Colin Heywood

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Fernand Braudel and the Ottomans: the emergence of an involvement (1928-

50)
Colin Heywood a
a
Maritime Historical Studies Centre, University of Hull, UK
Online Publication Date: 01 December 2008
To cite this Article Heywood, Colin(2008)'Fernand Braudel and the Ottomans: the emergence of an involvement (1928-
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Mediterranean Historical Review
Vol. 23, No. 2, December 2008, 165–184
Fernand Braudel and the Ottomans: the emergence of an involvement

(1928 –50)
Colin Heywood*
Maritime Historical Studies Centre, University of Hull, UK

The article here presented focuses on the intellectual development of Fernand Braudel’s pre-1949
Downloaded By: [Ohio State University Libraries] At: 07:37 22 May 2009
approach to Ottoman history, tracing its origins in his work undertaken on and in North Africa in
the late 1920s, and its subsequent development down to the appearance in 1949 of his major work,
La Méditerranée et le monde méditerranéen à l’époque de Philippe II and the immediate
post-publication reception of Braudel’s epochal work in Turkey. The reaction of contemporary
Turkish scholarship to the economic and demographic aspects of La Méditerranée, together with
its links with the Annales school, is examined, as is the later, mainly North American, response to
the political and diplomatic aspects of Braudel’s work. Enquiry is made of common links from
both Braudel’s and the Ottoman side with the work of Henri Pirenne, together with the
significance of Braudel’s own work as in instrument for bringing Ottoman history more into the
overall history of the Mediterranean world in the early modern period.
Keywords: Mediterranean Sea; North Africa; Ottoman Empire; Turkey; Henri Pirenne; Paul
Wittek; Fernand Braudel; Ömer Lutfi Barkan
I
All readers of the present article, I am sure, or at least all the early modern historians amongst
them, will be familiar with the name of Fernand Braudel and with the title of his great book, La
Méditerranée et le monde méditerranéen à l’époque de Philippe II, first published in 1949.1
Many will certainly possess it, in either its French original (most probably in the second edition
of 1966) or in its translation into English (1972 – 3), which revealed Braudel and the grand
canvas of his sixteenth-century Mediterranean to a wider Anglo-Saxon world.2 Many, likewise,
will have read it, or used it, although I have to say that it is a much easier book to read than to use.
To read it is an intellectual pleasure of the first order; but to attempt to use it becomes an
infuriating exercise in chasing red herrings: citations which lead nowhere; cross-references
which do not cross over. In the end, one gives up, lost in this Potemkin village of brilliant
façades, this mass of piled-up references which often do not refer. Geoffrey Parker has described
it in an appropriately vinous image as ‘a book which cannot be properly appreciated in small
doses; it must be drunk in copious drafts’, while in a provocative and sustained critique of the
work (which is also an appreciation, and an act of homage), J.H. Hexter hits the mark when
he describes the book as ‘a masterpiece of picaresque Rabelaisian history’, for this is what
Braudel’s Méditerranée is, in its corncucopian richness of detail and its almost impenetrable
denseness of reference and allusion, a work both Rabelaisian and Gargantuan, and an anatomy of
the same density as Richard Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy; in other words, a work of late-
sixteenth-century baroque richness and complexity which happened to have been written in the
middle decades of the twentieth century.3
*Email: C.J.Heywood@hull.ac.uk
ISSN 0951-8967 print/ISSN 1743-940X online

q 2008 Taylor & Francis
DOI: 10.1080/09518960802528969
http://www.informaworld.com
166 C. Heywood
But who was Fernand Braudel? He was born more than a century ago, in 1902, sharing the year
of his birth – to mention a coincidence which furnishes a perspective to the present remarks –
with my own father. The genesis of other historians’ involvement with Braudel is always
instructive, and after the passage of half a century it is possible to admit that in some way, when I
first encountered Braudel’s Méditerranée as an undergraduate, its author became a sort of
intellectual godfather for me. At this time the book existed only in the postwar austerity garb
of its first French edition (1949), published at the author’s own expense,4 a treasure chest of
wonderful insights and discoveries hidden within an unwieldy, ugly single volume of more
than1100 pages of small, poor-quality print on execrable paper. It was indeed fortunate that at
that time, six or seven years after it was published, the library of the School of Oriental and
African Studies (SOAS) already possessed a copy. My tutor at SOAS, the late Vernon Parry,
remarked to me then, or more probably later, that La Méditerranée was a book which he would
have given his right arm to have written. From a scholar of great depth and insight, whom fate
did not allow to bring to completion any of the works on Ottoman warfare and military
technology – in the age, one could well say, of Philip II as much as of Süleyman the Magnificent
and his successors – works for which he had spent years in the then North Library of the British
Museum, collecting and sifting the materials, this was a heartfelt tribute, spoken at a time when
La Méditerranée had not yet made the great impact on the Anglo-Saxon (and American)
historians’ guilds which it was later to do.
So, to make a confession: Braudel’s great book has been my valued if intermittent
companion for the past half-century, and yet – as far as I can tell – I have failed until very
recently in any of my own writings to make much use of his work by either allusion or footnote,
still less to make use of his methodology, or to allow myself to be influenced by his apparent
disdain for l’histoire événementielle – which, after all, is what history is still really about.
Without events, without chronology, there is no history, only sociology. Perhaps therefore it may
be time to go public with my half-century of involvement with Braudel, to try to say something
about him as a historian, and about the greatest book amongst the several which he wrote, and to
look in particular at the dual problem of the place of the Ottoman Empire in Braudel’s work, and
the unending but multiform struggle between Christianity and Islam for which the
Mediterranean has been the principal stage and theatre, not just in Braudel’s sixteenth century,
but from the middle of the seventh century down to the present day.
II
The middle of the seventh century is perhaps a fruitful point in time at which to begin, not with
Braudel but with another book which, despite not having the word ‘Mediterranean’ in its title,
has a strong claim to be regarded as possibly surpassing Braudel’s in terms of its long-term
impact on the way in which European historians have regarded Mediterranean history in terms of
longue durée. In 1937, by which date, it would appear, Braudel had already written much of
what eventually became the third, non-revolutionary, événementielle part of La Méditerranée,
and only a decade (but also a world war) before he defended his thèse d’état at the University of
Paris, there was published in Paris a posthumous work by the Belgian medievalist and national
icon, Henri Pirenne. It carried the provocative title Mahomet et Charlemagne, making a
dyschronic but effective coupling of two historical figures, separated by two hundred years of
late – Dark Age history, but united in Pirenne’s audacious thesis which stated that, without
Muhammad, there would have been no place for Charlemagne; in other words, that the rise of
Islam in the mid-seventh century fractured the economic and political unity of the Mediterranean
which had endured since the end of the Punic wars, and turned it into a sea divided and fought
over by two mutually exclusive civilizations which it has remained to this day. As a consequence
Mediterranean Historical Review 167
of this partition, Pirenne stated, what remained of the Roman Empire in the west, cut off from the
maritime trade with the east which had hitherto sustained its economy, regressed to an isolated
and impoverished subsistence economy, out of which the Carolingian imperium was to emerge
in 800 as a state which was both holy and Roman, the kernel and nucleus of a ‘new’, post-
Antique Europe.5
Braudel makes few direct references to Pirenne in his Mediterranean, and none to his famous
thesis, which nonetheless lurks in the background as a hidden influence (how could it not, unless
we wish to believe that the titanic struggle between Spain and the Ottomans was not what it
certainly was, a clash not just between two great powers, but between two opposing cultures and
civilisations?). Braudel had certainly read Pirenne and had reacted against him, observing that he
could not accept Pirenne’s view that Charles V and Süleyman the Magnificent were merely
‘accidents’ of history, and retorting: ‘their persons by all means, but not their empires’.6
Otherwise, there appears to be no borrowing of any substance, except for Braudel’s making the
suggestion, in the discussion of the significance of events and their importance with which he
opens Part Three, that one definition of a significant event might be ‘one with far-reaching
consequences and repercussions, as Henri Pirenne was fond of remarking’.7 But I will return to
Braudel and Pirenne later, in an unexpected context.
