CHRISTIAN ART UNDER

MUSLIM RULE

PROCEEDINGS OF A WORKSHOP
HELD IN ISTANBUL ON MAY 11/12, 2012

edited by

Maximilian Hartmuth

with the assistance of

Ayşe Dilsiz
and
Alyson Wharton

NEDERLANDS INSTITUUT VOOR HET NABIJE OOSTEN

LEIDEN
2016
 Table of Contents
Maximilian Hartmuth
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . VII-X
Theocharis Tsampouras
The contribution of the Mount Grammos painters to the formation
of a common artistic language in the seventeenth-century Balkans . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1-17
Alyson Wharton
Localism in the late-nineteenth-century Armenian
churches of Ottoman Upper Mesopotamia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19-60
Machiel Kiel
Christian art under Islamic rule: a critique of the historiography of Balkan art and
architecture, based on Ottoman administrative sources and forty years of fieldwork . . . . 61-115
Paolo Girardelli
Religious imprints along the Grand Rue:
Armenians and Latins in late-Ottoman Istanbul . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117-136
Maximilian Hartmuth
The challenge of rebuilding a Catholic monastery in Ottoman Bosnia in 1767 . . . . . 137-144
Bas Snelders
L’art et l’architecture syro-orthodoxe en Mésopotamie du Nord (VIIe-XIIIe siècles) . . 145-165
Rossitsa Gradeva
Late Antique church buildings in Ottoman Sofia,
fifteenth to beginning of nineteenth centuries . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167-193
Lilyana Stankova
Tradition and innovation in the decorative practices in Christian
art in the Balkans, fifteenth through seventeenth centuries . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195-205
Luitgard Mols
Water vessels or pilgrim flasks? Medieval flasks in a Christian and Islamic setting . . . . . 207-218
Tuğba Tanyeri-Erdemir
The fate of Tanzimat-era churches in Anatolia after the loss of their congregations . . . . 219-235
Robert M. Hayden
Afterword: Analyzing localized contexts of
subordination and domination in the Ottoman conveniencia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 237-243
 The challenge of rebuilding a C atholic
monastery in Ottoman Bosnia in 1767
Maximilian Hartmuth
(University of Vienna)

Abstract: This paper discusses the circumstances of a church’s reconstruction in a Catholic

monastery in the environs of eighteenth-century Sarajevo. The chronicle composed by a friar
about this enterprise proves a singular source not only for this historical event; it also provides
valuable information relating to the process, such as concerning the paths and dynamics of
communication with (what were thought of as) the relevant authorities. One of several findings
recapitulated at the end of the paper is that these procedures were not as clear-cut as is often
inferred in the research literature.
***

It is without doubt that our knowledge relating to the modalities of church construction and
reconstruction in the Ottoman Empire – a state whose ruling elite was Muslim and in which
authority was often legitimized engaging Islamic rhetoric – has significantly increased in recent
decades. This progress has been not least due to studies based on Ottoman source material by
the likes of Machiel Kiel and Rossitsa Gradeva.1 Their presence greatly enhanced the workshop
Christian art under Muslim rule (Istanbul, 2012) from which the majority of these papers were
assembled. The historical documents their work has brought to light have shown under which
circumstances the relevant authorities thought it legitimate for the Ottoman sultans’ many
non-Muslim subjects to alter the fabric of existing buildings, or even to build new ones. These
documents’ complete silence with regard to buildings’ interiors also appear to illustrate that the
Muslim Ottoman authorities had relatively little interest in whether or not spaces that were
concealed from public view would be unassuming or ostentatious. Instead, the authorities’
mandate was to regulate the height of buildings and noteworthy elements such as belfries or
domes. What mattered in particular was these buildings’ appearance at the time of conquest
by a Muslim sovereign and their relation to Muslim buildings in the same locale. The cityscape
was regarded as a mirror of hierarchies constitutive of the Ottoman social order. When in the
nineteenth century this system changed, so did the cityscapes.2

