The fall of the Aqqoyunlu and emergence of the Safavids in 907/1501, in Tabriz, led to nearly a century and a half of conflict between the Ottoman Empire and Iran over control of the borderland regions of Kurdistan, Azerbaijan and the Caucasus, and Arabian Iraq. The catastrophic rout of Ismāʿīl I (r. 907–930/1501–1524) by Selīm I (r. 918–926/1512–1520) at Chāldirān in 920/1514 marked a first episode in the struggle, and a second war began in 939/1532 between the sons and successors of the two rulers, Süleymān I (r. 926–974/1520–1566) and Ṭahmāsp I (r. 930–984/1524–1576), concluded by the signature of the Treaty of Amasya in 962/1555. This treaty confirmed the Ottoman conquests of Van and Baghdad, while the Caucasus was divided between the two states and Tabriz, the former Safavid capital, was returned to Iran.Footnote 1
War broke out again twenty-three years later, during the reign of Murād III (r. 982–1003/1574–1595), who sought to seize the opportunity presented by post-Ṭahmāsp Qizilbash anarchy in the Safavid realm to advance into Azerbaijan and the Caucasus. Ruled by the weak and incompetent Khudābanda (r. 985–995/1578–1587) and undermined by infighting between opposing courtly-military factions, the Safavids were no match for the Ottomans and, taking over after his father’s abdication in 995/1587, ʿAbbās I (r. 995–1038/1587–1629) was quick to sue for peace with the sultan. After twelve years of devastating conflict, both parties signed the Treaty of Constantinople in 998/1590, confirming Ottoman gains in the Caucasian borderlands. Further hostilities then occurred in 1012–1021/1603–1612, 1025–1027/1616–1618, and 1033–1049/1623–1639, after which the conflict was finally settled with the Treaty of Zuhab, which largely confirmed the provisions of the Treaty of Amasya signed nearly a century earlier.Footnote 2 Peace then prevailed throughout the remainder of the Safavid state’s existence, up to the fall of Isfahan in 1135/1722.Footnote 3
As seen in this rough outline, the war of 986–998/1578–1590 was a turning point in Ottoman-Safavid relations, reigniting the conflict between the two states and plunging the region into nearly six decades of uninterrupted war and bloodletting. In line with this historically significant role, it is also one of the better studied wars of the early modern Islamic world, as manifest in the useful overview of Western, Turkish, and Iranian scholarship on the topic provided by Rudi Matthee.Footnote 4 To the benefit of scholars, there is a vast array of contemporary sources written on this conflict, more numerous and diverse than is the case for other wars between the two states.
Yet, despite this wealth of resources, our vision of the events of 1578–1590 remains partial. Through its four contributions, the present special section helps foster new perspectives by examining some of the war’s unseen and neglected dimensions, hopefully paving the way for a broader reassessment of the conflict.
Comparative Safavid and Ottoman state practices and theories
Primary sources constitute the foundation of any research endeavor and, for the war of 1578–1590, the absence or unavailability of such sources has led to the Safavid perspective being largely overlooked in favor of Ottoman-oriented works and scholarship. Indeed, Safavid sources on the conflict are very few, especially when compared with the amplitude and diversity of Ottoman historiography.
