know from the same source that ‘Ārif was assigned by
his grandfather to transcribe the latter’s allegedly 30 000 couplet-long ‘Anḳanāme.34 One cannot
help but wonder if this work known only in name was an homage to Ibn ‘Arabī’s Al-‘Anqa’ al-
Mughrib the way his main work Ma‘nevī was to Rūmī’s Mesnevī.35
The favor and acceptance that Ibn ‘Arabī’s thought received by the members of the
Ottoman dynasty, the authority it exercised in the cultural environment of the time, and ‘Ārif’s
own mystical preparation and inclinations towards him might suffice to explain why ‘Ārif’s
argument appears to draw so much from Ibn ‘Arabī’s mystical philosophy. However, they fall
short of providing an answer to a larger and I believe more important question: why did the
şehnāmeci decide to include a cosmological section in his book on the—whenever possible—epic
history of Sulṭān Süleymān?
34
Muḥyī-yi Gülşenī, Menāḳıb-i İbrāhīm-i Gülşenī. Ed. Tahsin Yazıcı (Ankara: 1982), p. 302.
35
Here, we should also note that ethics literature in mesnevī form where allegories with birds were used as the
main narrative tool was particularly popular in the early sixteenth century. One such work was Derviş
Şemseddīn’s Deh Murg (Ten Birds) which was prepared for Selīm I in 1513. In turn Şemseddīn’s work was heavily
influenced by Ferīdüddīn ‘Attār’s (1120-1220 C.E.?) Mantiḳu’t-Tayr (The Conference of the Birds) especially in its
formal structure. See Derviş Şemseddin, Kuşların Münazarası (Deh Murg). Edited by Hasan Aksoy. Istanbul, Marmara
Üniversitesi Ilahiyat Fakültesi Vakfı Yayınları, 1998. It is possible that İbrahim Gülşenī’s presently extinct book
too drew its inspiration from ‘Attār’s classic, where the Griffin is a symbol of the Divine Beloved, who is urgently
sought for reunion. At the end of their quest for the Griffin, where the thirty birds in the story (“si murg” in
Persian) face their limitations and mature their consciousness, they discover that they, themselves are the Griffin
(“Simurg”).
181
The main reason, I claim lies in our inappropriate categorization of Süleymānnāme.
Süleymānnāme, in its essence, is not a history book on the reign of Sulṭān Süleymān even
though it does narrate many of the events that took place during his reign. As such, for ‘Ārif,
writing linear history was not the end, but only a means to an end. The writer’s real intention
appears to be the unveiling and the articulation of Sulṭān Süleymān’s special role in history as
it begins from Creation. In this respect, we could even argue that both in this last volume and
in his Şāhnāme project as a whole, ‘Ārif is more interested in vertical history rather than
horizontal. Over and behind a misguiding format of a universal history in five volumes, the
şehnāmeci makes a case for Süleymān as the last of the universal kings and as the final
possessor of the Light of Muḥammed.36
The introductory section that will be discussed in more detail below is the only place, at
least in this volume, where ‘Ārif articulates his main intention for composing his life’s obra, if
not clearly, surely distinctly.
36
The concept of Light in general and the Light of Muḥammed in particular has been a theme of controversy
between the analytical and mystical inclined philosopher-theologians of Islam. For and introduction to the more
philosophical approach see W. Hartner; Tj. de Boer.“Nūr.” Encyclopaedia of Islam, second Edition, Edited by: P.
Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel and W.P. Heinrichs. Brill, 2010. Brill Online. In mysticism,
especially of the school of ‘Arabian thought, Muḥammadan Light refers to the pure entity that predates the
creation of the world and hence of Adam. Accordingly the historical Muḥammed was the perfect physical
embodiment of this essential and pure light. Other saints and prophets also possess the same light but not as
completely as the Islamic prophet. In the thought of Ibn ‘Arabī and his followers the concept of Muḥammadan
Light is integral to the concept of the Perfect Man (İnsān al-Kāmil) who as a microcosm represents the prototype of
the macrocosm of the universe and all manifestations of creation. See U. Rubin. “Nūr Muḥammadī.” Encyclopaedia
of Islam, second Edition, Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel and W.P. Heinrichs.
Brill, 2010.
182
e. THE COSMOS OF THE DECIMAL SYSTEM
The starting point of ‘Ārif’s metaphysical discourse is the number ten to which a special
significance is attributed. With a straightforward style he states the two reasons that make the
reigning Ottoman ruler special: Sulṭān Süleymān was the tenth sultan of his lineage and he was
born in the tenth century.37 From the very beginning, the reader is expected to accept the
assumption that numbers have more significance than their practical value in mathematics in
explaining the physical world.
On the other hand, ‘Ārif derives his own authority as an interpreter of occult meanings
from within his narration. After his statement of the two reasons of Sulṭān Süleymān’s
greatness, ‘Ārif begins to address and almost challenge the experts of worthy opinion as well as
those experts in hidden meanings.38 He writes39 (Figure 64):
These two reasons bind the experts of worthy opinion

By confirming the proof of my claim.
Under reserve40 there are many words to be articulated
For no one brought back any secret from behind the veil (of mystery)
If I draw back the veil from the face of the matter

(And) make all that is hidden manifest,
On account of the detailed explication of that (mystery) in the sections of (this) book,
37
‫ﺪهﻢ ﺸﺎﻩ ﺒﺎﺸﺪ ﭙﺲ اﺰ ﻨﻩ ﭙﺪﺮ‬/‫ﻴﻜﻰ ﺁﻦ ﺒﻮﺪ ﻜﺎﻦ ﺸﻩ ﺘﺎﺠﻮﺮ‬//‫ﺪﻮ ﺸﺎهﺪ ﺒﻮﺪ ﺒﺮ ﺒﺰﺮﻜﺊ ﺸﺎﻩ‬/‫ﺪﻠﻴﻠﻰ ﻜﻪ اﻜﻨﻮﻦ ﭽﻮ ﺨﻮﺮﺸﻴﺪ ﻮ ﻤﺎﻩ‬
‫ﻜﻪ ﺁﻦ ﻤﺎﻩ ﻄﺎﻠﻊ ﺸﺪ ﭽﻮﻦ هﻼﻞ‬/‫ﺰ ﻨﻬﺼﺪ ﻴﻜﻰ ﺒﻮﺪﻩ اﻔﺰﻮﻦ ﺰ ﺴﺎﻞ‬//‫ﺒﻘﺮﻦ هﻢ ﺁﻤﺪﻩ ﺪﺮ ﻮﺠﻮﺪ‬/‫ﺪﻮﻢ ﺁﻨﻜﻪ اﻦ ﭽﺸﻤﮥ ﺒﺤﺮ ﺠﻮﺪ‬
38
Here I translate the term “‫ ”اهﻞ ﺴﺨﻦ‬as the experts of worthy opinion and the term “‫ ”اهﻞ ﺨﻮاﺺ‬as experts in
hidden meanings. The second term normally denotes experts in the hidden meanings of both numbers and
letters. Here, ‘Ārif’s argumentation is largely based on numerology.
39
TSMK H. 1517, 5b, from line 1 to the end of the first half of line 4:
‫ﻜﻪ اﺰ ﭙﺮﺪﻩ ﺒﻴﺮﻮﻦ ﻨﻴﺎﺮﺪ ﻜﺴﻰ‬/‫ﺪﺮﻴﻦ ﭙﺮﺪﻩ ﺒﺎﺸﺪ ﺴﺨﻨﻬﺎ ﺒﺴﻰ‬//‫ﺒﺘﺼﺪﻴﻖ اﺜﺒﺎﺖ ﺪﻋواى ﻤﻦ‬/‫ﺒﺴﺖ اﻴﻦ ﺪﻮ ﺤﺠﺖ ﺒﺮ اهﻞ ﺴﺨﻦ‬
‫ﺸﻮﺪ ﭽﻬﺮۀ ﻤﺪﻋﻰ ﺪﺮ ﺤﺠﺎﺐ‬/‫ﺰ ﺘﻔﺼﻴﻞ ﺁﻦ ﺪﺮ ﻓﺼﻮﻞ ﻜﺘﺎﺐ‬//‫هﻤﻪ ﺮاﺰ ﭙﻨﻬﺎﻦ ﻜﻨﻢ ﺁﺸﻜﺎﺮ‬/‫ﻜﺸﺎﻴﻢ ﻜﺮ ﺁﻦ ﭙﺮﺪﻩ اﺰ ﺮﻮى ﻜﺎﺮ‬
‫ﻜﻪ ﺪاﺮﻢ ﺪﺮ اﻦ ﻤﻌﺮﻔﺖ ﻨﻴﺰ ﻓﻦ‬/‫ﻜﻪ ﺘﺎ ﺁﻨﻜﻪ ﺪاﻨﻨﺪ اﻬﻞ ﺴﺨﻦ‬//‫ﻨﻪ اﺰ ﺼ ﻜﻪ اﺰ ﺼﺪ هﺰاﺮ اﻦ ﻴﻜﻰ‬/‫ﺴﺰﺪ ﻜﻪ ﺒﻜﻮﻴﻢ ﻮﻠﻰ اﻨﺪﻜﻰ‬
‫ﻜﻪ ﭙﻮﺸﻴﺪﻩ ﻨﺒﻮﺪ ﺒﺮ اﻬﻞ ﺨﻮاﺺ‬/‫ﺒﻮﺪ ﺪﺮ ﻋﺪﺪ ﺨﺎﺼﻴﺘﻬﺎى ﺨﺎﺺ‬
40
We could also translate this line as “behind this curtain (of mystery) there are many words (to be said).
183
The countenance of the (true) intention will be put behind a veil.41
Even if I may say but little

Not one hundredth but one hundred thousandth (of what is due)
So that the experts of the worthy opinion would know
That I have art in that (field of) knowledge, as well.
In numbers there are particular qualities

That are not concealed from the experts in hidden meanings.42
With these words, ‘Ārif expects or pretends to experts in mystic philosophy in his
audience. Whether his expectation is real or a mere pretension, ‘Ārif uses it as a narrative tool
to claim authority in the mystic philosophy he is about to embark. By association, he has also
included the experts among his travelling companions so-to-speak.
As mentioned above, ‘Ārif’s starting point is the concept of numbers, more specifically
the decimal system. He makes use of the decimal system as an allegorical tool to explain the
culmination of the 10th century (AH) to produce the Perfect Man Süleymān.
Each decimal unit has a capacity to increase by “1” until the number “9.” Once the first
decimal unit reaches the number “9,” as if pushed by a wave, it spills over to the next decimal
unit, returning the single’s digit—in this case—to “0,” in other words to the initial state of
nothingness, while producing the overall result “10.” The same happens between the numbers
“99” and “100”, “999” and “1000,” and so forth.
When nine has come to settle in the decimal unit,

All kinds of numbers are summed up
All the odd and even numbers43
41
Here, ‘Ārif is stating that the unveiling of mystical secrets publicly and plainly would ironically hide true
intentions. So, he prefers to unveil only a few and in a more discreet language so that only the initiated can infer
what is meant and what is held back.
42
I owe many thanks to Nazanin Amirian and Prof. Frank Lewis for discussing with me the translation of this
section of Süleymānnāme. Needless to say any mistake made is mine.
43
The literal translation would be “all kinds of pairs.”
184
Come to sight from it like a wave from water
When the ratio of one to nine is right

Then it returns to the initial form
You the read it as ten in counting
The next time one hundred and the next, one thousand44
In this section, aside from the primary metaphor between the workings of the decimal
system in mathematics and the organization of epochs in history, there is a secondary
metaphor associated with water. The addition of the digits to make the number “10” and its
spilling over to the next decimal digit is likened to the appearance of a wave from water. With
the metaphor of a wave, two ideas, both the crescendo of the numeric quantity and its
culmination into a new, more perfect and complete number that is made up of the previous
numbers both in writing (“1” and “0”) and in content (“9+1”) are explained visually. Each time
this process repeats, the decimal unit, like the wave, appears as a new manifestation. Yet, at
the same time, the relationship between the unit and the other numbers parallels the
relationship between the wave and water: the wave is made up of water and travels in water. It
is at any given moment a part of water, and finally, at its resolution, it joins with the entire
body of water.
Interestingly, ‘Ārif’s metaphor with water brings to mind another incident in history
that marked the end of an epoch and that is mentioned repeatedly in ‘Ārif’s and Eflāṭūn’s
works: the Great Flood at the time of Noah.45 The expression “odd and even numbers” that I
44
TSMK H. 1517, 5b, lines 5 and 6.:
‫ﺒﺪﻴﺪ ﺁﻴﺪ اﺰﻮى ﭽﻮ اﺰ ﺁﺐ ﻤﻮج‬/‫هﻤﻪ ﻨﻮع ﻓﺮﺪ ﻮ هﻤﻪ ﺠﻨﺲ ﺰﻮج‬//‫ﺸﻮﺪ ﻤﺠﻤﻊ ﺠﻤﻠﻪ ﻨﻮع ﺸﻤﺎﺮ‬/‫ﭽﻮ ﺪﺮ ﺨﺎﻨﻪ ﻨﻪ ﺒﻜﻴﺮﺪ ﻗﺮاﺮ‬
‫ﺪﻜﺮ ﺮﻩ ﺼﺪ ﻮ ﺒﺎﺮﻩ ﺪﻴﻜﺮ هﺰاﺮ‬/‫ﺘﻮ ﺁﻨﻜﺎﻩ ﺨﻮاﻨﻰ ﺪهﺶ ﺪﺮ ﺸﻤﺎﺮ‬//‫ﻜﻨﺪ ﻋﻮﺪﺖ ﺁﻨﻜﻪ ﺒﺸﻜﻞ ﻨﺨﺴﺖ‬/‫ﺸﻮﺪ ﻨﺴﺒﺖ ﻴﻜ ﭽﻮ ﺒﺎ ﻨﻪ ﺪﺮﺴﺖ‬
45
Noah and the Great Flood are represented among the miniatures of Enbiyānāme. See chapter 3 of this thesis. The
story is also used to draw a parallel between Noah and Sulṭān Süleymān in Eflāṭūn’s short treatise on the flood of
Istanbul (TSMK H. 1570) which will be discussed in a separate section. Naturally it is also included in the Imperial
185
preferred to use in the translation above to make the explanation of the decimal system
clearer, would literally translate as “all kinds of individuals and all types of pairs.”46 Likewise,
the more literal translation of the line “all kinds of numbers are summed up” would be “all
kinds of countable things are assembled.” Hence ‘Ārif nicely conjures up the image of the
assembly of all animals in pairs ready to embark on Noah’s arc as he is describing the turning
over from “9” to “10” in the decimal system, which in turn is a metaphor for the culmination
of the Islamic epoch.
Furthermore, the metaphor of the wave functions as an intermediate image for the
following group of stichs where ‘Ārif writes of the journey of the unit to reunite with the One:47
When the journey of the units in it is complete,