1
  To name but two: Rossitsa Gradeva, “Ottoman Policy towards Christian church buildings,” in: Études
balkaniques, 4 (1994), pp. 14-36; Machiel Kiel, Art and society of Bulgaria in the Turkish period: a sketch of
the economic, juridical and artistic preconditions of Bulgarian post-Byzantine art and its place in the development
of the art of the christian Balkans, 1360-1700: a new interpretation. Assen: Van Gorcum, 1985.
2
  For the workings of this system, see Maximilian Hartmuth, “The historic fabric of Balkan towns: space,
power, culture and society,” in: Four historic cities in the Western Balkans: value and challenges. Eds. Stephan
Doempke, Anduela Lulo Caca, and Sadi Petrela. Tirana: Gjirokastra Conservation and Development
Organization, 2012, pp. 17-22.
138 Maximilian Hartmuth

Previously untapped Ottoman source material has proven to be especially illuminating

as evidence concerning practice rather than mere legal theory. However, it must be noted that
these sources reflect the perspective of ‘the centre’ rather than ‘the periphery’ – the perspective
of the ruling rather than the ruled. Contemporary texts composed by the sultans’ Christian
subjects have amazingly little to say about architecture and its limitations within the Ottoman
system. It appears that these rules were acknowledged as realities – as a structural injustice that
was so basic that it irritated few to the extent that they would commit their thoughts to writing.

This paper aims to discuss one source that is somewhat different with regard to its outspo-
kenness on such issues and which also has been overlooked in this debate thus far: a chronicle
composed by a Franciscan friar at a Catholic monastery in Kreševo (ill. 1) near Sarajevo between
1765 and 1771.3 I will establish that this source provides a remarkable insight into the processes
in question – not from the perspective of the hegemon, but from those subjected to his rule. This
allows for a number of findings pertinent to the study of non-Muslim culture under Muslim rule.

***

The church, whose rebuilding after a fire is reported in the first chapters of the said chron-
icle, has not survived – at least not in its original form.4 Hence, unfortunately, there is no
way to relate the information given in the chronicle about the church’s construction to an
actual building. A single wall remains from the first (pre-Ottoman) building on the site. It
was damaged twice, in the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries, and rebuilt on both occasions.
The church (ills. 2-3) was again substantially renovated or completely rebuilt in the 1820s,
the 1850s, the 1890s, the 1920s, and the 1960s.5 Perhaps more than the architecture of the
complex, what remains in Kreševo that is of concern to art historians are the many artworks in
the monastery’s collection: several paintings, mostly on canvas; a large number of artistically
worked metal objects; and a few pieces of figural sculpture. Many of these items date from
after the mid-sixteenth century and originate in Venice.6 This illustrates the Bosnian Catholics’

3
  Marijan Bogdanović, Ljetopis kreševskoga samostana, tr./ed. Ignacije Gavran. Sarajevo: Synopsis, 2003. I
will reference this work as Kreševo Chronicle when the text authored by Bogdanović is in question and as
Gavran, Ljetopis when referring to the introductory sections by Ignacije Gavran.
4
  Much the same can be said about the bulk of Bosnia’s pre-Ottoman architectural heritage, which has
survived only in exceptional cases. This is not the place to discuss whether this was due to the impact of the
Ottoman conquest, which has traditionally been assumed to have been catastrophic, the comparably low level
of material cultural development of the area before the late medieval period, or the often incisive, frequently
destructive interventions to older buildings, especially in the nineteenth century. The monumentalization of
the Bosnian Catholics’ religious infrastructure after 1878, i.e., following the advent of Habsburg rule, has not
been adequately addressed in the available research literature. It is particularly notable when travelling through
the country’s western areas, where truly colossal neo-Romanesque churches are found in Livno, Tomislavgrad,
and Široki Brijeg. For these areas close to the Dalmatian coast, this style was apparently seen as more
appropriate, while in Central Bosnia a greater variety of stylistic expressions is noticeable.
5
  Marko Karamatić and Andrija Nikić, Blago franjevačkih samostana Bosne i Hercegovine. Zagreb: Privredni
vjesnik, 1990, pp. 49-51.
6
  Ljubo Jandrić (ed.), Blago franjevačkih samostana Bosne i Hercegovine: slikarstvo i skulptura, metal, tekstil,
arhivska građa, knjižno blago, kameni spomenici. Sarajevo: Zavod za Zaštitu Kulturno-Istorijskog i Prirodnog
 The challenge of rebuilding a Catholic monastery in Ottoman Bosnia in 1767 139

Ill. 1. View of Kreševo and its monastery from the east (author: Dingoa/Wikimedia
Commons, used in accordance with GNU Free Documentation License).

traditional cultural orientation toward neighbouring countries controlled by Catholic rulers:

Venice and the Habsburg domains. While it is fairly easy to trace Ottoman-Islamic decorative
elements in the painting or architectural sculpture of Orthodox Christian buildings of the
Ottoman period,7 it appears that such a tendency has not been identified in Catholic ones.
This may be a reflection of differing degrees of accommodation among the various branches of
Christianity under the sultan’s domain.