There are, for example, several Ottoman ġazavātnāme on the 986–987/1578–1579 Caucasus campaign written by authors who took part.Footnote 5 By contrast, the Safavid source closest to the events is the Khulāṣat al-Tavārīkh (The Essence of Histories) by Qāżī Aḥmad Qumī, written in 999/1590–1591, a year after the end of the war, and Qāżī Aḥmad did not participate in the events.Footnote 6 In fact, the only sources written by Safavid participants in the war are two texts produced in foreign lands by former Safavid commanders, namely the Sharafnāma by Sharaf Khān Bidlīsī (d. 1009/1600) and, in a more extensive account, the Relaciones by Don Juan de Persia, formerly known as Orūch Beg Bāyat (d. after 1650).Footnote 7
Official history writing and record keeping are instruments of state power, and the discrepancy between Ottomans and Safavids in this regard can, in a broader sense, be attributed to differences in state ideologies and ruling practices. Whereas the Ottoman Empire was a “bureaucratic empire” in the classical age, i.e., an autocratic state “governed on the basis of bureaucratic centrism and the rule of law,” the Safavid king functioned as the head of a tribal state shaped by the ruler’s interpersonal connections with the Qizilbash ruling aristocracy.Footnote 8 These ideological and governmental differences also extended to the administration of borderlands and newly acquired dominions: as soon as the Ottomans conquered new territories, they were gradually integrated into the empire’s administrative system through tried-and-tested means, while, by contrast, the Safavids treated regional elites as Qizilbash-like aristocrats entering into covenants based on personal loyalty to the king.Footnote 9
As military bureaucrats, Ottoman governors in the provinces frequently changed posting in the course of their careers, supposedly to prevent them from establishing and maintaining close relationships with local elites and building regional power bases.Footnote 10 Qizilbash emirs could also be dismissed and even executed, but, until the early seventeenth century, Qizilbash factions usually retained control of specific regions of the realm, each governed “with absolute authority” by a khan who “[did] not recognize in his dominion any supremacy of the King.”Footnote 11 This is in stark contrast with the Ottoman practice of müsādere (confiscation)—the appropriation of the possessions of deceased members of the ruling ʿaskerī class, including governors, leaving only a small portion to their heirs.Footnote 12
This differentiated understanding of the state and its operation ultimately led to divergent record-keeping practices. On the one hand, due to its highly bureaucratic nature, the Ottoman state relied on extensive reports and exchanges between the center and provinces to function.Footnote 13 Even when no longer needed, these documents and reports were carefully preserved, resulting in an estimated 150 million records kept in Istanbul alone, mostly at the former Ottoman Archives of the Prime Ministry (Başbakanlık Osmanlı Arşivi).Footnote 14 Thanks in large part to this extant documentation, scholars of the Ottoman Empire have been able to examine the workings of the state apparatus and the Porte’s decision-making process in detail, and the study of Ottoman institutional history is fairly well established.Footnote 15 This is further facilitated by a steady stream of publications sponsored by the Directorate of State Archives of the Presidency of the Republic of Turkey, as well as numerous MA and PhD dissertations defended at universities in the country.Footnote 16
Safavid documents, on the other hand, are few and far between, numbering in the low thousands in terms of collections published so far.Footnote 17 It is unsurprising, though somewhat ironic, that a good part of extant Safavid documentation is today found in Ottoman archives in Turkey. In fact, Ottoman records such as diplomatic and intelligence reports can occasionally tell us more about the Safavid state and society than Safavid sources.Footnote 18 Less prone to record-keeping than their archnemesis to the west, the Safavids also met a much more brutal end, leading to the dispersion and destruction of the bulk of their archives.Footnote 19
The Ottoman bureaucratic hypertrophy manifested in an abundance of documents and a surplus of personnel in search of patrons and positions in the empire’s capital or at the provincial level. From these experiences, a diversity of historical works emerged, including ġazavātnāme and universal or dynastic chronicles. On the Safavid side, chronicle authors were usually employed in the shah’s central administration; in general, Qizilbash emirs did not patronize Persian letters or seem to have cared for their cultivation.Footnote 20 In Iran, the age-old distinction between Turkish “men of the sword” and Tajik “men of the pen” remained relevant, and a general distrust and hostility seems to have prevailed between the two classes.Footnote 21
