1 Dear workshop participants, This paper represents a first attempt

Dear workshop participants,
This paper represents a first attempt at examining what are for me a set of rather new
research questions. It is also an initial stab at a methodology or theoretical position
that could help develop a future project, about which I will be happy to speculate
more during the workshop itself.
As such, I ask your indulgence for its many flaws, as well as for my poor English. I
thank you in advance for your feedback and look forward to your help in developing
it further.
MG
1
Their Masters' Voices?
Muslim envoys and interpreters of "Oriental languages"
(France, c.1610-c.1780)
“The other project was a scheme for entirely abolishing all words whatsoever; and
this was urged as a great advantage in point of health, as well as brevity. For it is
plain, that every word we speak is, in some degree, a diminution of our lunge by
corrosion, and, consequently, contributes to the shortening of our lives. An expedient
was therefore offered, "that since words are only names for things, it would be more
convenient for all men to carry about them such things as were necessary to express a
particular business they are to discourse on." […] Another great advantage proposed
by this invention was that it would serve as a universal language, to be understood in
all civilised nations, whose goods and utensils are generally of the same kind, or
nearly resembling, so that their uses might easily be comprehended. And thus
ambassadors would be qualified to treat with foreign princes, or ministers of state, to
whose tongues they were utter strangers.”
Jonathan Swift, Gulliver’s Travels (1726), Part III, Chap. 5
Writing from his retreat in the Swiss village of Môtiers to his patron Madame de
Luze in 1762, Jean-Jacques Rousseau asked her to order for him five ells of Indienne
cloth. Displaying an uncharacteristically cheerful mood throughout his letter,
Rousseau planned to have the lilac cloth tailored into a kaftan, adding:
“in a nice lilac kaftan, I will look like a handsome boy from Tiflis or Erevan, and
I guess that shall suit me very well. It is a pity that I am in no capacity to dazzle you
with my Armenian splendor (ma magnificence arménienne), and to pay you the
homage of my finery. It is also a shame that with such a beautiful display, I am not one
of those who can offer you – nor you one of those who can receive – the Salamalec
from Lyons (le Salamalec lyonnais).”1
Rousseau’s taste for “Oriental” costume has received attention from both
literary scholars and historians.2 Yet, no mention is ever made of the last, odd and
obscure, reference to the Salamalec lyonnais. Chances are, however, that both this
mention and Rousseau’s cheerful tone resulted from one of the author’s recent reads:
Le Salamalec lyonnais is indeed the title of a small tale in verse, published in the very
same year 1762 in a collection of short stories attributed to the great French fabulist
1
Rousseau to Madame de Luze, 25 September 1762, in Correspondance complète de Jean-Jacques
Rousseau, edited by R.A. Leigh, Geneva: Institut et Musée Voltaire, 1969, 13: 111.
2
See for instance Yolande CROWE, “Le manteau arménien de J.-J. Rousseau,” in Between Paris and
Fresno: Armenian Studies in Honor of Dickran Kouymjian, ed. Barlow Der Mugrdechian, Costa Mesa
(Cal.): Mazda Publishers, 2008, p. 155-76. On May 2 to 4, 2012, an International Conference on
Rousseau et la Turquie / Rousseau ve Türkiye will be held at the French school “Notre Dame de Sion”,
in Istanbul. One of the six panels of this event will be dedicated to “Le manteau dit ‘arménien’ de JeanJacques Rousseau: turquerie vestimentaire ou posture intellectuelle ?,” featuring two papers by the
curator of the Rousseau Museum of Môtiers (Roland Kaehr), and a professor of French at Boston
College (Ourida Mostefai), as well as the screening of a 52’ documentary titled “Le manteau arménien
de Jean-Jacques Rousseau” (director Patrick Cazals, Les Films du Horla, 2012).
2
Jean de La Fontaine (1621-1695).3 La Fontaine’s authorship of many of these (mostly
erotic or licentious) stories however remains highly dubious, and the tale itself has
followed its own trajectory, as it was added to the collected works of a host of 17th
and 18th centuries minor French authors – Gilles Ménage (1613-1692), Bernard de La
Monnoye (1641-1728), Jean-Baptiste Rousseau (1670-1741), Jean-Baptiste-Joseph
Willart de Grécourt (1683-1743), and Alexis Piron (1689-1773).4
Le Salamalec lyonnais (see Annex 1) recounts an event that supposedly took
place in the city of Lyons, in east-central France, in the year 1660. As the Ottoman
envoy to the French king stopped in Lyons on his way to Paris, local officials looked
for the most appropriate way to honor their guest. The choice was made to present the
envoy with a reception discourse (un compliment) “in Ottoman language” or “in the
Muslim tongue” [sic]. As they looked for someone who could carry out a task that
required a rare knowledge of Turkish, a man came forward, introducing himself under
the hybrid name of “François Sélim”, and claiming to be a former Muslim who had
converted to Christianity. Boasting a thorough knowledge of Ottoman mores and
customs, the man gave the city officials one order only: however “burlesque” or
“mysterious” his postures and gestures might have looked, they were to imitate him
scrupulously in everything he would do. Of course, the commandment was to be
followed well beyond its author’s intention. François Sélim was no charlatan, and the
Ottoman envoy expressed his amazement at seeing “a Christian [who] spoke Turkish
like a book”. Informed of the interpreter’s conversion, the envoy refused to believe
that anyone could possibly turn his back to the True Faith. Declaring Sélim a liar, he
challenged him to display the “very precise sign” of his circumcision. But as Sélim
complied with the injunction, the city officials, “following their guide, imitating his
posture / Promptly gathered to pay their homage / Each one of them according to the
talent, small or large / that Nature had bestowed upon him.” For good measure, the
tale ends with the Ottoman ambassador fleeing “in fear of worse”, and the ladies of
Lyons expressing their satisfaction at the ceremony,
“so that today none of them cares to see an ambassador, if he’s not coming from
Turkey”
(Et telle fut leur jubilation, / Que maintenant nulle ne se soucie / De voir, après
cette réception, / Ambassadeur, s’il ne vient de Turquie).
Despite its grotesque and satirical overtone (and, in retrospect, the racy nature
of Rousseau’s allusion!), the tale points to three directions along which I would like to
articulate my study of interpreters of “Oriental languages” at the service of Muslim
ambassadors to 17th- and 18th-century France. A first theme is the circulation of
“Oriental” envoys and diplomats in early modern Europe, and especially in inland
3
Jean de LA FONTAINE, Contes et nouvelles en vers, Amsterdam: “aux dépens de la Compagnie”,
1762, 3: 261-4.
4
Ménagiana, Ou les bons mots et remarques critiques, historiques, morales et d’érudition, de
Monsieur Ménage, recueillies par ses amis, Paris: “chez la Veuve Delaulne”, 1729, 3: 254-6 (the
volume was edited by La Monnoye…); Œuvres choisies de Monsieur de La Monnoye, Dijon: François
Des Ventes, 1769, 1: 429-31; Contes inédits de J.-B. Rousseau, Brussels: Gay et Doucé, 1881, p. 32-5;
Œuvres diverses de Monsieur de Grécourt, Amsterdam: Arkstéee & Merkus, 1772, 1: 258-9; Recueil
de poésies ou œuvres diverses de M. Piron, Lausanne: s.n., 1773, p. 160-2. On the problem of
authorship and authenticity of these compilations, see Gustave L. VAN ROOSBROECK, “Poems
erroneously attributed to Chapelain, Corneille, J.-B. Rousseau, La Fontaine, etc.,” Neophilologus 11, 1
(1926): 8-15, who briefly mentions (p. 13) the Salamalec lyonnais, only to cast doubt on its attribution
to either La Monnoye and J.-B. Rousseau.
3
regions distant from both royal courts and port-cities – namely the two zones that
have so far drawn most of the scholarly attention devoted to Christian/Muslim
encounters. Lyons is a case in point: midway from the port of Toulon and the French
capital, it stood as one of the main stages of the long and exhausting trip to Paris
across Provence, the Rhone Valley, and the Burgundy region.5 For instance, we know
that the Ottoman envoy Müteferrika Suleiman Aga and his retinue were received in
Lyons in 1669 – an episode that might have inspired the tale of the Salamalec
lyonnais, just as the whole embassy inspired a much finer piece of literature, namely
Molière’s Bourgeois Gentilhomme (1670).6 While these literary offspring testify for
the growing “domestication” of foreign and exotic cultures in early modern Europe,7
they also mirror a world of social interactions that have so far remained largely
underexplored. Taking on this observation, I intend to focus here on the social
dimension of diplomacy as “an experience of the other”.8 As we know, the reception
of foreign ambassadors and representatives followed strict codes, while leaving space
for all forms of social interactions – from casual encounters to informal talks, and
even romance. By charting some of those daily interactions in the context of 17th- and
18th-century Muslim missions to France, I intend to challenge the monolithic picture
of “cross-cultural” exchanges as happening between two discrete cultural entities.