It was also in Italy or Hungary that many Catholic friars from Bosnia received their
education; and so did Marijan Bogdanović, the author of the chronicle in question. A native
of Kreševo, he trained in Naples before he took up work first in Dubrovnik and eventually in
his hometown’s monastery.8 When he began writing his chronicle there in 1765, he did so in
Latin rather than in Bogdanović’s native tongue, a forebear of the language formerly known as
Serbo-Croatian. In the chronicle he used that language only when he narrated conversations.9

Nasljeđa Bosne i Hercegovine, 1988.

7
  On this subject, see also Stankova’s contribution to this volume and Tsampouras’ ill. 5.
8
 Gavran, Ljetopis, pp. 17-19.
9
  Kreševo Chronicle, cf. p. 55. 83, 88, 89, etc.
140 Maximilian Hartmuth

And when he did write in Slavonic, curiously, he used the Cyrillic rather than the Latin script
(or, to be precise, the Bosnian form of Cyrillic known as bosančica).10

Before turning to what the chronicle has to say about the reconstruction of Kreševo
monastery’s church in the 1760s, a few words about the locale in question are in order. The de-
velopment of Kreševo was not unlike that of other towns in or near the Bosna valley in the late
Middle Ages: mineral resources were discovered, German miners were brought in for their ex-
pertise, and merchants from Dubrovnik took care of the rest. The local rulers’ wealth depended
in large parts on the silver, iron, and copper deposits in their mountainous domain. Market-
places developed into compact towns with craftsmen and merchants thriving on resources
extracted from the surrounding mines. Very often, a Franciscan monastery was also built in the
margins of such settlements.11 This may mean that once a certain place became open towards
the outside world thanks to its economic attraction, the (from the view of the ‘centre’) possibly
relatively superficial nature of Christianization in this peripheral mountainous region became
apparent. The institutionalization of the Catholic presence, through monastic foundations
within sight of emerging centres of production and trade was likely seen as a necessity as, with
increased communications, it may have been realized that certain cultural practices were out of
tune with the hegemonic mainstream’s.

Be that as it may, when the Ottomans conquered the Bosnian Kingdom in 1463, they
changed little about the arrangements in Kreševo. Muslims remained a minority until the end of
Ottoman rule, there were no serious attempts to Islamize the settlement, and no major Muslim
monuments were built. In fact, the idea that the people of Kreševo fared much better than most
others in the Ottoman Balkans is deeply entrenched in that town’s local memory. According to
tradition, this was because of the sultans’ interest in ensuring continuous mining activity. Per-
haps it was also because of the importance of Kreševo’s principal industry that the local Catho-
lic monastery was one of the only three such Catholic institutions that survived the aggression
and emigration following the devastating incursion of Austrian troops into Bosnia in 1697.12

***

The author of the Kreševo monastery chronicle, Marijan Bogdanović, was born in Kreševo in
1720. His association with the monastery, where he acquired his knowledge of Latin, began
aged twelve. Six years later he became a novice. Soon thereafter he was sent to Naples to study
philosophy and theology. Having completed his studies there in approximately seven years,

10
  Ibid., e.g. p. 55 (note f and cursive text). Not having had access to the manuscript of the chronicle, which
remains in Kreševo, I should state that my study is based on the translation into Croatian by Ignacije Gavran
(see note 3), himself a Bosnian Franciscan of more recent times.
11
 This is my (simplified) interpretation of what most standard accounts portray as more integrated
developments. See also Maximilian Hartmuth, “Mineral exploitation and artistic production in the Balkans
after 1250,” in: Ottoman metalwork in the Balkans and in Hungary, eds. Ibolya Gerelyes and Maximilian
Hartmuth. Budapest: Hungarian National Museum, 2015, pp. 97-110.
12
  Ivan Lovrenović, Bosnia: a cultural history. New York: New York University Press, p. 130.
 The challenge of rebuilding a Catholic monastery in Ottoman Bosnia in 1767 141