III
What, then, of Braudel and the Ottomans? The question was asked by Halil İnalcık a number of
years ago, and answered in his own way, within the framework of Braudel’s concern with the
Mediterranean grain trade and the linked problems of sixteenth-century demography.8 We may
return to İnalcık’s response to Braudel’s depiction of the Ottomans later: it will follow a
somewhat different track to my own. Perhaps here we should first ask: what of Braudel and
Islam? Of significance here is the interesting fact that when Braudel was in his twenties, after
graduating with a degree in history from the Sorbonne, for most of the time between 1922 and
1932 we find him earning a living as a schoolmaster, in an Algeria which was part of
metropolitan France, it is true, but which in effect was a colonial possession, with a mainly
Muslim population and indigenous culture, and forming a distinctive part of the Islamic world.
In Algeria Braudel taught history, first for a year in the provincial town of Constantine, and then
in Algiers itself.9 North Africa was also the focus of his first published article – more a short
monograph, 110 pages in length – on ‘The Spaniards in North Africa’, a work which is of great
significance as a ‘forerunner’ of La Méditerranée. It was published in 1928 in the Algiers-based
Revue Africaine.10 Already it contains in embryo the style and subject-matter of the mature
Annales-school grand maı̂tre: in its use of Spanish sources, drawn from Spanish archives; in its
inordinate length (for an article); in the vast ‘piling up’ of references in the footnotes, frequently
filling more than half the page;11 and in Braudel’s evident fascination with Philip II (reproducing
a facsimile of the king’s famously illegible marginal annotations to state documents), together
with virtually the same formal terminal date (in this case, 1577, three years before the Spanish-
Ottoman truce) as that of La Méditerranée. Braudel’s North Africa, it has to be said, is a country
seen through sixteenth-century Spanish eyes. Despite living in Algeria for a decade (with a two-
year break for military service in the occupied Rhineland), Braudel never acquired a knowledge
of Arabic: he confessed much later that he was defeated by the difficulties inherent in learning
the language (‘I tried seriously and did not succeed’).12 On the other hand, he had quickly
acquired both a mastery of Spanish and the good graces of the director and staff of the Archivo
General at Simancas, to whom, as to his Spanish-language colleague at the Lycée in Algiers, he
makes due acknowledgement in the final paragraph of his 1928 article.13
168 C. Heywood
Of Algiers and Algerine society in the sixteenth century Braudel writes lyrically, but it is a
lyricism deriving from Lope de Vega and the Cervantes of the Trato de Argel and Don Quixote:
‘les rues étroites et montantes d’Alger, les maisons mauresques aux fenêtres grillagées, les
jardins verdoyants d’un renégat enrichi’ – an urban world inhabited by ‘[r]enégats, corsaires,
captifs douloureux et héroı̈ques,... tout un monde qui vit et s’agite en terre d’Afrique’.14 The
striking image, the perceptive observation of the realities of human geography, which mark Parts
One and Two of The Mediterranean, are already there, however: the closeness of Europe and
Africa at the Straits of Gibraltar, ‘to the extent that a fire lighted on one side can be seen on the
other’; the bold likening of the western Mediterranean to ‘an arm of the sea really, a[n English]
channel’ (un bras de mer, une Manche, un ‘Channel’): ‘daily, in the sixteenth century, little
vessels could make the crossing between Velez de la Gomera and Malaga without fearing the
fury of the sea; it needed no more than a day, given a favourable wind, to get from Valencia
to Oran’.15
But what of Muslim Algeria? J.H. Hexter has strongly criticized Braudel for saying little or
nothing in his Mediterranean about religious motivation:
Of the bonds which held [the Spanish and Ottoman empires] together more or less, we catch only
fleeting glimpses. Of the religious structures, Christianity and Islam, that at once held together and
divided [the Mediterranean], we see nothing from the inside. They are recurrent names, but what
gave them their life – their interlaced institutions, practices and beliefs – is nowhere to be found.16
In 1928, at least regarding Spain’s motives for involving itself in North Africa, however,
Braudel is direct and to the point: ‘Religious fanaticism, the passion for conversion, the desire to
push back the frontiers of Islam, pushed the Spaniards, from the end of the fifteenth century and
throughout the sixteenth, to intervene in the Muslim countries of North Africa. Instinctively the
word “crusade” comes to mind, and one would not be in error for making use of it already several
times’.17 From the other, Islamic, side, he is equally ready to allow religion as a causative force:
the attachment of the Moriscos of Andalusia and Valencia to the Qur’an and to Muslim religious
observances despite the dangers this posed from the Inquisition, and the dedicated opposition to
Spain of the Moriscos who had already found refuge in the Maghreb before the fall of the
kingdom of Granada, and who took to the corso as the most proactive expression of that
opposition and enmity.18 His sources, however, remain the European ones: reliance on Mas
Latrie for much of this, apart from a reference to an oft-cited passage in Ibn Khaldun on the
organization of corsairing from the port of Bougie already in 1381, and he admits, only to reject,
the utility of establishing the true state (dresser la carte) of North Africa at the beginning of the
sixteenth century (utile, mais bien long).19 Elsewhere he speaks of the anarchy, the political
disintegration, the military inferiority of Muslim North Africa at this period, as well as giving a
lengthy analysis of the renewal of North African Islam under the aegis of the religious
confraternities from the fifteenth century onwards, which deplores the ‘lack of precise studies on
this important question’.20
It was through North Africa, and the establishment there of the Barbarossa brothers early in
the sixteenth century, that Braudel first approached, without actually entering, the domain of
Ottoman history. He observes that there was evident interest in being informed on the origins
and development of the Algerine corsair state, the fortunes of which were so profoundly to
affect the course of the ‘war of Africa’, lamenting the lack of precise sources for such a study,
beyond the ‘contradictory and romantic’ accounts of the rise of the Barbarossas, and the
uselessness of the standard accounts of Ottoman history – Hammer, de la Jonquière, Jorga – for
any study of the origins of the Algerine state.21 Nonetheless, he gives, in the space of a few
pages, a vigorous if conventional account of sixteenth-century Algiers, based, it has to be said,
largely on the well-known work of the late-sixteenth-century Spanish friar Diego Haëdo.22
He observes also that the archives in Corsica, Sicily and Calabria – ‘the poorest countries of the
Mediterranean, be it noted’ – may furnish material on the most celebrated renegades who made
up the majority of the corsair reises.23 He notes also that the Algiers janissary militia,
‘this military aristocracy’, comprised ‘an actual fragment of distant Turkey which is to be
discovered transported on to African soil’.24
Braudel explores the Ottoman connection, judging that the establishment of a Turkish
presence in North Africa was facilitated not only by the weakness of the country, and Spanish
negligence, but by a ‘community of religion’ between occupied and occupiers, as well as the
assistance and protection of the Porte, manifested materially by the sending of men, money and
ships in return for Barbarossa’s acknowledgment of Ottoman suzerainty.25 The diplomatic and
military background to the involvement of the Ottomans during Süleyman’s reign in North
Africa and at sea against Spain are treated in detail – diplomatic and military histoire
événementielle with a vengeance! – but the latter part of the article is largely given over to the
growing weaknesses of the Spanish position in North Africa, already compromised by 1559, and
in ruins by 1577. As background, we have a picture of a Mediterranean divided at the Maltese
narrows into spheres of influence under its two imperial masters.26 Along this line, between
Sicily and Tunis, the major encounters between the two powers, down to the Christian offensive
of 1570– 1, take place. Despite Lepanto, the Ottomans successfully resume the offensive: not
just as in Cyprus but, a few years later, against Spanish-occupied Tunis.27
Braudel’s conclusion is a surprise, and perhaps reflects the position of a sensitive historian in
the very different Algiers of his day, narrowly controlled by the French. The final victor in the
Spanish-Ottoman struggle is the Maghreb itself: ‘Algiers and Tunis enrich themselves and
expand; [and] between the Turk and the Spaniard, and despite all appearances, the concessions
and the truces, the Maghreb had maintained its independence’.28 Perhaps the failed attempt to
learn Arabic had not been wasted. Perhaps, as he wrote much later, ‘this spectacle, the
Mediterranean as seen from the opposite shore, upside down, had considerable impact on my
vision of history’.29
IV
What form the impact of Braudel’s ‘upside down’ view of the Mediterranean had on the
formation of the historian ten, twenty, or forty years later can to some extent be gauged by an
examination of the place which the Ottoman state, and Ottoman history, inhabits in his
Mediterranean.30 In Part Two, which is devoted to ‘Collective Destinies and General Trends’,
Braudel devotes a chapter to ‘Empires’.31 In this chapter, in the first section, which deals with
‘The Origin of Empires’, he introduces his reader to the history of the Ottoman state down to
the sixteenth century. He places its rise to imperial and world power rank not in the context of
the sequential, linear history either of the Turks as a people and their westward migrations, or
of the course of Islamic history. Instead, he places it squarely within the cadre of the
contemporary history of Mediterranean society at the time, and in particular within the crisis of
what he defines, slightly narrowly, as the decline of the Mediterranean city-states and of states
which were ‘merely the extensions of powerful cities’, exampling such polities as
Aragon/Barcelona, the Byzantine Empire/Constantinople and Thessaloniki.32 One might well
take issue with this classificatory system, yoking together prosperous Barcelona and enfeebled,
depopulated, encircled, empire-less fourteenth – fifteenth-century Constantinople, but let it pass.