Finally, the third theme of this paper is the question of linguistic interactions, and of
both the practices at work, and the strategies at stake, in bridging the linguistic divide.
While in the 17th and 18th centuries, several memorialists, diarists, and
occasional witnesses recorded the flying visit or the lengthy stay of “Oriental” envoys
in cities allover France, evidence is often too fragmentary to offer an in-depth view on
many of the practical aspects of these encounters. I have therefore chosen to focus on
a limited number of cases, that are more substantially documented, thanks to the
existence of specific accounts, correspondence, and other reports. The five cases that
shall form the bulk of the material analyzed here, span over a little more than one
century and half, from 1611 to 1777:
- the 1611 Moroccan mission lead by Ahmad ben Qasim al-Hajari.
- the 1669 Ottoman embassy lead by Müteferrika Suleiman Aga.
- the 1699 Moroccan embassy lead by Abdallah bin Aisha.
- the 1743 Tunisian embassy lead by Ali Aga and Mehmet Hoja.
- the 1777 Tunisian embassy lead by Suleiman Aga.
5
Time estimates of this trip range from a couple of weeks to several months, as each embassy followed
its own pace: calling at Toulon in mid-August 1669, the Ottoman envoy Müteferrika Suleiman Aga
arrived in Paris by the end of October; the 1743 Tunisian mission left Toulon on April 15, to reach
Paris on May 4; in 1777, Suleiman Aga and his retinue covered the same distance in exactly two
weeks, from February 15 to 18.
6
On the Ottoman envoy’s stay in Lyon, see Jean ROUSSET DE MISSY, Le Cérémonial diplomatique des
cours de l’Europe, Amsterdam and The Hague: Janssons et alii, 1739, p. 100. On the many cultural and
literary outcomes of the 1669 embassy to Paris, see Mary HOSSAIN, “The Employment and Training of
Interpreters in Arabic and Turkish under Louis XIV: France,” Seventeenth-Century French Studies 14
(1992): 235-46, here p. 236-7; Clarence Dana ROUILLARD, “The Background of the Turkish Ceremony
in Molière’s Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme,” University of Toronto Quarterly 39 (1969-70): 35-52; Adile
AYDA, “Molière et l’envoyé de la Sublime Porte,” Cahiers de l’Association internationale des études
françaises 9 (1957): 103-16.
7
For valuable insights on this issue, see Michèle LONGINO, Orientalism in French Classical Drama,
Cambridge (Mass.): Cambridge U.P., 2002; Karla MALLETTE, European Modernity and the Arab
Mediterranean: Toward a New Philology and a Counter-Orientalism, Philadelphia (Penn.): University
of Pennsylvania Press, 2010.
8
I borrow this expression from the title of Christian WINDLER’s seminal study, La diplomatie comme
expérience de l’autre: Consuls français au Maghreb (1700-1840), Geneva: Droz, 2002.
4
Unsurprisingly, the material documenting this selection varies greatly, both in
nature, content, and size, from one case to the other. While the 1611 mission is mostly
known thanks to the report written by al-Hajari himself,9 Müteferrika Suleiman Aga’s
embassy attracted enough attention to find a broad echo in the French Gazette.10 In
turn, the edition by historian Nabil Matar of a small portion of bin Aisha’s private
correspondence allows us to catch an insider’s glimpse of the Moroccan ambassador’s
sociability.11 Finally, the two Tunisian missions of 1743 and 1777 are documented
through the accounts of the two French royal interpreters of “Oriental languages” who
were taken into the ambassador’s service – namely respectively Jean-Baptiste Hélin
de Fiennes, Jr., and Pierre-Jean-Marie Ruffin.12
Of course, this selection in turn leaves open a number of questions – first among
them that of “Muslim embassies” as an historiographical construct, possibly devoid of
any specific feature that would allow us to distinguish between those missions and,
say, English, Russian or Siamese ones.13 Due to the impossibility of managing such a
wealth of information, I have chosen to focus on the 1668 Russian embassy lead by
Petr Ivanovic Potemkin: first, because this mission is well-documented thanks to the
journal of Nicolas François Parisot de Saint-Laurent, a tutor of the scions of the
French royal family.14 Second, because of the mission’s chronological proximity to
the Ottoman embassy on the following year, a proximity which already at the time
drew comments and comparisons that testify for what we might call an unexceptional-ness of Muslim embassies in the eye of early modern French
commentators.
Muslim embassies in early modern Europe: a bird-eye’s view
To be sure, the still recent shift from an (almost) exclusively political to a
mostly cultural history of early modern diplomacy has opened new and fertile venues
of investigation.15 This is even more so in the case of Muslim missions to Europe,
9
Ahmad ibn Qasim AL-HAJARI, Kitâb nâsir al-dîn alâ l-qawm al-kâfirîn / The Supporter of Religion
against the Infidels, edited by Pieter Sjoerd van Koningsveld, Qâsim al-Sammarai, and Gerard A.
Wiegers, Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 1997.
10
The Gazette issues dealing with the 1669 embassy have been compiled by historian David
Chataignier, and published on the website of the research team “Molière 21” of the University Paris 4:
http://moliere.paris-sorbonne.fr/base.php?L%27ambassade_de_S%C3%BCleyman_A%C4%9Fa_%28
Soliman_Aga%29_dans_la_Gazette_de_l%27ann%C3%A9e_1669
11
Nabil MATAR, In the Lands of the Christians: Arabic Travel Writing in the Seventeenth Century,
New York and London: Routledge, 2003, p. 197-214.
12
Jean-Baptiste Hélin de FIENNES (fils), Une mission tunisienne à Paris en 1743, edited by Pierre
Grandchamp, Tunis: J. Aloccio, 1931; Pierre-Jean-Marie RUFFIN, Journal de l’ambassade de Suleiman
Aga à la cour de France (janvier-mai 1777), edited by Marthe Conor and Pierre Grandchamp, Tunis:
Imprimerie Rapide, 1917. On Fiennes and Ruffin, see the biographical notes by Frédéric HITZEL in the
authoritative Dictionnaire des orientalistes de langue française, ed. François Pouillon, Paris: Karthala,
2008, p. 388 and 850.
13
It should indeed be recalled here that two Siamese embassies reached Paris, in 1684 and 1686,
drawing considerable public attention, and leading Louis XIV to reciprocate with two embassies to
Siam, in 1685 and 1687. See Ina BAGHDIANTZ MCCABE, Orientalism in Early Modern France:
Eurasian Trade, Exoticism, and the Ancien Régime, Oxford and New York: Berg, 2008, p. 125-8 and
257-9.
14
Nicolas François Parisot de SAINT-LAURENT, Journal inédit de l’ambassade de Pierre Potemkin en
France pendant l’année 1668, Paris: Librairie des Bibliophiles, 1872.
15
See for instance Christian WINDLER, “Diplomatic History as a Field for Cultural Analysis: MuslimChristian Relations in Tunis, 1700-1840,” The Historical Journal 44, 1 (2001): 79-106.
5
which historical importance has been consistently overlooked by Western historians –
just as practically all evidences of a Muslim presence in early modern Europe have
long been deemed negligible.16 The reasons for such neglect are many, and possibly
run deep into the collective psyche of both scholars and their readers. In an effort to
think through this silence, historian Nabil Matar famously claimed that traditional
representations of “the Muslim world” in terms of backwardness and inwardness have
long made Western historians blind to even the most blatant historical evidence of the
contrary. 17 In turn, the interest paid to diplomacy by a certain “colonialist”
historiography in the first half of the 20th century, might account for the discomfort
felt by many of today’s historians while facing this complex legacy.18 In the absence
of systematic and comprehensive studies of Muslim/Christian diplomacy in the early
modern period, one can justly regret the fragmentary nature of the field.