Ill. 2 and 3. Kreševo’s monastery and its church’s interior photographed 1907 by
František Topič (reproduced from Smail Tihić, “Starije slike i predmeti umjetnog
zanata u Kreševskom samostanu,” in: Naše Starine, III [1956], pp. 195-217).

he went on to teach the two subjects in question in Dubrovnik for a couple of years before he
would return to his native Kreševo. He held a variety of posts at the Franciscan monastery there
before he was appointed bishop and apostolic vicar at the peak of his career. Bogdanović died
of tuberculosis in 1771, at around age 50.13 Hence, the sections of the chronicle he composed
cover a mere six years, recorded in comparatively great detail.

Bogdanović began writing the chronicle in 1765. Not coincidentally, this was the year of
a catastrophic fire that resulted in one of the author’s most challenging experiences: the project
of his monastery’s church’s reconstruction and the return of this institution to regular opera-
tion. The preface, in which the author clearly identifies himself, illustrates the magnitude of the
catastrophe for those affected by it. It took only two hours for the entire church to burn down.
To blame for it all was probably a youngster from the littoral named Anto, whose weakness for
smoking was well known in the monastery. Bogdanović was sure, however, that the fire was,
before anything, a punishment for their sins.14

The same day, a delegation went from the monastery into the town to consult with the
local Muslim dignitaries, whom they addressed as konscie nasce (that is, in modern Bosnian,
komšije naše, using for neighbour the Turkish term komşu). The Franciscans inquired about
what was necessary so that they might be permitted to rebuild the church. The local Muslims
were very supportive in this regard; they also suggested bringing in the kadı (judge) from near-
by Fojnica to produce an official report about the extent of the destruction. This was done,

13
 Gavran, Ljetopis, pp. 17-20.
14
  Kreševo Chronicle, pp. 45-54.
142 Maximilian Hartmuth

and 22 guruş were given to the kadı for his efforts; 20 guruş went to the emin, another salaried
Ottoman official, for his mediation. The Franciscans proceeded to Sarajevo with the mission
to acquire a permit from the governor of Bosnia who, however, informed them that a ferman
(decree) from Istanbul was needed. The friars were disappointed: years earlier another governor
had allowed them to do whatever they wanted in all three Catholic monasteries in exchange
for a mere 200 guruş!15

The situation was alleviated when a certain Beşir Ağa came into the picture. Promising to
help without taking advantage of them, he recruited the scribe Ali Efendi to compose a petition
to the sultan, in Ottoman Turkish, for 150 guruş. The contents reflected what the local Mus-
lims had advised the friars to write, namely that the monastery existed already at the time of
the conquest and that if his Catholic subjects left Kreševo out of frustration, the revenues from
this “malikane” might significantly decrease.16 While in modern Turkish, malikane is used to
describe a manor, here it referred to a tax farm, namely the state-owned mine, with which the
town was commonly identified. The aforementioned emin was its administrator. The argument
thus thought most likely to convince the ruler was that as a result of his subjects’ discontent his
own (state’s) revenues might dwindle.

Next, a certain İbrahim Ağa from Visoko, another town in the Bosna valley, was recruited
to deliver the petition to Istanbul. Although this was a paid job, the ağa failed to carry it out,
prompting the friars to henceforth work with Christians instead. Three Bosnian Catholics were
identified as the best candidates for carrying the document to Istanbul – two of which had the
qualification of having mastered Ottoman Turkish very well, while the third had the advantage
of knowing in person the Neapolitan chief physician of sultan Mustafa III. The three were
supplied with a precautionary 1000 guruş in case that kind of money was necessary to acquire
the much-desired ferman. They were unlucky again: upon their arrival in Istanbul in 1766 a
devastating earthquake hit the Ottoman capital, and there was no chance of delivering their pe-
tition to the relevant bodies. The messengers returned to Bosnia with another pessimistic piece
of information: due to the religious zeal of the reigning sultan, they were made to understand,
it was unlikely that any such permission would be granted anytime soon.17