In any case, he sees this ‘fragile form of government’ as being by the second half of the
fifteenth century ‘inadequate to perform the political and financial tasks now facing it’,
instancing the respective falls to foreign occupation of Constantinople (1453), Barcelona
(1472) and Granada (1492).33
170 C. Heywood
What then would take the place of the city-states? Braudel was in no doubt, and the answer
was an economic one: ‘only the territorial state, rich in land and manpower’, would in future be
able to meet the expense of modern warfare, paid armies, costly artillery and soon ‘the added
extravagance of full-scale naval wars’. Equally, he places the aggressive expansion policies of
Mehemmed II in the same category as the contemporary military adventures of Louis XI
of France beyond the Pyrenees and the later ones in Italy of Charles VIII, and the expansion of
Aragon under Jaime II or of Spain in general under the Catholic kings.34 From this starting point
he approaches more nearly to an explanation in general terms, if not an analysis, of the rise of the
Ottoman state in his observation that ‘[w]ithout exception, these states all had their beginnings
inland, far from the Mediterranean coast, usually in poor regions where there were fewer cities to
pose obstacles [to their rise]’.35 This could be argued, even if superficially, to be the case with
the primitive Ottoman polity: the hills of Bithynia were distant, though not greatly distant, from
the remaining late-thirteenth/early-fourteenth-century Byzantine urban centres in north-west
Anatolia: Brusa, Nicaea and Nicomedia.
Braudel devotes a full seven pages, including a full-page map, to his analysis of the rise of
the Ottomans down to the conquest of Egypt and Syria in 1516– 17.36 He ascribes their
seemingly effortless rise to regional pre-eminence to ‘three centuries [sic ] of repeated effort, of
prolonged conflict and of miracles’, and describes ‘the emergence of the Ottoman dynasty from
the fortunes of war on the troubled frontiers of Asia Minor, a rendezvous for adventurers and
fanatics’. So far, let us say, full marks. Braudel characterizes Asia Minor: ‘a region of
unparallelled mystical enthusiasm: here war and religion marched hand in hand, militant
confraternities abounded and the janissaries were of course attached to such powerful sects as
the Ahis and later the Bektashis’. Slightly off the mark here: the janissaries come later and the role
of the akhı̂s may have been overestimated. These beginnings, says Braudel, ‘gave the Ottoman
state its style, its foundations among the people and its original exaltation’. The miracle, he adds,
is that ‘such a tiny state should have survived the accidents and disturbances inherent in its
geographical position’.37
But from where did Braudel derive this by no means negligible analysis? Braudel’s own
footnote references are, as so often, infuriatingly unhelpful: he provides references to a work by
R. de Lusinge, De la naissance, durée et chute des États (printed; manuscript?: anyway, an
unintelligible ascription) of 1588 cited from ‘G. Atkinson, op. cit., p. 184– 185’ – this is
G. Atkinson, Les nouveaux horizons de la Renaissance française (Paris, 1935) – and to ‘an
unpublished diplomatic report on Turkey’, dated 1576, from the Simancas archives.38 Braudel
also drew on a now-forgotten work, Décadence de l’Asie (1939), by Fernand Grenard, one of a
number of figures on the fringe of historical scholarship who seem to have had an influence on
Braudel’s formation as a historian.39 This is hardly an impressive, or a representative, collection
of authorities. To an Ottomanist, however, the above quotations, with their emphasis on the akhı̂
corporations and ‘unparalleled mystical enthusiasm’, appear to bear a strong resemblance to
well-known studies on Asia Minor in this period, which were published in the 1920s and early
1930s by such pioneer Ottomanists as Mehmet Fuad Köprülü and Fr. Taeschner.40
Further clues to the sources of Braudel’s account come later, when he speaks of ‘the internal
transformation of Asia Minor from Greek and Orthodox in the thirteenth century to Turkish and
Moslem, following successive waves of infiltration and indeed of total social disruption’.41
Braudel also stresses the role of the Muslim orders, ‘some of which were revolutionary,
communist like the Bâbâis, Ahı̂s and Abdâlân; others more mystical and pacifist, for example the
Mawlawı̂s of Konya’. He mentions also that, ‘following G. [sic; recte Cl.] Huart, Koprülüzade
[sic ] has recently drawn attention to their proselytism’.42
What exactly does ‘recently’ mean? The reference (with Köprülü’s name in its pre-Family
Law form) appears to be to an early article by Mehmed Fuad Köprülü, cited in the Annuaire du
monde musulman for 1923, though the bibliographies of Köprülü’s writings do not appear to shed
any light on the matter.43 So: does ‘recently’ mean that Braudel was already collecting material
and drafting chapters of what eventually became The Mediterranean when he was still a
schoolteacher in Algiers, or shortly afterwards, until he left in 1934 to take up a post in Brazil?
There, surely, articles such as Köprülü’s would have been inaccessible to him. By extension, a
further question poses itself. In 1936 Braudel was appointed to a post at the École des Hautes
Études in Paris, although apparently he did not return to France until the autumn of 1937.44 It was
at this time that the pioneer Ottoman historian Paul Wittek was writing and delivering lectures on
the nature of the early Ottoman state which embodied his all-embracing, Pirenne-like, ‘ghâzı̂
thesis’.45 The ‘Wittek thesis’, simply put, maintained that the overarching explanation for the rise
of the Ottomans to greatness, the extent and duration of their empire, and their eventual downfall,
was that they were, before anything else, ghâzı̂s, border fighters for Islam, equipped with a
mission statement to root out polytheism and unbelief and, by extension, to rule over and subdue
the realms of the unbelievers. Wittek developed this theme, which was based on his close reading
of a number of early literary and epigraphical Ottoman sources, in a series of lectures which he
delivered in London, Leiden and, most significantly, Paris. In the last-named city he lectured
twice, in 1936 and 1938, both times at the Sorbonne, on the first occasion on the pre-Ottoman
history of ‘Rûm’ – that is, Muslim Asia Minor; and on the second on the Ottoman state from 1402
to 1453.46 And in 1937 he had given in London a series of three lectures on ‘The Rise of the
Ottoman Empire’, which were published in the following year, 1938.47
I have to admit that, much as I would have liked to, I can find no overt trace of Wittek’s
influence in Braudel’s book. Nor is there any trace of Mehmed Köprülü’s later study of pre-
Ottoman Anatolia which, again, started out as a series of lectures delivered in 1935 at the
Sorbonne.48 And yet both Wittek and Braudel were, at perhaps one remove, in the shadow of
Pirenne. I have suggested that it was no coincidence that Wittek’s ‘ghâzı̂ thesis’ appeared in the
form it took when it did, fully articulated in Wittek’s London lectures of 1937. From 1933 to
1940 Wittek was living in Brussels as a political refugee from the Nazi regime, and working at
the Institut de Philologie et d’Histoire Orientale et Slave at the Université Libre. His mentor and
patron there was the Belgian Byzantinist Henri Grégoire, the head of the Institut, who was a
contemporary and close associate of Pirenne.49 In the small world of 1930s Brussels, close must
have meant close, and it is inconceivable that Wittek did not meet Pirenne via Grégoire before
the former’s death in 1935 (he was active almost until the end in the public domain) or was not
aware of the earlier articles which Pirenne had worked up and developed into what became his
posthumous Mahomet et Charlemagne.50 And, to close the circle somewhat, in 1931 Braudel
had heard Pirenne lecture in Algiers about his ideas on the closure of the Mediterranean after the
Muslim invasions. As he recalled the occasion vividly forty years later, ‘[Pirenne’s] lectures
seemed prodigious to me: his hand opened and shut, and the entire Mediterranean was by turns
free and locked in’.51 But it seems that Braudel was still unaware of Wittek’s work, and of later
studies by others in the field, as late as 1949 – or even 1966? Were there then, in pre-war Paris or
after the war, such Chinese walls between the Sorbonnistes and the leading members of the
Annales tendency?52
Whatever the answer may be to that question, my impression is that much of this section of
The Mediterranean was written in the later 1930s and was never materially revised
subsequently. The references to articles or books by J. Zontar (not in the Bibliography!),
G. Atkinson and others all seem to date from around 1934, apart from Busch-Zantner’s study on
Balkan agrarian history, made great use of by Braudel and already referred to above, which was
published in 1938. And, such old, mid-nineteenth-century, once-standard works on Ottoman
history as Zinkeisen apart, there are references to an early essay by Franz Babinger on Süleyman
the Magnificent (in Meister der Politik, 1923) – but no mention of either Babinger’s or
172 C. Heywood
Köprülü’s works from the early 1920s on Islam in Asia Minor, which could have been useful to
Braudel, had he known of them.53 For Braudel’s treatment of the period after 1516 – and after
1947 – I point out only that in the second edition (1966) he makes use of Brockelmann’s dated
and pedestrian History of the Islamic Peoples (English version 1959, but originally published in
German, 1939) and, finally, Stanford J. Shaw’s 1963 essay on ‘The Ottoman View of the
Balkans’.54 If a sign of genius in a historian is his (or her) ability to make real durable bricks
without straw, then surely Braudel was one such.