Behold there is one in the world with the name of 10
Out of the journey of degrees, out of the acquisition of virtues,
One would end up with special perfections
From the source of perfection it (the unit) becomes fully manifest in itself
One is united with the Ever Lasting Unit (God)
The proof of its perfection is from that ten48
It is evident enough before the experts of perception
While the increasing of numbers up to the number “9” works smoothly as a symbol for
the acquisition of virtues and consciousness in one’s spiritual journey to perfection, where
perfection is attained at union with God or numerically when “9” becomes “10,” the
Scroll (TSMK A. 3599, Tomar-ı Hümāyūn), in a way that is visually striking. For an examination of Eflāṭūn’s short
treatise and the Imperial Scroll, see chapter 6 below.
46
See H. 1517, 5b, line 5. The word “‫ ”ﺰﻮج‬has the meanings “a pair, a couple; a spouse, a consort; a husband; one of
a pair, a mate; an even number.” See S. Haim, The Larger Persian English Dictionary. (Farhang Moaser: Tehran, 1991.)
47
TSMK H. 1517 5b, lines 9 and 10:
‫ﺴﺮ اﻤﺪ ﺸﻮﺪ ﺒﺎ ﻜﻤﺎﻼﺖ ﺨﺎﺲ‬/‫ﺰ ﺴﻴﺮ ﻤﺮاﺘﺐ ﺰ ﻜﺴﺐ ﺨﻮاﺺ‬//‫ﺰهﻰ ﺪﺮ ﺠهﺎﻦ ﻮاﺤﺪ ﻋﺸﺮ ﻨﺎﻢ‬/‫ﺸﻮﺪ ﺴﻴﺮ ﺁﺤﺎﺪ ﺪﺮﻮى ﺘﻤﺎﻢ‬
‫ﺒﻮﺪ ﺒﺲ ﻋﻴﺎﻦ ﺒش اهﻞ ﻨﻈﺮ‬/‫ﺪﻠﻴﻞ ﻜﻤﺎﻠش ﺰ ﺘﻠﻚ ﻋﺸﺮ‬//‫ﺸﻮﺪ ﻤﺘﺤﺪ ﺒﺎ اﺤﺪ ﻻﻴﺰاﻞ‬/‫ﻜﻨﺪ ﺠﻠﻮﻩ ﺪر ﺨﻮﺪ ﺰ ﻋﻴﻦ ﻜﻤﺎﻞ‬
48
This phrase is given in Arabic. There is also a general increase in the frequency of Arabic vocabulary used in
these lines. Typically, this approximation to the language of the Koran, is intended to add sanctity to the text.
186
relationship between an infinitely large body of water and a wave is a better visual
representation for the existence of God in every unit (vaḥdet-i vücūd).49 Incidentally, this
principle of Unity in Multiplicity (vaḥdanīyye) is the second aspect (veche) of the ontology of
Ibn ‘Arabī.50
To familiarize ourselves with the symbolic significance of the decimal system in
understanding the one and unique Divine which manifests itself in multiplicity, it might be
useful to search for the origins of this idea that had filtered into the thought of Ibn ‘Arabī
among other mystics.51 The connection of the decimal system with “the primordial one
existence” and “the polarity of manifestation” 52 that ‘Ārif is interpreting is a neo-platonic
notion inherited from the Pythagoreans. Anne Marie Schimmel’s description of the
Pythagoreans in her The Mystery of Numbers (Das Mysterium der Zahl), reveals the origin of ‘Ārif’s
interpretation clearly:
The most perfect number in the Pythogorean system was 10, since it is the sum of the
first four integers (1+2+3+4) and could be represented as an equilateral triangle. This
multiplicity again became unity in the 10.53
‘Ārif’s usage of this clearly Neo-platonic idea reflects his own cultural
49
See the discussion in Chittick, W.C. "Waḥdat al- S̲H̲uhūd (a.)." Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. Edited by: P.
Bearman; , Th. Bianquis; , C.E. Bosworth; , E. van Donzel; and W.P. Heinrichs. Brill, 2010. Brill Online.
50
For an initial discussion on the concept of “vaḥda” (unit, unity) in Sufi thought and philosophy see Heinrichs,
W.P.; Netton, I.R. "Waḥda (a.)." Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. Edited by: P. Bearman; Th. Bianquis; ,
C.E. Bosworth; , E. van Donzel; and W.P. Heinrichs. Brill, 2010. Brill Online.
51
For a discusión of the Neo-platonic elements in the thought of Ibn ‘Arabī, see Hernández, Miguel Cruz. Historia
del Pensamiento en el Mundo Islámico, v. 2. (Madrid: Alianza editorial, 2000), p. 254- 265.
52
Anne Marie Schimmel, The Mystery of Numbers (Das Mysterium der Zahl) trans. By Franz Carl Endres. (New York:
Oxford University Press, 1994), p. 180.
53
Anne Marie Schimmel, ibid. op.cit., p. 15.
187
background54 as well as confirming the acceptability of Islamic mysticism of overtly Greek
origins in Süleymān’s court in the late 1550s. It also strongly suggests that the practice of
arithmomancy (‘ilm el-cifr) was current in the court at the time.
Up until now, we have looked at how ‘Ārif used the decimal system to describe the
individual’s metaphysical and mystical journey in order to underline the special role of
Süleymān in sacred history and his attainment of perfection. A similar vision was pursued in
the images of the same volume. What follows is a discussion of the tree symbolism and the
various representations of sacred light that appear to have found its way to the royal portraits
in this volume.
f. THE TREE AS A SYMBOL
The function of the image of a tree as a symbol has been mentioned earlier in this
study, in the context of the miniatures of ‘Osmānnāme in chapter four. In particular, I have
interpreted the trees behind Orḫān and his father ‘Osmān in the abdication scene on folio 56b
(Figure 47) as representative of their psychological state and the sturdy tree behind Orḫān in
the scene with his brother ‘Alā’eddīn on folio 62b (Figure 49) as a symbol of Orḫān’s devlet.
In the same manuscript, there were two other tree representations that were discussed.
The first was the tree under which Murād I was resting when he uttered a curse and the
Apollonia castle fell (folio 132a, Figure 57). This was the famous tree known as the Great
54
It is highly likely that arithmomancy was a science that was characteristic of the Gülşenī order. We know that
the writer of Menāḳıb-i İbrāhīm-i Gülşenī, Muḥyī is credited for inventing a language called “baleybelen” based on
numerology. Muḥyī-yi Gülşenī, Menāḳıb-i İbrāhīm-i Gülşenī. Ed. Tahsin Yazıcı (Ankara: 1982), p. Xxi. For the
relationship of this language with numerology see Jozef Pacholezyk, “Music and Astronomy in the Muslim
World” in Leonardo, v. 29, no. 2 (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1996), p. 146; for more information on this artificial
language see Mustafa Koç, Bâleybelen Muhyî-i Gülşenî : ilk yapma dil. (Istanbul: 2005).
188
Auspicious Tree or the Auspicious Poplar according to Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi (devletlü kaba ağaç or
devletlü kavak). 55 The other symbolic tree of ‘Osmānnāme was the curious floating tree in bloom
included in the scene of the Ankara battle (folio 203a, Figure 62). This tree was interpreted as
the tree of the devlet of the Ottoman sultan Bāyezid I, flowering at the moment as the sultan
was depicted successfully attacking the enemy, but, like the sultan’s fortune, about to fly away.
There are several other symbolic trees in the manuscript that have not been mentioned
as they were not significant to the argument of chapter 4. Here however, before launching on
the examination of tree symbology in Süleymānnāme, I believe it will be fruitful to skim over
examples from the previous volume of ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān to see instances when the
image of a tree signified more than the representation of a plant with a root, trunk and leaves.
Once again, I claim that these symbolic trees of ‘Osmānnāme are strongly associated with
the protagonists of the depiction in which they are painted. Among these trees we can count
the paradisiacal tree bending protectively over Murād I in his dying scene on folio 163a (Figure
58), the elegant and sensuous curving tree associated with Bāyezid’s wife, the Serbian princess,
on folio 174a (Figure 60), and the fully leaved healthy tree of devlet behind Bāyezid as opposed
to the leafless and flimsy moving tree of his foe on folio 171a. (Figure 60)
Naturally, there are many other depictions of trees in both ‘Osmānnāme and
Süleymānnāme. Many of them form part of the natural landscape for the incident depicted. The
double folio representation of the Battle of Mohacs (219b-220a) in Süleymānnāme, for example,
includes the depiction of several such trees. (Figure 71)
Trees can also have formal functions in organizing the illustrated page. The tree at the
center top of the page on folio 422a of the same volume, depicting the confrontation of
55
Due to Murād’s curse the castle is also known as Tanrıyıkdı (Godruined) in Ottoman historical literature. For
various accounts of this incident see Āşıkpaşazāde, op. cit., p. 132, Neşrī, op. cit., p. 212-213, and Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi,
op. cit., p. 141, 142.
189
Ottoman and Austrian forces, appears to have the function of marking a bipartite division of
the scene. (Figure 72) Along with the rocks vertically below it, this tree facilitates the
identification of the two parties represented in the miniature. When are the tree images in the
Ottoman Şāhnāme miniatures merely trees, and when are they symbols? Or by interpreting
some trees as symbols are we in the danger of reading meanings into images?
Assigning symbolic meanings to what seems to be a complementary element in the
scenery of a miniature might appear to be far-fetched at first sight. Many might find it
particularly difficult to accept this as a possibility especially when a tree is sometimes merely
part of the natural flora, and sometimes a symbol. Yet, as it has been emphasized in the course
of this thesis, the visual program of ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān is exceptionally narrative. It
should not be surprising, then when its visual language also employs techniques similar to
those used in the literary compositions of the sixteenth century. At the time, not only the
verse but also the prose that the Ottoman literary elite produced could maintain two and at
times even three lines of meaning for a considerable length of text. Hence, why should it be
difficult to accept that a term in the highly narrative visual language accompanying Ārif’s
ambitious poetry might possess more than one meaning? A word in a text is allowed to have
various meanings at different times, and even at the same time; why should not a visual term
be allowed the same power and freedom?
I believe that the preliminary objections to reading a common detail in a miniature, in
this case a tree, as a symbol stem from our lack of familiarity with the visual language of the
time. Words, even when from centuries past, ring—at times deceivingly—familiar sounds for us
whereas we need an extra—intermediary—medium to decipher images. Despite the variance in
the effectiveness and quality of their usage, words are in the everyday domain of
190
communication much more than painting and music. Hence, even when we allow the visual
language of ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān the same technical flexibility as we do to his verse,
some basic guidelines are needed to differentiate between the instances when the image of a
tree represents just a tree, and when it can be read as a symbol. I suggest the following basic
system.
In all the examples mentioned above, there are signs which hint at the reader that the
tree in the painting is meant as a symbol rather than as a part of the natural setting. One of
these signs is the physical relation and the position of the tree vis-à-vis the figure it is
associated with. Often, they are placed right behind the figure as in the case of both of the
miniatures with Orḫān (Figures 47 and 49) and in the case of Bāyezid I on folio 171a (Figure 60).
At times the trees lean over the figure they are associated with as in the trees in both of the
miniatures of Murād I discussed above (folio 132a/Figure 57; folio 163a/Figure 58) and the one
associated with the sister of the Serbian king in the romantic scene with Bāyezid I on folio 174a
(Figure 60).
Another sign is the presence of any type of peculiarity that creates a contrast with the
other elements of the depiction or that makes the image of the tree stand out. To this point,
the floating tree in the scene of the Battle of Ankara (Figure 62) provides the best example. The
contrast between the healthy leaved tree of Bāyezid and the leafless flimsy tree that is moving
with the wind behind his foe on folio 171a (Figure 60) fulfills this criterion, as well. So does the
contrast created between the trees associated with Orḫān and the rest of the trees in the two
miniatures of the second Ottoman ruler mentioned above (Figures 47 and 49).56
56
See the relevant discussion on chapter 4 in the section of the miniatures depicting Orḫān.
191
There is yet a third sign that suggests that the image of a tree is not only an element of
depicted nature. This third indication is the presence of a reference in the text. The tree
known as the Great Auspicious Tree and that is depicted in the episode of the fall of the
Appolonia castle (Figure 57), for example, is referred to in the verse lines on the illustrated
page. 57 In this case, the tree is not symbolic the way the other representations of trees
associated with Orḫān are. Neither is it similar to Bayezid’s flying tree. Rather than being an
anonymous tree charged with symbolic meaning, the tree in the scene related to the fall of the
Appolonia castle is the representation of a particular tree, that is the Great Auspicious Tree.
Here, the symbolic meaning is attached directly to the tree mentioned in the—literary—
narration of the episode. Hence its visual representation is one step farther away from the
symbolic meaning.
When at least one of these three criteria is fulfilled, the reader can reasonably
investigate for a symbolic meaning. If the figure or part of a visual composition that is
suspected of having a symbolic meaning is repeated with some consistency in the larger work
to which it belongs, the possibility of it being employed as a symbol is more than likely.
g. THE IMAGE OF THE TREE WITH WATER
The symbolic tree images in Süleymānnāme attract attention because of their dominant
positions in the images as well as the curious water that appears to come from their roots. As
such, all fulfill the second criteria that I sketched above to recognize symbolism. In addition,
57
See the translation and the discussion in chapter 4.
192
most of them are positioned and depicted in a way that invites an association with the
protagonist of the miniature.
In the representation of the sultan’s arrival at Ḳaṣr-ı Şīrīn (Figure 74), we see Süleymān
with his entourage before the legendary castle named after the beloved wife of one of the most
well-known Sasanid kings, Ḫusrev, who is also an important protagonist of Firdevsī’s classic.58
We learn from the text that the castle’s degenerated state, which is also referred to on the
illustrated page, inspires the sultan to ponder on the temporality of life and glory.59 (Figure 75)
In contrast to the textual description of the castle, in the image, it stands firm and beautiful.
In the painting, before the tower-like building on the right, there is a hexagonal pool
connected by water canals.60 The sultan is depicted mounted on his horse that is walking
gracefully in a relaxed speed in the rightward direction. He is about to be right underneath a
tree with pink flowers in full bloom. A small amount of water curiously curves around the tree
where its trunk joins its root. The tree and the water beneath it stand in a circular garden with
flowers. Along with the hexagonal pool, the little garden around the tree forms the only green
patch of earth in the image. Esin Atıl describes this tree and its environs as “a pond from which
a blossoming fruit tree rises.”61 I claim that it is more than a peculiar depiction of a tree since it
presumes too much protagonism for a decorative element in the background. Besides, it is not
58
Ḵh̲usraw II Parwēz (560-628 A.D.). For introductory information on the site of the castle-palace see Streck, M.
"Ḳaṣr- i S̲H̲īrīn." Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. Edited by: P. Bearman , Th. Bianquis , C.E. Bosworth , E. van
Donzel and W.P. Heinrichs. Brill, 2010. Online.
59
Süleymānnāme especially folio 367b, starting with line 1:
‫ﭽﻮ ﺘﻠﺨﻰ ﻤﺮﻜﺶ ﺒﻮﺪ ﻨﻴﺴﺖ هﻴﺞ‬/‫ﻜﻪ اﻴﻦ ﻋﻤﺮ ﺸﻴﺮﻴﻦ ﺒﭽﻨﺪﻴﻦ ﭙﻴﺞ‬//‫ﭽﻨﻴﻦ ﻜﻔﺖ ﺒﺎ ﺨﻮﺪ ﺸﻪ ﺸﻴﺮ ﻜﻴﺮ‬/‫ﺒﺪاﻦ ﻗﺼﺮ ﺨﺎﻠﻰ ﺰ ﺸﻴﺮﻴﻦ ﻮ ﺸﻴﺮ‬
60
The tower with the dome in the miniature is probably the representation of the Sasanid fire temple known as
Çār Darvāza (“Four Doors”), or Ḳalʿa-i Çuār Kapu, “Palace of the four Gates.” For this building and other similar
Persianate architectures see Dietrich Huff, Bernard O’Kane.“Čahārṭāq.”Encyclopaedia Iranica. Edited by Ehsan
Yarshatar. 2010. Online.
61
Esin Atıl op. cit., p. 171.
193
the only such tree that Painter A of Süleymānnāme drew. There are several similar trees and a
few variations on the tree in front of the castle-palace of Ḳaṣr-ı Şīrīn.
One such tree with water curving around its root is the one behind the sultan’s tent as
he receives Queen Isabella and the Infant King Stephen in 1541 C.E. on folio 441a (Figure 69).
Towards the end of the volume, the image of the tree with water curving around it gains much
frequency. On folio 583a, we see a similar tree immediately above Prince Selīm’s mounted
figure. (Figure 76) The following miniature of the performance of the archers on folio 588a
(Figure 67) includes yet another tree in water. Esin Atıl, who could not ignore the dominant
figure of this last tree describes it as “a large tree, its trunk echoing the curve of the lining of
the sultan’s kaftan.” The association she draws between the form of the tree and Sulṭān
Süleymān’s robe supports my own association of this tree with the sultan.
Moreover, in the miniature right after the depiction of the performance of the archers,
we see another image where the position and the particular representation of the tree suggest
an association with the sultan. On folio 592a (Figure 77), there is a tree with water around its
root immediately above the sultan, who is represented on his way back from the Iranian
campaign in the fall of 1554 C.E. Imitating the sultan, the water around the tree’s roots is also
on the march as it flows downward in zigzags.
In Süleymānnāme there are other images as variations on the same theme. The trees
with water at its roots that we see on folios 212a and 527a resemble one another. (Figures
78and 79) In both images the peculiar accumulation of water at the feet of the tree leans down
in the direction of the Ottoman agent in an almost sheltering gesture. On 212a, in the single
combat scene before the Battle of Mohacs in 1526 C.E., the water curving around the root of
the tree in the top center droops down over the Ottoman forward soldier or “deli” named
194
Sinan fighting against the Hungarian cavalry named Eugene. (Figure 78) In the scene on folio
527a, a similar body of water is positioned in a way that strongly suggests intentionality
towards and above the commander of the garrison at Lipva, ‘Ulāma Paşa. 62(Figure 79) Here,
‘Ulāma Paşa is depicted as he is being attacked by the Habsburg forces who had deceived them
by promising them safe conduct before. In both instances, the water is contained in a little
garden much like in the scene of Sulṭān Süleymān’s arrival at Ḳaṣr-ı Şīrīn. (Figure 74) In both
incidents the Ottoman agents managed to save their lives.
Not all Ottoman agents depicted in Süleymānnāme had the same fortune as Sinan and
Ulamā Paşa. Hüseyin Paşa, the governor (beylerbeyi) of Sivas, is depicted as he dies from the
wounds inflicted by the rebels against whom he had fought bravely. He is seen on folio 235a in
the arms of Hüsrev Paşa who had brought additional forces to help him. (Figure 80) Above
them and in a central position, once more there is a prominent tree. This time, however, there
is no water around its roots, but paradisiacal flowers. Atıl has also noticed this tree. “As also
seen in scenes of the death of İskender,” she says that “the tree extending beyond the picture
frame symbolizes the departure of the soul and its ascension into heaven.”63
Although the tree of this image might be related to the ascension of Hüseyin Paşa’s soul
to heaven, the presence of many other tree images in this volume going outside of the picture
frame—when no figure is depicted dying—makes such a direct reading problematic. Instead of
62
On folio 81a, in the scene of the sultan’s arrival at Böğürdelen, there is a protruding body of water that comes
down from the top of a hill and that is not attached to a tree. Esin Atıl describes the protruding pond in this
miniature and the similar pond with the tree in the miniature with ‘Ulamā Paşa (Figure 116) as organizational
details that draw the viewer’s attention to the protagonists of the depiction. I agree with Atıl’s description,
however, I also think that these ponds with or in the case of folio 81 without a tree might have been included in
the depictions for their symbolic meanings along with their compositional functions.
63
Esin Atıl, op. cit. p. 139.
195
the image of a tree half cut by the picture frame, the representation of a tree cut in the trunk
by running water seems to be the symbol of death in the Süleymānnāme miniatures.
h. THE CUT TREE BY RUNNING WATER
In Süleymānnāme there are three examples for the image of a cut tree located by—
running—water. On folio 353a, in the depiction of the Battle of Güns we see a cut tree by the
river as a galloping Ottoman cavalry Turhan Bey drags a Habsburg soldier tied with a lasso.
(Figure 81) It is highly likely that the cut tree is not only an indication of the imminent future
of the Habsburg soldier who is seen being dragged, but it is also associated with another enemy
soldier, who, already dead, lies just in front of the tree.
In the scene of the sultan hunting with his sons Meḥmed and Selīm in the spring of
1537 C.E. on folio 393a, we see another cut tree prominently situated immediately below the
princes by the water. Behind the cut trunk, we see the two princes cutting through a wild
boar.64
The most peculiar appearance of a cut tree by water is certainly on folio 570a, in the
depiction of Sulṭān Süleymān’s meeting with his son Bāyezid in 1553 C.E. (Figure 68) In this
image there is no dead or dying body in the environs of the cut trunk. At the same time, at the
top of the image, where the water starts and where we are used to seeing a prominent tree,
64
This cut tree might also be an indication foreshadowing the death of Prince Meḥmed that happened in 1543 C.E.,
several years after the happy occasion depicted in this miniature.
196
there is a threatening mass of rocks. Once again, the dominant and peculiar depiction of the
rocks has attracted the attention of Esin Atıl. She says that “a mountain with rocks lying
precariously at its summit rises in the background.”65 Is there a death hinted at but not
depicted in this image?
Indeed shortly after this image, on folios 571b and 572a, ‘Ārif narrates Prince Muṣṭafā’s
visit to his father, a visit that would bring the end of the prince’s life.66
When the prince was in the tent of the shah,

His cord of livelihood grew short on him67
Was there then in that royal tent
A sin that deserved the rage of the shah?
No one except for the King of Kings of Religion (‫)ﺸﻬﻨﺸﺎﻩ ﺪﻴﻦ‬
Was aware of such a sin (Figure 82)68
The shock and clamor that the assassination of the prince caused among the soldiers in
the encampment is mentioned in the reports of foreigners as well as in the many poems
written in the aftermath of the incident.69 It is also attested by ‘Ārif’s rather discreet account as
65
Esin Atıl, op. cit. p. 219.
66
H. 1517, folio 572a, the second half of line 12 and line 13: ‫ﺒﺪو ﺮﺸﺘﮥ ﻋﻤﺮ ﻜﺘﺎﻩ ﺸﺪ‬/‫ﭽو ﺸﻬﺰاﺪﻩ ﺪﺮ ﭙﺮﺪﻩ ﺸﺎﻩ ﺸﺪ‬
‫ﻨﺒﻮﺪ ﺁﻜﻬﻰ اﺰ ﻜﻨﺎهﻰ ﭽﻨﻴﻦ‬/‫ﻜﺴﻰ ﺮا ﺒﻐﻴﺮ اﺰ ﺸﻬﻨﺸﺎﻩ ﺪﻴﻦ‬//‫ﻜﻨﺎهﻰ ﺴﺰاواﺮ ﺒﺮ ﺨﺸﻢ ﺸﺎﻩ‬/‫ﻤﻜﺮ ﺒوﺪ او ﺮا ﺪﺮ اﻦ ﺒﺎﺮﻜﺎﻩ‬
67
Here, the choice of the word “cord” is likely to be a reference to the way Muṣṭafā was strangled by a string, the
traditional way used in the executions of the members of the Ottoman dynasty. Slightly earlier in the text, on
folio 571b, there is also a possible reference to the sign language that was used by the mutes who assassinated the
prince:
The word of destiny is not something to meddle with/ For the finger of that word is not in the fist
‫ ﻜﻪ اﻨﻜﺸﺖ ﺁﻦ ﺤﺮﻒ ﺪﺮ ﻤﺸﺖ ﻨﻴﺴﺖ‬/ ‫ﺒﺤﺮﻒ ﻗﻀﺎ ﺠﺎى اﻨﻜﺸﺖ ﻨﻴﺴﺖ‬
For the descriptions of the incident in the royal tent see E. Alberi. Relazioni degli Ambasciatori Veneti al Senato
durante il secolo decimosesto. Sezione Turchia, ser. III, v. I, Firenze, 1840, s. 209-210, ; Şerafettin Turan. Kanuni
Süleyman Dönemi Taht Kavgaları, Ankara, 1997, s. 38-39; Ahmet Atilla. Şentürk . Yahya Beğ’in Şehzâde Mustafa
Mersiyesi yahut Kanunî Hicviyesi, İstanbul, 1998, s. LXII, footnote 49.
68
The statement that the sultan was the only one aware of the sinning of the prince is a rather crafty
interpretation of the matter on two grounds. Firstly, it reinforces the saintly image of Süleymān as the possessor
of privileged information that was not available to others. This message is underlined by ‘Ārif’s employment of
the epithet “The King of Kings of Religion.” Secondly, it absolves others, above all the Grand Vizier Rüstem Paşa,
who was possibly ‘Ārif’s main protector in the Ottoman court and was accused of being the mastermind of a
complot against the prince.
69
See the previous footnote. For more references see my upcoming article “Bir Trajedinin Kurgulanışı:
Arifī’nin Süleymānnāmesinde (TSMK H. 1517) Şehzāde Mustafā’nın Katlinin Ele Alınışı.” In
197
he writes, “With that inauspicious wind, the world/ became full of clamor like an empty
drum.70 (Figure 82)
In the image of Bāyezid visit, the two groups of figures, each consisting of four Ottoman
cavalry, on either side of the piled rocks support my suggestion that this image is related to
the assassination of Muṣṭafā and that the cut tree and the replacement of the “tree with water”
by the piled rocks is a reference to the killing of the prince. The concerned and sad faces of the
first two cavalry on the left, the gestures of the others pointing towards the rocks and their
visibly intense involvement in conversation seem like a much subdued representation of the
chaos—bordering on rebellion—that the assassination of the prince, who was widely popular
among the military, provoked. If this interpretation is correct, then the symbolic meaning of
the prominent tree that appears in many of the Süleymānnāme miniatures is associated with
life. How do we interpret all these prominent trees and the accompanying water that appears
to find its source at the roots of these trees?
The absence of any systematic study on the symbolic language of Ottoman miniatures
and the silence of Süleymānnāme’s text pertaining to the images mentioned above allow me
only to suggest certain interpretations. At the same time, the prominent positions of these tree
images that give them a role befitting a protagonist rather than a decorative element in the
background and their consistency of appearance in the volume make it more than likely that
they do have a symbolic meaning. Furthermore, their frequent appearance strongly suggests
that the symbolic meaning they possess is significant in understanding ‘Ārif’s Süleymānnāme.
Commemorative Gift to Filiz Cağman: Topkapı Palace Museum Communication Seminar on the Topkapı Palace and
Ottoman Art. Istanbul: Topkapı Palace, forthcoming.
70
H. 1517, folio 572a: “‫ ﭙﺮ ﺁﻮاز ﻜﺮﺪﻩ ﭽﻮ ﻄﺒﻞ ﺘﻬى‬/ ‫”ﺠﻬﺎﻨﺮا ﺒﺪاﻦ ﺒاﺪ ﺒﻰﻔﺮﻬﻰ‬
198
i. A COSMOLOGICAL INTERPRETATION
Before attempting to interpret the tree images in Süleymānnāme, a summary
evaluation of our starting position will be useful. There are no direct references to the
symbolic meanings of the tree images in the text that accompanies them. While the non-
collaboration of the accompanying text does not facilitate the interpretation of the images,
neither does it refute the possibility that they have a symbolic significance. In fact, when we
consider the order of the preparation of the manuscript, it becomes clear that the text of the
pages immediately before and after the images do not have to bear testimony to the details of
the images.
Indeed, the blank pages spared for the miniatures in the partial draft of
Süleymānnāme in Ankara71 provide proof that the text was composed before the images. As
such, while the images can be close representations of the text immediately preceding or
following them, there does not have to be a one-to-one correspondence between the two. At
the same time, the images should be in harmony with the meanings expressed in the course of
the book and in the case of Süleymānnāme, with the entire project of ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i
‘Osmān.72
This is especially the case for the work at hand because ‘Ārif was not only the writer of
the work, but also the head of the entire șehnāmeci team. Such biographic details as his satirical
poem in the form of a raven and his marble statutes of poetry, one of which even radiated a
71
This is the draft I accidentally located in the collection of the library of the Department of History and
Geography in Ankara University (M.O 81).
72
I thank Persis Berlekamp for helping me clear my ideas on the relationship between a book’s text and its visual
representations.
199
“heart ravishing smell,”73 indicate his close affinity with the visual arts and his interest in
combining different mediums of artistic expression. In his capacity as the director of the entire
literary and artistic project, he must have exercised considerable influence on the images of
Süleymānnāme, particularly on the representations of the Ottoman ruler and his family. Most of
the images that include a prominent tree also include representations of the sultan and/or his
sons. In fact, the location of the trees in most of the images mentioned above indicates an
association with Sulṭān Süleymān.
Another point to keep in mind is that the symbolic language used in these depictions
must refer to an image that is in the cultural domain of the Ottoman courtly elite. Injecting a
symbolic meaning into a decorative element on such a regular basis as it is done in the
Süleymānnāme miniatures might be an innovation of ‘Ārif and his team.74 However, in order for
the images to be successful in communicating their message, the contemporaneous viewer
must have been given symbols that they could recognize.
Bearing in mind the high prestige of Ibn ‘Arabī and the wide circulation of his works
and works attributed to him, I suggest that the tree with the curving water around its base
could be a visual representation of the Cosmogonical Tree (or theTree of Being) that Ibn ‘Arabī
describes in his Şacarat al-Kavn:
73
See the biography of the poet in chapter 2.
74
The employment of the image of a tree as a symbol, especially to reflect the state of the main figures in a
miniature is certainly not an Ottoman innovation. Atıl’s reference to the scenes of Alexander’s death, where the
tree extending beyond the frame signaled the departure of his soul from his body to heaven, has already been
mentioned. There are many other examples of symbolic trees in pre-modern miniatures. One such example is the
painting named “The Crazed Old Shaykh of San’an” from the collected works of Mīr ‘Alī Şīr Nevāī possibly
prepared for Shah Tahmasb and now in the collection of Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris. It includes a pair of
trees, “one youthful and delicate, the other past maturity and massive.” The pair is meant a symbolic parallel to
the two protagonists of the story depicted: a young Christian girl and an old Sufi, who renounces his Islamic faith
in an effort to gain the affections of the girl. Bibliothèque Nationale, supp. Turc.316, folio 169a; published in Stuart
Cary Welch, Persian Painting: Five Royal Safavid Manuscripts of the Sixteenth Century. (New York: George Braziller,
1996), p. 54; quote from p. 55. What is unique in ‘Ārif’s work is the consistent usage of the same image, which
converts it into a term in the visual idiom.
200
“When I wanted to set forth a similitude of that which was caused to be, and an image
of that which came into existence, and of the sayings and the doings and the states of being
that in one way and another derived therefrom, I took the similitude of a tree growing up from
its root in the seed of Kun.”75
In his short treatise, Ibn ‘Arabī76 uses the metaphor of a tree to describe the process of
the conversion from God’s creative order “Kun!” (“Be!”) to “kawn” (being) as well as to
demonstrate the special position of the Light (Nūr), or the Reality (Ḥaḳīḳa) of Muḥammed in
Creation.77 The image that is created by the physical form of the letters in God’s Creative Word
“Kun!” (‫)ﻜﻦ‬, especially the letter “‫ ”ﻦ‬circling around the root of the cosmogonical tree becomes
the visual starting point of Ibn ‘Arabī’s elaboration on the theme of Creation. He writes that all
creation “is contained in the secret of the word Kun, circling around the mid-point of its circle,
fixed on the root from its seed.”78
The physical resemblance between the letter “‫ ”ﻦ‬of “Kun!” circling around the root of
the seed of the tree—as the circle of the letter winds around its dot—and the peculiar water
around the base of the tree images in Süleymānnāme (Figures 66, 72, 113, and 114) is a rather
tempting one. While we cannot be sure if this resemblance was intended by the artist (Painter
A) and the director (‘Ārif) of the image, it is difficult to deny that the image works well as a
pictorial representation for the Tree of Being.
75
Ibn al-‘Arabi’s Shajarat al- Kawn.” Translation by Arthur Jeffrey. Studia Islamica 10 (1959): p. 67. Shams Alibhai, in
his careful examination of Şacarat al-Kawn, corrects Jeffrey’s translation of the first phrase by replacing the
subordinate clause “which was caused to be” with “which was hidden.” Shams Alibhai, The Shajarat al-Kawn
Attributed to Ibn ‘Arabī: An Analytical Study. Unpublished MA thesis submitted to The Institute of Islamic Studies,
McGill University, Montreal, November 1990, p. 5.
76
Alibhai questions the authorship of the text and suggests that it might have been written by a disciple
comfortable with the language and thought of Ibn ‘Arabī or by someone who copied Ibn ‘Arabī’s ideas in the
format of the Şacarat in order to make them more “palatable” to the more “conservative audience of his time.”
Alibhai, op. cit. p. 139.
77
See footnote 36 in this chapter.
78
Ibn al-‘Arabi’s Shajarat al- Kawn.” Translation by Arthur Jeffrey. Studia Islamica 10 (1959) p. 66.
201
The Tree of Being of Şacarat grows from the seed of the Creative Word, and in its
essence possesses the pure light of Muḥammed. One of its branches extends towards the
Divine realm and becomes the Lote-Tree of the Boundary (Sidret’ül Müntahā) reaching until the
Throne of God. As such, the Tree of Being becomes a type of an intermediary between the
earthly and the Divine realms. It becomes an axis of communication and a path of ascension.79
In Şacarat, the image plays an essential role in the narration of the story of Muḥammed’s
ascension (mi‘rāc).
Moreover, whenever in need, the angels of the Tree of Being raise their hands in
supplication in the direction of the Throne80 and ask for intercession and forgiveness from
error.81 This description of the angels with raised open hands imploring God’s intervention
reminds one of the only published miniature of ‘Ārif’s Enbiyānāme where a—prominent—tree is
depicted: the image of the sacrifice of Cain and Abel. (Figure 23) In the image it is Adam—and
not the angels—who has raised his hands begging God to intervene and demonstrate his
79
In a highly suggestive article in Muqarnas, Günkut Akın associates the conspicuously located pool of the Selimiye
Mosque with Turco-Persian heterodox sacred spaces, where the pool is the earthly end of an axis mundi that
reaches to the heavens and that enables the initiated the possibility of communication with the divine. He also
offers an archeological survey in the symbolic meaning of water in Turco-Persiante cultures and its role in
transporting sacred power to the state. Günkut Akın, “The Müezzin Mahfili and Pool of the Selimiye Mosque in
Edirne.” Muqarnas 12 (1995): 63-83. The construction of the Selimiye Mosque by the Master royal architect Sinān
dates only three years after the death of Sulṭān Süleymān in 1566. (The mosque was built between the years 1569
and 1575.) The symbolic language of its architecture shares the same cultural domain as the visual and literary
language of the Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān project. As such, Akın’s discussion for the possible symbolic meanings of
the pool becomes particularly pertinent to our discussion here. Interestingly, Akın himself had included an image
from Süleymānnāme (folio 557a, Figure, Sulṭān Süleymān with the cup of Cemşīd) in his discussion of royal pools.
80
In Şacarat there is always an ambiguity produced by the metaphors made to facilitate the imagination with
common orientational instructions of space and direction and the rejection in its immediate aftermath of spatial
concepts when understanding the Divine. Here, for example, the metaphor of the angels of the Tree of Being
pleading to God, raising their hands towards the Throne of God produces an image of a Divine King that exists
above his creations. This—deceptive?—image is reinforced in the continuation of the treatise in the dialogue of
Muḥammed and the Throne, but refuted shortly afterwards.
81
Shams Alibhai, op. cit. p. 29.
202
decision concerning the rightful spouse of Cain’s sister. Interestingly, this is a decision that
would affect the seed if-you-will of humankind.
Similar to his tree images on folios 235a, 583a and 592a of Süleymānnāme (Figure 80, 76,
and 77 respectively), in the Enbiyānāme image Painter A depicts a leaved sturdy tree on the
same vertical axis of the protagonist of the miniature. Adam’s tree does not have water
curving around it, however, he is standing in front of the convex circumference of a greater
body of water depicted at the lower part of the miniature. We see depictions of convex borders
of bodies of water in several other Süleymānnāme miniatures: in the scenes of the Battle of the
Forward Forces on folio 212a, Sulṭān Süleymān receiving the crown of Hungary on folio 309a,
his meeting with his son Bāyezid on folio 570a, and Selīm greeted by the commanders on folio
583a. (Figures 78, 27, 68, and 76 respectively) Is this merely an organizational style that Painter
A uses frequently, we cannot tell.
Likewise, one of the functions of the tree image in the sacrifice scene appears to be
organizational for the tree clearly divides the miniature into two parts, paralleling the division
according to the gender-based grouping of his family on either side of Adam. (Figure 23)
Nevertheless, the axial association of Adam with the tree is too strong to miss and rather
suggestive of a symbolic significance. I should also add that the position of the protagonist—
here Adam—between the tree of the miniature and a body of water—convex or not—is a typical
visual element employed in the miniatures of Süleymānnāme where—especially but not
uniquely—the sultan is present, and hence the protagonist. 82
Do the prominent trees in Painter A’s images represent versions of the Tree of Being in
its communicative/intermediary capacity? We cannot say with certainty since there is only
82
See the reproductions of the folios 98a, 212a, 309a, 367a (Figure 72), 570a (Figure 67, the rocks replacing the
tree), 583a (Figure 113) and 600a . All in Esin Atıl op. cit.
203
one scene—that is of Adam—which depicts the act of imploring from God. However, the idea of
a tree, let it be the Lote Tree of the Boundary or the Tree of Being in Şacarat between a lower
realm of creation and the Divine is an image that had become an element of the cultural and
especially literal domain because of the important role of the Lote tree in the story of
Muḥammed’s miraculous ascension based on ḥadīs reports.
In the description of Prince Bāyezid as he comes to meet with his father near Bursa, on
the way to the second Persian campaign, for example, we read the flattering description of the
prince’s physique. The simile used for his tall and elegant stature is made with a playful usage
of several different types of tree: the cypress, the poplar, the boxwood, and the lote tree that
reaches to the highest heaven:
We do not say that he is an adorned cypress