Quite tellingly, however, the interest for the history of Christian/Muslim
diplomatic exchanges is not new. In the personal papers of the French 19th-century
writer and historian Edouard Fournier (1819-1880), we find a list of some 29
“Oriental princes and ambassadors” who came to France from the 9th to the 19th
century.19 Spanning over the course of a millennium, the list records a wide range of
visitors, from the half-mythical embassy sent by Abbasid Caliph Harun al-Rashid to
Charlemagne, Emperor of the Romans, until the more recent Persian embassies to
Napoléon (1808) and Louis XVIII (1819). Yet, and despite this long-standing interest
in the issue, today’s historians still lack basic information. For instance, and aside
from a handful of well-documented cases, most of them from the 18th and 19th
centuries, we do not have a comprehensive and precise chronology of the different
missions sent by the Ottoman Empire, the so-called “Barbary States” (Algiers, Tunis
and Tripoli), Morocco, and Persia, to Europe in the early modern period. To be sure,
this is partly due to the very elusiveness of the object itself (cf. infra). But even a
rapid attempt to collate the scattered and fragmented evidence at our disposal,
indicates that Muslim missions to early modern France were a common and fairly
regular phenomenon, which both testified and accounted for the vitality of exchanges
and contacts across the Mediterranean.
A first – and most likely incomplete – count of the Muslim missions that were
received at the French court between 1581 to 1825, leads to an estimate of 29. I shall
insist here that this is only a rough estimate, based on my compilation of scattered
evidence, and likely to be increased by as much as 50 %. Similarly, my choice to
consider only those embassies that were granted an audience with the king has lead
me to leave out a number of missions that either never reached the French capital,20
went past it on their way to another destination, 21 or were eventually denied
16
Jocelyne Dakhlia and Bernard Vincent (eds.), Les Musulmans en Europe au Moyen Age et à
l’époque moderne, vol. 1, Une intégration invisible, Paris: Albin Michel, 2011, especially p. 7-29.
17
MATAR, In the Lands of the Christians…, op. cit., p. xiii-xiv.
18
See for instance Salvatore BONO, Un altro Mediterraneo: Una storia comune tra scontri e
integrazioni, Rome: Salerno Editrice, 2008.
19
Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal (Paris), Mss. 7124, Notes et papiers d'Edouard Fournier (1819-1880),
tome XXI, f. 22v, “Princes et ambassadeurs orientaux à Paris”. This list mainly consists of a collection
of quotes and references that Fournier gathered from his readings.
20
The most famous of such cases may be that of the 1620 Algerian mission to France, whose 46
members were slaughtered in Marseilles. On this episode, see MATAR, In the Lands of the
Christians…, op. cit., p. xxviii; Henri-Delmas DE GRAMMONT, Histoire du massacre des Turcs à
Marseille en 1620, Paris and Bordeaux: Honoré Champion and Charles Lefevbre, 1879.
21
This is for instance the case of the Ottoman embassy to The Hague that stayed in Paris for a week in
the summer of 1788. See Archives du Ministère français des Affaires Etrangères [A.M.A.E.], Contrôle
6
permission to present themselves to the royal court.22 In any case, and while raw
numbers may well be of little help to comprehend such a complex and plural
phenomenon, they indicate an “order of magnitude”, which in turn points to two basic
observations: first, their very frequency makes Muslim embassies a reality that can
hardly be dismissed as “unimportant” or “marginal”. Second, these figures are only
indicative of a broader set of exchanges involving French embassies to the Ottoman
Empire, the “Barbary States”, Morocco, and Persia. In this perspective, Muslim
missions to France might usefully be described as a number of links in a larger chain
of virtually never-ending mechanisms of reciprocity and obligation.23 Yet, one also
needs to account for patterns of asymmetry behind this somewhat homogenous
picture of Christian/Muslim relations. For instance, all Muslim polities did not
contribute to the same extent to this diplomatic activity: out of my sample of 29
missions, 10 came from the Ottoman Empire, 6 from Morocco, 6 from Tunis, 3 from
Persia, 2 from Algiers, and 2 from Tripoli (see Annex 2). Although significant, the
share of the Ottoman Empire in the Muslim diplomatic activity to France was
therefore proportionally less important than in the case of its direct neighbor the
Habsburg Empire.24 Likewise, the geographic distribution of embassies across Europe
also shows large discrepancies among “receiving countries”: while France remained
by far the most common destination, Italy, England, Spain, the Netherlands and the
Habsburg Empire also welcomed a significant number of embassies. Somewhat more
surprisingly, smaller and more remote European countries like such as Sweden and
Denmark also received embassies – most often jointly, as in the case of the two
missions sent to both countries by Tripoli in 1772 and 1779-80.
Many different motives prompted Muslim rulers to send embassies to Europe,
ranging from the enforcement of bilateral peace treatises and trade agreements, to the
voicing of complaints over piracy or arbitrary sequestration. More original purposes
included al-Hajari’s 1611 mission in favor of Morisco refugees in Southwestern
France, as well as some occasional intelligence – a theme that met popularized across
Europe by the so-called memoirs of a “Turkish spy” in Paris.25 Finally, a number of
embassies were sent under the pretext of princely events, such as a coronation, a birth,
and even a circumcision.26 In 1825, the two satirists Auguste Barthélemy (1796-1867)
and Joseph Méry (1798-1866) would wryly note:
des étrangers au XVIIIe siècle, 1771-1791, vol. 69, Surveillance des étrangers et du corps
diplomatique: enquêtes nominatives, janvier-mars 1788, f. 2, 4 July 1788.
22
See for instance the Algerian embassy of 1690, which waited in Paris for 6 month before the envoy’s
request to be received at Versailles was refused. In 1781, the Moroccan embassy led by Ali Peres in
turn failed to be recognized by Louis XVI, because it had not been properly accredited by the French
Consul in Morocco, and that the title of the French king had not been properly rendered.
23
This suggestion of course owes a lot to Bourdieu’s seminal observations on the binding nature of
reciprocation; Pierre BOURDIEU, Esquisse d’une théorie de la pratique, Geneva: Droz, 1972 (Engl.
trans., Cambridge and New York: Cambridge U.P., 1977)
24
See for instance David DO PAÇO, “Invisibles dans la banalité et le mépris. Les Musulmans à Vienne
des années 1660 à la fin du XVIIIe siècle,” in Les Musulmans en Europe au Moyen Age et à l’époque
moderne, vol. 1, Une intégration invisible, eds. Jocelyne Dakhlia and Bernard Vincent, Paris: Albin
Michel, 2011, p. 56-80, here p. 70: “Les ambassades musulmanes à Vienne sont avant tout des
ambassades ottomanes”.
25
Guy LE THIEC, “L’Œil des Infidèles: Marana et la fiction de l’espion ottoman,” in Ambassadeurs,
apprentis espions et maîtres comploteurs: Les systèmes de renseignement en Espagne à l’époque
moderne, ed. Béatrice Perez, Paris: Presses de l’Université Paris-Sorbonne, 2010, p. 417-35.
26
For instance, one of the two Ottoman embassies that reached Paris in 1581 was in charge of inviting
king Henri III to the circumcision of sultan Murad’s son Mehmed; Frédéric HITZEL, “Réflexions
juridiques et historiques sur le voyage des Ottomans en terre infidèle,” in Le Voyage dans le monde
7
“a coronation is not complete in the absence of a Turkish ambassador”
(Un Sacre n’est pas complet sans ambassadeur turc).27
The variety of motives behind these missions invites for a further questioning of
the very notions of “embassy” and “ambassador”. To be sure, this is an endless
question, which already kept busy those in charge of the diplomatic protocol in 17th
and 18th century France. For instance, Müteferrika Suleiman Aga’s quality became a
topic of heated discussion and zealous inquiries from the very day he called at
Toulon. As he welcomed him in Paris, the French Minister of Foreign Affairs Hugues
de Lionne (1611-1671) declared:
“The king summoned me to treat with you, whether you are an ambassador, or
only an envoy, in the same way the principal ministers of your Emperor use with our
ambassadors and envoys. […] I must also declare that I do not know if, while your
letters of introduction will bear the word “Elchi” [Elči], meaning ambassador, my
master the emperor will receive you as such, unless you bring to him presents, as he
has sent to your master through his ambassadors.”28
The reluctance shown by French officials to treat Müteferrika Suleiman Aga
according to his supposed status provoked both anxiety and resentment among the
envoy’s retinue, and loomed large on the eventual failure of the whole mission.
Finally, a last problem that emerges while trying to address from a general
perspective the question of Christian/Muslim diplomacy has to do with the
terminology involved, and more specifically with the use of the label “Muslim”
applying to missions from both the Ottoman Empire, the Barbary States, and Persia.
While these powers all recognized Islam as their religion, it might be useful to recall
not only the differences between Ottoman, Persian, and Arab forms of Islam, but also
the diverse social and religious outlook of “Islamicate” societies in the early modern
period.29 While the participation of Muslims to the diplomatic missions should not be
overlooked, we know that a number of those missions were also entrusted to Christian
or Jewish subjects – suffice it to recall the role played by the Jew Samuel Pallache
and the Morisco Ahmad ben Qasim al-Hajari as Moroccan envoys to France and the
Netherlands in the early 16th century.30 Finally, we should also be reminded of the
role played by conversion to Islam in the (often rapid) integration of the non-Muslim
subjects to the higher echelons of Muslim states. Heading the Algerian embassy to
arabo-musulman: échange et modernité, eds. Abderrahmane El Moudden and Abd al-Rahim
Benhadda, Rabat: Faculté des Lettres, 2003, p. 13-34, here p. 22.