V
As every Braudeliste knows, the formal end of his histoire événementielle is defined by
the conclusion of the Ottoman-Spanish truce in 1580: ‘the great powers withdraw from the
Mediterranean’. The final chapter of the final ‘Book’ of Braudel’s history is devoted to
‘The Mediterranean after 1580’. He confesses that, for the years 1580 to 1589, ‘Mediterranean
chroniclers have little to say’. The real action was taking place out in the cold waters of the
Atlantic, in which the destruction of the Spanish Armada (unmentioned here by Braudel as he
sets the scene) was merely the most noteworthy event. But, even after nearly twelve hundred
pages, Braudel is still alert for the event which illuminates, the telling incident. From the end of
the decade he picks two, both with implications for Ottoman history. One is ‘symbolic’ – the
death of ‘Ilj ‘Ali, in July 1587, at the age of 67 (note the precision): ‘last in the line of the great
corsairs (Dragut, Barbarossa), his passing marked the end of an era’.55 The other incident
Braudel sees, correctly, as pointing the way to the future: in 1586, in an incident off Pantellaria,
‘five English merchant ships sent the Sicilian galley squadron packing’. Braudel comments:
‘Unrecognised at the time, this was a foretaste of the career ahead for the ship-of-the-line’.56
Braudel is, as usual, perceptive on North Africa in the first decade or so of the post-1580
truce, picking up on local religious opposition, marabout-led, to the Ottoman presence, and
reflecting on whether the problem was not one of Ottoman decline, but rather that, throughout
the Ottoman lands – what he ponderously but succinctly defines as ‘all the Islamic countries
linked to the Turkish system, to Turkish currency, finance and authority – there was a general
malaise and unrest, though as yet undeveloped?’57 He ties the problem in with what it betrayed,
‘the shelving indefinitely of the costly Mediterranean policy of the past’. The hesitancies and
inadequacies in terms of command, equipment and numbers of the Ottoman galley fleet at the
end of the 1580s under Hasan Pasha Veneziano, and the progress and eventual bloody
suppression in 1590 of the anti-Ottoman revolt of ‘the Marabout’ in Tripoli are described and
analysed in detail in support of this standpoint.58 And as the central provinces of the empire slide
into internal crisis in the years leading up to and from the Muslim millennium (1591:
unmentioned by Braudel, but its approach a long-term breeder of signs and portents of disaster or
worse), so in North Africa, the ‘Ottoman outposts now left in virtual autonomy’ are ‘obliged to
become increasingly self-supporting and independent’. The future now lies with the re’ı̂ses and
the ‘pirates’ [sic ]: that too we are fully apprised of, but Braudel also observes perceptively that
‘towards the end of the century North Africa became much more accessible than in the past to
Christian trade and intrigue, a world attracting the business and covetous designs of its
neighbours over the water’.59
VI
How long did it take for the Ottoman component of Braudel’s work to evoke a reaction in
subsequent scholarship? Interestingly, there appears to be at work here what may be termed an
influence gradient. The Ottomanist response to the original (French-language) 1949 edition
concentrated on the second part of the book, which deals with ‘Collective Destinies and General
Trends’, whereas it was in the English-language (and primarily American) response to the
English edition, almost a quarter of a century later, that Braudel’s interpretation of the Ottoman
aspects of the ‘histoire événementielle’ of the sixteenth-century Spanish-Ottoman conflict
begins to be called into question.
It is noteworthy that the initial Ottomanist response to Braudel at the very beginning of the
1950s came not from the – at the time exiguously few – western Ottomanists but from Turkey.
In the journal of the Economic Faculty of Istanbul University for 1949– 50 there appeared a
review article of La Méditerranée, written by the Turkish economic historian Ömer Lûtfi
Barkan.60 Barkan (1903 – 79) was an almost exact contemporary of Braudel. Like Braudel, he
had begun his career as a schoolteacher before entering the University of Istanbul, from where,
in 1927, with great good fortune, he was sent by the Turkish government to study at the
University of Strasbourg at exactly the time that Lucien Febvre and March Bloch were engaged
there in founding the journal Annales and the ‘school’ which they and it embodied in its first
phase down to 1939: as Braudel later was to remark, ‘the Annales began at Strasbourg, next door
to Germany and to German historical thought’.61 The first number of Annales appeared in 1929;
in 1931 Barkan returned to Turkey. For two years he taught philosophy at the lycée in Eskişehir,
before returning to the University of Istanbul, but in the first instance to the Institute of the
History of the Turkish Revolution (Türk Inkilap Tarihi Enstitüsü). Transfer to the newly created
Faculty of Economic Sciences, where he would be responsible for teaching history and
economic geography – a very Annales-type combination – would not come until 1937. Four
years later, in 1941, Barkan was elected to the chair of Economic History. Barkan’s work as a
member of the Department of Economic Sciences reflects the influence of his Strasbourg years:
it is almost without exception devoted to the legal and practical aspects of the multifarious and
until then hardly explored problems of land tenure and land use in the Ottoman empire from the
early days of the state down to the end of the sixteenth century.62 It was in the course of this work
that Barkan began to explore and make use of what he termed the ‘great population and cadastral
registers’ (büyük nüfus ve arazi tahrirleri), bettter known nowadays as the Tapu ve Tahrir
Defterleri, those voluminous province-based surveys of the empire’s taxable resources which
were to raise unreal expectations that on their basis an Annales-style approach to the problems of
Ottoman history would be possible, and which would fuel the whole subsequent ‘defterological’
revolution in Ottomanist scholarship.63 Of course, as later research was to discover, the tahrir
defters were not census registers, as Barkan had at first believed, and the history of the Ottoman
provinces could not be written as a replica of the province-based studies in French economic and
social history, from the days of Febvre down to Le Roy Ladurie, which were the identifiers and
landmarks of the Annales school.64
This is not to play down, or to attempt to diminish, Barkan’s single-handed achievements in
this field, which were properly recognized in his lifetime, not least in the award in 1955 of the
title of professor ‘honoris causa’ by the University of Strasbourg, but merely to point out that by
the time that Braudel’s Méditerranée appeared, Barkan was already an Annaliste manqué, and
thus well-placed to make an assessment of Braudel’s work from an Ottoman and Ottomanist, as
well as an Annaliste, standpoint.