For from him the cypress begs for his rose color and smell
An arrow83 is shot from the boxwood tree within him
Like a lote tree his head is in the highest sphere (Figure 68)84
If Painter A’s prominent trees are indeed representations of the Tree of Being, its
communicative capacity confirms the saintly role assigned to Sulṭān Süleymān that is at times
suggested, at times openly formulated in both ‘Ārif’s and Eflāṭūn’s work as şehnāmeci. After all,
communication with God is a privilege of angels, some prophets, and saints. It has been
mentioned before as one of the characteristics that combined the prophets selected to be
visually represented in Enbiyānāme. We will see it in chapter 6 as a central theme in the saintly
image-making of the sultan in Eflāṭūn’s Hekāyet-i Seyl Āmeden be Istanbul (TSMK H. 1570)
83
The word “‫ ”ﺨﺪﻨﻜﻰ‬means both “an arrow” and “a poplar tree.” Here, ‘Ārif is exploiting both meanings to describe
the prince as a young and energetic man with a tall and elegant stature.
84
H. 1517 569b, the second half of the stich in line 4 and the first half of the stich in line 5:
‫ﻜﺰﻮ ﺴﺮﻮ ﻜﻞ ﺮﻨﻚ ﻮ ﺒﻮ ﺨﻮاﺴﺘﻪ‬/‫ﻨﻜﻮﻴﻢ ﻜﻪ ﺴﺮﻮ ﺒﺴﺖ ﺁﺮاﺴﺘﻪ‬
‫ﭽو ﺴﺪﺮﻩ ﺴﺮﺶ ﺴﭙﻬﺮ ﺒﺮﻴﻦ‬/‫ﺪﻤﻴﺪﻩ ﺨﺪﻨﻜﻰ ﺰ ﺸﻤﺸﺎ ﺪﺮﻴﻦ‬
204
If Painter A’s trees mentioned above were fashioned after the Tree of Being in Şacarat,
its association further suggests the sultan’s embodiment of the light of Muḥammed for both
the seed and the tree are used as metaphors for the Creative Word and the light of Muḥammed
in Ibn ‘Arabī’s—or his follower’s—work. Judging from the strategic usage of the ḥadīs in the
introduction of Süleymānnāme stating that at the end of every century a renewer of religion
arrives in the world,85 this would not be a distant possibility. (Figure 64) Later in this thesis, in
chapter 6, we will also see how the same analogy between the Ottoman sultan and the Prophet
Muḥammed is made in the Imperial Scroll using the designs of their name medallions.
Even if the image of the tree and the water that springs from it is not related to the
Tree of Being in Şacarāt, its connotations with life, Creation, and Muḥammed remain highly
likely. The similarities between this image and several others in works produced in cultural
and temporal environments that are closely related to that of Süleymānnāme support this view.
In Zübdetü’t-Tevārīh (TIEM 1973)—the truncated version of the Imperial Scroll prepared in book
format by the third şehnāmeci Seyyid Loḳmān--the prominent tree in the middle located in
between Adam and Eve with a water source running down from it in zig zags should clearly be
related to life and Creation if not to Muḥammed (folio 18b, Figure 116). In the Topkapı Persian
Fālnāme (TSMK H. 1702) that has been dated to the 1570s, we see the image of the Prophet
Muḥammed by the spring of paradise on folio 26b. The water appears to find its source at the
root of a tree in full bloom. The augury in the next page reads: “O augury user! Know and be
aware that the spring of Kawthar, which is the abode of Muḥammed, the messenger of God,
may God bless and salute him, has appeared as your augury.”86 While the symbolic meanings of
85
H. 1517 6a, line 5. See footnote 2.
86
Translated in Falnama The Book of Omens. Edited by Massumeh Farhad with Serpil Bağcı (London: Thanes and
Hudson, 2009), p. 277. For the image see p. 53.
205
images in related manuscripts do not determine the meanings of similar images in other
manuscripts, we can see them as options in a dictionary of multiple entries: they suggest
explanations and create an artistic language as well as a cultural tradition.
In Süleymānnāme, while the saintly image of the sultan possessing the light of
Muḥammed is possibly suggested by the image of the tree, it comes to the fore with the
apparent nimbus behind his head in several of the miniatures.
j. A NIMBUS FOR AN OTTOMAN SULTAN
“Kingship is a light emanating from God, and a ray from the sun, the illuminator of the
universe; it is the argument of the book of perfection, the receptacle of all virtues.
Modern language calls this light Farr-e Izadi [Divine Glory] and the tongue of antiquity
called it Kayān Kharra [Kayānid Glory]. It is communicated by God to kings without the
intermediate assistance of anyone, and men in the presence of it bend the forehead of
praise toward the ground of submission.87”
The words written several decades after the completion of Süleymānnāme belong to Abu’l Faẓl
‘Allāmī (d. 1602 C.E.), the informal secretary of the Mughal Emperor Akbar. Much like ‘Ārif,
‘Allāmī is reputed for his glorifying dynastic history titled Akbarnāme where he narrated the
history of the Mughal dynasty and the reign of Akbar, his patron. The excerpt above is from
this famous work where he underlined the divine character of Akbar’s kingship. He saw in
Akbar the embodiment of the Perfect Man and in his diplomatic writings and the work
mentioned projected this view.
In the case of the Ottoman court, it is difficult to find such direct and “sober”
formulations of the saintly image of the sultan that compares to ‘Allāmī’s Akbarnāme. From the
87
Abol-Fazl-e ‘Allāmi, Ā’in-i Akbari. Edited by H. Blochman (Osnabrück: 1985), I:2-3.
206
skepticism-flavored hind view of over four hundred years, any exploitation of the theme in
literature is often seen as insincere panegyric and lacking in sobriety.
As I have argued earlier in this chapter, ‘Ārif’s formulation in Süleymānnāme of the
sultan’s significance as the seal of kingship and faith was rare in its lack of scruple and its
mystic-philosophical base. At the same time, it is the final articulation of the message that was
being signaled from the first volume of his Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān: the tenth Ottoman sultan is
both the last of the great kings of universal dominion and the last of the saints with
Muḥammedan light. Independently from the possibilities of the image of the tree, in the
miniatures of the same volume, the same idea is reflected in the portraits of the sultan
enthroned.
In the scenes of the siege of Belgrade and the performance of the archers on folios
108b-109a and 588a respectively (Figures 66 and 67) we see the sultan enthroned in his golden
throne with a cloud-like nimbus over his shoulders and around his head. In two other images,
the scenes of his reception of Queen Isabella and the Infant Stephen on folio 441a and his
meeting in 1553 C.E. with his son Bāyezid depicted on folio 570a (Figures 69 and 68), there is a
fiery golden detail, most likely a nimbus, around the sultan’s turban. In these two images the
golden throne is more elevated.
There are several other images where a nimbus-like structure that pretends to be an
integral part of the throne frames Sulṭān Süleymān’s head. These images rather than
representing the actual golden throne of the sultan, which is preserved in the Topkapı Palace
Museum and resembles the one depicted in the scene of his reception of the privateer-made-
admiral Barbarossa on folio 360a, make references to the familiar thrones of the great shahs of
Sasanian origin. (Figures 83)
207
There are many examples of these thrones in the numerous copies of Firdevsī’s
Şāhnāme. In turn, these thrones themselves make references to the mythical throne of
Solomon, the symbol of universal sovereignty. The structures of many of them demonstrate
that they have been modeled after an earlier, or perhaps itself mythic, domed throne. (Figures
84 and 85: Key Ḫüsrev slays Efrasiyab, Siyavuş receives gifts) Painter B’s throne on folio 297a in
Süleymānnāme with its dome like parasol providing shade to the throne resembles these domed
thrones. (Figure 30)
Some of these images depicting the thrones of the Sasanid kings also project the idea of
divine kingship by the conversion of a triangular upper section of the throne into a nimbus.
The Chester Beatty miniature that shows Bahram Gūr enthroned from the Inju school (Shiraz)
offers an interesting comparison with the Süleymānnāme miniatures where a similar triangular
form is painted behind the sultan’s head as if it were part of the actual throne.88 (Figure 86 )In
the Inju miniature the triangular section of the throne clearly projects what ‘Allāmī called
Farr-e Izadi [Divine Glory].
Another image of Afrasyab enthroned offers a throne image that includes both the
dome and the nimbus-like visual element around his head. While the detail around his head
projects his divine light, his throne, which looks like it is about to take off with the wind,
makes a rather strong reference to the Solomonic throne. 89 The main difference between these
thrones and the one we see in Süleymānnāme is that the light of glory in the Ottoman case is an
88
“Bahram Gūr enthroned” Chester Beatty, Ms. 110.4, 110.83, 110.85.
89
“Afrasiyab assumes the crown of Iran in Ray, after he beheaded the shah” Metropolitan Museum of New York,
accesion number 1970.301.2. See Stuart Cary Welch, A King's Book of Kings: The Shah-nameh of Shah Tahmasp.
New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1976.
208
amalgam of the divinely approved political glory of the Sasanid kings and the saintly light of
the Islamic Perfect Man, the second Muḥammed.
It might seem surprising at first sight that the royal image that I see as being
constructed and projected by ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme is also and more directly articulated by one of the
most prominent statesmen of Selīm and Süleymān, Celālzāde Muṣṭafā. After interpreting the
metaphysical section of the introduction and the possible symbolic meanings of the
representations of the tree, water, and light, ironically I find perhaps the strongest supporting
proof of my arguments in the words of another contemporaneous courtier. Celālzāde writes of
Sulṭān Süleymān:
While he is not a prophet, to that distinguished creature

The Creator gave all moral qualities of the prophets
All saints recognized his saintly power
If that shah is called “holy”, that suits the notion of holiness.
Especially necessary and important are the attributes of the earlier kings who were
adornment of the rank of world-rulers and personification of the imperial position such
as subjects-nourishing endeavors and justice-spreading affairs. The rays of light that
are marks (of holiness) were manifest and visible, evident and clear like lights in his
noble character, on his face that resembles the shining sun.90
The next chapter traces the same idea in works principally produced by the second şehnāmeci
Eflāṭūn
90
From the translation of the preamble to the law code of Egypt by Snježana Buzov. Snježana Buzov
“The Lawgiver and his Lawmakers: the Role of legal Discourse in the Change of Ottoman Imperial Culture.”
PhD thesis University of Chicago, 2005, Appendix A, p. 209. I thank Buzov for alerting me of the preamble and
sending her unpublished thesis.
209
CHAPTER 6
ŞEHNĀMECI EFLĀṬŪN: A NEW (?) IMAGE FOR AN OLD SULTAN
a. HEKĀYET-I SEYL ĀMEDEN BE ISTANBUL (H. 1570): THE STORY OF THE FLOODING OF
ISTANBUL
Ḥekāyet-i seyl āmeden be İstanbūl, or “the Story of the Arrival of the Flood to Istanbul,” is
a short treatise of 15 folios that describes the disastrous flood in 971 (1563).1 It was written in
Persian verse within months after the natural calamity and has no miniatures. Some of the
titles are left in blank. In the colophon the name of the composer and executer is given as
“‘Abd ül-laṭīf el-muştaher be Eflāṭūn bin Şeyḫ Dervīş Meḥmed eş-Şirvānī” (‘Abdullaṭīf known as
Eflāṭūn, the son of Sheikh Derviş Meḥmed of Shirvan).2 (Figure 87) Despite being the work of
the second şehnāmeci Eflāṭūn, Ḥekāyet-i seyl āmeden be İstanbūl cannot be classified as a şehnāme
for several reasons.
Firstly, neither the work is titled as one, nor does its writer describe himself in the
above-mentioned colophon as the holder of the post. Furthermore, the story of the flood, by
itself, is not a typical theme for a şehnāme, and it is not—as we know it—part of a larger şehnāme
1
The Ottoman historian Selānikī gives the date of the flood as Monday the first of the month of Ṣafar 971 (the 20th
of September 1563) Selānikī Mustafa Efendi, Tarih-i Selānikī (971-1003/1563-1595) ed. Mehmet İpşirli, (Ankara: Türk
Tarih Kurumu Basımevi, 1999), vol. 1, p.1.
2
TSMK H. 1570, 15a.
210
chronicle. Moreover, the absence of miniatures makes it more probable that we have at hand a
work that is not—at least officially—produced in the palace.3
In this section, I argue that while not a şehnāme, Ḥekāyet-i seyl was a kind of “petition letter” of
Eflāṭūn who was aspiring to be the next şehnāmeci after ‘Ārif’s death in 969 (1561/62). As such,
this manuscript is unique. It is the only known completed text by Eflāṭūn. Hence, it offers us a
valuable opportunity for gaining acquaintance with the writer who served as the şehnāmeci
until his death in 977(1569).
More importantly, this manuscript displays the qualifications deemed appropriate for
the royal şehnāmeci around 1563, when Süleymān —the once Magnificent but by then an ailing
sixty-nine year old sovereign—ruled the vast Ottoman Empire. In doing so, it reveals an
intensely apocalyptic ambiance where the astrological skills of the would-be şehnāmeci and the
apparent promise in his text to repair the charisma of the sultan seem to overweigh his
limitations as a writer.
i. The summary of the text
The text starts with due reference to the omnipotence of God followed by an eulogy of
the prophet and his family. It continues with a discreet parallel between rulers and the
3
The manuscript is most probably not a draft of an unexecuted şehnāme, either, for it does not contain empty
space for planned miniatures. For this point a comparison with the draft of a part of ‘Ārif’s Süleymānnāme now in
the library of the Department of History and Geography in Ankara University (M.O 81) is relevant. This
manuscript is wrongly identified as “Şāhnāme written for Selīm I” by Tahsin Yazıcı in Muhyī-yi Gülşenī, Menākib-i
İbrāhim Gülşenī. Ed. Tahsin Yazıcı (Ankara: 1982), p. LII. The organization of the Ankara University text and its
miniatures is the same as that of the corresponding pages in Süleymānnāme. Its text is nearly identical with its
corresponding parts in the final version save one word change, two letters, and a change in word order. As it is a
draft, the manuscript is aesthetically much simpler, and it contains carefully calculated spaces for the planned
miniatures.
211
Prophet.4 The writer first emphasizes the power of the reigning sultans’ prayers before God
and the role of the sultans as arbitrators of justice.5 (Figure 88) Then he adds:
Obey God and obey the Messenger

That is accepted by all believers
Therefore look to those in authority among you
And pray for the rulers who show the way”6 (Figure 88)
In this way, Eflāṭūn transfers two qualities authentic to Koranic prophets to rulers: an
advantaged relationship with God who always responds to their prayers, and the consequential
role of their leadership based on the divine guidance prophets receive through their prayers.
Because of this parallel between rulers and the prophets—in general and the Prophet
Muḥammed (‫ )اﻠﺮﺴﻮﻞ‬in particular—all Muslims who are already expected to obey the Prophet,7
are also obliged to obey their rulers. Hence, being an obedient subject becomes an act of
religious practice.
The ruler of his time—i.e. Süleymān —the text continues, is set apart as the refuge of
the sacred friendship of God (vilāyet-ma’āb), and of justice (‘adālet-penāh).8 (Figure 88) In other
words, he is the embodiment of both God’s friendship and of justice (vilāyet and ‘adālet). The
Ottoman sultan is then adorned with the qualities of well-known heroes from Euro-Asian lore
4
This parallelism will be discussed in more detail in the next section.
5
TSMK H. 1570. Rulers are marked by the trait of justice (‫)ﺖﻠاﺪﻋ ﺮﺎﻌﺷ‬, 2a line 5.
6
“‫ ﺒﺴﻮى ﺪﻋﺎى ﺸﻬﺎﻦ ﺮاهﺒﺮ‬/ ‫ اﺰ اﻦ ﭙﺲ ااﻮﻠﻮا اﻻﻤﺮ ﻤﻨﻜﻢ ﻨﻜﺮ‬// ‫ ﻜﻪ ﺒﺎﺸﺪ هﻤﻪ ﻤﺆﻤﻨﺎﻦ ﺮا ﻗﺒﻮﻞ‬/ ‫ ”اﻄﻴﻌﻮا ﷲ اﻨﻜﻪ اﻄﻴﻌﻮا اﻠﺮﺴﻮﻞ‬Ibid. 2a, lines 6
and 7. In the verses translated above, Eflāṭūn quotes a verse in The Koran (4:59). In this way, he draws spiritual
authority to his discourse. I owe many thanks to Prof. Robert Dankoff for improving my translation. In fact, the
translation of the verse quote above is his suggestion. The Koranic text is rendered in italics.
7
In the phrase “‫ ”اﻄﻴﻌﻮا ﷲ اﻨﻜﻪ اﻄﻴﻌﻮا اﻠﺮﺴﻮﻞ‬I believe the word “‫ ”اﻠﺮﺴﻮﻞ‬designates Muḥammed both in his capacity as
a prophet (or apostle) of God and as the prophet of Islam.
8
Ibid. 2a, line 8.
212
and the Shāhnāme, such as Alexander, King Solomon,9 Ferīdūn,10 Kāvūs, and Efrāsiyāb.11 His
majesty, power, and generosity are praised.12 (Figure 89) His arbitration of justice and the
strength of his credence are emphasized. His qualities as a world conqueror and as a warrior
defending and disseminating Islam are underlined.13 This section ends with prayers for the
eternity of the sultan’s good fortune and prosperity and for the increase in dignity of the
works of his time.
The next section announces the beginning of the story of the great flood in 1563.14 After
stating that God is all-knowing and omnipotent, Eflāṭūn says that for every intelligent mind,
the world is full of chosen folios to be read.15 Events that are to happen on earth are already
written in the various levels of the skies. Hence strange manifestations in the skies can serve
as guides for extraordinary events on earth.16 (Figure 90) In fact, everything that is about to
happen is mapped out in the skies. He warns the reader again and again to take heed and study
the positions and the movements of the stars to prepare for the future.17 This introduction ties
neatly to the story of the greatest flood: the Biblical or rather the Koranic flood. The writer uses
9
Ibid. 2a, line 9.
10
Ibid. 2a line 11.
11
Ibid. 2b line 7. Despite the possibility that the phrasing here is merely cliché, “‫ ”ﻜﺠﺎ ﻴﺎﻔﺖ اﻴﻦ ﺪﻮﻠﺖ اﻓﺮاﺴﻴﺎﺐ‬of Eflāṭūn
reminds one of ‘Ārif’s “‫ ﭽﻧﻴﻦ ﺪﻮﻠﺘﻰ هﻴﺞ ﺼﺎﺤﺐ ﻗﺮاﻦ‬/ ‫ ”ﻜﺠﺎ ﺪﻴﺪﻩ ﺪﺮ هﻴﺞ ﻗﺮﻧﻰ ﺰﻤﺎﻦ‬in Süleymānnāme, 6a, line 8 (Figure 64).
12
Ibid. 2b.
13
Ibid. 2a and 2b.
14
Ibid. 3a, line 6.
15
“‫ ﺠﻬﺎﻦ ﺴﺮ ﺒﺴﺮ هﺴﺖ اﻮﺮاﻖ ﭙﺴﻨﺪ‬/ ‫ ”ﻜﻪ ﺪﺮ ﭙﻴﺶ هﺮ ﻋﺎﻘﻞ هﻮﺸﻤﻨﺪ‬Ibid. 3b, line 2.
16
“‫ ﺒﺴﻮى ﻏﺮاﻴﺐ ﺸﺪﻩ ﺮاهﺒﺮ‬/ ‫ ”ﻈﻬﻮﺮ ﻋﺠﺎﻴﺐ اﺰ ﻮ ﺠﻠﻮﻩ ﻜﺮ‬Ibid. 3b, lines 5.
17
Ibid. 3b, lines 8-9.
213
the story of Noah as a good lesson to learn from in general and as an example of the usefulness
of astrology, for Noah, himself, was a renowned expert in this science.18
In the next two pages and a half Eflāṭūn relates Noah’s story. Half a page alone is
devoted to the rebellion of Noah’s son, Kan‘ān, against his father and the consequences of this
act of defiance. To Noah grieving for the impending ruin of his son, God’s reply is clear. He
commands the prophet to reject his rebellious son thrice. God, in Eflāṭūn’s version, continues
that in his rebellion, an unruly son abandons his father. Hence before Him, his familial relation
is annulled and his punishment on the Day of Judgment imminent.19 (Figure 91)
Towards the end of the next page, the actual story of the flood is announced.20 (Figure
92) The rest of the text is a metaphorically rich yet repetitive description of the horrors of the
flood: the death of many people young and old and many animals both domestic and wild, as
well as, the destruction of buildings, and walls. Eflāṭūn writes of the fear and suffering of the
victims fighting futilely against the destructive powers of two normally opposing elements,
water of the flood and fire from incessant lightning.21
Eflāṭūn’s description reads like an approximation to the descriptions of the Last Day. In
fact, the writer himself likens the flood to the end of the world as we know it.22 (Figure 93) The
chaos caused by the flood finds its repose at the episode where the sultan prays for the
18
Ibid. 4a, line 6. There are other implications of this sequence which is discussed later in the paper.
19
Ibid. 5a, lines 8-11.
20
Ibid. 5b, lines 11 and 12.
21
The details Eflāṭūn narrates are not only literary constructs. The 16th century historian Selanikī states that
eyewitnesses had counted an extraordinary 74 instants of lightning. In other words, fire and water had actually
come together to burn some and drown others. Selānikī Mustafa Efendi, Tarih-i Selānikī (971-1003/1563-1595) ed.
Mehmet İpşirli, (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basımevi, 1999), vol. 1, p.1.
22
“‫ ﻓﺮﻮ ﺮﻴﺨﺖ اﻨﺠﻢ ﺪﺮ ﺁﺐ اﺰ ﺜﻤﺮ‬/ ‫ ”ﺘﻮ ﻜﻔﺘﻰ ﺰ ﺼﻮﺮ ﻗﻴﺎﻤﺖ ﻤﻜﺮ‬TSMK H. 1570, 6b, line 12.
214
salvation of his people.23 (Figure 94) This episode lasts about three pages and is arguably the
backbone of the text. It brings back the earlier theme of the ruler’s prayer as an element
transforming him spiritually into a prophet/saint like figure. Here, the ruler who is
transformed is none other than Sulṭān Süleymān.
Resembling the grieving Noah, the sultan turns to God in prayer. He humbles himself
before God, describing himself as the most insignificant of His slaves waiting in service before
Him.24 At one point Eflāṭūn makes a reference to the well-known story in Islamicate literature
of the prophet king Solomon (Süleymān) with the ant as Sulṭān Süleymān likens himself to a
mean ant.25 The sultan continues his prayers admitting that he owes all his acquisitions to His
grace. If he has committed a sin, the sultan begs God that He does not punish for it the “people
of the world.”26 In a Christ-like gesture, he adds that if they have sinned, may God put the
blame on him.27 May God, Süleymān continues, not provide him with the strength to endure
seeing everyone drown.28 (Figure 95)
23
Ibid. 9a.
24
Ibid. 9a, line 5.
25
“‫ ﺒﻪ ﭙﻴﺸﺖ ﻨﺪاﺮﻢ ﭽﻮ ﻤﻮﺮ اﻋﺘﺒﺎﺮ‬/ ‫ ”ﺸﻤﺎﺮﻨﺪ ﺨﻠﻘﻢ ﺴﻠﻴﻤﺎﻦ ﺸﻌﺎﺮ‬Ibid, 9a, line 8. The comparison between Sulṭān Süleymān, whose
name was given after the prophet Solomon in the Koran (Neml, 30), and his name-sake prophet was common in
his reign. It was not only poets of the period like Yaḥyā Beg, Bāḳī or ‘Ārif who used this topo; but the sultan
himself in his poems written with the penname Muḥibbī, made references to the prophet and the different
aspects of the stories around him. For examples of the poetic comparisons between the two Süleymān see Ali
Yılmaz, Kanunî Sultan Süleyman’a Yazılan Kasideler. (Ankara: TC Kültür Bakanlığı Milli Kütüphane Basımevi, 1996), p.
70, 178, 276, 340, 332, 342, and 350. For more examples see also Hüseyin Akkaya, The Prophet Solomon in Ottoman
Turkish Literature and the Süleymâniyye of Şemseeddin Sivâsî, ed. Şinasi Tekin, Gönül Alpay Tekin, Sources of Oriental
Languages and Literatures 42, Turkish Sources xxxvii. (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University, 1997).
26
“‫ ﺒﺪاﻦ ﺠﺮﻢ ﺨﻠﻖ ﺠﻬﺎﻨﺮا ﻤﻜﻴﺮ‬/ ‫ ”ﻤﺮا ﻜﺮ ﻜﻨﺎهﻰ ﺒﻮﺪ ﺪﺮ ﭙﺬﻴﺮ‬Ibid. 9a, line 11.
27
“‫ ﺒﻤﻦ ﺒﺨﺶ اى ﺨﺎﻠﻖ ﺬﻮ اﻠﺠﻻﻞ‬/ ‫ ”ﻮ ﻜﺮ ﺨﻠﻖ ﺮا هﺴﺖ ﺠﺮﻢ ﻮ ﻮﺒﺎﻞ‬Ibid. 9a, line 12.
28
“‫ ﻜﻪ ﺒﻴﻨﻢ هﻤﻪ ﺨﻠﻖ ﻤﻐﺮﻮﻖ ﺁﺐ‬/ ‫ ”ﻨﺒﺎﺸﺪ ﻤﺮا ﻄﺎﻘﺖ اﻴﻦ ﻋﻨاﺐ‬Ibid. 9b, line 2.
215
Eflāṭūn writes that God considers “the just Sultan worthier than all saints”29 and grants
him his wish. The flood ends. The reasons for God’s acceptance of the sultan’s prayer are given
as his justice and compassion for his subjects, God’s favoring of Süleymān above all saints, the
fact that he is the shadow of God, and that he is His divine light.30 (Figure 95) “He”, Eflāṭūn says
of the sultan, “had come to guide the people”.31
After this episode, Eflāṭūn returns to his old themes: the horror of the flood, the
wisdom to be gained in observing astrological signs, and the importance of learning form past
incidents. He considers the natural disaster he describes as neither futile nor extraordinary “in
this eventful epoch.”32 (Figure 96)
The last five pages narrate the alms-giving of the sultan to the dervishes who prayed
for his salvation and to the victims of the flood. They also describe the careful restoration of
the Eyüp shrine which was partially ruined by the flood.
The text ends with Eflāṭūn’s astrological explanation of the flood:
Because the shining stars rotated facing one another,

