by David Brewer
A final possible way of escape from peasant life was, paradoxically, the reviled removal of young Greeks by the devshirme. For the Turkish rulers the devshirme had two objectives, of which the first was to provide officials at the Sultan’s court, even up to the highest rank. A Greek devshirme boy, Ibrahim Pasha, was grand vizier to Suleyman the Magnificent from 1523 to 1536. These outsiders would owe their position, and their continuance in it, solely to the Sultan, and so be more reliably loyal than Turks subject to influence from court factions. It is thought that Mehmed the Conqueror initiated or at least developed the devshirme after increasingly doubting the loyalty of his Turkish grand vizier Halil, doubts that ultimately led to Halil’s execution. From then till the end of Suleyman’s reign the devshirme regularly provided the grand vizier.
The second object of the devshirme was to provide military recruits for the janissaries. Initially their ranks had been filled by captives taken in the Ottoman wars of expansion, in effect slaves. But as expansion slowed, a new source of manpower was needed. Muslim law forbade taking slaves from those under Turkish rule, and the devshirme, offering prospects of advancement, was held not to be enslavement.
Not all the devshirme boys were brought in under compulsion. Sometimes fathers would volunteer a son for enlistment and sometimes a second son was put forward to join the first, perhaps to provide companionship. Indeed it was common, claims one authority, for parents to contrive the selection of their sons.7 According to Martin Crusius, the historian of the patriarchate, many Greeks gave up their children in the hope that, if they were successful, they would be helpful to their original family and community.8 The devshirme was at least a way out from the drudgery of work on the land, and at best could be ‘the path to glory’.
The first destination of the devshirme boys was Constantinople, where their training began: military if they were destined for the janissaries and otherwise according to their abilities. Those who did not know Turkish – probably the majority – had to learn it, and most converted to Islam though in line with the Muslim tolerance towards Christians they were not forced to do so. The most promising were educated for positions at the Sultan’s court, in an intensive course of study that could last up to fourteen years, at special schools in Constantinople and neighbouring Galata, at Bursa and at Edirne. These were large schools; one account from the early 1500s says that there were 300 or 400 pupils at each of the schools in Galata and Edirne. From these and other figures it is estimated that, in the two centuries after the 1453 fall of Constantinople during which a devshirme was regularly conducted, some 200,000 Christian boys from all the Ottoman Balkans were brought into the net.
After those two centuries the devshirme began to fade out. Murad IV (1623–40) suspended it; it was used only spasmodically after that, and ended, as we have seen, in 1705 or soon after. There were a number of reasons for it to be abandoned. Turks increasingly resented the granting of privileged posts to subject peoples: officials wanted the highest positions for themselves or their faction, while janissaries sought, and secured, automatic admission of their sons to their ranks. Furthermore, the devshirme was meeting resistance, not only from the Sultan’s subjects as in the 1705 incident, but also from local Turkish officials and landholders who were unwilling to lose some of their best manpower. The decree of 1666 calling for a devshirme specifically warns that holders of land must ‘refrain from hiding the youths serving under them’ on pain of dismissal and punishment.9
Finally, the devshirme had become expensive, especially if it was resisted. The costs of the 1705 devshirme included expenses of the officials, supplies and rewards for the force of 800 that suppressed the revolt, and the cost of transporting captives, and indeed the severed heads of those executed, to Thessalonika. The total came to 75,000 piastres, which was approximately a year’s tax revenue from a community of about 3,000 people. That was the cost just of getting the boys to Thessalonika; they still had to be transported to Constantinople and equipped and trained when they arrived. All that expense for a mere 50 draftees.
While the devshirme became of increasingly doubtful benefit to the Turkish rulers, it was always a big gamble for the Christian subject. He might, as we have seen, reach the very highest ranks at court, or become a provincial governor, or at least secure a position providing considerable honour and wealth. But as Martin Crusius makes clear, such success was far from guaranteed. On finishing their training at the age of 25 or more, the young men might become lowlier palace servants, perhaps cooks or gardeners, or become craftsmen. The least successful, says Crusius, would roam the streets shouting insults at Christians, especially travellers, and sometimes attack them, and not even Turks dared to confront them.10 Grand vizier or dissolute yob on the streets of Constantinople: the devshirme could lead to either destiny.
5
The Italians in the Aegean
The islands of the Aegean passed by stages from Byzantine to mainly Italian rule, and finally to Turkish rule, over the course of two centuries. Two islands or groups of islands illustrate the Aegean’s varied fortunes during this time.
One is Chíos, close to the western coast of Turkey at about its midpoint. Chíos was taken by the Genoese from the Byzantines in 1346, and Genoese rule ended in 1566. The other is Náxos and the so-called Duchy of Náxos, which comprised today’s Cyclades in the south-west of the Aegean, plus on its eastern fringe Astipália, which is now part of the Dodecanese. These islands were ruled by Venetians and their successors from 1205, in the aftermath of the Fourth Crusade, until becoming vassals of the Sultan in 1538.