The value of Braudel’s work, as seen by Barkan, lay in his having had ‘the courage to abolish
all the frontiers, political and especially religious, through perceiving that all the Mediterranean
lands, whether Christian or Muslim, lived in the sixteenth century within the ambience of the
same economic and social problems, in the sharing of which they were subject to the same
necessities and the same laws’, thus producing what he termed ‘a singularly fruitful working
hypothesis’.65 As a counterpart to this ‘universalisation’ of the Mediterranean, Barkan felt
himself constrained to point out ‘forcefully’ a lesson for students of Ottoman history which still,
after fifty years, has not been entirely learned – that ‘one of the great benefits which all those
174 C. Heywood
who occupy themselves with the history of Turkey can gain from reading Braudel, is to
understand that Ottoman history can not be studied in a vacuum (en vase clos), as an entity
completely independent from the rest of the world, and solely in terms of its own internal
evolution’.66 Barkan also singled out for praise Braudel’s credo that ‘the duty of the historian
was not to show how great men had formed or created history, but how history had contributed to
the formation of these men’, in particular though his emphasis on the ‘human geography’ of ‘la
longue durée’ and through his tireless commitment over a space of twenty years to detailed
archival research in all the Mediterranean countries, ‘except those of Turkey’.67
Barkan’s review forms, in effect, a rallying cry to his fellow historians in Turkey: ‘it is for us,
Turkish historians, a duty to take on, in the same spirit and with the same methods, the problems
[in Ottoman history] comparable to those grappled with in [La Méditerranée]’. Barkan utilized
the remaining pages of his review to indicate what in his view were the three main approaches
which Turkish historians should take in following Braudel: demographic history and the
problems of Ottoman population growth in the sixteenth century and its political and social
repercussions; economic history and the effect on the finances of the Ottoman state of the influx
of American silver in the latter part of the sixteenth century; and the diversion of East – West
trade, the ‘Route des Indes’, from the Middle East to the all-sea Cape route. A survey of the
further study of all these problems in the fifty years since the publication of Barkan’s review of
Braudel would expand the present article beyond the limits of the possible. What can be said is
that the legacy for Ottoman history of the Barkan –Braudelian conjuncture has been almost
overwhelming. Ottoman political history, which in the hands of some of its practitioners was
already almost a caricature of the sterile histoire événementielle pilloried by the early Annalistes,
seems, with some notable exceptions discussed below, hardly to have heeded the Braudelian
watchword, to the extent that not a single Ottoman ruler of note has yet been contextualized
‘within’ history to a depth that Braudel achieved half a century and more ago with Philip II. In
part this may be a result of the sources, the apparent (and possibly real) ‘otherness’ of the
Turkish archives compared with those of Simancas, or the ‘unreachability’ of sixteenth-century
Ottomans when compared with their Spanish contemporaries, although this idea is probably
itself a mirage. In part, too, it may be the result of a state of mind best described as
Fachidiotismus, an obsession with particular classes of archival documents – tapu ve tahrir
registers, or sijills (T.: sicill), (i.e. kadi court records) – which produces work done exactly in
that intellectual and historical vacuum against which Barkan spoke half a century ago.68
As for Barkan’s three main approaches mentioned above, they have come almost entirely to
dominate the field, in terms of publications, and also in their pre-eminence in the subject-matter
for conferences ever since the first conference (held in 1977) devoted to Ottoman social and
economic history, for which Barkan himself was one of the inspired protagonists. In fact, it may
not be too much to say, only partly in jest, that in terms of Ottoman history ‘we are all
Braudelians now’.
Equally, the later stages of the interaction between Braudel and the Annaliste tendency in
Ottoman historical studies, subsequent to the publication in 1966 of the second French edition of
La Méditerranée and the appearance of its English version in 1972, can also be analysed here
only briefly. The nearly two decades (1966 – 1985) between those events and Braudel’s death
witnessed the appearance of Braudel’s last major work, the three-volume ‘synthetic’ study
entitled Civilisation matérielle, économie et capitalisme, which appeared in 1967 (an English-
language edition was published subsequently).69 Already, when he was engaged in writing the
preface to the English edition of La Méditerranée – ‘As I write these lines’ – Braudel had
singled out for special mention ‘the admirable study by M. A. Cook, Population Pressure in
Rural Anatolia, 1450– 1600’, observing that ‘I am touched and flattered by both his criticism and
approval of my book’. Cook’s slender monograph – on the Braudelian scale of things, little
more than a short article – had in fact (although few ‘defterologists’ were to realize it at the time)
delivered the coup de grâce to the Barkanian doctrine that the demographic history of the
sixteenth-century Ottoman empire was recoverable on the basis of the population data in the
tapu ve tahrir defterleri.70
VII
The late H.R. Trevor-Roper, no mean essayist himself, has remarked that the genius of Braudel
shines out most clearly in the middle section of La Mediterranée, with the series of ‘wonderful
essays’ devoted to a whole series of disparate problems or ‘histoire-problèmes’ – ‘Distance, the
First Enemy’, ‘The Pepper Trade’, ‘The Origin of Empires’, ‘Poverty and Banditry’, and
‘Piracy: A Substitute for Declared War’ just five amongst many.71 Amongst these intellectual
diamonds of the first water there is to be found no one essay devoted to the Ottoman Empire, yet
in historiographic terms it may be that the Ottoman Empire continues to constitute the major
‘histoire-problème’ of post-Braudelian sixteenth-century Mediterranean history. Braudel
himself was well aware of this problem, which he addressed in a long section of his late
work Civilisation matérielle, économie et capitalisme devoted to the self-posed question,
‘L’Empire Turc est-il une Économie-monde?’ Significantly this section of Civilisation
matérielle was also published, albeit without notes and apparatus, in a memorial volume for
Ömer Lûtfi Barkan which appeared in 1980, the year after Barkan’s death.72 In this fragment
Braudel appears to mount a vigorous defence of what he terms ‘L’Empire turc’, which he defines
in terms which still resonate within French politics as ‘une contre-Europe, une contre-
Chrétienté’. Here he draws support once more from Fernand Grenard, one of his favourite
sources from outside the monde Braudellien, ‘who correctly saw in the Turkish conquest
something quite different from the barbarian invasions of the fifth century’, i.e. ‘an Asiatic and
anti-European revolution’.73
Am I alone in experiencing a certain sense of disquiet on reading (more accurately, on re-
reading) Braudel’s essay (for that is what it is) on the Ottoman state in the Barkan memorial
volume? Twenty years ago Michael Harsgor wrote some trenchantly critical passages attacking
Braudel’s unreasoningly pro-Spanish stance and his over-ready acceptance of those aspects of
later-sixteenth-century Spanish policy and political culture – the cult of limpieza de sangre; the
merciless suppression of free thought; the deep strains of racism, fanned by religious circles,
embedded in the national psyche; the destruction through the persecution and ultimate expulsion
of the conversos of the one element in Spanish society which could have evolved into a
bourgeois stratum – and over all, ‘a dogmatic and conservative [foreign] policy [which]
crowned an inept Weltanschauung’.74 There is something here, buried deep, which seems to
belie the image we have of the historian, a rational, secular, twentieth-century French
intellectual, a lover of intellectual liberty. Braudel’s history is certainly not the Whig version of
history, as John A. Armstrong pointed out in a notable review article written from a social
science standpoint.75 Was Braudel too much in love with Spain, with Philip II even, in his almost
sorrowful response to the failure of Philip’s designs on England, to the doomed marriage with
Mary Tudor; to the destruction of the Spanish Armada, to the successful revolt of the
Netherlands? Braudel’s stance seems often to be one of ‘tout comprendre, c’est tout pardonner’:
In the Spanish situation I am therefore on the side of the Jews, the conversos, the Protestants,
alumbrados, and Moriscos. But such feelings... are irrelevant to the basic problem. To call sixteenth-
century Spain a ‘totalitarian’ or a ‘racist’ country strikes me as unreasonable. It has some harrowing
scenes, but then so do France, Germany, England or Venice...76
Was the expulsion of the Jews, and then of the Moriscos, from Spain a piece of bigotry – and
worse, as Harsgor would have us believe – or as Braudel would have it, an efficacious though
176 C. Heywood
drastic measure of self-defence? Or are we in danger of falling once again into the trap of the
‘black legend’ of Spanish atrocities?77 Whatever the answer, in the over-heavy personal
involvement of the historian with the characters which populate the pages of his histoire
événementielle, we seem to have in Braudel, not the twentieth-century Annaliste, but something
more redolent of the nineteenth century, an illiberal, clerical, pro-Spanish, anti-Dutch, anti-
English, anti-Huguenot antitype to John Lowthrop Motley.
VIII
In the foregoing pages it may be thought that too much attention has been devoted to Braudel’s
approach to Spanish, rather than Ottoman, history. Certainly, this side of his work is better
documented and has attracted a great deal of critical attention. Curiously (or perhaps not so
curiously), this pattern of response repeats itself when Braudel deals with the Ottomans. Braudel
saw the Ottoman and Spanish empires as distinctly comparable. He cites with approval Leopold
von Ranke’s remark that the emergence of these twin powers constitutes a single chapter in
history, and sees the Habsburg and Ottoman imperiums as the early-sixteenth-century victors in the
process of evolution from city-states to ‘territorial states of moderate size’ to ‘monster states’ –
that is, the two empires, buoyed up by expansion and prosperity at the beginning of the century,
and sinking into decline under the twin stresses of over-expansion and economic depression at
the century’s end.78 He asks many questions: Was the Ottoman Empire an ‘économie monde’?