From the rains every brook became the river of Baghdad (Tigris)
The world became desolate from the excess of rain

From the flood the world is ruined, say its date33 (Figure 87)
29
“‫ ﺒﻮﺪ اﺰ هﻤﻪ اﻮﻠﻴﺎ ﺒﻴﺸﺘﺮ‬/ ‫ ”ﻜﻪ ﺨﻖ ﺮا ﺒﺴﻠﻄﺎﻦ ﻋﺎﺪﻞ ﻨﻈﺮ‬Ibid. 10a, line 1.
30
“‫ ﺨﺪا ﺪاﺮﺪ ﺶ اﺰ ﺒﻻ ﺪﺮ ﭙﻨﺎﻩ‬/ ‫ ”ﭽﻮ ﻈﻞ ﺤﻘﺴﺖ اﻮ ﻮ ﻨﻮﺮ ﺁﻠﻪ‬Ibid. 10a, line 9.
31
“‫ ﻜﻪ اﻴﻦ ﺨﻠﻖ ﺮا ﺮﻬﻨﻤﻮﻦ ﺁﻤﺪﻩ‬/ ‫ ”اﺰ اﻦ ﭙﺎﻴﮥ اﻴﻦ ﻓﺰﻮﻦ ﺁﻤﺪﻩ‬Ibid. 10a, line 3; especially the second half.
32
“‫ ﺒﺮﻮﻦ ﻨﻴﺴﺖ اﺰ ﺪﻮﺮ ﭙﺮﻜﺎﺮ هﻴﺞ‬/ ‫ ”ﺪﺮﻴﻦ ﻜﺎﺮ ﻜﻪ ﻨﻴﺴﺖ ﺒﻴﻜﺎﺮ هﻴﺞ‬Ibid. 10b, line 2. This mention of the epoch as eventful
reminds one of ‘Ārif’s description of his century as extraordinary in Süleymānnāme.
33
‫ ﺸﺪ ﭽﻮﻦ ﺸﻄ ﺒﻐﺪاﺪ ﺰ ﺒﺎﺮاﻦ هﺮ ﺠﻮﻰ‬/ ‫”ﭽﻮﻦ ﻜﺸﺖ ﻨﺠﻮﻢ ﺰاهﺮﻩ ﺮﻮى ﺒﺮﻮى‬
“‫ اﺰ ﺴﻴﻞ )ا( ﺠﻬﺎﻦ ﺨﺮاﺐ ﺘﺎﺮﻴﺨﺶ ﻜﻮى‬/ ‫ﺸﺪ ﻋﺎﻠﻤﻰ اﺰ ﻜﺜﺮﺖ ﺒﺎﺮاﻦ ﻮﻴﺮاﻦ‬
Ibid. 15a, lines 7, 8. Here, “say the date” indicates that the numerical value of the Arabic letters before this phrase
should add up to the date of the flood. What is curious is that the form that is meaningful and in the correct
meter adds up to 970 instead of the right date 971. In an effort to correct this error, it seems, there is a faintly
written extra letter “‫ ”ا‬underneath the word ‫( ﺠﻬﺎﻦ‬world), for the letter “‫ ”ا‬has the numerical value of one. This
must be a later correction.
216
ii. A petition letter?
At first glance, aside from the opportune date of the text’s completion before Eflāṭūn’s
appointment as şehnāmeci and after his predecessor’s death, there is nothing that suggests that
Ḥekāyet-i seyl actually was instrumental in his appointment. There is no reference to Ḥekāyet-i
seyl in modern academic literature, neither is there in the literature contemporaneous to
Eflāṭūn. This silence itself suggests a very private audience for the manuscript which was
incorporated to the manuscript library where it is presently kept from the Royal Treasury.34
It does not help that Eflāṭūn chose not to state his reason(s) for writing Hekāyet-i seyl.
Nevertheless, there is textual evidence that strongly suggests his motives. Towards the end of
the manuscript, using his penname Esīrī, the writer complains of the night of separation and
begs for its end. He wishes for the long-awaited arrival of the morning of reunion and that
finally this (his) plea of reunion has an effect. 35 (Figure 97)
The person from whom he is painfully separated is not stated openly. However, it is
more than likely that Eflāṭūn is talking about his estrangement from the sultan, for the latter is
undoubtedly the hero of the text. As a matter of fact, aside from three of the sultan’s servants
(Y‘aḳūb Ağa, Ferhād Ağa, and Bostancıbaşı) who are mentioned only once,36 Sulṭān Süleymān is
the only contemporary of Eflāṭūn specified in the text. Furthermore, the relationship between
the person to whom the writer’s plea of reunion is directed and the sultan is reinforced by the
34
In the Topkapı Palace manuscript library it is cataloged as H. 1570, where the letter “H” indicates its arrival at
the library holdings from the Royal Treasury (Ḫazīne).
35
“‫ هﻤﻪ ﺰهﺮ هﺠﺮاﻦ ﭽﻮ ﺸﻜﺮ ﺸﻮﺪ‬/ ‫ ﻜﻪ ﺼﺒﺢ ﻮﺼﺎﻠﺖ ﻤﻴﺴﺮ ﺸﻮﺪ‬// ‫ ﻜﻪ ﺁﺨﺮ ﺒﺠﺎﻴﻰ ﺮﺴﺪ اﻴﻦ ﻨﻴﺎﺰ‬/ ‫ ”اﺴﻴﺮى ﺒﺸﺒﻬﺎى هﺠﺮاﻦ ﺒﺴﺎﺰ‬Ibid. 12a line
10.
36
Ibid. 6a lines 7, 8, and 9 respectively.
217
narrative order of the text: the section of Eflāṭūn’s plea is immediately followed by the return
of the sultan from the outskirts of Istanbul to his capital and the ending of the flood.
Eflāṭūn does not explain why he was estranged from the sultan, either. We do not know
from the text whether an error committed on his part or a rival’s gaining of popularity in the
royal court at his expense, or just the changing of tastes was the cause behind his falling from
favor. There is no apology or any sign of remorse. Neither is there any accusation or criticism
of a possible rival. What the text displays clearly is that if he is indeed seeking access to the
close proximity of Sulṭān Süleymān, a privilege that he apparently had held earlier, he seems
to believe that pushing the envelope of his expertise in astrology would do the trick.
Fortunately other near-contemporary sources provide us with some background
information. We know, for example, of Eflāṭūn’s plotting with the miniature artist Şāhḳūlı
against the first şehnāmeci ‘Ārif.37 In the section for the biography of poets in his Künhü’l-Aḫbār,
Muṣṭafā ‘Āli (d. 1600), writes that upon arriving in the Ottoman lands as the scribe and court
poet of the renegade Safavid prince Elḳās Mīrzā 38, Eflāṭūn aimed to make his name among
Ottoman poets. According to Muṣṭafā ‘Āli, on the path of his ambitions, Eflāṭūn saw the
şehnāmeci ‘Ārif as his main rival and made him his principal target of attack.39 As it was said
earlier in the section on ‘Ārif’s biography, Eflāṭūn composed and distributed nonsensical lines
of poetry in ‘Ārif’s name to convince the sultan of his unworthiness as a poet and show
37
Mustafa ‘Āli. Künhü’l Ahbar’ın Tezkire Kısmı. Ed. Mustafa Isen. Ankara, 1994, p. 194 and 238. This entry has been
mentioned earlier in the discussion of ‘Ārif’s date of arrival in the Ottoman lands. For more information on
Şāhḳūlı see Banu Mahir, “Saray Nakkaşhanesinin Ünlü Ressamı Şah Kulu ve Eserleri,” in Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi
Yıllığı, no. 1, Istanbul Matbaası, Istanbul, 1986, p. 113-134.
38
For information on Elḳās Mīrzā see Cornell H. Fleischer, “Alqas Mirza,” Encyclopedia Iranica, vol. 1, 19, p. 907-09.
Also Walter Posch has an exhaustive dissertation thesis on the Safavid prince. Walter Posch, Der Fall Alkas Mirza
und der Persienfeldzug von 1548-1549. Eine Gescheitertes Osmanisches Projekt. Unpublished dissertation thesis at
Bamberg University (19. 7. 1999). Edition Wissenschaft, Reihe Orientalistik, Bd. 11, Tectum Verlag, Marburg, 2000.
39
Mustafa Isen, Künhü’l-Ahbārın Tezkire Kısmı. Ankara, 1994, p. 194.
218
Süleymān that he was not fit to be the royal şehnāmeci.40 Another man of letters of the
sixteenth century, Āşık Çelebi (d. Şa‘bān 979/January 1572), in his biography of poets mentions
the same event while withholding the “name of the ignominious” (nām-ı bednām,) who
conspired against ‘Ārif with Şāhḳūlı.41
Fortunately for the şehnāmeci ‘Ārif, the plot failed. The sultan did not pay any attention
to the false lines of poetry. To show his support for ‘Ārif, he raised the şehnāmeci’s salary and
ordered a private workshop (naḳḳāşhāne) to be built for the scribes and artists working under
him. 42 On the other hand, aside from their humiliation at the unveiling of their plot, we do not
know of any particular punishment that was given to the two conspirators, Eflāṭūn and
Şāhḳūlı.
This incident must have taken place between the years 1547, which marks the arrival of
Eflāṭūn with the Safavid prince Elḳās Mīrzā, and 1556, the death of Şāhḳūlı.43 In other words, at
least seven years must have passed between this embarrassing incident and the writing of the
Ḥekāyet-i seyl.44 It seems that after ‘Ārif’s death in 969 (1561/1562) Eflāṭūn made a second
40
“Müzemmetine müte‛alliķ nice türrehāt-ı bīma‛nā yazup cenāb-ı salţanata gönderdi. Ke’ennehū Şeh-nāme-
(Ü.385a) gūyluķ mansıbı benüm haķķ-ı sarīhümdür mażmūnundan dem urup…” Künhü’l-Ahbâr’ın Tezkire Kısmı.
Mustafa İsen, Ankara, 1994, p. 194, lines 6-10. The editor’s text is based on five different copies of the original text.
Aside from this mention in the entry for Eflāṭūn, the same event is mentioned in the entry for “Monlā ‛Ārif” ibid.
p. 238, cited in chapter 2, footnote 54.
41
Āşık Çelebi. Meşā’ir üş-Şu’arā. Ed. G.M. Meredith-Owens. Gibb Memorial Series, no. 24. London, 1971, p. 438, lines
13-18. Earlier in the text he writes that ‘Ārif had many envious enemies who brought many petitions against him
to the royal court. However, here it is not clear whether he is writing about Şāhḳūlı and Eflāṭūn or about others.
Ibid. p. 437, lines 8-10. Āşık Çelebi might have avoided the overt mentioning of his name to avert the enmity of
Eflāṭūn who held the şehnāmeci title at the time.
42
Mustafa İsen,Künhü’l-Ahbâr’ın Tezkire Kısmı. Ankara, 1994, p.238, lines 24-30.
43
The date of Şāhḳūlı’s death is based on the archival document TSMA D.4104 mentioned in R.M. Meriç, Türk Nakış
Sanatı Tarihi Araştırmaları I, Vesikalar, Ankara, 1953, p. 775; and Banu Mahir, “Saray Nakkaşhanesinin Ünlü Ressamı
Şah Kulu ve Eserleri,” in Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi Yıllığı, no. 1, Istanbul Matbaası, Istanbul, 1986 p. 116.
44
Most probably the plot was carried on in the late 1540s close to the time of Eflāṭūn’s arrival and at the beginning
of ‘Ārif’s work as şehnāmeci. The plan would have had more chances of success when the first şehnāmeci’s work was
not well-known. Muṣṭafā ‘Āli’s statement also supports this earlier timing.
219
attempt to attain the title he so much desired. At this stage, it is possible that he deemed it
wiser not to openly state the cause of his estrangement from the sultan’s court and hence,
refresh the sultan’s memory. His discretion when he complains about his separation and his
plea of reunion makes perfect sense if the text was actually directed solely to the very person
from whom the author was separated and with whom he longed to reunite. In the absence of a
second reader, why explain further what is mutually understood between the writer and his
private audience?
In addition to the text’s date of completion, its provenance from the Royal Treasury,
and its author’s remarks on separation and reunion, Eflāṭūn’s own work as şehnāmeci supports
the proposition that Ḥekāyet-i seyl served as a petition to be ‘Ārif’s successor. We find the
supporting evidence in a later şehnāme, namely Hünernāme. This work, acclaimed in Turkish art
history for its miniatures, is a book dedicated to the exaltation of Sulṭān Süleymān. It is a
compilation of incidents that demonstrate the sultan’s capabilities as a just, pious, and
generous ruler, and a formidable military hero. In this book, its principal author şehnāmeci
Seyyid Loḳmān, states that the first three chapters and some pages for the later chapters were
left to him by the previous şehnāmeci Eflāṭūn, who did not live long enough to finish the book.45
These three chapters deal with the birth of Sulṭān Süleymān, his ascension to the throne, his
generosity, his justice, and his mastery in chivalry and the military arts. It is in these three
chapters, and not in the rest of the book, that we note the application of the two qualities
Eflāṭūn underlined as his assets in Ḥekāyet-i seyl.
45
TSMK H. 1524, 12b.
220
The first of these qualities is the writer’s expertise in the astrological sciences, and he
uses every opportunity to display his mastery. 46 About the sultan’s ascension, for example,
Eflāṭūn writes:
At an auspicious hour and with a prosperous fortune,

the good news of his ascension brought honor to the sun and Venus.
Jupiter was made the high vanguard

from the arrow of happiness the constellation Aries became distinguished.
The shah of shahs Süleymān, the possessor of the world

of the magnificence of Alexander and the dignity of Selīm
Sat on the throne of the Caliphate like the moon