Genoa acquired Chíos almost by accident. In 1346 a Genoese fleet was formed by an association of private shareholders, known as a Mahona, to subdue a group of dissident Genoese at Monaco, some 90 miles west of Genoa. This fleet was composed of 29 galleys, and command was given to one of the contributors, Simone Vignoso. His fleet sailed on 24 April 1346, carrying some 6,000 troops.
However, before Vignoso reached Monaco the rebels fled. Rather than disband the fleet the Genoa government sent it on a new mission to the east, officially to protect the Genoese colonies at Phocaea (now Foça) on the Turkish coast, and at Kaffa (now Feodosiya) in the Crimea. Phocaea mined alum, essential for fixing dyes. Kaffa was the marketplace where merchants from north of the Black Sea traded slaves, and was enormously rich. Both Phocaea and Kaffa were well worth protecting. Though protection, not acquisition, was the fleet’s declared aim, Chíos quickly became its objective.
Vignoso arrived at the harbour and main town of Chíos on 15 June 1346 and by sunset the next day the town – except for the main fortress the Kástro – was taken, after the Greeks had resisted fiercely and 500 Genoese had been killed. Within a week the rest of the island was overrun, and in September the starving garrison of the Kástro finally surrendered. The whole island was now in the hands of the Genoese, and governed by Vignoso. In effect, the Mahona and those who held shares in it became the leaseholders and governors of the island while Genoa was the freeholder, a situation that continued until Chíos was occupied by the Turks in 1566.
To the Greeks of Chíos what mattered, rather than the nominal ownership of the island, was the agreement made between themselves and Vignoso, their new governor. This agreement was a generous one. The Greeks swore allegiance to Genoa, and Genoa undertook to defend the island against any aggressor. The Greeks of the town of Chíos retained their property, but if any Genoese wanted to rent or buy a house its value would be determined by two assessors, one Greek and one Genoese. The Greeks also kept any privileges they had held from the Byzantines. These clauses applied only to the Greeks of the main town, and elsewhere the Genoese appropriated productive land and arrogated to themselves monopolies of the island’s main products. But the last clause of the agreement seems to have covered all the inhabitants: that the Greeks were to remain ‘undisturbed in their customs and in the exercise of their faith’.1
However, relations between the Catholic and Orthodox Churches were uneasy. At some po
int in the first two years of Genoese occupation there was a plot to assassinate the members of the Mahona. The conspirators apparently met in a church and a Greek bishop, Makários, was implicated. The plot was betrayed, most of the conspirators were hanged, the Greek bishop was exiled and his bishopric abolished. From then on the head of the Orthodox Church in Chíos was appointed by the Mahona, not by the patriarch of Constantinople. If the plot had succeeded, Makários would have been hailed as the liberator of the Chian Greeks; he is still commemorated annually by a requiem mass in the church where the conspirators met.
The importance of Chíos was twofold, based on its position and its produce. Its position close to the Turkish coast gave it control of the sea route between Alexandria and Constantinople, and for Genoa it provided a base from which to protect its colonies in nearby Phocaea and more distant Kaffa. Most of the island’s products were similar to those of other Aegean islands: grain, wine, olive oil, fruit, vegetables and silk. But its most important product was mastic.
Mastic, still cultivated on the island, is a resin that oozes from small cuts in the bark of the Terebinth lentiscus bush, which flourishes on Chíos. Mastic was used as a sort of chewing gum by wealthy ladies, who derived ‘from that practice as much gratification as their male relations enjoy by inhaling the fumes of tobacco’.2 Gentle reader, don’t try chewing it expecting the same gratification, but enjoy it as a flavouring for ouzo.
Mastic was one of the monopolies that the Genoese established for themselves, along with alum from nearby Phocaea, pitch (used for caulking ships) and salt. The amount of mastic gathered was strictly limited to keep the price high, but even so twenty tons were produced on average each year. Most of it was exported to parts of the Ottoman Empire, but nearly a quarter went to western Europe. These valuable cargoes were targets for pirates, and some sellers of mastic had to guarantee the buyer against loss in transit from whatever cause. The tariff of penalties for stealing mastic on Chíos was severe and increased with the quantity stolen. For theft of one to ten pounds the punishment was the loss of an ear, and it rose, with the addition of branding and the loss of other organs, to hanging for theft of over 200 pounds.
The terms of the initial agreement between Genoa and the Greeks of Chíos had been benign, and Simone Vignoso, first governor of Chíos, had ruled justly. But after his time the situation deteriorated. In 1396 Genoa accepted as its overlord the King of France, hoping to secure a powerful ally against attacks on itself or its overseas possessions. The new French governor of Genoa was the energetic Marshal Boucicaut, who quickly turned his attention to Chíos. From reports of commissioners sent to the island he learned that corruption was rife. Offices were sold by auction, illegal taxes were levied, the Greeks were ill-treated by Genoese sailors and their privileges were not respected, the main fortress was not properly garrisoned and its moat was a rubbish dump. Boucicaut sent firm instructions to the Mahona-appointed governor of Chíos to reform these abuses and to penalise heavily any who failed to comply.