Did the ‘persistent archaisms’ of the Ottoman economy bring about its economic regression?
(Answers: ‘yes’, as we have noticed, to the first; ‘no’ to the second: the interior market remained
lively, down through the eighteenth century and, ‘as Barkan has explained’, only the irruption of
English textiles in the wake of the Industrial Revolution brought about the virtual destruction
of the indigenous manufacturing base.)79
Ultimately the problem of the place of the Ottoman empire, the Ottoman state, the Ottoman
economy within the Mediterranean world, within Braudel’s Mediterranean, is not to be defined
or understood within the rubric of ‘histoire-problème’, if by that we mean, following J.H.
Hexter, the elegant exposition of a seemingly small historical événement which opens up to
illuminate a much larger historical problem. For that technique as applied to Ottoman history we
have to go back to some of the later writings of Paul Wittek – the ‘Castle of Violets’; the essay
on the taking of Aydos Castle; the exegesis of the ‘Beiname’ of Mehemmed I.80 Braudel’s
treatment of the Ottoman Empire within the framework of Mediterranean history instead
proliferates into a vast number of potential problems, even to enumerate which would be beyond
the scope of a single article. One or two of these may be mentioned, because they seem to
encapsulate many of the others.
In the first place Braudel was not a maritime historian. This statement may appear perversely
wrong-headed, though it was made with some force by Garrett Mattingly, the unrivalled student
of the Spanish Armada, in his review of the first edition of La Méditerranée: ‘one theme has
received less than its proper value. The sea is slighted.... in all seafaring matters his
documentation and his interest seem to flag... A better understanding of ships and the sea might
have modified a good many of [his] conclusions’.81 Second, the Ottoman state was not a
maritime empire. This, too, may be accounted perverse, but, again, it is a point that has already
been made by earlier historians – and by the Ottomans themselves. Conversely, Ottoman
decline begins not, as Braudel preposterously suggested, at the beginning of the nineteenth
century, but with the vertiginous decline in the numbers, efficiency and esprit de corps of the
Ottoman navy in the aftermath of the truce with Spain. The navy of Murad III and Mehemmed
III, after Lepanto and Tunis, like the navy of Elizabeth after 1603, rotted at its moorings when
there was no war with Spain, but for the Ottoman fleet there was not to be any recovery, nor for
the Ottomans would there ever be any exit from the Black Sea and the eastern basin of the
Mediterranean into the maritime world beyond the Sicilian narrows, let alone the Straits of
Gibraltar.
Much has been made of Braudel’s downplaying of the cultural, civilizational, at bottom
religious gulf between the northern and southern shores of the Mediterranean, which appears to
be in direct opposition to the basic thesis of Pirenne that the Mediterranean was sundered in two
by the Arab conquests of the seventh century, and to have motivated Andrew Hess’s neo-
Pirennian response to this basic theme.82 And yet, there is evidence that Braudel was perhaps
more like Pirenne than has been realized – both were ‘northern Latins’, from the fringes of the
Latin, Romance-speaking world: Pirenne from Belgium; Braudel from north-eastern France,
both regions encompassed by the ‘Lotharingia’ of the ninth century. If Pirenne defined the
emergence of Latin European civilization in the aftermath of the Arab conquests, Braudel
certainly saw the Habsburgs, as Armstrong defines it, ‘as leaders of a titanic – and historically
“necessary” – defence of Latin European civilization against the Ottomans’.83 Armstrong has
also observed that Braudel’s work ‘is incomprehensible without an understanding of his concept
of distinctive civilizations’, but also has stressed the ambiguity between Braudel’s emphasis on
‘the unity and coherence of the Mediterranean region’, with a certain continuity in traditions and
ways of life persisting from Roman times or earlier, and the reality that in his concept of
civilizations, ‘Christian and Muslim lands surely constituted... distinct realms’.84 And yet
Braudel is also prone to reflection on this theme. As early as 1928, three years before he
encountered Pirenne in Algiers, he could make the following Pirennian observation: ‘Since the
High Middle Ages, since the great invasion of the seventh century which was obliged to find in
the lands of the Maghreb its manpower and its route, Muslim North Africa had constituted a
grave danger for the Spanish lands’.85 Yet later: ‘The more one thinks about it’ – he has been
discussing the Spanish and Ottoman legal systems – ‘the more convinced one becomes of the
striking similarities, transcending words, terminology and political appearances, between East
and West, worlds very different it is true, but not always divergent’.86
IX
In attempting an assessment of Braudel’s legacy ‘for’ Ottoman history we are (to employ a
Braudelian turn of phrase) faced with a task that is both difficult and easy. What is easy is that
without doubt Braudel, most particularly in the pages of his Méditerranée, managed to bring
Ottoman history in from the cold, from the almost hermetic isolation, something apart from
Mediterranean history, apart also for linguistic reasons from ‘Middle Eastern’ history and the
history of the Islamic world in general.87 Ottoman history, as a discipline, as a discrete subject of
study, had originated as an intellectual offshoot of Mitteleuropa in its last phase before and after
1918, a character which it maintained for many decades thereafter, down to the 1960s, at least in
places such as Vienna, Munich, Budapest and London. The beginnings of the process of
transformation – more a revolution – began circa 1950, not solely with the slow opening of the
Turkish archives to western scholars, or the beginnings of a remarkable process of expansion in
Ottoman studies in the New World, important as these developments were, but with the
appearance of La Méditerranée in 1949 and the beginnings of the Braudelian – Barkanian
synthesis of sources, methodology and praxis which both integrated – more or less – Ottoman
history into the history of the wider Mediterranean world (though not without doing some
violence to both) and brought Ottoman history (or at least some fairly important aspects of it)
into the Mediterranean, Annales, orbit. The Byzantinist Michael Angold, in his perceptive
review of the English version (1978) of Franz Babinger’s hyper-événementielle biographical
study of the Ottoman sultan Mehmed II, originally published in 1953, remarked that just at the
178 C. Heywood
moment Babinger was completing his work, the field of Ottoman history was being transformed
by the work of Halil İnalcık in the Ottoman archives and by the appearance of Braudel’s
Méditerranée.88 It may be that his part in the bringing in from the cold of Ottoman history and
the transformation of a field of historical scholarship that was not his own, to which he brought a
discerning mind but no actual research skills, may come to be seen as the most significant of the
many intellectual achievements of Fernand Braudel.
But, finally, where do we stand on the greater question, post-Pirenne, post-Braudel, post-
Hess, of the essential unity or diversity of Mediterranean history? Braudel, using western
sources and emphasizing the culturally nonspecific aspects of the Mediterranean world, saw two
sides coming together. Hess, using Ottoman sources, saw two worlds which were even further
apart in 1600 than they had been in 1500, let alone in 1453. Here Hess is surely right, coming
close in the first few pages of his The Forgotten Frontier to demolishing Braudel’s ecumenical
vision.89 In fact the divergence began long before 1500: the Ottoman state of Mehmed II,
religion apart, sits well with the Renaissance tyrannies of Italy depicted by Jacob Burckhardt.
Two centuries later this is clearly not the case, despite the all-pervading clericalism which
dominated much of seventeenth-century Catholic Europe as it did the Ottoman Empire. And,
looking somewhat pessimistically at the longue durée, the process of divergence has continued,
in many ways although not all, until the present day. Braudel’s Mediterranean, and Braudel’s
Ottomans, are not just an histoire-problème for the sixteenth century and for the historians.90
Acknowledgements
Earlier versions of this article were discussed at informal meetings of the Nicosia historians’ Friday Group,
and read in seminars at the Archaeological Research Institute, University of Cyprus, and the Graduate
School of Historical Studies, Tel Aviv University, in May 2007. My grateful thanks are due to colleagues in
all three locations, in particular to Nicholas Coureas, Christopher Schabel and Andrekos Varnava in
Nicosia, and to Ehud Toledano, Benjamin Arbel, and Samir Ben-Layashi in Tel Aviv. I have also benefited
greatly from Geoffrey Parker’s critical advice and encouragement throughout. For the article in its final
published form, I gladly accept full responsibility.