around him a halo was formed of distinguished men.47
Later in the text he adds:
The sun had came to the throne of the constellation Aries from the sign of Pisces
Everywhere in the world was adorned.48
The other quality that Eflāṭūn presented as an asset in what resembles his “petition
letter” was his ability to propose a formulation of the sultan’s legitimacy based on his special
relationship with God. To be sure, legitimizing sovereignty with divine confirmation is not
Eflāṭūn’s innovation. Even in the tradition of Ottoman royal şehnāme writing, Eflāṭūn cannot be
credited as being the pioneer. We have seen in the previous chapter how ‘Ārif exploited the
same theme in Süleymānnāme. Yet in a later work, in fact in one of the last texts he wrote
before his death, ‘Ārif had strikingly similar things to say.
In Vaḳ‘a-yi Sulṭān Bayezid ma‘a Selīm Hān ‘Ārif narrated the rebellion of Prince Bayezid,
one of the two remaining sons of Süleymān in 1559, his battle against his brother Selīm—who
46
On his birth Ibid. 19a, lines 7-; also the Persian verse on 20b, lines 6-15. On his ascension Ibid. 22b, lines14-15, 23a
lines 1-2, the Persian verse on 23b, esp. lines 2-4, the Persian verse that starts on 30a, lines 13-15 but esp. 30b,
lines 5-9.
47
Ibid. 22b, lines 14, 15, and 23a, lines 1, 2.
48
Ibid. 30b, line 9.
221
had the complete support of his sultan father—and his final defeat in the battle of Konya on
the 31st of May 1559 (23 Şa‘bān 966). Here, ‘Ārif argues that by disregarding Sulṭān Süleymān’s
orders, his son Bayezid was breaking not one but three laws. This, the writer explains during
the course of one of the letters the sultan sent to his son, where Süleymān invites him to
obedience with a potent mixture of reasoning, affectionate words, and threats.49
The sultan says that his son would first of all, be breaking the order of the “Pure
Dispenser of Justice”—i.e. God.50 Secondly, he would be breaking the law of God who had
commanded subjects to obey their ruler. Here, much like Eflāṭūn, ‘Ārif uses the language of the
Koran to draw legitimacy: “‫ ﻜﻪ ﻜﻔﺘﻪ اﻄﻴﻌﻮا ﺒﺮﻴﺸﺎﻦ ﺨﺪا‬/‫”ﺪﻮﻢ ﺤﻜﻢ ﺸﺎهﺎﻦ ﻓﺮﻤﺎﻦ ﺮﻮا‬51 Thirdly, he would be
going against the essential and religiously sanctioned obligation of a son to follow the orders
of his father. 52 (Figure 86)
In contrast to ‘Ārif’s succinct reference, however, the formulation of Eflāṭūn is rather
ambiguous. While Eflāṭūn’s reference is nothing unconventional, the direct relationship he
suggests with his word “therefore” between the first line that quotes God’s command in the
Koran to obey Him and the Messenger (“‫ )”اﻄﻴﻌﻮا ﷲ اﻨﻜﻪ اﻄﻴﻌﻮا اﻠﺮﺴﻮﻞ‬and the part on obeying
“those in authority among you” (‫ )اﻮﻠﻮا اﻻﻤﺮ ﻤﻨﻜﻢ‬is problematic. While in the Koran there is a
hierarchical order descending from God to his Prophet and finally to the rulers of society,
Eflāṭūn’s causal “therefore” (‫ )اﺰ اﻦ ﭙﺲ‬suggests an analogy between the Prophet and rulers. The
special nature of rulers’ prayers, a leit motiv which is elaborated later in the text, and the
49
Although we know of the exchange of letters between the sultan and Bayezid, we do not have the original of
this letter. For the incident of Bayezıd see Şerafettin Turan, Kanuni Süleyman Dönemi That Kavgaları, 2nd edition,
Bilgi Yayınevi, Ankara, 1997.
50
“‫ ﻜﻪ هﺮﻜﺲ ﺸﻜﺴﺖ ﺁﻦ ﺒﺴﺮ ﻜﺮﺪ ﺨﺎﻚ‬/ ‫ ”ﻴﻜﻰ ﺰ اﻦ ﺴﻪ ﻓﺮﻤﺎﻦ ﺪاﺪاﺮ ﭙﺎﮎ‬TSMK R. 1540 mük. 8a, line 6.
51
Ibid. 8a, line 7.
52
“‫ ﻜﻪ هﺴﺖ ﺁﻦ ﺒﻬﺮﺰاﺪﻩ ﻓﺮﺾ ﻋﻴﻦ‬/ ‫ ”ﺴﻴﻢ ﺒﺮ ﻮﻠﺪ ﻄﺎﻋﺖ ﻮاﻠﺪﻴﻦ‬Ibid. 8a, line 8. Here, too Arabic vocabulary is used to emphasize
the Islamic sanction concerning the children’s attitude towards their parents.
222
leadership (or guiding) qualities prophets possessed and rulers are expected to possess are the
common elements that help this substitution. Still, in logical terms, Eflāṭūn’s statement does
not stand on firm grounds. If we think of this substitution in terms of a modulation in
counterpoint—or a switch in musical keys if you will—the modulation is at best a weak one.
At the same time, Eflāṭūn’s formulation has more ambitious intentions than ‘Ārif’s
reference in Vaḳ‘a-yi Sulṭān Bayezid ma‘a Selīm Hān. In his explanation, Eflāṭūn does not merely
base the sultan’s authority on God’s confirmation of his sovereignty. He takes it further by
arguing that rulers in general possess and Süleymān in particular possesses a prophet-like
status before God and hence, before their subjects. In Ḥekāyet-i seyl, this relationship between
Süleymān and God that corresponds to the special relationship between prophets and God is
facilitated by the sultan’s capability to communicate with the Divine through his prayers.
Here, once again without making any articulate statement, Eflāṭūn creates a strong parallelism
between Noah and Süleymān. 53 The obvious comparison between the Koranic flood and the
flood of 1563 becomes the perfect pretext for this analogy.
Indeed, Eflāṭūn seems at least as interested in drawing parallels between Noah and
Sulṭān Süleymān as he is in comparing the two floods. In both stories the protagonists turn to
God in grief asking for answers for their suffering and salvation for their people. In both
stories they are granted an answer. In the text, both Noah and Sulṭān Süleymān are chosen by
God as leaders and at the same time, assigned by Him to guide their people. Furthermore, Noah
is singled out as a prophet who marked the changing of epochs in the metaphoric introductory
53
In his statement concerning the obedience to God and to the Prophet, Eflāṭūn seems to refer to Muḥammed
(‫)اﻠﺮﺴﻮﻞ‬. However, later in the text, there is no articulated or suggested analogy between Sulṭān Süleymān and
Muḥammed. On the other hand, the analogy between Süleymān and Noah is rather clear. For his part, ‘Ārif does
not make any parallelism between the Ottoman ruler and the Prophet Muḥammed in his Vaḳ‘a-yi Sulṭān Bayezid
ma‘a Selīm Hān. The parallelism does exist however in his Süleymānnāme and the Imperial Scroll (Tomar-ı Hümāyūn)
in which he collaborated.
223
section in Süleymānnāme examined in the previous chapter. The themes of the Great Flood
bringing the culmination of an epoch and Noah as the leader-savior of humanity are also
emphasized visually in the Imperial Scroll (Tomar-ı Hümāyūn) as we will see in the following
chapter.
Furthermore, the Koran confirms that due to his communication with God, Noah was
able to have more knowledge of the future than the rest of the people. In between the lines,
Eflāṭūn makes it known that he can be of assistance to that end with his expertise in the
astrological sciences.
Later, as the Ottoman royal şehnāmeci, in the first chapter of Hünernāme, Eflāṭūn
employs a saying of the Prophet that likens dominion and religion to twins. He adds that in the
eyes of wise men, sovereignty and prophet-hood are like two gems inlaid on a single seal ring.54
Eflāṭūn continues that just like the way prophets made the salvation of the believers possible,
sultans are “the reasons of the world order”.55 This is, in fact, no other than the elaboration of
what he had proposed in Ḥekāyet-i seyl.
iii. A new image for an old sultan
54
“Mülk ve millet cihānda peyġāmberler ve pādişāhlar ile tev’emān vāķi‘ olmışlardur ve salţanat ü nübüvvet
naẓargāh-i ehl-i ḫıredde ol iki nigīne beñzer ki bir ḫātemde tersī‘ olunmış ola.” TSMK H. 1524, 21b.
55
“Ve enbiyā--‘aleyh üs-selām—bā‘is-i necāt-i ümmet oldukları gibi selāţīn da sebeb-i nizām-ı umūrı- kā’ināt
olurlar.” Ibid. op. cit.
224
Assuming that the short treatise at hand was meant to be a kind of petition letter, we
are still left to wonder why Eflāṭūn was preferred over others to write dynastic history after
‘Ārif. Literary prowess that would seem to be an important qualification in an appointment of
the kind was apparently not considered a priority. To be sure, the literary skills of his
predecessor ‘Ārif were criticized by many of his contemporaries, but these accusations were
often fueled by envy. As we have seen earlier in the section on ‘Ārif’s biography, alongside the
criticism he received, there was always recognition of him as a member of the literary elite,
and a grudging respect. He was included in the biographies of poets of the period and given
considerable space.56
We cannot say the same thing for Eflāṭūn, who was accorded a brief space in only a few
biographies, and that mainly because of his title as the second Ottoman şehnāmeci.57 His
contemporaries seemed to have found his daring conspiracy with the master painter Şāhḳūlı
against ‘Ārif much more interesting and worthwhile to record than his poetry. To date, I have
not run across any of his poems in Turkish or Persian in the literary journals of his time.
It is not accidental that while Ḥekāyet-i seyl was written in Persian verse, Hünernāme was
composed in Turkish prose with only some scattering lines of Persian verse. Despite the
common belief—after Woodhead58 —that the language of the Ottoman şehnāmes changed from
Persian to Turkish during the tenure of Seyyid Loḳmān, we can claim that the change was
56
See Āşık Çelebi, Meşā’ir üş-Şu’arā. Ed. G.M. Meredith-Owens. Gibb Memorial Series, no. 24. London, 1971, p. 436-
440; Kınalızade Hasan Çelebi, Tezkîretü’ş-Şuárâ. Ed. İbrahim Kutluk. Vol. II, Ankara, 1989, p. 596-8; Mustafa ‘Āli.
Künhü’l Ahbar’in Tezkire Kısmı. Ed. Mustafa Isen. Ankara, 1994, p. 238-40; Beyānī Mustafa bin Carullah. Tezkiretü’ş-
Şuarā. Ed. Ibrahim Kutluk, TTKB, Ankara, 1997, p. 161.
57
A well-respected literary figure of the period, Ebu’l Fażl in his short evaluation of the şehnāmecis says with
apparent condescension that when Eflāṭūn came to the Ottoman lands, he was an artist in book illumination and a
scribe who had taken up poetry. İdrīs-i Bidlīsī, Selim Shahname. Ed. Hicabi Kırlangıç, (TCKB), p. 60. See also Mustafa
‘Āli. Künhü’l Ahbar’in Tezkire Kısmı. Ed. Mustafa Isen. Ankara, 1994, p. 194.
58
c. 1555-1605,” WZKM 75 (1983) p. 163.
225
already made when Eflāṭūn was working at the palace as the şehnāmeci of Sulṭān Süleymān.
This, we can deduce from the frequent self-reference of Eflāṭūn as Hazānī in the prose sections
in Turkish where he was the main author. Whereas the writer used the penname Esīrī when he
composed in Persian, he used Hazānī when he wrote in Turkish. In fact, considering the
monotony especially of his descriptions of the flood, his clumsy argumentation, and limited
vocabulary, Eflāṭūn’s performance in Persian verse would not have favored continuing the
royal Ottoman şehnāmes in Persian—at least as long as he was the composer.
Indeed, if we are to see H. 1570 as a kind of petition letter, it appears that rather than
his strength in composing Persian poetry, it was Eflāṭūn’s knowledge of astrology and his
particular formulation of the basis of the sultan’s authority that won him the title of şehnāmeci.
The answer to why that might be so, lies in the rendering of the story of Noah.
One particular element of Eflāṭūn’s narration of the Koranic story is the emphasis the
writer places on the rebellion of Noah’s son’s against his father. This part of the text comprises
about one fourth of the entire story of the Great Flood. In the Koran, the story of Noah is
mentioned several times and related with a varying amount of details. It is in the sura of Hud
where the incident between the prophet and his son is related.59 Here, the son refuses his
father Noah’s plea to join him in his Ark. He tells his father instead that he would take refuge
on top of a mountain. As a consequence of trusting his own calculations in escaping the flood
rather than his father’s belief in God, Noah’s son perishes. At the misery and surprise of Noah,
who had thought that God promised to save his entire family from the disaster, God explains
that his son had committed a wrongful act (emelun ġayri ṣāliḥun). Hence, he was not considered
a part of Noah’s family.
59
The Koran, sura 11/42-47.
226
Earlier, in the first chapter of this thesis, the likelihood of a discreet reference to the
disobedience of Noah’s son in one of the miniatures of ‘Ārif’s Enbiyānāme was mentioned. The
current unavailability of the manuscript has hindered investigating this reference to see if
there is a similar reference in the text, as well. Fortunately, we can say with certainty that in
another source available to us, in Vaḳ‘a-yi Sulṭān Bayezid ma‘a Selīm Hān, the first şehnāmeci ‘Ārif
used the same story involving Noah and his disobedient son.
In the continuation of Sulṭān Süleymān’s letter to his son, Prince Bayezid, described
above, the rebellion of Noah’s son and his punishment are mentioned.60 In both ‘Ārif’s and
Eflāṭūn’s texts, the story of Noah’s son is an example of a son’s disobedience to his father and
its mortal consequences. While in ‘Ārif’s Vaḳ‘a the story was used as an analogy to strengthen
an essential point in the narration, in Eflāṭūn’s Ḥekāyet-i seyl, it stands out almost as an
unnecessary branching off of the main narrative line.
In spite of the stylistic problem it causes, the unusual emphasis of this aspect of Noah’s
story, I believe, was not coincidental. Ḥekāyet-i seyl was produced two years after the killing of
Prince Bayezid (Muḥarrem 969/1561). We should bear in mind that the assassination of the
prince, who had become a symbol for discontent, especially in the Anatolian parts of the
empire, was the second of such killings. The first was the execution of the Prince Muṣṭafā in
1553. His father had ordered to have him strangled in the very tent where the prince had come
to visit the sultan. The assassination of the extremely popular prince had many serious
repercussions for the sultan’s charisma and his reputation as a just ruler. A rebellion against
60
‫ ﻨﻜﻪ ﻜﻦ ﭽﻪ ﺴﺎﻦ ﺨﻮﺮﻮﺶ ﺁﺐ ﺘﻨﻮﺮ‬/ ‫”ﭽﻮ ﺒﺎ ﺁﺐ ﻨﻮﺢ اﺘﺸﻰ ﻜﺮﺪ ﭙﻮﺮ‬
‫ ﻜﻪ ﺁﺮﺪ ﺒﺠﺎ ﻄﺎﻋﺖ ﻮاﻠﺪﻴﻦ‬/ ‫ﺒﻮاﻠﺪ ﺒﻮﺪ ﺁﻦ ﻮﻠﺪ ﻨﻮﺮ ﻋﻴﻦ‬
“‫ ﺮﻮﺪ ﻻﺠﺮﻢ هﻤﭽﻮ ﻜﻨﻌﺎﻦ ﺒﻪ اﺐ‬/ ‫ﭽﻮ ﭙﻮﺮى ﺒﻮﺪ ﻋﺎﻖ ﺒﺮ ﻤﺎﻢ ﻮ ﺒﺎﺐ‬
TSMK R. 1540, 8b, lines 7-9. Here the word play with the opposites, fire and water, offers yet another example of
the striking similarity between some of ‘Ārif’s descriptions and those of Eflāṭūn on the same theme. See the
summary of the text of Ḥekāyet-i seyl.
227
the sultan was barely held through selected punishments and awards. An unusual amount of
poems have reached to our day lamenting the death of Muṣṭafā and often criticizing the
sultan, his wife Hürrem, and his son-in-law the Grand Vizier Rüstem Paşa for causing the
unjust death of a hero. 61 Some of these poems are shocking in their sharpness of tongue.62
With the heavy burden of two of his sons’ killings on his reputation and most probably
on himself as a father, Sulṭān Süleymān in 1563 needed an ambitious reformulation of his
authority. The grieving father who had to face the disobedience of his son and suffer while
watching him being punished by God, in other words, the aged prophet Noah, offered the right
legacy on which to build a new image for the old ruler.
In Vaḳ‘a-yi Sulṭān Bayezid ma‘a Selīm Hān, the first şehnāmeci ‘Ārif presented the Bayezid
incident as an inevitable tragedy where the sultan had not done anything to blame for. Eflāṭūn
went further. In the apocalyptic environment that Eflāṭūn’s Ḥekāyet-i seyl be İstanbūl āmeden
creates—or reflects— Sulṭān Süleymān emerges as a saintly guide to his subjects only after he
submits himself to God ready to apologize for any sins he had committed and offers his life as a
sacrifice. God, in response, stops the flood. It seems that He did not consider the ruler had
committed any sin. Or else, He forgave the sinful ruler and accepted him as a saint, a sacred
companion.
61
Muṣṭafā’s mother was not Hürrem Sulṭān, but an earlier favorite of Sulṭān Süleymān. The Grand Vizier Rüstem
Paşa was married to the daughter of the sultan and his wife Hürrem. Both the Grand Vizier and Hürrem, wished
for one of the sons of Hürrem to be the sultan after Süleymān. The Muṣṭafā incident is examined in detail in the
paper I presented in the seminar in honor of Filiz Çağman the former director of Topkapı Palace Museum: “Bir
Trajedinin Kurgulanışı: Arifī’nin Süleymānnāmesinde (TSMK H. 1517) Şehzāde Mustafā’nın Katlinin Ele Alınışı,”
forthcoming in the collection of articles Commemorative Gift to Filiz Cağman: Topkapı Palace Museum Communication
Seminar on the Topkapı Palace and Ottoman Art, Istanbul, 2010 (?).
62
For poems that describe the assassination of Muṣṭafā as a cruel and unjust act of the sultan see Muṣṭafā İsen.
Acıyı Bal Eylemek: Türk Edebiyatında Mersiye, Ankara, 1994, p. 283-323; especially those of the poets Sāmī and Nisāyī,
p. 305-307 and 308-11 respectively. Also, for the famous poem of Yaḥyā Beg and an interesting examination of the
Muṣṭafā incident see Şentürk, Ahmet Atillā. Yahyâ Beğ’in Şehzâde Mustafa Mersiyesi yahut Kanunî Hicviyesi, İstanbul,
1998.
228
b. THE AMBITIONS OF AN OTTOMAN IMPERIAL SCROLL
i. Introduction
The Ottoman Imperial Scroll (Tomar-ı Hümāyūn) is one of the most enigmatic documents
preserved in the Topkapı Palace Museum in Istanbul.63 The lack of any studies on the Scroll is, I
believe, to a large extent due to the practical difficulties in undertaking such a project. Indeed,
the giant size of the document that measures 31.16m by 0.79m (102 feet by 2.6 feet) not to
mention its format, overwhelms the observer. If the researcher is ever fortunate enough to
start unrolling this scroll, she will be overtaken by the puzzling beauty of it once and again. On
the one hand, it consists of “straight lines and many circles” as Seyyid Loḳmān says in the
introduction of his Zübdetü’t-Tevārīh,64 which he claims is the scroll’s concise summary
(Mücmelü’t-Tomar).65 However, it is also composed of a text that rotates direction, an
astrological disk, a schematic medieval map of the world, as well as geometrically defined
empty spaces, octagons made up of circles or enclosing them, squares, and many triangles.
In this study, my intention is not to provide an exhaustive scrutiny of the document. I
hope that to be a future project, which will entail vast comparative research in addition to a
rigorous examination of the document itself. What I offer here, instead, is a preliminary
63
It is found under the code number A. 3599.
64
" ‫ ”ﺨﻄﻮﻄ ﻤﻤﺴﺘﻘﻴﻤﻪ ﻮ ﺪﻮاﺌﺮ ﻜﺜﻴﺮﻩ‬TIEM 1973. I thank Durmuş Kandıra for sharing his reading of Zübdetü’t-Tevārīh even
before I attained my copy from TIEM.
65
Ibid. Op. Cit. In fact, the original name of the scroll is not Tomar-ı Hümāyūn but “Zübdetü’t-Tevārīh” as it is stated
in its introduction. Not to cause more confusion, I will also call it with its better known name, Tomar- ı Hümāyūn
(or shortly as Tomar), after Seyyid Loḳmān’s reference.
229
introduction to the many questions the document raises and an attempt to answer a few of
them. The questions that will be examined in this study relate to the identity of the authors
who composed the text and the calligraphers who produced the scroll. The issues of the
identities of the authors and the calligraphers will carry us to a larger issue of the official
Ottoman şehnāme “tradition”, to which Tomar belongs. Did such a tradition of accumulated
historical knowledge and dynastic literature really exist? Was there such an office with an
articulated job description for its holder? Before starting the discussion, a general overview of
the document will be useful.
ii. An overview of the scroll
1. The introduction
Tomar starts with an introduction that provides the immediate reasons for its
composition during the reign of Sulṭān Süleymān (1520-1566). (Figure 99) After an analogy
between writing and creation, the author continues that in Tomar, he has written and
described the state of the skies and the earth, and delivered, in the form of a scroll (‫)ﺪﺮج ﺒﻴﺎﻦ‬,
the genealogies, the evident personal qualities, and the life stories of all the prophets who are
mentioned in the Koran. He adds that he has also “said in silent speech and recorded in the
language of the pen” (‫ )ﺰﺒﺎﻦ ﺤﺎﻞ اﻴﻠﻪ ﺘﻘﺮﻴﺮ اﻮﻠﻨﻮﺐ ﻠﺴﺎﻦ ﻗﻠﻢ اﻴﻠﻪ ﺘﺤﺮﻴﺮ اﻮﻠﻨﻪ‬the duration of their reigns
and the length of their lives, how their genealogies are interconnected and arrive at Adam and
the stories of the lives and reigns of those who had attained the throne of succession and of
230
kingship (‫)ﺴﺮﻴﺮ ﺨﻼﻔﺖ ﻮ ﺘﺨﺖ ﺴﻠﻄﻨﺖ‬. Furthermore, he has recorded the genealogies and the life
stories of Muḥammed, the four caliphs, and a selected group of dynasties of Islamic history.66
Finally, the author writes that he has ordered and fully described the lineage of the
ruler of his time, Sulṭān Süleymān, whose lineage goes back to Noah, as well as the time of his
ancestors’ accessions, their reigns, their conquests, their deaths, and the lands that had been
incorporated to Ottoman lands since Sulṭān Süleymān’s accession. In addition, he has stated
how the rightly-guiding mystic paths (‫ )ﻄﺮﻴﻖ اﺮﺸﺎﺪ ﻠﺮﻨﻪ‬of the great saints and the generous
dervishes are connected to the Chief of the Messengers of God (i.e. Muḥammed).
2. The astrological disk and the terrestrial map
The scroll continues with first an astrological and then a terrestrial map. Information
concerning the astrological signs and the stations of the planets, as well as summary
explanations on the geography and demography of particular locations on earth are included
around the two maps.
The astrological disk is placed within an equilateral octagon. It is composed of
concentric circles at the center of which is the earth. (Figure 100) Around the earth there are
nine circular bands, each having a distinct color and representing a particular revolving
celestial sphere. An anthropomorphized representation of a planet is placed on the width of
each of the first seven spheres starting from the moon and continuing with Mercury, Venus,
the sun, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn respectively. These representations are in rectangular
66
The author lists many states, such as the Umayyids, the Abbasids, the Eyyubids, the Fatimids, the Turkish
dynasty, the Safarids, the Samanids, the Seljukids, and the Cenghizids.
231
frames resembling tarot cards. The first seven spheres are followed by two others: the eighth
(‫ )ﻔﻠﻚ ﺜﻮاﺒﺖ‬and the ninth (‫ )ﻔﻠﻚ اﻄﻠﺲ‬spheres.
Going further away from the core of this Ptolemaic celestial map, we first encounter a
blue concentric circular band consisting of the figurative symbols of the twelve signs of the
Zodiac: Aries (‫)اﻠﺤﻤﻞ‬, Taurus (‫)اﻠﺜﻮﺮ‬, Gemini (‫)اﻠﺠﻮﺰا‬, Cancer (‫)اﻠﺴﺮﻄﺎﻦ‬, Leo (‫)اﻷﺴﺪ‬, Virgo (‫)اﻠﺴﻨﺒﻠﻪ‬,
Libra (‫)اﻠﻤﻴﺰاﻦ‬, Scorpio (‫)اﻠﻌﻘﺮﺐ‬, Sagittarius (‫)اﻠﻘﻮﺲ‬, Capricorn (‫)اﻠﺠﺪﻰ‬, Aquarius (‫)اﻠﺪﻠﻮ‬, Pisces
(‫)اﻠﺤﻮﺖ‬. The Arabic name of each sign is written above the symbol with red ink and within a
white frame that is perpendicular to the axis of the disk.
In the outward direction, this band is followed by a thin white band that separates it
from yet another and wider white concentric band. This last one includes schematic
representations of twenty eight groups of stars in each constellation. Each star in the group is
represented with a small circle. Hence Pleiades (‫ )ﺜﺮﻴا‬for example, is represented by six circles
corresponding to its six stars and to the right of the sign for the constellation Taurus to which
it belongs. The Arabic name of each of these groups of stars, known also as lunar mansions, is
written with black ink within a white frame similar to the frames containing the names of the
constellations of the zodiac described above.
The next concentric circular band in the outward direction is a thin white one divided
into twenty eight sections. The red inscription in each section of this band states which night
of the lunar month corresponds to the shape of the moon depicted in the next band. Hence,
given that the lunar mansions and the signs are indicated in the two previous bands, with this
temporal information, it is possible to state the lunar mansion of each sign of the zodiac on a
specific night. The sign Taurus, for example, is at the lunar mansion of the Pleiades (‫ )ﺜﺮﻴا‬on the
first day of the lunar month but moves onto the mansion of Aldeberan (‫ )ﺪﺒﺮاﻦ‬the next day.
232
This temporal information is once more written in Arabic and inscribed with red ink, in
line with the aesthetic rule of alternating colors followed in the disk. However, unlike the
frames providing the names of the astrological signs and the lunar mansions, it is inscribed
within frames not perpendicular to the axis of the disk but parallel to the route of all the
concentric circles seemingly rotating around the same axis.
The designation of the particular nights of the lunar month is complemented by the
depictions of how the moon is perceived from the earth on each corresponding night. These
depictions are included in the following band where each of the twenty eight representations
of the moon (the visible side in gold, the covered side in sky blue) is placed in the middle of the
section corresponding to each night within a quasi square with a light red/pink background.
The little squares containing the depictions of the moon are flanked at the top and bottom
with inscriptions written in Turkish and in black ink on a white background. They indicate the
number of hours before sunrise.
The outermost band consists of talismanic representations of the twenty eight lunar
mansions. The gold colored figures are set on a sky blue background. Outside of this band and
at the top of the disk, the contents of the outer band are identified as the twenty eight
mansions of the moon (‫ )ﻴﻜﺮﻤﻰ ﺴﻜﺰﻤﻨﺂﺰﻞ ﻘﻤﺮ‬in a Turkish inscription in red ink.
The directions of the figures and the inscriptions have been mentioned briefly in the
description above. However, in consideration of the aesthetics of the rest of the scroll, I believe
they merit further evaluation. A closer inspection reveals that neither the representations nor
233
the inscriptions are positioned randomly. On the contrary, the disk displays its artist’s
deliberate and tedious care in choosing the way all of its elements were placed.67
To begin with, the anthropomorphized representation of each planet (the moon,
Mercury, Venus, the sun, etc.) is placed on the same circular route of the celestial level to
which they belong. Because of the way they are positioned, together, they resemble the Arabic
letter “‫”ﻮ‬. The “uncoiling” shape of the group draws the eye to the core of the disk where the
earth is placed and adds visual depth to the image. In this way, the viewer can easily imagine
the rising level of each celestial sphere. Aside from the representations of the planets, the
names of each of the nine celestial spheres, the representations of the signs of the zodiac, and
the indications of each night of the lunar month are written in the same direction along the
circular routes of the bands to which they correspond. As such, they add a “spinning” effect to
the visual experience of the viewer. In other words, they give the visual impression that the
astrological disk is actually rotating above and around the earth.
In contrast, the identification labels for the signs of the zodiac and the lunar mansions,
as well as the information above and below the images of the phases of the moon—
incidentally, this is the only inscription in the disk that is written in Turkish—are inscribed not
on the same circular route of the corresponding bands, but on axes perpendicular to that of
the disk. In the outmost band, some of the talismanic representations of the lunar mansions
are positioned in a direction that is perpendicular to the axis of the disk whereas some are
placed on the circular/rotating route of this band—it seems—for reasons of spatial
convenience.
67
At the same time, this care in the minute details is not a natural extension of the conventions of medieval maps
that it so resembles at first sight. For examples of different arrangements in similar astrological disks see MS.
Bodl. Or. 133, fols. 117b-118a and MS. Arab. C. 90, fols. 2b-3a, both of them reproduced in E. Edson & E. Savage-
Smith, Medieval Views of the Cosmos: Picturing the Universe in the Christian and Islamic Middle Ages. (Oxford: University
of Oxford, 2004), p. 23, and the double pages 38-39, respectively.
234
The difference in the choice of the axis for these inscriptions and representations
appears to be based on the distinct purpose they serve in reading the image. Both the
talismanic figures and the identification labels are elements that are included in the image for
practical purposes. They function as informative tools for the uninitiated viewer in
understanding and interpreting the disk. As such, they are not integral to the astrological disk
in the same way the representations of the planets or the signs of the zodiac are.
The phases of the moon, on the other hand, are positioned in the way they are naturally
observed from the earth, which is at the core of this disc. This communication between the
band with the depictions of the phases and the earth at the center, strengthens the core-
periphery relationship within the disk. In this way, the viewer’s impression of depth when
looking at the image as a whole is once more enhanced.
Like the astrological disk, the terrestrial map is in the form of a circle and placed within
an equilateral octagon. (Figure 101) It was prepared in a mixed style of Medieval Arabic world
maps. Its schematic and rather abstract general outlook approximates it to the maps of the
Balḫī school named after Ebu Zeyd el- Balḫī (d.322/934).68 At the same time, like both the
famous circular world map attributed to the twelfth century Moroccan geographer el-Idrīsī in
the anonymous Book of Curiosities (Kitāb Ġarā’ib alfunūn wa-mulaḥ al-‘uyūn) and the rectangular
world map in the same work, the terrestrial map in the Scroll includes the ‘Mountain of the
Moon,’ which is represented with a canopy-like figure in the southeast end almost touching
the boundaries of the zone of Darkness (‫)ﻈﻠﻤﺎﺖ‬.69 (Figure 103) Like these two world maps, it also
68
World map (Balḫī school, MS Ouseley 373, fols. 3b-4a). The image is from a Persina translation of al-Iṣṭaḫrī’s
Kitāb al-Masālik wa-al-Mamālik (Book of Routes and Provinces). See E. Edson & E. Savage-Smith, Medieval Views of
the Cosmos: Picturing the Universe in the Christian and Islamic Middle Ages. (Oxford: University of Oxford, 2004), p. 76.
69
The manuscript is preserved in Oxford, Bodleian Library (MS. Arab 90). The two maps referred to above are
reproduced in E. Edson & E. Savage-Smith, ibid. p. 78-79, 82.
235
designates an area for Gog and Magog, albeit in the northern direction in contrast to the
northeastern direction of the other two world maps.70 Furthermore, the terrestrial map of the
Ottoman scroll does not follow the conventional south orientation, but is oriented to the east
like the western maps of its time.71
The four cardinal points are indicated on the scroll with Arabic inscriptions in red ink
outside of the outmost band of the terrestrial map. This green outermost layer of the disk-
shaped map resembles a ring forming segmented worm. It is identified outside of the disk as
the mythical mountain of Ḳāf (‫ )ﺠﺒﻞ ﻘﺎﻒ‬with an Arabic inscription written between the cardinal
points in black ink.
The south side of the map’s inner circle is intersected by a vertical line in the east-west
direction. The part in between this intersecting line and the outer dark ring, is tinted black and
named “Darkness” (‫)ﻈﻠﻤﺎﺖ‬. The same practice is followed on the opposite side of the map,
creating the zone tinted red and named Gog and Magog (‫)ﻴﺎﺠﻮج ﻮﻤﺎﺠﻮج‬. The text around the
octagon that encloses the terrestrial map is made up of four parts. Altogether, the text and the
octagon with the terrestrial disk form a square.
Both the astrological and the terrestrial disks are particular for their dated information
and anachronistic medieval style. We should bear in mind that at this time a large portion of
the earth was already “discovered” and the Ottoman elite and seamen were not ignorant of it.
Indeed, in 1513, more than fifty years before the production of the Imperial Scroll, Pīrī Reis had
70
The rectangular map indicates only the wall said to be built by Alexander to keep off the Gog and the Magog. In
addition to Alexander’s wall, in the circular map the Gog and the Magog are marked on the other side of the wall.
The representation in the Ottoman scroll is much more schematic and the Alexanderian barrier is not marked
specifically.
71
While rare, the same eastern orientation could be found in other maps of the Islamicate cultural domain. One
example is the world map in the anonymous treatise titled Book of Creation and History (Kitāb al-Bad ‘ wa al-Tārīḫ).
This map of mixed styles bears resemblance to both el-Idrīsī and el-Bīrūnī’s maps and has an eastern orientation
like the terrestrial disk of Tomar. For this map and its short analysis see Edson & E. Savage-Smith, ibid. p. 81, 84.
236
presented his copy of Cristopher Colombus’ map of America to Selīm I in Egypt.72 Moreover, in
932 /1525-26, Pīrī Reis presented his book on the Mediterranean coastline (Kitāb u’l-Baḥrīye) to
Sulţān Süleymān. This royal copy contained 215 maps in color. The Topkapı Palace manuscript
library has two other incomplete sixteenth century copies of the same work in its collection: R.
1633 and B.337. Of the two, B. 337 was produced in 1574, during the reign of Süleymān’s
grandson Murād III and contains 134 maps. We do not know whether R. 1633, which includes
223 maps, was produced before or after the scroll.73 Even if we assume that it is a later copy,
the presence of the royal copy of Kitāb u’l-Baḥrīye and of the maps (H. 1823, R. 1633, H. 1824,
possibly B. 338 and B. 339) prepared by Pīrī Reis and others in the royal collection permits us to
think that at least the Ottoman ruler and the closest members of his court as well as the
scholarly elite with knowledge of geography, map artists, and navy commanders were aware of
the advancement of technology in sea travel and map making at the time of the production of
the terrestrial map in the scroll, in the early 1560s.74
It is clear that offering the most advanced information on geography was not the
purpose behind the production of the terrestrial disk. Likewise, the celestial map does not add
further information to the already existing Ptolemaic knowledge. What was then the function
intended for the scroll’s celestial and terrestrial maps? In an article on the possible mnemonic
function of medieval Islamic maps, Emilie Savage-Smith warns the reader that “maps must be
judged on their on terms, within the aesthetic context in which they were produced and in
relation to their purpose which …was as an aid to memory and a means of imposing order on
72
For the holdings of partial copies of this map and others prepared before or shortly after Tomar’s terrestrial
map, as well as for further information see Fehmi Karatay, Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi Türkçe Yazmalar Kataloğu,
(Istanbul: Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi, 1961) v. 1, p. 464-466.
73
See Fehmi Karatay, ibid. p. 444, 445.
74
The Imperial Scroll was started during the reign of Süleymān after the death of the first şehnāmeci Ārif, hence
between 1561 and 1566. The issue of the authorship of the scroll will be taken up below in detail.
237
new and complex material and not as a visual model of physical reality.”75 She argues that the
basic geometrical design of the regional maps in the Balḫī style, where the contemporaneous
advancements in mapmaking were not used intentionally—and not out of ignorance—could