The representatives of the Mahona, who had hitherto had little supervision from distant Genoa, reacted high-handedly. They declared that the present French government of Genoa was a different body from the one with which they had made the original agreement over Chíos. Therefore, whatever in that agreement benefited Genoa was null and void, but anything that favoured the Mahona remained in force. Just before Christmas in 1408 they rose in revolt and seized the fortress. Boucicaut sent against the rebels a fleet from Genoa, which in the following summer of 1409, after meeting fierce resistance, took over the island in the name of Genoa, and many of the prominent Greeks who had supported the Mahona were sent into exile. But this success was short lived. Only two months later Genoa rejected French overlordship, Boucicaut lost his office, and the Mahona once again ruled Chíos. But abuses had been recognised and largely curbed, and Greek privileges granted in the original agreement were respected throughout the rest of the Genoese occupation.
In the social hierarchy of the Greeks of Chíos the lowest grade and the most numerous was of those who worked on the land. They had many obligations to provide labour and pay taxes, but few rights except the overall protection of Genoese law. Next above them in the social scale were the small traders and shopkeepers. Though most of these were Genoese immigrants some were Greeks, working as blacksmiths, spice merchants, druggists, bakers, butchers, caulkers, masons or shipwrights.
The Greeks of the highest status belonged to two groups: the Greek nobility, who under the original 1346 agreement with the Genoese kept the privileges they had enjoyed under Byzantium, and the property owners of Chíos town, called burgenses or burghers, which included those who ran the island’s import and export trade. These burghers, who included Genoese as well as Greeks, had collective rather than individual rights: to be consulted by the governor on changes in the law or in taxation, and to appoint members of the tribunal that heard complaints against the governor. The nobility and the burghers overlapped: some Greek burghers were of the nobility, and some of the nobility owned property in Chíos town. At the top of the social hierarchy were the Genoese members of the Mahona that ruled the island. The number of shareholders in the Mahona grew, by successive subdivisions of the shares, from the original dozen to over 900, and their blood relations and relations by marriage enjoyed the same privileges. Not all Mahona members lived on Chíos, but enough did so to form the dominant social group.
In the course of the fifteenth century the position of Chíos as a Genoese outpost became increasingly precarious. In November 1431 the Venetians tried to seize the island, sending a fleet of 29 ships carrying 1,400 troops. The defenders, 700 Genoese and 300 Greeks, resisted fiercely, and managed to hold the fortress in Chíos town. The Venetians were able only to devastate the mastic plantations and the orange groves, and in the following January – only ten weeks after arriving – the Venetians left.
But the main threat to Chíos came from the Turks. In the hope of averting it Chíos agreed sometime around the year 1415 to pay tribute to them, in return for which the Sultan would ‘defend them from their enemies and provide them with grain and food supplies if they should need them’.3 The tribute, initially under 6,000 ducats, was progressively raised until 40 years later it was settled at 10,000 ducats – still a small price to pay for protection. When Constantinople fell to the Turks in 1453 the Genoese colony of Galata north of the Golden Horn also came under Turkish rule. The two other Genoese colonies fell to the Turks soon afterwards: Phocaea with its alum mines in 1456 and Kaffa in the Crimea in 1475. Chíos was now an isolated Genoese outpost.
In the following years Chíos was regularly late in paying the tribute to the Turks, probably because, due to maladministration, tax revenues were not reaching the treasury. The tribute of 10,000 ducats was not excessive – less than the value of a year’s mastic crop when prices were low, and far less when they were high. In 1536 an envoy of the Sultan came to Chíos to demand three years’ arrears of tribute, and by panic measures the money was raised. The final dénouement came 30 years later, at Easter 1566 when the kapitan pasha Piali, the Sultan’s son-in-law, arrived at Chíos with a fleet of some 80 ships carrying 7,000 troops. He had come to demand the tribute, which was again in arrears.
An account of the fall of Chíos to the Turks was written by the son of the last Chíos governor. According to this, Piali was at first polite and genial, saying that he wanted only to visit the famous gardens of Chíos, and would delay landing so as not to disturb the Easter celebrations. But when the Chíos governor and his colleagues met Piali on his flagship the tone abruptly changed. Piali berated them for not paying the tribute, as well as for sheltering slaves escaped from Turkish galleys and for harbouring pirates from Italy, both of which accusations were probably true. He concluded: ‘It is just, therefore, that you should be punished according to your deserts; that is as traitors, rebels and people disobedient to their Sovereign Lord.’4 This threat was carried out not by force but by a fairly transparent stratag
em. Piali told the Chíos governor that he wanted to buy cloth for uniforms and canvas for sails, and to do so some 10,000 of his men, both troops and sailors, went ashore – clearly more than were needed for a shopping expedition. At a prearranged signal they occupied the fortress without opposition, and raised the Turkish flag. It had taken Piali only two days to end two centuries of Genoese rule.
The members of the Mahona were ordered to leave for exile in the former Genoese colony of Kaffa, but were allowed to buy freedom to remain for 1,000 ducats. They found the money by selling their property to the Turks at bargain prices. Eighteen young boys were sent to the Sultan’s seraglio and, according to one of those accounts which has so inflamed hatred of the Turks, were forcibly circumcised, pressured and tortured to become Muslims, and for the most part died refusing.