Notes
1. Braudel, La Méditerranée.
2. Braudel, The Mediterranean.
3. Parker, ‘Braudel’s Mediterranean’, 242; Hexter, ‘Fernand Braudel and the Monde Braudellien’, 529;
cf. also Kellner, ‘Disorderly Conduct’, 204ff., and Geoffrey Parker’s appreciation (‘Braudel’s
Mediterranean’, 239) of Braudel’s ‘encyclopaedic knowledge which makes almost every page of
[his] book sparkle with breathtaking sweeps and insights’.
4. Carrard, Poetics of the New History, 153– 4. Carrard rightly reminds us what we are apt to forget:
‘Braudel was not always a famous scholar, nor one whose books were likely to sell’. In fact, he was in
his mid-sixties when the commercially published second French edition of La Méditerranée appeared
to academic and popular acclaim, and already a septuagenarian when the book appeared in English
translation (1972), spawning the vast English-language literature of analysis, exegesis and imitation
which began to flood out on both sides of the Atlantic (and from the Mediterranean, if we include the
admirable essays by the Israeli scholar Michael Harsgor), in the late 1960s and 1970s.
5. Pirenne, Mohammed and Charlemagne, 147– 85.
6. Braudel, Mediterranean, 660. Characteristically, Braudel fails to give a reference to Pirenne.
7. Braudel, Mediterranean, 902, observing that on the basis of this dictum, according to R. Busch-
Zantner, the author of a now largely superseded study (1938) on rural societies and settlement in
south-east Europe, the fall of Constantinople in 1453 was a non-event and, according to Voltaire,
Lepanto, the great Christian victory of 1571, ‘had no consequences at all’. Braudel adds, I suspect not
too seriously, ‘These two opinions are both, let me say, open to debate’.
8. İnalcık, ‘Impact of the Annales School.’
9. Braudel, ‘Personal Testimony’, 450.
10. Braudel, ‘Les Espagnols et l’Afrique du nord’.

11. Cf. Braudel, ‘Les Espagnols’, 187, eight lines of text; thirty-seven lines in small type of footnotes.
13. Braudel, ‘Les Espagnols’, 410.
14. Ibid.
15. Ibid., 193 (cf. Mediterranean, 117, where the same material is reworked).
16. Hexter, ‘Fernand Braudel and the Monde Braudellien’, 519– 20.
17. Braudel, ‘Les Espagnols’, 198–9.
18. Ibid., 207–8.
19. Ibid., 213.
20. Ibid., 218–20.
21. Ibid., 354–5.
22. de Haëdo, Topografı́a e historia general de Argel.

23. Braudel, ‘Les Espagnols’, 356–7.
24. Ibid., 358.
25. Ibid., 359–60.
26. Ibid., 386.
27. Ibid., 400.
28. Ibid., 403.
29. Braudel, ‘Personal Testimony’, 450. He adds (451) that at that point in his life he did not understand
the social, political and colonial drama which was right before his eyes: in 1923, 1926 and after,
‘French Algeria did not appear as a monster in my eyes . . . . The bad conscience would be there twenty
years later’. For an ‘upside down’ map of the Mediterranean and its surrounding land, which
emphasizes Africa ‘on top’, see Braudel, Mediterranean, 169.
30. It is difficult to determine, except by the publication date assigned to references in the footnotes, the
precise date when Braudel wrote the sections of the Mediterranean which concern us. Part Three,
which is to some extent an expanded version of the 1928 Revue Africaine article (although elements
of it appear also in Parts One and Two), appears to have been already written by the time the war
impacted on Braudel’s career for more than five years. Parts One and Two, we know, were written
‘from memory’ in German prison camps, exercise book by exercise book, mailed as they were filled to
his friend, colleague and mentor Lucien Febvre in France. We know, too, that large parts of the first
printed edition of the work were rewritten, excised or replaced with new passages for the second
edition a decade and a half later.
31. Braudel, Mediterranean, 657–703.
32. Ibid., 657.
33. Ibid.
34. Ibid., 657– 8. Braudel makes use of ‘territorial state’ expressly to avoid having to make use of the
anachronistic term ‘nation-state’ (see 657, n.2).
35. Braudel, Mediterranean, 658.
36. Ibid., 661–7.
37. Ibid., 661.
38. A Latin translation (by J. Geuderus) of Lusinge’s work was published in Frankfurt in 1609: De
augmento, conservatione et occasu imperiorum libri iii. Lusinge was also the author of what might be
a useful work: La Manière de lire l’histoire (Paris, 1614).
39. F. Grenard (b. 1866), in early life (1889 – 95) a geographer, cartographer and member of French
scientific expeditions to Central Asia; later served as a diplomat in the Soviet Union, and became a
writer of popular studies – La Révolution russe (1933); Baber, fondateur de l’empire des Indes
(1930); Chinghiz Khan (1935) – as well as being a collaborator with one of the chief influences on the
early Annalistes and on Braudel, the renowned French geographer Pierre Vidal de la Blache, although
Braudel makes no mention of Grenard in his ‘Personal Testimony’. La Décadence de l’Asie (1939)
appears to have been Grenard’s last work: its subtitle, perhaps significantly in that fateful year 1939, is
L’Avènement de l’Europe.
40. Braudel may possibly have made use of Köprülü’s ‘Bemerkungen zur Religionsgeschichte
Kleinasiens’, or one of Taeschner’s numerous pre-war contributions to futuwwa/akhı̂ studies – for
example, his ‘Futuwwa-Studien’ (1932), or ‘Die islamischen Futuwwabünde’ (1933).
42. Ibid., 661, 663. See, possibly, Köprülüzade, ‘Bemerkungen zur Religionsgeschichte Kleinasiens’
(1921 –2), or, inter alia, Huart, ‘Les Derviches d’Asie Mineure’ (1918).
180 C. Heywood
43. In the two contemporary bibliographies of Köprülü’s work, in Sayman, O. Prof. Dr. Fuad
Köprülü’nün yazıları için bir Bibliografya 1919– 1934, and Fuad Köprülü Armağanı, pp. XXV– L,
the only possible candidate for identification is Köprülü’s paper ‘Les Origines du Bektachisme’
(1926), Actes, 2, 391 – 411, which, apart from his ‘Bemerkungen zur Religionsgeschichte
Kleinasiens’, is the only relevant work from these years to be published in a western language. In
Braudel’s list of ‘Printed Sources’, the Annuaire du Monde Musulman appears (Mediterranean,
1299), attributed to the French islamologist Louis Massignon and the year 1955: this is yet another
‘Potemkin’ entry – Massignon edited the Annuaire, which appeared intermittently between 1923 and
1930 and again from 1953 to 1955.
45. On Wittek’s historical formulations, see Heywood, ‘“Boundless Dreams of the Levant”’.
46. Wittek, ‘Deux chapitres’; Wittek, ‘De la défaite d’Ankara’.
47. Wittek, Rise of the Ottoman Empire.

48. Köprülü, Origines de l’empire ottoman.
49. Heywood, ‘Wittek and the Austrian Tradition’, 11.
50. Wittek had certainly read Mahomet et Charlemagne soon after its publication (1937). He cites it in the
first footnote (361, n.1) of his ‘Le Sultan de Rûm’, which appeared in the following year.
51. Braudel, ‘Personal Testimony’, 452. Cf. Mediterranean, 1273, where Pirenne’s Les villes du Moyen
Âge and Mahomet et Charlemagne are ‘top of the list’ of ‘Essential Works’ ‘for the general
orientation of the book’.
52. Cf. Braudel’s guarded comments on the subject, ‘Personal Testimony’, 461– 2.
53. Babinger, ‘Sulejman’.
54. Brockelmann, History of the Islamic Peoples.
55. Braudel, Mediterranean, 1188 (but a page later Braudel dates the turning point not to ‘Ilj ‘Ali’s death
in 1587 but to his failure to gain control of Algiers in 1582).
56. Braudel, Mediterranean, 1188, citing what had become by the 1960s one of his favourite late-
sixteenth-century sources (and, significantly, another Rabelaisian cornucopia of a work): Hakluyt,
Principall Navigations 2: 285– 9.
58. Ibid., 1189– 91, drawing in the main on dispatches from the Spanish viceroys in Naples and Sicily
from the Simancas archives. The subject is one which would well repay investigation from the
Ottoman side.