27
Auguste BARTHÉLEMY and Joseph MÉRY, Sidiennes: Epîtres-satires sur le dix-neuvième siècle,
Paris: “chez les Marchands de Nouveautés”, 1825; republished in Œuvres de Barthélemy et Méry, 3rd
ed., Paris: A.-J. Denain and Perrotin, 1831, 1: 1-65, here p. 3.
28
La Gazette, n. 139, 23 November 1669, p. 1125-8, “Relation de l’audience donnée par le Sieur de
Lyonne, à Soliman Musta-Féraga [Müteferrika Suleiman Aga], Envoyé au Roi, par l’Empereur des
Turcs, le Mardi 19 Novembre 1669, à Suresnes”. On the question of terminology, see Bernard LEWIS,
“Elči”, in Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition, 1991, Leiden: Brill, 2: 694, col. 1.
29
I follow here the definition of “Islamicate” coined by Marshall HODGSON, The Venture of Islam:
Conscience and History in a World Civilization, Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1974, 1:
59: “"Islamicate" would refer not directly to the religion, Islam, itself, but to the social and cultural
complex historically associated with Islam and the Muslims, both among Muslims themselves and even
when found among non-Muslims.”
30
On Pallache, see Mercedes GARCÍA-ARENAL and WIEGERS Gerard, A Man of Three Worlds: Samuel
Pallache, a Moroccan Jew in Catholic and Protestant Europe, trans. Martin Beagles, Baltimore: Johns
Hopkins U.P., 2003.
8
Vienna in 1758, Hagi Demetrio Marcacchi was a Greek who had converted to Islam,
and had just been appointed as the representative (whether “consul” or “agent”,
depending on the sources) of Algiers to Livorno.31
Strangers in the city? Muslim envoys and the logics of “otherness”
The recent emphasis on diplomacy as both a locus and a vector of cross-cultural
exchanges has allowed for a better and finer understanding of how concepts of
“otherness” were articulated and negotiated in the early modern period. 32 While
taking on board these valuable insights, I would like to offer a rather different view on
Muslim missions to Europe, by focusing on some practical aspects of diplomatic
contacts. I should start here with a very basic observation: Christian/Muslim
diplomatic exchanges did not happen in a social vacuum, but rather formed an
important part of an ongoing process of cross-cultural interactions that both
elaborated on past experiences, and laid the ground for future contacts. The lavish
receptions thrown in honor of some Muslim envoys certainly captured the attention of
all viewers, commoners and courtiers alike; yet, those manifestations should also be
recast against the backdrop of a more common, everyday presence and circulation of
“Orientals” in most of the major European metropolises.
For all its satire and mockery, Le Salamalec lyonnais did not ridicule the very
possibility of finding a Muslim convert in a far inland and rather provincial city like
17th-century Lyons. Indeed, the mention of the year 1660 might itself indicate that the
story originally conflated references to two different, actual historical anecdotes. As
mentioned earlier, the first reference is most likely to the stay, in 1669, of the
Ottoman ambassador Müteferrika Suleiman Aga, then on his way to Paris. But the
story of the Muslim convert might in turn refer to an earlier anecdote, which took
place precisely in 1660: namely, the official permission granted by the local
authorities to the famous Jesuit heraldist Claude-François Ménestrier, to become the
godfather of “a Turk from Algiers named Aly”, whom he had converted to
Catholicism two years earlier.33 Heavily publicized by both the municipality and the
Society of Jesus, the case had drawn public attention on the presence, in Lyons, of a
number of foreigners of all origins and walks of life. By staging François Sélim as a
simple innkeeper (Notez qu’alors tenait auberge illec), the tale therefore offers a
fairly credible picture of this modest “Oriental” presence – one almost invisible for
today’s historians, yet in plain sight for most of the city-dwellers at the time.
31
On the 1758 embassy to Vienna, see DO PAÇO, “Invisibles dans la banalité et le mépris,” op. cit., p.
71. On Marcacchi’s career in Livorno, see Calogero PIAZZA, “L'agente di Algeri a Livorno (17581765),” Annali della Facoltà di Scienze Politiche dell'Università di Cagliari 9 (1983): 475-512.
32
To remain within the realm of Muslim diplomacy in Europe, see Stéphane YERASIMOS,
“Explorateurs de la modernité. Les ambassadeurs ottomans en Europe,” Genèses. Sciences sociales et
histoire 35 (1999): 65-82; David DO PAÇO, “Un Orient négocié. L’ambassade marocaine de Mohamed
Ben Abdel Malek à Vienne en 1783, dans les grandes gazettes européennes de langue française,”
Cahiers de la Méditerranée 76 (2008): 229-61.
33
Archives Municipales de Lyon, BB 215, Délibérations municipales, 1660, f. 97, 2 March 1660: “Le
consulat ayant esté prié par le père Menestrier religieux de la Compagnie de Jésus de voulloir aggréer
d’estre parrain d’un Turc par luy cathéchisé et converty en la foy catholique apostolique et romayne.
Lesdits sieurs en considération de ce que ledit père Menestrier a bien mérité du général de la dite ville
on a accepté sa proposition et arresté d’estre parrain du dit Turc.” On Ali’s baptism, see idem, BB 213,
Délibérations municipales, 1658, f. 75, 29 January 1658.
9
In turn, the apparent banality of this presence leads us to question the notions of
“otherness” and “exoticism” that have long been shaping our understanding of
Christian/Muslim encounters. A thousand miles away from “home”, Muslim
diplomats were indeed still likely to encounter people who spoke Arabic or Turkish,
or who had spent years in either the Levant or the Barbary Coast. Al-Hajari’s account
of his 1611 mission to France offers plenty of such examples. In the Norman town of
Rouen, the Moroccan envoy came across “a merchant whom [he] had known in
Marrakesh”, and who “because of the length of his stay in the land of the Muslims
knew Arabic very well”.34 The man he called “Qart” was probably Jacques Jancart, a
French trader who had spent some time in Morocco, and would later become close to
ruler Moulay Zaydan, to the point of acting as his commissioner to the Dutch
Republic.35 At the other end of the period under consideration, we are told of the
unlikely encounter, in the small village of Fromenteau, between the Ottoman envoy
Suleiman Aga and a man who claimed to hail from Algiers.36 Similar examples also
abound in the case of other, non-Muslim missions. For instance in 1668, the Russian
ambassador Potemkin stopped in the small city of Blois on his way from Madrid to
Paris. There, he met “by chance” (par hazard) with “a Muscovite Dominican friar (un
Jacobin moscovite37) who spoke French, and whose life he had saved, then a general
in the army, during the storming a Polish city.” As a token of his gratitude, the
Muscovite offered to serve as the ambassador’s interpreter during the time of his
mission in France.38 The proposal was accepted: Potemkin had gone all the way from
Russia to Spain and France, to realize that his interpreter “spoke only the Muscovite
and German tongues”, while another person of his retinue – a “translator”
(translateur) from Courland, today Latvia – could get them by with some Latin.39
These examples of casual encounters seem to point to a pattern of “fortuitous
familiarity” between foreigners and certain types of local population – more-or-less
recent immigrants, nationals who have travelled or lived abroad, etc. On the other
hand, the existence of structures of hospitality in some of the major European
metropolises also testifies for both the intensity of transnational mobility, and the
banality of the foreigners’ presence.40 In the case of 18th-century Paris, historian
Daniel Roche has attempted to sketch a map of the distribution of foreign residence in
the city, first in neighborhoods located on the West bank of the Seine river (SaintGermain-des-Prés, Luxembourg, Saint-André-des-Arts), and then increasingly on the
Right bank (Palais-Royal) by the time of the French Revolution. 41 Quite
unsurprisingly, most of the Muslim ambassadors residing in the French capital in the
34
Kitâb nâsir al-dîn…, op. cit., p. 103.
On Jancart’s 1616-17 mission to The Hague, see GARCÍA-ARENAL and WIEGERS, A Man of Three
Worlds…, op. cit., p. 102-6.
36
RUFFIN, Journal de l’ambassade …, op. cit., p. 20.
37
It should be recalled here that the Dominican order was known in France as the “Jacobin Order”,
after the foundation, in 1218, of its Parisian monastery in the rue Saint-Jacques.