serve perfectly as “mnemonic aids” and as “route finders accompanying the itinerary lists in
the text itself.”76
Savage-Smith’s advise in understanding medieval Islamic maps is very relevant in the
case of the ‘early modern’ terrestrial map of Tomar. While as a representation of the world and
not of a more limited city or region, it would not serve as a diagram of routes made easy to
remember, it represents a particular way of ordering a selectively relevant world. The
distortion of the zone for Gog and Magog and the unconventional placement of the ‘Mountain
of the Moon’ in order to give the zone of Darkness a space corresponding exactly to the zone of
Gog and Magog, for example, create a particular terrestrial image where the habitable world is
trapped in the north-south axis between the two threatening areas. These unconventional
choices must follow a reasoning that fits with the general vision of the first half of the scroll.
Are we faced with a depiction of an apocalyptic world that threatens one with destruction if he
travels to the far north or the far south, or if the imminent zones of these extremes begin to
expand towards the center? Does that leave the east-west direction as the only axis for travel,
exploration, or military expansion?
The present study reflects merely a preliminary stage in approaching an understanding
of the scroll, and hence, it is too early to answer these questions. However, for the time being,
it will be more accurate to consider Tomar’s circular world map as a terrestrial disk rather than
75
Emilie Savage-Smith, “Memory and Maps” in Culture and Memory in Medieval Islam: Essays in Honour of Wilfer
Madelung, ed. Farhad Daftary and Josef W. Meri (London: I.B. Tauris & Co Ltd, 2003), p. 109.
76
Emilie Savage-Smith, ibid. p. 116, 117.
238
a map for geographic reference. I would also suggest that the temporal distance of the
traditions to which both the terrestrial and the astrological disks seemingly belonged must
have added an aura of exoticism to the entire effect of the scroll. Typically, exoticism must
have brought with it myth and mystery, intensifying the viewer’s experience and transforming
the two maps into powerful images that promise occult knowledge originating from ancient
wisdom.
3. The central branch of the genealogical tree
After these two sections on the skies and the earth, the scroll begins the genealogical
history of mankind following a genealogical tree of three branches descending from Adam and
Eve. (Figure 40) This genealogical schema is complemented by entries on selected prophets
and saints from the Old and New Testaments, and the Koran; caliphs, rulers, and heroes from
Islamicate, Iranian, Turkic, and Mongol history and mythology.
The central branch of the genealogical tree is the most prestigious one and includes
Seth and his descendants. (Figure 40) Along this branch, not all of the descendants of Seth but
only İdrīs (Enoch), Nūḥ (Noah), Ḫıẓır (Hidr), Hūd, İbrāhīm (Abraham), Ṣāliḥ, Isma‘il (Ishmael),
Lūt (Lot), Șu‘ayb (Jetro)77, İsḥāḳ (Isaac), Ya‘ḳūb (Jacob), Yūsuf (Joseph), Eyyūb (Job), Mūsā
(Moses), Hārūn (Aaron), Yūşa‘ (Joshua), İlyās (Elias), Harḳīl, İlşa‘ (Elisha), Șe‘yā (Isaiyah),
İşmūyīl (Samuel), Yūḥannā (John), Dāvud (David), Zu’l Kifl (Ezekiel), Süleymān (Solomon),
Yūnus (Jonah), ‘Üzeyir (Ezra), Ermiyā (Jeremiah), Zekeriyā (Zachariah), ‘Īsā (Jesus), Yaḥyā (John
the Baptist), Muḥammed, the four caliphs, and all of the Ottoman rulers are represented with
77
This is the name given in Islamicate culture to the father-in-law of Moses. In English, the name corresponds to
“Jetro”.
239
bigger and ornamented disks instead of smaller circles. (Figure 102) Within each of these disks,
except for those of the Ottoman rulers, a part of the sura associated with the particular
prophet in the Koran is written around the name.78 The disks of the Ottoman rulers—save
Süleymān—do not have any inscription inside, but in its stead, each contains a stylized six-
point star. (Figure 103)
Noah is an exceptional figure in the scroll. (Figure 104) This is because the difference in
the format of the text before and after him, as well as the horizontal line that branches off on
either side of his name disc to indicate two of his three known sons, namely Japeth and Ham,
make a clear division on the scroll. The visual representation of this part of the scroll is rather
suggestive as the dense “flood” of text is cut sharply by Noah’s name disk and the horizontal
line at either side. In this way, the executer of Tomar indicates visually the arriving of the Great
Flood and the change of the historical epoch in its aftermath.
The text until Noah is organized in well-defined geometric shapes (isosceles triangles
and rhombuses) and is rather dense as previously mentioned. (Figure 104) Except for the path
that is the central branch descending from Adam and Eve, and the sparse clearing around
Kayūmars’ disk on the left branch, there is no empty space left in this part of the scroll. In
contrast, after Noah, the writing becomes less dense and less organized. The section between
Jesus and Muḥammed and especially the section after the four caliphs until the appearance of
the Ottoman dynasty are marked by the amount of empty space left. (Figure 105 and 106) Both
of these sections are also devoid of any ornamented disks.
After Noah, the central branch of the genealogy continues with his son Sam and a
selected group of Sam’s descendants up until the Islamic prophet Muḥammed, where, as in the
78
A list of these suras can be found in Baki Tezcan, “The ‘Frank’ in the Ottoman Eye of 1583*” in The Turk and Islam
in the Western Eye (1453-1750): Visual Imagery Before Orientalism, ed. James Harper (Aldershot: Ashgate, in press to be
published in 2010), footnote 23. I thank Tezcan for this reference.
240
case f Noah, we are once more visually reminded of the changing of an epoch. (Figure 107)
Around Muḥammed, the text becomes very dense again. In fact, the text forms a rectangle
around the equilateral octagon that houses the ornamented disk bearing the Islamic prophet’s
name. This time, the scroll appears to suggest an association with the rectangular patio around
the Kaaba depicted in pilgrim maps, where the Kaaba is often depicted within a circular ring. 79
We should also note that his name disk is distinct from those of all the other historical
figures represented on the scroll previous to him with disks. Not surprisingly Muḥammed’s
name disk is greater in size than all the disks before and after him. Perhaps more importantly,
his disk is special since it possesses both a six-point star like the three Persian kings from the
left branch and the Ottoman rulers who arrive later in the scroll to the central branch, in
addition to the inscribed sura that characterized the disks of the rest of the prophets in Tomar.
In this way in Tomar, the Islamic prophet is represented as the first human who possessed both
political (six-point star) and spiritual authority (the script). It is also important to note that
aside form the terrestrial map and the astrological disk, the name disk of Muḥammed is the
only other disk in Tomar that is placed inside an octagon.80
After Muḥammed, the central line continues with the four Caliphs and eleven of the
twelve imams. (Figure 108) The sequence formed by the Islamic prophet, the four caliphs, and
the imams might appear as a contradiction in terms at first glance. Furthermore, the absence
of the twelfth imam naturally bringsto mind the Shī‘ite credence concerning the
disappearance of the twelfth imam and the expectation of his return as the messiah.
79
See the reproductions of the 18th century plan of Mescīd el-Ḥaram) and the 18th century Ottoman tile in Els Mons
de l’Islam a la Col.lecció del Museu Aga Khan, (Fundació “la Caixa”: Barcelona, 2009), p. 59 and 63, the catalogue of the
exhibition with the same name in Barcelona (9 October 2009-17 January 2010).
80
It is tempting to think that the octagon has a superior hierarchical level in the cosmology of the scroll.
241
I suggest that this particular organization of the central branch can be interpreted as—
arguably—the most daring and haughty example of Ottoman syncretism. In other words, it
reflects the Ottoman synthesizing vision of a Muslim world beyond sectarian divisions of
Sunnism and Shī‘ism that Sulṭān Süleymān aspired lo lead.81 However, this explanation does
not suffice to explain the presence of the following name in the central branch.
A greater surprise comes following the eleventh imam: the next name circle announces
Ebu ‘Alī Sīnā (Avicenna, c. 980 – 1037), the great Persian scientist and philosopher, also known
as ‘Ali Ibn-i Sina. (Figure 109) What is more, he is followed by a distant yet direct ancestor of
the Ottoman dynasty, Aykutlamış.82 In this way, with no interference from other lineages such
as the Abbasid or the Ummayids, the Ottoman lineage establishes itself soon after the prophet,
inheriting its charismatic and selected place on the central line of human genealogy from the
twelve imams via—the mediation of —‘Ali Ibn-i Sina.83
Descending in a series of names from the Ottoman lineage, the central branch arrives at
the threshold of another epoch with ‘Osmān. (Figure 110) Just like in the case of Noah, here too
81
There were other formulations of the same idea especially at around the Persian campaigns of Süleymān. One
such formulation was the symbolic visits of the sultan to the important Shiite sites in Iraq during the first Persian
campaign in 940-942/1533-36. The deliberate route taken to include these shrine visits is narrated in word and
image by Naṣūḥü’s-Silāhī (Matrāķçı, d. 971/1564) in his Beyān-i Menāzil-i Sefer-i ‘Iraḳeyn. Hüseyin Yurdaydın
reproduced the text and the images in a study where he also provides a transcription, an examination of
Matrāķçı’s career, and a survey of literature on the particular work. See Hüseyin G. Yurdaydın, Beyān-i Menāzil-i
Sefer-i ‘Iraḳeyn-i Sulṭān Süleymān Hān. (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basımevi, 1976).
82
Rūḥī (d. after 917/1511) calls this ancestor of the Ottoman dynasty “Aykutluk” instead of “Aykutlamış.”
According to him, Aykutluk was the son of Kazı Han and the grandson of Yasu and the father of Cemendür. Yaşar
Yücel, Halil Erdoğan Cengiz, “Ruhi Tarihi Oxford Nüshası. Değerlendirme, Metnin Yeni Harflere Çevirisi (466 Sayfa
Tıpkı Basım ile Birlikte).” Belgeler 14(1989-92), p. 375. While the name of Aykutlamış’s son is also given as
“Cemendür” in Tomar, here he is the son of “Burak” (?) and the grandson of Kar Han.
83
The unexpected presence of Avicenna (Ibn-i Sīnā) in the central and prophetic branch of the genealogical tree
along with the minute geometric order observed in the visual program of the scroll are principal factors that
suggest me that the main executor of the first half of the scroll, namely Eflāṭūn (“Plato” in Arabic, Persian, and
Turkish), was at least borrowing from the Neo-platonic tradition if not preparing his work entirely within its
parameters. A more complete proof of the presence and the degrees of influence of the Neo-platonic tradition—as
it existed in the Islamicate world of the sixteenth century—on the Imperial Scroll requires further analysis of
Tomar, which I hope to undertake in the near future.
242
the marking of the epoch is announced by a horizontally yet inversely written text84 cut by a
horizontal line coming out of either side of the name disk of the first Ottoman ruler and
indicating, this time not his sons, but his two brothers. As it is mentioned previously, the name
of each Ottoman ruler is encircled in an ornamented disk that bears a six-point star. The
Ottoman six-point star resembles those in the disks of Kayūmars and the two Zūlḳarneyns
from the Persian lineage, but it is stylistically differentiated. Each of the six sections of the
Ottoman star is rounder than its Persian counterpart and resembles a flower bulb.
An interesting trait of this part of the scroll is its spatial organization. The descriptive
texts on the reigns of the sultans are given distinct geometric shapes. Those of ‘Osmān and
Orhan form two rhombuses placed on either side of the disks and at equal distance from them.
The rest of the texts on the reigns of the Ottoman rulers form isosceles triangles leaving empty
spaces in the shape of rhombuses where the name disks are placed, hence echoing the
rhombus shapes formed by the texts for the reigns of the first two Ottoman rulers. (Figure 103)
With the left and right branches descending straight down, the text forming repetitive and
well-defined geometric shapes, and the name disks, which are in one style but varying in color
and follow one another in a perfect vertical line, this part of the scroll—and its corresponding
new era—boasts an aesthetics characterized by impeccable order and harmony.
Another interesting, in fact striking, feature of this section of the scroll is the shape of
Sulṭān Süleymān’s name disk. (Figure 111) This disk imitates the name disk of the prophet
Muḥammed by using the same colors (blue and green) but in reverse order and, more
importantly, by bearing both the six-point star and an Arabic script around his name. In this
84
By a horizontally written text, I mean a regular text that is not written in any angle. An inverted text does not
face the reader but is written upside down. In the context of Tomar, one could also say that it was written facing
the east as it is indicated by the medieval map and the beginning of creation.
243
way, the Ottoman sultan is represented symbolically as the first person after Muḥammed who
joined in himself both political and spiritual authority.85
The script around his name reads “The prophet—peace be upon him—said, “The sultan
is God’s shadow on earth, in whom all oppressed take refuge”” (‫ﻈﻞ ﷲ ﻔﻰ اﻻﺮﺾ ﻴﺎﻮﻰ اﻠﻴﻪ ﻜﻞ ﻤﻈﻠﻮﻢ‬
‫)ﻘﺎﻞ اﻨﺒﻰ ﻋﻠﻴﻪ اﻠﺴﻼﻢ اﻠﺴﻠﻄﺎﻦ‬.86 Even though this formula (the sultan as God’s shadow on earth) was
used very frequently to describe the nature of Sulṭān Sulṭān Süleymān’s authority, it was not
original to Süleymān’s reign. However, here, when it is articulated within a disk that reiterates
the distinctive characteristics of Muḥammed’s disk and when the formula begins with the
introductory phrase “the Prophet—peace be upon him—said,” the ḥadīs seems to have gained
extra weight and authenticity. The message is clear: Süleymān possessed authority in both the
material and spiritual realms and this divinely sanctioned authority—hence his place on the
central genealogical line arriving from Adam—was passed onto him by Muḥammed. This is
perhaps the most daring formulation of the sultan’s caliphate in Ottoman literature.
85
Evrim Binbaş in an article on Ottoman genealogical literature of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, rare
in its thematic choice as well as in its scholarship and resourcefulness, shows how colors and lines were used to
denote and differentiate between kingly, prophetic and pharaonic lineages. Evrim Binbaş, “Structure, Function,
and Meaning in Islamic Genealogical Trees” in Isenbike Togan Festschrift, eds. Evrim Binbas and Nurten Kilic-
Schubel (Istanbul: Itaki, forthcoming, 2010?) There are both important similarities and significant differences
between the genealogical representations of the Subḥatu’l-Ahbār (Austrian National Library Codex AF 50) that
Binbaş examines and that of Tomar. While in Subḥatu’l-Ahbār Alexander the Great is included in the prophetic line
with a flaming nimbus over his head, in Tomar Alexander the Great approaches but is not included in the central
branch. In the geometric-symbolic language of the Imperial Scroll (versus the figurative of the Subḥatu’l-Ahbār)
the prophetic and kingly lineages unite in the disks of Muḥammed and Sulṭān Süleymān. Yet in both cases there is
a careful separation of lineages (in Tomar there is really no consistent ‘pharaonic’ line) and an understanding of
human history protagonized by these lineages. Furthermore, both genealogies leave room in their vision of
leadership for the possibility of a rare prophet-king. Finally, it is at least as important to note that both in Tomar
and in Subḥatu’l-Ahbār the aesthetic language of the scroll/book was manipulated to organize genealogical world
history and to transmit particular ideologies.
86
This statement attributed to Muḥammed is one of many that have been utilized in Islamicate civilization to
confirm the authority of the ruler over his people. The analogy between the sultan and the shadow of God on
earth, defines the ruler as God’s viceroy in the world as well as underlying his paternal duty of protecting his
subjects. For examples of similar Hadis and Koranic proverbs see ‘Abd al-Majīd Mahmūd, proverbs of the Hadith
(‫( )اﻠﻤﺜﺎﻞ اﻠﺤﺪﻴﺚ‬Cairo: Maktabat Dār al-Turāth, 1975) and Al-Maydānī, Koranic Proverbs (‫ﻮ ﺘﺤﻠﻴﻞ ﻮ ﺘﺼﻨﻴﻒ ﻮ ﺮﺴﻢ ﻸﺼﻮﻞ‬
‫( )اﻠﻔﺰﺁﻨﻴﻪ ﺪﺮاﺴﻪ‬Damascus: Dār al-Qalam, 1980).
244
In addition to the disk, the text that flanks it on both sides is also particular in shape.
The form of each of the two parts of this text, which, in fact, stems from Süleymān’s father
Selīm’s disk, is a rhombus. Together with the lines that come out of Selīm’s disk on the left and
the right, these rhombuses imitate the shape of a balance, the sign for justice—the most
essential element of Süleymān’s reputation and charisma.
At this point, we should also note that the two texts at the very beginning of the
Ottoman dynasty were also written in the form of rhombuses. While those were wider, the
rhombuses on either side of Süleymān’s disk are longer. Still, this choice of using the same
geometric shape differentiates Süleymān from the previous Ottoman rulers before him and
after Orhan and encourages the reading that Süleymān was the second founder of the Ottoman
dynasty.87
With the introduction of Sulṭān Süleymān to the genealogy, the format of the scroll
changes once more. The name disk of Süleyman is followed by a non-rotating long text
explaining the important events of his reign. Afterwards, the new format will be characterized
by a name disk similar to that of Süleyman followed by a non-rotating text that narrates the
important events of the reign for each of the following sultans: Selīm II, Murād III, and
Meḥmed III. (Figure 112)
87
The first two rhombuses start from between the name disks of ‘Osmān and Orhan. Visually the arrival of the
new era is marked by the first Ottoman sultan, but Ottoman political history, as it is represented here in summary
form in rhombus shaped texts, begins somewhere in between the reigns of ‘Osmān and his son.
245
4. The side branches
The central branch is flanked on the left and the right by two inferior lineages. The left
branch stems from Adam’s descendant ‘Anāḳ and continues with ‘Ūc. At this point, the
genealogical line is cut. The next name, Kayūmars, is directly underneath ‘Ūc, but is not
connected to his name circle with a line. Instead, his circle is connected with a horizontal line
to Mahalaleel from Seth’s lineage. The left branch then continues with the Persian rulers until
the time of Noah. After Noah, it also includes the genealogy of Turkic and Mongol rulers in
neighboring secondary lines. These secondary lines all stem from Noah’s son Japheth.88
The direct lineage of the Ottoman dynasty also stems from Japheth. Türenmiş89 is the
first ancestor whose name is encircled in a bigger circle with the first outer shell blue and the
second red, a style that seems to characterize the Ottoman lineage until ‘Osmān.90 His father
Gök Ḫān is the son of Oğuz Ḫān and one of the brothers of Kayı Ḫān. This line continues down,
shifting to the further left to leave room for the rectangular body of text around Muḥammed.
Soon after, as it has been said previously, it joins the central branch.
88
According to Rūḥī, the Ottoman lineage is connected to Noah through Sām. He equates Koyḫān with Esau saying
that “‘Iys” in the language of the Copts signified the same person as Koyḫān. Rūḥī, ibid. op. cit. In Tomar, however
the lineage is quite different. As opposed to the genealogical order in Rūḥī—i.e. Gökalp-Oğuz-Kazhān-
Koyḫān(=‘Iys/Esau fro the Copts)-İḫāḳ-Sām-Noah—Tomar follows the genealogical line proposed by Neşrī:
Gökḫān-Oğuzḫān-Karaḫān-Zībḳāḳoy-Būlcās-Japeth-Noah. See Neşrī, Kitāb-ı Cihānnümā, ed. Faik Reşit Unat,
Mehmed A. Köymen, vol. 1. (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basımevi, 1987), p. 8-11, 54-57 While Ibn-i Kemāl (d.
940/1534) writes in favor of the Semitic line as opposed to the Japhetic, Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi (d. 1008/1599) ties
Ottoman ancestory to Japeth. See Ibn-i Kemāl, Tevârih-i Âl-i Osman: I. Defter, Ed. Şerafettin Turan (Ankara: Türk
Tarih Kurumu Yayınları, 1970), p. 39; Sa‘ādeddīn Efendi, Tāc’üt-Tevārīḫ, ed. Ismet Parmaksızoğlu, vol. 1 (Ankara:
Kültür Bakanlığı Yayınları, 1999), p. 27, 28. For a historiographical discussion of the different Ottoman lineages
and their significance see also Barbara Flemming, “Political Genealogies in th Sixteenth Century,” Journal of
Ottoman Studies 7-8 (1988), pp. 123-137; Evrim Binbaş, “Structure, Function, and Meaning in Islamic Genealogical
Trees” in Isenbike Togan Festschrift, eds. Evrim Binbas and Nurten Kilic-Schubel (Istanbul: Itaki, forthcoming, 2010?)
89
According to Rūḥī, the name is “Türmiş”. Rūḥī ibid. op. cit.
90
Incidentally ‘Osmān’s disk also has the inner part blue and the outer red like his ancestors.
246
Three names on the left branch, those of Kayūmars and Zūlḳarneyn el-Ekber and
Iskender Zūlḳarneyn are encircled with special ornamented disks. (Figures 40, 102, and 113) Of
these three, the last two are also placed in close proximity to the central line.91
The right branch stems from Adam’s son Cain and continues with his descendants until
the time of Noah. After Noah, since Cain’s lineage was extinguished by the Great Flood, it is the
descendants of Noah’s son Ham who form the main body of the right branch. Often names
from the central line of Sam are placed in between the central and the right branches. This
must have been done partially because of spatial constraints and partially with the aim of
differentiating them from the most prestigious figures of the central line.
The arrival of the epoch of the prophet Muḥammed also affects the right branch. The
group of the right branch has now changed. Its new members are the prophet’s companions
(‫)اﺼﺤﺎﺐ‬. At the same time, a line comes out of the prophet’s name disk and goes through the
list of his companions. This line contains in its middle a title bar reading “the genealogy of the
Sufi paths” (‫)ﺴﻠﺴﻠﻪ ﻄﺮﻴﻘﺖ‬. The line continues until the end of the name circles of the
companions of the prophet and then makes a right angle turn towards the left. At the point
where the line ends, seven lines descend in angles, each carrying the name circle of a Sufi
sheikh, altogether resembling a chandelier. The genealogy of the Sufi masters continues with
various lines of communication between them and forming a repetitive shape of eight-point
stars until the arrival of the new epoch with the entry of the Ottoman dynasty to the historical
91
The identification of Zūlḳarneyn has led to much discussion. In Tomar, the first Zūlḳarneyn (el-Ekber) must
pertain to a Yemenite named Es-Sa’b el-Himyārī, who was said to live at the time of Abraham. He was a great
conqueror and had two horns one as a sign of his political authority and the other for his religious authority.
However, when he attempted to direct his people to the true faith, he was attacked and as a consequence, one of
his horns was broken. After a thousand years, he was sent by God once again to rule and lead his people to the
true faith. The result was a failure similar to the first time. The choice of Tomar’s writer to place both Zūlḳarneyns
close to the central branch of the genealogy suggests that he was referring to this version of the Zūlḳarneyn story
which portrays this figure almost as a prophet.
247
scene. The format of the scroll is once more organized to express visually the ending of a
defined period in human history and the beginning of a new era. (Figure 110)
At the same time, a straight line of name circles on the far right descends announcing
different states such as the Abbasid, the Fatimid, the Eyyubid, and the Turkic states. This line
starts slightly before the genealogy of the Sufis, and, without branching off, it continues down
into the new historical epoch that is brought by the Ottoman dynasty. (Figure 114, 106, 108,
109, and 110) After the name disk of Murād II, the Ottoman state (‫ )ﺪﻮﻠﺖ اﻠﻌﺜﻤﺎﻨﻴﻪ‬is announced on
the same line at the far right. From that point onwards, the right branch includes the high
level officials of the Ottoman state, except for the viziers. The members of this last group are
listed in a different row and form the left branch of the genealogical tree in this new era.
Needless to say, this is a rather general and basic summary of the organization of
Tomar’s genealogical tree. While some of the surprising details are mentioned in the summary
information provided above, the scroll promises many others once it is scrutinized in detail.
The larger study to which this section belongs, however, has as its focus the works of ‘Ārif and
Eflāṭūn in relation to their position as royal şehnāmecis. As such, in continuation, I am going to
examine the scroll as a şehnāme. The issue of authorship will be the theme of the next
discussion.
248
iii. SOME BASIC QUESTIONS OF IDENTITY
Who was the mind behind this universal history project in the format of a scroll? Who
started writing it? Who composed the text and who designed the astrological and the
terrestrial disks and the genealogical tree?
I should start by saying that Tomar, as we have it, is the work of three authors, and at
least two calligraphers. It has already been stated that Tomar was started at the time of Sulṭān
Süleymān. This, we know from several references in the introduction where Sulṭān Süleymān
is mentioned as “our pādişāh Sulṭān Süleymān, may his sovereignty be perpetual until the end
of time” or “our pādişāh blessed with auspicion.”92 (Figure 99) Seyyid Loḳmān must have
continued the text for the reigns of the sultans Selīm II (r. 1566-74 C.E.), Murād III (r. 1574-1595
C.E.), and Meḥmed III (1595-1603 C.E.) until the last attachment of the scroll came to an end
and no more attachment was made. Even if Loḳmān was not the calligrapher, he must have
been the author of this second half of the scroll, which narrates events at the time when he
was working as şehnāmeci and appears verbatim in his Zübdetü’t-Tevārīh of 991(1583 C.E.).
The beginning of Loḳmān’s authorship can be detected when the text and the script are
examined more closely. The last reference to Sulṭān Süleymān as the contemporaneous
monarch occurs in the report of the sultan’s appointment of his grandson Murād to Aydın as a
governor in the first ten days by of Zī’lḳa‘de 963 (between the 17th and the 27th of September of
1556 C.E.). (Figure 115) In the text, the sultan’s name is followed by the wishes that exalted God
make the days of his caliphate perpetual (‫)ﺨﻠﺪﷲ ﺘﻌﺎﻠﻰ اﻴﺎﻢ ﺨﻼﻔﻔﺘﻪ‬. Hence, until this point in the
text, we can be sure that the calligrapher was working during the lifetime of Sulṭān Süleymān.
92
A. 3599 Introduction.
249
After this point, the sultan’s name is followed by more impersonal adjectival phrases (Pādişāh-ı
Ālem Penāh, Pādişāh-ı Ḫayr Ḫāh ve Sa‘ādet-destgāh Ḥaẓretleri, Ḫüdāvendigār Ḥaẓretleri, etc.) instead
of prayers for his future, making it uncertain whether or not Süleymān was alive when this
part of the text was conceived.
In addition, at basically the same point, the calligraphy begins to disclose
imperfections. (Figure 115) In the line following the prayer for the perpetuity of the sultan’s
days of caliphate, the calligrapher seems to run into problems both with the distance between
the lines and the size of the script. This point, which makes slightly more than half of the
scroll, also marks the section of Tomar that this study focuses on, and it is in this first half of
the scroll where the identities of the author(s) and the calligrapher become problematic. The
change in calligraphy becomes clearer after this point.
There is yet another point in the text that hints at a change of calligraphers. If we look
closely around Sulṭān Süleymān’s disk at the short lines that tail off from the circle of Prince
Selīm, the son of Sulṭān Süleymān, we notice the difference between them and the lines tailing
off from the name circles of his brothers: Selīm’s lines do not follow the same ‘orbit’ around
the father’s name disk like those of his brothers. (Figure 111)
Furthermore, Selīm’s lines do not follow the rules of aesthetics set for the similar
groups of lines that tail off from the previous princes who became sultans after their fathers’
deaths. Of each of these princes the first line in black states that he became the shah.93 The red
script below states which ordinal number corresponded to the prince at his ascension in the
Ottoman ruling line. For Prince Selīm, for example, it says that he was the eleventh shah. In
93
The lines that tail off from the rest of Sulṭān Süleymān’s sons repeat the same statement for each prince that he
died. It is only in the case of Sulṭān Süleymān’s sons that even the princes who did not make it to the throne
possess this one liner. This particularity once more confirms that Sulṭān Süleymān was the reigning ruler when
the section of the scroll until this point was being prepared.
250
each of the examples before Selīm, the first line in black determined the maximum length that
lines of text in that group could have. Accordingly, the red lines could never pass this limit
marked by the length of the first line. However, in contrast to the red lines accompanying
previous Ottoman princes who later became sultans, the red lines pertaining to Prince Selīm’s
name circle, are longer than the preceding line in black.
In light of these observations, we can say that—by going off in a wrong “orbit” and
occupying more space horizontally than they were permitted—these lines transgress the
aesthetic rules of Tomar’s calligraphy at least94 in two instances. It seems like the new
calligrapher working for Seyyid Loḳmān was not capable of capturing the minutely planned
aesthetics of the previous calligrapher.
The fact that the third royal şehnāmeci Seyyid Loḳmān, who was appointed during the
reign of Süleymān’s son Selīm II decided, or was ordered, to continue the scroll and to produce
a shorter edition of it as a book suggests an already existing organic connection between Tomar
and the royal Ottoman şehnāmes. Once this organic relationship is added to the timing of the
initial part of the scroll it becomes very likely that the making of the scroll involved the toils of
either or both of the first two Ottoman şehnāmecis: Fethullah Çelebi, known as ‘Ārif, and
Abdullātif, known as Eflāṭūn. An inspection of its text also reveals that it has much in common
with their works.
To begin with, the first Ottoman şehnāme project was very similar to the first half of
Tomar in its scope and content. The five volumes of ‘Ārif narrate universal history from the
creation of Adam up to and including the reign of Sulṭān Süleymān. As we have seen in the
previous chapters, while the first volume, Enbiyānāme, explained the stories of the prophets—
94
A closer look also reveals that Selīm’s lines were written in a rather sloppy manner and are not straight.
251
or a selection whose stories are visually represented and hence available to us—the fifth and
last volume, Süleymānnāme, told the story of the reign of Sulṭān Süleymān. Likewise, Tomar is
also a universal history albeit with two differences: Tomar begins with the creation of the
universe, instead of the creation of Adam, and includes an astrological disk and a medieval
map of the world.
Furthermore, the discussion of the nature of political and spiritual authority, which
constituted one of the principal themes of Enbiyānāme is taken up in Tomar with the
differentiation between the name disks of the prophets and the great Shahs, and the daring
analogy constructed between the name disks of Muḥammed, the first human to hold both
authorities, and Süleymān, the second. One could claim that even the importance of the
second Ottoman ruler, Orhan, at the initial foundational stage of the principality—an
interesting interpretation elaborated in ‘Osmānnāme—was a shared concern in both projects:
the Ottoman political entity asserts itself visually with the two rhombuses between ‘Osmān
and Orhan.
Moreover, the organization of the scroll into five historical epochs (Adam-Noah, Noah-
Muḥammed, Muḥammed- ‘Osmān, ‘Osmān-Süleymān, Süleymān-aftermath) also echoes the
organization of ‘Arif’s Şāhnāme into five volumes: Enbiyānāme (antediluvian prophets and some
members of the royal Persian lineage) as the first volume, the missing second (from the time of
Noah to Muḥammed?) and third (from Muḥammed to ‘Osmān?) volumes, ‘Osmānnāme
(Ottoman history until Sulṭān Süleymān), and Süleymānnāme.
Could we then conclude that ‘Ārif was the author of the first half of the scroll, telling
another and more comprehensive version of the same history? Not quite. I argue that the first
252
half of Tomar, to a great extent, was produced by ‘Ārif’s successor as the royal şehnāmeci,
namely Eflāṭūn.
Both writers had worked for Sulṭān Süleymān writing şehnāmes. As we have seen in
chapter two in his biography ‘Ārif was already in Istanbul on the payroll of the Ottoman palace
in 1545 C. E. The contemporaneous scholar Ebu’l Fāżıl reports that he died before finishing his
work, leaving behind many pages of draft.95 After ‘Ārif’s death in 969 (1561/1562 C.E.), it seems
like no one was assigned to write şehnāmes for the sultan for over a year, until Eflāṭūn’s
assignment some time after September 1563.96 Following Eflāṭūn’s death in 1569 C.E., Seyyid
Loḳmān was given assignments as şehnāmeci within the same year.97
There are a number of reasons behind my claim that Eflāṭūn and not ‘Ārif was the first
composer of this document. The “hard” evidence comes once more from within the
introduction where the author writes that “he submerged himself in the predecessor’s (the
underlining mine) documents and compilations, every piece of which is a sea, and in the
genealogist’s assembly of compositions, every piece of which is a vegetable garden” that he
“entered and visited.”98 (Figure 99) From here, the logic behind my identification is simple:
only Eflāṭūn, the second royal şehnāmeci could have had a predecessor in his position.
95
Idrīs-i Bidlīsī, Selim Şah-nāme. Ed. Hicabi Kırlangıç. (Ankara: TCKB, 2001), p. 60. The original text is not included
in this edition.
96
Eflāṭūn was not the royal şehnāmeci when he wrote his short treatise on the flood—examined in the previous
chapter—which took place according to the Ottoman historian Selānikī, on Monday the first of the month of safar
971 (the 20th of September 1563) Selānikī.Mustafa Efendi, Tarih-i Selānikī (971-1003/1563-1595) ed. Mehmet İpşirli,
Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1999, vol.I, p.1.
97
Seyyid Loḳmān gives different dates in his books of the exact date of his appointment. He took the position in
the Muharrem of 977 (June-July 1569 C.E.) according to the Zübdet (TIEM n. 1973, 79b) and in the last ten days of