59. Braudel, Mediterranean, 1194– 5. Braudel developed this theme in one of his great ‘canvases’: Part
Two, III, 3 (Mediterranean, 606– 42): ‘Trade and Transport: The Sailing Ships of the Atlantic’.
60. Barkan’s 1950 Turkish-language review, ‘Prof. F. Braudel’ in “La Méditerranée . . . ”’ had been
preceded in 1949 by a French version (‘Une analyse . . . ’). The French version was reissued in
Annales. Economies, Societés, Civilisations five years later (1954), with minor stylistic modifications,
including the omission of several passages in the original directed mainly to Turkish readers, and with
a short laudatory introduction to Barkan – ‘notre ami et collaborateur’ – by Lucien Febvre, as ‘La
“Méditerranée” de Fernand Braudel vue d’Istamboul’. References below will be made to the more
readily accessible 1954 Annales text, with the page of the corresponding passage in the original
indicated within parentheses.
62. Details in the bibliography of Barkan’s work prefaced (xiii – xvii) to Mémorial Ömer Lûtfi Barkan.
63. A contextual critique of the defterologists’ stance can be found in Heywood, ‘Between Historical
Myth and “Mythohistory”’. For a further corrective to Barkan’s and other historians’ optimistic hopes
for the tahrir defters view, see Lowry, ‘Ottoman Tahrir Defterleri’.
64. For Barkan’s hopes in this regard, see his ‘La “Méditerranée”’, passim.
65. Barkan, ‘La “Méditerranée”’, 189 (197).
66. Ibid., 189–90 (197 – 8).
67. Ibid., 190 (199 – 200).
68. On the other hand . . . mention should be made of the short section (1196 – 1204) in Part Three of The
Mediterranean, which is devoted ostensibly to the histoire événementielle of the Habsburg-Ottoman
‘Long War’ in Hungary (1593 – 1606), drawing largely and somewhat surprisingly on the ‘Estado K’
series of Spanish dispatches (Series K are dispatches sent to Philip II by his envoys in France; cf.
Braudel, ‘Personal Testimony’, 451; they were kept in Paris from 1808 to 1943), but furnishing a
compact essay which is stuffed full of valuable insights into Ottoman military practice on and off the
battlefield. Some of this I suspect may have rubbed off on Vernon Parry (see above, p. 166), whose
undergraduate lectures on this period of Ottoman history I still recall as being filled not only with
Welsh hywl, but also with Braudellian overtones, and whose own work on Ottoman military history
underlies that of my former student Caroline Finkel (The Administration of Warfare) and my friend
and colleague Gábor Ágoston (cf. his Guns for the Sultan), and can be discerned in even the most recent
work – for example, that by Günhan Börekçi, ‘A Contribution to the Military Revolution Debate’.
In all of these works we have what Braudel (and Barkan) would have wished for: the full exploitation of
the Turkish archives and literary sources, and scholarship of a standard which brings at least this sub-
field (but what a vital sub-field!) of Ottoman history into the mainstream of European scholarship.
69. Braudel, Civilisation matérielle et capitalisme, XVe – XVIIIe siècle (1967 – 79); English translation,
Capitalism and Material Life (1981 – 84).
70. Cook, Population Pressure. Cf. Bryer and Lowry, Continuity and Change (1986), the proceedings of
a symposium held in 1982, at which the essential validity for historical demography of data derived
from the tahrirs was firmly upheld by Professor Lowry. See above, n.63, for his later re-evaluation.
71. Trevor-Roper, ‘Fernand Braudel, the Annales, and the Mediterranean’, 476– 7.
72. Braudel, ‘L’Empire Turc est-il une économie-monde?’ Cf. volume III, ‘Le Temps du Monde’, of
Braudel’s Civilisation matérielle et capitalisme, which appears in vol. 3, 467– 84 of the English
translation.
73. Braudel, ‘L’Empire Turc’, 39, citing Grenard [Decadence de l’Asie ], 72.
74. Harsgor, ‘Braudel’s Sea Revisited’, 140.
75. Armstrong, ‘Review: Braudel’s Mediterranean’, 634.
76. Braudel, Mediterranean, 823. This passage is also cited by Armstrong, ‘Review: Braudel’s
Mediterranean’, 634.
77. See Gibson, The Black Legend.
78. Braudel, Mediterranean, 658–60.
79. Braudel, ‘L’Empire Turc’, 42 – 3. Braudel’s stance here is extremely debatable and probably cannot be
sustained. It is difficult not to compare Ottoman conservatism in respect of artisanal production and
competition with that of Venice so ably analysed by Richard T. Rapp, ‘Unmaking of the Mediterranean
Trade Hegemony’, and to agree with Halil İnalcık that the ingrained conservatism of the Ottoman state
and its artisanal class effectively blocked any movements in Ottoman society towards industrial
capitalism, despite limited manifestations of a ‘patron capitaliste’ class (‘Quelques remarques’, 239).
Rapp’s judgement, that ‘Plagues, wars, pirates, backward guilds and governing classes were no
strangers to the Mediterranean industrial and commercial scene even before of the challenge of the
northern competitors’ (Rapp, ‘Unmaking of the Mediterranean Trade Hegemony’, 524), rings true, as
does his assertion (ibid.), which is applicable as much to the Ottoman Empire as to Italy, that: ‘The new
factor that put an end to the Mediterranean hegemony and set Italy into decline was the incursion of the
Dutch, French and English, who assumed control of world trade by conquering the established market
[in the Mediterranean] with traditional products and combative marketing practices’.
80. Wittek, ‘The Taking of Aydos Castle’.
81. Mattingly, review of first edition of La Méditerranée.
82. See, beyond Hess’s publications mentioned above, his final statement on the subject, The Forgotten
Frontier.
83. Armstrong, ‘Review: Braudel’s Mediterranean’, 634.
84. Ibid., 633.
85. Braudel, ‘Les Espagnols’, 204.
87. The sheer historic ‘otherness’ of Ottoman history has been a given for most historians of the Middle
East, as it had long been for most Middle Eastern historians ever since the era of Philip Hitti. The
efflorescence of western scholarship on the Arab provinces of the Ottoman Empire during the past
quarter of a century, from the Annales-influenced work on Cairo of André Raymond to a tradition
established within the North American Ottomanist community, in the work of Bruce Masters, Jane
Hathaway and others, is evidence that the times are indeed a-changing.
88. Angold, ‘Review of Franz Babinger, Mehmed the Conqueror and his Time’, 91. I develop this point in
a forthcoming article, ‘Mehmed II and the Historians: The Reception of Babinger’s Mehmed der
Eroberer during Half a Century’, to appear in Turcica 40 (2008).
89. Hess, Forgotten Frontier, 1, 3 –4.
90. For a deeper level of interpretation of the ultra-longue durée problems of race, religion, slavery and
‘the other’ which underlie Braudel’s work, without ever actually surfacing, see the profoundly
Annaliste approach of Benjamin Braude, ‘Cham et Noé. Race, esclavage et exégèse’.
182 C. Heywood
Notes on contributor
Colin Heywood was born and brought up in Hull, where he has again been living since 2002. He was a
student at the School of Oriental and African Studies (London) in the 1950s and 60s, and subsequently
taught in America (UCLA, Michigan, Tufts), followed by twenty-five years at SOAS, until he took early
retirement in 1999. Since then he has served as Visiting Professor at Princeton (2000), Chicago (2005,
2006) and Cyprus (2006 – 7). He is now an Honorary Research Fellow in the Maritime History Research
Centre, University of Hull. He has published many articles on diverse aspects of Ottoman history and, more
recently, on English and Mediterranean maritime history and on the intellectual legacy of Fernand Braudel.
Some of the former have been collected in Writing Ottoman History: Documents and Interpretations
(2002). He is currently editing (for the Hakluyt Society) The Levant Voyage of the Blackham Galley,
1696– 8: The Sea Diary of John Looker, Ship’s Surgeon, and (with Maria Fusaro) After Braudel: The
‘Northern Invasion’ and the Mediterranean Maritime Economy, 1580– 1820, the proceedings of a
workshop held at the University of Exeter in 2007 (I.B. Tauris, 2009).
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10. Braudel, ‘Les Espagnols et l’Afrique du nord’.

22. de Haëdo, Topografı́a e historia general de Argel.

47. Wittek, Rise of the Ottoman Empire.

1593– 1606, 1 vol. plus portfolio. Vienna: VWGO, 1988.

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