38
SAINT-LAURENT, Journal inédit…, op. cit., p. 24.
39
Ibid., p. 17.
40
On the question of reception and accommodation of the foreign presence in early modern Europe,
see for instance Olivia Remie CONSTABLE, Housing the Stranger in the Mediterranean World:
Lodging, Trade, and Travel in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages, Cambridge (Mass.): Cambridge
U.P., 2003; Daniel ROCHE (ed.), La Ville promise. Mobilité et accueil à Paris (fin XVIIe-début XIXe
siècle), Paris: Fayard, 2000; Claudia MOATTI and Wolfgang KAISER (eds.), Gens de passage en
Méditerranée de l’Antiquité à l’époque moderne. Procédures de contrôle et d’identification, Paris:
Maisonneuve et Larose, 2007.
41
Daniel ROCHE, Humeurs vagabondes: De la circulation des hommes et de l’utilité des voyages,
Paris: Fayard, 2003, p. 460-5.
35
AL-HAJARÎ,
10
18th century stayed in the same neighborhoods. In 1669, Müteferrika Suleiman Aga
stayed at the Hôtel de Venise, in the St Germain des Prés neighborhood,42 while in
1743 the two Tunisian envoys were sent to the neighboring Hôtel de Transylvanie.43
Interestingly enough, a similar pattern could then be observed in other cities: this was
for instance the case of 18th-century Vienna, as most Muslim ambassadors (a large
majority of them Ottoman) resided in the Leopoldstadt faubourg. 44 Finally, and
accounting for the change underlined by Roche, a shift in the residential pattern of
Muslim envoys in Paris likely occurred around the 1780s: in January 1788, the
Moroccan envoy Mahomet Benal stayed at the Hôtel d’Orléans, in the Palais-Royal
Galeries, a stone’s throw away from the Hôtel de France, were Mahomet
Berabinabinan, a Tripolitan envoy to the Hague, would reside six month later.45
Arguably, this capacity to imitate the residential patterns of a larger body of
foreigners may have lead (on some occasions at least) to a “dilution” of the presence
of Muslim diplomats within the urban and social fabric of the European capitals they
visited. In his introduction to de Fiennes’ account of the 1743 Tunisian embassy,
historian Pierre Grandchamp indeed recalled that the stay in Paris of the two envoys
and their retinue of seven persons went almost unobserved (“leur passage à Paris fut
très peu remarqué”).46
The politics of reception: etiquette, protocol and practices
While recasting “Muslim” missions against the backdrop of an already familiar
“Oriental” presence in early modern Europe, it is important to account also for the
specificities of diplomatic exchanges. For instance, we know how carefully most
European states devised structures and protocols aimed at monitoring the presence on
their soil of foreign diplomats.47 In the case of early modern France, this resulted in
the fostering of increasingly codified operations, relying on the intervention of a
series of intermediaries. Considering the royal audience as the climax of any
diplomatic mission, most of the scholarship has been so far focusing on the handful of
actors directly involved in this event. In this paper, I would like to adopt a broader
perspective, and consider the presence and reception of foreign envoys in their longer
chronology – namely from the moment they set foot in France until the moment they
departed
The geographic location of Paris implied that most envoys from the Ottoman
Empire, the “Barbary States” or Persia had to call first in one of the ports of the
Southern Coast of France (generally Toulon), before continuing their journey to Paris.
Only on rare occasions did the ambassadors enter France through its Eastern, inland
border, or its Atlantic ports. An exception in this respect are the Moroccan envoys, as
42
La Gazette, n. 148, 19 December 1779, p. 1193-1200, “L’Audience donnée par Sa Majesté, à
Soliman Mouta-Faraca, Envoyé du Grand Seigneur : avec ce qui s’est passé en son Voyage”. The Hôtel
de Venise was located in the Rue Saint Benoît.
43
FIENNES, Une mission tunisienne…, op. cit., p. 15-6. The Hôtel de Transylvanie was located in the
Rue de l’Odéon.
44
DO PAÇO, “Invisibles dans la banalité et le mépris,” op. cit., p. 72.
45
A.M.A.E., Contrôle des étrangers au XVIIIe siècle, 1771-1791, vol. 67, Surveillance …, janviermars 1788, f. 43, 25 January 1788; Idem, vol. 69, f. 2, 4 July 1788. The Hôtel de France was located in
the Rue Neuve Saint Marc.
46
FIENNES, Une mission tunisienne…, op. cit., p. 6.
47
See for instance Donald QUELLER, “Early Venetian Legislation Concerning Foreign Ambassadors,”
Studies in the Renaissance 12 (1965): 7-17.
11
a number of them appear to have been sailing from Salee around Spain, and to have
entered France through the Norman port of Le Havre.48 Another one was the Russian
ambassador Potemkin, who, by the time he entered France through the Pyrenees, had
already been staying in Spain for more than 6 months.49 In general, however, Toulon
stood as the starting point of what appeared to be the second leg of the envoys’
journey to the French court. An officer was usually sent by the king to meet the
envoys: with the only exception of the introducteur des ambassadeurs in charge of
introducing foreign ambassadors at their royal audience, envoys and their retinue
were to remain at all times with this officer, whose mission was to facilitate in every
possible way their journey to Paris. To be sure, the often late notice of the envoy’s
arrival as well as the daunting nature of the task required a devoted personnel, and the
mission was generally entrusted to aristocrats in the king’s service. In early August
1669, upon hearing that Müteferrika Suleiman Aga had arrived in Toulon, “His
Majesty chose the Sieur de Lagébértie [La Gibertie], Gentleman in Ordinary of his
House, to go receive him, accommodate him, pay for his expenses on the way [to
Paris], and to honor him according to his function.”50 A year earlier, Louis XIV had
ordered another of his “Gentlemen in Ordinary”, the Sieur de Calva, to head to the
South West of France and receive the Russian ambassador Potemkine; for some
unknown reason, Calva was eventually replaced off the cuff by yet another
Gentleman, Monsieur de Catheux.51
Rather than a discretionary measure of courtesy, this mission formed part of a
broader set of practices aimed at fostering diplomatic contacts. Yet, it was also strictly
subjected to the (unwritten) rule of reciprocity: not all foreign envoys were granted
this reception, but those sent by powers that provided the same courtesy to French
ambassadors abroad. For instance, we know that in 1668, the decision was made to
sent Monsieur de Catheux to meet the Russian embassy “because the Grand duke of
Moscovia does the same toward the French ambassadors who reaching his estate.”52
The same rule applied to France’s “Muslim” partners, and both parties seemed keen
to have it respected, reporting any of the other’s failure as a potential affront. Yet, by
sending one of his personal officers to receive the newly arrived ambassador, the
French king did not only comply with this demand for reciprocity: he asserted his
control (both material and symbolic) over the mission for the time it was to remain
within the frontiers of his realm.
Most diplomatic missions consisted in a circular trip from Toulon to Paris and
back, and the king’s officer was to monitor the envoy’s presence until he left the
kingdom – accompanying him back to Toulon, and arranging for his crossing to
Algiers, Tunis, Tripoli or the Levant. In this context, the notion of border appears of
crucial importance: sent to meet a Guinean ambassador in 1670, the “gentleman in
ordinary” Monsieur des Planes reportedly “went on the border” (alla sur la frontière)
48
Such is for instance the case of al-Hajari in 1611, and of Abdallah bin Aicha in 1699.
SAINT-LAURENT, Journal inédit…, op. cit., p. 16.
50
La Gazette, n. 148, “L’Audience donnée…”, doc. cit.
51
ROUSSET DE MISSY, Le Cérémonial diplomatique…, op. cit., p. 94; “Ordonnance du Roy sur la façon
de recevoir les ambassadeurs du Grand Duc de Moscovie,” 5 August 1668, quoted in Marianne
SEYDOUX, “Les ambassades russes à la cour de Louis XIV,” Cahiers du monde russe et soviétique 9, 2
(1968): 235-44, here p. 239.
52
ROUSSET DE MISSY, Le Cérémonial diplomatique…, op. cit., p. 93-4. French ambassadors in Russia
were indeed received on the border by an emissary of the czar, or pristaf; see Marie-Karine SCHAUB,
“Comment régler des incidents protocolaires ? Diplomates russes et français au XVIIe siècle,” in
L'incident diplomatique (XVIe-XVIIIe siècle), eds. Lucien Bély and Géraud Poumarède, Paris: A.
Pedone, 2010, p. 323-36, here p. 331.