By contrast, although the Ottomans also had distinct career paths for soldiers (seyfiye), religious scholars (ilmiye), and administrators (kalemiye), ultimately, military commanders, ulema, and bureaucrats all belonged to the imperial ʿaskerī class and could move between these career paths.Footnote 22 The careers of Muṣṭafā ʿĀlī (d. 1008/1600) and Āṣafī Dāl Meḥmed Çelebi (d. 1006/1597–1598), authors of two important sources on the war of 1578–1590, are exemplary in this regard: before turning thirty, Muṣṭafā ʿĀlī “had begun careers in all three of the major Ottoman professional paths: Learning, Pen, and Sword,” whereas, from the late 1570s, Āṣafī, a “close friend and apprentice” of ʿĀlī, rapidly progressed “from scribe, to financial official, … to sancak beği, to paşa.”Footnote 23 They both took part in the Ottoman campaign of Shirvan in 1578–1579 as, respectively, campaign secretary of the serdār Lala Muṣṭafā Paşa (d. 988/1580) and teẕkereci of the governor of Shirvan, Özdemiroġlu ʿOs̱mān Paşa (d. 993/1585), and wrote ġazavātnāme dedicated to their patrons after the campaign.Footnote 24
Usually brief but very popular texts, ġazavātnāme were an ideal means to an end for ambitious Ottoman bureaucrats looking to make a name for themselves, and the reign of Murād III was especially prolific in this regard.Footnote 25 In Safavid Iran, although accounts of victorious campaigns were occasionally produced, the genre of ġazavātnāme was absent; furthermore, Safavid historiographical writing seems to have been less diverse in terms of genres and style.Footnote 26 Literacy also appears to have been higher in the Ottoman Empire, as suggested by the writings of Ebūbekir b. ʿAbdullāh (d. after 992/1584), a low-level military officer who composed a ġazavātnāme on the campaign of Shirvan in 1578–1579, something even top-level Safavid commanders usually did not do.Footnote 27 Admittedly, there were not a lot of people like Ebūbekir, but there are other examples, such as ʿOs̱mān Aġa of Timişoara (d. after 1145/1732), another low-ranking military officer who spent twelve years as a prisoner in Austria, a time he later recounted in a memoir called Gāvurların Esīri (Prisoner of the Infidels).Footnote 28
Similar to the ġazavātnāme, the genre of naṣīḥatnāme, or “books of counsel,” is another popular genre of Ottoman literature absent from Safavid compositions.Footnote 29 Where intellectuals such as Muṣṭafā ʿĀlī, author in the early 1580s of a Counsel for Sultans (Nuṣḥat al-Salāṭīn), engaged in that “peculiarly Ottoman literary genre, the literature of reform devoted to diagnosis of the causes of Ottoman decline and prescription of measures to reverse it,” the Safavid tendency was to downplay or erase political setbacks and military defeats, which can partly explain the lack of Safavid historiography on the war of 1578–1590.Footnote 30 Thus, in addition to the difference in record-keeping practices, Safavid historiographical culture appears to have been more imitative and less innovative than that of the Ottomans.
Special section: New perspectives from below and beyond
Aside from the Ottoman bias of classical narratives on the war of 1578–1590, two important dimensions of the conflict, albeit on opposite scales, have been altogether neglected: the local borderlanders’ experiences of the war and the global role of foreign powers, notably Russia and the Italian states.
When it comes to the borderlands and their local historiography, there is a comparative lack of interest in the available sources, largely the result of decades, if not centuries, of scholarly focus on the centers of imperial power. This focus has been grounded in a “center/periphery” vision through which people of the borderlands are seen as marginal communities impacted by regional state policies but with no agency of their own. Considering the frontier as an alternative and shared center for borderlanders, however, opens new avenues for research and new interpretive possibilities.Footnote 31 To facilitate this recentering, scholars can benefit from the local historiographic traditions that existed in many “peripheral” provinces of Iran; for our purposes, specifically in the regions of the Caspian Sea, the Caucasus, and Kurdistan, the study of which has remained limited, even more so in the case of non-historiographic texts and the (albeit small) body of works produced in languages other than Persian and Turkish.Footnote 32
On the global stage, there exists a sea of archives related to European and Russian involvement with the Safavids, most of which remains untapped, hidden like a proverbial needle in a haystack among repositories containing thousands or even millions of documents. Studies already conducted nonetheless reveal the great potential of such archives for the study of Safavid Iran and its relations with foreign powers, particularly in the case of Russia and the Italian states, where the Safavids were seen as potential partners in an anti-Ottoman alliance.Footnote 33
Originating from a panel held at the 5th Congress on Middle Eastern and Islamic Studies in Lyon on July 10–13, 2023, the present special section comprises four contributions that address these two dimensions. Guided by the idea that careful engagement with primary sources should be central to any reassessment of the Ottoman-Safavid conflict of 1578–1590, all four contributions present and publish or translate previously neglected or entirely unknown texts or archival documents.