Things changed for the better once a new governor arrived in Sarajevo: Mehmed Silihdar
Paşa, supposedly a relative of the sultan. The emin helped them to acquire an ilam (report to
superiors) by a monla (Islamic theologian) and a fetva (legal opinion) by the mufti (legal expert)
of Travnik; both documents confirmed the lawfulness of the friars’ reconstruction plans. In
the June of 1767 they eventually received the permission from the said governor. This being
the middle of the building season, they immediately proceeded to call masons and carpenters
from various locales in Central Bosnia. Meanwhile, a Muslim delegation from central Kreševo

15
  Ibid., pp. 54-57.
16
  Ibid., p. 58.
17
  Ibid., p. 58, 63f., 67f.
 The challenge of rebuilding a Catholic monastery in Ottoman Bosnia in 1767 143

visited the monastery to inspect the ruins in order to make sure that nothing very different was
about to be built.18

The friars ultimately proved unsuccessful in recruiting Catholic masons from their home
region. They decided to send a representative to Mostar to recruit able “schismatics” (i.e., Or-
thodox Christians) to do the job instead. This strategy was repeated when it came to hiring
carpenters: it was impossible to find Catholics to do the job, and so they again had to resort
to hiring Orthodox Christians. The craftsmen worked together on site with many volunteers
from Kreševo, including women and children. At this point, no Muslim bothered to inspect
the construction anymore. The materials that remained at the conclusion of the building were
resold to another Catholic monastery.19
It is only at the end of his description of the building process that Bogdanović declares
his purpose in writing his account of the construction of the monastery, namely to help later
friars to better understand the costs and problems involved in such an enterprise. This was
information of the kind that the author regretted not to have had at his disposal himself when
needed.20 Looking at these costs, it is also clear that the expenses for various ‘payments’ to
Muslim dignitaries for services and documents outnumbered the actual construction costs.21
***
At the end of this paper, there are a few findings that have emerged from the examination of
this particular source that should be reiterated since they are of particular importance to the
issue addressed in this volume and the workshop which was its source:
1. The Kreševo chronicle seems to owe its very existence to the fact that its author
thought that his successors might need advice on how to go about interventions to
the monastery’s fabric with regard to potential obstacles.
2. The modalities of gaining permission for the reconstruction of perished churches were
all but clear to those involved, including Muslims. Perhaps it could be said that one
key problem was that, although theoretically guaranteed by Hanefite law, nothing like
an official law book served as a practical reference for church reconstruction projects.
3. Even though Hanefite law was, in theory, clear about the circumstances in which
reconstructions were to be permitted, in practice they seemed to change in accordance
with the people involved.
4. Obtaining permission was a process that necessitated a large number of ‘payments’
in order to be completed. This is something the Ottoman sources generally seem not
to have recorded.
5. It was not seen as especially problematic to hire ‘schismatics’, that is, Orthodox
Christians, to build a Catholic church.

18
  Ibid., pp. 78-83.
19
 Ibid., pp. 81-87, 99.
20
  Ibid., p. 97.
21
  See list of material costs and donations on pp. 91-101 and various payments recorded after p. 55.
144 Maximilian Hartmuth

6. The friars used various Muslim mediators in their quest to acquire the desired
permission, evidently because they thought this might help their cause.
7. In general, the friars seemed to be on very good terms with the local Muslims; but
‘Istanbul’ was a world away.

While, if taken one by one, most of these statements may sound trivial, taken together they
demonstrate the value of Bogdanović’s account as a historical source. The Kreševo chronicle
shows that to say ‘the Ottomans’ allowed ‘the Christians’ to rebuild churches, or not, is some-
what simplistic. Numerous additional factors were at play in what can be better described as a
process rather than a legal automatism. The success of the mission depended on such things
as the obtainability of knowledge transmitted through information networks; individual of-
fice-holders’ interpretation of the kind of permissions that they were authorized to give (for
instance in exchange for ‘payments’); the integration and mobilization of advocates in high-
er-level patronage networks (the example of the sultan’s Catholic physician imagined as a priv-
ileged channel of communication); and not least the availability of funding for the significant
costs that had to be spent on services external to the (re-)construction as such.