49
12
to greet him, before he accompanied him back “on the border” (jusques sur la
frontière) about month later.53 As for the journey from Toulon to Paris, it is described
in most accounts as a long series of receptions, visits and ceremonies.54 French
authorities, however, often expressed their reluctance to have foreign diplomats
crisscross its territory: if not for fear of them carrying on intelligence activities, at
least because the French treasury had to cover all the expenses of the journey. On
several occasions, the king officer would therefore be summoned to speed up the
travelers’ pace, sometimes at the annoyance of the envoys and their retinue.55
But more than a mere escort, the king’s officer was in charge of establishing a
sustained contact with the foreign ambassador. Much relied therefore on the quality of
this initial encounter: for instance, La Gibertie’s overzealous commitment to check
Müteferrika Suleiman Aga’s official status (he went so far as to question members of
his retinue, and to send letters to Istanbul), probably loomed large on the tensions that
later became apparent, and made the Ottoman mission a diplomatic fiasco.56 In this
delicate context, it is however surprising that until the early eighteenth century, the
king’s officer did not benefit from the help of an appointed interpreter, but rather had
to rely on his own linguistic skills, as well as on the occasional help of some of the
ambassador’s retinue.57 While receiving the Russian embassy in 1668, Monsieur de
Catheux had to greet the envoy in Latin, as it appeared that neither Potemkin nor his
retinue (among whom an interpreter and a “translator”, cf. supra) spoke French.58 The
following year, La Gilbertie resorted to the services of Müteferrika Suleiman Aga’s
interpreter, a Greek from Naxos named La Fontaine (!), until they reached Paris. Only
in the capital did royal interpreters take over the translation process – albeit partially
(cf. infra). Some 50 to 70 years later, royal interpreters would not only assist, but
replace the king’s officer in their mission to receive Muslim envoys upon their arrival
in France, and to accompany them in their journey to the court.
53
ROUSSET DE MISSY, Le Cérémonial diplomatique…, op. cit., p. 101-2. On Dom Mattheo Lopes’
mission to France for the king of Arda, see Henri LABOURET and Paul RIVET, Le Royaume d’Arda et
son évangélisation au XVIIe siècle, Paris: Institut d’Ethnologie, 1929.
54
See for instance La Gazette, n. 148, “L’Audience donnée…”, doc. cit.: “Il [Müteferrika Suleiman
Aga] reçut audit Lieu de Toulon, les Compliments, et tous les bons traitements possibles en la Maison
de Ville : et, pendant le séjour qu’il y fit, visita le Port, et les Vaisseaux du Roi, dont il admira la
beauté, et le grand nombre. […] Il en partit le 21 Septembre, pour se rendre à Marseille : où les
Échevins l’ayant complimenté, et régalé des Présents ordinaires, le traitèrent deux jours en public, avec
beaucoup de magnificence. Ils lui donnèrent, même, le Divertissement du Bal, auquel grand nombre de
Personnes de qualité, de l’un, et l’autre Sexe, se trouvèrent en un ajustement des plus lestes. Pendant
son séjour, il visita, aussi, le Port de ladite ville, et l’Arsenal, […]. Le 24, il vint coucher à Aix, et
continua sa route jusqu’à Lyon : où il arriva le 1er Octobre, et y demeura trois jours, pendant lesquels
on lui fit voir ce qu’il y avait de plus remarquable. Le 5, il en partit, et ayant, partout, reçu les
Compliments, et les honneurs qu’on lui avait faits dans les autres Lieux, il arriva le 16, à Orléans, et le
20, à Fontainebleau : où il ne manqua pas de sujet d’admiration, dans la beauté des Bâtiments, et des
Jardins de cette Maison Royale. Il en partit le 31, et arriva le 1 Novembre, à Issy : d’où, après y avoir
été traité, comme vous avez su, il fit son Entrée en cette ville, le 3 de ce mois.”
55
See for instance ???
56
ROUSSET DE MISSY, Le cérémonial diplomatique…, op. cit., p. 99.
57
It is unclear whether Alexandre-Louis-Marie Pétis de la Croix (1698-1751), then a royal interpreter
of Oriental languages, was sent to meet the Tunisian embassy of 1727-8, which was later retained in
the town of Chalon-sur-Saône, following an incident between France and Tunis. On this episode, see
WINDLER, La diplomatie comme expérience de l’autre…, op. cit., p. 261-2.
58
SAINT-LAURENT, Journal inédit…, op. cit., p. 17.
13
The trials of brokerage: royal interpreters and Muslim envoys
The gradual shift, at the turn of the 18th century, from “gentlemen ordinary” to
“royal interpreters of Oriental languages” in the operation set to welcome Muslim
envoys, might seem an insignificant detail, when cast against the backdrop of French
diplomatic activity. It might also be interpreted, in a somewhat Weberian fashion, as
testifying for the growing professionalization of (yet another) modern state institution.
Finally, it might be taken as evidence of the French authorities’ genuine interest in
asserting their control over the process and operations of cross-cultural brokerage. My
assumption here is that, to a varying extent, all three hypotheses hold true. First, it is a
fact that the very operation of reception remained substantially unchanged, with royal
interpreters simply “replacing” the former royal officers in their duty. Then, a body of
evidence testifies for the institutionalization and professionalization, in the second
half of the 17th century, of the function of interpreter – and particularly that of the socalled “Oriental languages”. The year 1669 might be taken here as a turning point, as
it witnessed both Müteferrika Suleiman Aga’s most eventful embassy to Versailles,
and the foundation of the Ecole des jeunes de langues, in charge of training
interpreters for the service of French interests (both commercial and diplomatic) in
the Levant. 59 This process of institutionalization traditionally constitutes the
background of a number of “utilitarian” approaches to the question of translation,
which have consistently viewed the control exerted over linguistic brokerage in terms
of political domination.60 To be sure, royal interpreters appointed to receive foreign
envoys in the 18th century, were instructed to both monitor them and report on their
actions. In a 1743 letter to Jean-Baptiste-Hélin de Fiennes, the French minister of
Foreign affairs ordered the royal interpreter to keep watch on (as well as to give a
regular account of) the behavior of the Tunisian ambassador and his retinue.61
It would however be misleading to take too literally this new centrality of the
figure of the royal interpreter. While a number of archival records (not to mention
fictional texts such as the Salamalec lyonnais) refer to a number of awkward
situations, there is ample evidence that even in the absence of an appointed royal
interpreter by their side, Muslim envoys were in capacity to understand and be
understood. First, the choice of diplomats among political and administrative elites
often lead to the envoys speaking at least some words of Italian, French, or another
European language. For instance, al-Hajari recalled meeting in Rouen with “the chief
judge, who knew the Spanish Andalusian language” – a language the envoy spoke
thanks to his Morisco origins. The two men were therefore able to engage in a
complex debate on religion and politics, with al-Hajari modestly admitting that the
judge “was very helpful to [him] in pronouncing sentences.”62 A century-and-half
later, upon the departure of the ambassador Suleyman Aga on his trip back to Tunis,
the “royal secretary-interpreter for Oriental languages” who had been accompanying
him for nearly five months (Ruffin) eventually addressed him for the first time “in
Italian, so as to be understood by the personnel”.63
59
Frédéric HITZEL, “Ecole des jeunes de langues,” in Dictionnaire des orientalistes…, op. cit., p. 348-
9.
60
The most emblematic piece of this line of scholarship is probably Bernard LEWIS’ “From Babel to
Dragomans,” Proceedings of the British Academy 101 (1999): 37-54.
61
FIENNES, Une mission tunisienne…, op. cit., p. 50.
62
AL-HAJARÎ, Kitâb nâsir al-dîn…, op. cit., p. 106-7.
63
RUFFIN, Journal de l’ambassade…, op. cit., p. 62.