In the first contribution, I present a little-known source on the Caucasus campaign of 1578–1579, the so-called Tārīḫ-i ʿOs̱mān Paşa (History of Osman Pasha), composed between 988–992/1580–1584 by Ebūbekir b. ʿAbdullāh, a cavalryman in the Ottoman army. I notably focus on Ebūbekir’s description of his time with Ottoman commander Özdemiroġlu ʿOs̱mān Paşa in the strategic North Caucasian fortress city of Derbent, a passage I analyze and present in translation. Although Ebūbekir sometimes gets mixed up in the complex socio-politics of the peoples he encountered, he provides many intriguing details about the religious and cultural life of the region, comparable to accounts found in local histories produced in the Caucasus around the same period.
The second contribution also relates to the 1578–1579 campaign, with Samuel Stevens presenting a hitherto unknown Ottoman source, the anonymous Tevārīḫ-i Futuḥ-i Şirvān (History of the Conquest of Shirvan), likely written in the years following the campaign. After introducing the only known manuscript of the work, housed in the library of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences in Budapest, Stevens explores the narrative of the Tevārīḫ, specifically examining its portrayal of an “ideal Ottoman commander,” exemplified in this case by Lala Muṣṭafā Paşa and Özdemiroġlu ʿOs̱mān Paşa, as well as the Tevārīḫ’s evidence of hostility towards the celebrated Ṣoḳullu family of Ottoman notables.
In the third contribution, Lukas Rybar moves beyond the grim realities of the battlefield to discuss Safavid-Rurikid-Habsburg diplomatic efforts during the final years of the 1578–1590 war. Beginning in 994–995/1586–1587 with Muḥammad Khudābanda’s dispatch of Hādī Beg as an envoy to the Russian court, these negotiations aimed to create an anti-Ottoman alliance, particularly on the Caucasian front, and continued until 1590. However, the new ruler, ʿAbbās I, aware of Safavid weakness at the time, favored a more cautious approach, ultimately leading to the signature of the Treaty of Constantinople. Through a thorough and careful analysis of archival documents, including the separate and complex dealings between the Rurikids and the Habsburgs, Rybar examines the intricate geopolitical context and outcomes of this endeavor.
The possibility of an anti-Ottoman alliance with the Safavids was also explored at various times by several Italian states, and Italian interest in the Ottoman-Safavid conflicts is the focus of the section’s fourth and final contribution by Davide Trentacoste. Beginning with a broad overview of Italian interest in Safavid Iran, Trentacoste publishes and translates two documents produced in this context. The first document, dating from the very beginning of the 1578–1590 war, is an intelligence report presented in Florence to the Tuscan Secretariat of State. The second document shifts the investigation to the resumption of hostilities in 1012/1603 and the decisive Battle of Ṣūfiyān in 1014/1605, which is discussed in a report for the Gonzaga Duke of Mantua. This demonstrates that interest in Iranian and Ottoman affairs was shared by other Italian states beyond Venice and Tuscany, offering a promising avenue for future research on the topic.
When writing about war, it is easy to overlook the human dimension of events, especially when working with sources produced primarily in elite contexts, far removed from the realities of the “common people” on both sides of the border. Yet, the Ottoman-Safavid war of 1578–1590 was, above all, a story of human tragedy and environmental disaster. By the end of the conflict, the battleground provinces of Azerbaijan and Shirvan, where most of the fighting occurred, had been reduced to barren swathes of scorched earth and depopulated land by the Safavid and Ottoman armies and commanders. Today, as wars continue to rage and tragedies unfold, let us remember that there is another way.
Acknowledgements
I wish to thank Lukas Rybar, Samuel Stevens, and Davide Trentacoste for their contributions, as well as Werner Gaboreau, who took part in the original panel in Lyon in July 2023, Ladan Niayesh, who chaired it, and participants in the discussion. I also wish to thank Artem Andreev, Ahmad Guliyev, and the anonymous reviewers for their feedback on the articles. Finally, I am grateful to Nasrin Rahimieh, editor-in-chief, Farshad Sonboldel, deputy editor, and the entire team at Iranian Studies for their critical comments and help in putting this special section together, as well as Andrea Williams, content manager at Cambridge University Press, and all her team for the copy-editing and typesetting of the articles.