the Muharrem of 977 (6-15th of July 1569 C.E.) according to Hünernāme (TSMK H. 1524, 10b.)
98
“Ol geçmiş selefiñ taḥrīrātları ve te’līfātlarına ki her biri bir baḥrdır taldım ve nessābıñ taṣnīfātlarına mecmū
‘ātlarına anlaruñ daḫī her biri bir bostān..” At this point the scroll is damaged but we can recuperate the
continuation of the text from Zübdet (TIEM n. 1973, 1b) as “dur içlerine girdim gezdim” A. 3599 Introduction.
253
Furthermore, there are several stylistic characteristics of Tomar that confirm this
identification. The similarities between the themes discussed in ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme and Tomar
have already been mentioned. On the other side of the coin, a bare glimpse at the two
documents yields major differences in format.
We have to start by noting the obvious: in contrast to the Ottoman Şāhnāme’s book
format, Tomar is a scroll. Furthermore, the first half of the document resembles a map of
symbols. In ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme, the word dominates the image, if not in significance, in the space it
covers and in its visual impact. It is true that if we consider purely the space the text and the
images cover in Tomar, the word wins over the image once more. However, especially in the
section between the astrological disk and the text for Süleymān’s reign, the text surrenders its
formal independence to the rules of the aesthetic and possibly symbolic organization of its
writer.
The reader hardly finds a section that is composed of lines that follow one another
vertically, as in an ordinary text. Sections of the text make up or complement various
geometric shapes such as rhombuses, triangles, and octagons. At times, they provide the
contours of empty space in geometrical shapes, such as triangles. Consequently, in this curious
document, the contribution of the written word in the document’s aesthetics transcends the
effect of its calligraphy. The role the text plays in the scroll’s format and aesthetics is to such
an extent that in importance, it at least matches the literary meaning of the text. We have
already seen in the discussion of the section on the Ottoman dynasty examples of what the
changing forms (triangles and rhombus shapes) of text could deliver in meaning.
The complexity of the organization of the scroll also makes it very likely that the mind
which designed it and the hand which executed it on paper belonged to the same artist.
254
Producing such a tediously planned artifact as Tomar is a daring task for even a very capable
calligrapher. However, describing the direction and exact location for every line seems even
more difficult, almost impossible. Could ‘Ārif have executed it? As far as we know, he was not
an expert calligrapher or an artist of the book. On the other hand, Eflāṭūn’s expertise in
calligraphy and illumination is attested by the reports of his contemporaries.99 Furthermore,
the high quality of the calligraphy in the only extant work signed by Eflāṭūn and named
Hikāyet-i seyl b’ İstanbūl āmeden (TSMK H. 1570) confirms their testament.
Aside from the reference in the introduction to a predecessor, whose work was used in
the preparation of the scroll, and Eflāṭūn’s demonstrated and recognized skill in calligraphy—
an asset crucial for the execution of Tomar—there are other indications in favor of crediting
the second şehnāmeci for the concept and an important part of the execution of this document.
Once again, the writer’s earlier work on the flood of Istanbul in 1563, titled Hikāyet-i seyl b’
İstanbūl āmeden100 provides many clues.
Though no literary feat, this short treatise is uniquely valuable as it brings us to a closer
understanding of its writer and his career. It is a useful mirror revealing and reflecting his
interests, ambitions and aspirations, as well as his apparent and claimed fields of expertise,
and limited literary prowess. As we have seen in the previous section of this thesis, the
manuscript discloses, for example, its writer’s interest and claimed knowledge in the
astrological signs: in this work Eflāṭūn repeatedly mentions his expertise in reading the signs
in the sky, according to the positions of the planets and stars, in order to foretell future events.
99
For his reputation in book illuminator and a scribe see Ebu’l Fāżıl’s reference in Idrīs-i Bidlīsī, Selim Shahname.
Ed. Hicabi Kırlangıç, (TCKB), p. 60. See also Mustafa ‘Āli. Künhü’l Ahbar’in Tezkire Kısmı. Ed. Mustafa Isen. Ankara,
1994, p. 194.
100
From here on this manuscript will be referred to as Hikāyet.
255
Furthermore, once again in the preceding section, we have seen how Eflāṭūn manipulated the
events of the flood and the sultan’s reported experience of the natural disaster during which
he almost lost his life, in order to shape a saint-like image for the ruler in the mold of Noah.
It would not be surprising that the writer, whose skills as a scribe and illuminator were
better recognized by his contemporaries than his literary capacity, attained his long-desired
position of şehnāmeci with his daring proposals to “fix” the old sultan’s image, which was
worn-out especially by his assassination of his two sons Muṣṭafā (d. 1553) and Bayezid
(Muharrem 969/1561).
Based on the reference in Tomar’s introduction, the complexity of its calligraphy and
Eflāṭūn’s proven skill in this field, his interest in astrology demonstrated in his Hikāyet—an
later in Hünernāme101—and his daring proposals of image making for Sulṭān Süleymān in Hikāyet
could we claim that until the point in the text mentioned above when Loḳmān most probably
took over, it was Eflāṭūn who planned, composed, and executed Tomar? Not quite. Once again,
we have to return to the text of Tomar, and Hikāyet.
Iv. A QUESTION OF STYLE
Eflāṭūn’s treatise on the flood also gives us a hint of his literary style. To be sure, Hikāyet
and Tomar were written in different languages, the first in Persian verse and the second in
Turkish prose. Yet both the earlier treatise and the text of the scroll, especially the part
between the introduction and the history of the Ottoman dynasty, suffer similar problems:
lack of editing, a poor selection of adverbs and particles that render the text repetitive and
101
For Eflāṭūn’s contributions in Hünernāme, please refer to the discussion in the previous chapter: ‘Hekāyet-i Seyl
Āmeden be İstanbul (H. 1570): The story of the flooding of Istanbul.’
256
metaphors limited in elegance or sophistication. He also shows a preference for shorter
sentences and simpler constructions in comparison to ‘Ārif. As a result, if the first şehnāmeci
liked to narrate in legato, in words tied to one another with secondary clauses and complicated
constructions characteristic of the Ottoman courtly style, his successor Eflāṭūn chose to
compose in staccato and in a tone that resembled the early Ottoman chronicles rather than the
courtly style of his time.
This stylistic difference, which would be easily notable to anyone acquainted with their
works in Persian verse, seems to be carried to the Turkish prose of Tomar. 102 In fact, we see
examples of both styles in the scroll’s text. Most of the introduction and all of the text
narrating Süleymān’s reign read like ‘Ārif’s writing, while the rest of the scroll in between, for
the most part, appears to be composed by Eflāṭūn. 103 This causes a sharp variance in style even
before the point where the text is continued by Seyyid Loḳmān.
Below is an excerpt from the section on Imām Ḥüseyn that shows what I see as Eflāṭūn’s
simpler and staccato style. It is followed by another excerpt from the section on Sulṭān
Süleymān’s first Persian campaign. Both excerpts belong to Tomar.
Ol gün ki İmām Ḥasan şehīd oldı, İmām Ḥüseyn Medīne’de idi. Ḥasan’dan soñra ki,
Mu‘āviye ḫalīfe oldı, anuñ daḫī ‘ömri āḫir olub vefāt idicek, oğlı Yezīd ḫalīfe oldı. Andan
Abdullāh ibn-i Ziyād’ı Medīne’ye gönderdi ki İmām Ḥüseyn kendüye bī‘at eyleye.
Abdullāh varıb Medīne’ye gice içiydi ki Ḥüseyn’e didi: “Heman şimdi Yezīd’e bī‘at itmeñ
gereksin.” Ḥüseyn eyitdi: “Ṣabāḥ olsun andan.”104
102
For this study, ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme -i Al-i ‘Osman— Süleymānnāme and the available sections of the first and the fourth
volumes— Fütühāt-ı Cemīle, and Vekāyi´-i Sultān Bayezid maá Selim Ḫān, and Eflāṭūn’s Hikāyet have been examined.
103
I find it more difficult to identify the author of the text for the reigns of the first nine Ottoman rulers before
Sulṭān Süleymān.
104
“That day that Imām Ḥasan became a martyr, Imām Ḥusayn was in Medina. After Ḥasan, when Mu‘āwiya
became the khalif, and when he (Mu‘āwiya) whose lifespan also passed away, his son Yazīd became the khalif.
After that he sent Abdullāh Ibn-i Ziyād to Medina so that Imām Ḥusayn gave an oath of allegiance to him. When
Abdullāh arrived at Medina, he said to Ḥusayn in the middle of the night, “It is obligatory that you take an oath of
257
Leşker-i İslām yetişüb niçelerin helāk ve ḳal‘a-i Ercīş’i ḫarāb ve etrāfların ihrāḳ
eyledüklerinden soñra yine dönüb pādīşāha mülāḳī olmak ümīdinde iken şāh-ı delālet-
āsār gelüb irişüb paşa-yı mezbūr daḫī sahrā-yı vegāda mevc-i tīğ ü mīğ-şihāb gibi cūş
idüb bir mikdār ceng olundukdan soñra kesret-i a‘dādan paşa nev‘ā ihtirāz idüb andan
pādişāh cānibine ‘aẓm eylediler. Şāh-ı bed-re‘y ardlarına düşüb irdükde, Hamīd-ili Beği
Pervāne Beğ bir niçe dilāverler ile “ḫamīyyet-i dīn-i İslām” diyü dönüb Şāh-ı gümrāha
kılıç urub niçe ḳalleşleri helāk eyledükden soñra zikr olan Pervāne Beğ’i tutub alub
gittiler.105
Furthermore, I find it likely that the initial conception of writing a genealogical scroll
was ‘Ārif’s idea, for the section of the introduction that explains the project appears to be
written—mostly—in his style. The straight forward format, the occasional use of blue ink
which is unique in the scroll to the calligraphy of this section, and the differences in the
calligraphic aesthetics in this section, in general, suggest that the introduction might have
been started before Eflāṭūn.
Still, neither the variance in styles nor the possibility that the scroll was technically
started by ‘Ārif’s team refutes the earlier contention argued here that Eflāṭūn was Tomar’s
principal contributor. While the text was composed by three şehnāmecis, namely ‘Ārif, Eflāṭūn,
and Seyyid Loḳmān, only the second şehnāmeci Eflāṭūn could have executed the calligraphy
and the overall geometry-sensitive design after the introduction.
allegiance to Yazīd at this very moment.” Ḥusayn said, “After the morning arrives” Section to the bottom left of
the disk for Husayn in Tomar, TSMK A. 3599. Figure 106.
105
“As the soldiers of Islam, after reaching there, devastating many, ruining the castle of Ercīş, and burning its
environs, were hoping to turn back and once again meet up with the pādīşāh, the shah marked-by-guidance
arrived (near the battle field); and after some fighting took place when the aforesaid pasha attacked with boiling
fury in the battle field like a wave sharp as a sword and like a cloud of flashing fire; the pasha guarding himself
from many of the enemies hastened towards the pādīşāh. When the shah of ill-judgment went after him (or them),
the lord of Hamīd-ili Pervāne Beğ turned back with a number of his brave fighters saying “(for) the zeal of the
Islamic faith” and stroke the shah of the heretics with his sword; and after he devastated many treacherous
enemy soldiers, they took hold of the aforementioned Pervāne Beğ and left.” This passage is located towards the
end of the section titled “Def‘a-i Sādise” in red ink in the section on the reign of Sultan Süleyman. TSMK A. 3599.
258
Moreover, his particular penname Eflāṭūn (Plato), hints at a philosophical-religious
orientation associated with Neo-Platonism, which was quite popular in the sixteenth century
especially in the Persian cultural milieu and which would explain many of the unusual choices
made in Tomar, as noted earlier. Among these unusual choices, we can count the placing of Ebu
‘Alī Sīnā (Avicenna) in an exceptionally prestigious place right after the first eleven imams and
before the ancestors of the Ottoman dynasty, in the central branch of the genealogical tree,
the careful organization of the first half of the scroll using geometric shapes, and the
orientation of the map towards the east where the sun rises and the paradise is thought by
some mystics to be located.
Gülru Necipoğlu in her study on another “Topkapı Scroll” demonstrates how the court
scriptoria (kitābhāne) of the Ilkhanids and their successors—among them Safavids and
Ottomans—became a center of cultural interaction between various artists and “literati,” and
how similar aesthetic and philosophical concerns informed their works.106 In light of her very
well-documented argument, we are able to say that as head of the renegade Safavid prince
Elḳās Mirzā’s kitābhāne, Eflāṭūn’s affliation with Neo-Platonism, Sufism, and cosmology should
be expected, much like his affinity with geometry, his refined sense of aesthetics, and
knowledge of calligraphy and illumination.
Where does this multiple answer for the identification of this scroll’s author leave us?
Determining the author of a work and the time of its composition are essential for cataloging
purposes and constitutes fundamental information for any researcher. Yet, I believe the
discussion on authorship in this particular case also reveals important truths about the
Ottoman şehnāmes at this early stage.
106
Gülru Necipoğlu, The Topkapı Scroll-Geometry and Ornament in IslamicArchitecture: Topkapı Palace Museum Library H.
1956 with an essay on the geometry of the muqarnas by Mohammad al-Asad, (Santa Monica: the Getty Center for the
History of Art and the Humanities, 1995) especially p. 212-215.
259
v. OTTOMAN ŞEHNĀME WRITING: CAN WE TALK OF A TRADITION?
The way the three şehnāmecis worked on Tomar provides us a rare example for
understanding how they managed a task that they had inherited from one another. The fact
that they did not have any scruples in using each other’s material freely is not so much of a
surprise for the boundaries of plagiarism were not as defined in the 16th century as they are
today. After all, both the second and the third şehnāmecis acknowledged the fact that they had
utilized the work of their predecessor.
At the same time, finishing the work of the predecessor seems to be in the job
description of a şehnāmeci. Was there, though, literally a job description or an office of the
şehnāmeci before Seyyid Loḳmān? Both the fact that a year was let pass after ‘Ārif’s death
before assigning another şehnāmeci and the difference in the skills of especially ‘Ārif and
Eflāṭūn suggest that neither an office nor a job description existed for the Ottoman şehnāmeci.
There was no set style of the Ottoman royal şehnāme, either. All three writers composed
their works as products of a negotiation between their skills, their interests, and what the
temporal conjuncture demanded from them. As a consequence, we have works composed in
‘Ārif’s high courtly style with long and original metaphors, as well as works written in Eflāṭūn’s
simple yet more daring narration. In the case of Tomar, we have a şehnāme composed in several
styles. In other words, no determined style was carried on from one şehnāme to another.
Furthermore, what is copied verbatim and what is left out from the predecessor’s work
did not depend on any set criteria but the needs of its current writer. The best example to this
point is Seyyid Loḳmān’s Zübdet where not only entire passages of Tomar were left out, but
Eflāṭūn’s symbol-laden narration was totally lost. It is hardly possible to talk of a tradition
260
when there is no formal transfer of style or coherent accumulation of knowledge. Instead,
what defined the word şehnāmeci at this point appears to be the writer’s proximity towards his
primary audience, the sultan, rather than his office, responsibilities or a cultural tradition to
which he was expected to belong.
At the same time, all three writers mentioned above, ‘Ārif, Eflāṭūn, and Seyyid Loḳmān,
were referred to as şehnāmeci by their contemporaries. Likewise, their work was conceived by
others as şehnāmes. What then gave them their ‘team identity’ at least in the eyes of others?
This is going to be one of the questions to be discussed in the following and concluding chapter
of this study.
261
Chapter 7
Conclusion
This thesis is a preliminary step for the study of several manuscripts and themes. Each
one of the primary sources I examined offers the researcher an abundance of themes to
investigate. In fact, the mere fact that it has been possible to write a full chapter on the six
miniatures of only Enbiyānāme, a manuscript which has been unavailable for scrutiny, should
be a sufficient indicator to both the amount of work that is left to be done on this manuscript,
as well as to the wealth of the material at hand.
We should bear in mind that Enbiyānāme, which is reported to have 48 folios, is one of
the shortest of ‘Ārif’s works. Indeed exhausting the possibilities of research offered by his
Süleymānnāme or the part of the Imperial Scroll that he had composed with Eflāṭūn could take
years of rigorous work. Hence, the question of what should follow this study is not a difficult
one to answer if one is interested in pursuing any of the themes that is taken up in the course
of this thesis. Here, at the conclusion of the present examination, I believe it would be
productive to skim over the issues that have been raised and the arguments that have been
made in this thesis both to see what is hoped to have been achieved and what venues might be
taken in the future to improve and further this first analysis.
a. ON THE ŞEHNĀMES AND THE ŞEHNĀMECIS
One of the principal aims of this examination has been to provide more and more
accurate information on the first two şehnāmecis and their output. The biographical section in
262
the second chapter of this thesis provides the most comprehensive study of the life and career
of ‘Ārif in present scholarship. The same cannot be said about the second şehnāmeci Eflāṭūn.
The disinterest in his—lesser—literary skills by the Ottoman biographies of poets, his
unfortunate demise before he could finish Hünernāme or the section on Süleymān in the
Imperial Scroll, as well as the fact that he had spent a significant part of his career not in the
Ottoman lands but in Safavid Iran hindered the composition of a reasonable biography. If such
a biography is indeed possible, more extensive investigation of the Persian sources on the
sixteenth century artists of the book and the court of Elḳās Mīrzā should be undertaken.
Providing “more and more accurate information” on the şehnāmecis and their work
naturally implied questioning certain conclusions drawn by Christine Woodhead and taken as
assumption by later scholarship on Ottoman historiography. One of these assumptions was
that ‘Ārif had arrived the Ottoman lands in the entourage of Elḳās Mīrzā. This information
already corrected by Cornell Fleischer1 still looms over the scholarship on the şehnāmecis. In
this thesis, the matter is taken up from several different perspectives and ‘Ārif’s earlier
presence in Istanbul is proven using various reports of his contemporaries.2
Another point that needed reworking concerned the change of the language in which
the şehnāmes were written from Persian to Turkish. As I have mentioned in the course of this
thesis, contrary to what the existing scholarship assumes, this shift occurred before Seyyid
Loḳmān, when Eflāṭūn was still the royal şehnāmeci.3
1
See chapter 2, page 26 and footnotes 14 and 15.
2
See chapter 2, the first section of ‘Ārif’s biography.
3
See chapter 6, section a, on Eflāṭūn’s treatise of the flood in Istanbul.
263
A third and perhaps more important misconception is the notion that establishing an
official post for the composition of dynastic history was Sulṭān Süleymān’s initial idea when he
gave ‘Ārif his first assignment.4 Indeed, the manner in which ‘Ārif was assigned to write
Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i‘Osmān strongly suggests the ad hoc nature of the entire project: ‘Ārif’s
assignment was extended and his financial awards were increased with the presentation of the
initial segments of his work. 5
Another proof to the undetermined and fluid character of what a şehnāmeci and a
şehnāme meant during the time of Sulṭān Süleymān is the lack of set criteria in the assignment.
A comparison of the claimed and confirmed skills of the first two şehnāmecis ‘Ārif and Eflāṭūn
shows that there was no set job qualification for a writer aspiring to be the next şehnāmeci.
To be sure, literary skill was an important criterion in ‘Ārif’s appointment. We have
already seen the appreciation, respect, and criticism of his contemporaries as they weighed his
industry and literary success in the same basket, some with good, others with malicious
intentions. Whether considered a very good writer or merely an overrated one, he was
seriously taken into account by the literary milieu of his age.
From ‘Ārif’s own comparison of his work to Firdevsī’s classic and his claiming to have
composed two thousand stichs without a single word from Arabic, we know that ‘Ārif took his
literary skill and the literary prowess demanded from him as şehnāmeci seriously. 6 Eflāṭūn’s
complot against him provides us another proof confirming that being a capable writer was
deemed necessary around the time of ‘Ārif’s assignment. Eflāṭūn had composed senseless lines
4
See chapter 1, footnote 11.
5
See chapter 2, footnote 49
6
See chapter 2, section iii.
264
of poetry and spread the rumor that ‘Ārif was not a poet worthy for the sultan. Hence, at the
time, the şehnāmeci needed to be a good writer to be worthy for his royal patron.
It appears that the expected qualifications were not the same for the second şehnāmeci.
The first proof is the much lower literary quality of what Eflāṭūn had left behind. Eflāṭūn’s lack
of self-flattery provides the second proof: he does not claim to be an exceptional poet or
superior to others in literary prowess the way it was conventionally claimed by other poets of
the time. Yet from what he had left behind (Hekāyet-i Seyl Āmeden be Istanbul and roughly the
first half the Imperial Scroll), his great skill in calligraphy and illumination mentioned by the
sixteenth century Ottoman intellectual Ebu’l Fażl is also confirmed.7
At the same time, one could make a case that both of the two şehnāmecis shared a
background in mystic sciences. While ‘Ārif claimed expertise in occult sciences in his
Süleymānnāme, Eflāṭūn in his Hekāyet-i Seyl Āmeden be Istanbul, declared himself a master in
reading the hidden messages written in the skies to prognosticate what is to happen on earth.8
This shared and ostentatiously displayed quality, which, in the case of Eflāṭūn, appears even to
have been used to further his chances for the şehnāmeci title, would have qualified for a
criterion for “an official of the şehnāmeci post” if Seyyid Loḳmān cultivated the same type of
literature. Even though his name suggests that in his acquisition of the title he might have
used a similar kind of wisdom, his work, even those in which he heavily used the uncompleted
work of the first two şehnāmecis, displays a lack of understanding and interest in the topics of
sacred history and the mystic tools related in interpreting it.
It is also possible that he ignores them as they were not deemed acceptable at the time
of his production. Certainly, more work has to be done on the third şehnāmeci and the court
7
See chapter 6, section a, iii.
8
See the chapters 5 and 6 respectively.
265
culture of his working years. What we can say after inspecting the lives and the works of ‘Ārif
and Eflāṭūn is that not only was there no official şehnāmeci post at the time of Sulṭān Süleymān,
but what the şehnāmecis—both those of Sulṭān Süleymān (‘Ārif, and Eflāṭūn) and those who
held the title subsequently (Seyyid Loḳmān, Ta‘liki-zāde (d.c. 1599-1600), and Hasan Hükmī (d.
after 1638))—shared with one another was not much more than a title given by the sultan to
write dynastic literature. In other words, they did not establish a tradition of what one might
call “şehnāme writing.”
Looking at it from the hind sight of many centuries and phrasing it as I did above make
the job and the position of the şehnāmeci nothing but glorious. For their contemporaries,
however, their privileged relation vis-à-vis the Ottoman ruler was a source of much envy,
especially because basically all of the literary figures of the period sought such a proximity to
the most powerful of patrons. Both Eflāṭūn’s jealousy of his predecessor and ‘Ārif’s reported
arrogance and vainglory were indications and symptoms of this highly competitive and
insecure environment.
Aside from the careers of the first two şehnāmecis, this study also intends to provide
more information on the history and the working mechanism of the writing of Sulṭān
Süleymān’s şehnāmes. I have suggested that a particular copy of ‘Ārifī Herāvī’s Ġūy ve Çevġān
(“The Ball and the Polo Stick”)9 was prepared as a catalogue to display the artistic possibilities
that ‘Ārif’s team of artists could realize. If my argument is valid, this manuscript shows the
mechanisms of close quality control for a royal production even before its drafts were started.
Furthermore, it reflects the comprehensiveness of the preparation before the launching of the
project as the manuscript includes the representation of a book cover and a typical hunting
9
TSMK H. 845.
266
scene with the leading members of the sultan’s family, the likes of both which were used for
Süleymānnāme. The comparison of the names of the artists involved in preparing the Ġūy ve
Çevġān copy and ‘Ārif’s Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān shows that the decision of the “artistic crew” was
also basically made at the time.
From two documents studied in this thesis, we know that several drafts were prepared
before the royal copy was prepared. The little known and erroneously catalogued partial draft
of Süleymānnāme in Ankara and Fütüḥāt-ı Cemīle10 reveal different stages of the preparation for
the same royal copy. Fütüḥāt-ı Cemīle which was illustrated and most probably presented to
Sokollu Meḥmed Paşa is particularly significant.11 To begin with, this manuscript stands as
proof to the involvement of a high official, who was not the Grand Vizier at the time, in the
royal Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān project. At the same time, it bears witness to the rising star of
Sokollu in the 1550s.
Furthermore, the differences between the text and the miniatures of this manuscript
and the royal copy of Süleymānnāme reveal much about ‘Ārif.12 On the one hand, these
differences display his finally attuned sense for what is deemed appropriate for each occasion.
On the other, they unveil the agility and ease with which ‘Ārif was capable of manipulating
history by changing emphasis, in this case undermining the role of Aḥmed Paşa in the
Temesvar campaign. I find this well-calculating and crafty—in the sense of both shrew and
capable—aspect of his nature an essential point to keep in mind in reading his work.
10
The library of the Department of History and Geography in Ankara University (M.O 81) and TSMK H. 1592
respectively.
11
See the section on Fütüḥāt-ı Cemīle in chapter 2.
12
These difference are discussed in retail in chapter 2, section iv.
267
Yet another beginning, I argued, was represented by Eflāṭūn’s Hekāyet-i Seyl Āmeden be
Istanbul.13 In the sixth chapter, I have suggested that this short treatise served as a kind of
“petition letter” of Eflāṭūn for the şehnāmeci title. As it is mentioned above, Hekāyet-i Seyl,
which is Eflāṭūn’s only known finished work, displays the ambiguity in what was expected
from a şehnāmeci at the time. At the same time and by extension, it displays the presence of a
markedly experimental cultural environment during Sulṭān Süleymān’s reign.
b. ON SULṬĀN SÜLEYMĀN AND HIS TIME
This thesis also hopes to draw a more nuanced picture of the political and cultural
climate of the last two decades of Sulṭān Süleymān’s reign. One significant aspect of the
Zeitgeist was the conviction at least of some of the members of the court that if not the end of
times, the end of an epoch was close at hand. Moreover, the spiritual leader who was to
shepherd humanity through the threshold to the new age was Sulṭān Süleymān.
This conviction is the reason for the comparison of the sultan to Noah in ‘Ārif’s Vaḳ‘a-yi
Sulṭān Bayezıd ma‘a Selīm Hān and in Eflāṭūn’s Hekāyet-i Seyl Āmeden be Istanbul. Furthermore, in
Enbiyānāme and in the Imperial Scroll, we have seen that Noah is given a prominent visual
place. Surely a physical factor like the old age of both Noah in the story of the Flood and
Süleymān at the time facilitated this comparison. In Eflāṭūn’s case, so did the actual great flood
of Istanbul in 1563.
The “rebellion” of Noah’s son against his father and to his father’s faith in God was also
used in ‘Ārif’s Vaḳ‘a-yi Sulṭān Bayezıd ma‘a Selīm Hān to make a comparison for the disobedience
13
TSMK H. 1570.
268
of the impudent and restless Prince Bayezid, the second son who was to be killed by the order
of his father, Süleymān.14 Both Noah’s and Süleymān’s sons had disobeyed their fathers and in
doing so their natural familial relationship to their father was annulled. As such, their death
was legitimated.
Yet, Noah is not the only prophet to whom the Ottoman sultan is compared in the texts
of ‘Ārif and Eflāṭūn. Aside from the conventional comparisons to King Solomon, Sulṭān
Süleymān is compared to the most important prophet in Islamicate civilization: the Prophet
Muḥammed. The analogy between the Prophet and Sulṭān Süleymān is particularly prominent
in the Imperial Scroll and in Süleymānnāme.
As it has been described in chapter six, in the Imperial Scroll, the Ottoman dynasty is
represented as descending directly from the central prophetic branch of the genealogical tree.
Along this branch, Süleymān’s name is inscribed in a medallion that resembles a slightly
smaller version of Muḥammed’s medallion. Up to that point in the Scroll theirs are the only
medallions that include both the six-petaled flower design, which is typical in the Scroll’s
format for the medallions of the great Persian kings and those of the members of the Ottoman
dynasty previous to Süleymān, and the lines of script written in Arabic around their names, a
characteristic of the prophets’ name medallions. While the script pertaining to the other
prophets’ medallions has a line from the Kur’an that is relevant to their legacy, Süleymān has a
14
In the course of this thesis I have also argued that there were more discreet references in Enbiyānāme,
Süleymānnāme, and the Imperial Scroll to the earlier incident of the killing of Muṣṭafā, the oldest son of Süleymān.
The general problem of the competition between the heir princes after the death of their fathers is one that is
taken up in ‘Osmānnāme. In the fourth volume of his Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i‘Osmān, ‘Ārif even cosmetically fixes the story
of the transition of power from the founder of the dynasty, ‘Osmān to his son, possibly to set an example for
Süleymān’s remaining sons at the time of its composition (Bayezid and Selīm) and for future generations. For the
elaboration of this topic see the relevant chapters.
269
ḥadīs that reads “The prophet—peace be upon him—said, “The sultan is God’s shadow on earth,
in whom all oppressed take refuge”” (‫)ﻘﺎﻞ اﻨﺒﻰ ﻋﻠﻴﻪ اﻠﺴﻼﻢ اﻠﺴﻠﻄﺎﻦ ﻈﻞ ﷲ ﻔﻰ اﻻﺮﺾ ﻴﺎﻮﻰ اﻠﻴﻪ ﻜﻞ ﻤﻈﻠﻮﻢ‬.15
I have argued in the chapter on the Imperial Scroll that although this frequently used
formula (the sultan as God’s shadow on earth) to describe the nature of Sultan Süleymān’s
authority was not original to Süleymān’s reign, here, by the visual similarity created between
the name disks of the Prophet and the sultan, the hadis appears to have gained extra weight.
The introduction of the formula with the words, “the Prophet—peace be upon him—said,”
endows it psychologically with more authenticity and highlights the message that Süleymān’s
possession of political and spiritual authority was passed onto him by the Prophet Muḥammed.
In Süleymānnāme, we have seen the employment of another hadis, which states that in
every century a reformer of religion arrives; becomes the refuge of religion, and renews the
rite of prophethood.16 This hadis comes as a confirmation of ‘Ārif’s rather complicated
explanation of the culmination of his epoch and the arrival of the Perfect Man in the physical
form of Sulṭān Süleymān. As we have seen in the chapter on Süleymānnāme, ‘Ārif employs the
decimal system and Ibn al’Arabī’s metaphysics to demonstrate Sulṭān Süleymān’s significant
role in the expected change of epochs.
We have also seen that many of the representations of the sultan in Süleymānnāme
underline the same image of Süleymān: a saint, a universal ruler chosen by God and given a
mission, and the last of the mythical (Persianate) kings. ‘Ārif writes that he is the seal of
kingship and of faith (‫)ﺸﺎهﻰ ﻮ ﻜﻴﺶ‬.17
15
See chapter 6, the section on the central branch of the Imperial Scroll.
16
See chapter 5, the section d.
17
H. 1517, folio 6a, line 9. See chapter 5, section a.
270
Cornell Fleischer’s work on the messianic aspect of Süleymān’s image prior to this
period has opened the minds interested in Ottoman scholarship to first the possibility and by
now—hopefully—the reality of eschatological expectations and convictions on the eastern side
of the Mediterranean. However, the eschatological image of Süleymān formulated by ‘Ārif and
Eflāṭūn at such a late date in the sultan’s reign was not known in Ottomanist scholarship. In
that respect, I would like to think that this thesis has pushed the already open doors a bit
further to reveal that in the 1560s, at least for the circles around the court, the idea that their
ruler was a God-chosen saint was still current.
At the same time, the eschatological image formulated for Süleymān came hand in
hand with a high sensibility caused by the perception of living in an extraordinary and chosen
time. This is reflected clearly in both şehnāmecis’ works.18 In fact, it is this high sensibility that
appears to have triggered the self-conscious impulse to explain not merely human but sacred
history in a grand style, with five volumes and with the longest and widest scroll known to
them—that is except for the eternal tablet Levḥ-i Maḥfūẓ where everything that has happened
and will ever happen are recorded.
18
The consciousness of living in extraordinary times is particularly apparent in ‘Ārif’s Süleymānnāme and Eflāṭūn’s
Hekāyet-i Seyl Āmeden be Istanbul.
271
Bibliography
Unpublished Primary Sources:
Works of ‘Ārif and Eflāṭūn:
Fütūḥāt-ı Cemīle (TSMK H. 1592) (‘Ārif)
Süleymānnāme (TSMK H. 1517) (‘Ārif)
Vaḳ‘a-yi Sulṭān Bayezid ma‘a Selīm Hān (TSMK R. 1540 mük.) (‘Ārif )
Ḥekāyet-i Seyl Āmeden be İstanbul (H. 1570) (Eflāṭūn)
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Tomar-ı Hümāyūn (TSMK A. 3599)
Zübdetü’t-Tevārīh (TIEM 1973)
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Behçet et-Tevārīḫ (TSMK R. 1538)
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272
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Arenas-Vives, Fatma Sinem Eryilmaz - The Shehnamecis of Sultan Suleyman (2010)