14
The retinue of Muslim ambassadors could also include an interpreter, or at least
one or more bilingual individual(s) who acted in this capacity, and were recognized as
such by the French monarchy through the payment of a stipend. By the end of the
Russian mission of 1668, the French royal treasury would distribute no less than 2600
pounds to the “secretaries interpreters of the ambassador” (les secrétaires interprètes
du sieur ambassadeur) – namely the Russian- and German-speaking interpreter, the
Latin-speaking “translator” from Courland, and the French-speaking Muscovite
Dominican friar who had joined the embassy in Blois.64 Finally, casual encounters
could also play a significant role in bridging the linguistic divide. Suffice it to
mention here the case of the Muscovite Dominican friar who the 1688 Russian
embassy met in Blois, and who immediately offered to serve as an interpreter. Yet,
the basic assumption that the bridging of the linguistic divide automatically made all
communication more direct and fluid needs to be tested against actual practices of
cross-cultural communication. For instance, while the presence of the Dominican friar
certainly allowed for a better communication between the Russian embassy and
Monsieur de Catheux, Potemkin’s audience with Louis XIV (September 4, 1668), was
organized around a rather complex operation: rather than having the friar do all the
translation, an agreement was reached whereby Potemkin’s words were translated
simultaneously both in Latin and French, while the king’s answer was directly
translated by the friar.65
Once again, it is important to note that even the presence of royal interpreters
did not guarantee a more simple and straightforward communication between the
different parties. On the day of his audience with Louis XIV, Müteferrika Suleiman
Aga was assisted by “his Dragoman” La Fontaine, while the king had called the
famous traveller (and later diplomat) Laurent d’Arvieux to act as his interpreter.66
Yet, it is not d’Arvieux but the royal interpreter François Pétis de la Croix who was
entrusted with the translation of the letter from sultan Mehmed IV that the Ottoman
envoy had brought to the French king.67 Rather than a mere “division of labor”
64
A.M.A.E., Mémoires et documents sur la Russie, vol. 3, f. 118-9, “Sur la dépense faite de la part du
Roy Louis XIV pour faire défrayer et traiter le Sieur Poterskine [sic], ambassadeur du Czar Alexis près
Sa Majesté en 1668”, 31 December 1668; quoted in SEYDOUX, “Les ambassades russes…”, op. cit., p.
239-40. dépense totale de 34347 livres. Autre version : « Le Roy fit donner cinq cent écus aux
interprettes dont on donna 400 livres au père Jacobin, pareille somme à l’interprette de l'ambassade, et
sept cent livres au translateur, qui fut enfermé et gardé deux jours par l’ordre de l’Ambassadeur qui le
soupçonnait de trahison. » (SAINT-LAURENT, Journal inédit…, op. cit., p. 42)
65
SAINT-LAURENT, Journal inédit…, op. cit., p. 32: “L’Ambassadeur […] présenta à Sa Majesté la
lettre du Grand Duc de Moscovie, et fit son compliment, qui fut expliqué en latin par le translateur et
en françois par le Jacobin, qui expliqua aussy à l’Ambassadeur la réponse du Roy.”
66
La Gazette, n. 144 and 148, doc. cit.; Mémoires du Chevalier d’Arvieux, envoyé extraordinaire du
Roy à la Porte, consul d’Alep, d’Alger, de Tripoli, & autres Echelles du Levant…, Paris: Delespine,
1735, 4: 133-95.
67
La Gazette, n, 144, 7 December 1669, p. 1165-8: “Il [Müteferrika Suleiman Aga] commença sa
Harangue, qui fut interprétée par le Sieur de la Fontaine, son Drogman : et Sa Majesté y répondit par la
bouche du Sr d’Arvieu, qui lui servait d’Interprète en cette Audience, et lui expliqua l’Inscription de la
Lettre du Grand Seigneur. Ensuite, le Roi la remit au Sieur de Lyonne, Secrétaire d’État, qui la donna
en même temps, au Sr de la Croix, Secrétaire Interprète de Sa Majesté, pour la traduire, ainsi qu’il a
traduit celle que le Caimacan a écrite audit Sieur de Lyonne.” See also Idem, n. 148, doc. cit.: “Ensuite
de ce Discours, auquel le Roi répondit par la Bouche du Chevalier d’Ervieu, l’Envoyé monta sur
l’Estrade, et présenta cette Lettre à Sa Majesté : qui la remit, aussitôt, entre les mains du Sieur de
Lyonne, Secrétaire d’État, lequel la donna au Sieur de la Croix, Secrétaire Interprète de Sa Majesté,
pour la traduire. Celui-ci, en présence du Roi, décacheta cette Lettre, qui était sur un Papier de soie, de
près d’une aune de longueur : et suivant l’ordre qu’il avait reçu de Sa Majesté, lui en expliqua une
partie, comme ledit Chevalier d’Ervieu en avait, aussi, expliqué la Suscription, qui était en ces termes”.
15
between oral and written translations, this choice reflected internal struggles in the
king’s service. In 1669, Louis XIV was indeed employing two royal interpreters of
“Oriental languages”: the Alepine Pierre Dippy (Boutros al-Halabi, 1622-1709), a
specialist of Arabic, and François Pétis de la Croix (the Elder, 1622-1695), “pour les
langues Turquesques et Arabesques”.68 As for the choice to appoint d’Arvieux, it was
made in an attempt to control the work of the royal interpreters. Testifying for this is a
letter to d’Arvieux sent by the ministry of Foreign affairs (de Lionnes), a few days
before the preliminary audience he was to give to the Ottoman ambassador:
“Sir, the king wants you to attend the audience he shall give to the Sultan’s
envoy, so as to observe if the interpreters faithfully repeat everything that is said on
both sides”69.
Unsurprisingly, the decision stirred a fierce competition between d’Arvieux and
Pétis de la Croix,70 which may in turn have added to the tension that surrounded the
whole embassy of 1669. Yet, it is revealing that the complex operation did not come
as a result of the challenges in cross-cultural communication per se, but rather of the
very strategy that was adopted in order to overcome it.
Of course, such disputes and rivalries toned down with the appointment of royal
interpreters at the service of foreign officials. For instance, the long journey to Paris,
they undertook together allowed for the establishment of more trusting relationship
between interpreters and ambassadors. Yet, one should also beware not to idealize
those bonds: upon the departure of the Tunisan ambassador Suleyman Aga from
Toulon in 1777, the royal interpreter Pierre Ruffin clearly expresses his relief at being
rid of “Suleiman and his fecklessness” (Suleiman et ses inconséquences).71 Evidence
also suggests that Ruffin had a similarly frustrating experience some years earlier,
while serving the Tripolitan envoy. In a similar fashion, the “proximity” between
Muslim officials and royal interpreters did not automatically provide the French
monarchy with information of better quality better than the one they previously
retrieved. Indeed, patterns of dissent among the personnel of 17th-century foreign
missions were many: for instance in 1600, three Moroccan envoys to London were
accused of having poisoned their interpreter.72 Occasionally, such tensions could also
result in “leaks”, providing the French with unfiltered information. The account of the
visit of the Louvre Palace by the Russian embassy in 1668 offers a telling example:
“After they [Potemkin and his retinue] were shown the Crown’s most precious
pieces of furniture, the ambassador was ask whether those of the czar were as beautiful;
to which he answered that yes. But the translator [from Courland], who has seen them,
68
On d’Arvieux, see the biographical note by Sylvette LARZUL in the Dictionnaire des orientalistes…,
op. cit., p. 24-5. On al-Halabi/Dippy’s early career as an interpreter for North African envoys and
visitors, see MATAR, In the Lands of the Christians…, op. cit., p. xvii.
69
Quoted in Mémoires du Chevalier d’Arvieux…, op. cit., 4: 131.
70
The feud went on for some time, prompting a descendant of Pétis de la Croix to publish in the early
18th century (and under the pseudonym of “Hadgi Mehemmed Efendy”!), a bitter refutation of
d’Arvieux’ memoirs: Lettres critiques de Hadgi Mehemmed Efendy à Mme la Marquise de G*** au
sujet des Mémoires de M. le Chevalier d’Arvieux…, traduites de Turc en François par Ahmed Frengui,
Renégat Flamand, Paris: Quillau, 1735.
71
RUFFIN, Journal de l’ambassade…, op. cit., p. 62.
72
On this episode, see Alastair HAMILTON, William Baldwell the Arabist, 1563-1632, Leiden: Brill,
1985, p. 15-8.
16
said aloud in Latin, a language that neither the ambassador nor his retinue know a word
73
of, that he was shamelessly lying.”
In many ways, the intervention of royal interpreters appears to have resulted not
so much in a better bridging of the linguistic divide, than in a monopoly exerted by
these actors over the production of speech itself. Testifying for this are the accounts of
the embassies written by the interpreters themselves for the French administration,
and which are characterized by the quasi-systematic suppression of any dissonant,
“other”, voices. Of course, this might have been prompted by their authors’ mere
eagerness to emphasize their own importance in the service of the king. Yet, de
Fiennes, Ruffin and others did not content themselves with staging their own
centrality in the process of cross-cultural mediation: they also replicated older beliefs
and perceptions, as well as shaped the very content of cross-culturalness. This is for
instance the case when de Fiennes and Ruffin seemed to make a point of “decoding”
for their readers some specific Arabic words, which they tried to render through some
rough “equivalents” in French.74 It was also the case when they tried to explain
certain situations by resorting to a rather prescriptive explanation of “cultural
differences”. A remarkable example of this may be found in Ruffin’s account of an
evening spent by the 1777 Tunisian embassy at the theater. Praising “the genre of the
mime show [le genre pantomime]” for its capacity to challenge linguistic boundaries
and to depict “scenes that are familiar to all the countries in the world”, Ruffin
suggested by contrast that:
“a Turk is deprived of this double charm with the opera, and the only pleasure he
takes then being that of his eyes. The music is too complicated [savant] and loud for his
natural melancholy, and the action is almost incomprehensible for a Mahometan, even
with the help of the most skillful translator, for it is most of the times based on our
mythology, of which he has, nor wants to have, any knowledge.”75
While Ruffin admitted making this observation “to account for the boredom that
Suleiman and all the Tunisians clearly manifested at the Opera”,76 one cannot but
wonder to what extent it was also informed by age-old stereotypes about the
“Mahometans”. In turn, Ruffin’s words certainly conferred to these stereotypes a
legitimacy that accounted for their long persistence in defining European perceptions
of “Muslim culture”.