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THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO

THE SHEHNAMECIS OF SULTAN SÜLEYMAN:

‘ARIF AND EFLATUN AND THEIR DYNASTIC PROJECT

THE FACULTY OF THE DIVISION OF THE HUMANITIES

IN CANDIDACY FOR THE DEGREE OF

DEPARTMENT OF NEAR EASTERN LANGUAGES AND CIVILIZATIONS

FATMA SINEM ERYILMAZ ARENAS-VIVES

All rights reserved

INFORMATION TO ALL USERS

Note on Translations and transliteration p. vi

List of abbreviations p. vii

List of tables p. viii

a. An Overview of the Literature on the works of ‘Ārif and Eflāṭūn p. 6

b. Introduction to Methodology p.11

c. Methodology according to each chapter p.12

d. The works of ‘Ārif and Eflātūn p.19

Chapter 2: ŞEHNĀMECI FETḤULLAH ÇELEBI (‘ĀRIF) AND AN INTRODUCTION TO HIS WORK

a. An introduction to ‘Ārif and his Şāhnāme-yi Āl-i ‘Osmān p. 22

b. ‘Ārif’s biography and the evaluation of his contemporaries p. 24

i. The fundamental male figures of ‘Ārif’s personal and professional

ii. Fetḥullāh Çelebi as şehnāmeci p. 36

iii. The assessment of ‘Ārif by his contemporaries p. 41

iv. ‘Ārif’s work p. 47

i. The extraordinary traits of the manuscript and their possible

ii. An evaluation of H. 845 as a copy p. 71

a. An Assessment of what is available p. 76

i. Two preliminary problems: a discussion over a folio attached on an

b. Enbiyānāme: an introduction to its particularities and a proposal for a

c. Common characteristics and themes p. 91

d. On the nature of authority p. 98

e. Cain and fratricide p. 105

a. An Assessment of what is available p. 117

b. ‘Osmānnāme: A brief description and some notes on its possible

c. An introduction to the analysis of ‘Osmānnāme’s miniatures p. 120

d. The rule of ‘Osmān: on Ottoman-Christian friendship p. 127

e. Succession matters p. 140

f. Orḫān’s succession story according to other sources p. 147

Chapter 5: THE FIFTH VOLUME (SÜLEYMĀNNĀME): THE SAINTLY SULTAN p. 166

b. Approaching ‘Ārif’s Süleymānnāme p. 167

c. ‘Ārif’s Süleymānnāme and the royal image p. 170

d. Ibn al-‘Arabī in Süleymānnāme p. 175

e. The cosmos of the decimal system p. 183

f. The tree as a symbol p. 189

g. The image of the tree with water p. 192

h. The cut tree by running water p. 196

i. A cosmological interpretation p. 198

j. A nimbus for an Ottoman sultan p. 206

i. Summary of the Text p. 211

ii. A petition letter? p. 217

iii. A new image for an old sultan p. 225

b. The Ambitions of an Ottoman Imperial Scroll: Tomār-ı Hümāyūn p. 229

ii. An Overview of the Scroll p. 230

1. The Introduction p. 230

3. The Central Branch of the Genealogical Tree p. 239

4. The Side Branches p. 246

iii. Some Basic Questions of Identity p. 249

iv. A Question of Style p. 256

v. Ottoman Şehnāme Writing: Can we talk of a Tradition? p. 260

Chapter 7: CONCLUSION p. 262

a. On the Şehnāmes and Şehnāmecis p. 262

b. On Sulṭān Süleymān and his time p. 268

Appendix A: Illustrations1 p. 283

All translations are mine otherwise noted.