This paper constitutes a first (and incomplete) attempt at challenging the
traditional picture of interpreters as omnipotent and ubiquitous brokers. By insisting
73
SAINT-LAURENT, Journal inédit…, op. cit., p. 36-7 : “Après leur avoir montré les plus précieux
meubles de la couronne, on fit demander à l’Ambassadeur si Sa Zare Majesté en avoit d'aussy beaux : à
quoy il répondit qu'ouy. Mais le translateur, qui les a veus, dit tout haut en latin, dont l'Ambassadeur ny
pas un de sa suitte ne scayt pas un mot, qu'il mentoit impudemment.”. Potemkin 1668 : « Le Roy fit
donner cinq cent écus aux interprettes dont on donna 400 livres au père Jacobin, pareille somme à
l'interprette de l'ambassade, et sept cent livres au translateur, qui fut enfermé et gardé deux jours par
l'ordre de l'Ambassadeur qui le soupçonnait de trahison. » (p. 42)
74
For instance de Fiennes calls the imam who accompanies the ambassador “the chaplain”
(l’aumônier); FIENNES, Une mission tunisienne…, op. cit., p. 12.
75
RUFFIN, Journal de l’ambassade…, p. 29.
76
Ibidem: “C’est une observation qu’on s’est permise ici pour expliquer l’ennui que Suleiman et tous
les Tunisiens exprimèrent sensiblement à l’Opéra.”
17
on the rather banal character of an “Oriental” presence in early modern Europe, and
by charting the codes and protocols that surrounded the reception of Muslim
diplomats, I have tried to debunk the old model of a “communication crisis”
happening between two discrete cultures, and advocated for a more fluid approach to
intercultural contacts and relations. Hence my emphasis on the study of actual
practices rather than representations alone. Although I am aware that this task
requires a thorough reconsideration of the archival material at the historians’ disposal,
I am confident that this is a necessary step to take toward a deeper and more balanced
understanding of cross-cultural relations. Eventually, it should also allow historians to
combine the traditional, social-cultural approach to Muslim/Christian encounters in
the early modern period, with a number of exciting new perspectives for historical
enquiry – for instance the question of cross-cultural legal practices, or the
anthropology of contact and brokerage.
Mathieu Grenet
Washington University in St. Louis
Annex 1
Le Salamalec lyonnais, conte
Jamais ne fut nation plus civile
Que la française, il le faut avouer :
L’envoyé turc bien pourrait s’en louer,
Après l’honneur qu’à Lyon la grand’ville,
Des magistrats en passant il reçut.77
Ces magistrats crurent frapper au but,
S’ils régalaient l’excellence ottomane
D’un compliment en langage ottoman :
Car, disaient-ils, parler par truchement,
C'est une mort : en langue Musulmane
Un musulman il nous faut saluer.
L’invention leur semblait mémorable,
Le point était comment l’effectuer ?
Où rencontrer un harangueur capable,
Un homme expert dans le salamalec ?
Notez qu’alors tenait auberge illec,
Certain quidam, déserteur de mosquée,
De mauvais turc devenu bon chrétien :
C’est notre fait, dirent ces gens de bien.
La chose au sire étant communiquée,
il l’approuva : laissez faire, dit-il,
François Sélim, c’est ainsi qu’on me nomme,
77
Original footnote: « On prétend que cette cérémonie se fit en 1660. »
18
Nul mieux que moi, Dieu merci, ne sait comme
La tête on doit courber jusqu’au nombril,
Rabattre en arc les mains sur la poitrine,
Se reculer, s’avancer à propos,
Et cetera ; suffit de ma doctrine
Tenez-vous sûrs et soyez en repos.
Vous me verrez à la mode turquesque
Faire cent tours, qui surprendront vos yeux.
Telle action vous paraîtra burlesque,
Qui cache au fond sens très mystérieux.
Or en ceci la grande politique
C’est de me suivre en tout d'un pas égal :
Souvenez-vous de cet avis unique.
Vous ne sauriez, me suivant, faire mal.
De point en point on promit de le suivre :
On le suivit jusqu’au moindre iota.
L’ambassadeur fort bien s’en contenta ;
Mais ce qui plus que tout le transporta,
Fut qu’un chrétien parlât turc comme un livre.
Il n’est, dit-il, assesseur du divan
Qui mieux que vous entende notre langue.
Pas ne vous doit surprendre ma harangue,
Répond Sélim, je suis né musulman.
Né musulman ! Vous l’êtes donc encore ?
Moi ? point du tout ; je me suis converti
Et c’est le dieu des chrétiens que j’adore.
Ah ! par Mahom, vous en avez menti,
Et musulman jamais vous ne naquîtes,
Ou vous n’avez pas changé de parti.
Je ne puis croire au moins ce que vous dites,
Si je n’en vois un signe fort précis.
A moi ne tienne ; êtes-vous circoncis ?
Vous allez voir : lors sa misère nue
Le compagnon étale à découvert :
Les magistrats, à cette étrange vue,
Quoiqu’étonnés pour n’être pris sans vert,
Suivant leur guide, imitant sa posture,
Firent leur cour en forme et sans tarder,
Chacun selon le talent que nature,
Petit ou grand lui voulut accorder.
L’ordre fut rare, et l’histoire rapporte
Que l’ottoman salué de la sorte,
Crainte de pis, s’enfuit sans dire adieu.
Tout au rebours les donzelles du lieutenant
Prirent grand goût à la cérémonie :
Et telle fut leur jubilation,
Que maintenant nulle ne se soucie
De voir, après cette réception,
Ambassadeur, s’il ne vient de Turquie.
19
Annex 2
Muslim missions to France, 1581-1825
Date
1581
Sender
Ottoman Empire
Leader
-
1581
Ottoman Empire
Ali Tchelebi
1601
1607
1611-2
Ottoman Empire
Ottoman Empire
Morocco
1612-3
Morocco
Ahmad bin Qasim
al-Hajari
Ahmed el-Guezouli
1618
1640
1669
1682
Ottoman Empire
Ottoman Empire
Ottoman Empire
Morocco
1684
1685
1687
Algiers
Algiers
Tripoli
1699
Morocco
1714-5
Persia
1720-1
1727-8
1741
1743
1770
1775
1777
1777-8
1788
1796
1796-7
1808-10
1819
1825
Soliman Aga
Hajj Mohammed
Temim
Hadgi Jaffer Aga
Hadji Mehemet
Khalil Aga
Heiser Aga
Abdallah bin Aisha
Mohammad Reza
Bey
Ottoman Empire Yirmisekiz Mehmed
Efendi
Tunis
Yusuf Khudjah
Hadj Hasan
Ottoman Empire Mehmed Said Efendi
Tunis
Ali Aga
Tunis
Ibrahim Hoja
Tripoli
Adraman Bediri Aga
Tunis
Suleiman Aga
Morocco
Tahar Fennich
Haj Andallah
Morocco
Mahomet Benal
Tunis
Ottoman Empire
Persia
Persia
Tunis
Mohamed Goga
Esseid Ali Effendi
Asker Khan Afshar
Sidi Mahmoud
20
Purpose
Invitation extended to Henri III to attend
the circumcision of Murad IV’s son,
Mehmed
Renewal of Capitulations between France
and the Ottoman Empire
Negotiation in view of the release of some
Moriscos captured by privateers
Restitution of the library of Moulay
Zidane, taken at sea by a French captain.
Authorization granted to the French to
open a consulate in Morocco
Negotiation of an agreement to prevent the
capture of Muslims by French ships, and to
obtain the return of captured Muslim
slaves employed on French galleys
Louis XVI’s accession
Complaints against the capture of
Moroccan ships by French privateers
Request for the opening of a Tunisian
consulate in Marseilles, and the release of
a Tunisian subject accused of piracy.
21